Dying for Love (24 page)

John drummed his foot on the floor as he heard the keys tapping. A minute later, Arianna returned. “Eugene Bayler is a lawyer. He focuses on adoptions.”

Dammit, that made sense.

“Looks like he was financially set.”

“Probably made his fortune charging hefty fees for private adoptions.”

“His wife Dana was a stay-at-home mother. Volunteered at the church, at the preschool. No record of any trouble on either one of them.”

“No complaints against Mr. Bayler?”

“None that I see. I’ll let you know if I find anything on their phone records.”

John hung up and found Amelia sitting up, looking flustered and arguing with the EMT.

“I’m not going to the hospital,” she said firmly. “I’m fine.”

The young man looked at John. “Her vitals are good, but she could have a concussion. I suggested we hospitalize her overnight for observation.”

“I can’t be locked up in a hospital again.” Her voice quivered. “I spent half my life in one, John. I’m not going back.”

Considering her history, he understood her paranoia of hospitals. He couldn’t blame her. “I’ll stay with her and make sure she’s all right tonight.”

The medics traded concerned looks, then one of them shoved a clipboard toward Amelia. “If you refuse, you have to sign a waiver.”

Amelia snatched the papers, scribbled her name, and handed them back to the guy.

He and the other medic grabbed their kits and left. John touched Amelia’s arm.

“Come on, I’ll drive you back to your place.”

Amelia jutted her chin into the air. “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

John frowned. She was both beautiful and stubborn. “You have a head injury, Amelia. I’m driving you. The crime team is on their way. I’ll have one of the patrols drop off your car later.”

Amelia bit her lip. “Fine.”

The crime van rolled up seconds later, and John showed them where Amelia had been assaulted.

“Comb the place for forensics,” John said. “In the boy’s room, look for a hairbrush or toothbrush, something with his DNA. I want it processed and a comparison run to Ms. Nettleton’s.”

“What’s going on?” Lieutenant Maddison asked.

“It’s possible the couple ran because they adopted Amelia’s baby.”

“You think the couple attacked her?”

John shrugged. “Maybe. They love the child, they don’t want to lose him.” John paused. “And Mr. Bayler is a lawyer who handles adoptions.”

Understanding registered on Maddison’s face. “Definitely could be a motive.”

“Yeah.” He handed a photo of the couple to Maddison. “Alert officers to report their location if they spot the couple.”

Sometimes when Zack closed his eyes at night, he saw things. The monsters. The banshees.

And sometimes he saw himself.

Only he wasn’t locked up in this place where metal bars banged shut and kept him prisoner.

He was in a nice warm bed with a mom and a dad who fed him ice cream and didn’t make him do tests. Painful tests.

They had started a few months ago.

He had failed them all.

He closed his eyes and turned toward the concrete wall. The cold swallowed him, and he hunched beneath the scratchy blanket. The image came again.

His
face.

The boy was in his mind again. Only this time he was wearing different clothes. Jeans and a T-shirt. And he was riding in a car.

But he was scared.

Zack couldn’t see his face, but he heard his breathing. Loud, uneven sharp sounds like a death rattle.

Zack’s heart raced. He could feel the boy’s fear as if it were his own. Hear the boy’s heart pounding just like his own.

Where were they taking him? What was the boy scared of?

He struggled to see more. Tall trees rushed by as the car took the boy deeper into the mountains. The car swerved and slid on the ice. Sharp ridges reached out as if to grab the boy.

Then the boy screamed.

Footsteps pounded outside his door. Zack jumped. The boy’s face disappeared.

Men’s harsh voices echoed in the hall. Keys jangled. The metal door screeched open.

“Stand up,” the man ordered.

Zack sucked in a breath and faced the man. The shiny buttons on the man’s uniform glinted in the dark.

“We have to move you again,” the man said, his voice bitter.

Zack braced himself for a blow. He felt like he might wet his pants.

And that would mean more punishments.

Then the man jerked his arm and dragged him from the cell.

“Where are you taking me?” Zack cried.

“Shut up,” the man snapped.

His big, cold fingers cut into Zack’s arm. He dragged him down a long hall. The cold dankness made him shake. He dragged his feet, but the man jerked him harder, then threw him into the back of a van.

More darkness, then he closed his eyes and let himself go someplace far away. Someplace the banshees couldn’t find him.

Finally the van stopped, and the man hauled him outside. He dragged him toward a long dock where a small boat was waiting. The dock rocked back and forth below him. Wind tossed and beat at the boat.

The man hurled Zack onto the deck, then tossed him down some steps into a hole.

A motor fired up. The boat began to rock.

Zack clawed at the floor. Where was he taking him? Out into the ocean to kill him and dump his body where no one would find him?

Chapter Twenty-Three

A
trucker passed John, slinging muddy sludge against his SUV as it passed him on the mountain road.

Amelia was resting her head against the seat and had closed her eyes, but she startled when he jerked the wheel to the right. The guardrail neared his side, but he managed to right the vehicle just in time to keep from hitting it, and slowed on the black ice.

By the time they reached Amelia’s, more clouds had rolled in. Amelia dropped her purse on the table by the door, and his gaze was drawn to a painting in the studio. A beautiful painting of her holding a baby boy.

“Did you paint that from your memories?”

Amelia folded her hands together. “No, that’s my twin sister Sadie and her newborn.”

John studied the painting again. The features of the woman looked so much like Amelia that it was startling. Yet on closer examination, he saw the differences. Subtle but there.

Sadie looked content, relaxed, happy.

Amelia looked restless, tormented, sad, as if she was searching for a way to find the love and peace her sister had found.

He wished he could give it to her. But the only thing he had to offer was more questions and secrets.

“Your sister’s baby . . . that’s when your dreams started?”

Annoyance flashed in Amelia’s eyes. “Yes. And before you say anything, at first I thought my dream meant I was envious. That’s the reason I went to the doctor and the prison to see Ms. Lettie before I came to you.”

Amelia rubbed at her forehead.

“Headache?”

She nodded.

“Lie down, Amelia. You need to rest.”

“But we still don’t know where the Baylers are, or where the Ellingtons took the other kids at The Gateway House.”

“We’re doing everything we can to find them,” he said gently. “If something comes up, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“Thank you for bringing me home.”

She looked so vulnerable and lost that John wanted to solve all her problems. “I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

Her eyes widened.

“Not with a head injury. And not after what happened.”

“I’m fine, John. That’s not necessary.”

Her stubborn independence both annoyed him and tugged at his heart. He couldn’t resist. He reached up and stroked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Someone attacked you earlier. And someone has been inside, you know that. Someone who obviously doesn’t want us digging into the past.”

“I won’t give up. I have to know what happened to my son.”

“I know.” He trailed his fingers down her cheek, her lips beckoning him to kiss her.

“John?”

Her soft whispery voice made him forget any reservations. Amelia had suffered so much. He wanted to take away that pain.

Her lips parted on a sigh, a sound filled with need and loneliness.

A loneliness that he felt deep in his own soul.

And he lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his.

Amelia sank into the kiss, savoring the comfort of John’s strong arms as he slid them around her. The trembling she’d struggled to control subsided in his embrace, yet another kind of trembling rippled through her.

He teased her lips open with his tongue, and probed her mouth with his, eliciting a moan from her. She closed her eyes, images of the two of them entwined in bed together titillating.

She wanted him in her bed now.

Passion and need drove her to pull him closer. She threaded her fingers in his dark hair and stroked his calf with her foot. He groaned, tugging her against him so she felt his thick sex pressed against her belly.

Erotic sensations flooded her. His touch felt gentle yet commanding. Hungry yet tentative.

Raw, passionate.

Nothing like Six’s.

It felt so wonderful that she coaxed him toward her bedroom. John’s fingers trailed down her shoulders to her back and to her waist, then he slowly lifted her blouse and pulled it over her head. His hungry gaze met hers, fire flashing in the depths of his eyes.

A fiery passion that made her tug at the buttons of his shirt until she raked it over his shoulders, and he tossed it off with a grunt. Hers fell beside his, and he kissed her again, walking her backward toward her bed.

She kissed him greedily, tracing her hands over his back, then down to his belt.

He reached for his belt and shucked it off, but instead of stripping his jeans, he slipped her skirt down over her legs and dropped it to the floor.

Cool air brushed her nipples, the tips hardening as his gaze raked over her. She felt naked and wanton in her bra and lacy panties.

She’d had raw sex with other men, allowed Six to treat her roughly, and no telling what Viola had done with men. She shuddered to think about it.

But this was different. Instinctively, she knew that John’s big body would somehow complete her. That it wasn’t simply about sex.

They were making love.

Her breath caught at the thought, and she tore at his jeans. He yanked them off, then crawled above her in his boxers, his hard length teasing the sensitive area between her thighs.

She parted her legs, welcoming him, wanting him desperately, urging him to join his body with hers.

His beard stubble tickled her neck as he kissed her behind the ear and planted sweet tongue lashes along her throat. She moaned and thrust her hips upward, splaying her hands on his bare back.

Her fingers touched something jagged, puckered skin. A scar.

He stiffened, and looked into her eyes. “It’s ugly.”

“We all have scars,” she whispered. God knows hers were on the inside, but they were there.

“But most people know how they got theirs.” He dropped his head forward.

“What do you mean, John?”

He hesitated, stroked her hair. “I don’t want to talk about it now, but there are things I’ve done that I’m not proud of.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but she pressed her finger to his lips.

“I don’t care what you did or who you were, only that you’re here now,” she whispered.

Indecision played in his eyes, but his hunger must have snuffed out the voice telling him no, and he kissed her again. Need and desire built between them as he fused his mouth with hers, then he ripped it away and licked his way to her breasts. He laved one, then the other, suckling her so hard that sensations rippled through her, building to the brink of an orgasm.

Just when she thought she might explode with pleasure, he dropped his head lower and trailed kisses down to her inner thighs. With one quick yank, he peeled off her panties. She groaned as he nudged her legs apart and teased her clit with his tongue.

Her body quivered, lost in the sensation of his mouth on her and the urgent stroke of his tongue against her flesh. She clawed at the bed covers, trembling as her release splintered through her.

She cried out his name as pleasure consumed her. Images of John thrusting inside her, filling her as he moaned her name, flooded her.

The sweetness and hunger in Amelia’s lovemaking made John’s body rage with need. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman.

But other disturbing images bombarded him. Images of him holding a gun. Fighting. A woman screaming. She was hurt and he needed to help her.

But he didn’t . . . he couldn’t . . .

He’d failed . . . what had happened to her? Had he caused her pain? Her death?

Conflicting emotions pummeled him, and he looked into Amelia’s eyes. Hers glazed with passion and raw desire.

But a sliver of fear also shined, dark and unforgiving.

He’d seen snippets in his mind over the last few months, moments where he was almost certain he’d been a soldier. That maybe the scar on his back had come from combat. He had another one on his abdomen and a long jagged one on his upper thigh. All consistent with military injuries—or his accident . . .

“John?” Amelia said softly. “What’s wrong?”

Self-recriminations shouted in his head. He wanted to assuage the uncertainty in Amelia’s voice.

But what kind of bastard was he? He was taking advantage of her vulnerable state.

Another voice whispered to him.
Maybe he had been a terrible man, had been responsible for a woman’s death.

But he wasn’t that person anymore.

He grabbed his jeans and yanked them on. How could he be sure he wasn’t that man? That he hadn’t killed that woman? “You need to rest.”

Amelia crawled toward him, her breasts swaying, drawing his gaze to her naked body. God, he wanted to thrust his cock inside her.

Amelia took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “But I want to be with you.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “I shouldn’t have touched you, Amelia. You have a head injury.”

“My head is fine,” Amelia said. “But I don’t understand why you’re pulling away.”

Hating himself for starting something he should have never started, he shook off her hand. “Go to sleep.”

He grabbed his shirt and shoes and strode from the room. When he reached the studio, he glanced at the picture of Sadie and her baby, and knew Amelia wanted that in her life.

But he wasn’t the man to give her that love or happily-ever-after.

Not when he didn’t know who he was or what he’d done in his past. If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want to be with him.

Amelia tossed and turned for hours, willing John to return to her bed. But he’d made his decision and stayed away all night, leaving her alone and aching for his arms again.

John had just proven what she’d thought all along. That he couldn’t love her. That she wasn’t worthy of anyone’s love.

Eventually she fell into an exhausted sleep, but instead of dreaming about him, she dreamed a baby was crying in the house.

Then a child’s voice called to her for help.

She jerked awake, disoriented and wondering about that child’s voice.

Should she consult her therapist and confide that she was hearing voices again?

If she did, the doctor would medicate her . . .

The medication numbed her, made her feel disoriented, dazed, and confused.

She needed a clear head in case she found her son.

No . . .
when
she found him. She wouldn’t stop until she did.