True Colors (17 page)

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Authors: Joyce Lamb

Tags: #Fiction, #Suspense, #Romance, #Paranormal

BOOK: True Colors
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Alex Trudeau, though, hadn’t regained consciousness as he’d carried her out of the house to the Mustang parked at the curb. Not a peep had escaped her as he’d charmed his way around her concerned neighbor. She hadn’t stirred when he’d pulled behind an abandoned gas station outside her neighborhood and transferred her to the trunk, where he tied her hands and feet, just in case. She’d remained just as insensate while he’d fireman-carried her through a side door into the closed storage facility. Stupid teenager running the place hadn’t even noticed him messing with the door when he’d given him the tour of the place.
Unit 4410 resided on the fourth floor, accessible by elevator. The empty storage compartment was big enough for a car and smelled of new plastic, courtesy of the fresh sealant lining the edges along the floor. Florida bugs, the stupid teen had told him, could be persistent critters. That sealant would stop pooling blood, too, Butch had noted. So convenient.
Butch trailed his fingertips, light as a feather, over Alex Trudeau’s delicate ankle and around and up the gentle curve of her calf, marveling at such unblemished skin. No scars, not even on her knees. She apparently hadn’t been a clumsy child. He almost regretted the marks he would soon make. Maybe he would have given it a second thought if the anticipation hadn’t sent blood rushing down between his legs.
Pulling in a calming breath, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing and counting. Don’t rush. Take your time. The payoff will be worth it. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen . . .
The tension bled away in slow degrees. Ahhhhh.
Before he got started, he had a phone call to make. He pulled Alex’s cell out of his pocket and flipped it open.
 
 
Logan didn’t understand at first why his teeth hurt so much, but when a pang shot through his jaw, he realized he’d been clenching his teeth hard enough to crack fillings. It didn’t take a rocket scientist—or psychic—to know the source of his apprehension. He was an asshole. When Alex had stood there in the bedroom, telling him something that had to terrify the crap out of her, he’d stalked around like a bully, accusing her of messing with him and refusing to believe her. Then he’d walked out on her.
Christ, AnnaCoreen was right. He
didn’t
deserve Alex.
But as much as he admired her, as much as he
adored
her, he just couldn’t completely accept what Noah and AnnaCoreen had told him. He had to keep at least one foot planted in reality, even if they didn’t.
The way he saw it: Alex was a photographer by profession. She saw the world in ways that people who weren’t photographers didn’t. She intimately understood light and shadows, black and white and all colors of the spectrum. It was her job, her talent. She was damn good at it. And perhaps, somehow, her intense awareness, her profound understanding of how things fit together to create a stunning photo, sometimes transcended the normal perception of the average person.
She was special, no doubt about it. So special that he was already falling for her. But empathic to an extreme . . . or at all? Come on.
How she knew about his nightmare he couldn’t—and didn’t want to—figure out just yet. Clearly, she knew more about his past than he’d ever shared.
He couldn’t blame her if she’d researched him. He wasn’t one to talk about his past, or even spend much time dwelling. It was over. Done. Buried. He preferred living in the present. He only wished that she had asked him about it instead of doing her own digging. They were a couple now, so that meant they needed to trust each other.
“I can hear your teeth grinding,” Noah said from the driver’s seat.
Logan glanced sideways at him. “And that surprises you? Considering.”
“I’m guessing it bothers you that Alex can see inside your head. If it’s any consolation, it’s not that easy. Like Charlie, she can’t control what she sees. And it has to be a trauma of some kind, something that ramps up the body’s electrical impulses.”
“And you’re okay with Charlie poking around in your head?”
Noah sighed, shrugged. “It sucked at first.”
“Just at first?”
“I did some bad shit back in Chicago, but I told Charlie about it, and we’re good.”
“You told her because she saw it?”
“No, because she needed to know what I’d done,” Noah said.
“But you feared she’d find out, so you had no choice but to tell her.”
“That’s one way to look at it, yeah. Jesus, Logan, what the hell? You act like you skinned puppies and ate them alive.”
Logan laughed harshly under his breath. “Nice. I just—” His ringing cell phone interrupted him, and he fumbled to get it out of its place clipped to his belt. He recognized the number flashing on the caller ID display as the one belonging to the cell phone he’d given to Justin. “John Logan.”
For a long moment, nothing but the hiss of static responded. Then a tentative, “It’s Justin. Parker. I . . . I was wondering if, you know, if you could . . . if you could help me.”
Logan wanted to get back to Alex as soon as possible, but it was also monumental that the teenager was already reaching out. “Of course, I can. Where are you?”
“I’m outside the Green Iguana.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. You’ll wait for me?”
Justin didn’t say anything, and Logan was sure he heard the boy’s breath catch. Right about then, the call waiting signaled another call coming in. Logan ignored it. He’d get back to whoever it was. At the moment, he couldn’t afford to lose the troubled teen.
“Justin, it’s going to be okay,” he said into the silence. “Asking for help is one of the most difficult things to do, and you’ve done it. We’re going to try real hard to make everything be okay now.”
“Okay. I’ll be here.”
“Great. And good job, okay? It took a lot of guts to make this call. I’m proud of you.”
Logan disconnected, then checked his list of missed calls. The other call had come from Alex, but she hadn’t left a message. He tried her number back, but the call went straight to voice mail. She must have turned off her phone already.
He waited for the tone, holding his breath. “Hey, it’s me. Sorry I missed you just now. I’ll explain later. I have a thing to take care of, and then I’ll come by, okay? I . . .” His voice cut out for a second, and he swallowed. “I miss you. I’ll see you soon.” After hanging up, he stashed the phone back in its holster. “Jesus, I’m a lame bastard.”
“It sounds like the Justin project is finally paying off,” Noah said.
“Yeah. Hopefully, he’ll tell me his real name so I can track down his parents. Better yet, he’ll tell me what he’s running from. Thanks again, by the way, for checking up on him for me every now and then.”
“No problem,” Noah said. “The Iguana happens to have kick-ass guacamole, so it was a treat to stop by a couple of times a week.” He paused. “Look, it speaks volumes that you’re trying to find a way to deal with this kid without letting him get screwed over by the system. A lame bastard wouldn’t bother. You’re a good guy, no matter what’s inside your head.”
Logan could only hope Alex agreed.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
B
utch closed the cell phone and smiled at his sleeping charge. She’d stirred while he’d used her phone to call her beloved. That tiny movement, indicating she was close to waking up, had caused such a surge of excitement that he’d decided to have a little fun before getting her boyfriend all riled up. Besides, he didn’t want to leave a message. He wanted to hear John Logan’s voice when Butch began the process of ripping out his heart.
“Are you with me, Alex?” He spoke in a soft yet conversational voice. He didn’t want to startle her awake. She’d be frightened enough once she realized he’d virtually immobilized her. It wouldn’t take her long to register she was not in a good predicament.
When she didn’t stir in response, he stepped closer. “Aleeeex,” he sing-songed. “Wakey-wakey.”
He stroked the back of his hand down her soft cheek, tender as a new lover.
Her head jerked back, and she looked up at him with wide, dark eyes.
He smiled at her, his heart, and other parts, swelling with excitement. “Well, hello.”
But something was wrong. She didn’t appear to see him. Her eyes . . . her eyes had a weird cast to them. Glazed over, unseeing.
She looked blind.
 
 
It’s dark. And the space is small and . . . and smells gross. Like stinky socks. I miss the smell of sheets after Mommy washes them. Clean and fresh. And safe.
The floorboards outside the door creak, and I hold my breath.
I’m not in here. I’m not in here. Go away.
He jerks open the closet door, and the empty hangers above my head clatter together. I try to make myself smaller.
“There you are,” he says, kind of nice. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You can’t hide, you know.”
A whimper squeezes out of my throat.
No, please. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.
“Come on out here.” He opens the door wider.
I shake my head, tighten my arms around my curled legs.
“Come on out here. Now.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. No, no, no.
“Tyler Ambrose. You need to come out. Right now.”
I rest my forehead on my knees. Wish myself away. Far, far away.
He squats right in front of me. His breath stinks. Like cigarettes.
“Get out here.”
He reaches in and jerks me forward, and rough hands lift me up by the arms. He throws me across the room, and I hit the wall, hard, and slide down to the floor. It hurts. Everything hurts. Tears burn my eyes, but I try not to let them fall.
“You can’t hide from me, young man. You’ll never be able to hide.”
I want to hide anyway.
He digs in the pocket of his red flannel shirt and takes out cigarettes. He uses a square silver lighter to light one, then plays with the lighter for a while, flicking the metal lid back and forth.
“They gave you to me, you know,” he says. “They didn’t want you anymore.”
I don’t believe him. No way would Mommy have let this ugly, smelly man take me away. Mommy’s trying to find me right this second. Please find me, Mommy. Please find me soon.
“You were a pain in the ass to them, with your budding psycho issues,” the icky man says. “Setting a trap for a harmless squirrel, then taking it apart is a bad sign to them, Tyler. Very bad.” He sucks on the cigarette, making the tip glow red. “That means they’re relieved to be rid of you. So I’ve got you all to myself. Forever.”
His grin is creepy. “First thing we’re going to do is give you a new name. Tyler’s such a pussy name. How about Butch McGee? You want to be Butch McGee?”
I don’t even know what “a pussy name” means.
“Butch it is,” he says, and nods. “I like it.”
He grasps my wrist and drags me closer. “What do you say we have us some fun, Butchie?”
I start to cry. I’m afraid, so very afraid—
And then he twists and touches the tip of his cigarette to my belly.
 
 
Butch stumbled back, stunned as much by her sudden ragged shriek as the way her body convulsed violently against her bonds.
“Holy shit,” he ground out and had to brace himself with one hand against the concrete wall of the storage unit. His heart rat-a-tat-tatted against his ribs. What the hell was
that
? One moment catatonic and unresponsive, the next letting loose a blood-curdling scream.
Whatever the hell just happened, Alex Trudeau no longer looked blind. She stared at him through wide, watering eyes, her sweat-damp cheeks as pale as white cotton sheets.
He straightened, smiling at her with all of his teeth. Whatever just happened, it didn’t have to ruin his fun. “Welcome back, Alex.”
She blinked at him, eyes dazed and distant. Disoriented.
Butch angled his head to the side and watched her. Already, he could tell she was like no woman he had ever enjoyed. No pleading. No questions. No demands to let her go. It was almost as if she had no idea who she was.
“Alex.” He said her name softly, invitingly, to remind her, just in case. “My name is Butch. We’re going to have some fun.”
She flinched at that, and her eyes focused on his face and widened with what looked like recognition.
His heart rate tripped. She
knew
him. How was that possible?
Then she bent forward, as much as her hands bound behind her would allow, and vomited.

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