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Brad’s chest tightened. She looked so damn happy, carefree even. So different from the traumatic woman during the months of the trial that he wanted to freeze-frame the image and leave her undisturbed by this latest horror.
Knowing she couldn’t see him, though, he took an extra few minutes to study her. Her heart-shaped face had always seemed so delicate and pale, yet now a slight tan gave her a healthy glow, and her hair seemed shinier, blonder, with natural highlights. Her too-thin body seemed rounder and more sexy, her arms more muscular, as if she might have been exercising or working out in the yard.
Today, she wore a simple white cotton blouse with gathers up the middle, accentuating her curves, along with a denim skirt that swirled around her ankles. Dainty sandals on her feet revealed long narrow toes with red-painted toenails.
His body stirred with desire….
He’d known that beneath the battered woman there was a beauty. But he hadn’t imagined how sexy and tempting she’d be when that traumatized look faded, and she actually smiled.
The few times he’d visited since the trial, he’d noted the wariness reflected in her big blue eyes. Had known that seeing him was a reminder of the worst time of her life. Another reason he’d stayed away.
She suddenly glanced up and spotted him. He felt like a voyeur for spying on her, but hadn’t been able to resist. Once again, as he feared, the smile froze on her face, the light in her eyes diminishing rapidly.
He fisted his hands by his sides, hating to shatter her happiness. But he had no choice.
Another woman’s life was hanging in the balance.
THE MINUTE LISA HAD READ the paper this morning, she’d known Special Agent Brad Booker would visit today.
Her stomach clenched as their gazes met. For a moment, she thought his whiskey-colored eyes flickered with emotions. Regret. Need. Loneliness. Maybe even…attraction.
But the look disappeared so quickly she was certain she’d imagined it. In fact, his jaw snapped rigidly tight, indicating his mind was on one thing and one thing only—this latest case. He was all FBI.
But during the trial, when he’d sat by her side, she’d sensed the bottled-up rage that simmered below the surface of the tight-lipped, hard-edged agent persona. She felt that rage teetering on the verge of exploding now.
“What is it, Lisa?” Ruby asked. “Honey, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
She had. The ghost of a past she’d left behind. “I…” Jamie and Peggy tugged at her skirt, and she jerked her attention back to the children. “Time to collect our scarves,” she said, adding a light tone to her voice to hide the turmoil riddling her. “Dance over to the box and put them inside. Then get your backpacks ready to go home.”
The kids ran toward the cubbyholes and grabbed their bags, then Ruby gathered them into a circle to hand out the day’s artwork, butterflies they’d created from clothespins and tissue paper. Finally, Lisa lined them up in the hallway for car pool, hugging each one goodbye before Ruby connected them with their ride.
Hoping to stall as long as possible, Lisa hurried into the room and began straightening up.
Ruby gathered the art supplies. “Go on and speak with that man, I’ll finish up here. You shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Lisa bit back the truth, hating to lie to her friend. But Ruby was a born mother and would worry to death if she knew the facts about Lisa’s past. She’d been trying to build a new life here, to escape the pitying looks and questions. She couldn’t let the ugliness from her past color her new world.
Only now Special Agent Brad Booker had shown up at her workplace, threatening that tiny bit of peace. Because he was here to talk about his investigation. The Grave Digger. The past one. And the present.
He had to look for a connection. On some level, she understood that, but she didn’t like it. And another part of her, the feminine part, resented the fact that work was the only reason a man like Brad would visit her.
“Go on, scoot.” Ruby whisked a hand toward her, and Lisa relented, retrieved her purse and walked into the hall.
Brad approached her, his broad shoulders squared, his face devoid of expression. He didn’t immediately speak, seemed to understand that she needed time to process his appearance.
Just as she remembered, his skin seemed naturally bronzed and his short clipped hair was as black as coal, as if somewhere in his past he had Italian ancestry. God, he was an intimidating man, handsome as sin but rock-hard, with unforgiving eyes.
He was undeniably the sexiest man she’d ever seen.
She remembered rousing in his arms after he’d pulled her from the grave, and had felt an instant connection to him. With Brad, she’d never been afraid.
At least not physically. But emotionally…he scared her to death. He made her want to feel again. To take a chance.
But discussing the Grave Digger was something she couldn’t handle.
Besides, he had demons haunting him that were every bit as awful as hers. Demons she knew he’d never talk about, just as she didn’t about her own.
“I knew you’d come,” she said, when he started to speak. “But we’re not going to visit here. Let’s go to the coffee shop.”
He gave a clipped nod, his gaze scrutinizing her. She wondered if she had glue on her clothes, or if he was simply remembering the way she’d looked during the trial, the way she sometimes still saw herself. Her hand automatically went to her neck to feel for the amethyst that her mother had given her, but then she remembered it was gone. William had stripped it off, just as he’d stripped her soul.
The old familiar humiliation crawled back up her spine. When Brad found her, her entire body had been black-and-blue with bruises, her cheeks, nose and lips purple and swollen, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot from lack of sleep and crying, her long blond hair chopped in ragged tufts from where William had sawed it off like a savage.
So ugly.
She jerked her gaze in front of her to keep from covering her face and hiding at the memory. She’d thought she’d cried out all her pain four years ago.
It was amazing how quickly it resurfaced.
They walked along the sidewalk, down the block, the light summer breeze fluttering the trees, whipping her denim skirt around her ankles, and bringing the faint aroma of Brad’s cologne, some masculine woodsy scent that she still remembered from the ambulance ride. She’d been grasping for a lifeline that night, latching on to anything positive to will herself to stay alive. His scent had been one of them.
His low, soothing, husky voice another. The feel of his hands, the third. The connection had been so potent that sometimes in the night when she was alone she swore she could still feel his fingers stroking her palm.
Pots of geraniums, marigolds and impatiens filled the window boxes and planters in front of the stores, adding color, although the normally cheerful signs of summer that usually lightened her moods did nothing to alleviate her anxiety today. In fact, they only reminded her that even when beautiful things flourished, ugly ones might be festering below the surface.
Five minutes later, they scooted into a booth at Daisy’s Diner, the small local hangout, where food and gossip were a daily ritual. They both ordered coffee, although Lisa dumped sweetener in hers, then added a cube of ice to cool it, and cradled her cup in her hands. Anything to stall, to keep her from reaching for Brad and begging him to make this nightmare go away.
Brad’s dark gaze skated over her, relentlessly calm, haunted. “You said you knew why I was here?”
Lisa nodded, unable to look into his eyes, his face, to see the pity. She felt him watching her, studying her as he had through the trial, as if she were a fragile piece of glass that might shatter any second. Wondering if he should call a shrink. Would she be able to hold it together long enough to testify?
The case had all hinged on her. He had been relentless in pushing her for details…details she’d tried so hard to forget.
Lisa shivered. “He’s…he’s back, isn’t he?”
Brad reached out to touch her hand, then pulled away as if he shouldn’t. “No, it’s not William, Lisa,” he said in that gravelly voice that made her wish she wasn’t so weak, that she had the courage to look him in the eye and admit her attraction. “He is dead, just like I told you.”
“Then a copycat killer?” she said quietly.
“I’m afraid so. We found the first victim a few days ago.”
Anger simmered in his voice. Yet the protective tone underlying it also aroused something deep inside her. Something she hadn’t thought about in ages. She had clung to Brad’s promise while William had tormented her. Knowing that he was out there looking for her, that he wouldn’t give up, had kept her alive.
“He’s kidnapped another woman now. Her name is Mindy Faulkner.”
Lisa closed her eyes. Hearing the woman’s name made it more painful. Made her real. How did Brad do his job? “I’m sorry, Brad….”
He reached out again, and this time covered her hand with his own. Lisa tensed, savoring the comfort, the warmth of his skin. He had wide palms, soft but slightly callused. Long fingers, blunt nails. She’d memorized those in the ambulance, as well.
How many times had she lain in bed at night, aching for someone to hold her? Thinking about those hands? His strong arms. Wanting him to touch her. Soothe her. Stir some life back into her endlessly listless body.
If only she’d met him before she’d met William White.
Before he’d tainted her….
Brad cleared his throat, ran a finger over her palm. “I hate to ask you to do this, Lisa, but I need your help.”
She sighed, disappointment mushrooming inside. Had she really hoped he’d come because he wanted to see her?
“How can I help you, Brad? I don’t know this woman or anything about this copycat man.” Not like I did last time.
Guilt flared in his eyes. Damn it, she didn’t want his guilt or pity.
“It’s been four years, Lisa,” he said in a low voice. “Except for the length of time the killer keeps the victims, and the fact that he leaves a cross instead of a rose with each one, this guy is copying the original crimes to a tee. He’s either read the trial transcripts, talked to White or he was a second party to the first crimes. Maybe there’s something you’ve remembered during the last four years that might help us.”
“No…” Lisa shook her head, denial mounting. “There’s nothing more to tell…you know everything. And there wasn’t a second man.”
“You might have repressed his memory. Maybe he was there in the shadows, just watching, or maybe—”
“No.” She fidgeted with the coffee cup, took a sip, pushed it away, disgusted. Maybe she hadn’t remembered everything that had happened. But God, she didn’t want to… And Brad couldn’t ask that of her. He’d seen what White had done to her. The horrid pictures. The brutal details.
“Maybe something about the place he held you,” Brad insisted in an even voice. “White never revealed the location during the interrogation or his prison stay.”
Lisa stared into his cold eyes. How could he do this to her? Ask her to remember. To revisit that evil tunnel of darkness. “I can’t do this, Brad. Please, stop it.”
Suddenly shaking all over, she jumped up and ran outside. Heat suffused her, the sun scalding her as she ran toward the day care parking lot and the safety of her car. Dust flew up from her sandals, and she nearly stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, but she forged on, her stomach heaving as she grabbed the car door, swung it open and collapsed inside.
A minute later, Brad stood beside the car, holding open the door, towering over her. “Listen, Lisa.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as if he was angry, but anguish laced his voice. “This woman…I know her. She…we dated.” His voice dropped a decibel, riddled with fear, more guilt. “I can’t let her die.”
A shudder overtook her. Brad had met someone. Had fallen in love. And like a foolish girl, Lisa had harbored hope that one day he might see her as someone other than a victim.
She chewed on her lip, fighting to steady her breathing. Four years ago, Brad Booker had been her savior. She wouldn’t be alive now if it weren’t for him. How could she possibly turn him down?
Tears blinded her as she righted herself. She trembled, feeling blistering hot and freezing cold at the same time. It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed to move on with her life, to try to forget the horrible things William had done to her.
If she traveled down that road again, willing up memories, reliving it, she might not survive a second time….
CHAPTER THREE
BRAD GRIPPED HIS HANDS by his sides as Lisa drove away. He had the sinking feeling that he’d screwed up in some major way. Maybe he had been insensitive. Coldhearted. A bastard.
Even cruel to have come here.
He’d seen Lisa fidget, and remembered her tears over the lost amethyst that her mother had given her. It had been the only thing she’d had left of her, and White had torn it from her just as he’d torn her clothes. Brad would never forget the day Lisa had told him. Her mother had given her the ring on her fourth birthday, and explained that amethyst had been worn by royalty in the fifteenth century and was supposed to control evil.
But the amethyst, made into a necklace, certainly hadn’t done its job with White.
All day Brad’s imagination had pummeled him with horrid images of what Mindy was enduring. He’d had to ask for Lisa’s help. Details from Lisa’s trial, the inhumane treatment, then Joann Worthy’s bruised face passed through his mind. He leaned against the car, heat beating down on his back.
The ritualistic behavior of other serial killers compounded his worries. Sometimes they changed MOs. Their depravity escalated. Who knew what this new guy was capable of? If he’d only gotten started…
Mindy was a nice woman, a nurse with a bright smile and kind heart. She helped others selflessly, had tried to be the woman he desired.
But Brad hadn’t had his head in the game.
Because another woman occupied his mind.
Now the case dominated his mind. Not Lisa Langley in particular, he told himself. He’d simply found a soft spot for a victim. Had felt guilty over his part in not preventing the abduction.
And hell, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d imagined holding her, kissing her, taking her beneath the sheets and proving to her that every man wasn’t a sadistic animal. He’d fantasized about making slow, easy love to her until he put a smile on her face that would wipe out the sorrow White had left there.
But that meant nothing. A sexual attraction, that’s all it was. No emotional attachments.
Brad Booker didn’t need anyone. Didn’t want to get involved. Couldn’t allow himself to.
He brushed at the dust coating his slacks, climbed in his sedan and cranked the engine, grateful for the blast of the air conditioner. An old-timer stopped by his pickup truck and studied him, his wife shifting a foam container of leftovers in her hands as she, too, peered at him. The diner probably served as a boiling pot for gossip. Brad supposed they didn’t see too many strangers in town. They were automatically suspicious.
Had they overheard his conversation with Lisa in the diner? Were they Lisa’s friends, trying to protect her?
If so, he should be happy she’d found solace in these north Georgia mountains. Friends in the small town.
And one day she might find a lover.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring the stab of unease at the idea as he debated over what to do. Drive back to Atlanta? Spend the night?
What good would staying do?
He had work to do to find Mindy. And Lisa knew how to contact him.
But she obviously thought he was a bastard. And he had been. Otherwise, Mindy might not be in danger.
And Lisa wouldn’t have run from him as if he was the devil himself.
LISA WANTED TO RUN AWAY.
Again.
She clenched the steering wheel with a steel grip and guided the car through town toward her cabin, trying to plan a route of escape. But where would she go this time? And how far would she have to run to escape the demons? Would she need to change her name again? Get a different type of job?
The bitter memories of the days and nights of her captivity rolled through her head. Day one—the blindfold. The tauntings. The darkness. The unbearable heat. The stench of blood and decay. Day two—his evil touch. The beating. The sick mind games. The constant fear pressing in her belly. Day three—the box beneath his bed. The sounds of his breathing. The claustrophobia. The hints of what he wanted….
Day four—the hunger. The dry, parched throat from pleading with him for water. The dreams of dying just to escape.
Gasping for air, she hit the power button to roll down her window and gripped her stomach, fighting nausea. A breeze rushed in, hot air filling the car. Dark clouds floated across the sky, obliterating the sun, but the weather forecast had predicted no rain. Yet the green-tipped mountaintops rose in front of her, the open pastures and farmland offering a sanctuary. Cows grazed in the fields, lazily gathering around a watering hole. A farmer in overalls was riding his tractor. An elderly woman in a bonnet stood with a hoe, examining her vegetable garden, a plump yellow squash in one hand. So picturesque. Safe. A perfect place to grow old and raise a family.
She thought she’d escaped the ugliness when she’d moved here. But in a heartbeat, one quick flash of time, Brad Booker had brought it all back.
She hated him for it.
