9 Kill for Me

  Talia shook her head, her lips twitching. “Oh, baby, you got it bad. And she’s not Greek. What’s Mama Papa going to say?”

  “Who do you think set the damn table?”

  “Interesting.” She sobered. “Have Susannah call me if she needs me.”

  “She’s just like Daniel,” he murmured. “They both just shove it all back down.”

  “I know,” she said. “When do you want to leave for Poplar Bluff?”

  “It would be easier to get Kasey Knight’s friends during a school day, but we can’t wait till Monday. Let’s leave right after morning meeting. We’ll be there by eleven.”

  “That’s during church.” Talia considered it. “Poplar Bluff’s a small town. Let me contact the minister and see if they go to his church. That might be the best place to catch them after all. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bring me some leftovers, okay?”

  “You could just stay for dinner.”

  She smiled. “No, I really can’t. Good luck, Luka.”

  Rolling his eyes, he went back to the kitchen where Susannah was tearing lettuce. He leaned against the refrigerator, Darlin’ at his feet. “She won’t stop following me.”

  One side of Susannah’s mouth lifted in the half smile he’d come to anticipate. “Did you bring her out of the woods?”

  “I guess in a way I did.”

  She pushed him aside gently, grabbing vegetables from the refrigerator. “Then, there you go. Darlin’ is to you what Jane Doe is to me. And, to a certain extent,” she added, cutting the ends off cucumbers with more force than needed, “what I am to you.”

  He wanted to grab her shoulders and make her look at him, but he stayed where he was. “That’s not fair to either of us,” Luke said quietly.

  She dropped her chin. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard, focusing on the vegetables she sliced with quick, expert movements. “Talia called you ‘Luka.’ ”

  “My mother calls me that.”

  “I know. So you and Talia are friends?” she asked carefully.

  He kept his voice level, although her question set his heart thumping. “She’s Greek.”

  “So? Do you know all the Greeks in Atlanta?”

  He smiled. “A fair number. It’s a tightly knit community. My father and his brothers cater a lot of the weddings and parties. We know just about everyone.”

  She tossed the sliced cucumbers into the salad. “Scott doesn’t sound that Greek.”

  “Her first marriage. Didn’t go so well.”

  “Hmm. I’m surprised your mother didn’t pick her for you,” she said lightly.

  “She tried. Gave up. Talia and I are friends. No more.”

  She turned then, her arms hugging the salad bowl. Her eyes met his and stayed, intense and filled with longing, and suddenly the simple act of breathing was an effort.

  Abruptly she dropped her eyes and pushed past him to put the bowl on the table. He followed her, Darlin’ still at his heels, and stopped, staring at her back. “Susannah.”

  “I need to go. I’ll sleep in Jane Doe’s room in ICU with the guard at the door if it will make you feel better. I promise.”

  “What would make me feel better is if you’d look at me.” She didn’t move, so he gently grasped her shoulders and tugged until she turned around, her eyes level with his chest. He waited, silently, until she finally lifted her eyes. He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Her eyes that had been so careful, so guarded, now seethed with emotion, wild and turbulent. Hunger and interest. Denial and dismay. Knowing his next move would be critical, he cupped her cheek as he’d done before.

  She turned her face into his palm and drew a breath as if memorizing his scent, and his whole body clenched. He knew he’d never wanted anyone, anything so much.

  “How long has it been, Susannah?” he asked roughly.

  “For what?”

  It was a damn good question. “Since someone touched you.” He swept his thumb across her cheek to show her what he meant. “Since someone kissed your forehead.”

  He could feel her turmoil. “Never,” she finally said.

  His heart broke. “Not your mother?”

  “No. She wasn’t a warm woman.”

  “Susannah, did your father . . .” He couldn’t ask. Not after all she’d been through.

  “No. But he wanted to. I could always tell. But he never did.” She wet her lips, nervously. “Sometimes I would hide. That’s how I found the hidey-hole behind my closet. I wasn’t hiding from Simon then. I was hiding from my father.”

  Luke wanted to scream. To throw something. To kill her father. Ironically, Simon had done it for him. “Did he hit you?”

  “No. Most of the time he just ignored me. Like I wasn’t there. Then sometimes he’d get this look.” She shuddered.

  “And your mother?”

  Her lips curved, bitterly. “She was a good hostess, kept a nice house. She was never demonstrative. Never paid any attention to us. Except for Simon. It was always about Simon. After he lost his leg, it got worse. And when we’d thought he died, when my father sent him away and told the world he was dead . . . that was bad.”

  “What happened?”

  “My mother was hysterical. She said she hated us, me and Daniel. That she wished we’d never been born. That she wished we’d died instead.”

  What a thing for a daughter to hear. “So when Simon hurt you, you couldn’t tell her.”

  She looked away. “She already knew.”

  “What?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know how she knew, but she did. She told me that I was loose. What else was a boy to expect? But I wasn’t. I’d never even been on a date.”

  “That’s vile, Susannah,” he said, his voice trembling.

  She finally met his eyes again. “Thank you.”

  Thank you. Her mother had condoned her own daughter’s incestuous rape and she thanked him for reviling it. He wanted again to scream, but he reined in his temper and softly kissed her brow. “You think you’re alone and you’re not. You think you’re the only one to do things you’re ashamed of, but you’re not.”

  “You haven’t done what I’ve done, Luke.”

  “How do you know? I’ve had sex with women I barely knew, sometimes just to numb my mind from what I’d seen that day. So that when I woke up at three a.m. I wouldn’t be alone. I’m ashamed of that. I want what my parents have, but I’ve never found it.”

  “You don’t understand.” She started to pull away, reluctantly. “I hope you never do.”

  “Stop.” He whispered the word. “Don’t go.” He touched his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Don’t go.” He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, just held himself there, a whisper away from her mouth.

  After what seemed an eternity, she turned her head, just a hair. Just enough.

  His mouth covered hers, carefully. Softly. Finally. With a whimper she relaxed into him, sliding her hands up his chest and around his neck, and she kissed him back. Her mouth was soft, mobile, and so much sweeter than he thought it would be. And then somewhere, somehow gentleness fled and he took what he’d needed, lifting her feet off the ground, pulling her up against him where his body throbbed and ached.

  Susannah ended it too soon, pressing her cheek against the side of his neck. Then she pushed away until he loosened his grip and her feet touched the floor once more.

  She held out her hand to keep him from coming after her, devastation in her eyes. “I can’t do this,” she said, backing away, then she ran to the bedroom and shut the door.

  Luke’s teeth clenched as he called himself every name he knew. He’d promised her he wouldn’t ask anything more than to let him keep his promise to Daniel. He’d taken advantage of her, just one more person in her life to have done so.

  Furious with himself, he grabbed the dog’s leash. “Come on, Darlin’. Let’s go walk.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ridgefield House, Saturday, February 3, 7:30 p.m.

  Ashley Csorka
drew a breath. She’d been picking at the mortar for hours, until the nail she’d found had dulled. She’d had to pull another stair free to get another nail, and that had taken a long time. Finally, finally she’d freed her first brick, about two feet off the floor. Holding her breath she gave it a push. It’ll be loud, they’ll come.

  You’ve been at this for hours and they haven’t come. Maybe they’re not home. Hurry, hurry. She pushed the brick harder and nearly sobbed when it worked free, creating one brick-sized hole. The air was fresh on her face. Out there was freedom.

  She’d need to loosen at least four or five more bricks. Hurry. Hurry.

  Charlotte, North Carolina, Saturday, February 3, 9:35 p.m.

  Harry Grimes knocked on the door of Nicole Shafer, the third name on the list of friends Genie Cassidy’s mother had given him. The door was opened by a young girl. Harry held up his badge. “I’m Special Agent Harry Grimes. Are your parents home?”

  “Mom,” she called, and her mother appeared, wiping her hand on a dishrag.

  “Can we help you?” she asked, and he showed her his badge.

  “I’m investigating the disappearance of Genie Cassidy.”

  The mother frowned. “I heard she ran away.”

  “No, ma’am. We believe she was abducted. I’d really appreciate the opportunity to ask your daughter a few questions.”

  “Of course. Come in.” He was led to a family room where Mr. Shafer watched TV. “Turn off the TV, Oliver. This man is from the state police. Please sit, Agent Grimes.”

  Harry did, keeping his gaze on Nicole, whose gaze was fixed on her feet. “Nicole, Genie was chatting online with a boy named Jason. Did you know this?”

  Nicole looked at her parents nervously. “Yes. But she didn’t want her mom to know. Her mom was so totally overprotective. Genie had, like, no life. Really, Mom.”

  “Did you know her sister Monica also disappeared after talking to a boy named Jason?” Harry asked, and Nicole nodded.

  “Half the boys in our class are named Jason,” she said. “It’s a common name.”

  “Do you know where Genie planned to meet him?”

  Nicole drew a breath, held it. “Niki,” her father said harshly. “If you know, tell him.”

  Nicole let the breath out. “Mel’s. It’s a diner.”

  “I know it,” Harry said, then leaned forward. “Nicole, do you chat with Jason?”

  She looked at her purple fingernails. “Sometimes. Sometimes if I was with Genie, she’d let me talk to him. Jason was cool. Told her she was pretty.”

  “Did he ask you to meet him?” Harry asked.

  She nodded. “But I was afraid. Genie said we should go together, but I got scared.”

  “Oh God,” Mrs. Shafer breathed, horrified. “Niki. That could have been you.”

  Nicole’s eyes filled with tears. “Is she really missing? Like kidnapped?”

  Harry nodded. “We think so. Be careful, Niki. The world presented by guys online is rarely accurate. Sometimes it’s even dangerous.”

  “You’ll find her, won’t you?” Niki asked, crying now.

  “We’re sure gonna try. Tell me, does he IM you at a certain time or do you IM him?”

  “He IMs me. He’s a college boy.” She hesitated. “He thinks I’m in college, too.”

  “I’m going to need all your screen names and passwords,” Harry said, his pulse accelerating. If they played their cards right, they might trap the SOB. “And I need your promise that you’ll say nothing about this. I don’t want your friends tipping him off.”

  “So I can tell people you came to question me and I told you nothing?”

  Harry’s lips twitched at the hopeful note in her voice. “Sure. Be cool.”

  Mr. Shafer quelled his daughter’s hope with a look. “I want your phone. You’re technologically grounded, young lady.”

  Nicole started to protest, then closed her mouth, pulling her phone from her pocket and putting it in her father’s outstretched hand. “It could have been me,” she said quietly.

  Mr. Shafer pulled her to him in a hard hug. “Thanks,” he said to Harry over his daughter’s head. “Anything you need, just ask.”

  Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 12:15 a.m.

  It was the weeping that woke him. Luke blinked at the light he’d left on in his living room, feeling like he had a hangover even though he’d consumed no wine. He’d been wide awake after that disaster of a kiss, blaming himself every which way he could.

  Finally he’d turned his churning mind to “Bobby.” Every major player in this case had come from Dutton so that’s where he searched, coming up with a list of Dutton residents named Bobby. Then, too exhausted to think anymore, he’d e-mailed the list to Chase and closed his eyes. He’d been asleep four hours and might have slept longer, but for the weeping. He wondered if he’d imagined it. Sometimes he dreamed the weeping.

  But tonight it was real. He heard it again, muffled and quiet. Finding his bedroom door ajar, he peeked in and felt lower than shit. Swallowed whole by his old sweats, Susannah sat on the floor, her arms wrapped around Borenson’s ugly bulldog. Her shoulders shook as she cried and he scooped her into his arms and sat on the bed.

  He thought she would fight him, but instead she grabbed handfuls of his shirt and held on. Just like she had when he’d held her in front of the ER.

  He threaded his fingers through the hair at her nape and cradled her head in his palm. After a time, she quieted, her sobs becoming sniffles. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Just rest,” he said quietly.

  “I’ve cried more today than I have in my whole life combined.”

  “My sister Demi says she feels better after a good cry. You should feel on top of the world right now.” He pressed a kiss to her head. “Why were you crying?”

  “The hospital’s call about our test results.”

  It took him a second. Then he tensed, his gut turning to ice. Jane Doe’s blood. Their HIV tests. “Positive?” he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as he could.

  She pulled back, her eyes wide. “No. Negative. I thought you got a call, too.”

  “If I did, it went to voicemail.” He let out a shaky breath. “Whoa. You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were awake because they just called you.”

  “I’m awake because I heard you crying. It’s negative. We’re okay. Why the tears?”

  She puffed out her cheeks. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try,” he said dryly.

  She looked away. “I think you’re a very nice man.”

  Luke’s brows went up. “So you cry your eyes out? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m trying to explain. It’s just that you’re the first man who’s paid attention to me. The first decent man. You’re kind and interesting, smart, engaging, and . . .”

  “Handsome?” he supplied hopefully. “Sinfully sexy?”

  She laughed, as he’d hoped she would. “Yes.” Then her smile dimmed. “A woman would be a fool not to be flattered.” She shrugged. “Or interested.”

  “Or attracted?”

  She looked down. “Yes. So when I got the call from the hospital, my first thought was, ‘Yay, I’m not going to die.’ My second was, ‘Yay, now I can have Luke.’ ”

  He cleared his throat. “Define ‘have.’ ”

  She sighed. “You know what I meant. But I can’t have you.”

  “Because of your evil past. Susannah, for a smart woman, that is the most singularly stupid logic I’ve ever heard.”

  She gritted her teeth. “It’s not stupid.”

  “It’s not smart,” he said, exasperated. “If a rape victim came to you with that story, you’d fishslap her and tell her to get therapy and have a life. You know I’m right.”

  She drew a breath. “I would not fishslap her.”

  “Fine. But you would tell her to have a life. This guilt you carry around is wrong.”

  She was quiet. “It’s not just the guilt
.”

  “So what else is it?”

  “I can’t do it,” she said between her teeth.

  “Yes, you can. You can tell me. I’m engaging and kind.”

  “I can’t do it. Sex,” she snapped, then closed her eyes. “God. This is humiliating.”

  Luke mentally backed away, then tiptoed back. “There’s a . . . physical issue?”

  “No.” She covered her eyes with her hands. “Let me go. Please.”

  “No. Tell me. You want me, you’ve all but said it. Wouldn’t you like to fix whatever problem you have, so then you could have me?”

  “Altruistic, aren’t you,” she said irritably.

  “And kind. And handsome. And sinfully sexy.”

  One side of her mouth lifted sadly. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Mama always says that.” He sobered, stroking the side of her mouth with his thumb. “Tell me, Susannah. I won’t laugh. I promise.”

  “Let me up. I can’t talk to you like this. Please.”

  He opened his arms and she slid back down to the floor. “I miss my dog,” she said, petting Darlin’. “She probably thinks I’m not coming home.”

  “Tell me why you named a female sheltie Thor.”

  “Thor’s the god of lightning,” she said. “The night I found her, we had a horrible storm with thunder and lightning. I’d driven out to the cemetery to Darcy’s grave. I go every year on January nineteenth.”

  “In January, you had lightning?”

  “It happens, but it’s rare. It was snowing like crazy, so I was only going about ten miles per hour. If I’d been going faster, I would have hit her. There was this enormous bolt of lightning and there she was, bedraggled and wet and cold, standing in the middle of the road, like ‘Hit me or save me but don’t ignore me.’ ”

  “So you stopped.”

  “It was a rental car. What did I care if it got a little dirty? I’d planned to take her to the vet and leave her there, but then she licked my face, and . . . I’m a sucker for that.”

  “I’ll remember that,” he said wryly, and she laughed, but sadly.

  “It’s not the same. Turns out she was microchipped. She’d escaped from a family up north months before and she’d survived all that time on her own.”