Torn (5 page)

Uh, okay.

“I was worried,” he added. “I went back to that alley about ten minutes later and you were gone.”

Were her cheeks turning red? She thought they might be. “Wade took me back home.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “The work . . . partner.”

She'd been clear with Flynn. No strings. And they'd had sex once. Just once . . . “Right. My work partner.”

His gaze slid to her bag. “Another mysterious trip?”

“Just business as usual.” He was a pharmacy rep, so she knew Flynn took plenty of trips out of town himself.

“Maybe we can get together when you come back.” His ear buds dangled loosely around his neck.

She hesitated.
Wade and I have a deal.
“I don't think that's such a good idea.”

His eyelids flickered. “Because of the partner?”

A cab pulled up at the corner. Her cab.

“Because of the partner,” Victoria agreed. Then she shook her head. “No, no, it's because of me. I'm sorry, Flynn. I—­”

His smile was sad. “You never led me on, Vik. I knew where I stood with you.” He nodded. “I'd hoped that you knew where you stood with me, too.”

The cab driver had exited the vehicle.

“Stay safe,” Flynn murmured. Then he was gone, running off at a steady pace.

I never felt the same with him.

The cabbie took her bag. Victoria murmured her thanks and climbed into the vehicle.

I never felt the same attraction with Flynn. Not like I do with Wade. When Wade touches me . . . it's not fear that makes me tense.

It was need. Desire.

Deal or no deal, she wouldn't have been meeting Flynn when she got back to town.

Because now she knew what it was like to want someone so badly that nothing else mattered. And that kind of desire . . . it was dangerous.

CHAPTER THREE

T
HIS IS WHERE
she disappeared,” Lucas Branson said as he put his hands on his hips and paused in the middle of the running trail—­Jupiter Trail. The sunlight glinted off his sunglasses. “Or at least, this is where the cops found her ear buds. She always ran with those things in, said it helped her to get in the zone . . .” He trailed away, then shook his dark head.

Victoria glanced around the area. They were in a park on the outskirts of Savannah, and the mid-­afternoon sunlight flickered down through the trees. The dirt path snaked through the trees—­a
lot
of trees. Enough trees to provide the perfect cover for someone who might be waiting to attack. Birds chirped happily from the shelter of those trees.

“We have Kennedy's case files,” Wade said as he paced toward a tall oak tree. “There have been no ransom demands, no phone calls . . . no contact at all from Kennedy or her abductor in five years.”

Did Lucas understand just how bad that was? A ransom demand at least meant the victim
might
be alive. You could get a proof of life with a ransom demand. You could work with the abductor. But when a perp took a victim, and the family or friends never heard so much as a whisper . . .

That means the perp never intended to let his victim go.

“There was nothing,” Lucas said, and sadness flashed across his face. “I even offered a ten-­thousand-­dollar reward, hoping someone would come forward and tell me what had happened to her, but no one seemed to remember anything.” His hands lifted, then fell. “She was here one moment and gone the next. If it hadn't been for those ear buds, hell, I don't even know that the cops would have believed she was ever out on this trail.” He pulled off his sunglasses and shoved them into his shirt pocket.

“Her hair was found on the ear buds,” Victoria said. She'd read that bit of info in Kennedy's files. And the hair had been compared by forensics to the hair at Kennedy's home—­in her brush. The cops had proved that Kennedy was in the park, but then she'd disappeared.

“Yeah, that was when they finally started to believe me.” Lucas sounded angry now, anger reflected in the hardness of his blue gaze. “But that was over forty-­eight hours after she disappeared. And I know,
now,
that the first forty-­eight hours are the most important. That's when you have the best chance of finding the missing, right?”

Victoria met Wade's gaze.

“That's what they say on TV,” Lucas muttered. “If you don't find them in that first forty-­eight hours, the chance of the person coming home alive . . . it goes down so damn far.”

There was such pain in his voice. It pulled at her. She didn't quite know how to handle the victims—­not the living ones, anyway. That was why she spent so much of her time with the dead.
They
talked to her. She found evidence on them. She could recreate their last moments. Piece together what happened to them.

Track their killers.

Yes, it was the dead that helped her. The living . . . she just hurt for them.

At that moment, she was hurting for Lucas. “TV isn't always reality,” she heard herself say.

Hope flashed in his eyes.

Oh, crap. I don't want him to expect a miracle.
Yes, they were in Savannah to help find Kennedy, but after five years—­
five years!—­
the chance of finding her alive . . .

It was astronomically low. Surely Lucas understood that?

Wade cleared his throat. He crossed to Victoria's side, but when he spoke, his attention was on Lucas. “You told the police that Kennedy didn't have any enemies.”

“Everyone loved her.” Lucas's chin lifted. “Maybe that was the problem. She was so beautiful. She'd enter a room, and the men would take one look and want her. She was just that kind of woman, you know? You saw her, and you wanted her.”

Wade tilted his head to the side. “I'm sorry, but I have to ask you this . . . was Kennedy involved with anyone else? Were you two exclusive?”

“I was going to marry her.”

Wade's expression remained neutral as he said, “If we're going to do this right, you should know, we have to dig deep into Kennedy's life. If she had secrets, we
will
uncover them. So if there's something that you know—­now is the time to share it.”

Actually, Victoria thought, five years ago would have been the time to share it.

“Were you exclusive?” Wade pushed. “Or was Kennedy involved with anyone else?”

Lucas's gaze fell to the ground. “There were a few times . . . I—­I thought she might be cheating. There were just . . . marks on her. Marks that I hadn't put there.”

Now Victoria was curious. “Marks?”

Lucas's jaw locked. “Faint bruises on her hips. Redness near her . . . her breasts. Marks that a lover would leave.”

“And you're sure that
you
didn't leave the marks?” Wade wanted to know.

“She said they were nothing.” Lucas's gaze turned distant. “That she'd just bumped into something or that her clothes had chaffed her during her last workout. I was always the jealous type—­she knew that. And she just laughed and told me that I didn't have anything to worry about.” He ran his hand over his face. “I never saw her with anyone else. I never found any trace of the guy after she vanished, so I thought—­I thought I
was
just being jealous.”

Wade was silent.

In the distance, Victoria heard the sharp cry of a bird.

They'd been out there for a while, and they hadn't encountered any other people. The spot was so isolated. So perfect for an abduction.

“Her routine was the same, every day?” Wade asked.

Victoria was just letting him run with his questions. That was Wade's thing. As a former homicide detective, he always seemed to know just what to ask the witnesses and family members.

She figured he could handle the living.

She'd stick with the dead.

Only I wish we could find Kennedy alive.
She wished that sometimes the good guys would win and the monsters in the dark wouldn't claim so many victims.

“Every single day,” Lucas rasped, “she'd run three miles. She said it helped her clear her head. Same path, same time. Kennedy liked her schedules.”

But a schedule like that could prove dangerous. It was too easy to follow someone else's patterns. Too easy to watch and find those weak moments.

Victoria glanced around once more.

Too easy to find those isolated spots.

It was far better for people to vary their routines—­to try different trails. Different times. Because you never knew . . .

Just who might be watching.

“I need closure,” Lucas suddenly said. Her gaze slid back to him. She tried to study him objectively—­a handsome man, fit, in his late twenties. He seemed guileless, as his emotions flashed easily on his face and in his eyes. He was the one who'd contacted LOST. He was the one who'd never given up on Kennedy, but . . .

“Closure?” Victoria repeated carefully.

“I've found someone else.” His cheeks flushed. “And I love her. We want to get married . . .”

Now she got the picture. “But you think you can't move on, not until you know for certain what happened to Kennedy?”

His Adam's apple bobbed. “What if she's still out there, hoping that I'll find her? Waiting for me?” And the guilt was there, creeping into his voice. “And I'm here . . . with someone else? Planning a new life? A life that—­” He broke off, but he didn't have to say the words.

Victoria understood.
A life that should have been hers.

“We'll do our best,” Wade said. “But as Gabe told you, we can't guarantee that we'll find Kennedy. We'll reexamine the case, look at it with fresh eyes, but if there isn't anything to discover . . .” He shook his head a bit sadly. “You have to realize that Kennedy may never come home. You may never get the closure that you seek.”

“And that's the hardest part,” Lucas said as his lips curved down. “Not knowing. Is she dead? Is she alive? Did some sick bastard take her from me? Or did she . . . did she just choose to vanish? That's what some of the cops thought, you see. That the ear buds weren't proof she'd been taken. They said she could've just dropped them. That she could've just decided she didn't want marriage or a life with me.” He shrugged. “So she just vanished. Without any of the clothes in her closet. Without her money. Without anything.” His laughter was bitter. “That was such bullshit. I
know
she didn't leave me. Kennedy wouldn't have done that. I
knew
her.”

Silence.

Lucas's phone began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced down at the screen. “It's Connie. I'm sorry, I have to take this . . .” He turned and paced a few feet away.

Victoria focused on Wade. “I'm guessing Connie is the new lady in his life.”

Wade's considering gaze was on the other man. “I think he knows that Kennedy was cheating on him. He didn't believe her excuses. There was another guy.” Now his stare turned to her. “We need to find that other man.”

“You think he took Kennedy?”

“I think some men can't let go of a woman.” His gaze darkened as he stared at her.

Her breath came a little faster. “You mean Lucas,” she whispered. Five years—­and he still hadn't let Kennedy go, not fully. But was that love? If he was holding on because he wanted to help her, because—­

“He's lying to us.” Wade's soft voice barely reached her ears. “I don't trust him.”

What? He didn't trust the man who'd hired them? That made zero sense to her. Why would Lucas hire them if he was hiding something?

But she didn't get to question Wade because Lucas was closing in. He'd put the phone back in his pocket and was striding toward them. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Connie wants to set up the appointment with the caterer.”

Wade's brows climbed. “A caterer . . . for your wedding?”

The flush on Lucas's cheeks deepened. “Connie doesn't understand. She thinks that Kennedy is gone, but I . . . I have to be sure.”

Now Wade whistled. “Does your fiancée know that you hired us?”

Lucas shook his head.

Wade seemed to absorb that new piece of info. Then he said, “Do you usually keep secrets from the women you're planning to marry?”

Lucas glanced away. “Only when I think those secrets might hurt them . . .”

Wade was silent for a beat of time, then said, “Thanks for the information this morning. Dr. Palmer and I will keep you updated on anything we find, but should you need to contact us—­”

“I've got your numbers,” Lucas said quickly.

“And we're staying in town,” Victoria added, rattling off the name of the B&B that LOST had booked for them. “If you think of anything else that might be able to help our case, please let us know.”

Lucas nodded. “I—­I will. And thank you. Thank you for coming here.” His gaze turned distant. “Thank you for looking for my Kennedy.”

Sympathy stirred within Victoria because she could hear the pain in his voice, but when she cut a quick glance at Wade, she saw him staring at Lucas with  . . .

Suspicion.

“W
HY WOULD HE
lie to us?” Victoria demanded.

Wade had wondered when she'd ask that question. They'd left Lucas behind—­less than an hour ago—­and were now on the campus of Worthington University. Kennedy had been a senior at Worthington when she vanished. He wanted to talk with some of the professors she'd had, see if they remembered anything about her.

“Wade.” Victoria sounded annoyed. She reached out, locking her hand around his wrist. “Answer me. Why would he lie?”

He looked down at her hand. She'd touched him. That was a good step. Maybe. “He's already keeping secrets from the woman he's about to marry. Doesn't that tell you anything about the guy?”

“He
hired
us!” They were just beneath the bell tower and no one else was around. “That tells me he wants to find Kennedy. He wants to get closure—­just like he said.”

Closure was one thing. Lies were another. “He knows she was screwing around on him, Viki.”

“Because of a few marks?” She pulled away and motioned dismissively with her hand. “Maybe those were just from her workout, maybe—­”

He laughed. He couldn't help it.

She glared at him. Victoria pushed up her glasses. Did she know that the glasses made her eyes look even darker? Sexier? Probably not.

Her hair was up in a ponytail again today. He knew she meant the style to be no-­nonsense, but it just accentuated her high cheekbones and the elegant curves of her face. She didn't have to ditch the glasses and let her hair down to be hot to him.

She kind of . . . just was.

“Wade . . .”

She was also back to sounding annoyed with him.

His hand lifted. She tensed.
Still not past that, are we?
One day, she wouldn't tense when he reached for her.

Keeping his eyes on hers, he slowly pushed back the collar of her shirt. His fingers brushed over her soft skin, right along the base of her neck. “There's a big difference,” he told her softly, “between the mark that comes from clothes rubbing against you and the mark that a lover makes.”

Her lips parted.

His fingers stroked over the faint mark he'd left on her skin. “I can look at this and tell it was made from my mouth.”

She backed away from him.

“And I'm betting,” he said, as his hand dropped to his side, “that when Lucas Branson saw the marks on Kennedy's body, he knew another man had left them.”