Coming Home to You (The Rockport Beach Series Book 1) (28 page)

While his back is turned, I scan the room again,
taking note of everything around me.

A picture of Rachel standing next to a boat
called
Lucky Lady
;
a
huge smile on her face and her finger
pointing at a sign above her head. The sign reads, “Gloucester Marina and Boat
Dock” and it’s my first clue indicating that I might be in Gloucester, a small
beach town just south of Rockport.

I rise from the table and walk over to
where Jason is standing at the stove, making scrambled eggs. I wrap my arms
around his waist, distracting him, as I look at the magnets on the
refrigerator. One for a florist and another for a pizza place, both in
Gloucester and the last one a veterinarian in Boston, but who also has an
office in Gloucester.

At this point I’m fairly certain, I’m in
Gloucester, but that does me no good if I can’t get in touch with someone to
help me. I haven’t found a phone yet, and the house isn’t really that big. I
would guess there’s one more bedroom and maybe a mudroom, but that’s about all.

Jason turns in my arms and begins to kiss
his way along my neck until he reaches my mouth. Again I kiss him back, but it’s
all wrong; tight and stiff, my lips pursed closed and my eyes looking anywhere
but at his face.

I pull back and ask, “Are the eggs ready
yet?” Slipping away from him, I open the fridge and look at what’s inside.
Taking note that it’s barely filled and what is in there was purchased
recently.

I take out a carton of orange juice and
some raspberries. I pour us both a glass as Jason serves the eggs; I add the
raspberries to the plate.

We both sit down and I shove the eggs
around on my plate with my fork, too sick to my stomach to even contemplate
eating. My head is still spinning and my face aches when I open my mouth to put
in a raspberry. I wince in pain as I chew and Jason reaches across the table
and brushes his hand over the swollen bruise that marks my face.

“I’m sorry, doll-face,” he says again, his
eyes filled with pain, but I cringe at his words and his touch.

I look at him sympathetically, but inside
my entire body is screaming as I say, “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”
It takes everything in me not to vomit, not to climb across the table and claw
his fucking eyes out.

When he pulls his hand away from my face,
it accidently knocks over his orange juice, spilling it on his shirt and
shorts.

“Fuck,” he growls, grabbing the glass and
launching it across the room, where it hits the wall and shatters in to a
million pieces.

I instantly recoil and pray that he doesn’t
take anymore of his anger out on me. I take a deep calming breath and reach
across the table, my hand resting over his.

“It’s okay, Tyson,” I say, my fingers
stroking his hand. “Why don’t you slip out of those wet clothes and I’ll throw
them in the washing machine?”

He turns and glares at me, his eyes icy and
mouth set in a firm line, but when I smile sweetly, his tenacity fades and he
kisses my hand.

He stands and strips off his clothes, holding
them out to me, as if he’s waiting for me to take them.

“I’m just going to set these down right
here,” I tell him, placing the clothes on the chair next to me. “That way we
can finish our breakfast, okay?”

Jason nods and attempts to start a
conversation asking about my job. I have no idea where Rachel works, so I’m
having a hard time answering his questions and I can tell he’s growing annoyed.

Letting out a loud huff and slamming his
fork down on his plate, he leaves the table. I’m not sure what to do next, so I
finish the food on my plate. Choking down every last bite in hopes of keeping
him happy. Maybe if he sees I’ve eaten the food he’s made, I can avoid him
going ballistic on me again. It also helps my body recover from the obvious
drugging I took when Jason took me hostage on the boat.

Carrying my plate to the sink, Jason turns
around quickly and pulls me against his chest.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had you,
Rachel,” he murmurs and I can feel his erection pressing into my hip through
his boxers. The tears pool in my eyes and I fight back the sob that threatens
to leave my mouth.

I can’t have sex with him.

He can’t rape me.

In that second I consider pulling a knife
from the knife block and stabbing him over and over again until he’s dead.

But instead, I draw away from him, a smile
still plastered on my face as I tell him I need to put his clothes in the
washing machine.

“You’re so good to me,” he says, stroking
my cheek.

“And, just leave the dishes, I’ll get
everything cleaned up when I’m done.” This time I run my fingers down his chest
and peck him lightly on the lips. Each simple gesture makes my chest burn with
pain as I try with all my might not to kill him with my bare hands. “Why don’t
you go have a shower? I’ll join you in a few minutes,” I add, winking at him.

“Thank you, doll-face,” he mutters, but his
face turns evil once again and he adds, his voice laced with cruelty, “Don’t
even think about trying to get away. There’s someone stationed outside who will
shoot you on the spot.”

I nod my head in response, but I can feel
the fear grip me. I have no idea if any of this will work, but I have to keep
hope alive or else he just might kill me.

I pick up the clothes from the chair and
walk towards what I assume is the mudroom and laundry room and when I open the
door I find I’m correct. I open the washing machine, toss the clothes in,
adding soap and closing the lid. But right before I leave the room, I check the
door that leads to the boat dock, but like everything else I’ve encountered,
the deadbolt is locked and the key is missing.

I feel my chest constrict and a small
whimper leaves my lips. I wipe away the tears that have already begun to fall
down my cheeks. Staying in the mudroom just a few seconds longer than necessary,
yet in that short amount of time I notice how important those few seconds are.

Draped over the stationary tub, is my
raincoat and sticking out of the pocket is the long-range walkie-talkie Beck
insisted I carry with me at all times.

I grab for it, turning the knob on the top,
but I find the battery is dead. Once again defeated, yet I recall Beck rambled
on and on about the capabilities of these stupid things. Telling me about some
internal high-tech GPS tracking device that allows the walkie-talkie to be
tracked up to fifty miles and something about being able to triangulate it with
the other walkie-talkies to get an approximate location. I tuned him out, but
now I have never been more grateful for his obsessive need to keep me safe or
his attention to detail.

This might be the only thing that saves my
life. I pray with everything in me that the battery on the walkie-talkie just
went dead and Beck was able to track me using it.

Now, I just need to wait and hope I can
fend off Jason’s advances for a little while longer. And if not, I’m going to
need to fight.

The drive to Gloucester feels like it takes
a lifetime, but we eventually pull into the police station in the center of town.
I’m out of the car before Finn has even switched off the ignition.

“Beck,” he warns coming to join me. “Just
take it easy, dude. We don’t wanna go in there and start bossing everyone
around; this is their town.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice harsh. “And that’s
my girl he’s got.”

Finn exhales hard. “I know it is, okay? You
think I don’t know that? This whole thing is driving me crazy too, Beck,” he
says, running a rough hand through his hair. “It’s been going on for fucking
months, getting progressively worse and worse and I just…” he trails off. “I
just wish I’d fucking done something more, you know, that I’d locked this fucking
asshole up or something.”

As I watch my brother unleash his
frustrations, it occurs to me that all of this was going on before I even got
to Rockport. The only reason I came up here at all is because this Jason guy
decided to step things up a notch to the point that Finn decided to call me. I
knew Finn and his team were already stretched thin trying to track this guy
down, but he continued to outsmart all of us. And I also knew that Finn would
blame himself for something like this. Rockport is his town and Kelsey is one
of his people, even more so because of her connection to our family.

“Finn,” I say, turning to face him. “You
know I don’t blame you for what’s happened here, don’t you?” Finn shrugs, but
doesn’t say anything. “I don’t, bro. Really,” I say, walking towards him. “I’m
the one who fucked up here.”

“Beck, you had to go back for that trial,”
Finn says, cutting me off.

I run a hand through my hair, shaking my
head at him. “That’s not what I meant, Finn,” I say. “If I’d never left
Rockport in the first place, then none of this would have fucking happened. It’s
my fault Kelsey’s in this situation, Finn. Not yours and not anyone else’s.
Mine.”

Finn shakes his head as he steps closer and
puts a hand on my arm. “Beck, you can’t beat yourself up about leaving,” he
says, meeting my stare. “We all know why you had to go. She gets it, Beck, she
really does.”

“I don’t know, Finn,” I say, letting out a
hard breath. “None of this would be happening if I hadn’t.”

Finn stares at me for a few seconds. “Well,
whether you want to blame yourself or not, nothing’s going to change the fact
that it
has
happened, okay?” he says.
“And right now, the only thing we should be focusing on, is finding Kels and
getting her back. Nothing else,” he adds, leveling me with a hard stare.

I nod and we turn and walk into the
station.

The Gloucester Chief of Police is waiting
for us and I watch as he and Finn smile and shake hands. The two of them are
old friends.

“Tony, this is my brother, Beck,” Finn
says, introducing us. “That’s his girl this fucker’s got.”

Tony nods at me as he shakes my hand. “And
you’re a cop in Boston?” he asks, but there’s nothing in his question. No,
this is my pool you’re pissing in now, so
watch it
, tone to it.

“That’s right,” I say. “This guy lives in
Boston, although he has any number of identities on the go. She knew him as
Jason Henderson, but apparently to you guys, he’s Tyson Carter?”

“Jesus, who the fuck is this guy?” Tony
asks, shaking his head.

“An ex-cop,” I say, staring at him. “My
partner found some dirt on him. He’s from Florida originally, moved up here
when shit went bad.”

“Fuck,” Tony breathes out. “Well, let’s sit
down and work out what we’ve got on him. Get a plan in place.”

We spend the next hour going over
everything we have on this guy. It’s slow and frustrating and by the time I
look up and realize the sun is coming up, I’m about ready to fucking punch
something.

“You guys got any coffee?” I ask, standing
and stretching my back.

“Yeah, help yourself,” Tony says. “Mike,
get a fresh pot brewing,” he adds on, yelling to one of his officers.

I wave Mike off, needing something else to
do while I go over the information we have, although so far, we basically have
squat on this guy. The boat might be registered in Gloucester, but no one’s
seen it since Rachel went missing nearly a year ago. Her family says the last
time they saw her, was when she and Tyson went out for the day on it.
Apparently she’d thought he was about to propose to her, some last ditch effort
to get her back.

Rachel hadn’t wanted to go, but her mom had
encouraged her. Said Tyson had always seemed like a nice man and maybe it was
worth a shot. Unfortunately for Rachel, it doesn’t appear that was the case.
She hasn’t been seen since, and her mom has been living with the guilt of sending
her only daughter straight into the arms of a fucking psycho.

I knew exactly how she felt.

I put some fresh coffee on to brew, before
heading to the restrooms to splash some water on my face; try and wake up so I
can focus on the details. Rachel’s house turned out to be a dead-end too, with no
sign of her or Jason. Where the fuck is this guy, is he even in Gloucester? I
mean just because the boat was registered here, doesn’t mean he’d actually come
back here. The guy is smarter than that; his actions so far have proved it.
Plus, he’s an ex-cop, a guy with knowledge of police procedure, evidence and
following leads. Surely he wouldn’t be dumb enough to lead us to a town that he
has a history in.

“Fuck,” I say, staring at my reflection in
the mirror. “Where the fuck are you, Kelsey?” I ask myself. I splash some more
water on me, before walking back to the kitchen, making the three of us some
coffee and heading back to the guys.

Just as I’m walking back to the chief’s
office, my cell rings.

“Ryan, hey, what have you got?” I say,
stopping in the doorway.

“Hey, no word on Kels yet?” he asks.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m in
Gloucester now and so far we’ve got nothing. I just don’t know what the fuck to
do, Ryan,” I admit. “I don’t even know if this fucking asshole is here.”

Ryan exhales through the phone. “Well, I’ve
got an idea,” he says. “It might not work, but it’s worth a try.”

“Shoot,” I say, handing Tony and Finn their
coffee. “At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”

“Well,” Ryan says. “Remember those walkie-talkies
you gave the girls?”

“Yeah,” I say, glancing at Finn.

“Have you tried searching the GPS on Kelsey’s?”
he asks. “Erin told me she can’t find Kelsey’s radio anywhere. We wonder if
maybe somehow, she managed to take it with her.”

“Fucking hell,” I practically shout,
stunning Tony and Finn. “Why the fuck didn’t I think of this?”