“When she expressed her concerns, Wynwood laughed and told her she was watching too many soaps or reading too many novels. Mom decided to just tell him how she felt. She warned she would go to the police if he ever came near either of us again.”

  “She wasn’t playing around.”

  “She wasn’t,” Lara said. “She told him that as long as he stayed away from us, she would leave things be. She wouldn’t speak of her suspicions about him or my father. She told him she’d placed her journal of notes with an attorney who would turn it over to the police if anything happened to her.”

  Nate wanted to ask how Lara felt about her mother not sharing this with her before she died, but he waited. Let her get to what she wanted to relate in her own time.

  She picked up her glass and drank more of her wine. “Maybe I should have cheese and crackers.”

  He started to get up, but she held up a hand. “I feel guilty enough. I’ll get it. You want anything?”

  “Cheese and crackers would be great.”

  While she rummaged in the kitchen, he sipped his wine. Considered the journal lying innocuously on the sofa. For nearly thirty years Mary Franklin had carried these secrets with her. Why had she left the lie with her daughter—her only child—in a journal rather than tell her everything?

  Lara returned with a plate of cheese and crackers. She set it on the coffee table next to the bottle, then refilled her glass and looked to him. He nodded and she filled his glass as well.

  Rather than continue the conversation they ate for a time. Sipped their wine. He had a feeling that whatever came next was the part Lara was having particular trouble with digesting and relating.

  Eventually, she took a deep breath, then started once more. “After the big confrontation, Mom felt a huge sense of relief and for a time she believed it was over. Then Wynwood showed up at my school one day and picked me up.”

  What the hell? Nate’s pulse reacted to the words. He held her gaze and his breath.

  “I don’t even remember. I can’t imagine how he was able to walk away from the school with me. Anyway, he drove me home and knocked on the door. When Mom saw us together, she freaked out. As soon as she’d calmed down and convinced herself I was okay, she sent me to my room. Wynwood advised her that any bargain he agreed to was on his terms only. To make her happy he had decided to let her go on with her life as she requested. His one caveat was that if she ever told anyone about him or her suspicions, he would take me and she would never find me. He said all she had to do was behave herself and keep quiet. If she did, she would never need to worry about him again. That was the last time she saw him.”

  Outrage tore through Nate. “I can’t imagine how she lived with that worry hanging over her head. I’m surprised she didn’t take you and disappear.”

  “She thought about it. Mentioned it more than once in the journal. But she worried that if she made some sort of maneuver like that, he would see it as an attempt against his edict and track her down. Instead, she stayed put. Kept a low profile. She did exactly as he ordered.”

  Lara looked away, visibly struggled to hold onto her composure. “In her last entry she said she worried that she’d made a mistake. She had started to tell me so many times. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud. The thought of having to share the lie with me was more than she could bear. She didn’t want me to carry this same suspicion and fear the way she had. At the same time, she feared if she didn’t tell me, Wynwood would find a way to worm his way into my life. She had hidden the journal in the treehouse years ago for fear he would break in and take it. Right before she died, she added a final entry that she was going to tell me when I came home for the Fourth of July. I’d promised her I would come and she intended to get this ugly secret out of the way.”

  She didn’t have to say the rest. Her mother had died of a sudden heart attack the middle of June. And, for the second time in their relationship, Nate had been unavailable. Emotion tightened in his chest. Lara looked so tired, so forlorn, he wanted to hug her, but he wasn’t sure if she would be comfortable with him touching her that way. And, frankly, he wasn’t certain he would be satisfied with a mere hug.

  Probably better not to test his self-control. Not with her so emotionally vulnerable.

  Lara looked him straight in the eye as if she’d read his thoughts. “I’d really like you to sit over here. With me.”

  He could absolutely do that.

  “Sure.” He moved to the sofa. Sat down next to her.

  She waited a moment before saying more. “I’ve called Wynwood about half a dozen times over the past few hours. He’s not answering.”

  No surprise there—her calling or the fact that he wasn’t answering. “To tell you the truth, I’m astonished he mentioned the journal at all. He had to know you’d look for it. Whatever the reason he’s now avoiding us, it’s like shutting the gate after the cows get out. Or maybe he only wanted you to find it because he couldn’t.” If he had plans of trying to take it from Lara and of possibly hurting her in the process, he had better think again.

  Lara looked up then. “I want the whole truth, Nate. I want to know what happened to my father. Are he and Wynwood working together as the Butcher? I need to know how deep the lie goes.”

  “First thing in the morning,” Nate promised, “we will hunt him down and we will have the truth. You have my word on it.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Hold on a sec.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket and sent a quick text to Prater to check on the surveillance detail assigned to Wynwood. Then he explained to Lara, “The last I checked on Wynwood’s surveillance detail was about six. He was still at home then.” A text alert appeared on Nate’s screen. He opened it. “Wynwood is apparently still at home. His car hasn’t moved from the driveway and there are lights on in the house. No one has gone in or out. He’s likely ignoring your calls to force you to come to him.”

  “We went to him and he refused to answer the door,” Lara argued, worry clouding her expression. “Has this detail actually seen him?”

  Nate sent another text asking for the additional information. “My guess is, he wants you worried. Wants you desperate and emotional.”

  “If that’s what he wanted,” Lara confessed, “I’m there for sure.”

  Another text alert appeared. Nate read the message. “No visual confirmation other than the presence of his car and the lights going on at dark.”

  She nodded. “Tomorrow we’re showing up at his door and we’re not leaving until he answers.”

  “We will not,” Nate agreed. Another text alert vibrated his phone. He checked the screen, opened the dialog box. “Well, well.” Now there was some unexpected news. “We have a connection.”

  Lara’s gaze met his.

  “Agent Keaton found a connection between Jeffrey Medford and Devin Wynwood.”

  “Oh my God.” Lara’s hand went to her chest. “What kind of connection?”

  “He’s still working on ferreting out the details, but it appears Medford is Wynwood’s younger brother. Same mother, different fathers.” This confirmed for Nate that Wynwood had been watching Lara in spite of the deal he’d made with her mother. He’d probably put his younger brother up to abducting her. A disturbing mixture of worry and anger at the idea that Medford could still be watching her burned in Nate’s gut.

  Lara closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I don’t know how this will all turn out, but thank you, Nate, for being here.”

  His arm went around her. “I’ll be here for as long as it takes.”

  She lifted her face to his. “What about after that?”

  Maybe it was the need in her eyes or just his own, but he couldn’t help himself. He brushed his lips across hers. Kissed her. Took it slow. Her arms went around his neck and she leaned into the kiss.

  He would be here for as long as she wanted him to be.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The birds had fallen silent as if their need to watch outweighed all else.

  “Now, now,” he murmured. “It isn’t so bad, is it?”

  His victim struggled against his bindings.

  He smiled. “There’s no escaping, you should relax.”

  Arms were secured overhead with nylon cuffs. Not a single victim had ever escaped from those cuffs. He knew this because he had watched them all—save two—try. The waist was fastened to the special contraption made from six-inch heavy gauge black pipe. It was a sort of cross anchored in concrete. It had stood in this dungeon as a symbol of death for a very, very long time.

  He glanced down at the feet. The ankles too were fastened to the steel with layer after layer of duct tape. The only way to escape was to be cut free. The victim was always cut free, but first came the long and thorough torture and then, ultimately, death.

  The routine was meticulous. Always planned to the very last detail.

  He knew each step by heart. Each precision slice of the knife. Each deeper hack with the cleaver. The sounds associated with tearing the cartilage and sinew, the gnashing of teeth and whimpering were permanently etched on his psyche.

  No amount of time could erase those engrained memories.

  His hand shook ever so slightly as he lifted it toward the mouth now locked shut with more of that handy duct tape. He traced the edge of the tape where it pressed into the skin of his cheek. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  The eyes filled with rage stared at him like a demon’s straight from hell.

  He laughed. “You’re thinking that she’ll be back with the FBI agent. But they’ll be too late. You see, I’ve waited a very long time for this moment. I’m not going to waste a single minute.”

  More struggling and grunting.

  Instinctively he stepped back, no matter that he was well aware the victim would be unable to free himself. Withdrawing…shrinking back had become rote.

  Never again.

  He moved in closer to his victim once more, tilted his head and studied him. “We both know how this goes. It will be incalculably painful. I hope you’re prepared.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, we won’t have time for all the usual preparations. We’ll just move straight to the most important part.”

  The scissors were first. Always. He cut off the victim’s clothes, starting with the shirt, then the trousers. The victim’s shivering as he cut through the cotton fabric of underwear made him feel such incredible glee. He had dreamed of this moment, mentally rehearsed the steps, for such a long time.

  Finally, he slipped off the shoes and socks. Then he pushed to his feet.

  He stared at his victim for a long moment. “You didn’t pay attention, or you would have noticed. This was your mistake.” He patted his upper arm. “I started exercising when you weren’t watching. You thought I was punishing you by not allowing you to see me change clothes.” A rusty laugh issued from his throat. “I was preparing. I knew one day you would make a mistake and I wanted to be ready.”

  More of the jerking and twitching, the fierce grunting.

  “Very well, shall we begin?” He put the scissors away and reached for the starting knife.

  A shudder shook his victim as he tried to draw away from the shiny blade.

  “The first cut is the most painful,” he reminded. “After a while, your brain will release endorphins to help take the edge off and eventually you’ll lose consciousness. Not to worry, before you come to, it will all be over.”

  He pressed the tip of the blade to the center of his chest and pierced the skin. The reaction was as expected. More of the moaning and a shudder. He would have thought him stronger than this. How ironic that such a ruthless soul could be reduced to a mere coward.

  He pushed the knife downward, slicing layers of skin as he went.

  Blood bloomed and slid down his torso like crimson tears.

  When he reached the navel, he circled and started upward once more. This part was just foreplay. A warmup for the main event. No one knew this better than the victim.

  The moment was priceless. How many times had the steps been explained to a terrified victim? Each coming movement, each reaction by the victim’s body was described in detail beforehand, heightening the torture for both the victim and the tormentor.

  It was going to be a long and productive night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wednesday, December 2, 8:30 a.m.

  Lara couldn’t relax. She tried staring out the car window as Nate drove. How many times had she checked the time? She wanted to be at Wynwood’s house now. To force him to talk to her. The hours last night had dragged on and on.

  Speaking of last night, she’d been more than ready to take Nate’s and her relationship to the next level. But he had held back. He’d insisted that she was not herself and he wouldn’t take advantage of her emotional state.

  She’d really, really wanted the distraction, but, intellectually, she had recognized he was right. The kiss had been amazing…but anything more would have been a mistake under current circumstances. Their relationship was far too important to damage it for a few hours of distraction. Easy to see now; not so much last night.

  While he’d made calls and reviewed email, she’d attempted to catch up on the new comments on her blog. Catching up had kept her preoccupied well enough. At least until she went to bed…then time had seemed to stop.

  She glanced at the man driving. Not surprisingly, when they’d rendezvoused at the coffeemaker this morning there were a few moments of awkwardness and then they’d started to laugh. They’d hugged and agreed to resume whatever went along with that kiss at a later date.

  Coffee and power bars had served as breakfast before they had headed into the city.

  As they turned onto Marcia Drive, Lara reached in back for her bag. She frowned as she fished around inside. Where was the journal? She opened the oversized bag a little wider and searched more thoroughly. Had she failed to tuck the journal into her bag? She remembered laying it on the table by the sofa.

  How could she forget?

  Lack of sleep. Worry. Uncertainty. Take your pick.

  “We have to go back,” she complained.

  “What the hell?”

  Lara’s head came up and she looked from Nate to the house beyond his window that belonged to Wynwood. His car was no longer in the driveway.

  “He’s gone.” Lara said. It wasn’t a question. Obviously, he was. Why hadn’t the surveillance detail let Nate know that Wynwood had left the house? Worse, why hadn’t the detail followed him? An unmarked car was parked at the curb across from the house. She assumed that was the surveillance detail’s car. Possibly she was wrong and the surveillance detail had followed him.

  Otherwise, Wynwood could be anywhere. He could disappear and they might never find him. Panic tightened in her chest, coiling in her throat.

  Apparently, it didn’t matter that she’d failed to tuck the journal into her bag.

  Nate eased to the curb behind the surveillance vehicle. “Stay in the car.”

  Before Lara could question him, he was out of the car and moving toward the other vehicle. His right hand slid beneath his jacket, then withdrew grasping a weapon.

  A thumping started in her chest as she watched him approach the driver’s side window of the vehicle. Nate surveyed the street, then leaned down to peer more closely into the car. A few seconds later he straightened and scanned the street again.

  Something was wrong.

  Lara tucked her cell phone into her pocket, opened the door and got out. “What’s going on?”

  Nate turned to Wynwood’s house. “I need you to stay in the car and lock the doors.”

  Lara ignored the order and walked straight over to him. “Sorry. Can’t do that.”

  Before he could say more, she started across the street, heading for Wynwood’s door. If he’d gone into hiding, she intended to tear his house apart just as she had her mother’s until she found something—anything—that would help her figure out the rest of the story on her father. She didn’t care that she had no warrant. He was not getting away. Not after what she’d read in that journal.

  No way.

  Nate moved ahead of her. “At least stay behind me,” he growled.

  She relented, falling into step behind him. The idea that Wynwood had left before they could get here, made her furious. The realization that he had purposely ignored her calls fueled that fury.

  By the time they reached the door, Lara was ready to storm in and kick the guy’s butt.

  And where was the surveillance detail?

  Nate put up a hand for her to hold up. He moved to the side of the door. She slipped in behind him. She held her breath as he reached out and bumped the door with his fist.

  The impact sent the door gliding inward.

  “Don’t move,” he murmured over his shoulder. “Wynwood, this is Agent Decker,” he shouted, “I’m coming in.”

  Silence was the only response.

  Nate swung around to stand in the doorway, his weapon leveled in front of him.

  Lara’s breath trapped in her lungs.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Nate ordered.

  Digging out her phone, she charged into the house. Nate was crouched next to a man on the floor.

  The suit told her it was likely the surveillance detail even before Nate checked his ID.

  Lara made the call for help while Nate assessed the man’s condition.

  By the time the dispatcher had assured her that help was on the way, the agent, Paul Nelson, had roused and appeared to be uninjured other than the blow he’d suffered to the back of his head. Nate executed a walk-through of the rest of the house to ensure it was clear. No sign of Wynwood or anyone else.

  “There hadn’t been any activity since I came on duty,” Agent Nelson explained. “The door just swung open and someone started shouting for help. I rushed into the house and something hit me from behind.”

  “You didn’t see anyone?” Nate asked.

  Nelson made a face. “Just a blur in the corner of my eye.”