by Cassie Miles
It wasn’t necessary to follow the rituals with her. He had already deemed her unworthy. The greatest value in her death would be to send a message, to show Cara that he would kill again and again. Until she came back to him, he would appease his rage with others. He would litter the earth with the burned remains of these sad, useless women.
He twisted the lock and entered her room, the ceremonial room. Moving fast, he went to the mattress where she lay. Her wrists and ankles were bound. She’d tossed aside the unzipped sleeping bag he’d used to cover her.
“Shut the hell up.” He pointed to the drugged water bottle on the floor beside her mattress. “Drink your water.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she begged. “I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”
His fingers tangled in her long black hair. He yanked her head back. “I don’t need your permission. You’ll do anything I want because I own you.”
Her fear and her struggling excited him, but it was too soon to take action. He would wait. Four days.
He left her and locked the door. Prowling, he circled the outer room in this deserted adobe house he’d used before. There was no furniture. Only his Navajo rug on the floor. And his drum.
He tucked the drum under his arm and tapped lightly. The sound resonated against the four blank walls of his lair as he played a ceremonial rhythm. Louder and louder. A low, guttural chant harmonized with the pulsing primitive beat.
Head thrown back, he wailed. There was no one here to tell him to be quiet. No one to frown and tell him that good boys didn’t make noise. No one to punish him.
He was the punisher. He made the judgments.
His ears pricked up, listening for the sound of his mother’s voice. Her criticism. Mother, I’m sorry.
He stopped playing.
The stillness was broken by weeping. Why couldn’t he end it with this girl now? Why do I have to wait?
“Because that’s the way it’s done. Four days.”
More than ever before, he needed to follow the rules. I’ll try to do this the right way.
No wait. “I have a better idea.”
He would use this girl. And others. They would send a message to Cara.
He was so close. He could feel Cara’s thoughts all around him. She was his salvation.
Chapter Five
That evening, Cara stood at the window in her bedroom at the safe house. She’d just finished her formal interview and handwritten account of her abduction and captivity. It hadn’t gone well. Practically every word she’d uttered had been followed by a disclaimer. “I think that’s what happened. But I’m not sure.”
Agent Flynn O’Conner—who had conducted the interview—kept reassuring her that she was doing fine. But Cara knew she wasn’t. Her memories were jumbled and rife with inaccuracies.
Had Russell touched her inappropriately? Yes, but she couldn’t remember how many times or in what context. He’d seemed fascinated with her hair. Several times, he’d brushed her hair.
Had he beaten her? She remembered a slap. And horrible threats. He had used the knife, glided the flat of the blade along her cheekbone.
Over and over, he’d told her she was being judged and must prove herself worthy. But his actions and questions made no sense.
At the window, she pulled down the shade, shutting out the dusk. Downstairs, dinner was being served, but she’d told Flynn not to set a plate for her. She wasn’t hungry. Plus, she didn’t feel like meeting more strangers. Cara didn’t want to explain herself, to define herself as the latest victim of a serial killer. Not that she had to. One of the rules of the safe house was not to discuss the reason you were there.
But Flynn knew. So did the other agents. And Dash.
She was mad at him. He should have been the one to interview her. Instead, he’d left the room, abandoned her—a clear reminder that she was only a witness in his eyes. Not a friend. Certainly not anything more. Any attraction she felt for him was imaginary; Dash wasn’t the man who would step up and fill the empty spaces in her life.
Might as well face the obvious. She was alone. Except for Yazzie. He posed like a hefty orange-striped sphinx in the middle of the blue plaid comforter.
She stretched out on the bed beside him. “You and me, Yaz. You’re my family.”
He twitched his whiskers as if to remind her that he was, in fact, a cat. Not even the same species, he was a poor substitute for having a family of her own—a husband and kids, people who belonged together.
Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the white ceiling with the old-fashioned, tulip-shaped light fixture. Her gaze slid down the clean white walls and scanned the blue plaid curtains that matched the bedspread. She couldn’t really complain about the accommodations; this was a pleasant room with knotty-pine furniture. A small round table and two chairs stood by the window. And yet, though the square footage was probably the same as her own bedroom, this space felt small. Enclosed.
She stared at the corner where the ceiling met the wall. The three sharp right angles seemed to tighten and compress, closing in on her. Like a prison cell. Never before had Cara been claustrophobic. What was going on inside her mind? She shook her head. What was wrong with her?
The abduction had made her anxious and tense. No matter how much she denied her fears, they were there. Real. Unforgettable. Nightmare predators that could tear away her flesh and suck the marrow from her bones.
When a tap came on her bedroom door, she was glad for the interruption in her decidedly morbid thoughts. She sat on the edge of the bed. “Come in.”
Dash entered with a tray in his hands. He kicked the door closed behind himself and carried the tray to the table. “You need to eat.”
Her mood was dark, and she was still annoyed by the way he’d slipped out during her formal interview. “How do you know what I need?”
“Trust me.” At the table, he unloaded two plates and two mugs. “The coffee is excellent.”
She climbed off the bed and approached the table where Dash had set a plate of fresh green salad and lasagna, redolent with garlic and oregano.
“You’re moving better,” he said.
“My feet don’t hurt as much.”
“Tomorrow, you’ll be seeing a doctor.”
“No pills,” she said quickly. “Once these hallucinogens work through my system, I’ll be fine.”
“Not that kind of doctor. A shrink.”
“Why?” She whipped around to face him. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Not unless you try to pretend that nothing happened. You’ve been through one hell of a trauma, Cara. It’s only natural that you’d be feeling anxiety.”
“I can handle it.” She didn’t want to be traumatized, didn’t want to let this experience tear her apart.
He glanced toward Yazzie, who hadn’t moved from the bed. “I didn’t forget you, cat.” Dash placed a small dish on the floor. “Albacore tuna.”
Instantly, Yazzie pounced. After one sniff, he started snarfing up his dinner.
Cara knew she should do likewise. Her body needed food, but she had little appetite. She sat at the table, picked up her fork, then set it down again. “Why didn’t you do the interview with me?”
“Because I was a part of what happened. Flynn was able to approach you with a fresh perspective.”
“I didn’t do very well in answering his questions. Couldn’t remember with any degree of certainty.”
“It wasn’t a test.”
“That’s good because I would have gotten a D-minus.”
“Not an F?”
“I never give a failing grade to someone who’s really trying. And I was. Really.” She exhaled a sigh. “It’s frustrating to not be able to remember.”
“That doesn’t often happen to you. You’re high functioning. Probably an A student since kindergarten.”
Automatically, she became defensive. Being one of the smart kids had never been easy. “Is my intelligence a problem for you?”
“
Hell, no. I like smart women. And your IQ is in the genius range.”
“How do you know that?”
“FBI.”
“Oh, right. You know everything.”
“I like to think so.”
He smiled broadly, showing a perfect row of straight white teeth. She liked the way his deep-set blue eyes crinkled at the corners. A hint of stubble marked the line of his jaw, but he still looked well-groomed. Even on a day like this—a day that had started at dawn when he’d rescued her outside the burning house—Dash was unruffled. Cool. Calm. His white oxford-cloth shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow wasn’t even wrinkled. She wondered what it would take for him to get messy. What would he do if she grabbed the front of his neat white shirt and tore it open, sending buttons spewing in all directions?
The inappropriateness of that idea startled her. He was a Fed. She was his witness. That was all they had in common. Even though she was aching to be held, she wouldn’t make the mistake of falling for him. She needed to be careful. Or was she being too careful? Was that the reason she was living alone with Yazzie?
She glanced over at the cat who instead of eating kept darting glances around the room to make sure no one would dare touch his dish of tuna.
Then she looked back at Dash. Though he sat at the table, he wasn’t eating, either. His gaze held steady, and she knew that bringing dinner wasn’t the only reason he’d come to her room. “Why are you here?”
“I thought maybe you’d want to talk about it. Russell. The captivity. Your escape. The whole damn thing.”
“I already did.” Tension wrapped more tightly around her, squeezing the air from her lungs. “I told Flynn everything.”
“Those were the facts. Not the emotions. You must have been scared. And angry.”
“Confused.” She pushed away from the table and stood. “My brain kept going off on tangents. And it’s still happening. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight.”
“Maybe if you tell me—”
“And fall apart right here and now? No, thanks.” Her fingers wrapped around the back of the chair, and she hung on tightly, needing an anchor. “I’m fine.”
“I read your narrative,” he said. “Russell held the knife to your face. Near your eyes.”
“Frightening. Of course, it was frightening.” She fought the trembling in her voice.
“You need to let go.”
He had it all wrong. She needed control—the most intense control she’d ever exerted in her life. Otherwise, she would say things that she’d regret. She’d feel too deeply. The pain would devour her. “Leave me alone, Dash.”
“Russell told you that you were being judged. What would happen if you weren’t worthy?”
“You know the answer to that question.”
“Say it.”
“He’d kill me.” A sob wrenched from her throat. “I didn’t want to die.”
The predator demons she’d held at bay swarmed closer. She saw their fangs, dripping with blood. Heard their cries, rising louder and louder over a drumbeat.
She shrank back on the bed with her wrists held together as if she were still bound. Her hands covered her mouth, holding back a scream. “I don’t want to die alone.”
“You’re not alone.” Dash sat on the edge of the bed. His hand rested on her shoulder. “I’m here.”
His touch released a torrent of words. “If I died, no one would miss me. Not my father who I haven’t seen in years. I don’t even know where he lives.” Tears oozed from her eyes and drenched her cheeks. “And my mother.” She gasped, unable to catch her breath. “If I died, my mother would be sad. So would my half sisters and my stepfather. Oh, sure they’d think of me. Once a year, they might put a rose on my grave. But their lives would go on. I don’t have a family of my own.”
He gathered her up in his arms, holding her gently against his chest while she cried. Whether from fear or anger or sadness, she didn’t know. Being close to death had reminded her of all the things she’d been missing. All the dreams left unfulfilled.
“Is that what you want, Cara? A family?”
“More than anything.”
She wanted the whole package—the perfect family. A house with a rec room, a TV, entertainment center, maybe a Ping-Pong table. She wanted to make dinner and afterward help the kids with their homework. She wanted a loving husband. Someone to share with. Someone who put her at the center of his world.
Somehow, she’d always thought that after her career was on track, she’d find that family. That one special man. “I want to belong with someone. Before death takes me.”
“You’re not gong to die,” Dash said. “You’re safe now.”
“Am I? You said it yourself. Russell is obsessed. He won’t stop until he finds me.”
“No one can hurt you here,” he said firmly. “There’s electronic surveillance all around this house. Three armed federal agents. Four, including me.”
She was safe in his arms. Gradually, her sobs lessened to small hiccups. She should have been embarrassed by her lack of self-control. Instead, she was tired. Everything she’d been holding inside had poured out. She nuzzled against his damp white shirt, content to rest there until morning.
OVER BREAKFAST, DASH KEPT an eye on Cara. Last night, he’d stayed in her room until she’d fallen asleep. Even then, he hadn’t left her. He’d pulled together a bunch of blankets, made himself a bed on the floor and spent the night listening to her breath ing. Twice, she’d awakened. Each time he’d held her, chasing her nightmares away with his presence. It was the first time he’d spent the night in a woman’s bedroom without making love.
But that wasn’t what Cara needed.
His efforts had paid off. She was a different person this morning. Her appetite was back. She’d asked for seconds while chatting easily with the other agents and the other protected witnesses. She was charming. When she laughed, she was so damned beautiful that she made his heart ache. He was sorry for all she’d been through and glad that she was feeling better.
After the plates had been cleared, he took one last mug of coffee and escorted her into the den on the first floor where she’d done her interview with Flynn the previous night.
He closed the door. They were alone.
Cara wasted no time in coming to the point. “About last night,” she said. “I don’t usually—”
“You don’t need to say anything.”
“You were right, Dash. I needed to let go.”
Being right wasn’t the reason he’d gone to her bedroom. “The drugs should have worked through your system now. No more hallucinations.”
She stepped toward him, fitting herself into his arms for a hug. Last night, he’d held her, but it wasn’t like this. Her lithe body pressed against him, arousing thoughts he shouldn’t be having about a witness.
Her head tilted back to look up at him. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?”
“Plenty. I’m used to keeping watch on stakeouts.”
Her full lips parted. Her back arched, and she rose up on her toes, bringing her face closer to his. Her skin was smooth, unblemished. Her dusky complexion reminded him of a cool night. Only a few inches away from his mouth, her eyelids closed. Her black lashes formed delicate crescents above her high cheekbones.
He shouldn’t kiss her. It wasn’t professional. But Dash had never in his life wanted anything more.
His head dipped and his lips touched hers. Lightly. Cautiously.
A wave of sensation rocked through him. Her mouth pressed harder, and he responded. Dash was no longer an FBI agent comforting a witness. He was a man who wanted and needed contact with this incredible woman. Her body fit perfectly against him. Her mouth was warm, sensual and welcoming. And he felt something more. Something that stirred his blood. This kiss marked the beginning of the rest of his life.
He wanted to be with her forever, to be the man she belonged with. But that wasn�
��t why he’d brought her to this room. He still had an investigation to pursue.
Reluctantly, he separated from her. “You look good this morning.”
“Only good?”
“Damn good.” His gaze slid up and down her body, taking in her azure blouse and silver jewelry. Earrings. And cuff bracelets. “But that’s not what’s on my mind right now.”
She cocked her head, and her long black hair fell gracefully past her shoulders. “What’s up?”
The FBI had been informed that Russell’s father, William Graff, was in nearby Durango. By all accounts, he was a genuine pain in the butt—a wealthy man with a battalion of lawyers whose intention was to create barriers to the investigation of his son. He refused to help in the manhunt, refused to talk to law enforcement until he met with the woman who accused his son.
Flynn and Dash had discussed the possibility. William Graff might have information useful to their search. After he talked to Cara and saw that she was a reasonable person, he might open up. But Dash hated to put her in that position. She was at the safe house. In protective custody.
He didn’t want to subject her to further trauma. And yet, she was key to finding Russell.
“Dash, what is it?”
“I had some questions about the people Russell was working with at that archaeological dig.” He pointed her toward the sofa, where they sat side by side. The taste of her kiss still lingered, and he was having trouble being coherent.
“Have you spoken to anyone at the site?” she asked.
“On the phone.”
He’d contacted the professor in charge, Dr. George Petty. Questions about Russell had resulted in very little useful information. The professor had described Russell Graff as a good kid, a diligent worker, very meticulous. “Another agent went to the site and did interviews. Supposedly, Russell has a girlfriend. Joanne Jones.”
“I know her.” Cara’s voice was bright and confident. “I had her in class. A redhead. Kind of a marginal student. I was surprised when George selected her for the dig.”
“Tell me about George. Is he the kind of guy who pals around with his students?”