Cache a Predator (28 page)

Sarah paused and squatted on the floor next to him. “What do you mean?”

“When he told you to lie with him. He told you lies. He told me those lies too. He said Mama would want you to do stuff, but she didn’t, did she? I wanted to warn you, but I couldn’t. I was afraid.” His body swayed from side to side.

Her head spun. The room was so hot. Too hot. She didn’t want to think about Dean watching her with
him
. Or Dean lying with
him
. She shuddered. Poor Dean. He must have been traumatized, and yet he’d never said anything. She shook her head wishing she could make the vision disappear. “Father was a bad man.”

He nodded. “Nobody believed me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told people. About him. They laughed at me. You were gone. At school.” Tears streamed down his face.

Her heart wept for him. She took his hand. This time he didn’t flick it away. Her tears fell too. “I’m sorry. You must have felt so alone.” Rage glared its red face, and her insides boiled. What had happened to her was one thing, but that it had happened to her brother was worse. “I remember. He hurt you, didn’t he?”

Dean nodded.

“I believe you. I’m sorry.”

He hung his head low.

She wanted to scream that such an innocent child should never have had to endure what he had. But she couldn’t fix him now. Maybe never. He needed years of therapy. How had she missed the signs? She thought he’d improved, that he’d moved on.

She wiped her face, trying to move on for Quinn’s sake. They’d have to take care of Dean later. Somehow she needed to steer him back toward Quinn, finding Quinn, and taking her to Brett. Soon. There wasn’t much time. But how could she get him to move on now?

“What Father did wasn’t your fault. And you’re right. Mama wouldn’t have approved. What Father did was wrong.” Her voice shook.

He swung his head back and forth, and his bottom lip quivered. “I didn’t do anything to s-s-stop him. I stood outside the d-d-door and heard you crying, but I couldn’t help you. I wanted to save you, but I was scared. Too scared. I hated him for what he did to you … and M-m-mama. Why couldn’t he have l-l-left you alone?” His voice softened. “Why couldn’t he have left me alone?”

Sarah squeezed his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. He was a mean man. Shhh. I’m okay now but Quinn isn’t. We need to find her.” She reached up and stroked his hair, but he seemed lost.

“I couldn’t s-s-say no. He was right. I was a w-w-wuss. He laughed at me. He told me I’d never be anything.” His hands curled into tight fists.

“He was wrong, Dean. You’re really brave, and you’re somebody. Doc Spear and all the animals at the clinic love you. You’re important. Father should never have said those things, or done those things. I’m sorry.” Tears fell down her face.

His hands relaxed and he laughed. “You’re right. I am somebody. He said I would always be a little boy, a w-w-wuss, but look at me now.” He puffed out his chest and lifted his chin. “He was wrong. I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I, Sarah—slicing off those guys’ dicks? Those bastards will never be able to hurt another child. Ever. I saw to that. D-d-didn’t I? Father was wrong about me. I am brave. People are talking. They’re scared. Especially those perverts.”

“No, Dean. What you did was wrong. Those men were bad, but maiming them wasn’t the right thing to do. Taking Quinn was wrong too. She’s not yours. We have to find her and return her to her father.”

He shook his head. “I needed to p-p-protect her.” He twisted the bottom of his shirt, the crazed look in his eyes returning.

A surge of worry and protective love filled her. She saw in his eyes that he needed to believe he’d done the right thing, that things would work out okay, but she knew in her heart how unlikely it was. Nothing she could say would make him understand. She exhaled and patted his hand, knowing she had to hurry. They had to find Quinn. “I know you thought you were doing the right thing.” She stroked his arm. “Everything is going to be okay. Let’s go find Quinn. Do you know where she might be?” Sarah waited, studying his expression.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. M-m-maybe outside.”

“Let’s go.” She stood, praying Brett would understand that her brother wasn’t a monster, that he’d been a victim. But she doubted Brett would care what Dean had been through. He was in trouble. Big trouble.

Dean stood and blocked her path.

“Let me pass so I can find Quinn.” She waited.

“Only if I can go too.”

“Okay, but you have to promise to obey.”

He stepped aside and put on his boots again.

When he finished, she retrieved the flashlight she’d left on the steps and searched Dean’s eyes. Although they still roamed, they caught hers for a brief moment—long enough for her to think they were calmer. She descended the steps, keeping Dean in her peripheral view as he followed.

The rain had almost stopped. She shone the light on the ground, first right, then left, and noticed two little footprints in the garden near the rose bushes heading toward the brush in the woods. Relief poured threw her. “She went this way.” Poor thing. She must be so scared.

Sarah cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Quinn, you can come out now. I won’t hurt you. It’s Dr. Sarah. Remember me?”

The only answer came from thunder in the distance and the howling of the wind blowing through the trees. Rain dripped off the leaves. The night was black.

They entered the woods and weaved in and out of the path. Dean hung close behind. Sarah watched for Quinn’s footprints along the trail knocking limb branches out of her way, ignoring the sting when they clawed her bare arms. The path snaked along the edge of the creek.

She stopped to listen. Had she heard something? A whimper? It sounded like it was coming from somewhere straight ahead. “Quinn? It’s Dr. Sarah. I’m here to help you. Can you follow my voice, come to me?”

The noise stopped.

Dean wrung his hands. “Quinn, it’s okay. Your father isn’t here. Don’t be sad.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Are you hurt, Quinn? I can help you. I w-w-will listen.”

A child cried, Quinn’s cry.

Sarah turned to her brother. “Shh, don’t say anything. We don’t want to frighten her.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped.

Sarah continued on the path, proceeding toward the sound, uncertain of where it was coming from. She ducked behind trees, pushing branches and weeds out of her way. “Where are you?”

The crying stopped when Sarah came to a fork on the trail. An old fallen tree stump blocked their path. Small footprints ceased just before it, like Quinn had jumped up onto the stump and over.

The air grew quiet—as if Quinn knew they were close and was trying to hold back her tears. “Dr. Sarah is here, Quinn. No one is going to hurt you. Everything’s okay. Your father is at my house. I’m going to take you to him.”

Dean said, “No!”

Sarah turned to Dean and put her index finger over her lips. “Shh.” She advanced through the wet grass and peered behind the large tree stump. There, curled up with her knees tucked under her chin, sat Quinn, her hands, face, and knees streaked with mud. Her bottom lip fluttered, and her body shivered probably chilled from the rain. She held her left ankle and winced.

Tears of relief burst through Sarah. She sighed and stooped, meeting Quinn’s eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Okay?”

Quinn nodded and reached for Sarah, encircling her arms around Sarah’s neck as if she’d never let go. Sarah reached under Quinn’s knees and arms, lifting her to her chest. Quinn wrapped her legs around Sarah’s waist.

Sarah closed her eyes and held her tight, basking in the warmth of her embrace, a sense of maternal protectiveness washing over her. When she made her way into the clearing, Dean smiled and jumped up and down like a child. “You found her. Let me carry her. I’m stronger than you.” He shoved his arms under Quinn, jerking her toward him.

Quinn screamed.

Sarah drew Quinn closer. “No, Dean. I have her now. She’s not too heavy.”

He grabbed for her again. “No, I want to help.”

Quinn said, “No. I want … Sarah.” Her shoulders shook in short hiccups.

Sarah softened her voice and faced Dean. “I know you’re stronger than me, and you’re super at helping, but let me hold her. She’s frightened right now. Why don’t you show us how to get back to the cabin? I’m not sure I can find my way.” If she made him feel helpful it would distract him, but for how long, she didn’t know.

Dean smiled and raced ahead of them, waving his arms for them to follow.

Sarah couldn’t keep patronizing him. She had to find a way to break him out of his funk or something would push him over the edge. A shiver trickled down the small of her back. It wouldn’t be long before Brett, or the authorities, found him. She couldn’t bear the thought of them taking him away in handcuffs or an ambulance.

She needed to get Dean back to the house and talk him into turning himself in. But how was she going to do that?

Chapter Twenty-Six

Brett woke with a start to pain searing through his head and Max’s incessant face-licking. Brett’s fingers shot up to a spot above his ear and felt a sticky gash. He groaned. His heart thumped. He stared at his bloody fingers, dazed, rising to a sitting position. The room spun. What had happened? Where was he?

He was on the floor in a yellow kitchen. Whose kitchen? At first he didn’t recognize anything in the room, then everything came flooding back.

He was in Sarah’s kitchen. She’d fixed him a bowl of stew.

Quinn! He had to find Quinn.

He shot up off the floor, but dizziness made him blind, and he fell back to the floor. Sitting, he closed his eyes for a brief moment and concentrated on remembering everything that had happened before he was hit.

He’d been listening to his e-mail messages when someone hit him over the head. Had it been Sarah? Why? Where was she now? He listened but only heard the humming of the refrigerator and the crickets chirping outside.

His phone lay on the floor a foot away. He picked it up, remembering his messages—Ali had died, and Sarah’s father, Levi Samuel, was missing his penis. Everything was spinning out of control.

I need to call Clay
. Looking at his cell phone screen, he tried to find Clay’s number but the contacts blurred.
Damn, he couldn’t see!
He shoved the phone in its belt case and reached for the gun in his holster, unsnapped the thumb break, and drew the weapon.

Now he was pissed. Mad at himself for falling for Sarah, for believing he could trust her, for believing she cared about him. She’d been in cahoots with her brother the whole time. She must have staged the whole thing from the beginning. And he hadn’t seen it!

Leaning against the chair, he hoisted himself up to a sitting position, his mind spinning as he remembered when he’d first met Sarah, when she’d been assigned to his case. Had she taken the case because she thought he was an offender? Was she working with her brother to obliterate all pervs in the county? She was in the perfect position to know who the offenders were. She admitted she was Moore’s counselor.

Oh, she was a good actor! He held his head.

He’d been such a fool. Why hadn’t he gone with his instincts? With the facts? No, he’d gone and gotten all attracted to her. Oh, she was good. She was really good!

Obviously, he couldn’t pick women.

Slowly, he stood, his anger propelling him. He leaned on the refrigerator until the vertigo subsided, his gun drawn.

Max stood beside him, looking up to Brett as if waiting to see what he would do next. If someone was in the house, wouldn’t Max be barking? Rain pattered on the windows.

A light outside caught his attention. He felt like a sitting duck standing in a brightly lit kitchen. Anyone looking in could see him. He flicked the kitchen lights off. Darkness filled the room. The light from the barn trickled out, blurred by the rain.

He walked gingerly toward the door, every step causing pain in his head, and turned to Max. “You stay here, boy. I’ll be back.”

The dog cocked his head as Brett went out. Rain pelted his face. Stumbling to the barn, his heart beat double-time. His brain sluggishly muddled through possibilities.

Certain things didn’t add up, like why would Sarah take Quinn? Had that been a mix-up? One that Sarah hadn’t counted on? Maybe her brother had found Quinn and took her even though that hadn’t been the arrangement. Had her interest in him and Quinn been a total front?

His mind argued back and forth. No. He couldn’t believe that. She’d wanted to help him find Quinn. Then he thought,
She fits the profile—an avid geocacher, a vendetta against sex offenders
. Brett’s mind argued more. But if Sarah had wanted him dead she could have easily shot him after she hit him over the head.

Maybe knocking him out gave her time. Maybe she was on her way back to do him in.

Rain pecked against his face, and a breeze kicked up, whipping through the buttons on his shirt. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Sarah’s truck sat in the driveway next to his. He leaned against it waiting for his vision to clear.

When it finally did, he sidestepped puddles in the gravel driveway and approached the barn. Quietly, he pushed open the side door, went in, and closed it without a sound. He flattened his back against the wall and listened. The only sound came from the horse’s mouth. It sounded as if she was crunching on something.

Brett took small steps to the horse’s stall. The horse turned to him for only a few seconds before she turned back to her feed. Sarah must have been there if the horse was eating.

Something lay on the ground farther into the barn, about ten yards in front of him. What was it? He moved closer before he saw that it was a backpack with its contents spilled out. He knelt to examine them, his head feeling as heavy as a bowling ball.

His heart thumped at what he saw. All the whack job tools lay in a heap. He inhaled sharply. The scalpel, medicine vials, rubber tourniquets. Where was Sarah? Why had she run off and left this? Had this been hers, or had she found it and something happened to her?

He flung around gingerly, keeping his back flat against the walls, checking the rest of the barn, kicking in the bathroom door, almost shooting a cat with glowing green eyes in the tack room.