by Jesse Joren
An unmistakable smell tickled my nose, familiar and rich. This was a very new car, probably an expensive one. Rustling sounds told me that I wasn't alone.
A girl's voice spoke close to me, amused and irritated.
"Don't give me that crap," she said. "Do you think I can't tell when someone is awake?"
When I opened my eyes, she was staring at me with open hostility in the dim light from the car's console. Her eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes, and her inky hair brushed her shoulders.
"Are you all right, ma'am?" she mocked. "Atlanta PD at your fucking service."
She was sitting on the passenger side of a sleek gray front seat. It looked nothing like the battered police cruiser I remembered, right before everything went black.
Something was tight across my chest. A seat belt, strapped tight. I was wearing a nondescript dark jogging suit and clunky running shoes. No bra or panties, from the feel of things.
There was no sign of my purse or phone, and all of my jewelry was gone. My only accessories were the handcuffs on my wrists. The dryness in my throat suggested that it had been a long time since my last drink of water.
Why does this shit keeping happening to me?
"Who are you?" I croaked.
"Gonna report me for police brutality?" she jeered.
Already I wanted to slap that smirk from her face. "If you're a cop, then I'm Mother Teresa," I said.
"Interesting," said a deep male voice from the driver's seat. "I always wanted to fuck a nun."
The girl drew back as the owner of the voice met my eyes in the rearview mirror. He was very good-looking, and the long, faint scar up the left side of his face somehow suited him. His auburn hair was cut short, his gaze light blue and sparkling.
"Just to confess, I'm the one who hit you," he said. "Sorry about that. I was fresh out of chloroform."
"Where are my clothes?" I asked, struggling for calm. "And where are you taking me?"
"They're back in Atlanta," he said. "As to where you're going…patience, Eva dear. There was no accident. That was just a little black lie, to keep things on their appointed track."
"And she fell for it," the girl said. "You should have seen her face. Boo-hoo, my boyfriend is dying. What an idiot."
Her gloating didn't matter. A surge of exhilaration swept over me. Whatever was happening, Hex was alive. Not bleeding and dead on some traffic-snarled freeway. Alive!
"That made you happy," the driver said, watching me. "He means a lot to you. You have no idea how much I hope you mean to him."
His voice was charming, cold, and greedy. I didn't know what a psychopath sounded like, but something told me that I was hearing one now.
Panic began to race through my body, but a strange memory steadied me. In my mind's eye, I saw Peter dropping to the floor as I faced him down.
This guy looked a lot tougher than Peter, but maybe he was misjudging me too. With an effort, I sat up straighter.
"If you're kidnapping me, you have the wrong person," I said. "My family is dirt poor, and most of them don't like me. None of my friends are rich, either."
"I lost track of your boyfriend some years ago," my male captor said, "but even then, he had plenty to spare. I don't want or need his money, but settling an old score? That's a whole different story."
Hex had always alluded to enemies. Sometimes I wondered if it was just a way to avoid my questions. Now, perhaps too late, here was proof that he hadn't exaggerated after all.
"He hasn't mentioned you, and I must have missed the part where you told me who the hell you are," I said sarcastically.
"You don't remember me?" He placed one hand over his heart in a gesture of mock-hurt. "I'm crushed."
Right before my eyes, he changed. His broad, muscular back became hunched, his eyes squinting down until their striking blue was lost behind mere slits. When he spoke again, his voice had aged thirty years.
"Ain't got none of that fancy coffee store stuff," he rasped, "and my arthritis is a bitch."
Terror plucked at me. Give him a tangle of gray hair, a beard, and some rough clothes, and he could be —
"Nice to meet you, Eva Bright," he wheezed. "Roy McLeod. Wanna buy a boat? Comes with one hell of a story. Of course, almost none of that story is true, either."
As he watched these words sink into me, the girl's eyes glittered with malice. How could someone who I didn't even know hate me so much?
"Recognize me now?" His voice was normal now, smooth and disturbingly sexy.
"Sure. I never forget an asshole," I snapped.
He chuckled. "You were cute, playing amateur detective. It was easy enough to get your tag number and find you."
"She's been a lot of trouble," the girl said, resentment lacing her tone. "I don't get what he sees in her."
"I do," he said, his eyes lingering on my face. "That's why this little goose chase is going to be so much fun."
I didn't know what he was talking about, but it didn't sound good. Not one little bit.
"I hate being interrupted," he mocked. "Let's get you nice and quiet, then I'll tell you a story that's actually true."
He glanced at the girl and nodded. She fumbled with something and crawled between the seats. I recognized the handful of thin straps hanging from her hand.
"Open your mouth," she said. "Bite me and see what happens."
The driver watched in the mirror as I accepted the black ball gag between my teeth. The look of satisfaction and stirring lust in his eyes made me afraid and angry.
"That's better," she said, jerking the straps as she buckled them around my head. "You might drool a little. Too bad."
For an instant her smirking face was close to mine, then she was back in her seat and buckling up. The driver was still watching me, his eyes licking all over my face.
"Don't we have some miles to make? If you're done staring, of course," she added caustically.
His eyes swiveled her way. "You need to shut the fuck up," he told her. "I don't like repeating myself, Rosine."
The ball gag wasn't tight enough to stifle my gasp. His attention returned to me.
"So you know about Rosine," he said. "That means you know about me too. Guess I'm not much of a Roy, so call me Killen."
Chapter Fifty-Two
For one wild, head-spinning moment I was back in a tiny cabin in the woods. I could almost hear Hex deliriously raving that name over and over, his snarls rising over the thunder outside.
Killen.
Now I recognized that uneasy feeling I'd had when looking at him, when hearing his voice. Somewhere around the edges of his psychotic vibe, he reminded me of a Hex gone horribly wrong.
"Oh yeah," he said softly. "You've heard about me."
Rosine watched him as a kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across her face: anger, hurt, hope, worship. She glared at me, smirked, and then grew quiet.
The sound of traffic was building around us. Maybe someone in a passing car would notice my ball gag and find it strange. My eyes flicked to the window beside me, a move not lost on my captor.
"Sorry, sweetheart," he said. "It's night, and that's heavy tint. No one is going to come for you except my brother, and that's exactly how I want it."
"You looked like you'd seen a ghost when I said my name," he added. "So he told you I was dead?"
Reluctantly I nodded.
"He probably was relieved to think I was. He also probably wouldn't like me knowing about you. You shouldn't hang around a guy like him."
Relationship advice from a psycho? No, thanks.
Hex's secretiveness was his best weapon in a dangerous business. With a sinking heart, I realized that now I was a potentially fatal chink in his armor.
"He thought I drowned, but I like to live." Killen touched the scar on his face. "The prop blade got me, but we made it to shore anyway. We toughed it out together, didn't we, Rosie?"
Rosine lit up like a Christmas tree under his casual praise, her face softening. In that moment, I saw
the irresistible girl who had played on the sympathies of a very young Hex, stealing his heart along with his money.
Killen hit the gas, and we raced down the long, dark stretch of highway. An exit sign for Pendleton blurred past my window. I thought that was in Oregon, but I wasn't sure.
"My asshole brother stole a lot of money that night," Killen said. "All that work, then he ended up with it. It gave him the start I should have had."
What would he do if he knew that Hex had dumped that money overboard? I hoped not to be around when he found that out.
"Not that we had trouble getting more," he added. "My girl here was happy to flop on her back for another rich boy and earn us a second chance. Right, Rosie?"
She looked as if she'd been slapped, stiffening under the cruel words. Then her face hardened again.
"Fuck off," she said in a bored tone, looking out the window.
Killen snickered.
"It's not about the money he took that night, or that I almost drowned," he said. "We move in the same circles. No one uses real names, of course, but he has a certain style, my brother. He's made me look bad, but finding him has been like catching a ghost."
"I'm a visionary," he went on. "I have things lined up that will make the past look like peanuts. Now he's made a mistake."
He grinned at me. For an uneasy moment, I saw Hex in that smile.
"He should have fucked you and kicked you to the curb," Killen said. "Probably he thought he was protecting you by hiding things, but a good relationship has no secrets. Right, honey?"
He chucked Rosine under the chin. She jerked away, making him laugh. The sound sent a shiver through me.
"His secrets bit him in the ass," he went on. "Curious girls start asking questions. My brother isn't the only one who can get into systems. Nothing interests me more than who might be searching on names that only a few people might know."
Sickness washed over me. My superstitious dread of tracking Hex's delusional ravings had turned out to be all too real.
"Strathshade was never a boat," Killen said. "When I saw that someone searched it, I faked that whole "change the name" boat trail. I knew someone would be in touch."
"You never told me what that was," Rosine said curiously. "Is it a house? Like an estate?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. Our grandfather made it up for a treehouse he built for us, way out in the woods. It was pretty cool, built in the branches of a huge oak. A lot of nests in the branches."
His eyes met mine again. "Spring was best, lots of baby birds," he said. "You can do awesome damage with a slingshot and some rocks. Ker-splat."
My stomach roiled helplessly. His little smile made me want to jump from the car.
"Didn't Stephen beat you down over some baby robins?" Rosine asked, glancing at her nails as if she might need a manicure. "Pretty good trick, him being just thirteen."
Killen's suaveness slipped a notch.
"He jumped me from behind," he said abruptly. "Then he took food and his dog, Durango, into the treehouse and pulled up the ladder. Said he wasn't coming down until our folks were back, so I couldn't do anything to them."
His eerie smile returned.
"So I got gas and splashed it all over the bottom of the tree," he said. "When I set it on fire, it went up fast. The tree, the house, the birds, even Durango. Stephen damn near burned up, trying to save that damn dog."
"He was mad at me pretty much forever after that. But hey, I won." He paused. "I always do."
It felt like something had torn open inside of me. Now I understood what I'd heard in Hex's delirious voice that night at the cabin. It was the anguished echo of a boy trying to save something he loved.
And I'd unwittingly used that memory against him. For a moment, I fought nausea behind the ball gag.
"So here we are," Killen said, "and now it's my game. Have you ever read Hansel and Gretel?"
For a wild moment, I wondered if he'd been at my place, had seen the Grimm's Fairy Tales on my table. Then I realized it was just coincidence.
I nodded cautiously.
"I've left a trail of breadcrumbs," he said. "Clues he can't afford not to follow. I want him to find us. When he does, we'll finish this once and for all."
His sparkling blue eyes met mine in the mirror. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me, Eva Bright," he said.
Rosine's hatred seemed to ratchet up and radiate into the backseat, chilling me in spite of the too-warm clothes. I wasn't sure which one of them was more dangerous.
I said a silent prayer that Hex would miss the "breadcrumbs" and stay far away from this strange, deadly game that Killen was playing. But I knew him too well.
He would find me. Or he would die trying.
Chapter Fifty-Three
After long hours of driving, Killen pulled up to a dark gate that was half-obscured by trees.
"Home sweet home," he mocked as it slid back. "Depending on how quick my brother is, your stay might not be that long."
He drove into a large garage before he and Rosine half-dragged me inside the house. They led me into an open living room, lit by moonlight coming in through large windows at the back.
"Your room doesn't have this view," Killen taunted as he threw open a sliding glass door. "Soak it in before we get you settled."
We were standing on a stone terrace on a dark hillside, with no other lights or houses in view. Far down below, I heard the muted roar of sea surf as the clean scent of ocean swirled around us. Moonlight glinted as far as I could see.
"Welcome to the Oregon coast," Killen said. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
"Do you think it's a good idea to keep telling her all this stuff?" Rosine asked. "You're never all chatty like this. What's the matter with you?"
"I'm feeling good," he laughed. "The breaks are running my way."
"If you ask me, this bitch is nothing but trouble," she sniffed.
"But I didn't ask you," he said, "so shut the fuck up."
That look of hurt and anger twisted through her expression again. In contrast, Killen's eyes twinkled with relentless good humor.
"This place used to be a speakeasy back during Prohibition," he said. "There are a dozen ways out, but only I know them all. Cameras everywhere. No one gets in without being seen."
He stroked my cheek, ignoring Rosine's glare. He pulled off the ball gag, and I felt the soreness around my mouth.
"Do you have anything to say before Rosine shows you to your quarters?" he asked.
"You're a coward," I said, my voice raw and dry. "Fuck off."
His laugh was rich and genuinely amused.
"Probably not the best thing to say under the circumstances," he said, "but I admire your nerve. Enjoy your stay, Eva."
Rosine pushed me back inside, making me regret the loss of the clean salt air. Once back in the garage, she opened a door to a narrow staircase leading down.
"You first," she said with a smirk.
I went carefully, my cuffed hands throwing me off-balance as I descended. At the bottom, Rosine fumbled with a light switch that illuminated a barren basement with a single cot.
"Welcome to the palace," she said, leaning against the wall to watch my reaction. "Not much like the Ritz, huh?"
"You know what a bad idea this is," I said. "I see exactly how he treats you. Why do you put up with it?"
"Let me guess. You've watched lot of CSI, and you think you're going to reason with me." She rolled her eyes. "Spare me the cheap psychology. Next you'll say it's not too late to stop all of this."
"It's not."
"It was too late the second your dumb ass searched on Strathshade," she said. "Out of a trillion pages on the Internet, that term isn't found anywhere. Why would a boat record suddenly turn up? Killen played you good."
"Why do you dislike me so much?" I asked her.
"Because I can tell that you're a silly little bitch who's always gotten by on her looks," she said. "Your life has been all peaches and cream, not a problem in sight."
So much for female instinct.
"I think it's more than that," I said. "I think you know that you picked the wrong brother."
She didn't answer, but she left abruptly. When she returned from upstairs, she threw a brown grocery bag at my feet.
"I hope you like granola bars," she said. "There's bottled water under the stairs. That bucket in the corner is your bathroom."
I glanced suspiciously at the bag.
"Bitch, please," she said. "If we wanted to poison you, you'd be dead. Eat it or don't. You could stand to lose some of that ass."
You and Stella should get your claws sharpened together, Rosie. Sort of a bitches' day out. It would be fun.
"Maybe I did pick the wrong brother," she said all at once, "but he's going to be the one left standing when this is over. Alive and an asshole is better than dead and a hero."
She paused, savoring the effect of her next words.
"I hope Stephen named extra beneficiaries for his life insurance," she said, "because something tells me that you won't be around to collect."
DECEMBER 4
Chapter Fifty-Four
I had always hated basements. Now I knew why.
Time was impossible to tell without windows. Rosine and Killen didn't return, and my broken sleep was no help in marking how long I'd been down here. Sometimes a board creaked overhead, otherwise I might have been alone in the world.
Ravenous hunger forced me to eat the granola bars, which were stale and loaded with raisins. If there was anything I disliked more than basements, it was raisins.
The bucket bathroom quickly grew rank, and the cot provided no comfort except to keep me off the floor. There was no blanket, and even the thick sweat suit couldn't hold back the chill.
Something told me that Rosine had been in charge of my "guest suite." She was never going to win any hospitality awards.
I was frantic about Hex. Anything could be happening in the outside world, but I was cut off. Natalie would be worried, and I prayed that she wouldn't run any more searches that might turn Killen's attention in her direction.