Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  Sanders didn’t reply.

  “The odds are she’s not, but if she is, the baby is mine.”

  Silence.

  “Pregnant or not, she matters to me.”

  He hadn’t admitted to himself just how much he cared about Nic until he realized the Hunter had kidnapped her.

  Sanders did not know if Griffin loved Nicole Baxter. It was possible that not even Griffin knew. Just as he himself had done, Griffin had closed himself off from any deep emotions, from loving and being loved. And with good reason.

  In the past year, since meeting Barbara Jean, he had begun falling in love. Gradually. Carefully. When the time was right, if the time was right, he would tell her of his feelings.

  But loving Barbara Jean did not diminish his love for Elora. She had been the love of his life and her memory would live in his heart as long as he drew breath. Even after such a long time, he could still recall the sound of her laughter, the scent of her perfume, the feel of her flesh beneath his fingertips.

  History could not repeat itself. What had happened to him could not happen to Griffin. They could not allow a madman to destroy Griffin’s woman and child as York had destroyed Elora and the baby growing inside her.

  Pudge placed his dirty dishes in the dishwasher, a mundane chore that was beneath him. But when one couldn’t trust live-in servants, one had to make do.

  He was sorely tempted to go into the basement and check on Nicole, to see if she was awake and had realized what had happened to her, to taunt her with hints of what awaited her tomorrow and the next day and the next.

  No, mustn’t change the rules just for her.

  He wanted her to beg, as he’d wanted the others to. He wanted her to suffer, as they had suffered.

  But Nicole is special.

  Yes, she was, but rules were rules and if he made very many exceptions for her, it wouldn’t be fair to the others. They had all played by the rules, as would the ones who’d come after her.

  Pudge removed his heavy sweater from the coatrack in the hall, put the sweater on, and walked out onto the veranda. Early November in Louisiana was usually warm in the daytime and chilly at night. But no matter what the weather, he enjoyed sitting in his wicker rocker and looking out over his land. Only a thousand acres now, but in its heyday, Belle Fleur had been three times that large.

  If he had lived during those pre–Civil War days, he would have enjoyed being a slave master, would have taken great pleasure in torturing both male and female slaves. And he would have been within his rights to do whatever he wanted. He could have killed openly and no laws would have been violated.

  But he didn’t let a little thing like murder being illegal stop him from playing his games. After all, he was above the laws that governed other men. His superior intellect and breeding gave him rights that the common person didn’t have.

  Pudge snuggled into the rocker, closed his eyes, and thought about tomorrow. Nicole would not be meek and compliant. She would struggle and curse and fight.

  The very thought of her warrior spirit excited him.

  The more powerful the adversary, the sweeter the victory.

  Yvette met Griffin in the foyer. Apparently, she’d heard the limousine when Sanders had stopped in front of the house and let Griffin out before he parked in the garage.

  “I thought you’d gone home,” Griffin said.

  “I had, but Sanders called me this morning and I took the first flight out.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Where else would I be when you need me?”

  She reached over and took his hand in hers.

  “Go ahead,” he told her. “But whatever you pick up from me won’t be pleasant.”

  She held his hand gently but with her own unique strength. Griff felt a momentary sense of calm. It came and went suddenly. He knew that Yvette was trying to help him, doing what she could to infuse him with hope.

  She released his hand. “I had no idea that you cared so deeply for Nicole Baxter.”

  Griff stared at Yvette, not quite knowing how to respond. “We never really knew each other before, when we were battling all the time.”

  “And now you do?”

  “We were beginning to get acquainted. We even joked around about how there were still things we didn’t like about each other.”

  “You cannot blame yourself for what happened,” Yvette said. “Neither of you could have known what this man had planned.”

  “Why didn’t I wake up before she left the house? I could have gone with her for her morning walk. If I had …” Griff ran his hand across his mouth and then cleared his throat.

  “You need rest.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Then let us go to your study. We will sit together and if you want to talk, we will talk. If not, we will be quiet.”

  He agreed and they walked down the hall to his private den. He removed his jacket, tossed it on one of the chairs flanking the fireplace, and sat down on the green leather sofa. She sat on the opposite end of the sofa.

  “I thoughtlessly blurted out something to Sanders,” Griff confessed. “He told me that he understood how concerned I was about Nic and how badly I wanted to catch this guy. I told him he didn’t understand, that Nic might be pregnant—with my baby. God, how thoughtless was that?”

  “He is your friend. He is suffering with you and for you. I am certain that he is thinking what I am and probably what you are—that we cannot bear the thought of another madman destroying another innocent woman and her unborn child.”

  “I swear to God, I can’t believe this is happening.” Griff spread his thighs and leaned over. He propped his arms just above his knees as he clenched and unclenched his hands while he stared sightlessly at the floor. “An insane hunter. Unwilling prey. A sick, twisted game that leads to murder.”

  “Do not allow yourself to return to that other time or that place.”

  When Griff didn’t respond, she said, “Listen to me. Concentrate on the sound of my voice and the words I speak. You must not allow the past to consume you. You must stay focused on the present, on what you can do that might help Nicole.”

  Griff looked directly at Yvette. “And if nothing can help her?”

  “You will think no negative thoughts. For now, there is hope.”

  “Three weeks. That’s all the time she has.”

  “Miracles have happened in less time.”

  “That’s exactly what it’s going to take to save Nic—a miracle.”

  Nic drifted off to sleep from time to time, then woke abruptly, disoriented and confused. Within seconds, reality slapped her in the face.

  The Hunter had kidnapped her.

  She hadn’t seen him. But she knew he was close.

  Why hadn’t he come for her? What was he waiting for?

  Daybreak?

  Whatever lay in store for her, whatever happened, she had no intention of giving in or giving up.

  She knew that Griff would try to find her, knew that the bureau and every law enforcement agency out there would be doing their damnedest to locate her. But in the end, there was only one person who could help her.

  Nicole Baxter, you’re going to have to save yourself.

  Chapter 17

  Nic was wide-awake when he came to get her. He looked nothing like she had expected. No horns and forked tail. No murderous glint in his eye. The man who approached her appeared quite normal, not an evil monster. A little under six feet tall, stocky build, dressed in camouflage pants and matching shirt. An ordinary-looking man with a round, almost pleasant face.

  “Good morning, Nicole,” that familiar soft voice said.

  She stared at him, inspecting him from head to toe. Short brown hair. Light olive complexion. And hazel eyes. She wanted to remember everything about him.

  “I’m going to unchain you from the wall and help you up the stairs and into the kitchen,” he said. “I have your breakfast ready.”

  “I need to freshen up before brea
kfast,” she told him, doing her level best to stay calm and in control.

  “Being allowed to use the toilet and the shower in the house are privileges you haven’t earned. If you need to relieve yourself, you can do it outside.”

  Nic had already peed in her pants once and was about to bust right now. “Then let me go outside.”

  “Very well.” He removed a key from his pocket, undid the lock that bound her chains to the wall behind her. When she took a tentative step forward, he grabbed her arm.

  She jerked away from his touch.

  He grabbed her again and glared right at her. “You mustn’t do that. If you resist, I will assume you are being disobedient and I’ll have to punish you.”

  Her captor appeared to be just an ordinary man, even meek and mild, but she suspected that he was an egotistical control freak. She needed to remember that he had to believe he was in charge at all times. Nic intended to do whatever was necessary to stay alive and find a way to escape.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He smiled. “You’re playing the cooperative prisoner, aren’t you, Nicole? Good. In the beginning, it will be easier for both of us. But eventually, you will rebel and when you do, the fun will begin.”

  He guided her through the basement, up a set of creaky wooden stairs, and into a semidark hallway. From there, he led her into a huge old kitchen that probably hadn’t been updated in forty years, except for the refrigerator and stove. The long, narrow windows faced the east, the sunrise still hidden behind the far horizon.

  It wasn’t quite daybreak yet, which meant, depending on where they were, that it was probably between four thirty and five thirty. When he opened the back door and took her out onto the porch, he tightened his hold on her arm, then helped her down the steps and into the yard.

  “You can go over there and do what you need to do,” he told her. “But don’t think about trying to run off. You won’t get far.” He glanced down at her shackled ankles.

  Nic had a hell of a time getting her sweats and panties down, but she finally managed. Her skin felt dirty and clammy and she smelled like sweat and pee and fear.

  She was not going to allow the fear to dictate her actions. He wanted her scared and humble and obedient. For now. But the real hunt had not begun. When it did, he would want to see the fierce animal in her come out and fight for its life.

  Pulling up her panties and sweats was even more difficult than getting them down over her hips, but after several attempts, she made it. She walked back to the house, taking her time and observing everything she could see in the predawn darkness.

  He waited for her on the porch. He smiled as he watched her. The cocky bastard. When he grabbed her arm again, she flinched but didn’t jerk away. Instead, she allowed him to escort her inside to the kitchen table. After he seated her, he went to the stove, lifted a pot, poured something into a bowl, and then brought the bowl to the table.

  “You may have a nice bowl of oats this morning,” he said. “But after this, you must earn all your meals. You will be allowed food mornings and evenings. Water must also be earned.”

  Nic eyed the tan, lumpy oats. No sugar. No cream. No butter.

  “You may try to feed yourself or I’ll feed you.”

  She grabbed the spoon he’d placed by her bowl. “I’ll do it myself.” She looked up at him. “Thank you.”

  His self-satisfied smile widened. “I knew you would be wonderful. The best of the best.”

  When he reached out and caressed her back, running his meaty hand across her shoulder blades, every nerve in her body reacted, repulsed by his touch. Her muscles tensed. But she managed not to react, not to withdraw.

  If he tries to rape me …

  No, he won’t. That’s not his MO. Not one of his victims showed any signs of being raped.

  Nic clutched the spoon in her right hand, dug into the cereal, and shoved a heaping spoonful into her mouth. Tasteless gruel. But she was hungry and she had no idea when he might offer her food again. She’d take whatever he offered in order to stay alive and to keep up her strength. She ate hurriedly, downing the entire bowl in only a few minutes.

  “Good girl.” He patted her on the head. “Now, we’re going for your first outing in the woods. We won’t stay out long today. Just long enough for you to begin learning the rules. If you please me, I’ll allow you your choice of either a bath or another meal tonight.”

  As desperately as she needed a bath, she would choose food over cleanliness.

  “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  “I’m going to show you where you will be spending most of your time during the day. I’ll explain the rules and I expect you to remember them and follow them. If you break the rules, you’ll be punished. If you earn points, you will be rewarded.”

  “How do I earn points?”

  “By surviving the hunt, of course.”

  She stared at him, knowing he could see the puzzlement in her expression.

  “We’ll do a little run-through this morning,” he told her. “Just a trial run. Then tomorrow morning, I’ll take you deeper into the woods and, eventually, I’ll remove your ankle chains so that you can run free.” He caressed her head, his fingers threading through her shoulder-length hair. “You’ll like that, won’t you, Nicole? Running free. At least until I catch you.”

  Sanders opened the den door and peered inside. Yvette lifted her head from the back of the wing chair by the fireplace where she’d been resting, glanced at him, and put her index finger to her lips to indicate she did not want him to disturb Griffin. He lay across the sofa, fully clothed, his feet hanging off one end. From his deep, heavy breathing, Sanders could tell that Griffin was sound asleep.

  Yvette rose to her feet, tiptoed across the room, and walked out into the hallway. She closed the door behind her before she spoke to Sanders.

  “He finally fell asleep, from sheer exhaustion, about an hour ago,” Yvette said.

  “I have a pot of tea in the kitchen,” Sanders told her. “I thought perhaps we could talk before Griffin awakens and the others begin to stir.”

  She patted Sanders’s arm. “He is going to need us in the days ahead. And if Nicole Baxter is murdered … He cares deeply for her. Far more than he realizes.”

  Neither of them spoke again until they were seated at the kitchen table, each with a cup of hot tea in front of them.

  Yvette sipped her tea, then set the cup in the saucer. “What Griffin is going through will not be easy for you or for me. We share his memories. We lived his pain as he lived ours.”

  “We will share this experience with him, also. And we will see him through, no matter what.”

  “He was concerned about you. Worried because he had told you that Nicole might be pregnant.”

  “I pray she is not.”

  “Yes, I, too, pray she is not. If she is murdered and Griffin discovers that she was carrying his child … It cannot—it must not—happen again.”

  Sanders reached across the table and patted Yvette’s hand. “We are as powerless now to stop this great evil as we were to stop the evil that destroyed ones so dear all those years ago.”

  Yvette gripped Sanders’s broad, strong hand. “If Nicole dies, I do not know if I will be able to bring Griffin out of that dark place where he will go.”

  “We will try. And, if necessary, we will go there with him.”

  Yvette tightened her small, slender hand into a fist and eased it out of Sanders’s hold. “Griffin will need to stay actively involved in trying to find Nicole. If necessary, invent things for him to do. But be careful that he does not realize he is being manipulated. The less time he has to think, the better. The less time he spends alone, the better. You or I need to be with him as much as he will allow us to be.”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  They sat together in peaceful silence and finished their tea, then Yvette stood, came over to Sanders, and kissed his cheek.

  A soft gasp alerted them that they were not alo
ne. Sanders glanced in the direction of the sound and saw Barbara Jean in the doorway. Their gazes met briefly, then she looked away.

  “I’m so sorry. Excuse me. I didn’t realize I would be interrupting.” Barbara Jean eased her wheelchair out of the doorway.

  “Wait,” Yvette called. “Please, come back. I am on my way up to my room to take a shower and change clothes. I am sure Sanders would love to have your company this morning.”

  Yvette paused as she passed by Barbara Jean, smiled at her, and then went on her way. Sanders stood to face Barbara Jean, who refused to look him in the eye as she wheeled into the kitchen.

  When he approached her, she moved away from him, going toward the refrigerator. He caught the handlebars on the back of her small, portable wheelchair and stopped her. Then he walked around in front of her and lowered himself down on his haunches.

  “You did not interrupt anything,” he told her. “Yvette and I are old friends. I have told you before that she is like a sister to Griffin and to me. She and I were talking about our great concern for Griffin.”

  Barbara Jean lifted her head and looked shyly at Sanders, then looked back at her folded hands resting in her lap. “He’s terribly upset about Special Agent Baxter being abducted, isn’t he?”

  Sanders clasped Barbara Jean’s folded hands. “They have become very close while working together on the Hunter case. Very close.”

  “Oh. Oh, my.”

  “So you see, this is extremely personal for him, as it would be for me if anything like this were to happen to you.”

  Her gaze collided with his, her dark eyes bright and shimmering with a mist of tears. “Damar … You’ve never said anything about—about us.”

  “And now is not the time to do so,” he told her. “Not when Griffin will need me in the weeks ahead. You do understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.” She squeezed his hand and smiled. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.”

  He lifted her right hand to his lips, kissed it, and then pressed it against his cheek. Someday, he would tell Barbara Jean about Elora. And about the child he had lost.

  Each day for the past three days, he had taken her into the woods and released her. The first day, he had gone over the rules.