Axe's Fall: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 4) (20 page)

Sweat poured down her face as she gripped the table, her knuckles white from the pressure.

“You’re as white as a ghost,” Gary said as he dunked a corner of his napkin in his water glass then dabbed it on her face.

The coolness soothed her, and Bob’s hands massaging her shoulders began to calm her down.

“Sorry,” Baylee panted. She willed herself to slow her breathing so she could calm down.

Shakily, she brought her water glass to her mouth and took two large gulps. After a few seconds, she fibbed, “The crab cake must have shrimp in it. I’m allergic to it. I guess I should’ve asked.” “Now that I’ve drunk some water, I’m feeling much better. Sorry I scared you.” She looked down at her plate to avoid their stares.

“Glad you’re better,” Bob said. “You gave us quite a start. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Baylee nodded, her neck flushed from embarrassment. She’d made an idiot of herself, but seeing the killer stage-front in her mind had freaked her out.

Logan shifted the conversation back to him and all his wonderful accolades, but she just let it go, still reeling from her flashback.
Oh, my God! I remember the killer’s face. For the first time since Mom died, I remember.
The face wasn’t a crystal-clear picture quite yet, but it was definitely coming back. The minute she returned to her hotel, she’d call Dr. Scott. The enormity of the vision stunned her—this was a major breakthrough.

Back from dinner, she checked out her room before latching the deadbolt and security locks. She sat on her bed and, with trembling fingers, called Dr. Scott. He answered on the third ring.

“I saw the killer,” she blurted out.

“You did? In your mind?”

“Yes, I had a flashback to the night my mom died. I
saw
him. I’m so shaky, but a part of me is jumping for joy.”

“Can you identify him?” Dr. Scott asked.

“Not really, but the image was much clearer than any other I’ve had. I know he had green eyes. Intense, frightening, green eyes. This is huge, isn’t it?”

Dr. Scott cleared his throat. “Yes, it is. You now know the killer has green eyes and a large scar on his lower arm. You are making progress. What were you doing when you had the memory?”

“I was out at a business dinner. Pretty routine. I don’t know what triggered it.”

“A certain scent, sound, or touch can trigger the mind to unlock the portion which holds the buried memory.”

Baylee racked her brain, trying to remember what happened the seconds before the memory assaulted her. “Wait. I think it was the smell of fermented apples that did it.” She scrubbed the side of her face. “Yes, that’s what did it. When I smelled it, it seemed like a vaguely familiar scent.”

“During our sessions, you spoke about the sweet and pungent scent surrounding the killer. You’ve mentioned that since you started therapy back when you were a child. Perhaps the killer smelled like fresh, harvested apples, or the air had the scent in it that night. Whatever it was, the smell triggered your memory.”

“Wow. It was intense. I had a panic attack right at the table. I felt like such a fool.”

“It’s powerful when that happens. I’m not surprised.”

“I was freaked out. It came out of nowhere, and there he was with his frightening green eyes coming for me. I was so scared.” Baylee shuddered and ran her hand up and down her arm.

“Did you feel particularly stressed today?”

“A guy’s been watching me. I don’t know if it’s related, but he’s definitely targeted me. The weird thing is he’s a friend of mine’s uncle. Isn’t that strange?”

“Does your friend know his uncle is following you?”

“I haven’t told him. I don’t know what to make of it. Sometimes, I just think he’s a perv.”

“It’s possible.”

“Also, I know someone was in my room. The drawer to my dresser was opened.”

“Was anything missing?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Maybe the cleaning crew opened it and didn’t close it all the way.”

Baylee knew Dr. Scott didn’t believe in her “hunches.” He was a man of science and didn’t consider intuitions or the sixth sense, but she believed in them, and she
knew
someone had come into her room.

“Are you all right now?”

“I am. I feel like I’m getting closer to having total recall, but I’m scared because the killer might be watching me to make sure I don’t testify.”

“I see. Baylee, we’ve gone over this many times. The chances of the killer hanging out for all these years on the off chance you’ll get your memory back is extremely slim. Most of the time, murderers can’t wait to leave town and relocate far away from the crime scene. You’re safe. Recalling what happened on that tragic night is necessary to free you. If the killer is caught, that’s great, but our therapy is all about setting you free from the past and the guilt. If you keep living in the past, you will never move forward. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“All right. If you need to talk to me, I’ll leave my cell phone on all night. Make sure you jot all this down in your journal.”

“I will. Thanks for everything. Goodbye, Dr. Scott.”

“Goodnight.”

Baylee wished she’d been comforted by his words, but she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that someone had been watching her every move since her mom died.

She slipped into her nightshirt and turned on the TV, grateful for the distraction. After an hour, she went to the drawer to dig out her journal. She’d been keeping one ever since she’d started seeing Dr. Scott a few years back. It was a record of her nightmares, her fears, and her recalls—a very personal aspect of her life.

Wanting to write about her major breakthrough, she opened the dresser drawer and slipped her hand between her tops. Nothing. She felt around. Nothing but clothes. A slight tremor of panic weaved its way up her spine. She took out each item until her t-shirts, crop tops, and knit shells were piled on the bed. No sign of her journal. She emptied every drawer in the dresser, rummaged through her suitcases, overnight bag, tote, and purse. Nothing.

It was gone.

Clammy fingers squeezed her nerves as she realized what happened. Someone came into her room and took it—not the jewelry, cash, traveler’s checks, or laptop, only her journal. She covered her mouth with her hand. The only one who would want to know her thoughts, her dreams, her memories was… She couldn’t think it. It was too awful, too frightening, but her mind wouldn’t let it go. The person who stole her journal was the killer.

Oh, my God! He knows I’m in Pinewood Springs. He was in my room. Oh, God! He knows everything about me.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out, and she stood frozen in the middle of the room, shaking like a leaf with her cold and sweaty hands clenched at her sides. Pounding against her temples made her lightheaded. The killer was after her, had been ever since he killed her mother. He’d tried to kill Baylee that night but was interrupted, and he was finally going to finish the job. She was trapped like a fucking hamster on a wheel, going around in circles and never getting anywhere. He had all the advantages; he orchestrated the game, and she was the pawn. All she could hear was the pounding of her heartbeats. Even though her drapes were all pulled, she felt like she was in a fishbowl and he watched her.

The phone rang. Baylee jumped, took a moment to compose herself, and then answered.

“Hi, Baylee. Do you want to join Gary, Bob, and me for a drink?” Logan asked.

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. You sound weird.”

“I was sleeping when you called. Tell Gary and Bob I’ll take a raincheck.”

She placed the receiver on the handset and wiped her fingers over her face. She probably should’ve gone down and joined them; it would’ve been better than sitting alone and imagining horrible scenarios with the killer.

She had to stop; she couldn’t let him have the upper hand. Being a victim again was
not
an option.

After crawling between the covers, Baylee opened her book, but it wasn’t long before the hum of the air conditioner lulled her to sleep.

She woke up with a start, the room pitch-black. Did she turn the TV off? She didn’t remember doing it. Something had woken her up. She held her breath, listening over the pulse booming in her ears. There, a rattling sound.
What is that?
Again, a little louder. It came from the door. Slipping out of bed, using the light from her phone, she tiptoed toward the front door then paused. The rattling sound grew louder.
Someone is trying to get in!
She covered her mouth with her hand, adrenaline rushing through her body. It sounded like someone was picking the lock and turning the knob, but she knew she’d locked the deadbolt and the security bar.

What should I do?

As she crept closer, the rattling stopped. She barely breathed, standing motionless as time passed. Nothing. Had she imagined the sound? After several minutes, she inched her way to the door and put her ear against it. Nothing. She exhaled forcefully.

Leaning forward, she grasped her neck and looked through the peephole. A piercing green eye stared back. She screamed and jumped away, the doorknob rattling and shaking as the person kicked the door.

Baylee ran to the phone and called the front desk, sputtering out her fear that someone was trying to break into her room. The clerk said security was on its way. She held onto the receiver like it was a lifeline, cold sweat trickling down her back.
He
was outside her door.

A loud knock broke her resolve, and the tears she’d been holding back flowed down her cheeks.

“Security,” a loud, male voice boomed.

How could she be sure it wasn’t a ruse? She walked back to the door, wiping her wet cheeks with the palm of her hand. She looked out the peephole again and saw two uniformed young men standing in the hall. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

“What’s the problem, Miss?” one of the guards asked.

“Someone was trying to break into my room.”

“Did you see him?”

“Yes. I looked through the peephole and he was staring back at me.” Recalling the horror of it, the tears ran down her cheeks again.

“We’ll take a look around. Lock your door.”

About ten minutes later, they knocked again.

“We checked the hallways and down the stairwell. Everything is fine. If you have trouble again, call us.” They gave her their direct phone number.

“Can someone pick the deadbolt?”

“Any lock can be picked, but it’d have to be done by an expert. The deadbolts are very secure, as well as the security bar.”

“Thanks.”

She closed the door then dragged the desk chair over, propping it under the doorknob as extra precaution.

Sitting on the bed, the lamp on, terror froze her.
What if he comes back?
Even with the three locks, the security guards, and the chair against the door, she didn’t feel safe. Without hesitating, she opened her phone and sent Axe a text.

Baylee:
R u still up?

Two seconds later, her phone pinged.

Axe:
Ya.

Baylee:
Sorry to text so late.

Axe:
Never be sorry, babe. Glad to hear from u.

Baylee:
I need a friend right now.

Axe:
What’s wrong?

Baylee:
Too long to explain. Can u come over?

Axe:
Sure!

Baylee:
As a friend. I’m scared.

Axe:
I’ll be there soon.

Baylee:
Thanks.

She set her phone down and rubbed her throbbing temples. Her phone pinged, and she smiled.

Unknown:
I’m watching you, Baylee.

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach and she threw the phone on the bed, scooting away from it. Instinctively, she looked around the room then at the locked front door.

Another ping. She stared at the phone for a few seconds, willing it to be Axe who had texted. Slowly, she picked it up.

Axe:
No worries. I’m on my way.

She exhaled then curled up in bed with the covers over her head, waiting for Axe to arrive.

A soft knock on her door sent her body in a downward spiral.

“Baylee? It’s me, Axe.”

His familiar voice brought tears of relief, and she rushed to the door, dragged the chair away, and looked through the peephole. His tall, strong body filled the view. When she opened the door, she flung herself into his arms.

“What’s going on?” he asked softy as he held her and led her back into the room.

All the fear and tension for the past couple of hours drained from her, and she broke down crying, her body rising and falling as he held her close to him, stroking her back and her hair.

“Come on, it’s going to be okay. I’m here now.” His soft voice comforted her, and his powerful arms around her small frame lent her a sense of protection.

After a while, she pulled away. Axe reached out and wiped the wetness from her cheeks with his calloused fingertips.

“What’s happened?” Concern creased his brow.

Baylee led him to the bed and they both sat down. She took a deep breath then told him everything, from when her mother was murdered to what happened before she texted him. The only part she left out was the bit about his uncle because she wasn’t sure if it was related, and she didn’t want to cause family problems.

When she finished, he nestled her in his arms, her head pillowed against his upper chest. “I’m glad you told me. I’m here now, so you don’t have to be afraid. I’ve got your back on this. I’ll take care of business. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He stood up, taking her with him. Pulling down the covers, he said, “You need to sleep. I’ll stay with you. No one’s gonna hurt you. Don’t worry about anything.”

Baylee pulled the sheet over her, her arm wrapped around Axe’s waist. His scent was intoxicating, and being in his arms made her pulse and heartbeat calm and steady. She glanced up and met his stare. Warmth flooded through her, and she grabbed his neck and pulled his head down, kissing him deep and urgent. Axe pulled her closer to him, his hands roaming down her sides. In one movement, he had her on her back and he hovered over her. She shook her head.