Rafe’s lips twisted. So, the man wasn’t as stupid as he’d assumed. “I have my suspicions,” he grudgingly admitted.
“Are you going to share them?”
Was he?
Rafe wavered. He’d resigned himself to the fact he would never trust the lawman. Just as he’d resigned himself to the fact that he was the legal authority in this town, with the ability to organize the locals into a full-blown search for Annie.
“I recently discovered that Annie’s brother wasn’t killed in a car accident as she always believed,” he revealed.
The man looked confused. “He’s still alive?”
“Yeah.”
“Why the hell did Don White lie about his son being killed in an auto accident?”
“Because until recently Martin Emerson was a patient at the Greenwood Estates.”
“What’s that?”
“A private mental facility.”
“Christ.” The sheriff’s face twisted with disgust. “He’s a whack job?”
Rafe’s aversion for the man amped up another notch.
Sheriff Graham Brock truly was a nasty waste of space.
“He was severely abused by his mother and killed her in self-defense.” He ridiculously found himself defending Martin even as he knew he would kill the tortured man without hesitation to rescue Annie.
The sheriff shrugged. “What does this have to do with the fact your girlfriend is missing?”
Girlfriend.
It wasn’t a term Rafe had used since he’d left junior high. But suddenly it sounded right.
Of course, once this madness was over he intended to make sure his bond with Annie was wrapped up legally, spiritually, and any other way he could think of to tie her to him on a permanent basis.
But for now, girlfriend would do.
Giving a shake of his head, Rafe shoved aside his odd musing. Shit. This was no time to lose focus. “I think it’s possible that he’s the Newton Slayer.”
The man sucked in a shocked breath. “What?”
“Martin Emerson sliced his mother’s throat when he was fourteen.”
“Holy fuck.” The sheriff grimaced, his hand unconsciously lifting to touch his throat. “He’s obviously a sicko, but it doesn’t mean he killed those women.”
“I just got back from the clinic where he was living,” Rafe said.
The sheriff frowned. “And?”
“And he’s been missing for the past three weeks,” Rafe said.
“Shit.” The sheriff scowled. “That doesn’t necessarily mean he came to Newton.”
“I might agree if Annie hadn’t been receiving notes,” Rafe admitted.
“Notes?” Brock’s scowl only deepened. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
Rafe shrugged. “At first she thought they were pranks.”
“But you don’t?”
“The notes were addressed to Annabelle, not Annie,” Rafe said. “No one knows that name in Newton. No one except for Martin Emerson.”
The sheriff snatched off his hat to run a hand over his nearly bald head. “Goddamn,” he at last muttered, accepting that Rafe might be right. A fact that clearly rubbed at his pride. “I suppose blood will tell. First the father and now the son.”
Rafe shook his head, then winced when a sharp pain sliced through his brain.
Damn, he felt like he’d been through a blender.
“No, not the father,” he told his companion.
The sheriff looked predictably baffled. “Don White wasn’t her father?”
“He wasn’t the Slayer,” Rafe corrected. “Don White was actually Captain James Emerson, a well-respected naval officer. It was Martin who was killing the women of Newton fifteen years ago.”
Rafe watched as the man absorbed his words, the chunky face paling to a strange shade of ash. “Impossible,” Brock breathed.
“Trust me, I had the very best investigator searching through his records,” Rafe insisted, annoyed by the idiot’s refusal to accept the truth.
He didn’t have time for this shit.
Brock shook his head. “I found him myself in the bomb shelter. He wouldn’t have been there if he wasn’t guilty.”
“At a guess I’d say he was trying to protect his son,” Rafe rasped with an impatience that could no longer be restrained. Who cared how or why Annie’s father had been in the shelter? “Or Martin forced him down there to use as the fall guy.”
“No.” With quick, jerky steps the sheriff paced the cramped space of the hospital room. Sweat poured down his round face, staining the collar of his uniform. “It was him.”
“Think what you want,” Rafe muttered. “But all the evidence points toward Martin being the Slayer.”
Without warning, Brock swung his arm and smashed his fist into a metal cabinet, sending a tray of equipment crashing to the floor.
“Fuck,” he burst out, his face flushed an ugly red.
Rafe frowned before he belatedly realized why the sheriff looked like he was on the edge of a complete meltdown.
It was very possible that the lawman had killed Don White thinking that he was the man responsible for murdering his young wife and unborn child.
Now he was forced to accept that he’d made a hideous mistake.
“It seems an innocent man died in your jail cell, sheriff.” Rafe stepped around Brock, who was staring absently at the far wall. “Now I intend to find Annie. I suggest you do your job and get a search organized.”
“Wait.”
Rafe didn’t hesitate as he headed out the door. “You have any more questions for me, contact my lawyer.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Annie was running down a long tunnel. It was cramped and cold and no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t reach the entrance, which remained frustratingly out of reach.
She didn’t understand the terror that was making her heart thunder, but she was convinced that there was someone running behind her. And that if she didn’t get out of the darkness soon she was going to die.
That simple.
With an effort¸ she forced her heart to slow, assuring herself that this was no different from any other vision she’d endured.
Okay, this time she wasn’t watching from a distance. Instead, it was directly happening to her.
But soon she would open her eyes to discover she was lying in her bed, drenched in sweat.
She was still telling herself that when she finally managed to force her eyes open.
Only this time she wasn’t in her own bed.
Forcing herself not to twitch a muscle, she took in her surroundings.
Above her head were open beams. Not a decor statement, but instead the bottom of the floor above her. Combined with the plain cement wall that was just inches from her face, it was easy to guess she was in an unfinished basement.
There was a small slit of a window at the top of the wall that allowed in the first rays of morning sunlight. Not enough light to banish all the shadows from the basement, but she could tell she was lying on a narrow cot and that her arm was handcuffed to a steel pipe bolted to the cement floor.
Oh shit.
This was real.
As in . . . real, real.
But how had it happened?
She’d been with Rafe. She remembered that much. They were returning from the clinic and there was something blocking the road. A gas truck. Yes. And then . . .
Her breath tangled in her throat, her heart missing a beat.
Oh God.
A car had appeared out of nowhere to smash into the side of the truck, injuring Rafe and leaving her vulnerable to her crazy-ass brother.
“Rafe?” she breathed, turning her head to the side as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
Instantly she stiffened, sheer terror exploding through her at the sight of the man who appeared from the shadows to crouch beside the cot.
Martin.
Even through her panic she inanely found herself searching the narrow face surrounded by a h
alo of brown curls for some sign of recognition.
Some flicker of memory.
There was nothing, but as she studied the shape of his blue eyes and the curve of his lips, Annie had to admit they resembled one another. Not exact duplicates, but close enough that it was obvious they were related.
It was creepy. And oddly reassuring that she wasn’t completely alone in the world.
God almighty, she was truly screwed in the head.
“At last. You’re awake,” he murmured softly, his expression tender as he reached his hand toward her. “How do you feel?”
“No.” She instinctively shrank away from his touch, eyeing him as if he were a cobra about to strike. “Don’t touch me.”
“Shh.” He lightly stroked her hair. “I won’t hurt you.”
She shivered, her head aching and her mouth dry. “You already did.”
His gaze shifted to the lump on her forehead, genuine regret twisting his delicate features. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It was necessary.”
Annie forcibly swallowed her urge to scream. She didn’t know where she was, or how long she’d been out.
The only thing she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was that she was going to find some way to escape.
Either she would convince Martin to release her, or she would keep him distracted long enough for Rafe to find her.
Because there was no doubt in her mind that Rafe was searching for her.
Even if he had to crawl out of his hospital bed to do it.
Until then . . . well, she just had to stay alive.
“Why?” she demanded.
His lips thinned as his fingers continued to stroke over her hair. “I’d hoped that Rafe Vargas could be a suitable companion when I couldn’t be near to protect you,” he said, the faintest edge in his voice hinting at his disappointment in Rafe. “But he’s become far too possessive.”
She licked her dry lips. “He was only trying to help.”
Martin frowned. “He took you away.”
Her stomach cramped at the knowledge he’d been keeping such close track of her movements.
“Took me away from what?”
“From me.” Martin’s fingers tightened in her hair. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make Annie’s heart stutter with fear. “I can’t allow that. Not again.”
“I . . .” She was forced to halt and swallow the lump in her throat. “I didn’t realize we were supposed to be together.”
His burst of frustration eased and the tender expression returned to his face.
Annie hid a grimace. It was unnerving just how normal he looked.
As if he was just an ordinary young man and not an unbalanced killer who sliced open women’s throats.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.
She briefly considered her answer.
She could lie and say she had memories of their childhood together.
Or she could go the other extreme and pretend she didn’t have any idea who he was.
In the end, she went for the truth. She wasn’t a good liar under the best of circumstances. And these were far from the best of circumstances.
“No, I don’t remember you, but I suspect you’re my brother,” she said.
“How did—?” He bit off his words, his brief confusion replaced by a rueful smile. “Ah. Vargas must have discovered our little secret.”
Annie frowned. She didn’t think hiding the fact that her brother had murdered her mother and was currently living in a private clinic was a “little secret.”
“All these years I thought you were dead,” she accused, her voice revealing the grief she’d endured for the past twenty-two years.
Genuine regret darkened his blue eyes. “I know, sweetie, and I’m sorry,” he murmured. “When I went to the clinic, I insisted that you be told I had died in a car accident.”
“I should have been told the truth.”
He gave a sharp shake of his head. “No, I would have rather you believed I was dead than to have you growing up knowing that I killed Mother. You would have thought I was some sort of crazed maniac.”
Once again his fingers tightened in her hair, revealing the turbulent emotions that seethed just below the surface.
Annie hastily pinned a soothing smile to her lips. God. She had to be more careful.
“I would never have thought that,” she assured him. “I know that she . . . wasn’t a good mother.”
“Yes, you would have,” he argued, his voice petulant. As if he was six, not thirty-six years old. “Father would have poisoned your mind against me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He was always jealous of me,” he growled. “He resented the fact that you loved me more.”
Annie gave a startled blink. She understood his seething hatred for their mother. She’d clearly been a psycho bitch.
But their dad had been a kind, gentle man who would never hurt anyone.
“No, Martin—”
“Marty,” he firmly interrupted her protest. “You always called me Marty.”
“Okay . . . Marty,” she conceded. She’d call him whatever he wanted if it kept him calm. “Dad loved you. When he talked about you I could see how much he missed you.”
His jaw clenched, the cresting sunlight revealing the unmistakable pain that flared through his eyes. “If that was true he wouldn’t have abandoned us.”
“Do you mean after . . .” Her words faltered, not sure how to discuss the murder of their mother. “After you went to the . . . clinic?”
“No.” He scowled, clearly disturbed by the thought of their father. “I mean when we were young.”
She gave a jerk of surprise, the handcuff rattling against the steel pipe. “He abandoned us?”
“He might as well have,” Martin amended, thankfully removing his fingers from her hair as he shoved himself upright. “He was always gone,” he said, his eyes growing distant as if he was suddenly lost in the past. “Being a sailor was more important than taking care of his own children.”
Annie grimaced. It was difficult to remember her father had once been an ambitious naval captain who’d married the daughter of a diplomat.
As far as she could remember, he’d been a farmer who was content to work his land during the day and spend his nights taking care of his daughter.
Now she found herself instinctively defending the fact he’d clearly failed his son, even if it had been unintentional.
“It was his career,” she said softly.
Martin snorted in disgust. “A convenient excuse.”
“But someone had to work to pay the bills, didn’t they?”
Her brother glared down at her, a faint flush touching his pale cheeks. “Now you sound like him,” he snapped. “He came to the clinic pleading for me to understand that he had no choice.” He shook his head. “As if I would ever forgive him.”
Annie tried to find a more comfortable position on the cot. Not easy when her arm was cuffed to the pipe at an awkward angle and her head continued to throb.
“How often did he visit you?” she asked, not only to keep Martin distracted, but because she was truly curious.
How had her father managed to keep so much of his life a secret from her?
Granted, she’d only been ten when he died. But still . . .
“During the first couple of years he came every week,” Martin said with a shrug. “After I refused to see him, he started coming once a year on my birthday.”
Annie’s breath caught in her throat as she abruptly recalled her father’s annual fishing trip with an old college buddy.
It was the one time he’d allow Annie to sleep over at a friend’s house.
“March twenty-fourth,” she whispered.
“Yes.” Martin abruptly smiled. “He would bring pictures of you and leave them with the doctors.”
Ah. Well, that explained the framed pictures of her that they’d seen in Martin’s private rooms.
“He didn?
??t see you?”
“I refused.” The words were stark. Unforgiving. “I will never forget that he left us in the hands of a monster.”
Mother’s a monster . . .
The words echoed through the back of her mind.
Had Martin whispered them to her?
“Do you mean Mother?” she demanded.
Without warning Martin turned to pace the cement floor, his hands clenched and his back rigid. “Don’t call her that,” he snarled, stepping toward her as if he would strike her. Then, seeing her wince in fear, he sucked in a deep breath and made an obvious effort to calm down. “She was never a mother. Not to either of us.”
The early morning sunlight was making a valiant attempt to combat the frost that’d coated the leaves and grass in front of the small house.
Moving like an old man, Rafe limped across his grandfather’s porch, wryly aware of Hauk walking a few inches behind him, clearly prepared to catch him if he fell.
His friend was hovering around him like a mother hen, but Rafe didn’t have the energy to complain.
Besides, if he was being entirely honest, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t take an unexpected tumble.
The murkiness in his brain might have cleared during the drive from the hospital, but the cut on his forehead throbbed, his knees were weak, and taking a breath hurt like a bitch.
It was only his fierce need to find Annie that kept him upright.
Managing to pull open the door, he crossed through the living room, acutely aware of the lingering scent of cherry blossoms that clung to the air.
The smell of Annie.
Jesus. He was swayed as a wave of fear threatened to overwhelm him.
He was trying hard not to think of her terrified, perhaps even injured, in the hands of the Newton Slayer.
He wouldn’t be able to function if he gave in to his fear.
Right now Annie didn’t need a panicked lover.
She needed a covert ops specialist.
And that’s what he intended to be.
Entering the kitchen he wasn’t surprised to see that it’d been turned into a command center by Max and Teagan.
The countertops had been cleared of dishes, towels, and small appliances. Hell, even his coffeemaker was gone. And in their place were four separate laptops running various search programs.