What Are You Afraid Of?

  She didn’t doubt for a second that he would have swooped in the minute it was discovered that his brother and sister-in-law were dead. He would also have ensured the cops wrapped up the case as quickly and with as little fuss as possible. The last thing he wanted was the scandal to continue to dominate the headlines.

  “It wasn’t enough that you killed my father? Your mother had to destroy his memory?”

  He shrugged. “She wanted to protect me.”

  “By letting you walk away from a double murder?”

  He abruptly pivoted to glare at her with eyes that were glittering with a dangerous light.

  “She didn’t let me get away with it. She sent me to a psychiatric hospital.”

  Carmen stiffened, abruptly recalling that he’d told her a bogus story about leaving the estate.

  “You lied,” she accused. “You didn’t go to your aunt’s to live.”

  “The polite term is that I was institutionalized,” he said in mocking tones. “I was locked away like an animal.”

  Did he expect her to feel sorry for him? Not a chance in hell.

  “You should have been in prison,” she said. “You murdered my parents.”

  With quick, angry strides he was standing directly in front of her. Carmen flinched, but this time he didn’t hit her. Instead, he glared at her, a sneer twisting his lips.

  “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. And it doesn’t matter.” He waved his hand, his pale eyes still glowing with a strange light. “I wasted years trying to earn the love of a man who was unworthy. Once I was away from that house, I could finally see clearly.”

  “See what clearly?”

  “You had all been stifling me.” He held up his fingers, ticking off the people who he believed had stood in his way. “My mother, with her insistence on treating me like a child. Andrew, with his assumption he could control me with his fists. My father, who treated me like a nobody.” His hand dropped and he took a small step back. Carmen released a small breath of relief. Having him so near made her skin crawl with revulsion. “They blinded me to my true worth,” he continued, his voice becoming louder. He clearly was enjoying telling this part of his story. “But at the institute I could finally accept my true self.”

  “I’m happy for you.”

  He either didn’t notice the edge of sarcasm in her voice or decided he was willing to overlook it.

  “I didn’t have to please anyone. And do you know what I learned?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Absolute honesty.” He held her gaze, a weird smile curling his lips. “I admitted to myself that I didn’t feel guilty for killing my father. Or your mother.”

  Fury raced through her. He’d destroyed an entire family. Then he’d been allowed to go to a hospital instead of being thrown in jail. And now he wanted to gloat that he was proud he didn’t even feel guilty.

  But even as her lips parted, Carmen was swallowing her impulsive words. Had she heard a door open? The sound had been faint, as if it was far across the warehouse. But it was enough to send a flare of hope through her.

  Maybe Griff had managed to find her.

  Or maybe it was a security guard. She hadn’t seen one since she’d woken up, but it was possible there was one who was roaming around the huge building.

  Either way, she needed to be ready to take advantage of the situation.

  She pushed an inch away from the wall, relieved when her knees held her weight. Progress, she decided.

  “I thought you claimed you didn’t mean to kill them,” she said, anxious to keep him talking.

  The last thing she wanted was for him to realize they weren’t alone and panic. She didn’t have to be psychic to know that wouldn’t be good for her life expectancy.

  “I didn’t, but knowing they were dead and that I had the power to end their lives was . . .” Ronnie gave a dramatic pause, a slash of fevered color staining his cheek. “Intoxicating. I wasn’t a nobody. I was a predator.” His smile widened. “A hunter.”

  Her mouth went dry. The childish, petulant Ronnie was gone. Standing before her was the animal who’d hunted helpless women and bashed in their heads with a crowbar.

  “A hunter?” She took a slow, cautious step to the side.

  “Yes. I began to fantasize about pulling the trigger again. Only this time it would be someone who I’d chosen, and spent time stalking before I made my kill.”

  He shivered. Not with fear, but with excitement. Was he recalling the pleasure of killing those poor women?

  She struggled not to gag.

  “That’s awful,” she breathed.

  He sent her an annoyed glare. “No, it’s truthful. I’d become who I was meant to be. And even better, I found other people just like me.”

  Like him? That was a horrifying thought.

  “In the hospital?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not the same one as me, but the Internet made it easy to connect with other potential hunters,” he revealed. “We created a Kill Club.”

  Nausea curled through the pit of her stomach. It was . . . insane.

  He was insane.

  “Kill Club?” She shuddered in horror. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “What did your . . .” She struggled to force the words past her stiff lips, taking another step to the side. “Kill Club do?”

  “At first we exchanged messages on the best way to choose our victims and the most satisfying way to murder them.” He studied her closely, obviously savoring her horrified expression. “We even created chat rooms where we could role-play how we would lure our prey into our trap.”

  She pressed her hand to her stomach, the queasiness continuing to roll through her. What sort of pervert crouched over his computer as he lived out his revolting fantasies? And just how many of them were out there?

  “The hospital let you chat with other patients?” she demanded in disbelief.

  His features twisted with a smug arrogance. “They didn’t know anything that was going on. As long as I didn’t cause problems they didn’t care what I was doing in the privacy of my room.”

  She took another step, sliding along the wall. She didn’t really know where she was trying to go; she just wanted space between her and Ronnie Hyde.

  “I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with me.”

  Amusement sparkled in his eyes. As if he was aware of her covert attempt to inch away, and was enjoying her futile efforts. Like a cat toying with a cornered rat.

  “We were enjoying our games, but I knew something was missing. We didn’t have a focus for our club.” With one long step he was once again directly in front of her, his foul breath brushing over her face. “And then a friend brought me a copy of your book. I was instantly inspired. Because of you, I knew my true calling. I was destined to kill.”

  Her mouth went dry. She originally feared that the stalker—or stalkers—had chosen her because of the book. Then she’d feared it had been because of her past. And then, because of her family.

  Who could have known that all her suspicions had been right?

  It was insanity.

  “That’s not why I wrote it,” she said, the words sounding ridiculous.

  Ronnie seemed to think so too. His eyes darkened with a strange emotion.

  “I don’t believe you.” He reached up to grasp her throbbing chin. “You’re fascinated with death just like I am.”

  “No,” she breathed in horror.

  His fingers squeezed, his pleasure visibly deepening as she whimpered in pain.

  “Why else would you write the book? You were drawn to the dark side.” He leaned down until their noses were nearly touching. “Just like me.”

  She pressed against the wall, wishing it would open up and swallow her. Anything would be better than being trapped alone with this deranged psychopath.

  “I’m nothing like you,” she denied, refusing to let him think that she had any connection to his si
ck fantasies.

  “Yes, you are,” he insisted, a fine spray of spit coating her face. “We might not have been raised as brother and sister, but we were baptized in blood.”

  The horrifying vision of Ronnie standing in the kitchen with her parents’ bloody and broken bodies lying at his feet once again seared through her head.

  Lifting her hands, she shoved them against his chest.

  “No!” she screamed.

  * * *

  Ronnie laughed.

  He’d spent nearly an hour watching Carrie lie unconscious, anticipating the moment she would open her eyes and realize that he was the one who had been leading her directly into his trap.

  He’d anticipated the rush of pleasure he would feel at her fear, and then the glorious horror as he revealed his ability to precisely imitate the infamous killers in her book.

  She would have no choice but to marvel at his cunning.

  But instead of making his grand announcement, Carrie had distracted him with endless questions about the past.

  He didn’t want to think back to the gutless boy who’d been desperate for a father. Or remember the times Stuart Jacobs had walked past him as if he was nothing better than a bug.

  That had been more painful than the blows from Andrew and the sharp words of disappointment from his mother whenever they caught him spying on the master of the house.

  Now, however, he at last had what he wanted.

  Carrie was visibly trembling as she stared at him with wide eyes. He could almost taste her fear.

  This was the power he’d craved. The ability to prove that he might not carry the Jacobs name, but he was just as capable of greatness.

  No, he was more capable.

  Any idiot could go to business school and run a company. Lawrence Jacobs was proof of that. The fool didn’t even know what was going on beneath his nose.

  But Ronnie had created magic out of chaos. He’d taken his violent needs and molded them into purpose, not only for himself, but for other misfits who struggled to find their way in the darkness.

  And then he’d found his ultimate inspiration, and he’d known exactly what his fate was destined to be.

  “I read your book over and over, studying the killers until I understood the precise manner they stalked their victims and their preference for satisfying their most basic urges,” he told Carrie. “And, of course, how they each displayed their trophies.”

  She licked her lips, her hands continuing to push at his chest.

  “You killed those women in Kansas.”

  He trembled with remembered bliss. For the first time he’d been able to act out the years of fantasies.

  He’d hunted for the whore who reminded him of Carrie. He’d stolen the truck and lured her into the back. Then he’d raped her as she screamed in terror. And then he’d bashed in her skull.

  It’d been extraordinary.

  And watching the other Kill Club members live out their own fantasies had only added to his excitement.

  He truly had been a god. A man worshipped by disciples as he determined who would live and who would die.

  “Not only in Kansas,” he said, slightly disappointed she didn’t seem to know about his other trophies. “There are more victims in Baltimore. And here. I have the newest pictures.” He squeezed her chin until she cried out in pain. “Would you like to see them?”

  Her hands moved to grasp his wrist, her eyes swimming with tears. But she didn’t whimper again. Instead, she sucked in a shaky breath, her eyes darting from side to side as she tried to think of how to keep him talking.

  His lips twitched. He wondered if she truly thought he was so stupid he didn’t realize what she was doing?

  Naturally, she was hoping she could distract him so she could try to escape. Or maybe she hoped that someone might appear out of thin air to rescue her.

  Whatever. He was willing to play along. Now that he had her in his grasp, they had all the time in the world.

  “Were you the one who cut my arm at the hotel in Kansas?” she finally asked.

  “I couldn’t resist,” he admitted. “I’d been watching you on TV, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to see you in person.”

  Her brows pulled together and he was sharply reminded of her mother. Mrs. Jacobs had never liked him. Even when he’d been on his best behavior. He’d always assumed it was because she suspected he was her husband’s illegitimate son. Whatever the reason, he’d taken great pleasure in blowing her face off with a shotgun.

  “You hurt me,” she said.

  He allowed his fingers to slide downward, lightly circling her throat.

  “A promise for the future,” he told her.

  She tensed at his unspoken warning, her face draining of color. Still, she didn’t give in to panic.

  Instead, she met his gaze squarely. “How did you know I would be there?”

  He shrugged. “The institute is filled with people who have interesting hobbies,” he said. “One of my fellow inmates happened to have some skills at hacking. He also has an addiction to painkillers. I send him a few pills and he keeps track of you.”

  She didn’t look surprised. Almost as if she’d already suspected he’d been using a computer to follow her movements.

  “How did you get out of the hospital?” she asked.

  “My mother died.”

  This time he did manage to shock her. Her eyes widened before she gave a slow shake of her head.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He released his hold on her chin and stepped back. He didn’t want her to see that he still suffered from the loss of his mother.

  She’d lied to him. She’d forced him to live with that brute Andrew. And she’d put him in an institute. He should hate her.

  But she’d also been the only one to love him. And in her way, she’d tried to protect him. When she’d died, it had stolen his last claim to humanity.

  “I was never charged with a crime, so I could have walked away anytime I wanted,” he said, turning to the side to hide his expression. “But my mother never trusted my assurance that I was all better and would never hurt anyone again.”

  “Your mother was right,” Carrie muttered. “You couldn’t be trusted.”

  “She threatened to tell the authorities everything if I left the institute,” he admitted. “It was her last way of controlling me.”

  “And then she died.”

  Ronnie curled his hands into fists, stiffening his spine. His mother was gone. He’d mourned her passing and moved on with his life.

  “And I was free,” he said, turning back to meet Carrie’s wary gaze. “My next step was to help my fellow Kill Club members to escape.”

  She licked her lips, her gaze shifting over his shoulder. Did she suspect there was a horde of crazed killers hiding in the shadows? Probably.

  “How many?”

  “Don’t worry about them.”

  She frowned. “Why not?”

  He offered a taunting smile, reaching beneath his sweater to pull out a handgun.

  “Because I’m killing them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Griff was crouched behind stacks of shingles, a bead of sweat trickling down his face.

  He’d spent the past fifteen minutes inching his way through the shadowed warehouse, which had given him plenty of time to overhear the conversation between Ronnie Hyde and Carmen.

  Now a part of his mind was struggling to process the fact that not only had Ronnie been responsible for killing those women and stalking Carmen, but he’d actually murdered her parents. It hummed in the background as he forced himself to concentrate on how he could get Carmen away from the crazed madman and escape without her being hurt.

  From a distance he could see that Ronnie was holding something in his hand. Something that could be a weapon. Plus, there were too many towering racks and deep bays to see if they were alone in the warehouse. For all Griff knew there might be a half dozen bad guys lurking just out of sight.

&n
bsp; The last thing he wanted was to put Carmen in even more danger.

  What he needed was a distraction.

  At his side, Matthew was staring wide-eyed, his face unnaturally pale. Confusion? Or a devious adversary playing his role to the bitter end? It was impossible to know for sure.

  Yet another variable to put into the equation.

  His companion’s lips parted, as if he was about to speak and give away their position. Instinctively, Griff reached to slam his hand over Matthew’s mouth. Then, grabbing the man’s arm, he hauled him back to the door just a few feet behind them.

  He’d expected it to be a janitorial closet. Or maybe a storage room. Instead, a quick glance around gave him a stab of hope.

  The security office.

  Maybe for once luck would be on his side.

  In the middle of the room was an L-shaped desk that was situated to offer a view of the four monitors hung on the far wall. Each screen displayed a black-and-white image of the warehouse as well as the parking lot. There was also a computer on the desk, that he was betting controlled the electronics for the entire building.

  Shoving Matthew farther into the room, Griff shut the door and moved to study the monitors.

  “I always knew there was something wrong with Ronnie Hyde, but I didn’t realize he was batshit crazy,” Matthew was muttering, pacing nervously toward the file cabinets before moving to stand directly behind Griff. “Did you hear him?”

  Griff continued to stare at the flickering images, searching for any indication there was someone else in the warehouse.

  “I heard,” he muttered, frustration bubbling through him as he realized the security cameras only managed to capture small, random sections of the warehouse. Whoever had been responsible for setting them up should be fired.

  Abruptly Griff grimaced. He’d momentarily forgotten about the dead guard near the loading dock.

  “He killed my aunt and uncle,” Matthew continued to babble, his voice harsh. “And now he has some sort of psychotic kill club.”

  Griff pivoted to glare at the younger man. The monitors didn’t show enough for him to be confident that Ronnie was working alone. For now he was going to have to trust that Matthew wasn’t a traitor.

  “I need you to focus,” he said.