Hunter's Need (28 page)

“I saw him, Duke.” She took a deep, desperate breath, fought to control the tears and the grief. Her eyes were haunted as she lifted her gaze to his. Her hands fisted in his shirt, her knuckles white. “I saw him, Duke . . . God, I saw his face. I saw what he did to her . . . ”

“What?”

“I saw him. I saw what he did to her,” she whispered. She licked her lips, staring off over his shoulder. “She had a flat tire—he stopped. She thought he was going to help her . . . but he knocked her out, threw her in his trunk, raped her, beat her, choked her . . . ”

With a shaking hand, she reached up and touched her neck. “I can feel it, the way he squeezed and squeezed until her heart gave out. But she couldn’t let go. All this time, she’s been waiting.” Another sob escaped her.

Duke eased her close again and pressed his lips to her temple. “Shhhh. It’s going to be all right.”

But he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it.

And as she cried herself hoarse, the seconds stretching into minutes, then into an hour, he knew he’d lied. It wasn’t okay and judging by the heartbreak, fear and grief coming out of Ana, he didn’t know if “okay” was something that could happen in the near future.

She finally cried herself to sleep, and if nothing else, Duke was grateful. He wasn’t sure if he could have handled those awful, heartbreaking tears for too much longer.

 

 

H
OURS passed. Noon came and went and still Ana slept. He worried, but his gut told him she needed the sleep. Needed the escape for now. Fuck,
he
needed the escape, but he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest, couldn’t shut out the horror she’d shared with him. He lay on the bed with her, zoning out and trying not to think just yet.

He couldn’t do anything else right now anyway. Not until Ana was ready.

She’d seen his face. The killer.

She’d seen him. When Leah “borrowed” Ana’s body, she must have shared her memories, and Ana had seen the killer’s face. Leah had been dead for twenty years, so whoever it was, he had done some aging. At least they had something to go by. Or they would once Ana was ready to think about it.

Although Duke wasn’t entirely sure anybody would ever be ready to think about what she’d been forced to experience.

Thankfully, Marie hadn’t made any appearances. Duke was biding his time, because that woman would be back. Until she’d satisfied her need for revenge, for justice, she’d just keep coming back, but for now she seemed content to let Ana sleep and try to cope.

Cope . . . Duke pressed his lips to her brow and wondered how she could ever cope with what she’d just had to go through. Through the memories of another, she’d been kidnapped, raped, beaten and murdered. How did one cope with that?

Thesharp,shrillringintrudedonhisramblingthoughts—a very unwelcome intrusion. With a grunt, he fumbled behind him on the bedside table until he got a hold of Ana’s cell. Five rings later, he finally managed to turn it on, although the main reason he was answering was to keep it from ringing any more since voice mail wasn’t kicking in.

“H’lo,” he said, keeping his voice low.

There wasn’t an answer at first, although Duke could hear breathing on the other end of the line. A man’s voice finally broke the silence. “I’m trying to reach Ana.”

Duke squinted and tried to place the voice. Carter. Her landlord. He scowled and almost broke the connection. But then the man might just keep calling back. “She’s sleeping, Carter.”

“You got good ears . . . Duke, right? It was Duke? Did you say Ana was asleep? It’s the middle of the day. She’s not sick, is she?”

For some reason, the concern in the bastard’s voice put Duke’s teeth on edge. A deep, primal and possessive part of him started to wake and he tamped it down through sheer will. “She’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep last night so she’s taking a nap.”

“Ahh. Okay. Yeah, I’ve noticed she doesn’t always sleep well. I see her moving around or the lights on late at night. Of course, if I wasn’t having trouble sleeping myself, I’d never notice,” the other man said, self-deprecating humor apparent in his voice.

But Duke wasn’t in much of a mood to listen to the guy’s humor or his concern or anything else.

“Is there something you needed?” He glanced at Ana and then slipped out of the bed. He didn’t want to leave her, but he wasn’t going to risk waking her up, either. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door most of the way behind him.

“Well, actually, yeah. Her friend Darlene came by, mentioned that she’d been laid off. I just wanted to check in, let her know that if she needs some time to make her next payment, not to worry.”

How friendly of you
. Duke kept the snarl behind his teeth. Barely. Keeping his voice neutral, he said, “I’ll pass the message on, but it won’t be necessary. I’ll take care of anything she needs.” So what if he put extra emphasis on the
anything
. He was her lover—he was entitled to be a little protective, right?

Carter’s laugh sounded pretty damned forced and he hung up after a quick good-bye. Duke scowled at the phone and then memorized the number on the display. He wasn’t going to risk talking to that guy again.

Calling to offer her some extra time to pay—how considerate.

He turned off the phone. In case the guy called anytime soon. Ana didn’t need anything else to worry about at the present, right?

 

 

 

 

A
NA came awake slowly and she fought it every damn step of the way. If she was still a child living at home, she would have been cowering under the covers for fear of the monsters waiting under the bed, ready to pounce on her if she so much as needed a drink of water.

Eventually, though, she had to wake up. For the longest time, she lay there, staring straight ahead and taking stock of everything around. Duke was in the bed with her. He was awake, he was watching her, but he hadn’t said anything. She could feel the warmth and weight of his stare, feel his strength, and she was perfectly fine to just lay there in his arms for a while longer and absorb it.

The room was dim, which meant it was either getting really late or it was clouding up outside. She didn’t know, but somehow, she suspected it was getting pretty late. An entire day lost. She didn’t remember much of anything beyond going to bed the day before—no.

No. That wasn’t right.

Memory crashed into her and unconsciously, she shivered and made a soft, terrified noise deep in her throat as she edged closer to Duke. His arms tightened and she felt him press a hard, desperate kiss to her temple.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay, princess,” he whispered.

Okay? No. It wasn’t okay—

Tears burned her eyes and threatened to choke her, but she gulped air desperately, blinked her eyes and tried to fight the tears as image after image rolled through her. Her hands clenched spasmodically, her nails lightly raking over Duke’s bare chest as she curled her fingers into impotent fists.

In the back of her head, she heard him whisper. A voice that was strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Not yet.
My Marie . . . say you’re mine, Marie.

Desperate pitiful pleas—
But that’s not my name!

It hadn’t mattered. For him, each and every one of the girls he’d killed had been Marie, Ana suspected. Although she hoped and prayed she never had to experience the memories of another woman he’d killed. She’d never survive it. The horror in her mind already threatened to drive her crazy already.

At first, the voice didn’t connect. Ana lay huddled against Duke, fighting to control the onslaught of pain and fear wracking her, fighting to control the memories. She’d let them inside, she thought belatedly. It was a vague memory, but somebody had been pushing at her. She’d felt it, fought—and then for some reason that she didn’t understand, she’d stopped fighting and just let the presence inside. Inside her head, inside her soul, so that Ana experienced every last, awful minute of her life.

“Marie, give her some time,” Duke snapped, cradling Ana closer.

“He just killed a girl. He’s not going to do it again this soon,” Duke snapped.

“Enough what?” Ana asked, cutting Duke off before he could say anything else.

Marie’s form wavered and flickered in and out of view for a minute. Then it solidified and Ana flinched as those intense, bottomless eyes locked on her.
“He heard her crying. He didn’t know who she was. But he was out there . . . looking for me. He could always find me, like he felt me or something and I was there. Because of the girl. I couldn’t not go—I didn’t even know where it was, I just felt . . . felt . . . ”

Her voice trailed away, but Ana knew. “You felt the man who killed you. You felt him and you followed it.”

“What do you mean fade away?” Duke asked.

Marie tore her gaze away from Ana, but there was a look on her face like she really didn’t want to.
“I mean . . . fade. It takes strength to be here, like this. To see things, hear things, talk to you . . . and when he’s near, I have no strength. I have nothing. It’s like I don’t even exist. After what he did to me, what he’s done to the others, you’d think I could fi nd the strength to face him, but I can’t.”

“How many others?” Ana was pretty sure she didn’t want the answer to that. But it didn’t keep her from asking.

“I don’t know. Too many. Each time, I hope he’s done. But he never is. He never stops. He’ll keep seeing me inside them, and he’ll keep killing.”

Seeing me inside them.
Those simple words made a shiver run down Ana’s spine. He was killing Marie, over and over. But why?

An image of his eyes, wild and excited and desperate and needy, flashed through her mind. The connection danced, just out of reach. But Ana couldn’t lock on it.

Not yet.

Damn it, who was he
? Ana thought, half desperately. There was something familiar about those eyes. She’d seen them before. Maybe—no. Shit, she couldn’t ask that. She started to shove the question aside, but then she stopped. She didn’t
want
to ask that, but it might help get answers a lot quicker. “Did you know him?”

An icy blast exploded from Marie and her nebulous features took on a demonic cast. Skeletal bones became visible through translucent skin and her mouth opened in that familiar soundless wail.

“Know him?”
She laughed, but it was a mocking, angry sound.
“Do I know the man who killed me? If it was that easy, I would have already told you who he was.”

Blood rushed to Ana’s cheeks and she had to squash the urge to pull back and hide behind her own walls. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s a good question,” Duke murmured, resting a hand on the back of her neck. “One I was getting ready to ask, too.”

“Wouldn’t I tell you if I knew who he was
?
”
Marie asked, scathingly.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Duke snapped. “You’re kind of into being cryptic.”

In the span of heartbeats, Marie’s anger faded. The temperature in the room returned to normal and her features evened out.
“I can’t help you with fi nding him—I barely remember anything from that night. It’s just a blur. And the others . . . it’s like I can feel his anger, feel his need . . . God, it’s awful to even think about it. I can feel it when he’s killing them, but until he’s done with them, I can’t get close.”

She sighed and it blew through the room like an icy blast.
“All of this, it’s because of me. All of this has happened because of me.”

“That’s not true,” Ana said flatly.

“It isn’t your fault.”

“She never said it was her fault,” Duke said.

Ana looked at him, frowning. He shrugged and glanced toward Marie, then back at Ana. “She said it happened because of her—that’s not really the same thing as saying it’s her fault. And if he’s killing these women because of some similarity to her, then yes . . . it is happening because of her.”

Ana opened her mouth to argue, but she realized that she couldn’t do it without either lying or looking like a naive idiot. It was the truth—it was happening because of Marie. Not her fault, no, but because of her. And until they could figure out who, it would just keep happening. She had the worst feeling though, she wasn’t going to figure out
who
until she understood
why.

“Damn it,” Ana muttered. She scrubbed her hands over her face and then jammed fisted hands into her pockets, fighting the rising tide of anger. It swamped her and left her feeling helpless and impotent.

Through her shields, she could feel the echo of Marie’s pain, echoes of a soul in turmoil, a maelstrom of grief, pain and frustration.

As the women stared at each other, Ana felt the weight of all the years Marie had been trapped pressing down on them. But there was more—there was longing. Pure and sharp, it pierced even through Marie’s rage.

Longing . . . ?
But even as she wondered at it, Ana knew the answer.