Matheson handed her boss a picture of Rusk and he showed it to me. “Like that?”
Rusk smiled at the camera but it was a snide, knowing look, as if he thought everyone around him were complete idiots. “Yeah. He thought he was too smart to get caught.”
Wilkins handed the picture back to Matheson and she continued. “His right arm was pretty torn up, though healing, so he’s the intruder Sheba got a hold of. We also found a knife still in Rusk’s abdomen. You shoved it in so deep that part of the hilt snagged on his rib. He also had a second puncture wound about three inches away.” She offered a sheet of paper to me. I took it reluctantly, afraid it was a picture of his bloody dead body, but it was only a printed man shape with red marks. “Do you have any idea how he got the other wounds?”
My two red marks on his abdomen, right side. But there were also two red dots on his throat. Two more on his back, one on either side of his spine. Kidney or lung shots. My hand started to shake and I laid the paper down on my lap. In and out, so fast his target didn’t know he’d been hit.
“Did Charlie make those other wounds, Ranay?” Matheson asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Why do you say that?” She kept her voice gentle, but her eyes were bright, intense, trying to snag mine every time I glanced at her. She knew my weaknesses all too well. “Was he there?”
“I never saw him.” Truth.
“Where did you learn to stab an attacker, Miss Killian?” Wilkins asked.
I didn’t look away from Matheson this time. She needed to think I had nothing to hide. “Charlie taught me. The night after the break-in.”
“The night after he killed Tasker,” she said. “He was afraid he’d have to leave more quickly than he intended, leaving you exposed to Rusk. He did what he could to prepare you.”
“He taught me,” I repeated, not looking away. “He told me to strike for the throat, chest and thigh. Boom, boom boom. He made me practice for hours. Those aren’t the marks on Rusk, are they?”
“No, they’re not. But you didn’t stab him that way, either.”
“I couldn’t. He grabbed me from behind. We never practiced what to do then.”
Wilkins gave Matheson a nod and took over. “We have reason to believe that someone with considerable means hired the man you know as Charles MacNiall to find and kill whoever was murdering those women. He’s former Special Agent Gyres. A gifted detective who excelled at tracking down the most violent serial killers. Did he ever speak to you of his past?”
“Some,” I replied slowly, carefully, afraid to say too much.
“Did he tell you about his father?”
“Yes.”
“Blood Drinker,” Matheson whispered. “Do you know why we called him that?”
I shuddered and shook my head.
“He always struck in the victim’s own home. He’d grab a cup from their kitchen. Fill it with the victim’s blood. And drink it, still warm from the body.”
I pressed my hands against my stomach, willing it to settle down. “Gross.”
Though I couldn’t help but remember the way Charlie had licked the small wounds he put on me. Same thing, but arousing, not disgusting.
“When people found out about his father in the department, he caught a lot of abuse and suspicion. He worked hard, hoping they’d accept him, but he was too good at his job. Too damned good. People whispered it was because he was a serial killer like his father. He had that propensity for violence encoded in his DNA.”
“It’s in his blood,” I whispered, crying. “He said that once.”
“We never did find Clancy Gyres.” Wilkins leaned forward, locking his attention on me. “And we’re pretty sure why. Charlie killed his father. Didn’t he.”
“Yes,” I whispered, unable to lie. Not with that kind of power focused on me. “At least, that’s what he said. Because his father killed his mother.”
“Did he admit to killing anyone else, Miss Killian?”
“Tasker.” My throat tightened, tears falling, but I couldn’t lie.
“Was he there last night, Ranay?” Matheson sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand.
I nodded. “I never saw him. But he was there. He promised he wouldn’t let Rusk get me.”
“Did he tell you where he was going next?”
I shook my head.
“Say it, Ranay,” she said. “We need to hear your answers. Did he tell you where he was going next?”
“No.”
“Are you going to see him again someday?”
I froze, squeezing my eyes shut. If I told them, they might put a watcher on me. If they used me to track him down...
She patted my hand. “You don’t have to answer that one. We can see the truth on your face.”
I slumped, letting my head hang down so they couldn’t see my face, but evidently it was too late. “He promised.”
“And he always keeps his promises.”
I sniffed, trying not to let out a noisy wail. “Yeah.” I jerked my head up and glared at her so hard she recoiled. “And if you think to try and keep me away from him...”
“Whoa.” She laughed, shaking her head. “We wouldn’t dream of it. Would we, ASAC?”
Wilkins settled back in his chair, steepled his fingers together and smiled. “We owe a debt of gratitude to Gyres. Some of us still count him as one of ours, even though we can’t officially condone his actions. In fact, we’d like you to deliver a message for us.”
Suspicious, I looked at each of them. They knew Charlie was going to come for me. And they weren’t going to try to stop us? “Yeah?”
“Did he mention his brother to you?”
“He joined the military to try and find his brother. I think he said he went MIA twenty years ago.”
“We have reason to believe that Vincent Gyres is still alive. An operative investigating an international human trafficking ring reported a man who very much sounds like Vincent Gyres, with the same kind of talents that a man of his past would have.”
Charlie would definitely want to know that. But was it a trap? I concentrated all my senses on them, watching the way they breathed, how they blinked. Neither one of them were sweating. Neither tugged at a collar or smoothed their pants, no aimless, nervous little gestures that might tell me they were lying. “Okay,” I answered slowly. “Why would you want him to know that?”
His smile slipped to something grimmer. “Because we might need Charlie’s help to stop him.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
My parents finally left, though they still couldn’t understand how I could bear to stay in the house where I’d been attacked. Where I’d killed a man. That was the official story. Only Jill Matheson and her boss knew the full truth.
The room had been stripped, the carpets ripped out and the bedding gone. The FBI had likely taken all of it for evidence. I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to sleep in here. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be here a single night. I just had to gather my things.
I didn’t need much. The slim case of knives. My toothbrush. A couple of Charlie’s T-shirts that he wasn’t ever going to get back, unless he cut them off my body. My favorite jeans. And most importantly, the chunky leather collar and wrist cuffs. Those I’d risk my life to save from a five-alarm fire.
I set the bag by the front door and whistled for Sheba. I strolled out to the backyard and threw her ball for a while. I watched, listened for anything out of the ordinary. They might be watching me, but I couldn’t see them. I deliberately threw the ball over by the storage shed and then stepped inside. Quickly, now, I pushed the carpet aside, lifted the hatch, and without any hesitation, climbed down into the darkness. I used my phone to find the silver case, right where I’d left it.
I scanned the dirt floor for footprints, but the earth was hard packed. Hopefully if they found this room, they wouldn’t be sure I’d been down here. If I hurried.
I unlocked the case. As I’d hoped, a few new items laid on top. T
he first, a handwritten note.
I promised you a way to join me, if that’s still your desire. If you hurry, you can be with me before you know it.
1. Pack light. One bag only, something easy you can carry without having to stop and rest often.
Done.
2. Pack enough food for Sheba for two days.
3. Go shopping and buy a big floppy hat, sunglasses and a colorful sundress. Bathing suit is optional. Your Master will accept your preferences, though I’d much prefer to see you in nothing but that chain you’ll find in the case.
Maybe I could find out-of-season clothing at Walmart. Surely people were desperate to buy a bikini before taking their winter cruise. But then my mind wandered away from the practical and imagined lying on a sandy beach in nothing but that silver chain chastity belt. I trembled with longing and my hands shook enough it took me a moment to keep reading.
4. Before leaving our home, burn this letter and any other evidence you deem necessary.
5. Use the enclosed ticket to fly to Vegas as Ranay Killian. Sheba is your assistance dog. Bring your paperwork.
Vegas? That was warm and sunny, but not very beachy. Still, if he was there, it didn’t matter to me. I’d go to Antarctica if I had to.
6. Change into your tourist gear at the airport as soon as you land in Vegas.
7. Braid your hair tightly and tuck it up beneath the hat.
8. Take the phone in this case and text me what color dress you’re wearing when you’re leaving the restroom.
9. DISAPPEAR.
I didn’t know how the latter would happen, but I trusted him. Implicitly.
P.S. I’ll be groveling for you on the prettiest sandy beach I could find. I love you, kitten.
Words of love from my Master. There wasn’t anything better in the world. Except hearing those words in person.
A plane ticket followed, then a passport. I flipped open the blue case and stared a moment. It was me, but not me. A younger girl, as if he’d found a picture of me in college. Before Josh. Maybe even before Talon. The name blurred in my tears. Kitt Charles. Kitten. Charlie’s kitten.
I shoved the paperwork into my coat pockets, along with the phone, the chain and as much cash as I could carry. I locked the case and then picked it up, looking around for a good place to stash it. I finally dropped it in the corner behind a century’s worth of cobwebs and a stack of broken pottery. Sheba looked at me, her ears perked eagerly.
“Let’s go find our Master.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“We’re here, Mrs. Charles,” the driver said, pulling over to the side of the dirt road.
Sleepily, I stretched and looked around. We must have driven all night. The sun was up, but with all the trees, it was hard to tell what time it was.
If anyone but Charlie had brought me to this deserted location, I’d swear they were going to leave me out here to die. The road was a muddy track through thick, dense jungle. Birds cawed in the trees, so high up I couldn’t see them. Even the sunlight barely streamed down through the thick vegetation.
Something shrieked so loudly I jumped as I got out of the Jeep. Sheba stiffened, her tail and ruff fluffing up.
The driver laughed and handed me my bag. “Those are howler monkeys. They’re harmless, as long as you don’t try to hang out near their pack.”
“It sounds like someone getting murdered,” I muttered, scanning the trees again. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Mr. Charles was very specific. I was to pick up his wife, a pretty lady in a bright yellow dress with white flowers. She would have a black dog with her big enough for a small child to ride. Then I was to drive you here.”
“Where’s here?”
“Mr. Charles owns all of this.” He swept his hand at the jungle around us. “Very secluded. He does good work, providing sanctuary for many animals. The howlers are nearly extinct, you know. But he cares.”
Yes, yes, he does.
“He’s a great sponsor for the sanctuary’s veterinarian training program. Many students come from all over the world to learn about our animals.”
With sudden surety, I knew he’d picked this place for a reason. He wouldn’t take me away from my life, my family, and also expect me to give up my love for animals too. Such a wonderful, caring master. My voice shook with emotion. “Where is he?”
“Just follow the steps down to the beach. It’s not far. You’ll see where to go from there.”
Steps? He pointed at a wooden rail nailed to the side of a tree. Once I got closer, I could see pavers set in the dirt. Waving, he drove off, leaving me alone in the eerily noisy jungle.
Sheba trotted ahead, panting heavily. I had to get her water soon. She wasn’t used to this heat, and with all that black fur, she’d be suffering. Changing my bag to the other hand, I followed the track etched through the jungle. At first, it wasn’t steep at all, but soon I felt like I was inching down the side of a cliff. Rails were spaced at regular intervals, offering a handhold hopefully free of snakes and spiders. I couldn’t look too closely.
I rounded the corner and a fresh wave of salty air hit me in the face. The ocean stretched out as far as I could see. The sky was painted in a glorious sunrise, pinks and gold streaming across the horizon. A few more steps and I was walking on crystal sand. Off to the right, a huge house hung out over the ocean, built into the side of the cliff. It was brightly lit, glass windows giving a gorgeous view from every room. I didn’t see anyone inside.
My heart pounded with excitement, anticipation and yes, even dread. He loved me. I loved him. But would that be enough?
He’s a killer.
He killed to protect me.
Yes, but he also killed because he’d been paid to murder someone in cold blood.
The man he’d killed was guilty. A horrible murderer in his own right.
I’d been arguing back and forth with myself a thousand times. I wanted to be with him so badly I thought I could deal with the reality of his profession. But I wouldn’t know for sure. Every time he left me without telling me where he was headed, I’d have to accept the fact that someone was going to die. Someday that could be him. He’d never come home, and I’d have to assume the worst.
My gentle, loving Master was also a cold-blooded murderer.
Even more, he needed me to help keep his monster caged. I might wear the collar for him, but I was his leash, holding him back from committing senseless acts of violence.
Red. I have ultimate power over him. Only me.
Sheba ran toward a building at the base of the stairs that led up to the house. It looked like an open-walled shack. As I got closer, I saw a fire pit in the center with a cheery little blaze and dozens of cushions strewn across the floor. A chilled wine bucket sat on a low table that held with dozens of fruits, cheeses and bread. A fine spread. But no Master.
Barking joyfully, Sheba raced toward the ocean. I paused, watching her through my tears. With the sun in my eyes, he was only a dark shape, but she ran to him without hesitation. She sat at his feet, thumping her tail frantically.
“Hello, Sheba,” he said, lightly touching his chest.
She jumped up and braced her front paws on him. He obligingly leaned down and let her lick his face while he rubbed her head in both of those glorious hands. “Thank you for protecting my kitten.”
You could tell a lot about a man by watching him handle his dog. And by watching how much his dog loves him.
He made a down gesture with his hand and she immediately dropped to all fours, automatically following at his side as he came up the beach toward me.
Trembling, I waited inside the hut, watching him close the distance. I wasn’t sure what I should do. What did he want? What did I want? I’d dreamed about this moment. I’d dreamed about running across the sand like her and throwing myself headlong into his embrace without any questions.
But I had questions. A thousand questions. Not to mention about a million hopes and dreams tha
t were either going to crash and burn in an ugly meltdown or shoot to the heavens any moment now.
His hair looked shorter, though maybe that was just the humidity tightening his curls. He wore loose white cotton pants and a white shirt, unbuttoned so it hung open across his chest. A frolic of wind fluttered the open shirt enough to taunt me with the silver ring in his nipple. I’d thought he looked damned good in black, but white was maybe even better. It set off the darker tones of his skin and his black hair perfectly. Sheba brushed past me into the hut and I heard her drinking noisily. My Master had thought of everything, even water for his dog.
“Still avoiding my eyes,” he whispered in the same voice he’d used to woo me from the beginning.
I didn’t know what I’d see, but more, I didn’t want him to see the conflicting emotions tearing me up. In a way, I was protecting him. Until I was sure how I felt. Ridiculous, really. I’d left my family and life behind on a whim, gotten on a plane, stepped off again as a new person, and then traveled by boat and plane and Jeep through the jungles of Belize to reach him.
Heart pounding like a ponderous, heavy drum, I dragged my gaze up to his.
He looked at me. Through me. Inside me. To the deepest, secret part of myself that only he had ever touched. He found the heavy iron door where I’d locked away the tumult of emotions—my rage, regret, loss, hope and all my agonizing need when he’d left me—and freed it. He reveled in it, soaking in all that hurt and ugliness. He found the scar he’d planted on my heart when he left, and made it bleed anew.
For him. Only for him.
But more, he let me look inside him too. He bared everything in his dark eyes. His guilt that he’d risked my life. His shame that he came to me with blood on his hands. His regret. Because he couldn’t be the kind and gentle master all the time. No matter how hard he tried, the monster would demand its freedom. I’d be the one to bear that pain, to feed his need for suffering. He’d give me pleasure, yes, and satisfy my need to be hurt, but he still regretted exposing the one he loved to such horrors.
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