Taken

by Cynthia Eden

  She knew Asher suspected the other woman, too. Hadn’t he said as much right before Spawn had appeared, bleeding out, at her house?

  But . . .

  “There’s no need to dig up the dead.” Wyatt seemed so certain. “My team is going to focus on bringing in Carla Drake. I want her in custody long before the FBI arrives.”

  Asher glanced down at his watch. “I’d say you only have a few hours to get that job done.”

  Wyatt stormed away.

  Bailey blew out a rough breath. “Dammit! We do need Viki!” She focused on Asher. “Shouldn’t he want closure, too? If your teammate really is that good—”

  “She is,” he said simply.

  “Then maybe we can finally end that mystery. Figure out why that jerk went crazy and took us.” She rubbed her arms, chilled. “It never seemed random to me. That’s what Wyatt said, that the Death Angel had just grabbed victims that were convenient. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt personal. Like he targeted me. Like he wanted me to suffer.”

  “Bailey . . .”

  Her gaze shot up to his.

  “Let’s go home,” Asher said. His voice was so gentle, it nearly broke her heart. “Wyatt isn’t going to let us in on the investigation tonight. Sarah will be arriving tomorrow—and I’ll make a call, telling Viki to come this way, too.”

  She nodded.

  His knuckles brushed lightly over her cheek.

  “You are safe,” Asher said.

  Her heart pounded too fast.

  “You are not going to suffer, not ever again.” He tucked a lock of Bailey’s hair behind her ear. “I would not let that happen.”

  Neither would I. When she’d been in that cabin, Bailey had learned that life could come down to a pretty simple motto.

  Fight or die.

  She’d fought before. She’d do it again.

  They got on the motorcycle. She wrapped her arms tightly around Asher’s body. And the rumble of the engine was oddly reassuring as they shot away from that tomb-like garage. The wind whipped against her face. She hugged his body, taking his warmth and trying to banish the image of Paul’s body from her mind.

  All of that blood.

  And his throat . . .

  She thought of her scars. Of the way she’d been sewn back together in the hospital. How she’d stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and thought that she looked like Frankenstein’s monster.

  She hugged him tighter.

  Asheville was soon behind them and the darkness of the mountains stretched up ahead. The stars glittered overhead. The twisting, turning road was empty. The motorcycle hugged all those curves. Slid into them so easily.

  The bike vibrated beneath her. Fear wanted to push through her, but she remembered Asher’s words.

  You are not going to suffer, not ever again.

  Bright lights flashed behind them. Still in the distance, but they glinted off the mirror on the side of his handlebars.

  She looked back, instinctively.

  The lights disappeared. The driver must have eased into a curve, or one of the dips created by the mountains. The road didn’t just snake to the left and the right. It went up and down, a roller coaster ride.

  The lights appeared again.

  The other vehicle was coming closer.

  Faster?

  “Asher,” Bailey whispered, then stopped. It was just another car. Driving on the same road. That didn’t mean anything.

  But . . .

  She looked back once more.

  The lights were gone.

  She turned to the front. Her home wasn’t that far away. They’d be back there soon enough. Asher’s hands gripped the handlebars so easily, and he controlled the bike perfectly as they drove down those winding roads. The minutes slid past. The wind whipped against her.

  And—

  The lights flashed on again, glinting in the mirror. Only the lights weren’t far away this time. They were right behind her. Blinding. Too bright.

  The motorcycle weaved for just a second, but Asher instantly brought it under control.

  Bailey looked back—

  There was growling all around her. The snarls of an engine. The motorcycle. And the big, dark SUV behind her.

  The BMW?

  She couldn’t tell—the lights were too blinding. The other vehicle was just a mass back there and it was surging toward them.

  Bailey screamed and the motorcycle lurched forward at the same instant, barely missing a hard hit from the SUV.

  “Hold on,” Asher told her.

  Yes, yes, that was precisely what she intended to keep doing.

  He revved the motorcycle and they blasted forward fast. But the SUV behind them just kept coming. Coming and coming and coming . . .

  She was looking over her shoulder, fear nearly choking her. She could feel the heat from the SUV’s engine. It was going so damn fast.

  “Can’t outrun it,” Asher said.

  Why not?

  “But I’ll outmaneuver the son of a bitch.”

  Do it! Do it!

  Then he slid right over the double white lines. The SUV followed them, but when Asher zigged and zagged—there was no way the SUV could match his maneuverability.

  Another curve loomed up ahead, and just as they were about to reach it—

  Another car. This one coming toward them. Asher jerked the motorcycle back into the right lane as the other vehicle gave a long, loud honk. He’d had to slow to take that curve, it was too tight and dangerous, and—

  The SUV clipped the back of the motorcycle. The bike spun then, twisting and twisting, and it slid toward the side of the road.

  Only there was no side there. Just a drop. A scream tore from Bailey as she felt her body being thrown from the motorcycle. She tried to hold on to Asher, but it was no use.

  She was tossed into the air. For an instant, she could actually hear the wind whistling around her. Blowing through her ears, blowing—

  She hit the ground.

  Asher.

  And the SUV . . . it was still coming . . .

  Chapter Fourteen

  Asher’s hand gripped the old tree root. Fucking hell, but that had been close. He hadn’t managed to clear the motorcycle before it hurtled toward that drop—and he’d gone over the edge. At the last moment, he’d grabbed on to the twisting root—one that shot out from the side of the incline—and he’d saved himself from a plummet to a brutally rough death.

  His breath sawed from his lungs as he began to hoist himself up. Something was dripping into his left eye, and from the pain he felt in his forehead, he figured that wetness was blood. Scratches covered his body and his left wrist hurt like hell.

  But the pain didn’t matter.

  Getting back up to the top? Finding Bailey? She mattered. “Bailey!” He roared her name. “Bailey, I’m coming.” She hadn’t gone over. He knew that. He’d tried to grab her, but when they’d been hit, she’d flown away from him.

  She was wearing her helmet. She’s fine. She’s fine.

  Only . . . was she?

  Because he didn’t know where the SUV had gone.

  They’d passed another car—the one that had been honking and had forced him back into his lane—but that car . . . had it kept driving? Did the driver even realize that they’d been hit by the SUV?

  “Bailey!” He roared her name louder as the twisting root seemed to give way a bit beneath his grip. Oh, hell, no, he wasn’t falling. Bailey needed him, and he would not let her down. His feet dug in and he heaved himself up. He crawled over the edge and then pushed to his feet.

  The SUV was gone. Another car, compact, a convertible with the top down, had stopped about ten yards away.

  “Bailey!” Asher shouted again.

  “She’s here!”

  His head snapped to the right. A man was there, leaning over Bailey’s prone body. For an instant, Asher’s heart just stopped. She seemed so small. So fragile. So broken as she lay on the ground.

  The man backed a
way from her. “I was afraid to touch her! What if she broke her neck or her spine or—”

  Asher ran to Bailey and sank to his knees beside her. “Sweetheart?” She still had on her helmet. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing—he could see the light rise and fall of her chest. The convertible’s headlights illuminated the scene.

  “I called an ambulance,” the guy said quickly. “That SUV that hit you—shit, it just tore out of here! I mean, man, I don’t know what kind of game you two were playing, but that ain’t safe on these roads—”

  “No game,” Asher bit out. “He was chasing us all the way. Trying to hit us.” And he had.

  Or . . . she had. Just who had been driving that SUV?

  His fingers pressed to Bailey’s throat. Her pulse beat in a strong and steady rhythm. “Sweetheart . . .”

  “Buddy, are you all right?” The guy was obviously worried. “It looked like you went right over the side. I thought for sure you were gone.”

  Like he would leave Bailey.

  She gave a low, ragged groan, and her eyelids flickered open. “Ash . . . er?”

  He caught her hand in his. “Right here.”

  She started to sit up.

  “No, baby, wait—”

  But she was already up and groaning more. “What—oh my God. The SUV!” Then she was grabbing him. “Where is it? Where did it go?”

  “Probably got as far from here as it could,” their would-be rescuer said as he shuffled closer. “I mean, basically that shit was a hit-and-run. Guy must’ve been drunk.”

  Not drunk. Very carefully, Asher took off Bailey’s helmet. The woman had jumped to her feet but she was weaving a bit. “Where do you hurt?”

  “I don’t think he was drunk.” Bailey was staring at their rescuer. “I think he wanted to kill us.”

  Asher’s gaze slid to the right. His motorcycle was somewhere down at the bottom of that drop. His bike—and Bailey’s case files.

  Shit.

  “My head hurts and my back aches.” Bailey touched Asher’s shoulder. “But it’s bumps and bruises. I’m fine.”

  No, what they both were was lucky. “Did you see the other driver?” Asher asked the man who was shifting nervously beside them. “Get any kind of glimpse of that person at all?”

  “No, no, it was too dark and the guy never slowed down.” He whistled. “These damn mountain roads are treacherous enough without crap like that. I mean, how much closer to death can you come?”

  Asher stared down at Bailey.

  I don’t want to find out.

  It was close to two a.m. before Bailey and Asher finally made it to her house. They’d had to stay at the scene, talk to a furious Wyatt again, get examined by the EMTs . . .

  And then they’d had to get a ride home in Deputy Ben’s patrol car. They were getting way too intimately acquainted with that particular vehicle.

  “Uh, are you sure you two are all right?” Ben asked, glancing back at them once he’d parked the patrol car in her driveway. “Maybe you should go to the hospital tonight.”

  Bailey’s whole body ached, but a hospital visit was the last thing she wanted. Her bed? To crash? Yes, please. “The EMTs said we were fine.” She would not think about the drop that had taken Asher’s bike.

  And had nearly taken him.

  “Okay, if you’re sure.” He hurried out of the car and made his way to the back. He opened the door for her. When Bailey slid out, he leaned in close and said, “I’m sorry all of this is happening to you.”

  For some reason, his words made tears gather in her eyes.

  “Doesn’t seem fair,” Ben continued gruffly. “You survived. That should mean you’re free and clear now, but someone is messing with you.”

  Yes, yes . . . someone was. “Thank you, Ben.” She’d met him a few weeks after she’d been released from the hospital. Ben was the deputy that Wyatt had often sent around to run a patrol through her neighborhood. He’d been new to the area, but friendly. Always kind.

  Asher followed her out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, Deputy,” he said, offering his hand to Ben.

  Ben gave him a hard shake. “Wyatt wants me to patrol until dawn, and I will. If I see anything suspicious, you will know about it right away.”

  They headed toward the house. When Bailey reached her porch steps, she glanced back. Ben was watching them, his head cocked to the side. She gave him a little wave and he inclined his head toward her.

  Bailey unlocked her door. All three locks. She and Asher headed inside.

  She paused a moment, realizing that something seemed . . . off.

  Ben’s vehicle cranked up outside. She heard the heavy vibration of his engine . . .

  Something is off . . . something that I don’t hear.

  She didn’t hear the steady beep of her alarm. Whenever she entered the house, the alarm should have started beeping until she went to reset it.

  But the alarm was off. When she looked over, she didn’t see the ready red light. Instead, she saw the green one . . . indicating that the alarm was—

  Asher grabbed Bailey and pushed her behind him.

  “Don’t!” A woman’s sharp voice cried out. “Please, don’t freak out!”

  Too late. I am so freaked.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” Asher demanded. His hands were fisted at his sides as he watched the woman who crept from Bailey’s hallway.

  The woman who was Carla Drake.

  Carla shifted from her left foot to her right. “I . . . I know a little bit about electronics. Had a boyfriend once who used to install security systems. He told me how to get around them.” She looked down at the floor. Her hands were behind her back. “Actually . . .” Now her voice turned bitter. “He taught me how to break into houses, too. Only one day he got caught and sent to prison, and I walked away.” Sorrow flashed across her face. “Tim wasn’t made for prison. He died just a month into serving his time.”

  Asher took a step toward her. “Sheriff Wyatt is looking for you now.”

  Bailey saw the other woman’s head whip up. “It’s out of control.”

  Breaking into my house definitely qualifies as out of control.

  Carla focused her gaze on Bailey. “I just need you to listen to me, okay? Listen to my side of things.”

  “You tried to kill us at your shop,” Bailey said. Was Ben gone? If she ran outside, could she flag him down?

  “I just wanted you to leave me alone. When Wyatt called me in . . . I knew my secret was about to come out. I—I’d planned to disappear. The fire seemed like the way to go. After all, it worked last time . . .” She took a tentative step forward.

  “Stop right the fuck there!” Asher barked.

  Carla flinched.

  “Show me your hands. Now.”

  Why was the woman hiding her hands behind her back? Don’t have a knife, don’t—

  Carla brought her left hand around to the front and—she was holding a camera?

  The little bitch . . . took my camera.

  “I’m sorry about the fire. I—I thought you were both out. That it was safe. I never meant for you to be hurt.” Tears trickled down Carla’s face. “I just wanted to be left alone! I don’t want to be in the news. I see what they do to people—I don’t want that! Don’t want to be followed every moment. Or—or stalked, like she was.” She lifted the camera toward Bailey. “Did you know he was watching you? All those times?”

  Bailey’s stomach knotted. “What are you talking about?”

  Carla took another step toward her.

  Asher immediately tensed.

  “I’m not going to hurt her—not either of you!” Carla nearly yelled. “That’s not why I’m here.” She gave a wild, bitter laugh. “She saved me. You get that, right? Maybe she doesn’t remember everything, but I do.” She gripped the camera tightly. Tears tracked down her cheeks. “I was screaming for help. He was above me, wearing that stupid black mask. I couldn’t get free and he was saying that no one would ever come for me. Tha
t I would die there, with him.”

  Bailey edged closer to the other woman.

  Carla stared into her eyes. “You came flying into the room. You just—you just attacked him. You didn’t know me. You knew nothing about me. You heard me screaming and you came.” She shook her head, as if still trying to understand that. “He grabbed you. I saw him throw you to the floor. Your head hit so hard. I heard the thunk. I wondered if you’d died right then, but then I saw you still trying to fight him. His hands went to your throat.”

  Bailey felt Asher’s stare on her.

  “I could have done something then,” Carla continued, her voice dropping. “Grabbed for his knife. Jumped on him from behind. I—I didn’t. Instead, I ran. I ran right out of that cabin, and I left you there. I didn’t look back. I—I saw the light in the distance. I recognized the damn area . . . I’d been there enough when I was younger. I saw the light and I ran and I ran until I got to my grandfather’s cabin.” Her lips pressed together. “I thought he’d help me, but he was dead. Dead in that cabin. I don’t even know how long he’d been that way! That stupid freak the Death Angel had grabbed me on my way to visit him—I was so fucking close!—and I hadn’t realized until then that my grandfather was gone.” A sob shook her frame. “He was dead, and I was alone out there. With nothing.”

  The woman’s pain was palpable. “Carla . . .” Bailey went toward her.

  Asher grabbed her arm. “Bailey . . .” A warning was in his eyes and in his voice. “Don’t trust her.”

  Couldn’t Asher see that she was in pain?

  “I left you,” Carla said again, the words ragged. “I’d been gone so long when I thought about you again. When I realized . . . she died in my place.”

  A shiver slid over Bailey.

  Asher’s hold tightened on her.

  “I wasn’t going to let anyone else die,” Carla said, determination making her shoulders snap up. “I got the supplies from my grandfather’s place. Once upon a time, he had a job with the fire department in Asheville. Was even an arson investigator for a while.” She shook her head, as if banishing a memory. “I knew what to do. He’d told me. All about accelerants. Fire triangles. Shit . . . growing up, the guy was obsessed with fire. So there was nothing I didn’t know.” She huffed out a breath. “I went back to the Death Angel’s cabin and I . . .” Her eyes closed. “I’m so sorry, Bailey. So sorry.”