Ultimate Sins (31 page)

And it wasn't just Stoner.

He forced himself to leave. Forced himself to track Stoner instead.

Pulling his truck into the back of the diner Stoner had stopped at, just a few miles from the cabin he owned, Crowe knew what he was going to do.

Crowe rarely killed without orders. Hell, until now, he'd never done so. He'd left Amelia's with the intent to kill, but each time he began preparing for it, he'd pictured the disappointment and fear he'd invariably meet in her eyes if she ever learned of it.

Pulling the rifle case from beneath the front seat of the truck, Crowe opened it and snapped the weapon together efficiently. Pulling on a black ski mask and gloves, he left the truck and headed around the back of the small diner, keeping close to the shadows.

It wasn't that he intended to kill Stoner there; he was more curious as to why the bastard had parked in the back.

It didn't take him long to figure it out.

The sight of young, hungry runaways wasn't uncommon at that particular diner. The night cook was known to sneak them small portions of food from the hot servers in the back. In his fifties with half a dozen grandchildren, he'd pay for the food himself out of his own pocket before seeing a kid go hungry.

But some kids, it took them a while to actually ask for the food. Those kids, especially young girls, often found themselves at the mercy of men like Stoner. That particular young girl hadn't been willing, though.

He'd gotten her out of the diner somehow—or perhaps he'd caught her coming in, Crowe didn't ask which. But when Stoner used his fist to disorient her and began tearing at her clothes, Crowe had had enough.

Acting quickly, he moved to the corner of the diner, called out the name he'd heard Stoner call her as though concerned, and made enough noise to wake the dead as though searching for her. It had been enough to get Stoner moving.

Tossing the kid aside with a curse, he'd rushed to his car and within seconds was speeding back up the road toward the cabin he owned. Exactly where Crowe wanted him.

Crowe took care of the girl first. Calling into the diner, he told the old cook there was a kid in the back lot, probably hurt and frightened, who could use a good meal and a friendly shoulder. Then he'd headed farther into the mountains.

Stoner didn't have much longer to live.

Once Stoner had nearly raped that kid, Crowe hadn't had a conscience left.

The stone-cold, merciless hunter the military had trained kicked into place, and Stoner was no longer a man. He was prey. A rabid, senseless waste of life that no longer deserved to breathe.

Pulling into a hidden spot below the cabin, Crowe pulled the black ski mask over his face, donned specially made leather gloves certain to leave not so much as an identifying smudge, and grabbed the rifle from the seat next to him. Leaving the vehicle, Crowe hiked the extra mile to the cabin, certain Stoner had beat him there until the sound of his vehicle pulling into the drive assured him Stoner was only just arriving.

Slipping behind the stacked firewood next to the driveway, Crowe watched as the vehicle came to a stop in front of the cabin. A second later his gaze narrowed as the passenger-side door opened and a young girl fell from the car.

“Come here, you little bitch,” Stoner snarled as he jumped from the driver's side and moved quickly to the girl as she tried to back away from him fearfully.

“Please don't do this,” the girl cried out desperately. “I'm only sixteen. Please.”

“That's okay, bitch, the younger the pussy the tighter the hold, ya know?” Stoner laughed drunkenly, obviously determined to victimize young, defenseless girls that night.

Dimming the light on the smartphone he carried, Crowe called Stoner's number again.

“What the fuck do you want?” Stoner screamed through the link as
UNVERIFIED
came up on his phone's screen, obviously alerting him to who was calling
.

Crowe laughed lightly, his gaze narrowed as the girl took advantage of Stoner's momentary distraction to race from the drive and hopefully off the mountain.

“What do you want? I left already. Go fuck the little bitch and get your own case of frostbite. I don't care in the least.”

Stoner was looking around, obviously hoping to catch sight of his third victim of the night and cursing at the realization she was gone.

Silently disconnecting the call, Crowe felt his entire system sliding into killing mode. Stoner had made his final mistake as Crowe realized that letting him live meant the rape of a kid. Stoner wouldn't stop until he found a victim to hurt. Possibly to kill.

“You bastard. Hang up on me will you? Just wait till I get back to that bitch wife of mine. Fucking Callahan whore. The next time you kiss her all you'll taste is my fucking cum filling her mouth. You can have some real sloppy seconds. Then I'll be nice and let the Slasher know what a Callahan-fucker she is so he can take her off both our hands.”

Crowe stepped back as Stoner slammed into the cabin. Crowe went after the girl. He'd make sure she got home, or back to her parents, then he'd return for Stoner.

Less than two hours before dawn Crowe slid into place in a stand of evergreens at the back of the cabin. Through the kitchen window he could clearly see into the well-lit room as Stoner stood at the back door. He was silent, staring into the night as he finished what appeared to be another in a long line of beers.

Pulling the rifle to his shoulder Crowe knew he didn't have long to wait. He could smell a hint of urine where Stoner had relieved himself off the porch, obviously more than once. And it was obvious the lazy bastard was considering it again rather than walking to the bathroom at the front of the cabin.

Yep, here he came. Crowe waited until he was fully in view, caressing the trigger. Then as Stoner reached down to loosen his pants Crowe took the shot.

The bullet tore through Stoner's heart, dropping him to the porch in less than a second.

No hesitation.

Stoner had signed his own kill order the moment he'd wrapped his fingers around Amelia's neck. Trying to rape not just one, but two young girls had removed Crowe's last hesitation.

Amelia was his. He'd forced himself to leave her to protect her, and he'd be damned if he'd allow some bastard with a heavy hand to abuse her.

The hike back to the truck was made quickly, and the drive to the cabin made with no one to witness the black shadow of a vehicle easing up the mountain at that hour of the morning. Stepping into the cabin once again, Crowe moved to the back porch, gathered up Stoner's body, zipped it in a body bag, and placed it in the covered back of his truck.

Sliding back into the vehicle, he reversed from the drive and sped down the mountain the same way he'd gone up it, then returned to the hidden spot he'd found to park the truck in. Using the secured sat phone he kept on him at all times, he then keyed in the number to a controlled line.

Base Control answered immediately. “Texas-Tahoe-Base. You're a go. We have sat lock and awaiting identification and instruction.”

“California-Baker-Charlie,” Crowe confirmed before continuing. “Sterilization required. Marker in place. Request cleanup ASAP with direction to authorized processing needed.”

“Sterilization and immediate cleanup approved at marker, California-Baker-Charlie-Two,” Base approved. “Direction ordered to Tahoe-Alpha-Three, coordinates incoming. Authorized processing confirmed and approved. Proceed immediately to coordinates. Texas-Tahoe-Base, out.”

“Coordinates confirmed Texas-Tahoe-Base. California-Baker-Charlie, out.”

Disconnecting the link, Crowe activated the satellite map on his phone, put the vehicle in gear, and headed down the mountain once again.

Moments later his lips curled in a smile of satisfaction. The low hum of a stealth drone overhead drew his attention. Seconds later the mountain trembled as the cabin exploded into a ball of fire that Crowe knew would burn the building to next to nothing.

And once he reached Tahoe-Alpha-Three, Stoner Wright would be burned until even the ash was ashes.

Wiping his hand over his face, Crowe remembered thinking how he would just pray Amelia never suspected, let alone learned what he had done.

And what the hell had happened?

John-fucking-Caine had happened, and he and Ryan's high-flying ideal that Crowe shouldn't step into a relationship with Amelia without telling her the truth was biting him in the ass.
There shouldn't be secrets between the two of you, son,
Ryan had advised him when he first learned what Crowe had planned.

No doubt, his uncle had sent John in just to tell Amelia the truth.

But why?

And why now?

 

CHAPTER 18

What now?

There were too many secrets, too many lives ruined because of Wayne Sorenson, and still he was out there. Nothing they had done so far had pushed him into making a mistake.

Amelia stared at the pictures she'd pulled from the loose board in her bedroom floor after Wayne had supposedly died. Pictures of her and Crowe from seven years ago. One picture alone had sustained her. One she'd shot of them together by lifting her phone above them as they lay on her bed.

She hadn't warned him first as she usually had. She had just snapped the picture. Later that night she'd printed it and hidden it with the rest. She hadn't pulled it out until months later when she'd been so torn, desperate, and uncertain what to do.

That picture had dug talons of agony straight to her soul because the expression on his face was one she had never seen on another man's, at any time in her life. Especially Crowe's.

She had never seen gentleness, need, and something akin to desperation mixed and merged to create a look so similar to what she would have described as devotion; she'd convinced herself for years that that was exactly what the emotion was.

Then life had happened. Crowe had returned and of course he'd had lovers. Those lovers and his experiences with them were drawn out in detail by friends of those victims once the Slasher murdered them.

He'd had lovers. He'd touched other women and allowed them to touch him. A part of her hadn't blamed him. She couldn't have him, not as long as the Slasher lived—those stories proved it. But she needed him. She ached for him until a part of her had felt as raw and agonized as an open wound.

She looked at the picture again.

She would have killed for him. If she had known Wayne was the killer, she would have killed him in his sleep and gladly gone to prison for it if it meant Crowe would find peace or happiness.

Coming to that realization wasn't hard. She had hated Stoner. She had hated him even more than she had hated Wayne at the time. Hated the few times he touched her with such strength that she had been physically ill each time he forced her beneath him.

Thankfully, those times had been few and far between.

“Amelia?” John stepped into the family room, his expression drawn and saddened. “You okay?”

“Did he love me?” she whispered, looking at that picture again.

Moving to her, John looked down at the image she held and breathed out roughly. “Never seen that look on Crowe's face before I saw him with you. And only when you're not looking. If he loved you then, he loves you now.”

Covering her lips with her hands, she tried to force back her tears as she nodded slowly then looked up at him. “Do you trust me, John?”

He stared down at her for long moments before finally nodding. “I trust you, Amelia.”

“Enough to let me use your phone?”

The secured line he used couldn't be detected or traced. She needed that. To make the call she had to make, she needed a line no one would even know was in use.

Somber, silent for long moments, he finally nodded, drawing the device from the pocket of his jeans.

It was tiny. A sort of flip phone unlike any she had ever seen.

“How do I key in a number?” she asked.

John talked her through the process quickly before turning and moving to the doorway as though keeping watch for her.

She quickly dialed the number, another secured line she knew couldn't be hacked or traced.

“Who is this?” With a voice as dark and cool as Crowe's could be and just as suspicious, Ethan Roberts answered the call.

“It's me,” she said quietly. “It's Amelia.”

Silence filled the line for just a second.

“Amelia, baby, are you okay?” Her mother's voice was hoarse as though crying, and definitely worried.

Thea and Ethan Roberts had lived a hell most parents could never imagine.

“I'm fine,” she promised. “Is Dad still on the line?”

“You're on speaker, honey,” her father assured her. “Jack and the team are here as well. He was heading out in a few hours to your location.”

She drew in a hard, deep breath. “Do you remember, just after we realized Wayne was alive, what you said?”

“What I told you was the only way to draw him out?” His voice became icier than ever. “I remember.”

“I think you were right. I think it's time.” Her heart was beating sluggishly now, terror striking at her as tears filled her eyes. “I think it's time to do it.”

“Are you sure, Amelia?” he asked her. “Be damned sure, baby.”

“I'm sure,” she promised him. “How soon—” Swallowing tightly, she had to force herself to finish the question. “How soon before all of you can be here?”