Tom’s eyes raged as they held fast to Max’s, but in the end he gave a curt nod. “I promise.”
“Max, wait.”
Max paused, his hand on the door handle. He looked back at David’s worried face.
“I’ll go,” David said, his arms still holding Tom, but more loosely now. For support instead of restraint. “The ground is rough.”
Max felt his heart turn over. His baby brother coming to his rescue yet another time. “Thanks, David, but this is my battle to fight. Caroline is mine. I need to get her back.”
Winters looked down at her, rage making his every muscle shake. A thin stream of blood ran from her lower lip down her chin. He’d teach her. He would.
She was his wife, goddammit. She was to obey him, to follow his orders. His hand trembled and he shoved it in his pocket and looked away from those eyes of hers. They were the eyes of a stranger, not of his wife. They defied him. Were not afraid of him. He looked away, anger making him clench his fists. He couldn’t look down at himself, couldn’t face the fact that he couldn’t …
For the first time in his life he couldn’t.
It was all her fault.
He’d been hard. Ready. Ready to pound into her, ready to punish her for making him look like a fool. For stealing his boy away. Ready to take what was legally his. Rightfully his. Morally his. Then she’d looked at him with … contempt. Icy, bitter contempt.
And then he couldn’t.
He’d taken some measure of revenge on her ugly face. No wonder he couldn’t. It was his body’s way of telling him she was way too ugly. She always had been.
A sound emerged from her and he yanked his eyes back to her face. Her lips were curved even as her blood trickled down.
She was laughing at him.
His fists clenched and he drew one back only to see the laughter fade, her blue eyes flicker with … triumph. He lowered his fist, narrowed his eyes. The bitch had lost her mind. She was encouraging him to hit her. Encouraging him to mark her face with his fists.
To mark her face.
Realization pricked at him, and with it a contempt for his own carelessness.
She looked at him, eyebrows raised over eyes he’d blackened with his fists. Her jaw was one big black bruise, her upper lip fat and crusted with blood, her lower lip still bleeding.
It would be at least a week before he could take her out in public.
At least a week before she could set the record straight and get Ross off his butt.
Goddammit. What was he thinking anyway, pummeling her face like that?
He drew a breath and let it out slowly. He had to stay in control. Control and cunning—that’s what made him untouchable by Ross and her petty investigations. He’d left behind no evidence that could connect him to any of the bodies he’d left behind even if anybody got smart enough to look, which they wouldn’t. He’d used a condom with Evie Wilson. He’d picked a hooker nobody would miss, and nobody saw him with the old man. As for the others … He made himself shrug, drawing reassurance from the gesture.
Nobody could ever know. Nobody would even guess he’d tossed Susan What’s-her-name off the bridge into the Tar River. Crenshaw. It was Susan Crenshaw. He couldn’t forget the details. Remembering the details was what made him better than Ross. Remembering the details was what would bring his boy back to him and get Mary Grace the punishment she deserved.
She was watching him, her eyes following his every movement. He would not allow her to shake him, to make him lose sight of his goal. He wouldn’t play her game. She’d play his. She’d lose. He’d win. He always won.
“You may think you’re pretty smart, Mary Grace,” he said with an easy smile which broadened when her careful, contemptuous stare was shaken just a bit. “But I’m smarter. Don’t you forget that. I have to go into town. I’ll be gone awhile.” He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out the dwindling ball of twine. “Hands up.” He threw her a mocking smile. “Please.”
Caroline refused to look at the flimsy door that separated the dirty bedroom from the dirtier front room. She needed to keep him here, keep him distracted so little Nicky would have the best chance of getting away. She hoped Nicky was an obedient child, as well as brave. She hoped he was out and walking, like she’d told him to do.
Rob had figured out, finally, that beating her face was counter to his immediate goal. Frankly, he’d figured it out faster than she’d thought. She mustn’t underestimate him. It could get her killed. It could get Nicky killed. It could get Tom a lifetime sentence with a brutal, sadistic monster.
“No.” Her voice was hoarse from lack of use and lack of water. She clenched her hands and held them, knowing full well she could buy herself five or ten seconds, tops. Rob yanked her hands together. Five seconds, then. The twine bit deep into her raw flesh. She bit down to control the wince. At least he hadn’t raped her. Not yet. She’d bought herself a little time.
He threw her back down on the dirty mattress and dust rose in a thin cloud, then settled again.
“You won’t succeed, you know,” she said as he took a step toward the door. “That cop? Ross? She’s onto you. The Chicago cops will know you’ve kidnapped me.” She prayed she was right about that, that someone would find one of the notes she’d left behind in the dirty toilets they’d used on their journey from Chicago.
Rob’s eyes flared. “The Chicago cops couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag, and as for Ross—she won’t be around much longer.”
Caroline swallowed, working enough moisture into her mouth to keep from sounding like a pitiful frog. “That’s good, Rob. Very good. The Chicago police are all blithering idiots because you say so, and you’ll kill Ross to get her out of your way. I’m glad you think the world will operate according to your specifications.” She managed a tone of biting sarcasm despite the soreness in her throat. “You can kill them all, but that won’t get you a single inch closer to my son.”
That did it. His face turned a florid red and one fist clenched as the other grasped her by the collar and lifted her up off the bed. “You little bitch. You conniving whore. He’s my son—my son—and you’ll pay for stealing him from me.” He dragged her to a straight-backed chair and shoved her into it. She stumbled, her hands and feet still bound. He lifted her bound hands over the back of the chair and roughly pushed them down until a whimper escaped from her throat at the pain in her shoulders. “You think you’re so smart, what with your university classes and your fancy degree.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Hard. He shook her until her ears roared and her head ached with new pain. Until her very teeth rattled in her head.
Then he stopped. And laughed. Caroline’s blood ran cold despite her efforts at bravado. His hands came up and covered her nose and mouth. Instinct and self-preservation made her struggle to breathe, but he pulled her head back against his chest, pinning her in place. Cutting off her air.
“Don’t try to play with me, Mary Grace,” he crooned in her ear. “You won’t like my rules. I can guarantee it.” He pulled her against him, the back of her head against the hard wall of his chest, reminding her how strong and massive he was. She struggled to stay calm, but the room started to sway and bright lights started to twinkle before her eyes.
Then he released her and she gulped the air in. “You’ll do what I say. You’ll find a way to give me back my son. You’ll find a way to undo all the damage you’ve done.” He trailed his fingertips down the side of her neck. “Just think. We’ll be a family again.” His voice was mocking her. “We’ll go on picnics and play Scrabble on Wednesdays.” He tightened his hold on her mouth and nose again and this time she struggled, trying to wiggle free, desperately trying for a single breath.
Just when the lights started to twinkle, he let her go again. She fell back, gasping like a drowning survivor. He tapped her chin with his forefinger, still behind her. “No marks, Mary Grace. I can do this over and over and over and not leave a single mark on your skin. You’ll agree to tell the police
and everyone else that you stole my son and you’ve been an unfit mother.”
“No,” Caroline spat the word. “Not as long as I still breathe. And if you kill me, you’ll never get Tom to believe you.”
His hands closed around her neck. “Robbie. His name is Robbie.”
Something deep inside drove her to push, to taunt him harder still. “His name is Tom. He’ll never be Robbie again. No matter what you do to me. He hates you. He loathes you.” Caroline sucked in a breath wondering when the hands would tighten around her neck. “He will never, never be your son again. You forfeited any rights you have.”
His hands tightened, but she could still breathe. Barely. “I am his father. Any court will recognize my right to full custody.”
“Before or after they convict you for kidnapping and assault?”
He tightened his grip and Caroline gagged, then gasped when he loosened it once again. “They won’t charge me for anything,” he said smoothly, right into her ear. “You contacted me and I met you in Chicago. You missed me; you felt guilty for all these years apart. You asked me to forgive you for the whore’s life you led all these years. I forgave you.” Minor pressure on her windpipe had her gasping again. “Because I love you so, Mary Grace,” he continued. “You came with me willingly. You wanted to have a second honeymoon.”
Caroline almost defied him to explain away the little boy he’d kidnapped, but stopped herself just in time. Rob seemed to forget about Nicky from time to time—now, back when he found her by the window and when he’d grabbed her from the back of the van when they’d first arrived. He’d almost left Nicky all alone in the back of the van. If Nicky had gotten away, she didn’t want to be drawing attention to him now.
“I never had a first honeymoon,” Caroline replied, steadfastly refusing to look at the door.
His hands covered her mouth and nose again. “You think you’re so smart. But you keep forgetting that I’m smarter.” He jerked her head backwards and the room spun. Her lungs were burning. On fire. Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear. Two words, a number and a name and her control splintered. Her resolve shattered.
Rob knew the address of Hanover House.
Max walked to the east side of the cabin, leaning heavily on his cane. The ground was soft. It had rained here recently. His cane kept getting stuck in red mud. Finally he reached the side of the cabin and he leaned up against it, listening at the window. He could hear a voice. One male voice, harsh and loud. He inched closer, close enough to peer in the window.
His heart stopped.
There she was, her back to him, tied to a chair. Bile rose in his throat. Then the fear set in. A man came into view, his mouth moving, his expression … rabid. Winters.
Max watched in frozen horror as Winters put his hands around Caroline’s neck. He could see the revolver stuck in Winters’s waistband. Max carried no gun. Where the hell was Lambert?
Max watched as Caroline shook her head and though he listened he couldn’t hear her voice.
Winters’s big hands tightened around Caroline’s neck. He was choking her. The bastard had tied her and was now choking her to death. His mind raced as he thought of a solution that wouldn’t put Caroline in greater danger.
Suddenly Winters leaned closer and Max reached for the window. He could think of nothing more than to charge. To break every bone in the bastard’s hands for touching one hair on her head.
Max stopped, mid-motion. Winters was speaking again, his hands covering her mouth. He was suffocating her. In agony Max stood watching, knowing a small sound could signal Winters to pull the gun out and … use it. Max watched and listened, hoping to catch him by surprise.
“Hanover House,” Winters was saying and Max’s heart contracted. Winters knew about the shelter. “Nice place, I’m told. Who’s the director again? Dana, that’s her name. Great legs. Bet she’ll ride like a champion.” His lip curled when Caroline struggled against him to no possible avail. “Didn’t like that? I guarantee she won’t either. She’ll think twice before helping any more women take children from their fathers. Hanover House. That piece of information will be of reasonably high value to every husband in the place.”
He released Caroline’s mouth and her head lolled back and Max could see her gasping for air. Winters again put his hands around her throat. “Imagine, Gracie, darlin’. Every one of those mothers, kids. They think they’re safe. Do you want to live with that on your conscience?”
Max watched her shake her head, so wearily.
“So you’ll … cooperate?”
Caroline felt her body sag. She was so tired. Could she obey him? Could she tell the world he’d never touched her? How could she not? She’d be risking Hanover House, where innocent women and their children huddled in fear of monsters just like Rob Winters. She couldn’t allow him access to Hanover House. It had to remain secret, protected above all else. Above her own safety, her own life.
She hesitated, wrestling with her thoughts, with her innermost values when he covered her nose and mouth and the room began to twinkle once again. Yes, the occupants of Hanover House were to be protected even above Tom’s life. She prayed her son would understand, that he’d find sanctuary with one of the many friends they’d made over the years. She prayed Tom could forgive her someday. Finally she nodded and Rob released his hands.
“Your word?” He asked, his voice despicably triumphant.
She nodded, too exhausted even to gasp for air. She breathed slowly, heard her lungs wheeze as the air seeped in and out. Rob dropped her head and it fell forward like a puppet on a severed string.
He’d won. Nausea rolled in her stomach and she fought back the bile that threatened to suffocate her from the inside.
“Say it out loud, Mary Grace,” he demanded, coming around to face her. “You will cooperate with me. You will obey me?”
Her mouth opened, formed the word, but no sound emerged. He grabbed her head, pressing her skull between his big hands. The pressure was almost too painful to bear.
“Out loud, Mary Grace,” he gritted. “I want to hear it from your lying, deceitful mouth.”
She opened her mouth again, a whimper the only sound she could muster.
A loud shout shattered the mountain silence and in one movement Rob released her head and whirled around to the sound.
“Winters! I know you’re in there! Send my son out. Unhurt. Now.”
Caroline opened her eyes and saw Rob reach for his gun even as his face paled.
“Thatcher,” he muttered. “You sonofabitch.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“Steven, dammit!” Toni rushed up behind him as he stood in the cabin’s front yard, still quivering from his shouted challenge. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting my son back,” Steven said loudly.
Toni grabbed him and hauled him back toward the trees. “This isn’t how to do it, Steven. Do you want him to hurt Nicky? What are you thinking?”
Steven hung his head, trying to control the frantic beating of his heart. “I’m thinking about my son inside that cabin.” Desperation clawed at his insides. So close. His baby was so close. Twenty feet away. “I’m thinking about what Winters is doing every minute my son is in there.” His voice shook. “Oh, God, Toni, he’s got my baby in there and I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
Toni squeezed his shoulder, painfully, and Steven’s head shot up, his eyes blinking in surprise. She was staring at him, a cool determination in her eyes. “Get a grip on yourself, Steven.” She looked over to where Detective Crowley was canvassing the wooded area to the far left of the cabin then checked her watch. “Where the hell is that hostage negotiator?” She scanned the trees. “And where the hell is Jonathan?”
“And Hunter,” Crowley added, coming up behind them. “
He’s in the car,” Toni said, keeping her eyes on the cabin. “With the boy.”
“No, that’s David, the brother. I found footprints and depressions of
a cane in the mud around the side of the house. Max Hunter is in the house.”
Toni breathed out a sigh. “Shit.”
He was in. His hip ached from climbing over the windowsill, but he was in. And he wasn’t leaving without Caroline. Gritting his teeth, Max swung his better leg over the windowsill, paused and pulled the other in behind him, making a soft thud as his feet hit the floor and he regained his balance. Caroline jerked to see behind her, unsuccessfully.
In two seconds Max was behind her and smoothed a gentle hand over her hair, felt her start of fear at his touch and damned Rob Winters to a violent and painful hell. He knelt on the floor and leaned forward even as he pulled a pocketknife from his pants pocket.
“I’m here. I love you,” he breathed into her ear and she sagged back against the chair, letting her head rest against his. He made short work of the twine binding her wrists and she flopped to one side. He caught her in one arm and used the other to cut at the twine binding her ankles, then looked up at her face. His stomach pitched. He had to fight the urge to gag. The hand holding the pocket knife fisted, holding the knife as he might a dagger, for a moment visualizing cutting Winters’s heart out of his broken, bleeding body.
Her face …
He’d bruised and bloodied her. He’d scratched and cut her.
He hurt her. Oh, God.
“Caroline,” he whispered, his heart in his throat.
She closed her eyes, but not before he saw the shame there.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, unable to force the words from her sore throat.
Rage burned, so intense he had to shut his eyes against the strength of it.