Worth Dying For (A Slaughter Creek Novel) (13 page)

By the time they left, Liz’s muscles were trembling with exhaustion, and her nerves were stretched paper-thin.

Rafe had a valid point—but maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing for Harlan to see her in public and realize that she was working again. That he hadn’t completely destroyed her.

She’d rather have him come after her and give them a chance to catch him than be stalked and tormented for months, looking over her shoulder, wondering and worrying when he might appear.

And Rafe was right. This latest unsub might come after her, as well. He could come after Rafe, too, but Rafe hadn’t mentioned that.

She’d thought she’d toughened up by now, but after seeing the senator’s blood and brain matter splattered on the windowpane, all she could think about was a hot bath to cleanse the scent of death from her skin.

“I may go talk to Truitt again,” Rafe said as he pulled up in front of her house.

She considered going with him, but it had been a long day, and Rafe could handle it alone, so she headed to her front door.

Just as the tow truck driver had promised, the owner of the garage had sent out a car for her to drive. A Ford Focus. She’d have to call him and thank him for the loaner.

Her phone jangled, and she fumbled with her keys on the porch. “Agent Lucas.”

“Liz, it’s Sienna. I lucked out and found the name of two different children who were adopted around the time frame you mentioned.”

“What are their names?”

“A baby named Brian was born in Slaughter Creek General Hospital and given up for adoption when he was three months old. A family named Castor adopted him. That same month a four-year-old child named J. R. was adopted by a family named Truitt.”

So Truitt was still a viable suspect. He could be Six, or he could be working with a partner.

The other name niggled at her. Where had she heard the name Castor?

Thunder rumbled, and she hurried to her door, jammed the key into the lock, and rushed inside.

The truth about the name hit her as she set her bag down. Castor was one of the crime techs. Dear God, with his experience, he could easily commit murder and cover up a crime.

And he had been working the investigation from the start.

“Thanks. That’s a big help.”

She crossed the room to the lamp and flipped the switch, but it didn’t come on.

She tried again, but the room stayed dark. Her heartbeat quickened as a chill hit her spine.

She turned the knob faster.
Click click click
.

Someone grabbed her from behind. Liz screamed, focusing all her energy on defensive moves. She kicked backward with her elbow and leg to dislodge the man’s hands.

But the sharp sting of a knifepoint at her throat made her pause. If she moved an inch, her attacker would slit her throat.

Chapter Fourteen

W
ho are you and what do you want?” Liz asked.

The man loosened his grip slightly, his breath brushing her neck. But he didn’t speak. Instead the shiny glint of his weapon flickered in front of her eyes.

She swung her arm up and slammed her elbow into his chest, then kicked backward, connecting with his knee. He grunted in pain and reached for her again, but she whirled on him and sent a left kick to his midsection.

He staggered, then dashed out the door. It was so dark in the foyer she couldn’t see, but she was sure he’d been wearing a mask.

Grabbing her gun from her purse, she ran outside after the man, but he’d disappeared. She checked the area, but didn’t see any cars racing away. None at the security gate either.

He must have escaped on foot through the woods around back.

She raced around the corner, searching left and right. Leaves rustled with the wind, a dog barked somewhere nearby, and the sound of a trash can lid banged.

Then she thought she spotted someone running through the woods.

Sweat beaded on her skin as she darted across the back lawn and into the thicket. Rational thought warned her that chasing a predator in the dark was stupid.

She needed a flashlight. Needed backup.

What if this was a setup?

Her brain ordered her to go back inside and call Rafe, but adrenaline and anger made her charge ahead.

Thunder rumbled, and a scattering of raindrops began, making the area look even foggier. The air was frigid, the wind whirling, the rain turning to hail.

Twigs snapped beneath her feet as she inched deeper into the woods. She scanned in all directions, but only shadows flickered between the tree branches, though she thought she saw eyes peering at her through the dark.

An animal howled from the mountains. Then the sound of deep breathing . . . or was she imagining it?

She spun around, terrified Harlan was behind her, but there was nobody in sight. Something moved to the right. As she peered through the trees, a deer shot out, racing for safety.

Her chest heaved with relief, and she scanned the woods again. A noise sounded behind her. A pinging sound. Hail? Or something else?

A car? Voices?

Her instincts roared to life, and she headed back toward the building. When she reached the front, she saw only an older couple climbing into their Mercedes. Relief flooded through her, but still she slowed as she approached her front door.

Dammit. She’d been stupid and left it ajar.

Her attacker could have circled back and now be inside.

Liz eased her front door open, the hinges squeaking slightly. She quickly scanned the entryway, peering left and right, but the foyer appeared empty. She padded softly inside, her gun drawn as she checked the living area and kitchen. Everything seemed to be in place.

Slowly she moved to the bedrooms, her eyes and ears straining for trouble. A tree limb scraped the windowpane in her bedroom, but no one was inside.

Nerves still on edge, she checked the bathroom, grateful to find it and her closet empty. She glanced at the top of her dresser as she walked back through the bedroom. The framed picture of her mother that always sat on the dresser was lying facedown.

She held her breath as she reached to pick it up, her heart pounding. The glass was shattered, and her mother’s photograph was gone.

Mind racing, she dropped the frame, ran back to the living room and reached for the phone to call Rafe.

Rafe put the visit with Truitt on hold when he received Liz’s call. He raced to her house, his heart hammering.

He instinctively threw up his hands in surrender when Liz opened the door, her weapon pointed at him. “Liz, it’s me. Put down the gun.”

It took a second for her to register that it was Rafe on her doorstep, not her attacker. Relief softened her face when she did, and she dropped her hand, letting the gun hang at her side.

The shiny metal of the scalpel on the floor caught Rafe’s eye, and his gaze flew to her throat. The scar was still there, a drop of blood seeping from below it.

“Liz?”

“I’m okay,” she said, her breath vibrating with tension.

Hell, she was alive, but the fact that Liz was shaking told him she was far from okay. After he’d cleared the house, he returned to wipe the drop of blood away from her throat, fury building inside him.

He couldn’t help himself. He dragged her into his arms. His chest ached with the effort it took him to slow his own breathing. “God, Liz.”

She fell against him, her fingers clutching his shirt.

Rafe closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of her body wash, comforted that she was alive. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Liz. Not ever again.”

“Rafe . . .”

“Shh, I promise,” he said softly. He’d die keeping that promise.

Liz clung to him, her mouth parting slightly. She looked so small and vulnerable, yet he knew she was tough as nails.

She protected others, but never asked anything for herself.

Temptation tore at him, the tender look in her eyes reminding him that once he’d held her in his arms and made love to her. That he’d never forgotten how she felt.

Or how beautiful she looked lying naked in his arms.

Heat flickered across her face, her breathy sigh of hunger so familiar that his body reacted, hardened, yearned for her.

Slowly she lifted one hand and pressed it against his cheek.

Unable to resist, he lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his.

Liz sank into Rafe’s arms and parted her lips in invitation. She’d dreamed about kissing him again for months, craved being in his arms ever since he’d walked away from her, leaving her to pull herself together after the attack. She’d been broken then.

Maybe she still was.

But he was the glue that held her together.

His big, strong arms enveloped her, cradling her so close that she felt his thick length press against her belly. Instant need suffused her, racing hotly through her blood.

She threaded her fingers into his hair and deepened the kiss, savoring the sensual way he teased her with his tongue. She tasted his hunger in his hot kiss, heard raw need in his moan, felt the intensity of his desire in the way he stroked her back.

He whispered her name against her neck as he trailed kisses down her throat. She ran her hands over his chest, aching to touch his bare skin. His breath grew hot against her neck as he kissed her tenderly.

The memory of her scar broke the spell. Liz tensed.

“Don’t,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

His husky words sent a tremor of longing through her, and instead of pulling away, she clung to him, dragging him closer. She rubbed her foot up and down his calf, moving against him in silent invitation.

He slipped the top button of her blouse free, then another button, until he parted the fabric and his lips seared the sensitive area between her breasts.

She wanted more.

Heat sizzled between them as he nipped lower, then covered one breast with his hand, molding her and touching her until she sighed, begging for more.

“Liz,” Rafe whispered. “We should stop.”

She didn’t want him to stop. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured as he dipped his head to tug her nipple into his mouth. “I can’t remember.”

“Neither can I,” she whispered. “That feels good.”

He suckled her deeper, one hand sliding down to tease her between her thighs. She groaned his name, her body humming with desire. Desperate to be even closer to him, she pulled at his buttons, sliding his shirt open so she could slip her hands inside. She whispered his name, her fingers trailing through the soft mat of dark hair on his torso.

Memories of the two of them making love, lying naked, their bodies entwined, for hours, teased at her mind. She wanted to do that again.

Now.

She shoved at his shirt, tearing it off, and he removed hers, then unfastened her bra. Skin glided against skin as he gently eased her down onto the sofa. Lips met again, tongues thrusting as the heat intensified between them.

Rafe kneed her legs apart, yanking at her jeans until he had them off. Liz wound her legs around him, welcoming his weight on top of her as he kissed her again. His erection stroked her heat to a frenzy, an orgasm building as he lowered his head and slipped two fingers inside her panties. Emitting a low moan, he rubbed her clit with his thumb while his mouth sought her breasts again. He tugged a nipple into his mouth, teasing her with his tongue, then sucking while his fingers worked magic on her damp center. She thrust her hips up, pulling at his belt to free him, begging for more, wanting his thick length inside her.

He laved her other breast, then dropped erotic kisses down her belly and between her thighs. Her body quivered with sensations as he slid her panties down her thighs and threw them to the floor. His damp tongue found her clit, and he tortured her with his mouth.

She moaned and reached for his arms, desperate to feel him on top of her, inside her, but he pushed her legs farther apart and drove her mindless with his tongue until her orgasm teetered on the surface.

“Rafe?”

“Just enjoy,” he whispered against her skin.

“I want you.”

He lifted her hips higher off the sofa and plunged his tongue inside her. The mere touch of his lips on her clit again sent her over the edge. Colors blinded her as she quivered in his arms and cried out his name.

Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can never harm you.

Whoever made up that stupid saying had never met Ruth Rodgers. Ruth Rodgers had a viper’s mouth. A tongue that made children bleed from the inside out.

She had gotten away with her viciousness for too long.

He had to stop her.

But first he wanted to see Amelia again.
Needed
to see her.

Wanted to hold her. To remember what it felt like to have someone to love him.

He peeked inside her condo, but the place was dark. Completely dark. She wasn’t home.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Enraged, he punched her number into the burner phone he’d picked up at the convenience store. The phone rang and rang, but she didn’t answer.