Come Hell or High Desire (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

Zack watched Sloane as she prepared tea at the stove. Her tousled hair made her seem
a mythical forest nymph. Sensual, exotic. The stuff of fantasy.

And,
man.
His emotions were getting carried away.

Still, when she set a delicate tea cup in front of him, he pulled her down onto his
lap. Her warm laughter tugged at his heart. Tugged at other parts, too.

“Careful or that tea will scorch areas of your body I’ve come to appreciate,” she
said.

He pushed the saucer to the far side of the table. “Screw the tea, then. I’ll take
milk.”

She swatted his hands away when he tried to keep her in his lap. “Drink the tea. I’ll
bring you some milk, too, you big baby.” When she returned with another glass, he
saw her frown at the CD that sat on the table like a silent elephant.
She’s afraid of it.

He loved her expressive nature, but fear didn’t belong in those eyes. He rubbed his
knuckles on the softness of her cheek. “I’m going to make a few calls. Any chance
you have a CD player?”

“No, but I’ll see if my neighbor still has hers. Use my cell phone and save yours
for emergencies. Have you received any messages yet?”

“Nothing other than calls from my foreman.”

“Okay. I’ll try to round up a CD player before I freshen up for work.”

“Maybe you should nap first.”

“The store opens in an hour. I have to be there for the girls.” She rubbed the back
of her head, tangling her hair even more. He wanted to pick her up, tuck her into
bed, and climb in beside her. He’d smooth her hair away from her face and protect
her as she drifted away from the ugliness of the world.

Half an hour later, Zack looked up when she walked into the kitchen all gussied up
for work. She carried a portable CD player and stopped mid-stride when she looked
at him. “What is it?”

He tapped his fingers on this thighs. “I spoke with both the security system and bodyguard
companies.”

“And?”

“They weren’t protecting Ann.”

“What? Who then?”

“Serena. They were arranged for Ann’s mother.”

Sloane pulled out a chair across from him and leaned her elbows on the table. “Both
companies?”

“Yes,” he said.

“But why? Who
is
she?”

“They wouldn’t give me a lot of information since I don’t have the right passwords.
But apparently my name and social security number are on file as an emergency contact
so they were at least able to confirm the name of the client.” He looked at the clipping
of Serena. “They wouldn’t tell me where she lives, but one of the customer service
reps eventually gave me the name of one of her bodyguards.”

“Let me guess. The customer service rep was female, right?” she asked, drolly.

In spite of wanting to pull his hair out, he smiled. “Your point is?”

“Wipe that grin off your face, caveman, your knuckles are dragging.”

His smile widened until he felt his eyes crinkle. “Until I can give the right passwords,
I can’t get more information from either company. The only other thing the lady told
me is that the bodyguard services have been arranged until Serena dies.”

“John arranged to have her protected for life?”

“Yep. He even set up a trust for her. I’m guessing the documents are in the office
vault. A place I’ve tried to avoid for the past year. Big mistake in more ways than
one.”

“Wow. He must’ve really had a thing for her. So neither of the companies said anything
about Ann?”

“No, but thanks to one of my buddies I was able to track down the number for Gunther
Smith, Serena’s previous bodyguard of about four years. When I told him I’d gotten
his name from his previous employer, I suppose he figured it was okay to talk to me.
The story he told me rivals anything in the literature books.”

“Tell me.”

“Ann’s neighbor Agnes had the gist of it. John met Serena when she was a guest professor
at NDSU in the music department about twenty years ago. A big star, with ardent admirers
in many countries. Heaps of fan mail—proposals, sonnets, shit like that. John fell
hard, apparently. She preyed on his lavish generosity for a while, then she dumped
him and moved on. The end.” The more it sank in, the more it pissed him off.

Sloane blinked at him for a second before responding in a flat tone. “If that’s your
idea of a literary masterpiece, you make a crappy storyteller. Though a secret admirer
angle has possibilities.”

She made him smile at the worst of times. “Consider me Cliffs Notes,” he said. “Besides,
did I say secret?”

She rolled her eyes with a faint smile. “No, but I refuse to believe that all of that
fan mail had return addresses or people using their real names.” She tilted her head.
“Maybe Agnes would remember a few other details that might help us understand why
John would go to the trouble of arranging security for Serena when she was such a
femme fatale.”

“I think I already know why. Serena got pregnant. Gunther said John was over the moon
because at forty-eight he thought he’d never father a child. But he was also terrified
because Serena wanted to have an abortion.”

“Really? No wonder John treated Ann like a princess.”

“On top of that, one of Serena’s long-time
anonymous
admirers started sending hate mail instead of his usual love poems. So yeah, you
were right about the secret-thing.”

“Sounds like John had probable cause for protecting Serena then.” She looked at the
picture again. “I wonder why she didn’t get the abortion.”

Zack felt his face twist into an ugly smile. “According to Gunther, she was getting
nervous about the nasty letters. So in exchange for giving birth and handing over
the baby, John offered her a fortress in a tropical paradise, bodyguard services for
life, and a cool ten million dollars. Pretty small sacrifice.”

“
Lord.
No wonder John never talked to Ann about her mother. She would have been devastated.
Did they ever find out who was sending Serena the hate mail?” she asked.

“No. Gunther didn’t know anything about that since he hadn’t been her initial bodyguard.
He came on board about six years after she’d left the States. Apparently they’d hidden
her well enough that the secret-admirer-turned-hater lost track of her. So no more
letters.”

“Still. Pretty creepy.”

He watched a tremor run through Sloane’s body. She rubbed her hands up and down her
arms, and her nipples beckoned him from beneath the silky material of her shirt. This
one was black and hugged the tops of her arms, leaving her golden shoulders bare should
he want to run his tongue along all that soft skin.

Needing to move, he retrieved a blanket from the living room. A smile lit her eyes
when he draped it around her shoulders. Which made him even more agitated. He walked
away from her, leaning against the counter with his arms and ankles crossed in front
of him.

“So where do all the pieces fit together?” Sloane laid down Serena’s picture, and
the blanket slipped off one shoulder, exposing her made-for-sucking neck. “If at all.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know.” He pushed away from the counter and
picked up the CD. “Let’s get this over with.”

He held it out to Sloane, but she only pushed the player at him. As the first few
stanzas oozed from the speakers, Zack slipped into a chair, the music a siren’s song
luring the testosterone from his glands, the woman’s throaty sound an erotic, auditory
delight.

You protected me,

You touched me,

And you left me so confused.

My strong man in a rush,

Your lips caress my blush,

Your touch so soft and sweet.

I’m up against a wall.

No, I can’t take the fall.

Please believe me, baby, I tried.

The world’s my lonely stage,

I need a brand new page,

But you brought me to the brink.

You want me to stay,

But I’m sure to run away,

Cause I know my heart’s a fool.

My fickle ways don’t trust,

My leaving is a must,

Yet I gift you my one true song.

Song of secrets. Oh, my song of secrets.

You know my secrets.

My burden, my secret,

In my heart, in my soul,

My song, song of secrets.

As the music faded, Zack became aware of the drone of vehicles outside. He looked
at Sloane. She appeared just as enthralled.

“What a handful,” he said.

Sloane’s lips curved slightly. “No wonder John was obsessed with her. She was always
slightly out of reach. She might have given him her body, but he could never have
more.”

“Until Ann.”

“Her one true song. Her song of secrets.”

They stared at each other, letting the significance sink in. The depth of John’s love
for his only child had never been so poignant. Nor Zack’s need to find Ann at any
cost. He’d never live with himself if he didn’t. “The questions then are,
who
wanted to scare Serena all those years ago, and
why
. And is that person the same one who took Ann?”

“Or
persons.
You said earlier that you think the person you wrestled with at Ann’s was a hired
heavy, not the actual person behind the scheme,” she said.

“Yeah, I know. Square one seems to be finding out who was obsessed with Serena.”

“Did Gunther mention any other suspicious activities during the time he was her bodyguard?
Or before or after his stint?”

“No, I asked about that, but apparently his employer arranged an elaborate scheme
so Serena could vanish. She stopped performing and went underground for a few years.
It caused a brief sensation in the States, but since she wasn’t as big a star in other
countries, and she had plenty of money, she eluded attention by going overseas. According
to the reports Gunther received prior to his assignment, the hate mail stopped as
soon as she left town, so John’s plan was successful.”

“Sounds like a lonely life,” she said.

Did it? He wasn’t sure. Less complications. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Sloane opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. Those golden shoulders dropped.
He burned to press a kiss in the shadow between her throat and collar bone.

She shivered. “Okay, well, I need to get going. On my way to the store I’ll call Barnaba
to see—”

He grabbed her arm. “
No,
Sloane. Stay off his radar. We can’t rule him out of this, you know.”

“Okay.”

“He’s been inside the Samuel’s building for months now. It would have been easy for
him to pick up on Ann’s schedule. As I saw in the vision, he definitely pays attention
to her.”

Sloane’s land line rang. She checked caller ID before answering. At his questioning
look, she picked up and mouthed
Carmen.
Within moments she gasped, pressing a hand to her stomach. Cold pressure built in
Zack’s chest.

When she disconnected, he grasped her arms. “What happened?”

She said nothing, and he followed her as she walked mechanically into the living room.
She turned on the television and flipped to a local station.

Colette O’Neill stood before the cameras, her eyes bleak, her face pale and tear-streaked
as she pled with the public to help the police.

During the night, both of her children had gone missing.

Chapter Twenty-six

Snatched out of their beds
.

The words played over and over in Sloane’s mind until she felt paralyzed with horror
for the children. The edges of her vision flickered red, and she reached out to brace
herself against the back of a chair. Zack’s arms came around her and the red faded
away. Silently, he held her until her thudding heart slowed to match the steady rhythm
of his.

The world’s gone mad
.

“Not if I can help it,” he said.

Bits of her hair combed against his chin stubble as she leaned back to look at him.
“But they’re pointing the finger at you.
You
, Zack! You
have
to go to the cops now. The longer you stay underground, the more they’ll think you’re
guilty.”

“I can’t. How can I find Ann—and now these kids—if I’m locked up? They won’t listen
to me.”

“But if you’re in jail when the killer makes another move, they’ll know they have
the wrong guy.”

“Are you really willing to wait for this psycho to fuck with someone else? Think,
Sloane. We have to think.” He released her and paced to her bookcase. “I have to think.”

“Why would he take the O’Neill kids?”

Zack paused. “Yeah, why? Nothing about this has been random. So there must be a reason.”
He swung to face her, and suddenly she realized it, too.

“He knows we’ve been to see Colette,” she said hoarsely. “He’s using her children
as collateral so she cooperates. So she doesn’t reveal his identity.” She wondered
how she’d gotten the words past the desert of her throat.

“Son of a bitch!
She’ll be ready to talk now. She has to.” He was like a caged animal.

“Wait. We don’t know if he’s made contact with her, plus I don’t think she knows what
actually happened to Ann.”

“How can she not? She deposited her at the mouth of that monster!”

“But the crystal would’ve shown that Colette knows more. Colette kept her mind focused
on the festival while she was in the car with Ann. When she pulled up to Patty’s house,
the crystal registered relief and excitement, but no specific thoughts like ‘this
is what’s going to happen to Ann.’ She wouldn’t have been able to block something
that traumatic from her mind. The crystal would’ve received it. Do you know any Pattys?”

“No. I’m outta here.”

She stopped him with both hands curling around his wrist. “If you thought it’d be
tough to get to Colette before, you’d be a fool to try it now. There has to be another
way. Go to the cops,
please, Zack
.”

“I’m sorry. They’ll turn all their attention on me, and meanwhile the killer will
strike again. Can’t do it.”

“I’m an alibi.”

“Not for all three days.”

She dropped his wrist. She hadn’t been with him physically, but she’d been with him
psychically for part of the time they were apart. Panic started bubbling in her gut,
but she swallowed hard and made herself take a step out onto the ice. “I could…try
to see where you were. I could
look
. I could say I was with you. You know, if…”
Just say it!
“If you want me to. And you trust me.”

He took her face between his hands and laid his forehead against hers. “God, that
you’d even say that…” He cleared his throat. “I’d never,
ever
want you to do that for me. Promise me you’ll only ever speak the truth about—and
to—me.”

She nodded and turned away, waiting for the rending of her heart to tell her he’d
departed.

Because he clearly didn’t trust her. She shouldn’t be surprised. She didn’t even trust
herself.

Still, it hurt. God, it hurt.

“I can try to get back to Ann’s for the metal sculpture that fell on the guy I wrestled,”
he suggested. “If I can get the sculpture, maybe it can tell us who he’s working with.
I know you can do it.”

I know you can do it
.

She looked at him and felt something splinter inside her.

I know you can do it
.

It was what the lead detective had told her an hour before they found Abigail’s body
in the snow. Broken and defiled.

She sank down against the wall as the bottom of her world fell away. She wanted to
go to her store and pretend Tori would walk through the showroom door and start grousing
about the messiness of the display tables.

She wanted to hide where no one could find her.

A wash of bile rose up in her throat.
Sick
. She was sick. Sick in the head. In spirit. She was a
failure
. She hadn’t protected her sister, Megan.

Abigail.

Tori.

She couldn’t help Zack either. He had to know the whole, ugly truth. “Abigail Bates
was Tim Benjamin’s granddaughter.”

“What?”

He moved toward her, but she held her hands out to keep him back. He would leave her
now. Hate her. But the words tumbled out anyway. “Abby Bates. The girl who was abducted
six years ago in Bismarck? Hers was the only case I ever worked on with the police.
I failed. She died before they could find her. She was Benjamin’s granddaughter. The
police never told his family who I was, and I’ve never admitted it. And now I’m depending
on Benjamin to fund a foundation I’m trying to get off the ground. What a coward,
huh? I was going to call it Project Broken Wings. To help families heal after suicide.
Benjamin’s daughter, Joan, took her own life when they found Abigail. So that family
lost not one, but two people because of my failure.”

“That’s not your fault. Come on, Sloane!”

“She was brutalized. Her precious—” She pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment,
swallowing convulsively. “I could hear her cries for help. In my head. I heard her.
But I…I couldn’t find her in time. Sometimes I still hear her…c-crying.”

His face blurred as her hot tears overflowed. Her throat worked as she tried to hold
back a moan of agony. He moved toward her, but she scrambled up from the floor away
from him.

“Stay back.
Please.
”

He stopped, his arm dropping to his side, his eyes shining with…

Pity?

He had to know it all. “My older sister, Megan, committed suicide when I was twelve.
I knew she was sad—I
saw
it,
felt
it—but I didn’t help Mom and Dad look after her like they asked. I should have.”
She couldn’t look at him. “And then Tori.” Her mouth was dry. Throat, too. Even her
eyes were now a dry wasteland, the emptiness inside her too vast for tears. “So you
see? I don’t help. I
hurt
. People
die
when I see things about them. I’m just…
flawed
.”

He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes. “That’s bullshit, and you
know it! You were just a girl when your sister died, Sloane. No parent should ever
heap that kind of responsibility on a child. And what happened with the others…no
one could change those outcomes.”

“My mother could’ve. She makes happy endings all the time.
She
could have saved Abigail, but I begged the department to let me try. One time. And
that one time a child died. And then her mother. I can’t help you. Don’t you see?
I just can’t! I’m sorry!”

She twisted out of his grasp as the floodgates of panic opened. A thick, fiery surge
of energy that made her reach for her purse and run out the door before he could tackle
her. She stumbled down the hall and three flights of stairs, unseeing.

The door. Exit. Outside.

The sun bright. Surreal. She squinted at the nearly empty parking lot. Fingertips
across her neck. The breeze? Two men in the unmarked car.

Police.

It’s not him,
she wanted to scream at them. But they wouldn’t listen, would they? They’d haul him
away in handcuffs and ask questions later.

She couldn’t let that happen. Heavy pressure beat at the backs of her eyeballs.

This much I can do for you, Zack
.

She ran to her car, fumbling with the automatic opener as she dug her phone out of
her purse.
Pretend there’s an emergency. Make them follow.

Her lips moved in a wild pantomime. She looked over her shoulder for show.

Yes, she was good at putting on a show.

Fraud. I’m a fraud
.

She slid behind the wheel, revved the engine, and squealed out of the parking lot.
Moisture rose up to blur her field of vision. Only one moment before gravity took
over, spilling wetness down her cheeks in sheets. Hot tears that scalded. Such a contrast
to the endless cold she felt inside.

When she ran the first stop sign, she scanned the rearview mirror, her fingers tightening
on the steering wheel. In this at least she hadn’t failed.

The police were in hot pursuit.

Now’s your chance. Run, Zack
.