Hunted (39 page)

Morgan lurched from under his hands and raced from the room, into the loo down the hall.

In the stunned silence, everyone could hear her retching.

Becca caught his eyes and mouthed, “I’ll go.” She disappeared down the hall.

All Lincoln could do was flex the fingers he’d fisted.

Carefully, he reached over, took the remote from Gideon and hit the stop button. The television went back to a blue screen. He fisted his hand over it, flexed, fisted, flexed.

With a growl he hurled the damn remote across the room, the gray plastic breaking as it connected with the wall, denting it.

For a moment no one said a word. Tarver cleared his throat. “You going to be here?” Tarver pointed the question to him.

Lincoln just glared at him. “Where the hell else would I be? Think I’m letting her out of my bloody sight?” He pointed back to the screen. “If I’d wondered before, I know now.”

Tarver only said, “I’m getting all this to the lab. Now. I want to know where, and when.” A pair of latex gloves snapped as Tarver slipped them on. He ejected the disc from the DVD player, careful to place it in a plastic bag. Then he added the jewel case to another plastic bag, and finally the blue envelope the package of horror had come in.

Lincoln wanted answers as well. He wanted to know who the hell had sold them all out? Was it his team? One from his team? Becca was here. George refused to be roped back in, forwarding all information to Lincoln. What if it was just some analyst that was bored, down on their luck, broke?

“Bastard,” Lincoln said yet again.

“I want to know what he meant, Blade,” Tarver said. “If she knows anything, and I mean
anything
, I want to know about it. The sonofabitch all but admitted to murder.”

Lincoln did not need the reminder. He knew his job. Knew he wasn’t going to like what was ahead.

But something niggled at the back of his mind.

Something she’d said to him before after waking from a nightmare . . . the gun to the head. Something about another girl.

He raked a hand through his hair.

Tarver spoke to several of the cops on his way out. Lincoln was glad; if he’d had to speak to them, he would not have been able to remain calm.

Calm?

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to see the crime scene as well, out at the ranch. To do that he’d have to leave her, and there was simply no way he was that bloody stupid.

Feet shuffled and water ran from somewhere down the hall.

He opened his eyes to see her brothers frowning.

Gideon shook his head, fisted his hands on his hips and glared at Lincoln. “Who the fuck was that?”

“Time’s up,” Jackson added from his stance behind the couch, his fingers digging into the black leather. “It’s question time. And I will have answers.”

Morgan walked into the room. Her eyes . . . God, he’d hoped to never see that look in them again. Haunted, wide with fear. She was so damn pale.

The Ranger had left with Tarver. Another plainclothes bodyguard from the Dallas Police Department left the room with Shadow. Lincoln assumed they were in the kitchen. He saw Becca slip by and turn around the corner to the kitchen. Suzy was upstairs asleep. That left the Gaelord siblings and . . . him.

Lincoln could only stare at her. Finally he said, “They have to know. They have a right to know.”

She shook her head at him, looked at her brothers before lowering her eyes. She shook her head, shoving a piece of hair behind her ear. Even from here he saw her hand tremble. “I—I can’t.” When her eyes rose back to him, there were tears shimmering in the icy depths. “I just can’t, Linc.”

“Damn it, Morgan!” Gideon snapped.

She jumped.

Lincoln walked to her, glared at Gideon and said, “Look, chap. Either settle down or leave. It’ll be hard enough as it is.” The bastard better be supportive.

Gideon raked a hand through his hair and walked to the window, staring out.

Jackson hadn’t moved from behind the sofa. Lincoln turned to Morgan, placing his hands on her shoulders, breathing deep when he felt her stiffen.

“Morgan, I know you don’t want to do this. I wish there were another way.”

“I can leave. You can get me out of here.”

He hated doing this. Hated to push her. “What do you think he would do, if he knew you had vanished?”

She blinked, then shook her head. “Find me. Or find a way to draw me out.”

“And how do you think he’d accomplish that?”

Her gaze trembled from one brother to the other.

Lincoln nodded. “Yes, luv. He would and will use them. They’ve a right to know what we’re fighting here. A right to know the battles
you’ve
fought. And won.”

Again, she shook her head. “I can’t, Lincoln. I—I just . . . How can I?” Her face crumpled and she moaned. “How in the hell am I supposed to explain all this to them?” She jabbed her fingers at her brothers. “How can I explain to them?”

Lincoln reached up and cupped her face. “One word at a time.”

Thankfully, neither of her brothers spoke.

But still she shook her head. “No. No, I won’t.”

Cursing himself for a bastard, he tried another approach. “Fine. But I need something from you.”

Her brows furrowed. “What?” She sniffled, swiped a hand under her eyes.

Hoping he was doing the right thing, knowing he didn’t have much a choice, he led her to the wide leather chair angled beside the couch. “I need to ask you something.” He knelt in front of her, holding her hands in his. “Do you remember the first night we were away? In Berlin?”

Still frowning, she nodded. “Yes.”

He took a deep breath. “You woke up screaming. Things you said, muttered, I wrote them off as a nightmare.”

Her eyes flickered and gave her away.

“It wasn’t, was it?” Damn.

Morgan licked her lips, dropped her gaze from his and shook her head, whispering, “No.”

“Jezek . . . ” He noticed her flinch at the name, but he continued. Now was not the time to be gentle. Too damn much was at stake. “Morgan, he killed another girl, didn’t he?”

Still she didn’t look at him, only at her hands, but her chin trembled.

“Morgan.” He waited until her eyes rose to his. “That night in Berlin . . . You said he put a gun to your head. That he killed her.” Her eyes darkened with horror. Lincoln pressed on. “On the tape, just now, he mentioned you kneeling before him, alluded to putting a gun to your head before. Is that what you meant?”

Her hands tightened on his. He hoped her brothers would stay silent. “I—I couldn’t help her, Lincoln.” She shook her head, her eyes seeing another time, another place. “I couldn’t help her.”

“Tell me,” he coaxed. “Maybe we can still help her.”

Morgan blinked, her eyes tormented, seeming even brighter against the black frames of her glasses. “No one can help her now. I don’t even know who she was.” Looking into his eyes, she took a deep breath. “He called her Ebony. Ebony.”

Slowly, he drew the story out of her. Of the girl who got away. Of how angry her jailer was. How he’d asked if she was still thinking of trying to escape . . . And the rage that followed.

“I woke up in the hole,” she whispered. “I told you I’d refused him.” She looked back up at him and he was furious all over again that this had washed the color from her cheeks. “Remember? When we were in Germany?”

He sighed. Not surprised she was repeating herself. He’d been through this before, knew it wasn’t uncommon for the victim to lose their train of thought. Victim. He wanted to kick something. Bloody hell. He didn’t want her to be the victim right now, he didn’t want to be the bloody cop. He wanted to just be there for her.

“Mikhail? You’d refused him, yes.” He cleared his throat.

“I hadn’t been there long and every time he’d come and ask me if I’d had enough, I would just glare at him.”

Her fingers remained fisted within his hands. “One visit, he asked me if I thought I’d still get away. I just—just looked at him and told him if it was the last thing I ever did, I would.”

Lincoln didn’t speak, noticed her brothers didn’t so much as move.

“He put me in the hole that night, of course he had to teach me my place first.” She shrugged. “I woke up and couldn’t move. God, I hurt, hurt so bad I wondered if he hadn’t killed me after all. I could smell the dirt and wondered where I was, but then I knew. Other girls had talked about the hole.”

What the hell was the
hole
?

Morgan shuddered. “Once in the hole and you’d do anything not to ever go back. Once was enough for me. At first it was the tight space, ya know?” She licked her lips. “I was so scared the walls would cave in. Scared that if I moved too much I’d be covered with dirt. So scared I didn’t even feel the cuts and bruises. But then I realized it wouldn’t have lasted this long if that were the case.” She glanced up and looked at Jackson. “It was a hole in the basement floor, you couldn’t sit up straight, could hardly move.” She shrugged and looked back to him. “Like a grave. I remember wondering if they’d just left me down there. If I’d—I’d finally pushed too far.” Her words were so soft, Lincoln strained to hear.

“It was so quiet, I could hear rats. God, I hurt.” Her lips trembled and her eyes glazed. “It was so dark . . . so dark,” she whispered. “The worst is what you hear, yet can’t see. I must have passed out because her screams woke me up. The screams that go on and on and on and you wonder, is this only the first part? Do they lock you in this hole, give you some water from time to time only to take you out and kill you slowly?”

Lincoln tightened his hand on hers. He wanted to stop this.

She didn’t see him, he knew. Her eyes saw a different place, a horror he could only imagine too well.

“I’ll always h-hear h-her screams, Lincoln. I wake at night hearing them.” Her voice trembled. “They took—took me out. I don’t know how long I’d been down there, I couldn’t stand so they strapped me to a chair and made me . . . ” Her voice faltered. “M-made me watch what they—what they did to her.”

A single tear slipped over her lid, slowly dripped off her long lashes and trailed a path down her cheek.

Linc reached up and flicked it away with his thumb.

“They took turns raping her.” A muscle jumped in her jaw and the knuckles he brushed with his finger were white. “I remember Mikhail leaned over and whispered in my ear. ‘Watch,’ he said, ‘see what happens to those who try to leave me.’” She sniffed and shook herself free of whatever demons chased her. She licked her lips. More in control she said, “It made an impression, to say the least. She was . . . was so bloody. They had her wrists in chains at first, hung from the ceiling, like a dungeon. She just kept screaming.” Morgan shook her head. Her eyes glazed, the pupils dilated. “They broke her arm, kicked her knees out.” Morgan drew a shuddering breath. “When they were done, they put me in his car. He didn’t let me wear any clothes and I was so cold, and God, I hurt. I remember the sound of Ebony’s body when they tossed her in the trunk. They drove a ways out of the city to an old cemetery, near these trees.” Linc watched the long column of her throat as she swallowed, then swallowed again. “His man shot her in the back of the head and chest. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Mikhail made me watch.” She frowned and shook her head. He felt a tremor run through her.

Her voice was so quiet. “He shoved me forward toward the grave and I fell on my knees beside it.” Her eyes slid closed. “I can still smell the cold, still smell the fresh dirt, smell the blood, hers or mine, I don’t know. Probably both.” She opened her eyes. “It was dark and at night, but I could see her at the bottom of the grave . . .” Her eyes were shadowed. “The way her body—” Her voice trembled and she sniffed. “That poor girl’s body was all twisted. He put the . . . the . . . the g—” She stopped, bit down and looked at him.

Linc wanted to stop her, but stayed silent. It was so quiet he could hear the others breathing.

Her eyes stared through him. “He put his gun to the back of my head.”

Linc fisted his hand, tamped down on the rage.

“For a moment I was so calm and thought, ‘This is it. I’ll be shot and dumped in this shallow grave and no one will ever know.’” She took a deep breath. “All I could think about was the porch. The porch on the ranch. I just kept thinking,
I’m at home
.
I’m at home.
” Her voice broke, her chin trembled. “Here at home, s-sitting in the . . . in the swing and it’s summertime.” A lone tear shivered on the edge of her lashes before it trickled over and slid a long path down her cheek. Then another and another. “But he didn’t pull the trigger. He didn’t. He just waited and then—then I begged him to please not kill me.” Her cheeks puffed as she blew out a breath. “He told me this is what happens to those who try to escape because he’d never, ever let anyone go.”

No one said a word. The silence was so heavy it smothered everything and everyone in the room. Linc rubbed her hands until her wide vacant eyes stared at him. “She—she had a family. She screamed at them that her father would avenge her. Something in her voice and eyes made me
believe
her.”

She bowed her head and rocked forward. He could see the goose bumps on her arms where the sleeves had risen.

“Morgan,” he said, swallowing. The more he learned, the faster the rage pumped within him.

“That’s what he meant, Linc. That’s what he meant. Because last time he held the gun to the back of my head.” She shuddered again, almost bowed in half. “This time he wants to see my eyes when he puts a bullet in my brain.” Slowly she straightened, so pale he worried she’d pass out. “This time he won’t be lenient.”

One of her brothers cursed.

“No, Morgan,” Lincoln told her, taking her shoulders. “The bastard won’t get anywhere near you.”

Jackson cleared his throat, still standing behind the couch, his arms taking his weight as his head was bowed. Without looking at them, he said, “What is this man to you? Why does he want you, Morgan?” Jackson lifted his head, a muscle bunching in his jaw, his eyes lit with emotion.

Lincoln looked back to Morgan.