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Either way, he’d never get seriously involved with another woman again.
Nighthawk Island
Savannah, Georgia
SHADOWS FLICKERED around the sterile hospital room, the scent of antiseptic and alcohol nauseating. Rain pounded the roof, the monotonous drone echoing the beat of her heart. Despair threatened to steal her energy, so she forced herself to channel her courage into the will to survive. But she was so confused, she didn’t remember her own name. Did she have family somewhere looking for her? A boyfriend, husband?
Caitlin…Nora…
The two names bled together in her mind as if they were one and the same person. Maybe they were. Sometimes the doctor called her Nora. Other times, the nurse had whispered “Good night, Caitlin,” to her in the darkness.
“Here you go, sugar, this should help you sleep.” Donna, a robust nurse who usually worked nights, handed her a small paper cup holding a pill, then poured her a glass of water from the plastic hospital pitcher.
She cradled the capsule beneath her tongue, took a sip of water and pretended to swallow it. The bitter taste assaulted her senses, her struggle not to let it dissolve warring with the craving for something to sweep her away from the nightmare she’d been living the past few days. Or had it been weeks?
She’d lost all sense of time.
Donna patted her hand in approval, then ambled her bulk to the window and adjusted the shades, drowning out the dwindling light that had tried to cut its way through the fog. “Let me know if you need anything else, dear.”
She nodded, a show of obedience earning her another sympathetic smile. Then the nurse bustled by, humming Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” beneath her breath as she exited.
She spit the pill into her hand, her socked feet slipping on the cold linoleum as she ran to the potted plant by the window. Hands trembling, she dug a hole in the potting soil and stuffed the capsule below the surface, then packed the dirt tightly over it. The screech of the lock turning on the door, shutting her in, brought a fresh wave of panic.
She didn’t belong here.
Not in this mental ward or research hospital, whatever it was. Worse, she couldn’t remember how she’d ended up hospitalized. But she’d heard the nurses talking, whispering about the Coastal Island Research Park on Catcall Island, and the more restricted facility on Nighthawk Island. The place was dark, had secrets. The doctors were conducting strange experiments, ones nobody wanted to talk about.
So why was she locked inside?
She wasn’t crazy. She hadn’t willingly committed herself for experiments or treatment. She hadn’t experienced delusions or heard voices until they’d pumped her full of narcotics. Then the voices had started, the strange terrifying dreams, the cries in the night from down the hall.
Cries from other patients…her own…
She had to escape. Get help.
Caitlin? Nora…
She had a sister somewhere. She felt it, a connection of some kind. But where was she? And why hadn’t she come looking for her?
Snack and medicine carts rumbled outside her room, nurses’ laughter and voices echoing in the night. Somewhere down the hall a chilling scream pierced the air.
She rushed to the window and inched back the edge of the shade. The murky sky and woods surrounding the hospital cast the island in an ominous gray. Shadows of drooping palm trees flickered through the haze, heavy with rain. How far was she from civilization? If she ran tonight, would she be able to escape the island and find her way to a town somewhere?
Her reflection caught in the window. A ragged, frail woman stared back. Dark purple smudges marred her skin beneath bloodshot eyes. Perspiration beaded her forehead and upper lip. Her stomach cramped into a knot, and she staggered back to bed to rest. Slowly she’d weaned herself from the narcotics, but going cold turkey triggered nasty side effects that had been nearly impossible to battle alone. Sometimes the sweet need for another shot, a pill, anything to alleviate the pain, to help her rest and obliterate reality was so strong she could barely fight it. But if she succumbed to that desperate need, the dreams, the voices, the cries…would start over again. And this time she might not be able to save herself.
Footsteps sounded outside, and she held her breath, grateful when the person bypassed her room and went on to another poor soul. If the nurse discovered Caitlin was dressed, she might guess her plan and warn the doctors and guards.
Then it would be back to solitary confinement, to that room and the chair.
She nestled under the covers, trying to warm herself as she huddled in the darkness. Seconds ticked by, her eyes glued to the wall clock, the only decoration in the near-empty, gray room. Ticktock. Ticktock. A minute passed. Five more. Ten. Thirty.
Finally, the nurses’ voices quieted. The halls grew silent. She had to go now while it was dark. Before they returned to make their midnight rounds.
Removing the butter knife she’d stolen from the cafeteria, she slipped from bed and began to undo the screws that bolted the windows into place. One. Two. Slowly she worked, the task painstaking, the rust adding to her problems. Her hands shook and she dropped the utensil, the clatter on the linoleum floor echoing through the stillness of the night.
Her breath caught. She paused, listened. Prayed no one heard. Seconds later, she began her task again. Perspiration trickled down her cheek as she removed the last screw. A sigh escaped her, then she opened the window.
Fresh air.
Inhaling sharply, she hoisted herself onto the window ledge and threw herself through the opening. Her ankle twisted as she hit the hard ground. Ignoring the stabbing pain and the bite of the wind and rain, she ran through the grass and bushes, into the thick, shadowy woods that encased the property like a fortress.
An alarm screeched as she climbed the gate. Guards suddenly burst outside, weapons drawn. Lights flickered on, and shouts rang out. “The gate! There she is!”
Caitlin dropped to the other side, and dashed through the sea oats. The trees were so dense, they shaded any light. She searched the darkness, disoriented. Which way should she run?
“Stop!”
The shouts propelled her forward. Her heart pounding, she dashed through the foliage. Insects buzzed around her face. Her shoes sank into the mushy ground. A hawk swooped up ahead, and the stench of a dead animal and peat added a sickening odor.
She spotted a clearing ahead, and she raced toward it. The sound of water broke through the quiet. The ground suddenly disappeared in front of her. She’d reached a small cliff. She glanced to the left, then the right, but heard voices from both directions. There was no place to run!
Voices echoed behind her again, carrying in the wind, and flashlights scanned the woods. A beam of light caught her in its glare.
“There she is!”
“Stop her!”
She was cornered. The ocean raged below, a good thirty feet. Her legs threatened to buckle. Someone broke into the clearing. Shouted for her to freeze or he’d shoot.
Terror seized her. She wouldn’t go back. She would die inside.
“Please, God, help me.” Her heart thundering, she inhaled, then flung herself over the ledge into the roaring waves.
Devil’s Ravine
North Georgia
HE SAVORED THE SWEET SMELL of Eve’s fear in the shadows that bathed her as she huddled within her tomb. She was a stubborn one, too far gone to save. Too deeply embedded into her harlot ways to admit that the devil had invaded her soul.
God help him, but he wanted her anyway.
Her chin wobbled, and her eyes turned glassy, but she refused to release the tears.
He felt the fine tremors of her body as he trailed his finger over her naked chest, raked the knife blade in the curve of an A, the letter he would use to brand her before he took her life.
A smile curved his lips. Yes, she was so alluring, angelic really, exactly like the first Eve who’d tempted Adam. Yet she was worse. She was married. Promised to another.
Only she had forgotten those vows when she’d taken another man to her bed.
“Please don’t do this,” she whispered.
He cradled her pale hand in his, then slid the simple gold wedding band from her fourth finger. She didn’t deserve to wear it.
The marriage decree stated that the union would last forever—till death do us part.
Breaking that vow meant she had to be punished.
Miles Monahue would thank him in the end.
Chapter Two
Nighthawk Island
Fear seized Caitlin as she fought the undercurrent, but she forced herself to take a breath and continue swimming. Another stroke. Another. Her clothes felt heavy, weighing her down. How far would it be to the next island? Could she make it?
Then she spotted the small fishing boat. Deserted, tied to the shore by a long rope.
Her pulse raced as she battled the waves and swam toward it. Her arms ached. Her lungs throbbed for air. Her legs felt like numb weights as she kicked and pedaled forward. Finally, she reached the boat and hurled herself inside. She was shivering, but she grabbed the paddle and worked it against the current with all her might.
It seemed like hours as she struggled to reach shore. The night grew darker, colder, her muscles screamed with strain. The strange nighthawk circled above as if hunting for its prey, waiting for her to succumb to exhaustion so he could attack.
Finally, she approached land. Another island. Here, she’d find help. Get a ride back to civilization and find out why she’d been locked away.
She dragged herself from the boat and slogged through the sand and shells in the darkness. Dizzy with exhaustion, she wove through the long stretches of wooded land until she neared a road. Cold air sliced through her wet clothes, salt water stinging her eyes. A dog howled behind her, and she forced her rubbery legs to take another step. Up ahead, she thought she heard a noise. The whistle of the wind? A rabid dog? Thunder?
Traffic. A car zooming over the slushy pavement.
Panting, she tore through the bramble, jumped over a patch of overgrown weeds and ran onto the highway, waving her arms. She yelled for the driver to stop, but the ancient pickup rattled by, ignoring her, spewing muddy slush. Fighting panic and dizziness, she began to walk along the edge of the road, hopes dwindling as she realized the late hour and weather would prevent travelers from tackling the narrow deserted roads.
Exhaustion intensified her despair, but she reminded herself not to give up hope. Another car would come by. It had to.
One more step. Another.
It seemed as if hours had passed, but finally a noise broke the silence. Tires squealed, brakes churned. An eighteen-wheeler spun around the curve, crossing the center line. She yelled and waved her arms frantically, praying his headlights caught her, that he didn’t run her down.
He hit the brakes and gears screeched as he slowed and pulled over to the embankment. The door swung open, and a man’s face appeared, shadowed by the smoke-filled cab interior. The strong odor of French fries and sweat wafted from the truck. “Miss, are you all right?”
“Yes, I—” her teeth chattered “—need a ride.”
“Your car break down?” He scratched his beard as his eyes scanned the dark deserted stretch of highway.
Had she not been so terrified of getting caught and restrained in that mental ward, she would have been afraid of him. His beefy arms swelled over a thin wife-beater T-shirt, and a plaid flannel shirt hung loose around his beer belly.
Desperate though, she climbed in, grateful for the warmth of the cabin. She only prayed she hadn’t escaped one nightmare to be thrust into another.
Raven’s Peak
North Georgia
THE PHONE RANG at 5:00 a.m. Before he even answered it, Miles sensed it was bad news.
“Your wife has been saved now, she’s repenting for her sins.”
His throat closed. “What? Who the hell is this?”
“She was reborn at Devil’s Ravine.”
A coarse, sinister laugh reverberated over the line, then the phone clicked into silence.
Frantic, Miles hit the call-back feature. Nothing. Dammit. Panic rolled through him in waves as he yanked on his jeans and grabbed a shirt, but his cop instincts kicked in.
He had to go. He headed toward the door. Agent Brown already thought he was guilty of hurting his wife. He’d better cover himself and give him a call.
His fingers shook as he punched in his deputy’s number. He’d let him handle things at his office today while he dealt with this. Then he phoned the FBI agent.
Seconds later, Agent Brown’s voice echoed over the line. “What is it?”
“I just received an anonymous call,” Miles said. “A man. He said I’d find my wife at Devil’s Ravine.”
Brown cleared his throat. “Where are you now?”
“At my place. But I’m on my way out the door.” He grabbed his gun and shoved it into his jeans. “It’ll take me about ten minutes to reach the ravine.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Miles’s head spun as he fumbled for his sunglasses and raced to his car. Images of Caitlin surfaced. Caitlin with her silky long hair. Caitlin teasing him in bed.
Caitlin lying naked and cold and alone.
Dead.
His pulse pounded as he started his SUV and tore down the graveled drive. Thankfully the sleet had let up. As much as he’d told himself he didn’t care anymore, that he never had, emotions clogged his throat. He had loved her. And maybe she hadn’t left him. Maybe someone had kidnapped her and held her all these weeks and she had prayed he would save her.
But he’d failed.
Guilt suffused him, making his chest tight. The towering pines and hardwoods rushed by in a blur. His tires squealed, grappling with the slick asphalt as he wound around the mountain. The steep incline forced him to downshift and brake, the miles of dense forest and deserted country roads endless. If a hiker got lost or was in trouble, they might never be found.
Unless someone alerted the police. Meaning the killer wanted them to find his victim.
Because he felt remorse, or because he liked the game?
A ray of sunshine fought through the gray clouds as he accelerated and maneuvered the narrow dirt road. Bush and trees marred the rest of the way. He’d have to park, and hike to the ravine.
He yanked on his jacket, checked his weapon, climbed from his SUV and scanned the wooded area. Was the caller still around? Was he watching?
Senses on overdrive, he listened for footsteps and began to weave through the dense brush and trees. Barring the wildlife creatures, the squirrels and birds foraging for food, the forest remained asleep. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he descended the rocky terrain leading into the ravine, rocks skittering down and pinging into the creek below. When he reached the lower bank, he turned in a wide arc and scanned the horizon, the edge of the woods, the cliff above. Vultures soared overhead, a hunter’s gunshot reverberating in the distance. Wind blew damp leaves into a cluster.
Where was she?
