Killing Secrets (11 page)

Her tears stopped abruptly when she heard the only sound that ever reached into her prison from the outside world, the scrape of a key on the door lock. Scrambling across the floor to the armchair, she settled into it and hid her bleeding ankle by tucking her foot under her bottom. She arranged her skirt hem over her bare legs just in time.

The door opened and her captor walked in.

Fear gripped her senses. She frantically searched his expression as a barometer of his state of mind. Last time he’d left her, he’d been infuriated by her refusal to open the present he’d brought her. She’d forced herself to open the package. But it was too little, too late. With a growl that sounded more animal than human, he’d leveled her with a vicious backhand that threw her several feet onto the bed and stalked from the room. Her head ringing from where it struck the brass bed frame, she’d almost pitied the poor sap that crossed his path before he cooled down. She hated even more thinking about him coming back and turning that monstrous rage on her.

“Ah, Angel,” he frowned, “you’ve been crying again.” He emptied his jeans pockets, setting coins, candy wrappers and what looked like a walkie-talkie or radio alongside his keys on a shelf next to the door just like he was returning home after a long day at work. “I think I’ve got something here that will cheer you up.”

All he had to do was approach her with something with which she could hit him.
That
would cheer her up! Not that it would do her any good with the key to her ankle cuff dangling from his key fob three feet beyond the length of her chain.

Reaching around the doorjamb, he picked up something. When he turned around, he had a deli sack and a small box she recognized from her favorite cheesecake store. Hope surged. She’d wondered how far her kidnapper had taken her. She was still in or near Denver!

If she could just escape this room—

The air froze in her lungs when he crossed the invisible line delineating the real world and the end of her chain. “Your favorites, Angel,” he said, approaching her chair. “Ham, turkey and pastrami sub with brown mustard, low-salt chips, whole milk and a double slice of chocolate mousse cheesecake.”

She hated that he knew such intimate details about her. He must have been watching her for some time to have learned so many of her preferences. She knew he’d been in her apartment because the pillow on the bed was hers and he’d given her books to read off the shelves in her living room. With the exception of the schoolgirl clothes he’d forced her to wear since she’d awakened the first time and the name he called her, she could almost believe he knew who she was.

The distinctive aroma of spicy pastrami and mustard permeated the air and her mouth watered with anticipation. The box of dry, honeyed oat cereal he’d left her was long gone and she was hungry enough to wonder how many meals she’d missed since his last visit. But she couldn’t eat it. The last time he’d brought her something she couldn’t resist, it was laced with drugs. She’d passed out on the bed with him holding her close enough for her to feel his erection beneath her bare bottom, brushing her hair like some sick pervert.

Never again! If the asshole intended to rape her she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

“N-no,” she said, turning up her nose. “I’m not hungry.”

He scowled. “Angel, you must eat.”

“My name’s not Angel.”

“Of course, it isn’t.” He smiled. “But it was always my special name for you. Just as you’ve always called me Robby. You know that.”

Her sense of defeat raced through her and loosened her tongue. “How am I supposed to know that? I’m. Not. Angel!” she shouted for the hundredth time. “I keep telling you I don’t know who you are, or why you kidnapped me, or what you want.”

She moderated her voice when his expression darkened. “Please,” she begged, “let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I just want to go home!”

Without warning, he threw his food offerings on the floor beside her chair and wrapped his hands around her bare arms. “Your home is with me,” he said, punctuating each word with a shake. “Say it! Your heart is with
me
! You love me! Me!”

Terrified of the rage she’d provoked, she swallowed against the pain of his fingers digging furrows into her arms. “M-my heart,” she stammered, “is with you. I-I l-love you, R-Robby.”

His brown eyes searched her face. She stared back for five seconds, ten, trying to decide if he believed her or not, before her gaze dropped to the tick in his jaw.

“Liar.” His accusation came out flat, with no inflection whatsoever. “You still want Thorne.”

She cried out when he unexpectedly lifted her from the chair so that her ankles and chain dangled in the air. “No, please! I don’t want anyone. I mean, I don’t want
him
!” Heaven help her, she didn’t know anyone named Patrick Thorne!

Robby tossed her on the bed. He stared at the blood drying on her ankle and his expression closed down altogether, which she found more disturbing than his fury. It was like he was staring at her from a distant room, leaving her alone with a soulless husk of a man. “But you’ll hurt yourself trying to get back to him, won’t you?”

“Robby. Please. Tell me what you want me to say. I’ll say it. I’ll give you whatever you want.
Please
!”

Something changed in his expression. A new light entered his soulless eyes. An evil, monstrous light that scared her to death. He leaned over her and smiled. “You should have given him what he wanted,” he said, his voice changed, “because now you’re mine.”

“I-I-Robby, please!” she stammered.

“Robby has left the building,” he said, with an awful chuckle that curdled her blood.

If she ever had a doubt that she was in the hands of the Angel Killer, she had no doubt now. Hysteria beat at her senses. She could barely breathe.

Then she couldn’t. Her killer wrapped his cruel hand around her throat and squeezed until she saw bright flashes of light behind her darkening eyes. When he eased up, she gasped. And then her real terror began.

Hot pain tore into her belly. Her breasts. Between her legs. Over and over. Every part of her ripped and torn until she screamed for death. And through it all, she heard nothing but the gleeful laughter of a vicious monster.

Until she heard no more.

Chapter Nine

Patrick was exhausted and frustrated when he let himself into his parents’ front door after six o’clock that night. Five hours at the police station being grilled by the Angel Killer task force, to no avail. They were no closer to figuring out the connection between him and the serial killer than when he walked into the station with Jack this afternoon.

All he wanted to do was pop the top on an ice cold beer and kick up his feet. But that wasn’t an option tonight. He had to relieve his office manager, Jane, who’d been babysitting Rachel and Amanda since picking up Rachel from the hospital before lunch.

Who was he kidding? He was looking forward to taking over babysitting duty. Just thinking about seeing Rachel released the taut line between his shoulder blades.

The aromatic smell of marinara sauce drifted through the house and teased his nose. His last meal had come from the food truck that morning and he was suddenly starved. He followed the smell to the kitchen where he caught sight of his office manager hanging up the phone on the wall. She stared at the receiver, unmoving for a moment, her shoulders bowed, then with a deep sigh, she reached for a pile of chopped onions on the cutting board and scraped them into a large, steaming pot.

After this screwy day it was so good to see Jane, more friend, than employee, doing something as normal as cooking. He heard her sniff back a tear as she picked up a large, stainless spoon and stirred the pot. He grinned. “Mom always did say you can tell how good a sauce is by how many tears are on a cook’s face.”

Jane whirled from her task so fast the stirring spoon splattered bright red sauce across the blue-and-white kitchen tiles. “Patrick!”

“Oops! Sorry!” He raised his hands in self-defense and flashed an apologetic smile at her. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I guess you didn’t hear the beep after I disengaged the security system when I came in the front door.”

“I-I—” Jane’s hand hovered over her heart.

Patrick’s smile disappeared when he saw her face blanch. Dammit! He’d scared the woman into an angina attack. He rushed across the room to her side and helped her to a stool at the central island. Taking the dripping spoon from her tight fisted hand, he tossed it onto the countertop. “Where are your pills, Jane?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on her face.

“I already took one,” she said, bursting into tears.

Stunned—he’d never seen Jane cry except for the day she buried her daughter, Suze’s mother—all he could do was fuss over her until he found out what was wrong. There was more going on here than his unexpected arrival. She was antsy as a sparrow perched on an exposed electrical wire.

He patted her shoulder. The tissue box on the counter was empty, so he snagged a paper towel from the marble spindle on the island and tucked it into her restless hand. “Tell me what I can do, Jane,” he said helplessly. “Did you get bad news on the phone?”

“Phone?” She stared at the wall, and then glanced quickly away. She waved a hand at him. “No. It was a…wrong number.”

Somehow he didn’t believe her, but unless she was willing to talk to him, he was at a loss what to do for her. He watched her sniffle into the paper towel. Then she blew her nose indelicately. When she looked him in the eye, her expression disintegrated and she started to cry again. “Sorry,” she choked out around the tears. “I haven’t been home,” hiccup, “in two days and, and, I-I-I’m just tired!”

He felt like a heel. He’d put too much on her shoulders, not thinking about what the extra work might do to her health. She’d been dry for nine years since coming out of rehab and going to work for him, but she’d been so liquored up for most of her adult life, her body had never fully recovered.
This
he could fix. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, pouring her favorite orange soda over ice and snatching up the stirring spoon. “You just sit there and I’ll finish dinner.”

Walking over to the stove, he gave the pot a stir before he grabbed more paper towels and cleaned up the sauce splattered on the floor and lower cupboards. When he finished, he looked at Jane. “Where is everyone? John told me you picked up Rachel from the hospital.”

“I convinced her to lay down with Amanda and Suze a few hours ago. They’re all taking a nap.”

He nodded toward Jane. “You should have taken one with them,” he said. “After you eat dinner, I want you and Suze to go home. Don’t come into work tomorrow. Take the day off. Relax.”

The woman stared at him like he’d lost his mind, but he was happy to see she’d stopped crying. She wiped her eyes with a corner of paper towel. “I can’t take a day off in the middle of the week. The schedule is overflowing and—”

Patrick frowned at her. “Take the day off, Jane.”

“But—”

“Do I have to fire you?”

Jane looked startled. “You’re the boss,” she said, glancing at the kitchen clock. “Speaking of which, boss, didn’t you have a meeting with the Landers at six o’clock?”

Patrick shrugged. “I had to reschedule.”

“Something’s wrong,” Jane said, the statement sounding more like a question. “You disappeared this afternoon and didn’t come back.”

“I was with Jack at the police station.” The muscles between his shoulder blades tightened again. He knew he’d have to address today’s events sooner or later, but he’d hoped to wait until after dinner. “We’ve got a problem.”

Her eyes widened. “Let me ex—”

“Jane, please,” he interrupted. He knew she was upset by the recent attacks on the sites. She seemed to be taking every hit personally lately. Not that he wasn’t doing the same. It
felt
personal. “Just listen. If I have to explain this more than once, I’ll go nuts.”

Rachel stood frozen in the doorway trying to decide whether to go or stay before someone noticed her. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone the man standing in the middle of the kitchen with Jane. Their problem was Rachel, of course. But she was done with people running her life so it was impossible to turn away and let them decide her fate.

Why did she take the pain pills Sam prescribed before releasing her from the hospital? She’d awakened from her nap feeling nauseous and weak as a kitten. It took her a full ten minutes to pull on panties, a peach-colored tee and jeans. When she reached down to pick up her bra from the floor where it had fallen, she’d almost passed out. It was still lying on the carpet upstairs.

She was not up to fighting strength, and needed to be!

“Come on in, Rachel.” Patrick looked straight at her, his left eyebrow quirked like he’d been aware she was hovering there all along. “You should be in on this conversation, too.”

Despite the invitation in his voice, his intense stare pinned her in place. Her heart beat too fast, but she chalked that up to her concussion, altitude sickness, and the residual effects of the pain pill. The tremor that fluttered through her bloodstream though? That was pure sexual attraction.

She gave herself a mental shake. It was insanity to think of going there. She hadn’t recovered from her last fall from grace.