Deceived (3 page)

He leaned across the counter until his lips were close to her ear. “Sarah, I need you to come with me.”

Sarah's blood suddenly ran cold with fear. “Listen,” she stammered. “You've got the wrong idea. I didn't mean—”

“Your father sent me, Sarah,” he interrupted. “You're in danger.”

“My father?” she scoffed. “Not very likely.”

Luke glanced around as if expecting danger to close in on them at any moment. “There was an incident earlier today. Your father was injured, and your sister—”

“Look,” Sarah interrupted, finally pulling her hand from his grasp. “I don't know who you are, but this isn't funny. And, by the way—it's a
lousy
pickup line. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do.”

Luke downed the cider and grabbed his wallet from his back pocket, fishing out a couple of hundred-dollar bills and handing them to her. “For the cider.”

She cautiously reached for the money. “It only costs a dollar.”

“I'm guessing it'll cover what you would've sold for the rest of the hour,” he said. “Now, I need you to come with me so I can get you and Eli to safety. I'd rather not have to throw you over my shoulder and drag you outta here kicking and screaming to do it, but I will. I'll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe. Where's your son?”

Sarah's fear was replaced by anger. “What the hell do you know about Eli?” she demanded. “You touch one hair on his head, and I swear—”

Luke cursed and strode around to the back of the booth, gently but firmly taking hold of her elbow. “Lady, I'm not the one you need to worry about.”

Sarah's breath caught in her chest. At least a foot taller than she was, Luke towered over her, his powerful body crowding her as he pressed close. She put a hand against his muscled chest to stop him from getting any closer and was surprised to find his heart beating as fast as hers.

Dear God.
He was looking at her with such intensity, she almost expected him to kiss her. And something told her it wouldn't have been a tentative, uncertain kiss.

“Everything okay, Mrs. Scoffield?”

Sarah started and tore her gaze away from Luke's—which was far more difficult than she would've thought—to give the man in the booth next to hers a smile. “Yes, Mr. Thomas. Everything's fine.” She turned back to Luke, narrowing her eyes at him. “Just who the hell should I be worried about? What was this
incident
you seem to know all about?”

“There was an attempt on your father's life,” Luke told her in a low rumble. “I'm sorry.”

“What?” She pegged Luke with a pointed stare, her anger and disbelief making her tremble. “Prove it. Prove to me that my father sent you. Prove that
any
of what you're telling me is true.”

Luke heaved an exasperated sigh and took out his phone and turned it toward her. “Here.”

She read the text message from the phone number she recognized as her sister Maddie's: Pic of Sarah and Eli. Please bring them home safely. Dad in surgery.

Sarah immediately called out, “Mr. Thomas! I need to take a break. Could you watch the booth for me until Mrs. Smith gets here?”

Luke didn't wait for Mr. Thomas to answer before grabbing Sarah's hand and pulling her along behind him. “Where's the boy?”

“The haunted house.” Sarah gestured toward a sprawling historic home down the street that was converted into a house of horrors every year to the delight of people all over the county. She'd held firm about Eli not going, planning to have him sit with her at the booth until she was free to go with him, but then Hunter's mom had informed her that, contrary to what Hunter had hoped, she and her husband
would
be joining the boys at the festival and keeping watch over them.

Luke picked up the pace, his powerful strides forcing Sarah to take three steps to his every one. She struggled to keep up with him, her long denim skirt and brown knee boots not really suited for jogging. But as her fear and panic ramped up, she surged forward, now dragging Luke behind
her
.

“Betsy,” Sarah panted when they reached the wrought-iron gates, recognizing the girl taking tickets as one of the high school girls who'd babysat for her during staff meetings. “Have you seen Eli?”

The girl blinked at Sarah—well, at Luke, really—but finally seemed to snap out of it and nodded. “Uh, yeah. He went in, like, a few minutes ago, I think. Haven't seen him come out yet. But, you know, I'm not like watching for him or anything.”

Sarah bolted up the steps, ignoring Betsy's protestations about tickets, and heard Luke's heavy footfalls right behind her. “Eli!” she called when she burst inside. “Elijah!”

Luke grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “Sarah—”

“Let me go, damn it,” she yelled over the spooky music and artificial sound effects of creaking doors and demonic cackles. “You told me my son's in danger. Well, I'm going to go find him.”

Luke pulled her a few steps toward the wall and deeper into the thick curls of artificial fog to let another group of people pass, then grasped the back of her neck and bent to speak directly into her ear, “We're not the only ones looking for him, remember?”

Sarah shuddered at the warmth of his breath on her ear and forced herself to focus on what he was saying.

“We don't want to lead them to Eli.” He drew back just enough to peer down into her face, and his hand drifted from the back of her neck to cup her cheek. “Now, follow me—quickly, but calmly.”

Sarah nodded and let him take her hand as they hurried through the darkness, lit only by disorienting strobe lights. They searched the faces of those they passed, looking for Eli in the crowd. Whenever she saw one of the children she recognized, she tried to ask if they'd seen her son. Those to whom she could make herself heard could do little more than nod and point, their voices lost to the noise.

More than once, costumed performers dressed as gruesome zombies, mangled murder victims, or ghosts with hollowed-out eyes leapt out at them, startling a cry from her. But Luke barely flinched. It seemed the man was completely immune to fear. Which made Sarah wonder just how the hell her father knew him.

The aura of danger that surrounded Luke was unlike any she'd seen before—and did nothing to assuage her fear for Eli's safety. If her father had sent someone like the man beside her to protect them, then the people he feared were coming for them had to be pretty damned frightening.

Her panic increasing with each passing moment that Eli wasn't with her, Sarah tightened her grip on Luke's hand. Finally, as they made their way through the crowded third-story hallway, she thought she had suddenly caught a glimpse of Eli. Without thinking, she bolted forward, squeezing her way through the crowds, frantic to keep him in sight as he and the Smith family made their way toward the back stairs.

She was just about to dart down the darkened stairwell after them when a group of giggling girls emerged from the room to her right, clogging the passageway. Sarah elbowed her way through them, drawing angry protests that were thankfully drowned out. She raced down the stairs, which were dimly lit by a dull yellow bare bulb at the top landing and another, blinking, fizzling bulb further down below like something out of those creepy slasher films from the eighties.

Her heart pounding, she took the stairs as fast as she could. As she made the first landing, she came to an abrupt halt with a loud scream, not having expected to encounter a performer sprawled on the floor as if he'd been shot in the head. A shockingly realistic splatter was painted on the wall a couple of feet above him and smeared down as if he'd hit the wall when the bullet struck him and slowly slumped to the ground.

After the initial shock, Sarah moved to go around when something about the man's face suddenly struck her as familiar. It was in the next instant that terror gripped her, making her knees momentarily weak. The man wasn't a performer. It was Mike Smith—the father of Eli's friend Hunter and the man who was supposed to be watching out for her son.

Sarah forced her feet to move, tripping over the body and nearly tumbling down the stairs. Her heart was racing, her pulse pounding so loudly in her ears she no longer could hear the haunted house sound effects bleeding through the walls into the stairwell.

Mike Smith was dead. Shot in the head. And the person who'd committed such a horrific murder was there in the darkness somewhere. With her son.

Sarah didn't care anymore about being quiet. All she wanted was to get to her child before it was too late. She bolted down the stairs, screaming for Eli at the top of her lungs. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a heap lying in the shadows. Heedless of her own safety, she rushed forward, dropping to her knees. She reached out a trembling hand and rolled the body over.

Sarah gasped, choking back a horrified sob when she saw the wide, unblinking eyes of Patricia Smith. And beneath her lay the huddled form of a little boy with dark hair. Sarah placed a hand on his shoulder, expecting to find him dead as well, but he screamed and pulled away, cowering with his arms over his head.

“Hunter!” Sarah cried. “Hunter, honey! Where's Eli? Where'd he go?”

Hunter couldn't stop screaming, the poor boy too traumatized to respond. Fighting back the scream of frantic need to find her own son, Sarah managed to scoop up Hunter and was attempting to stand with him in her arms to take him with her when strong hands wrested the boy from her grasp.

Her protective instinct on overdrive, Sarah lashed out, kicking and clawing at the man.

“Sarah!”

The deep voice broke through her rage, bringing her assault to an abrupt halt. Her relief at seeing Luke was so intense that she had to choke back a sob, but the desperate need to get to her son kept her on her feet. “He's gone,” she told Luke, her voice quavering. “And Patti and Mike . . .”

Without a word, Luke rushed through the back door and into the night, the traumatized little boy still in his arms, his piercing gaze searching the darkness, his expression deadly. Sarah's own eyes darted around, desperately trying to spot Eli.

“Oh my God! What's happened?”

Sarah's head snapped toward the voice and recognized the woman rushing toward them as a fellow teacher at the elementary school. “Helen, have you seen Eli?”

The older woman shook her grey head in confusion. “Yes, dear, I believe I saw him run out of here a moment ago. He was headed toward the midway. He must've been darned scared from the haunted house tonight. He was running like the dickens.”

* * *

Luke gently handed Hunter over to Helen, pushing away the rush of emotions and horrifying images that came flooding in on him from his own childhood trauma. “There's been a murder. Call the police.”

He didn't wait for the woman to respond before taking off after Sarah. Damn, the woman was fast! But he had to believe if it'd been
his
kid in danger, it would've taken an act of God to keep him from getting to his child, so he could understand her desperation. But that same love and protective instinct was going to get her killed if he didn't reach her.

Fortunately, his long strides made up for her head start. By then, they were almost to the midway, and he heard Sarah's strangled cry as she poured on a fresh burst of speed, racing past the curious festival attendees who sent confused glances her way. Luke caught sight of the little boy at almost the same moment as Sarah. But he also saw the wiry guy in a gray hoodie moving in from the boy's flank.

Sarah reached her son just before the other man, scooping him into her embrace and pivoting to shield him with her body. Luke kept running, throwing himself into the would-be kidnapper and taking him down to the ground before the guy even realized what'd hit him. But it didn't take the attacker long to recover his wits.

Luke saw the gun just as he reared back to drive his fist into the guy's face. He grabbed the man's wrist, slamming it against the ground with one hand and connecting with the guy's jaw with the other. As the gun finally slipped from the attacker's hand, Luke felt the man squirm beneath him and heard Sarah's cry of warning just in time to roll away and avoid the sharp blade of the hunting knife that the guy had apparently hidden away in a sheath at his calf.

“Who the hell are you working for?” Luke demanded as the guy squared off against him, hunched over, teeth bared.

The attacker swung his arm, slicing through the air as he advanced on Luke, damned near catching him with the tip. Luke jumped back at the last second, catching the guy's arm as he swung past him and twisting him around into a choke hold, pressing the knife to his throat.

“I said, ‘Who the hell are you working for?'” Luke growled.

The guy chuckled darkly, leaning into Luke to avoid the blade at his throat. “I serve the One True Master. And if you kill me, more will come. We will know your secrets, Templar.”

Luke was about to ask how the hell the bastard knew who he was when the guy started convulsing. Sarah hastily stumbled backward with Eli, shielding his eyes.

Luke cursed under his breath and released the man, letting him fall to the ground, where he continued to convulse and spew white foam, which was soon tinged dark with blood. Luke's stream of ripe curses grew louder and more colorful when he realized the motherfucker had poisoned himself, taking the coward's way out instead of allowing himself to be questioned. When Luke regained his composure, he glanced up to encounter the horrified stares of the crowd of people who'd dared to approach them now that the assailant was on the ground. More than a few of them were on their phones, no doubt already calling 911.