Torn

by Cynthia Eden

  I miss you.

  The text made her pause. And . . . warmth bloomed in her chest. She’d barely seen Wade in the last few mad hours. He’d been working with the cops, making certain that evidence didn’t get contaminated. And she’d been on the phone, trying to call in as many favors as possible. If more bodies were buried out there, they’d need corpse-­sniffing dogs on the scene as well as ground-­penetrating radar. They couldn’t just start digging. They needed the tools to do the search right. She’d tried to get them those tools.

  I miss you.

  Her fingers slid over the screen. She typed back . . .

  I know you worry. I will stay safe. Promise.

  Then she kept walking up the trail. Half a dozen people were gathered there, watching. Whispering. Gossip had spread fast, and Victoria knew that it was only a matter of time before news crews showed up. This story was going to be everywhere. It was too horrific not to make headlines.

  Her phone vibrated again.

  Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.

  The warmth she’d felt faded. Wade seemed so certain that she was in danger. But cops were all around. She was perfectly safe.

  WADE LEANED AGAINST his rented SUV as he stared at the little cottage. Such a small place, to hide such hell. He’d watched as crime scene techs swarmed the house. If the perp had once held Kennedy Lane in that cottage, the techs would find proof. He’d made damn sure those guys were as thorough as possible.

  Day had come. Fucking finally knocking out the night.

  Melissa was dead. Not a big surprise, considering what Victoria had told him, but they’d received official word less than forty-­five minutes after the chopper lifted off from the island.

  “This is a such a freaking shame,” Dace said as he stalked toward Wade.

  Yes, it was.

  “We’ve got a hit, though, on the burial site.” Dace’s lips thinned. “Two cops found a spot, about one mile back from the house, buried deep in the woods. The cadaver dogs that Victoria got for us . . . they led the team there. There’s a big hole . . . a hole that I’m betting once contained Kennedy’s body.”

  Wade’s eyes were still on the cottage. “So he kept her here, too.”

  “For three years? I don’t buy that shit. Someone would have known. Someone would have seen something.”

  Wade shook his head. “Not if he didn’t let her out. If he kept her locked inside, if she never escaped from him, then how would anyone know? He soundproofed the place—­you and I both saw that.” Smart SOB. “So the women could scream as long as they wanted, and no help would be coming to them.”

  “Why the hell would someone do this? What does he get from it?”

  “Power.” Wade knew that with certainty. “This freak likes being in control. He likes knowing that his victims are helpless.”

  At his mercy.

  Only Wade didn’t think the guy had much mercy in him.

  Dace grunted. “I’ve got men tracking down the owner of this place—­once we get him, we’ll have—­”

  “What? The killer?” Wade wasn’t so sure of that.

  “If he’s not the killer, then the owner can damn well give us some clues. If some sick prick has been using this place as his personal torture grounds for years, you can bet the owner should have known.”

  Maybe. Maybe not. Wade glanced around, trying to find Victoria. He knew she would be working with the ground-­penetrating radar equipment soon, and if the dogs had indeed found the site of Kennedy’s burial . . . yeah, she’d be staying there for a while.

  He intended to stay with her.

  He hadn’t been bullshitting her before. Victoria didn’t get just how important she was to him. And the fact that the freak doing the killing had contacted her directly—­

  “Do you think he’s going to take someone else?” Dace asked.

  Wade had just caught sight of Victoria’s red hair, glinting in the sunlight. She stared at him a moment, her expression tense. Her phone was cradled in her hand.

  “Yeah,” he said, voice gruff, unable to tear his gaze from her. “I think he is. Freaks like him—­they don’t stop. They don’t just wake up one morning and say, ‘Fuck me, I’m done with killing.’ It’s a compulsion. They can’t stop. They won’t.” Wade paused. “He won’t. And the bastard probably already has his next victim in mind . . .”

  Victoria pushed her phone into her pocket and hurried toward him.

  “We have to stop him,” Wade said, voice soft, “before he has the chance to attack.”

  Then Victoria was in front of him. She looked too pale, and dark shadows slid under her beautiful eyes. They’d both been up all night long and he knew they should crash, but it wasn’t about to happen.

  At least, not anytime soon.

  He exhaled and said, “Dace thinks the dogs have found Kennedy’s burial site.”

  Her eyes widened.

  A van pulled up, its tires slowly rolling to a stop.

  Victoria glanced at it then back at him and Dace. “That’s the equipment we’ve been waiting for. If bodies are buried near the cottage, we’ll find them.”

  So the ground-­penetrating radar had arrived.

  Dace hurried off to go talk to the personnel who’d arrived with the van. Victoria started to follow him, but Wade blocked her path.

  She tensed. He didn’t like that. Hadn’t they gone further than that shit? But he’d let his control crack on the beach, and now maybe she was seeing him for the man that he truly was.

  Not so good.

  Far too much bad.

  “I’ll tell you my secrets,” Wade told her. “Every single fucking one when we’re alone. But I need you to promise me something—­”

  “My past—­”

  He shook his head. “Promise me that you won’t go off alone. That you stay with me or another cop. You stay protected until we figure out what the hell is happening here.” Because he didn’t want her to become the killer’s next victim.

  Not her.

  Never her.

  “Do I get the same promise from you?” Her head was cocked as she stared up at him.

  “I’ll be fucking glad to stay by your side.” He couldn’t think of any other place he’d rather be, but she didn’t get that. Not yet.

  She would.

  “Then . . . yes, I promise.” Her voice had softened.

  “Thank you.” He was finally able to take a deep breath. “Now let’s go see if the bastard left any other bodies here.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  WHAT IN THE hell are all you people doing on my property?” The loud, barking voice drew Victoria’s attention.

  She’d been searching with the ground radar team for most of the morning. Sweat dampened her clothes, and she’d yanked her hair back into a ponytail. So far they’d had no luck finding any other bodies.

  Was that a good thing?

  Or a bad one?

  Her gaze turned at the sharp voice and she saw an older man pushing against two uniformed police officers. A grizzled white beard covered his jaw and his clothes were far too loose, hanging on his lean frame. “You people—­get out of here!” he yelled. “You can’t be here!”

  “And I think we just found the owner,” Wade murmured from his spot beside Victoria.

  Like her, he was also covered with a light sheen of sweat. The sun had glared down on them as they kept working with the team, determined to search as thoroughly as possible.

  She saw Dace approach the older man at a fast clip. Wade inclined his head. She immediately ­understood—­he wanted to get over there and listen to whatever conversation was about to go down. She felt the same way.

  “You better have some kind of warrant!” the man yelled. “You can’t just—­”

  “Are you Jeremiah Jennings?” Dace fired at him. “Because if so, our o
fficers have been trying to reach you for the last four hours. Ever since the property clerk told us that you owned this land.”

  Jeremiah straightened and jutted out his chin. “Been in my family for thirty years . . . and you shouldn’t be here! What the hell are all those dogs doing here?”

  “They’re searching for bodies,” Dace said flatly.

  Jeremiah’s dark eyes widened. “What? Why the hell are they doing that?”

  Dace’s gaze held suspicion as he studied the older man. “Because a young woman was kidnapped recently. She was brought here, held in your house against her will, and then she was killed—­her throat sliced open—­right out on Driftwood Beach.”

  Jeremiah stumbled back. “No . . . no . . . that’s not—­”

  “It’s absolutely true,” Dace said, voice biting. “And know what else is true? We found evidence that suggests another woman was buried in the back part of your property. That’s why so many people are running around. We’re trying to find all the bodies you buried, Mr. Jennings.” He motioned to the nearby uniformed cops. “Get this guy in the back of a patrol car and get his ass taken into custody, now.” He flashed a hard tiger’s smile at Jeremiah. “So fucking glad you showed up here. Saved us the trouble of hunting you down like the sick bastard that you are.” Disgust flashed on his face.

  Two uniformed cops grabbed Jeremiah and held him tightly when he tried to break free. “No!” Jeremiah shouted. “You’re wrong! This isn’t—­that didn’t happen!”

  “He sure looks clueless,” Wade muttered to Victoria.

  She had to agree. Shock had slackened the man’s face. And if he was the killer—­just why would he have walked straight up to the crime scene? Too dumb a move to make.

  “It happened,” Dace snapped back at Jeremiah. “And I’m the one who has to talk to the friends of the victims—­I’m the one who has to tell them what the hell happened to those poor girls on your property.”

  Jeremiah shuddered. “I didn’t—­I didn’t know!”

  “Bullshit,” Dace said, giving a rough shake of his head. “Here you are, bright and early, just waltzing right up to the place—­”

  “Because I got a call from my tenant!”

  Wade stiffened.

  “He said . . . said folks were running all over the place. That I needed to get out here.” Jeremiah’s gaze flew to the left, the right, and he tried hard to yank away from the cops once more.

  He didn’t get free.

  “Your tenant?” Dace asked.

  “Yeah, yeah . . . guy who has been renting the place for the last five years.”

  Five years. Victoria and Wade shared a long look, then inched closer to Jeremiah.

  “Pays in cash. Always on time. First of the month, just like clockwork.”

  “A name,” Dace ordered him. “Give me a name, right the hell now so I can check out this story.”

  “M-­Matthew Walker.”

  The name rolled through Victoria.

  “He’s a professor at Worthington University!” Now the words were tumbling fast and frantically from Jeremiah’s mouth. “The guy just wanted a place to escape, you know? Get away from the grind. So he started renting my cottage here. Paying me double what it was worth. Never caused any trouble . . .”

  Because he’d been too busy torturing women.

  “Matthew Walker,” Wade whispered. “The guy who just happened to find Kennedy Lane’s body on the jogging trail.”

  “Take Jeremiah in for questioning,” Dace directed the cops.

  “Wait! I didn’t do anything!” Jeremiah yelled.

  Dace spun away from him and confronted Wade and Victoria. “That fucking professor,” he said, words low and lethal. “He stood right in front of me, acting like he felt sick after coming across her body. Kept saying he’d thought it was ‘trash.’ ”

  Matthew Walker. His image flashed in Victoria’s mind. She remembered seeing him as she stumbled away from Jupiter Trail. The jogger who’d found Kennedy’s remains. Tall, fit, with dark hair. He’d asked her if she was a cop . . .

  “I’m bringing that bastard in,” Dace said, nodding. “Right the hell now. He isn’t getting away from me!”

  But he could have already skipped town, she thought. He could be far, far away by now. Matthew could have killed Melissa, then left the island.

  Guilty men ran.

  “I want an APB on Matthew Walker!” Dace yelled, drawing the attention of the cops nearby. “We’ve got a suspect, and I want him brought in . . . now!”

  BY THE TIME Victoria walked into their B&B at Savannah that night, exhaustion pulled at her. She was covered with sweat and grime, and she’d spent the day looking for the dead.

  But there were no other bodies for her to discover on that little stretch of land. Maybe the killer had taken other women, but they weren’t buried near the cottage. They could have been hidden on one of the little islands near Jekyll. They could have been dumped and forgotten at hundreds of other wooded sites along the interstate.

  Only the killer knew for sure.

  “I’m going to get LOST to pull all the missing persons’ reports from NamUs,” Victoria said. The list from the National Missing and Unidentified Persons system would be their best bet. If anyone else in that system matched up with a victim profile similar to Kennedy or Melissa—­or other college-­age women who’d vanished in the Savannah area—­then they could be looking at more victims taken by the same perp.

  Wade shut the door behind them. Then he propped his back against the wood. “Do you think there are more?”

  “I hope not.”

  “I sure as hell do, too.” He grabbed at the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head.

  She blinked, a little surprised that—­

  Wade gave a rough rumble of laughter. “Are you blushing? After what we’ve shared, I didn’t think you’d blush with me any longer.”

  He stalked toward her.

  Victoria’s shoulders tensed.

  “Relax,” Wade murmured when he was just inches away. “I’m just going to shower.”

  Right. Shower.

  “Want to join me?”

  Actually . . . she wanted more than just a shower. She wanted him. They’d driven back in silence, but there had been a thick, heavy tension between them. Death could do that—­wring you out and twist you up. She was exhausted, yes, but she also felt as if she were literally about to jump out of her skin.

  She wanted to forget all the blood and death. She just wanted—­

  Victoria cleared her throat and said, “I’ll join you after I make my call.” Why deny what she wanted? What they both wanted? It seemed so pointless.

  Life was short, hard, and brutal. People should grab tight to their pleasures. Take what they wanted.

  Before life was ripped away.

  His fingers slid under the edge of her jaw. No blood was on his hands now. He’d cleaned up as best he could and been given borrowed clothes after Melissa had been taken away. His other clothes had been taken in as evidence.

  So much evidence on that island. Evidence of hell and torture. His touch sent goose bumps rising over her skin. Not because she was afraid of him.

  “One day,” he said, “you’ll tell me your secrets.”

  “Wade—­”

  “Until then, I’ll just take what you fucking give me.” His mouth closed over hers. He kissed her hard and deep and her fingers rose to curl around his arms as she held him tight.

  Desire beat in her blood. A need that he stirred so effortlessly. She should be collapsing, sleeping off the last terrible twenty-­four hours.

  But she wanted to be with him.

  He eased away. “Don’t make me wait long.”

  Then he headed for the bathroom.

  She could still taste him. Fumbling, Victoria put in the call to
LOST and got Gabe to promise he’d contact NamUs. Any matches would be sent to her immediately.

  The call to her boss lasted less than five minutes. She briefed him, assured him that she and Gabe were safe, then ended the call. Her fingers curled around the phone as her gaze slid toward the darkened hallway.

  She took a step forward.

  Her phone vibrated in her hand.

  Victoria glanced down.

  I want you . . . Come to me.

  Talk about being impatient. Smiling, she texted back. On my way. Stay in control until I get to you.

  She hurried to the hallway. Her phone vibrated again.

  I’ll lose my control, with you.

  Her heart raced faster. This time she didn’t stop to type out a response to him. She went into her bedroom and stripped as quickly as she could. Then, naked, she headed for the bathroom that they shared. As she approached, she heard the roar of water in the shower.

  Time to see just how long Wade’s control would last.

  She pushed open the bathroom door. The shower was big—­easily wide enough to accommodate two. The shower door was made of glass, so she could see Wade standing there, his broad back flexing beneath the pelting stream of water.

  Steam slowly rose around him.

  For a moment Victoria just stood there, staring at him. Admiring him. Big and strong and sexy. There was so much power in his body.

  Wade glanced over his shoulder. When he saw her through the steam, his face hardened with desire.

  Swallowing, she crept forward. Her feet slid over his discarded clothes. Her nipples were already tight, aching. Butterflies seemed to dance in her stomach as she opened the shower door.

  He reached out and his hand curled around hers. She could see his stomach now. His chest. Those strong muscles and rock-­hard abs.

  He pulled her closer and her head tipped back as she rose onto her toes. His lips were wet when she kissed him. The water slid over her, pouring over her body as she pressed ever closer to him.

  She didn’t want to think about the nightmare they’d been through. Didn’t want to think about the victim they hadn’t been able to save.