No One Left to Tell (44 page)

He laid his cheek against her shoulder, panting. Weakly she ran her fingers through his hair, then stroked his back. Once. Twice. Her hand fell to her side, useless. Limp.

‘Are you all right?’ he murmured, still out of breath. Still buried inside her.

‘I don’t know. Am I?’

He lifted his head. Looked into her eyes and her pounding heart fluttered. ‘You’re more all right than I deserve,’ he said. ‘I’ve just had you and I want you again.’

She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. ‘Do I have to beg each time?’

One side of his mouth lifted. ‘Depends. If you jump me, then no.’

She laughed softly, keenly aware that for a few precious minutes she’d thought only of him and the magic he’d worked on her body. Even if things didn’t work out between them, those moments were worth the risk. ‘Jumping you requires a softer surface.’

‘I have a bed,’ he said silkily. ‘It’s very soft.’

She sucked in a breath, her core muscles clenching around him and he groaned quietly.
Again
. She wanted him again. ‘Can we have a shower first?’ she asked.

‘I have one of those, too.’ He kissed her jaw tenderly. ‘You go upstairs. I’ll lock up down here and meet you in a few minutes.’

Thursday, April 7, 2.15
A.M
.

Silas had dumped Kapansky’s body into the Patuxent, switched his van for the untrackable car and now pulled into the storage unit he’d rented under one of his aliases.
I was a damn good cop. Now I have untrackable cars and aliases
.

He locked up, found his sleeping bag, shook it out, settled onto the floor. Sighed as his bones creaked and his muscles ached. He needed a hot shower, not cold concrete.

It was dark. And quiet. Too quiet. He could hear himself think. He hated to think. When he let himself think, he was deluged with regret over what he’d become. The people he’d hurt. It had all started with a choice that hadn’t seemed so terrible then.

He’d needed to save his daughter from ruining her life.

She’d been such a precious child, his Cherri. And then adolescence arrived and the fights began. Sneaking out, smoking. Boys. He hadn’t had the time to guide her, to keep her straight. He’d been busy catching bad guys. Being a goddamn hero.

The day the nightmare started . . . he’d thought it would be the most terrible day of his life. He’d find he was wrong about that. He’d been watching a re-run on TV when two cops had knocked on his door, a man and a woman. They had a search warrant.

He’d looked up the stairs. Seventeen-year-old Cherri stood on the top step and one look at her face told him she knew why those cops were there. There had been a robbery and the stolen goods were found hidden under his daughter’s bed.

Cherri was guilty. Of that he’d had no doubt. But taking the rap . . . She would have gone to prison. The daughter of a cop. Her life inside would have been hell. He couldn’t let that happen.

All of those thoughts passed through his mind as he watched his only daughter taken away in handcuffs, sobbing, begging him to help her.

Mere minutes after the police car had driven away, the phone rang. And then came the offer. Like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, tempting him.

I can make that evidence go away. As if it never was. I can make it so that your precious daughter never sees the walls of a prison. But you have to act fast. The cruiser is taking her in. When they arrive at central booking, the offer disappears, as if it never was. Think fast, Silas. The clock is ticking
.

What do I have to do? he’d asked.

Whatever I say. Whenever I say
.

And if I don’t?

Those two cops that got your daughter asked the same question. The woman cop’s son spent a week in the hospital. Hit and run. She doesn’t ask that question anymore
.

What will you do?

Someone else will take the blame
.

Who?

Do you care? As long as your daughter is safe, do you care?

He hadn’t. God help him, he had not cared.

The voice on the phone had chuckled.
If it makes you feel better, the one who’ll take the blame has already served time. She can take care of herself inside. Can your daughter take care of herself?

Silas had said nothing, frantically trying to choose and then the voice on the phone hit it home.
A cop’s daughter, in prison. They’ll eat her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The clock is ticking, Silas. I need your decision
.

And so he’d decided.
Yes
. He’d blurted it out before he could change his mind.

Excellent. I’ll be in touch
.

And so it was done. Another girl had been framed. And Cherri had been released. Spared. It hadn’t had the effect he’d hoped for, though. Free from jail, she’d run off again. There would be more trouble. More heartache for him and for Rose. He’d always thought it couldn’t get worse.

And then, not even a year later, Cherri was gone forever. He’d held her newborn child in his arms and vowed Cherri’s baby would always be safe.

The voice on the phone had contacted him again two weeks later. It was time to pay his debt. The first job was one like Cherri’s, framing a young man for a crime he did not commit. But Silas had been able to justify it. The boy had already been convicted. He’d reoffended. He hadn’t done the crime for which he’d been accused, but he sure as hell had done others.

Years passed. The jobs got harder. His first kill . . . He’d balked and his employer had reminded him of the cop whose child had been hit by a car. The boy still walked with crutches. So he’d killed his mark, then thrown up afterward. But over time, the kills got easier too.

He thought of Cherri. Of Violet. Even now, knowing what he knew, he was sure he’d make the same choice.

Habit had him reaching for the photo in his shirt pocket, even though it was too dark to see the little girl with chocolate on her chin. He slid two fingers in his pocket.

Then sat up straight, panicked.
It was gone
. Cherri’s picture was gone.

I’ve lost it. Where?
He made himself breathe. Mentally retrace his steps. He’d come home from Toronto. Showered and changed. Had he put the photo in his pocket?

What if I dropped it? What if someone finds it?
If he dropped it at the river, no one would find it. No one ever went there.
What if I dropped it in the woods at the nursing home?
The area was crawling with cops. CSU would be sure to find it.

What if the cop who finds it is the one cop who’d know who it is?
That Silas himself had been there would be their eventual conclusion. He’d be found out.

Then so be it. Grayson would realize who he was sooner or later, so it really didn’t matter in the end. If that one cop did find the photo, it would be cared for. She would give it back to him. She would know how much the picture meant.

He lay back down, forced his eyes to close. And made himself sleep. He needed to be sharp tomorrow morning when he pulled the trigger for what would hopefully be the last time. And if his employer had arranged for incriminating records to be made public in the event of his death, so be it.

Of course, the other ‘operatives’ might be pissed, because their records would be made public, too, but that was their problem. Silas just had to survive a little longer.

Thursday, April 7, 2.25
A.M
.

‘Hmm.’ Paige snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder as they lay in Grayson’s bed, her hand resting lightly on his abdomen. He didn’t seem to be able to let her go. They were clean, and he’d had her again, in the shower. Up against the smooth tile wall.

He hadn’t planned it. He’d joined her in the shower after letting her dog sniff around his courtyard and locking up his house. Never had setting his alarm seemed so important. Now, it was keeping her safe.
For me
. He’d planned to get clean, then tell her. Tell her everything.

But he’d been unprepared for her reaction when she saw his back. He was black and blue from whatever had fallen from the sky after his car had blown.

She’d cried, great gulping sobs. He’d kissed her mouth, trying to comfort her. But he couldn’t kiss her and not have her. Then she’d begged. Again. He’d lost control. He’d made her come twice, changing her sobs to sensual pleas.

And then he’d come so hard. Inside her. Without a condom.

He’d never done that before. He’d always been careful. Never lost control. Never made that kind of commitment. Because he knew none of the others were ones he’d keep.

But this one . . . the woman cuddled up against him, trusting him.
I want to keep her. I need to tell her. Now. Before this goes any farther
. Before he took her again, lost control again. Made her pregnant.

His heart clenched in his chest so hard it hurt. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, hers filled with worry. ‘What is it?’

‘I . . .’
Need to tell you
. But fear bubbled up and he blurted the first thing that came into his mind. ‘We were careless.’

She bit her lip. ‘I know. But it’s the wrong time of the month for any . . . pregnancy.’

He blinked, stunned to find himself disappointed. The wrong time. Suddenly, desperately he wanted it to be the right time.

‘I’m . . . It’s just that . . .’ He closed his eyes, unable to find the words. He made his living with compelling arguments, but right now he was as scared as a small boy.

As the small boy he’d been.

She kissed his forehead, next to the bandage. ‘What’s wrong, Grayson?’

‘I need to tell you.’ He forced the words out. ‘I need you to know.’

She stilled. Then let out a slow breath. ‘What can I do to make it easier for you?’

His chest swelled, emotion swamping him.
I could love you, Paige Holden
. Now he was even more scared. He opened his eyes. She was watching him with a mix of compassion and tenderness.

‘Let me finish. And if it makes a difference . . .’ He filled his lungs with air. ‘If it matters, if you need to go, then go. But please, promise me you’ll keep it to yourself.’

‘I promise,’ she said solemnly, and he believed her.

He nodded, wondering where to start. Then he shrugged. ‘Once upon a time there was a boy in Miami. His name wasn’t Grayson Smith.’

Her eyes shifted, something indefinable moving in their black depths. She said nothing, so he continued.

‘The boy had a mom,’ he said. ‘A great mom.’

‘Judy.’

‘Yes. But that wasn’t her name then, either. I had a dad. I thought he was great, too. Until one day we found out that he wasn’t.’ He drew another breath and took the plunge. ‘My name is Antonio Sabatero. I was named after my father who tortured, raped, and killed fourteen young women. Most of them were college age. A few younger. By the time we found out, he’d been killing for years.’

For an interminably long moment she said nothing, then finally spoke. ‘I didn’t think you looked like a Smith,’ she murmured. But there was no disgust in her eyes.

And no surprise
. Realization was like a fist in his gut. ‘You already knew.’

She nodded. ‘I was putting your monitor away this afternoon. I bumped my head on your shelf and knocked your pictures down. I was fixing them, when I found the one with you and your mom. Standing in front of the school. I really wasn’t intending to snoop.’

His mind was reeling. ‘How did you find out?’

‘You were standing in front of a bus that said “St Ig”. There were palm trees. I did the math, then did a search. I needed to know, because I was about to break my own rule and sleep with you. I needed to know if you might be . . . mine. Someday. Maybe.’

Mine
. That he understood.

Her brows furrowed. ‘Are you angry that I knew?’

‘No.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Relieved. Incredibly relieved.’

‘Good. I was worried. I only know what I read in an old newspaper article. That you found one of the bodies. That more bodies were found later and your father was arrested. And that you and your mother disappeared. You were only seven years old. I . . . I can’t imagine that.’

He didn’t have to imagine. He remembered every detail with brutal clarity. ‘The paper didn’t print everything,’ he said quietly.

Her eyes shifted again, steeling herself for something bad. ‘Tell me. If you want to.’

He tugged her head back to his shoulder and she cuddled against him, her hand splayed on his chest. Over his heart. Which clenched again. She’d known.
And yet here she is. In my bed. She knew and still she trusted me. She wanted me
.

‘I’d seen a pirate movie,’ he began. ‘They’d found a treasure map between some stones in a wall. I knew about a stone wall, in a barn on a neighbor’s property. The neighbor was old, mostly deaf and didn’t see well. My mother visited her every week, brought her food. I didn’t think the lady would mind if I played pirate in her barn.’

‘But your dad had “played” there first.’

‘Yes. I found a loose stone. I worked it free, thinking I’d find something wonderful behind it.’ He stopped, the memory as fresh, as frightening as if it had been yesterday.

‘You found the body then?’ she prompted gently.

He stared at the ceiling, the self-hatred clawing inside him. ‘She wasn’t dead yet.’

He heard her sharp intake of breath. Felt her tense. ‘Oh God. Grayson.’

‘He’d beaten her. Cut her. He had her shackled to a wall. She turned her head to look at me and started to . . . gurgle. It was . . .’ He swallowed the bile that rose to burn his throat. ‘It was the most terrifying sound I’d ever heard. I’ve seen more murder victims than I want to remember, but that sound . . . to this day it makes my blood run cold.’

‘You were only seven,’ Paige breathed, shaken. ‘What did you do?’

He hesitated, not wanting to speak of it.
Tell her
. ‘I ran,’ he admitted. ‘I ran away and hid in my closet. The girl was trying to ask for help. I found out later that my father had cut out her tongue so she couldn’t scream. I was terrified. So I ran.’