Torn (16 page)

Now he was rushing away with her, talking to her, telling her that everything would be all right.

The agent was a very good liar.

Nothing would be all right again for Melissa. He'd made sure of it.

He waited until Wade Monroe was well down the beach, then slid from the cover of another broad driftwood tree. He'd been less than ten feet away from ­Melissa the whole time. He thought she'd known that. He thought she'd actually been trying to warn Wade about him.

Pity she hadn't been able to talk.

His foot brushed against the sand, and he knelt near the discarded ropes. His gloved fingers reached out but he didn't touch the rope.

Instead, he touched . . . a phone. One that the agent had just dropped and forgotten. He slipped it into his pocket. It would come in handy. Ever so handy. Very soon.

Then he backed away. After all, he had a promise to keep. A trade had been offered.

But that trade hadn't been made.

He'd see Melissa again. Just as he would be seeing Wade Monroe again. First, though, he had other prey to seek out.

Waves crashed against the beach as he slipped away.

CHAPTER NINE

T
HE SEARCH TEAMS
headed into the woods that surrounded the cottage. Victoria could hear the rush of the surf just beyond the woods. She could smell the ocean air.

“Melissa!” the cop beside her yelled out. “Melissa Hastings!”

But Melissa wasn't answering them. And even though she'd tried to call him on her phone, Victoria hadn't been able to reach Wade, either.

The cops had lights with them. They shone them to the left and right as they tried to see in the darkness. Victoria followed, moving as quickly as she could. There were so many places to hide in those woods.

The ground rose up, cresting, and the rough dirt slowly gave way to the cushion of sand—­she could feel it beneath her shoes. The lights turned to the left—­

A stark white tree lay on its side, nearly covering the whole beach.

She blinked at the sight. All of the bark, the leaves—­everything was gone from the tree. It appeared almost otherworldly with its stark white body and—­

“Driftwood Beach,” the cop to her right said. “Watch your step.”

She moved forward cautiously and saw more trees. Dozens of them. Tossed left and right on the beach. Massive, giant trees.

“Help!”

Victoria froze at the cry. So did the cop—­Jacob—­who'd been searching with her. “Did you hear that?” she asked him.

Jacob immediately swung his light in the direction of that cry.

“Wade?” Victoria shouted. “Wade, is that—­”

“Help her!”

It was Wade's voice. She took off running, grabbing out to latch onto Jacob's arm and haul him with her. They shot across the sand and she tripped over a thick chunk of stone.
Why is there stone on this beach?
But then she hurtled around another ghostly tree and Jacob's light fell on Wade.

She wouldn't forget that sight, not as long as she lived.

Wade stood there, his arms wrapped tightly around a woman's body. The woman was slumped forward in his arms, but the light shone on her clothes—­blood-­covered clothes—­and Victoria saw the blood pouring from her throat.

“She's alive!” Wade shouted. “She needs help! She—­”

Victoria leapt toward him. Behind her, she heard Jacob on his radio, calling for help. Demanding a life flight to the island.

When she touched the woman, Melissa's head tipped back. Sagged brokenly.

“Wade . . .” Victoria began, her voice husky.

“We have to get her to a hospital! The bastard slit her throat!”

Victoria's chest burned. “I have to check her trachea.” It wasn't just about the blood—­it was about getting air to Melissa. And Victoria was very, very afraid of that wound—­
it's too deep. Too wide and long. He didn't just cut her carotid. He hit her trachea.

Wade lowered her so Victoria could better examine the woman.

Melissa didn't move.

“She was making a rasping sound when I first found her,” Wade said. “Just a few minutes ago. She was alive! She—­”

She wasn't breathing. And when Victoria tried to find a pulse, she couldn't.

There was no rustle as if she were trying to get air. There was no rise and fall of her chest that Victoria could see at all.

“Life flight is coming!” Jacob shouted, his voice breaking. “EMTs are rushing through the woods to meet us, and the airlift will come for her right here—­they'll land on the beach.”

Wade put Melissa to the ground. And it
was
Melissa. With Jacob's light, Victoria could clearly see her face. Her still face. The woman's lashes were closed. Blood was everywhere.

“She's alive,” Wade said. “We got to her in time.”

He was breaking her heart. Gutting Victoria because there was such desperate hope in his voice.

So she went to work, even though she feared—­even though everything she saw—­told her that, no, Wade was wrong.

Melissa wasn't alive. At least not anymore, she wasn't.

T
HE HELICOPTER ROSE
into the air. The
whoop-­whoop-­whoop
of the chopper's blades filled the night and sand blew toward Wade and Victoria. He turned, trying to shield her body with his as that helicopter rose ever higher.

Then . . .

It was gone.

His hands—­blood covered—­had wrapped around Victoria's shoulders. They fell now as she glanced back at him. She hadn't said anything during those long painful moments while they waited for Life Flight to arrive. She'd just worked on Melissa with a desperate focus.

He'd heard the whispers from the cops, though. He knew what they all believed . . .

She's already gone.

Rage burned within him, a fierce, deep fury because he knew they were right. Even as she'd been loaded into that chopper, Wade had known the truth.

He hadn't saved Melissa Hastings. He'd arrived too fucking late.

Another one I lost. I should have searched the area sooner. Should have forgotten about that fucking house and run straight out to search.

No, he should have gone to Jekyll Island first, not followed the cops to Connie's house. He should have done a million damn things differently.

Instead . . .

“Wade . . .” Victoria's whisper held such pain. “I'm sorry.”

He spun away from her and started walking. Blindly. Just straight damn ahead. The cops were combing the beach, but it was still so dark—­what the hell did they think they would find? The killer? Hell, no. He wasn't just going to walk right up to them. He was too smart for that.

He'd taken his prey. He'd killed her. And he'd gotten away.

The waves brushed over Wade's feet. He stilled, realizing now that he'd walked to one of the things that he hated most.

Fucking ocean.

The waves battered at him.

“Wade . . .” Victoria had followed him. Beautiful Victoria, with all of her secrets. Secrets that she wouldn't share with him. Secrets that he'd tried to figure out on his own.

When I wasn't even sharing my past with her.

Was that right? Hell, no. But
right
wasn't always in his vocabulary, despite what Victoria thought of him. She believed he was the good guy. The stand-­up one.

She had no clue.

Growing up, he'd been the rebel. The one most likely to sneak out and look for trouble. The one who'd taken dares. The one who'd been pissed that his old man skipped out, and he'd run wild.

His brother, Adam, had been the good one. Always looking out for him. Watching over their mom.

The water hit him again, reminding Wade too much of the past. This island. Why did it have to be this place? Fate was a cold and cruel bitch, that was for sure. He hated this place, and if he'd had his way, he would have never set foot on Jekyll again.

But I came back. And someone else died. Freaking story of my life.

“I think . . . I think Detective Black is here now.” Her voice was hesitant.

Wade stared into the darkness of the ocean. He knew he needed to pull his shit together.
Melissa's blood is still on me.
“I wanted to save her.” His voice was stark.

“I know.”

He spun to face her. “When did you
know
she was gone?”

He couldn't see her face, but he heard the sadness in her voice when she said, “When I—­I touched her. She was too still.”

“She bled out.”

Victoria didn't speak.

“Fuck,
what
? What is it?
”
He could feel her holding back.

“It was more like . . . you don't really want to hear this, okay? Not now. Let's just go talk to Dace. Let's see if the crime scene team can find anything in that house.”

She was trying to protect him? He got that. But he wasn't in the mood for protection. “What the hell happened to her?”

“He didn't want her to live, Wade.” Her hand rose. Curled around his arm and squeezed. “Isn't that enough? Why do you want more pain in your mind? Don't you think . . . there's already enough there as it is?”

“Tell me.” She was the doctor. She knew . . .

Her hand pulled away. “He cut her carotid. Her . . . trachea. The wound was deep and long. That rasping you heard? I—­I believe she was . . . Wade, look, we don't have to—­”

Now he was the one to grab her and hold tight. “She was in my arms. I put pressure on her wound. I tried to help—­”

“She was choking and drowning on her own blood. You tried, but there just wasn't anything you could do by then.”

Something . . . shut down in him. Shut off.

Another victim.
She died in my arms and I didn't even realize it.
He'd been so intent on rushing her to safety. He hadn't felt it when she'd slipped away.

“Wade?”

He walked past Victoria, heading back toward the little cottage. Away from the ocean and away from the memories. Part of him just wanted to keep walking.

He'd joined LOST to make a difference. And in the last twenty-­four hours, instead of saving the missing . . . he'd just added to the list of the dead.

Would it ever end? Would he ever make any sort of difference? Seemed like his life was just about the dead. About being too late. Again and again.

Just like I was too late to help my own fucking brother. I jumped in the water too late. Didn't find him fast enough.

And then he was just gone.

V
ICTORIA BLINKED THE
tears from her eyes. She didn't follow behind Wade. Not right then. She just . . . she needed a minute.

Yes, yes, they had to go talk with Dace. Had to talk to all the cops. Had to see just what they could do to help the investigation.

But for a moment Victoria just stood there. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

She'd wanted to save Melissa, too. The woman had been so young and she'd obviously suffered so much. Why couldn't there have been a happy ending for her?

Wade was beaten up, no doubt about it, but did he feel the same gut-­wrenching guilt that she did? Because as she'd tried so frantically to help Melissa, the perp's words had been replaying through her mind, again and again . . .

You can come to me, and I'll let Melissa go.

She hadn't gone to him, and now . . . now Melissa Hastings was dead.

Tears were on her cheeks, and Victoria didn't care. So what if she cried while on the case? So what if others saw her? She hurt—­hurt for what Melissa had been through with that sick freak.

She hurt for Kennedy.

And she hurt . . . for the next victim. Because Victoria knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that there would be another victim. With a guy like this, there always would be. He wouldn't stop, not until someone stopped
him.

“Are you all right?”

She sucked in a sharp breath at the question. A question that had been asked by a deep, male voice.

Not Wade, though.

Victoria glanced to the left. Dace stood there, his body mostly in the shadows. “No, I'm not, but that doesn't really matter, does it?”

“You think we should have come here first.” He edged closer to her.

She cast a quick glance around. Wade was nowhere to be seen, but a few other cops were on the beach.

“You think we made a mistake in following that phone to Connie's place, don't you?”

“It was your captain's call,” she said, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “He—­”

“You wanted to come here.”

Yes.
Her hands fell to her sides. “If I'd made the trade, Melissa wouldn't be on that helicopter right now.”

“I know she was dead when she left the beach.”

She shivered. “They'll still work on her. I've seen . . . there are miracles out there.” She'd stopped herself because, no, she hadn't always
seen
them. But she'd heard stories. Some people were brought back. Amazing things could happen.

“I'm not Wade. You don't have to bullshit with me.”

His words pulled her gaze back to him. Cautious now, she said, “I don't lie to Wade. He's my partner.”

“He may be, but that still doesn't mean you tell him everything, now does it?”

Where is this going?

He advanced toward her. “I'm glad you didn't make the trade.”

Instinctively, she shook her head.
Melissa was dead—­

Dace grabbed her arm. “If you had, then you would've been on that helicopter. Or hell, maybe you'd be in the ground someplace, just like Kennedy.”

Maybe. Or maybe she and Wade could have caught the killer. Maybe they would have been able to stop him
and
save the girl.

“Sacrificing yourself won't help the victims,” Dace said, nearly growling the words. “It won't—­”

“Victoria.”
Now
that
was Wade's voice. Hard and sharp, cutting right through the night. “What's going on?”

Dace stepped back. “Just talking to your partner.”

She'd thought that Wade had left. He could move so silently, but with the rush of the surf, hell, maybe everyone was moving silently. The surf smothered so many sounds.

Did that pounding surf help the killer escape?

“My captain wants Victoria to keep consulting on this case,” Dace said, his words abrupt. “He thinks she can help us . . . especially if this cottage has been the perp's prison for his girls.”

His girls.

Victoria cleared her throat. “Kennedy's . . . Her grave may be close. The Spanish moss that I found in her bag, it could easily have come from this area.”

“And if he kept Kennedy here . . .” Dace mused darkly. “Kennedy
and
Melissa . . . hell, my captain is worried there might be even more bodies on this island. He's requested your help, Victoria.”