Deceived (34 page)

Sobs racked my body again, and it hurt. When Nicholas appeared beside my bed, I stood and fell into him. He held me until sleep took me away.

The next day, I planned to ignore the folders. I couldn’t. I read about how the Reaper held Mom by her hair. How he taunted Dad for his weakness, for the way his love disabled him. Dad had written in his barely legible script all the details I didn’t want to see but needed to know. He watched the Reaper shake Mom and whisper horrific things into her ear before pulling her to a waiting car. Electric shocks ravaged Dad’s body as he watched the Reaper open the door, stuff Mom inside, and pull away. Dad forced his limbs to cooperate, freed his sidearm, and fired at the car. The single wild shot hit a tire, and the car rolled to a stop.

Dad hoped the shot would get attention. His head hit the pavement, his will no longer enough to hold it upright. Then he heard a second shot. I imagined silent tears rolling from the corners of his eyes as he lay there lost in despair, listening for the sirens in the distance. He woke in the ambulance to news of his wife’s death and his daughter’s disappearance. The Reaper was gone.

For three days, he lived believing the Reaper had found me, imagined what he’d done to me. Blamed himself for all that had transpired. The search for me ended on the morning of my mother’s funeral. No wonder I didn’t remember being there. We missed her funeral. Reports said Dad received news of my location hours before Mom’s service. For the second time that week, he was forced to choose. My throat constricted. I retched into the small plastic can at my bedside.

From the stacks of newspaper clippings and internal memorandums, I gathered the rest of the details. After Dad’s statement, the paperwork on us grew thin. The focus shifted to Dad’s work in naming the Reaper. Local media announced the loss of our family to the public. A funeral was fabricated in our memory. Three caskets were buried. Hundreds of people came to pay their respects. Just like that, my life ended.

Gabriella Denise Smith was born.

A knock against the wall caught my attention. Nicholas stood in the doorway with a tray. My stomach groaned at the sight. “I brought coffee and a bagel. I figured anything more and you’d send me away.”

“Thanks.”

“May I?”

I nodded. He moved to place the tray on the stand. I cleared enough papers to make space on the bed where he could sit with me.

“How’re you doing?”

“According to initial psychiatric reviews, I adjusted well.” I smiled. No joy fueled the act. “It sounds like the nightmares started when we left D.C.” They also noted I had trouble accepting my mother’s death. No kidding. I’d blocked the event completely. “I have no recollection of how I spent the days that I was missing.”

“One day, an officer found you wandering and took you in. He didn’t realize who you were.” Nicholas handed me the coffee.

“I read the files on the Reaper, too.” My hand trembled. The coffee inside edged toward the rim. I wrapped both palms around the mug. “Something in there should tell us where he’s hiding, shouldn’t it?”

He shrugged and patted my hand. It wasn’t a hopeful gesture.

We spent the next few days in silence. I holed up in my room with the files, not eating, not talking. Learning. Processing. Determined to gain insight into the monster. Nicholas puttered around the door to my room. He brought me food and coffee. Other than “thank you,” I never knew what to say. He’d lied to me, too. He had always known all the gory details of my life and death. I knew he was forbidden from telling me. He did bring me the files eventually. My mind was numbed from the weight of it. All of it.

I memorized the names and faces of his victims. They shouldn’t be forgotten while he was remembered. Feared. The first, Amber Laney, was taken to her apartment and starved for days. The partial print was there. He dumped her along the Towpath Trail outside of D.C. A year passed before victim two, Alicia McFarland, went on a date and never returned. These victims both had steady boyfriends. He cut the women’s hair crudely with scissors. I wondered if had he asked them out and punished them for accepting. Was this about the cheating stepmom? Was he intrinsically evil? How many others like him were out there? As the murders piled up, he tightened his process to a predictable ten days, starved them, removed their fingerprints, shaved their heads, swapped their clothes for burlap or some other makeshift scraps. Rape was consistent in every case. Would a ten-year-old rape kit hold up in court as evidence?

Tears fell in a salty deluge onto the papers. My mom was the lucky one. A gag caught in my throat.

There were a couple of guards outside of the apartment 24/7. Nicholas’s team checked in regularly. Most nights Marshals from the local office played cards in the kitchen. It was a repetitive existence. My view never changed, but I was safe and unafraid. Mostly.

“How are you holding up?” Nicholas leaned against the doorjamb to my room.

“Awesome.” I rolled my eyes and smiled.

“Have you spoken to your dad?”

I waved him over to the bed where I sat with my head on my knees and my back against the wall. “Last night. He’s chasing another lead.”

Nicholas nodded. He scooted against the wall beside me and tucked me against his side. He reached into his jacket and produced a pack of letters.

“What’s that?” I curled my fingers around the envelopes as he tilted them toward me.

“You’ve got mail.”

“From who?” Excitement shot through me. I checked every return address for an L.A. zip code. They all said Ohio. “Francine Frances Academy?”

“Half the school sent you cards. According to the team, word around school is that after the fire you wanted to go home. Losing your place freaked you out and you didn’t want to stay without Pixie, so you left. They want you back.”

“Aw. They miss me.” I leaned into Nicholas as I flipped through the letters. They missed me. I loved it.

“Some miss you more than others.” Nicholas’s cop voice was in place. He used it with the other agents. It annoyed me.

The same address appeared on several envelopes. “Davis.” I opened one of the cards and skimmed over the text.

“I don’t like that kid.” Nicholas bumped me with his arm.

I leaned forward, smiling widely at Nicholas’s flat expression.

“What’s there not to like? Says here he got a lacrosse scholarship.” I feigned interest in the card, holding it over my face.

“That kid’s a marshmallow.”

“And yet amazingly age appropriate.” I peeked around the card.

Nicholas’s mouth twitched. Deep green eyes bore into mine. “Which would matter if you weren’t already in a highly inappropriate relationship.”

I pulled my lips to one side. “A relationship, huh?” My tummy knotted with the thrill and possibilities loaded into that statement.

“Come here.” Nicholas flipped me onto the mattress and hovered over me, one hand poised at my ribs. “Do you have a problem with that? You can call it whatever you want, but the bottom line is I saw you first.”

I laughed. “That’s right. You were stalking me.”

“True, but Davis is still a marshmallow.” Nicholas kissed my nose but didn’t move away.

I slapped his hand away from my ribs. “If you tickle me, I’ll scream for help.”

He smiled.

“I mean it. Do not tickle me.” I rolled toward the edge of the bed, but he caught me at the waist and tickled me. My body convulsed like a complete freak show. I kicked my feet and squealed, but no one came to my rescue. “Stop.”

When I pried my eyes open again, Nicholas looked proud of himself.

“Some protective custody I have out there,” I panted.

“I’m your protective custody.”

A witty comeback dissolved on my tongue as his lips pressed against mine. Nicholas never let his guard down, so I took advantage. I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him into the kiss. He planted his palms against the bed, holding himself in check over me, but didn’t break the kiss. I arched my back, bringing our chests together. Maybe he needed the release as much as I did because he let me. His lips moved with meaning over mine in a series of slow and life-changing kisses. Enveloped in Nicholas’s kiss, the weeks of stress and anxiety fell away. None of it mattered. I was safe. I was loved. All was well.

When he broke the kiss, I reached for his cheeks and traced the shape of his lips with my fingertips. He moaned against my skin.

“Kiss me,” I whispered.

“Elle.”

“Please.” I batted my eyelids as a tear slipped away.

Nicholas wavered. The heat in his eyes overwhelmed me. He obviously didn’t want to say no, but he was the guy who did the right thing. He straightened his arms further, inching away from me. Rejection pooled in my gut.

“Please.”

When I turned my face away, ashamed at my plea, he kissed my cheek.

“Don’t. It’s fine. I understand.” I scooted up on the bed, unable to look him in the eye.

“Soon.” He stroked the tear from my cheek. I nodded. Listening to a familiar sound in the distance.

“I hear your phone.”

Nicholas jumped off the bed like he’d been electrocuted and ran for the other room. His deep voice rumbled down the hall. Another lead. Another night filled with worry for nothing. I couldn’t believe I’d asked him to kiss me.
And he’d said no
.

I pulled a pillow over my face. I should tattoo
loser
on my forehead.

“Elle,” Nicholas called from the kitchen.

I didn’t answer. Calling back required more enthusiasm than I could manage.

I’d fallen asleep the night before from utter mental exhaustion. Kissing him was the most physical effort I’d expended in days and look at how that had ended. I slept twelve hours straight every night and woke feeling weaker and more desperate than the day before. I wasn’t even thankful for the rest. I felt hollow. Didn’t care. Didn’t know what to make of my life, or what I thought about my revelations. I liked the kissing. I could pass all my time that way. Not thinking, just drowning in his touch.

“Elle,” his voice called again. He said we were in a relationship. He’d claimed me the way my heart had claimed him weeks ago.

“Elle.” He was closer this time. Urgency colored my name.

Curiosity bloomed in my stomach, and I rose to look for Nicholas.

He appeared at my door with his coat on. He held my coat in his hand. “We’ve got to move.”

“What’s happening?”

Nicholas was in soldier mode, his expression locked. He’d detached from himself in a way I envied.

“I need to take you to headquarters.” He handed me my coat and packed a duffle of my things. “You’ll be safer there.” He slung the bag over one shoulder and reached for my hand.

I slipped into my coat and followed him, lifelessly, down the stairs. I wished I knew how he so easily slipped in and out of his personality. When things were at their worst, he faced them. I hid.

Maybe that was his secret. My hand slid along the railing in the stairwell, around the corner, and down another flight. He held the door for me. I stepped out onto the busy street, surrounded by faces oblivious to my life. It seemed right. I’d been oblivious for so long.

Nicholas opened a car door for me. I slid inside. He shut the door and moved quickly around the front. I never took my eyes off him. I didn’t know what I thought I might see, but it seemed important to watch him.

He looked me over before shifting into drive. When I was strapped in to his satisfaction, we were off.

“The Reaper has Sara. Your father’s on his way to the airport now. My dad is meeting him there. They’ll be in D.C. as soon as they can, but it’s a long flight from Dallas.”

“How?”
How had Sara ended up in my nightmare?

“She was at the office entering the reports we’ve been throwing at her. Reports we’re too irresponsible to do ourselves. She’s been doing all the stuff we don’t want to do. We all abuse the interns, but she’s my sister. She’s not some kid using the Marshals’ office as a line on a resume. This is our life. With our family connections, she could’ve interned anywhere in town, but she wanted to be there.” He choked on the final word.

“He took her from your office?”

“We think he got her when she stepped out for lunch.”

“Does he know where you are now?” How many people might I lose before he finished?

“He was at your dad’s house in Dallas while your dad trailed him in Michigan. He saw a photo of my dad.”

“A photo?” I’d never seen a photo of Mr. Austin at our house. “How do you know?”

“He called my dad.”

“The Reaper?” My eyes widened to a full stretch.

“Yes.” Nicholas saw where I was heading and interrupted me. “I guess Dad had sent him an old fishing picture. They were rebuilding a friendship.” He snorted.

“How’d he find your dad based on a picture or even know who he was?”

“How did you nail me back in September? The Internet is a tool as well as a nuisance.”

“You think he knew your dad was assigned to my case?” It was the only explanation for involving Sara. I no longer believed in coincidences.

“I don’t know if he did. I’m sure he does now. He wants to trade my sister for you. One daughter for another.”

We pulled into an underground parking garage. The change in lighting hurt my sore eyes. The garage made me shiver. I was still trying to unbuckle my seat belt when Nicholas opened my door. We rushed inside. I wished I looked more like myself. My new look made me uncomfortable. I hadn’t kept up the makeup because I wasn’t expecting to leave, but the hair and clothes were still there. Among all the people in suits, I felt like I should be questioned instead of protected.

Inside the atrium, we climbed two enormous sets of marble stairs. The interior was grand and pristine, bustling with activity. People rushed down halls. Elevators carried full loads of workers. Every conference room we passed appeared full.

My boots clunked hard against the marble, drawing too much attention our way. A knot of men came to meet us. They barely looked at me, despite my goofy appearance. They all looked remarkably alike. Everyone had the same face, the same composed, driven look. Questions came at us from all directions.