With Every Breath (14 page)

Because with the arsenal of weapons she was packing, she had no intention of simply going into hiding and luring whatever psychopath away from the people she cared about. She was going hunting and not the recreational kind.

She sent him one last determined look, or perhaps it was a warning, because he suddenly found himself on her concrete drive as she hit reverse, screeching into the street. He barely had time to lift his head before he saw her taillights fade into the distance.

He should have been pissed. He should be wiping his hands of the entire situation he'd unwillingly been dragged into. And he damn sure never fucking took orders—however politely formed as requests—from anyone.
Especially
Dane Elliot.

But he wasn't any of those things. A peculiar sensation fluttered through his chest and settled like a sinking stone in his gut. He closed and reopened his eyes in rapid succession but nothing he did could rid himself of the utter despair in Eliza's face.

Not many things scared Wade. If pressed, it was doubtful he could even come up with one. But seeing Eliza tonight and the desperation fueling her actions and emotions?

Scared the fuck out of him.

EIGHT

ELIZA
wrapped the thin jacket more firmly around her, hugging her arms in an unconscious gesture of protection as a shiver worked its way up her spine. She stared woodenly at the redbrick courthouse with quaint white columns that had been repainted in recent years.

She could feel the malevolent stares from passersby, those who'd lived here years ago when their quiet, peaceful town had been thrust into the national spotlight, but then Eliza had made certain she was seen upon her arrival. It hadn't been easy. God, it had been so hard to walk the sidewalks, revisiting her old stomping grounds and even venturing into the diner she used to work in for breakfast, making certain to take her time so as many people as possible saw her and word spread like wildfire.

Barney still owned and operated the diner and he'd stood to the side of the woman at the counter where orders were placed, beefy arms crossed firmly over his chest and glaring openly at Eliza, his distaste written all over his face, his expression one of having tasted or smelled something foul.

Ever since leaving the diner and wandering aimlessly through the town's center, the stares had increased as more people than normal were out and about. Whispers abounded. Pointed stares. Some didn't even try to disguise their disgust and had hurled insults loud enough to be heard for three blocks.

Inwardly she'd winced, each barb finding its target with pinpoint accuracy, but she'd be damned if she ever let anyone see her weak and vulnerable. She'd donned a cool, unaffected, even bored expression as though she were just passing her time until . . .

She shuddered, revolted by the mere thought that she'd purposely set out to make these people think that she was here because Thomas would be released in mere days. That she couldn't stay away. That she was still firmly under his spell. It was an act, but it hadn't always been and that was what hurt the most.

She'd sworn to leave this place and never return. She'd walked out of the courthouse relieved, yet so full of shame, shoving her way through the crowd of reporters, refusing to say a single word. Not even “no comment.” What was there to say? She'd already aired her sins in front of God, judge and jury and she wasn't rehashing it again. Ever.

Except by a cruel twist of fate—No. Fate couldn't be blamed. The blame lay solely at Thomas's feet. He'd engineered his release. But whatever the case, that long ago vow of putting Thomas, this town, everything behind her and never rehashing it, had been shattered and now she stood in the middle of town in front of the courthouse, long-suppressed images surfacing with vicious clarity.

That day she'd carried only a duffel bag containing everything she owned, what little money she possessed shoved into her pocket. She'd walked and she'd kept walking, never once looking back. Not at the diner where it had all begun. Not when she'd wearily passed the city limit sign. She'd only looked forward, no definitive destination in mind. Her only goal had been to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible and try like hell to put everything that town represented behind her. Try to forget. And to forgive . . . herself. She'd been unable to do either.
Especially
now.

She'd walked for days, the days fading to night and then slowly bleeding to light once more. Despite her efforts to blank her mind and shut out the recitation of the atrocities Thomas had committed, it had sounded as if the jury foreman had screamed the sentence for every single crime, each one more horrifying than the last. She
still
heard that voice in her nightmares echoing over and over. It sickened her now every bit as much as it had sickened her then, but far worse than living with never-ending nightmares was the knowledge that she was
not
the victim she'd been portrayed in court. The true victims were the women Thomas had defiled, degraded, violated and murdered in a gruesome, inhuman manner, and it was
they
who deserved justice. Not Eliza. She'd deserved the same punishment handed down to Thomas. She should, even now, be in prison consigned to a lifetime behind bars.

Because she was guilty of the worst crime of all. Stupidity. Naïveté. Willful ignorance. And an aching need for love and acceptance, as only a vulnerable young girl could fantasize about the things she'd never been gifted with. Things she craved far more than the truth. She didn't
want
reality. Her reality was dismal and without hope, love or acceptance. Things Thomas had offered and she'd latched on to with fervent desperation. She'd been absolute in her belief that he was a good man and was being wrongfully questioned and investigated. She'd been determined to do
anything
to prove his innocence because if he wasn't then she lost the fantasy world she'd plunged so recklessly into. Rooting herself so deeply in denial that she'd convinced herself none of it was real. Except Thomas's love for her. She'd clung to that and only that, refusing to see what was so pathetically obvious to everyone
except
her. Because she
chose
denial. Refused to return to reality. Her crime was that choice, because deep down she knew it wasn't real and she hadn't cared. And her denial and selfish desperation for love had condemned innocent women to death.

Thomas hadn't loved her. He wasn't
capable
of something so beautiful and selfless. It had taken her witnessing the depraved things he'd done to an innocent woman before she was forced to acknowledge what an utter, gullible fool she'd been. God, how so very ignorant of love she'd been then—a lifetime ago. But she'd witnessed the real deal now. And finally understood. Knew it for what it
truly
was and not the twisted, manipulative and sick perversion she'd once been immersed in. A nightmarish, unending source of shame that she'd never escape. But back
then
he'd tapped into her young mind and pulled every longing, every wish, her every dream and desire and then he'd given her precisely what her unrealistic fantasies had manifested themselves into. She'd been an easy mark and Thomas hadn't had to exert any effort whatsoever to bend her to his will.

She shivered, pulling at the sleeves of her windbreaker and finally pulling the hood to cover her head as chilly spring rain began to gently fall. There was no longer any need to ensure she was noticed and recognized. In a few hours' time, the entire town would know of her arrival. And Thomas too would be aware that she was here.

Tears welled and for once she didn't call them back and refuse to let them free. They merely mixed with the rain, disguised by the now more pronounced sprinkle that had begun just seconds ago. She wasn't breaking her vow never to let anyone see her cry ever again. Because there was no way to distinguish her tears from the rain, and she could no longer bear the horrific burden without having an outlet.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't know. It's no excuse.
I should have known
. I should have been smarter. If I had, none of you would be dead. But I swear to you on my life, that I won't fail you like the justice system failed you . . . and me.”

She knew well how the rest would play out now that she'd made her move. Speculation would run rampant—was already rippling through the town. She'd continue to face the same scorn and ridicule she'd already been subjected to and be treated like a leper.

None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that
Thomas
got wind that she was here and as soon as he was a free man, not only would he know she'd come, he'd know how to find her. It wasn't as if she was going to make it hard.

Until then, she'd be treated with no better regard than Thomas himself, only the people here would be even more bitter toward her because
she
had never paid for her crimes. She'd gone free while so many other women had paid the price for her freedom.

It was nothing more than she deserved. She deserved far worse.

It mattered little what they thought of her. But soon . . . soon they would know that justice had finally been served when not only Thomas Harrington took his last breath and Eliza either died taking him out, or she spent the rest of her life in prison.

She'd only had a short time to prepare herself, and she
was
prepared. She'd trained and been trained by the best, and she didn't fear death if it meant Thomas could never hurt another woman. But she hadn't expected to feel so painfully empty, soulless and
already
dead on the inside.

And so lonely, she ached.

Knowing she was merely delaying the inevitable, she turned away from the steps of the courthouse, recalling another image of when she'd left the courtroom after the sentencing and had been swarmed by reporters, cameras and microphones. All of which she'd ignored, desperate to be away from a place that had caused her so much shame, anguish and heartrending guilt.

It, like so many other dreams, haunted her at night. Never the same one in a row. But each one eating away at her little by little, night by night, taking a piece of her soul until there was barely any left. When the nightmares became too much to bear, she simply didn't sleep and instead, remained awake, drinking coffee on autopilot as she went back over her mission, absorbing every detail, no matter how minor, and planning for every conceivable scenario.

It was ingrained in her memory. There would be no forgetting it. She could recount it verbatim down to the most minute detail. But she studied her notes, and there were stacks, as a way of atonement. A reminder to all those women that they hadn't been forgotten. Not by her. Never by her.

She knew each of their names. Whether they were married, single, had families, or like her, had no one at all to even notice she was gone and to grieve for the loss of her. She already had personally drafted letters to each of the victims' families or loved ones ready to be mailed. Anyone she could find that a once vibrant, beautiful woman belonged to. And she would explain that justice was finally being served and apologize for her part in Thomas's madness. At least the victims' families would have confirmation instead of bitter resentment that he was alive and free while their loved one was dead.

Those letters would be mailed right before she took Thomas down in case she wasn't alive to do it after. Then and only then would she carry out her crusade, and she would
not
fail, no matter the cost, no matter if she went down with him. In the deepest, darkest recesses of what remained of her soul, she
wanted
final rest and freedom from the oppressive burden she'd carried for so many years.

Dragging her jacket more firmly around her to shield her from the now much colder drizzle, she walked slowly back by the diner, her work done for today. Now, she waited. And anticipated the feeling of redemption when Thomas Harrington ceased to exist.

At the end of the street was a mail drop. A sharp stab of pain slashed through her chest at the reminder of the letter she'd mailed to Gracie. She'd mailed it from Kansas, taking an indirect route to Oregon so no one could track her, her purpose to send anyone coming after her in the opposite direction. And they would come. But while they were chasing dead ends in the Midwest, she would be in Oregon doing what she should have done long ago.

It wasn't the smart thing to do, but she couldn't drop off the face of the earth having Gracie thinking Eliza was angry with her. She owed her this much for saving her life. And she hadn't lied to Sterling about the surprise involving Gracie's school for impoverished children. She'd gifted her entire savings to Gracie's cause because Eliza would have no use for it since she'd either be dead or in jail.

Her letter had been a goodbye and not a very subtle one. She'd asked Gracie to tell Tori, Ari and Ramie she loved them and considered them her dearest and only girlfriends and she'd made only one request in regard to her male coworkers. She'd asked Gracie to tell them she was sorry for letting them down, for failing them. But for Dane, she'd included a smaller sealed envelope and simply asked for Gracie to personally deliver it to her partner and the best friend she'd ever had.

She closed her eyes and hunched down, shielding her face from the rain as she began the half mile walk to the house she'd rented. A hotel wasn't an option and the town only sported an aging bed and breakfast and a motel that she wasn't surprised to see was still likely being used for the nightly hookups and drug binges, where dealers and buyers met and, for a price, the management looked the other way. And since it was owned by the chief of police's brother-in-law, there wasn't much to worry about as far as it being raided.