Authors: Leslie Tentler
She stilled as his touch moved to the flat plane of her stomach. Even in the midst of their passion she hadn’t forgotten the scabbed numeral—The Collector’s mark, his forever claim on her. Eric’s brow furrowed as he looked at it. She cupped his face, gently tugging his gaze back to hers.
Don’t let him come between us.
Mia rolled onto her side, kissing him full on the mouth, wanting to take away the dark thoughts. Her hand moved to his hardened member, gripping him, pumping him, until he could take no more. With a strangled cry, he rolled with her until he was on top of her again, his breathing shallow and labored.
“I want to be inside you,” he rasped, his voice melting her.
Mia felt the hard weight of his body as he positioned himself over her. She gasped, losing her breath as he entered her in a single, deep thrust. He was large, and she felt her body stretching to accommodate the size of him. Throat arched, she gripped his shoulders as he drove into her, until he captured her wrists, pinning them against the bed’s coverlet on either side of her head.
“Look at me, Mia,” he urged huskily.
Her eyes fluttered open at her name. Staring into her face, his strokes gentled and slowed. They found a rhythm. She wrapped her legs higher around him, inviting him even more deeply inside her as his mouth recaptured hers. He rode her until she was half out of her mind, until she was begging for more and his thrusting became faster and more urgent again. Mia felt her own climax approaching as his teeth nipped at her throat.
“Ah, God,” he uttered finally, coming hard. Mia cried out at nearly the same time, her inner walls clenching around him. Panting heavily, he burrowed his face into her shoulder, spent.
A short time later, she lay beside him, having covered them both with an extra blanket from the foot of the bed. Eric’s breathing had slowed and deepened. He was beautiful, unguarded in his slumber, the pain and tension from earlier gone from his face. She suspected he’d had enough to drink to give him a headache in the morning.
Sleep,
Mia thought, watching him as she wondered again what had upset him. She slid her fingers through his short, thick hair.
Just sleep.
They hadn’t talked after their encounter. There had been no promises or pronouncements of feelings and emotions. Mia had been his escape from something—she understood and accepted that.
She wondered whether to spend the night or slip away under cover of darkness. Whether he would want her there in the morning. Feeling restless and uncertain, she rose carefully so as to not wake him, then padded from the darkened bedroom into the cottage’s no-frills living area with its faux leather couch, low end tables and television in an entertainment armoire. The place was tidy but minimalistic, ready for the use of vacationers. They had left the lights blazing. Nude, Mia closed the curtains.
At the table, she filled the glass tumbler with a generous portion of Scotch. As she sipped, her eyes studied the digital recorder. She suspected what it contained. Another woman’s final screams as she was tortured and murdered. Was it Anna Lynn Gomez? Was that what had shattered him so?
Mia’s journalistic intrigue called to her. But something told her she didn’t want to listen to the audio, didn’t want to invade Eric’s life in that way. His trust was more important to her. He would tell her about it if he chose. She stayed in the living room until she finished her drink, trying to decide whether to go.
Her need for him won out, however. Mia returned to the bedroom and slipped back under the blanket, settling next to him. She took comfort in his warm, smooth skin and steady breathing. He had turned onto his side in his sleep, and she pressed her lips against his back, closing her eyes.
She prayed neither of them would have regrets.
21
T
he shrill of a cell phone from somewhere outside the bedroom woke her. Mia heard Eric’s voice, low and barely audible as he spoke with whomever had called. Sitting up, she blinked sleep from her eyes. Pale morning light leaked between the window blinds, reminding her of her nudity and her clothes that had been left elsewhere in the bungalow. Climbing from bed, she slipped into the wrinkled dress shirt Eric had discarded the previous night.
He sat at the table outside the kitchen, wearing jeans and a white, V-necked T-shirt, his feet bare and hair rumpled. An open bottle of aspirin was on the table in front of him. She waited in the hallway until he finished his call.
“Something with the investigation?” she murmured, feeling vulnerable as she came forward, her arms crossed against her chest. Eric’s gaze fell over her, causing heat to infuse her face.
“That was Cam…I mean, Agent Vartran.” He offered no details of the conversation. Despite the sleep she knew he had gotten, he still appeared tired.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
“Like shit,” he admitted. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. I’m afraid I don’t have much else here.”
The digital recorder that had been on the table was now placed out of sight, she noticed. “Coffee’s good.”
In the small, galley-style kitchen, an automatic coffeemaker sat on the Formica counter, and she looked through the pinewood overhead cabinets until she found a partial set of chipped earthenware mugs. The coffee she poured was dark, as if it had been made hours ago.
“There’s no milk or sugar. Sorry.”
Mia turned. Eric stood in the doorway. She merely nodded and took a sip from the mug.
“I have to go in a little while,” he said. “We have a task force meeting this morning.”
Another Sunday meeting. Mia wanted to talk, to tell Eric about the case notes Hank Dugger had provided—she’d already started going through them—but now didn’t seem like the time to bring it up.
“I understand.” Placing the mug on the counter, she added, “And I should probably go find my clothes and start my walk of shame before it gets any lighter outside.”
“Hey,” he whispered as she moved past, turning sideways in the narrow entranceway to get through. Mia stilled and looked up at him. His striking, moss-green eyes appeared serious and troubled.
“I don’t take what happened between us lightly…I want you to know that.” His voice faltered. “It’s just been a long time for me, that’s all.”
“You were upset.”
“And a little drunk.” He clasped the back of his neck, sounding sheepish.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not someone who drinks to excess often,” she noted softly. “There was probably a good reason.”
He released a breath. But he still didn’t reveal to her whatever had been the source of his pain. She stood there, wearing only Eric’s shirt, her legs bare and their bodies nearly touching.
“I’m going to go,” she said, briefly laying her fingers against his chest. “You can take a shower and get where you need to be.”
Eric paced the oriental area rug in the psychiatrist’s office. It was late Monday afternoon and clouds were visible through the large picture window. The rapidly graying sky suggested a building thunderstorm, a common occurrence in the subtropical Florida climate.
“I’m concerned about continuing the therapy,” Dr. Wilhelm said from behind his desk, his fingers templed in front of him. He spoke not to Eric but to Mia. “While your outcomes have been remarkable, not just under hypnosis but also with regard to the repressed childhood trauma you’ve recalled, I’m worried by your adverse reaction to the drug dosage required to access your memories. Your blood pressure rose significantly last time and took a while to bring under control. That’s a potentially dangerous situation.”
Mia sat on the couch and seemed to contemplate what he had said before she spoke. “Karen Diambro is still missing. She’s probably still alive. I’d like to try again.”
Her dark-lashed eyes slid to Eric. “What do you think?”
He frowned. He believed she was close to making a breakthrough—on the verge of seeing or hearing something significant that could lead them to the unsub. But he didn’t want it to come at too high a cost to her. “Dr. Wilhelm, may I speak to Mia alone?”
The psychiatrist hesitated, as if he expected Eric to railroad a decision in his absence. He stood, however, and retreated from the room.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said once they were alone.
Mia stood and walked to him. Her eyes held his. “You don’t have any leads and we both know Karen Diambro is on borrowed time. As soon as another woman goes missing—”
“I don’t want you doing this for
me.
”
Hurt flickered over her features. When she spoke, her voice sounded strained. “I’m doing it for the women he murdered. And for the ones he
will
murder if he isn’t stopped.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the view outside the window had gotten darker. Eric sighed. Despite her willingness, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was using her. Just as he had two nights earlier to blot out his pain. Even now he recalled her soft skin, her taste. He’d been drunk, but not too drunk to remember every inch of her slender body. He worried that he’d treated her like a one-night stand—the sex had been too hard and too fast. She deserved better, deserved to be more than a distraction from the mess that had become his life. Their growing closeness was a complication.
“I signed a waiver when I began the therapy,” she reminded. “Neither you nor Dr. Wilhelm would be held responsible if something happened—”
“I don’t give a damn about
liability,
Mia. I care about your safety.” He took a few steps away and raked a hand through his hair, torn by his indecision. He knew how much was at stake here.
“Let me try again,” she urged.
A short time later, they called Dr. Wilhelm back. Eric stood by tensely as he once again prepared her to be put under hypnosis. The tubing around her upper arm, the injection, the lowered lights and the psychiatrist’s subdued voice as he spoke to her—he watched all of it much as a witness watches a death row execution. He knew it was for the common good, but it did little to quell his unease. Since Mia’s time under hypnosis was limited, they had previously discussed the best strategy for the session, which was to try to take her back to the point of her escape.
“I need you to return to the car you drove away in, Mia. The silver Acura,” Dr. Wilhelm stated gently once it appeared the drug had taken effect. He sat in the wing chair, which he’d pulled up next to the couch where she lay, her eyes closed and breathing slow and deep. “You’ve already escaped that terrible room, but you need to get far away. You’re twisting the loose wires under the dashboard to start the engine—you know how to do it.”
She didn’t speak for a long time, almost appearing to be asleep. Then Eric’s heart skittered as she suddenly jerked. “He’s banging on the window! It’s going to break!”
“Then you have to go, now. Put the car into Drive. Is it moving?”
“Y-yes. But I’m so dizzy. My vision’s blurred.” Her voice trembled. “Oh, God, I think he’s following me!”
“He’s not,” Dr. Wilhelm promised. “Just keep driving and tell me what you see.”
“It’s dark and it’s raining so hard. I’m swerving on the road! I—I can’t help it.”
“Are there street signs?”
“I—I can’t read them. Trees are blocking the streetlights and I’m going so fast…”
“Just keep driving.” Dr. Wilhelm exchanged a look with Eric, who stood close by. He realized again what a feat Mia had accomplished in getting away without wrecking the car and killing herself or others in her drugged state. It had been blind luck, literally.
“I’m on an interstate,” she said a short time later, voice still shaky. “I don’t know how I got here.”
“It’s all right. The interstate should be well lit. Look for signs.”
A jagged streak of lightning lit up the office window and thunder rolled overhead. Eric heard the patter on the roof as the storm broke. At least it was raining in Mia’s memory, too, decreasing the chance of it being a distraction. The interstate was her best chance of seeing something useful.
“I-95 North,” she murmured. “That’s what the road marker says.”
He felt a sense of triumph. It wasn’t a pinpoint location, but it narrowed the geographic area down. Wherever she’d been held, it was south of Jacksonville. Mia had apparently traveled up the interstate before turning east somewhere and driving onto the A1A that ran along the coast. He recalled the broken fencing at the site where she’d finally veered off the road outside Atlantic Beach.
“Keep looking,” Dr. Wilhelm prodded. “There might be an exit sign or a billboard. Tell me anything you see.”
She fell silent again. But something had changed. She began to squirm, her head lolling fitfully from side to side. Worried, Eric looked at Dr. Wilhelm, who leaned over her, alert to her stress. “Mia? What’s going on?”
She sobbed, her breath quickening. Her hands fisted at her sides.
“Mia, you must listen to me. Tell me what’s happening.” Already, he’d begun inflating the blood pressure cuff on her arm.
“I’m back in the room again. Oh, God. He…he has a knife!”
A coldness slid down Eric’s spine. They’d been warned this could happen—she could start out following Dr. Wilhelm’s suggestion, but her subconscious might wander elsewhere, to other memories more deeply entrenched.
She trembled harder, her voice breaking. “No! Please!”
Eric felt his pulse pound. “Bring her out of it. Now.”
“It’s not that simple.” Dr. Wilhelm glanced up at him, then returned his attention to the digital screen on the blood pressure unit. He frowned and shook his head. “Bringing her out too quickly could make her BP go even higher.”
Eric watched helplessly as she continued to thrash on the couch, her breathing growing more ragged. He should have never let her do this.
“Remember the theater where you’re safe, Mia?” Dr. Wilhelm said, trying to regain control. “I want you to go there now. Replace what’s going on around you with the blank theater screen. Stare at its whiteness. It’s cool and quiet there. Serene. The door’s locked so no one can come in. No one can hurt you—”
She screamed, her back arching off the couch. Blood rushed to Eric’s face. He knew what was happening, what the bastard was doing to her. He was carving the numeral into her skin. “Bring her out of it!”
Mia’s anguished cries were punctuated by broken sobs and gasps for air.
Dr. Wilhelm clapped his hands sharply in front of Mia’s face. “Wake up, Mia! You have to come back now!”
On his third attempt at jolting her awake, she sat upright, wheezing. Her face had a bluish pallor that scared the hell out of Eric. He took her by the shoulders.
“It’s all right, Mia. You’re back. You’re safe.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Blood from the scabbed cut on her stomach seeped through her white top. Dr. Wilhelm got another read from the device, then yanked the cuff off her arm. “Her BP’s skyrocketed. One-sixty over one hundred. We need to get her to the E.R., now!”