Dying for Love (15 page)

He squeezed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, then cursed. “That’s not what I meant. But I can’t . . . I won’t take advantage of you.”

A cold hardness darkened his features, and he backed toward the door, boots clicking on the wood floor.

“Get some sleep. We’ll visit The Gateway House tomorrow.”

Pride made Amelia lash out. She’d been cast aside so many times in her life, rejected time and time again. Why couldn’t he just love her?

Why couldn’t anyone?

She jutted up her chin. “I can go by myself.”

John shook his head firmly. “Not after what happened tonight.”

Without another word, he stalked out of the room. The door slammed behind him with a thud.

Amelia winced, feeling suddenly bereft and so alone she wanted to cry. She missed him already, missed the warmth of his hands and the strength she saw in his eyes.

Missed having him by her side giving her hope that she might one day have a normal life.

Was her memory playing tricks on her? He’d felt so familiar . . . Had they known each other before? Or was she simply fantasizing about something she could never have?

Too nervous to sleep, she slipped on her pajamas and skimmed through more journal entries, searching for any clue about her child and the baby’s father.

Her frenetic sex with Six taunted her. Had she given birth to Six’s son?

No . . . Dear God, she didn’t want to believe her son’s father was a serial killer.

The night looked dark and bleak as he stared across the mountains. Cold air swirled around him, making his leg throb. He rubbed it, the sleet banging against the roof taking him back to his childhood. To that bat swinging down toward him.

He heard the bone crack. He screamed, pain knifing through him.

The bat came down again.

He had tried to run but collapsed onto the icy ground and screamed in agony. The sleet pelted him, stinging like sharp needles, the moisture soaking him and chilling him from the inside out.

Tears ran down his face, freezing on his cheeks. He lifted his head and spotted a cave a few feet away. It would be warmer inside.

If he could make it inside . . .

But the few feet might as well have been miles.

He clawed at the ground, dragging himself across the ice. By the time he reached the entrance, he was out of breath, writhing in pain. He dropped his face into the snow and tasted blood and dirt and ice.

The memory faded, and he gritted his teeth to banish it. He had survived. And he was stronger now.

A man because of the harsh lessons he’d learned. Just as he would turn his own boys into men.

They had to be taught the hard way, too.

Now he had to get rid of Ronnie Tillman. The kid was trouble all the way around.

He would never meet the criteria.

But he would find another to take his place. And they would soldier on.

Chapter Fifteen

T
he ticking of the clock bellowed in the room and woke Amelia. Winter raged on outside, painting the sky a steel gray, the bare limbs rattling in the wind.

Still shaken by the shooting the night before, she forced herself to start her day. She brewed some coffee, then settled on the couch to study the journal entries. Outside more snow fell, huge flakes clinging to the tree limbs, making the backyard and woods a winter wonderland.

Yet nothing looked beautiful today because she kept seeing that woman’s blood everywhere.

Desperate to banish the images, she turned back to the journal and found vignettes of Viola’s sexual escapades with strangers.

Sex with men she hooked up with at bars. Men on the street. At a coffee shop. With orderlies at the hospital.

Viola had been extremely promiscuous. Some of the sex bordered on S and M. Viola liked bondage, liked to be spanked, liked it rough.

But one entry caught her attention:

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

I whispered the words in the man’s ear, begging him to take me harder and faster.

He shoved my skirt up, pushed me against the alley wall, and slammed himself inside me. I wrapped my legs around him and groaned as sensations rocked through me.

“You are all sweetness,” the man murmured as he tore my shirt off, tugged one nipple into his mouth, and sucked me hard. Need spiraled down to my womb. Erotic sensations pummeled me, and I pulled him tighter, gripping his ass with my hands as he drove me crazy with his cock.

As soon as he finished, he adjusted his clothing and went his way.

That was fine with me. No attachments. No fuss. No demands.

Now if only I could keep Amelia from showing up and ruining it all. I don’t think she likes men.

Except for that weirdo she hung out with at the sanitarium. Six.

Loser.

And when she was locked up, she flirted with one of the guards. He was supposed to keep her in line, make sure she didn’t escape, that she obeyed.

I tried to hook up with him, but Amelia pushed me away.

I don’t know his name, but one night she snuck out of her room and screwed him in the closet. Then the Commander caught them . . .

Shame and guilt choked Amelia. Maybe one of the men Viola had bedded had gotten her pregnant . . .

Or . . . the guard Amelia had had an affair with.

Who was he?

She rubbed her temple and closed her eyes, struggling to remember, but those days were a blur.

She flipped a few more pages and found an entry by Bessie, the little girl who represented the innocent child she’d been before the Commander had traumatized her.

Instead of words, Bessie had drawn a picture of her and Amelia, and Amelia had a belly bulge. Bessie had captured Amelia during the pregnancy.

Did she know who the father of her baby was?

Dr. Clover had said RMT might help her. Through it, she might learn the father’s name.

A cold sweat broke out over her, and she struggled to breathe as a panic attack threatened. No . . . she didn’t need to know the baby’s father’s name.

All she needed to know was that she had a son, and when she found him, she’d make sure he knew she loved him.

When John got up the next morning, he was still shaken by his reaction to Amelia. In the past six years, he’d shut himself off from getting involved with a woman, rationalizing he couldn’t have a relationship because of his job and his fears of what he’d done.

So why did he feel so damned drawn to Amelia Nettleton? A woman with a history of mental problems? One who could have invented her story about a baby out of envy for her sister and her child?

He had no proof she’d had a baby.

Except for the rosary beads and the letter from her grandfather. And the nurse who’d cared for her for years had admitted that she’d given birth.

Worse, someone had killed the woman who’d tried to give her information about the baby.

Which meant someone didn’t want Amelia to discover the truth.

They needed a list of all the women Deanna Jayne had helped—which would be nearly impossible to get with the network’s secrecy.

His phone buzzed, and he snatched it up, worried the shooter might have come after Amelia.

“Agent Strong, it’s Nick Blackwood.”

“What’s going on, Nick?”

“There was another bombing, this time at a DFACS, Department of Family and Children’s Services, office in Chattanooga.”

John groaned. “How many casualties?”

“Five. We’ve identified the bomber as a young man, fourteen.”

“God. A teenage bully story like the school shootings?”

“Not from what I’ve learned so far. Turns out no one knew the kid. And when I looked into his past, it appears he disappeared from a foster home a few years back.”

The hairs on the back of John’s neck rose. “You think his disappearance might be related to the missing children case Coulter and I have been working?”

“We have to consider it. When I was searching for the Commander, I stumbled upon a group called SFTF, Soldiers for the Future. They were training and programming boys to be guerilla soldiers.”

“I don’t understand the connection.”

“Just think about it. The kidnapper is only abducting boys. If his motive isn’t sexual, perhaps he’s taking them to train in his own army.”

John ground his molars. Nick could be right. What if SFTF was building an army by abducting kids who had no family driving the police to keep searching for them?

Nick cleared his throat. “I’m on my way to talk to one of the members who’s in prison now. Chet Roper.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

A loud knock on the door startled Amelia. Maybe it was John with some answers.

She rushed to answer, but when she opened the door, she was surprised to see Sadie on the other side. The sleet had slacked off, but Sadie’s teeth chattered, and little Ben lay curled against her chest in an infant harness.

“What are you doing here?” Amelia asked.

“Let us in, Sis, it’s freezing.”

Amelia waved her in. “I’m sorry.” She helped Sadie out of her coat.

Still, Sadie’s frown suggested something was wrong. “Jake finally told me what you said when you came to the hospital after I delivered. We need to talk.”

Amelia started to argue, but her sister elbowed her way farther inside toward the kitchen and dropped something wrapped in aluminum foil on the table.

“What’s that?”

“Cinnamon rolls Gigi baked.” Sadie sank into the chair. “Now get us some coffee and tell me what’s going on.”

Amelia studied her sister for a moment, the connection between them so strong she should have realized Sadie would pick up on her anxiety. Maybe the time had come to fill Sadie in.

She poured them both coffee and took the chair across from her.

Her sister looked tired, but radiant. “Are you getting any sleep?”

“A little.” Sadie stroked the baby’s fine soft hair. “But he’s worth it. Being this tired won’t last long. So I’ve heard.”

Amelia nodded and sipped her coffee, stalling for time.

Sadie drummed her fingers on the table. “Come on, Amelia, we’ve been through too much together for you to hold back anything. Spill it.”

“Jake didn’t want me to ruin your homecoming.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Listen, you know how much I love Jake.” She reached over the table and squeezed Amelia’s hand. “But I love you just as much. And if you need to talk about anything, I’m always here for you.”

Tears burned the backs of Amelia’s eyelids, but she blinked them back.

“Oh, Sadie . . . ”

Her sister looked her in the eyes. “If there’s any way I can help, I will.”

Amelia nodded, then told her about the dream, the doctor’s visit confirming the truth, the rosary beads she’d found with their grandfather’s letter, the death of the woman who’d given her the name of The Gateway House, and the Sister’s disappearance.

“My God, Amelia, I can’t believe this. Jake should have told me.” Sadie rubbed little Ben’s back as he squirmed. It seemed to soothe her as much as it did the infant, and made Amelia’s arms feel even emptier. It was all she could do not to reach for him.

Amelia tapped her leg. “He loves you. The two of you deserved to have your special day with Ben. I’ve already put you through so much, Sadie.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sadie said vehemently. “God, I hate Arthur Blackwood. I’m glad he’s dead.”

So was she. Except he’d taken her son’s whereabouts with him to his grave.

Prisoners clanged on the metal bars as John and Nick passed by, yelling obscenities and making crude gestures.

The guard led them to an interrogation room, a small space with a metal table and two chairs. Roper shuffled in, shackled, his beefy face bruised and swollen, his lip cut, fresh scars on his forearms.

Chet Roper, aka number ten in the Slaughter Creek experimental program, had stuck by the Commander until the very end, protecting him.

Nick and Jake had arrested him for helping their father escape prison, and tortured him until he’d given up Blackwood’s plan to leave the country, leading them to the helipad where their father’s helicopter had exploded in midair.

John gestured toward Roper’s black eyes. “Looks like you’re making friends in here.”

“Fuck you,” Roper snarled. “You should see the other guys.”

“We need your help,” Nick said matter-of-factly.

“Fuck you,” Roper said again.

John kept a steely control on his temper. Unfortunately prison didn’t allow them to use torture as Nick and his brother had before.

Nick laid the photos from the DFACS bombing that day on the table, spreading the gruesome pictures of the dead bodies and carnage in front of Roper.

“What do you know about this?”

Roper’s eyes remained flat, showing no reaction to the bloody, burned bodies. “Why do you think I know anything about it?”

“Because a teenager did this,” Nick said. “And we think he might have belonged to SFTF.”

A tiny twitch of Roper’s mouth was his only reaction. “What makes you think that?”