Authors: Kathy Ivan
Everything seemed distorted, like watching a movie in slow motion. The only thing racing was Connor's erratic heartbeat, his blood filled with an adrenaline rush coursed through his veins.
This was it. He knew it. He felt it down to the marrow of his bones
.
“There's a property just south of Baton Rouge, outside the city proper. Belonged to Captain Jamison's wife. Julie Jamison inherited it when her mother died. Tax records show the property taxes have been paid in full and it's still listed in her mother's maiden name. Area's fairly isolated. She might have Alyssa there.”
“Did you try calling it up on the Internet, get a visual?” Connor knew Remy's brother had some bad-ass connections and wouldn't hesitate to call in favors in a case like this.
“Too much density and tree growth to get a good visual. No paved road or street to the property, so it's pretty isolated. I'd try to get some guys out there, but you're both closer.” Max rattled off the address once Remy had grabbed a pen and paper from his pocket.
“Got it. I'll keep you posted. Thanks, Max.” Remy turned to Connor as he flipped his phone closed, stuffing it back into his pocket. Connor wanted to snatch the paper away and race to rescue Alyssa. Remy stared him down, never breaking eye contact, waiting.
“I'm cool, I swear. Let's go. Now.” Connor's voice was firm; he kept it calm while he felt anything but that. Finding the bitch and making her pay was priority number two on his list. Number one—finding Alyssa alive and keeping her safe.
“We do this my way, Connor. You do what I tell you, when I tell you, or I'll have your ass thrown in a cell while I go out there alone—got it? We know Bethany has your woman, we take it slow and easy. Find the property, take a look around.”
“I said I've got it. Less talking, more driving.” Breaking into a jog, Connor sprinted toward Remy's car, not wanting to deal with the temperamental rattletrap of a car he'd stolen earlier. His patience was at an end, his hands shaking too much to try hot-wiring it again anyway.
Throwing himself in the passenger seat, he rubbed his palms against his jeans-clad thighs, focused on nothing but getting to Alyssa. This had to be it. She was counting on him—he felt it deep in his gut. Knew she was still alive out there, because his heart still beat. If she was gone he knew his would stop, too, because there wasn't a thing on earth to keep him here if she left him again.
Remy peeled out of the gas station, tossing his phone onto Connor's lap, breaking into his thoughts. “I programmed the address into the GPS. You'll have to give me the directions as we go.” Connor stared at the phone, noted the location of Bethany's property wasn't too far outside town. Problem was it was getting dark. Dusk approached fast. Could they make it before darkness fell?
Connor braced his hand against the dashboard as Remy took a right, rounding the corner without slowing.
Hell, he's some driver. Must be all that cop training.
Soon they left the populated edge of town behind, driving farther into the countryside. Huge oak trees stood in majestic displays along both sides of the worn asphalt, Spanish moss dripping from the branches. A light misting of rain spattered against the windshield, not enough to need the wipers on constantly, but enough to be an irritation.
“A couple more miles, Remy, then a right. Take it slow, cause the road's so tiny it's barely there.”
“Got it.” Remy's voice was firm, determined. All cop. Connor had heard that tone a couple of times in the past, and he was glad he wasn't on the receiving end when Remy got like this. Fun-loving and easygoing most of the time, when full police mode clicked on, bad guys watch out—Remy Lamoreaux didn't play around. He didn't stop to take names, just kicked ass. Connor said a silent prayer of thanks Remy hadn't listened to him, that he was there by his side.
Spotting the broken path of crumbling blacktop and rocks that passed for a road, Remy turned right and pointed the car down the deserted street.
“How far back from the main road is the building?”
“About a mile, maybe a mile and a half,” Connor answered, feeling the car slow. “What the hell? Why are you stopping? Floor it!”
“Think, Connor. If Bethany or Julie or whatever the hell her name is sees two people approaching, she may panic and do something stupid. It's quiet. She may already have heard the car. You need to drive the rest of the way alone. Surprise her. You showing up without her sending you the directions will probably confuse the hell out of her anyway. I'll check around the outside of the building, see if I can find a secondary way in. Keep her occupied, keep her talking. The more she's focused on you, the less she'll be expecting another person.”
Connor stared at Remy, going over the plan in his head. It wasn't great, had about a dozen holes in it, but it was the best they could come up with on short notice.
“Alyssa . . .”
“We'll get Alyssa, but we're gonna have to get Bethany contained first. If there's only the one entrance, move as far into the room as you can, and get her back to the door.” Connor nodded, seeing where Remy was headed.
“Okay. Remy—be careful, this bitch is stone-cold crazy.”
“You be careful, too. Drive up slowly. Don't go into the building until you're sure she's in there. Shout her name when you get out of the car. Hell, play it by ear, do whatever you have to.” Remy slapped Connor on the back of his head, a quick cuff, but it got his attention. “Don't do anything stupid. Do not antagonize her. Remember, I've got your back.”
Remy looked like he wanted to say more but finally just shook his head. With those final words, he exited the car and started jogging down the rut-filled road, a small flashlight in his hand. Connor slid behind the wheel, and drove slowly past him, determined to rescue Alyssa.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sunday
T
hat damned video from his cell phone replayed over and over in his mind as he drove the final mile, headlights on low. Through the open windows he heard the gravel crunch under the weight of the car as it rolled to a stop. No way they hadn't heard him drive up.
He slammed the car door when he got out, making as much noise as possible.
Gotta get her focused on me. Get her away from Alyssa
.
“Bethany!” He roared out her name, rage permeating every syllable. “I know you're in there. I know who you really are—Julie Jamison.” The car headlights illuminated the square house. There were no uncovered windows visible on the front side of the cinderblock-structured building, at least none Connor could see. They were all covered with plywood sheets. Peeling cream-colored paint flaked off the walls in huge chunks, dirt and mold covering the ground and inching upwards nearly a foot from the graveled drive. The weathered gray-washed front door was closed, but flickers of light and shadow emanated beneath the gap at the bottom. Flickering almost like . . .
Fire!
His firefighter's instinct immediately kicked in and Connor sprinted to the door, placing his hand against the wooden surface. It felt cool to the touch. Good, meant it hadn't spread to the entrance yet. Reaching down, he touched the door handle. It, too, was cool. Pressing downward, the mechanism clicked and the door slid open. He pushed it forward, stepping into the large one-room space.
The first thing he saw was Alyssa. Naked and taped to a metal chair with duct tape, bands of silver encircling her ankles and thighs. Her shoulders were drawn back behind her at a painful angle. Tall white pillar candles surrounded her, burning in a circle around her on the floor. Their glow magnified yet distorted the rivulets of blood trickling across her chest and down her naked stomach, pooling in small puddles of dark sticky wetness around the base of the chair. Her body slumped forward, head hung low against her chest, limp with the ragged chopped mess of her hair. Bunches of hair mixed with the blood beneath her on the dirty floor. What remained was cropped close to her scalp in places, others a longer tangled mess obscuring her features.
She wasn't moving
.
Nothing else mattered except getting to her. He raced across the cement floor, reaching her in seconds, all thoughts of everything but her erased.
“Lyssa, baby, can you hear me?”
“She can't hear you right now, Connor. I'm afraid I was a little too rough with her and she . . . blacked out.”
At the sound of Bethany's voice, Connor whirled around, fists clenched. A burning all-consuming rage swept through him. His palms itched to strangle her with his bare hands, squeeze the life out of her for what she'd done to the woman he loved. He managed one step forward and froze, his eyes locked on the gun pointed squarely at his chest.
“Nuh-uh, Connor. Not another step.”
Bethany motioned with the gun for him to step away from Alyssa, but he stood frozen in place. He wasn't going to move away from her. She needed him. Every instinct, every primitive thought within him growled to protect his woman.
“You're a very smart boy, Connor. You found us quicker than I thought. How'd you manage that? No wait, let me guess.” She laughed, the sound brittle and tinged with something Connor couldn't quite identify. “The Lamoreaux brothers, right? Are they here, too?” Bethany grinned and it looked nothing like her professional television news reporter smile. Connor read the madness behind her mask. Her eyes were vacant; nobody sane was home anymore.
“You're partly right,” he answered. “Max Lamoreaux did a little digging once Alyssa gave me your real name. Didn't take him long to find this place, buried under your mother's maiden name. Pretty smart, Bethany. Or would you rather I call you Julie?”
“Julie Jamison is dead. She's been gone a long time. Bethany will do.” Her monotonous tone sent chills down Connor's spine. Flat, detached, emotionless, her words conveyed the information but no indication of intent.
“Anyway, once you left me stranded in Baton Rouge, Max gave me info on this place. Made sense you'd be here with my wife.” Connor knew he had to keep her talking, give Remy time to find a way inside.
“Ex-wife.” Bethany did smile at that, a secretive little smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes.
“She'll always be my wife, divorce or not.”
“Aw, isn't that sweet? You still love her.”
Connor nodded, the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to look back at Alyssa, check on her, but he didn't dare take his eyes off Bethany. One wrong move, the tiniest thing might set her off, and they'd all be dead.
Damn it, Remy, where the hell are you?
“You ex-wife is pretty smart, too. Or maybe I was careless. She recognized me from the photos. You do remember the photos, Connor? A stroke of genius on my part, if I say so myself.”
“What do you know about the pictures?”
“You still don't get it. I sent those pictures to her. Hell, I starred in them.”
Shock rushed in a spike of adrenaline through Connor's blood, ratcheting up the anxiety coursing through him. His surprise must have been written all over his face, because Bethany laughed again.
She'd been in those photos? Bethany had set the whole thing up? Why? I don't get it. What did I ever do to her?
“Bachelor party, lots of drinks and carousing. Nobody noticed one more stripper added to the mix. All it took was a long red wig, a couple of pasties and a G-string. Voila, one cheating husband served up in living color.”
“You bitch!”
“Ah, ah, language, Connor.”
Bethany took a step forward, the gun never wavered in her grasp, the barrel pointed dead center at his chest. Connor stayed frozen in place, determined to keep her focus off Alyssa and on him. All that mattered, everything that mattered, was keeping her safe.
“You made it too easy to slip a little something extra in your beer.” Bethany giggled wildly at her own words, gleefully rubbing salt in his wounds with every word. “After a couple of minutes, I led you away from the party, ensuring us a bit of privacy. Couldn't have been simpler. Worked like a charm, too. Poor little wifey, husband cheats and denies it, proclaims his innocence, even while the proof is staring him in the face in vivid bright detail, high-def even.”
Alyssa squirmed in the chair moaning and though it broke his heart into a million razor-sharp shards, he ignored her, keeping all his focus on Bethany and the gun in her hand. Remy would be coming through that door any minute and they'd take down the crazy bitch. Then he'd help Alyssa, get her to safety, and keep her safe for the rest of their lives.
“So, Connor, who'd you bring with you?” Bethany strode forward a couple of steps, placed the barrel of the gun against his chest and leaned forward. Whispering in his ear, barely audible above the staccato pounding of his heartbeat, she said, “I know you. You'd never come alone.”
“Who would I have called? I was on the road minutes after I found Alyssa gone.”
“Come on, Connor. You had a cell phone, so you probably called . . . Remy. Yeah, that's who you'd call.” Bethany sinuously slid her body along Connor's, keeping the gun pointed squarely at his head now, and moved around behind him, draping her arm across his shoulders and around his throat, tugging him back against her. The cool steel of the barrel pressed against his cheek, held firmly in her right hand, as Bethany rested her chin atop his left shoulder. He bit back a yelp as her teeth nipped his earlobe, pain shooting through the site. Jerking his head back only caused the gun to dig deeper into his cheek. Bethany's laughter echoed through the darkened space.
“Better come on in, Remy! It's time to play.” The only sound was a ragged moan from Alyssa as she struggled, her tape-bound arms and legs barely moving. No sounds emerged from outside. Even the insects and birds were eerily silent.
“If I have to ask you again, Remy, I'll put a bullet in Connor's pretty little wife. Get your ass in here!”
Seconds passed like an eternity for Connor, stretching through an infinite gaping black hole of despair as he faced an unfathomable dilemma. If Remy came in, there was no rescue. If he didn't, Bethany would kill Alyssa.