added, “There wasn’t any . . . warmth there.”
“Well, what do you say the next house I build you oversee construction and decoration. You can knock yourself out making it a home.”
She pretended to give it thought. “I may have to take you up on that.”
Smiling, he leaned over and kissed her. “Are you hungry? I can go rustle up something to eat and bring it back so you aren’t alone in solitary confinement.”
“Am I allowed to take a shower and change?”
“Of course. Just don’t stick your head out of this room. I made sure and gave you the only room in the place that doesn’t have a window so there’s no possibility of you giving our location away.”
“You make it sound like I do it intentionally,” she muttered.
He kissed her again. “Nope. But intentional or not, the same result is achieved. I’m not taking any chances with any of our safety.”
When Caleb left the room, shutting the door behind him, Ramie leaned back on the bed and forced her gaze to focus on the ceiling. Then she closed her eyes and purposely blanked her mind.
Sudden pain in her head made her gasp. Faint laughter echoed, leaving her to wonder if she’d imagined it.
You think you can hide from me?
“Caleb!”
Within seconds of her cry, Caleb threw open the door and charged inside. When he saw her sitting on the edge of the bed where he’d left her, his brow furrowed in confusion.
She shook from head to toe and she hugged her arms around herself.
“Ramie, what is it?” Caleb demanded.
“He laughed,” she said, uncaring how crazy it made her sound. “I was lying here staring up at the ceiling and trying to keep my mind blank like you said and he laughed and said, ‘You think you can hide from me?’ ”
Caleb sat back down beside her and pulled her into the crook of his arm.
“He can’t see what you can’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “He can’t know what you don’t know. So yes, I’d say we do think we can hide from him. At least until we formulate a plan to take him out for good. Until then, I’m keeping you under lock and key and absolutely ignorant of your surroundings.”
“Okay,” she said hoarsely. “I’ll quit freaking out, I promise.”
He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Having another person in your head gives you the right to freak out.”
“Don’t mollify me. I’ll stop being such a complete scaredy-cat. Now go get me some food and leave me to my imaginary friend. Or rather not so imaginary killer,” she said, pulling a face. “God, I can’t believe I’m joking about this. I really am losing my mind, aren’t I?”
He cupped her chin and smoothed his thumb over her cheek. “Glad I’m not the only one with an inappropriate sense of humor.”
THIRTY-THREE
THIS was a piece of cake. Hardly worthy of someone as skilled as he. His father had always said, “Charlie, the early bird gets the worm. Everyone else gets the dirt. Remember that and you’ll go far in life.”
His fucking name was Charles. Not Charlie. Charlie was a child’s name, not a man’s.
He pushed through his rage, locking it away so he could focus on the task at hand.
His breathing calmed as he stepped from the shadows of the trees. Calm settled into place. Not a single muscle in his body twitched. He was disciplined and patient. Qualities that were rewarded in life.
He approached the parked car under the cover of darkness. When he was close enough to be seen in the rear or side-view mirror, he got down on his belly and inched the remaining distance to the driver’s side door.
It was long, painstaking work designed only for those with infinite patience and eye for detail. One wrong move, one tiny slipup and he was a dead man. Instead of frightening him or making him wary, the idea of him being a marked man gave him a heady, euphoric high like none other. Only killing provided a bigger rush.
Carefully he raised up, positioning the gun with its silencer in such a way that as soon as he rose, the so-called security specialist sitting in the car keeping watch over the house and occupants would be a dead man.
When he popped up, he smiled at his adversary’s startled expression. He didn’t give the victim a chance to react. The glass folded inward, the bullet creating a hole in the spiderwebbed surface. Blood and brain matter splattered the opposing window.
Pleased with his initial success, he hurried toward the well-lit house and his next victim.
Who needed to see through Ramie St. Claire’s eyes anyway? This was much more satisfying. He was salivating over Caleb Devereaux’s reaction when Caleb realized he was the tool used in Ramie’s destruction. Such pleasure was almost unbearable.
He slid around the side of the house, gun up and ready to shoot. One never knew the unpredictability of others. It paid to be on constant guard.
When he stole a quick peek around the corner of the house, he saw his target standing guard by the back door. Charles nearly giggled but caught himself in time, remonstrating himself for the near careless slipup.
No reason to be stealthy. Dead men couldn’t stand in your way. He swung around the corner, arm raised, left hand supporting the stock of the pistol. His aim was highly accurate, never off target by more than a centimeter. The guard crumpled without a sound, dead before he ever hit the ground.
Charles stepped over the fallen body, eased the door open and slipped inside. From what information he’d been able to glean from Caleb Devereaux he knew the sole remaining guard was in the hallway just outside Ramie’s door.
He could hardly contain his glee. Better not to celebrate prematurely. There would be plenty of time to celebrate later. With Ramie!
Charles knew that when he rounded the corner into the hall he’d only have a tenth of a second to find his target and shoot or risk discovery. He was so close to his ultimate goal that his hand shook, bobbing the gun up and down.
Angrily, he tempered his reaction, forcing himself to take deep steadying breaths. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and then did a mental one . . . two . . . three!
He swiveled, planting his foot and turning rapidly into the hallway. His current aim was off by six inches. Adjusting upward in that flash of time he squeezed the trigger. The bullet smacked the guard right in the middle of the forehead and dropped him like a stone.
Yes!
It was all he could do not to rush into the bedroom, put a bullet into Devereaux’s head and be done with it. But that would ruin everything. Charles had meticulously planned this down to the nth degree. The other night inside Caleb’s head was a mere test run, one that he’d been delighted with the results of.
He fumbled, with shaking hands, for the cell phone in his pocket. He had to set up quickly if he was going to get it all on video. Wouldn’t Caleb be shocked when he watched this footage? He smiled and then closed his eyes to summon Devereaux.
Caleb sat up in bed, the comforter and sheet falling down to his lap. There were whispers in his mind, demanding he act. He slowly rose, walking to the doorway in measured steps. Quiet! You don’t want to wake Ramie.
He entered the kitchen and opened a drawer before shutting it again. Then he went to the next and this time he reached into the open drawer, his fingers curling around the handle of a wickedly sharp carving knife.
How appropriate to have a carving knife when he planned to carve Ramie up like a Christmas turkey. She would be the best Christmas and birthday present all rolled into one that he’d ever had.
Gripping the handle of the knife with a firm hand, he retraced his steps to the bedroom and quietly pushed the door open, slipping inside where Ramie still soundly slept. For a long moment he stood over her next to the bed drinking in the sight of the woman he’d hunted the last eighteen months.
A smile curved Caleb’s lips. “There’s no one here to hear you scream,” he whispered.
Still, he clamped one hand over her mouth, put the blade against the soft skin of her abdomen and sliced from one side to the other, angling slightly downward to follow the curve of her belly.
She let out a muffled shriek against his hand and he quickly straddled her writhing body. She bucked upward, trying to unseat him, but he followed her back down and then slid the blade in a vertical line between her breasts.
Blood rose and dripped down her body in rivulets. She was wild beneath him, clearly hysterical and not yet comprehending who was doing this to her. The anticipation of her discovery was so keen that Charles was practically bubbling over.
And then her gaze locked with his and horror contorted her features. He let his hand slip from her mouth because it was too good an opportunity to pass up. He nearly clapped his hands together in the corner but if he did so it would mess up the video he was recording. And he wanted Devereaux to see every single cut he put on her body.
“Caleb!” she screamed. “Caleb, stop! Oh God, what are you doing?”
Two more cuts in quick succession. Her eyes went glassy with shock, her speech slurred from that same shock and blood loss. She tried to fight back, but she was no match for Caleb’s strength. Oddly she would have had a chance against Charles. Caleb was much bigger and stronger. Experiencing a kill vicariously through another’s eyes was deliciously addictive. It was something that now that he’d done once he’d want to do it again and again.
Tears streamed down Ramie’s face. Her voice was nearly gone from the force of her screams. The next came out in an ugly hoarse rasp when he made another cut, this time on her hip.
“Please don’t do this,” Ramie begged, her chest heaving from her pants of pain. “I thought you loved me,” she whispered. “You promised . . .” Her voice trailed off and her bowed body sagged back onto the mattress. She finally passed out. She’d earned a measure of respect from Charles. Not many people would have been able to stay conscious for as long as she had under such horrific conditions.
Charles frowned. Caleb’s eyes flickered. Turmoil shone in features creased with pain. Charles knew he had to get Ramie out now before Caleb broke free from his hold on him, but he felt like a pouty child deprived of his favorite toy.
Caleb’s movements were jerky, spasmodic almost as he leaned down and scooped Ramie up into his arms. Smiling, Charles followed along, continuing to film. The blood dripping from Ramie onto the floor was a nice touch. It added authenticity, but Charles was careful not to step in it.
Charles was sure to film Caleb stashing her in the backseat of his SUV. After the police saw this video, there would be no doubt as to who Ramie St. Claire’s murderer was. They wouldn’t even need the body to gain a conviction!
THIRTY-FOUR
CALEB’S eyes opened and immediately slammed shut. What little he’d seen of the room had been like a crazy Tilt-A-Whirl, spinning so rapidly it had made him instantly dizzy. His temples throbbed. Pain speared his skull and radiated down to the base of his neck. His mouth was dry, and he licked his lips, trying to moisten them.
His nostrils flared, the sickening sweet smell of . . . blood? . . . overwhelmed his senses. It was unmistakably blood.
His stomach balled into a knot and he sat up in bed, eyes flying open to the unthinkable.
Blood bathed the sheets, the mattress, the pillows. Oh God. It bathed him, covering his hands, arms, chest and legs.
He rolled off the bed, landing on the floor as his stomach heaved and he gagged at the overwhelming stench.
“Ramie!” he yelled hoarsely. “Ramie!” Oh God, where was she? What had happened? Why couldn’t he remember? Surely he would have remembered her bleeding this much. Why wasn’t she in bed?
He pushed himself off the floor and stumbled into the hallway, only to trip over the dead body of one of his security specialists.
“Oh Jesus,” he said with growing horror. This was a nightmare. It had to be. It was the only reasonable explanation. None of this was real.
“Ramie!” he yelled as he ran down the hall, throwing open every single door in an effort to locate her. Where the hell was everyone?
His blood ran cold when he saw the back door was ajar. He sprinted over, shoving the door open wider, and his gaze fell over the second dead body.
A chill slithered up his spine, a sense of foreboding so strong within him that it paralyzed him. He stared numbly at the dead man. A hole was punched through his forehead. His eyes were glassy with death and the back of his head had been blown off by the bullet.
He leaned over and vomited on the patio. His stomach clenched viciously, curling into knots, forcing more of the contents of his stomach out onto the ground.
He had to find Ramie. He had to call someone for help. He couldn’t remember what had happened here. Shouldn’t he know what occurred? Ramie couldn’t have disappeared and two men killed without him knowing, could they?
He stumbled back into the nightmare of the bedroom and stared at the blood-covered bed. Then he reached for the phone, his fingers shaking when he punched in Beau’s number. Tori, Quinn and Beau had to be all right. Maybe Beau would know where Ramie was and what awful thing had struck here.
“Caleb, where the hell are you?” Beau barked into the phone after the first ring.
“At the safe house,” Caleb said faintly. “Something terrible has happened, Beau. Is Ramie with you?”
“Don’t move,” Beau said curtly. “Don’t touch anything. You understand me? We’ll be there in three minutes.”
Caleb frowned at the disconnected phone in confusion. He was missing something vitally important, but what? Why couldn’t he remember anything of the night before?
Mindful of his brother’s command not to touch anything, Caleb walked to the front door of the house, stepping outside into the bright wash of sun. He squinted and then shielded his face from the sun with one hand. And then he stared transfixed at the dried blood that covered his outstretched hand.
Two vehicles screeched to a stop in front of the house. Beau was out and running from one while Dane and Eliza jumped from the other and bore down on him, their expressions grim and . . . furious.
“Get down!” Dane barked, drawing his weapon and pointing it at Caleb. “On the ground!”
Caleb stared at Dane in bewilderment. Was he serious? Had the whole world gone mad?
“Jesus, Caleb,” Beau said, his face pale as he stared back at Caleb. “What have you done?”
“Make sure he isn’t armed,” Eliza said from a distance, her own weapon drawn and trained on Caleb.
He was starting to get pissed.
“Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Caleb erupted. “Where’s Ramie? And why the hell are you pointing your goddamn guns at me? Where is she?”
“That’s what we want to ask you, Caleb,” Dane said in an even tone.
Caleb narrowed his eyes impatiently. “Ask me what?”
“Where Ramie is,” Eliza said. “Tell us what you did with her, Caleb. Tell us now before the police get here and we can’t help you anymore.”
He shook his head in confusion. Then he stared down at his hands, as if for the first time realizing that he was covered in blood. He began to shake convulsively, his vision blurring with tears.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice cracking. “God, I don’t know. What have I done?”
Eliza dipped her head at Dane, who quickly closed in on Caleb while Eliza hung back, her gun trained.
“On your knees,” Dane commanded.
Numbly Caleb slid to his knees.
“Hands behind your head.”
Slowly Caleb laced his fingers together at the back of his head. He flinched when the cool metal handcuffs surrounded his wrists, clicking into place. He lifted his gaze to his brother, who stood there staring at him, tears in his eyes.
Beau looked . . . devastated.
“Let’s go,” Dane said, pushing Caleb to his feet. “Get in the car.”
Eliza opened the backseat door and Dane unceremoniously stuffed Caleb inside while Beau got back into the vehicle he’d been driving. Dane and Eliza slid into the front seat of the vehicle he was riding in and slammed the doors.
Dane peeled away, causing Caleb to bump his head on the window before righting himself.
“Damn it, Caleb. You don’t have anything to say for yourself?” Eliza said in disgust.
“What am I supposed to say?” Caleb asked wearily, some of the shock finally wearing off. Anger was quickly replacing his bewilderment but at the same time, dread gripped him by the balls, squeezing the very life out of him. “I wake up to find Ramie gone, blood covering the bed where she slept. Two men supposed to be guarding the house are dead. I can only assume the third one is as well. It seems to me that you need to be the ones talking and fast,” he snapped.
Eliza turned sharply in her seat, her brows furrowed as she stared hard at Caleb.
“What do you last remember doing before you woke up?” she asked.
Caleb was silent a moment as he thought back through the night before.
“Ramie and I went to bed early. We were both tired. And then I woke up a few minutes ago and Ramie was gone and blood was everywhere.”
“Jesus,” Eliza muttered. “Could he really not know?”
“Maybe he blocked it out,” Dane said, his jaw ticking with fury. “I know I sure as hell would if I’d done that to an innocent woman.”
A prickle of unease skated down Caleb’s spine. An elusive memory taunted him, so close and yet out of reach. Why did his head hurt so goddamn bad? Had he been drugged?
“Blocked what out?” Caleb demanded. “Goddamn it, talk to me and stop speaking in riddles. This has gone on long enough!”
Dane slammed on the brakes and turned in his seat to level his furious stare at Caleb.
“Tell me what happened last night, Caleb. Tell me why you did it.”
Caleb stared down at his hands, red with dried blood, the smell sickening. He just wanted it off. He rubbed his palms up and down his pants leg but the blood remained. Was this what it meant to have blood on your hands literally?
“Dane, where is Ramie?” Caleb asked, fear curling through his stomach and clenching his insides.
“Not here,” Eliza said in a low voice. “We don’t need him going bat-shit crazy and bailing out.”
Dane punched the accelerator and roared down the winding road on the back end of the subdivision toward a more rural area of the county. Away from the city.
It just didn’t make sense. Why had Caleb cracked? How could Dane have so grossly misjudged the man he worked for? The man he gave his absolute loyalty to. Worse, why wasn’t Dane driving him straight to the police station so he could be taken into custody? Sorrow was etched in Eliza’s eyes as she stared sightlessly through the windshield.
Dane’s cell phone rang, and he glanced down to see Detective Ramirez’s number pop up on the screen.
“Shit,” Dane swore. “We’re busted. They must have gotten to the house already.”
“They may have,” Eliza said, “but they can’t know we’ve been there. He likely just wants to know if we’ve seen Caleb. Not many guys are going to hang around the crime scene and wait to get busted.”
“It doesn’t add up,” Dane bit out. “He’s not stupid. And I can’t have been so wrong about someone. What did he have to gain? Why kill her?”
“Kill who?” Caleb said flatly. “I want some goddamn answers and I want them now.”
To Dane’s relief, they were nearly to one of the many off-the-grid properties he owned. This would buy them some time, and hell, if Caleb was guilty, Dane would turn him in himself.
He roared into the garage and parked. Beau roared in beside him and Dane immediately shut the garage door.
Dane got out and yanked open the door to the backseat. “Get out,” he ordered. “And walk slowly into the house.”
Frustrated by this stupid game they were playing, Caleb stalked through the door and into the living room.
“Sit,” Dane directed, sweeping the barrel of his gun downward to indicate