Intimate Danger (Empire Blue) (24 page)

Echols’ touch paused and without warning, a sharp slap burned against her thigh. She winced and bit her lip to hold in the cry of pain.

“Open your eyes, Charlie.”

She refused, tried to fight against trembling.

The next slap came across her face like a bat.
Agony blossomed over her cheek and throbbed in time with her thigh. She punched breath out between parted lips against the pain.

“Open. Your. Eyes. Charlie.” Each word a punctuated command.

Maybe he’d lose his temper. Maybe he would finish her like this.

Echols’ hands wrapped around her thighs and spread her legs, and his hips moved against hers. She muffled a whimper, refus
ed to give in to this. Denied taking part in his fantasy.

With a growl, he wrenched away from her, brutally tossing her legs aside. The bed shifted as
her weight leveled. She stared at him standing at the side of the bed, murder evident in his excited eyes.

“You’re gonna wish you played along, Charlie.”

He spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. As soon as he disappeared, she tugged on the cuffs again. They didn’t budge, and her gaze flew around the room frantically. Nothing was in reach, and she remained on display for him to do with as he pleased once he returned. The realization that she had just made it worse, what he’d do to her, drove her fear up until she felt like she was choking.

S
he studied the slats of wood the chain of her cuffs were wrapped around. No thicker than an inch and a half, maybe two, wide, they also looked thin. She inched her arms up remembering something from her childhood and her father explaining force and reaction. She hadn’t known what he was talking about then, barely understood it now, but she had to try.

The chain met the top of the slat and the plank of wood. She wrapped one hand around the other and tugged with all her might. The wood creaked, and hope burn
ed in her chest. Excited, she let up and tried again, this time with more might. The wood groaned, and she let out a soft, startled laugh, and pulled harder. Her head pounded with the effort, and the metal from the cuff dug like shards of glass into her skin, but adrenaline surged muting most of the pain. She pulled harder, held her breath, and right as she was about to deem it worthless, the wood snapped and broke. Her cuffed hand came away, and she laughed with relief, amazed it worked.

She braced to move, tug
ging on her still attached wrist, when footsteps approached from the hall. Her gaze darted around the room, nothing in reaching distance. In a split moment decision, she lay back on the bed, reached her arm up again as if still bound.

He stopped in the doorway, and she met his gaze. H
e tracked a leering, lusty path down her body. Her stomach revolted at the sight of a longer blade—some twelve inches—in one hand and a—
Oh dear, God!—
dildo in the other. The thing was huge. Even in the dark, the purple veins stood out against the hot pink background and she knew exactly what he would do with it.

She understood him all too well.

He padded over to the bed, reached down with the knife, and set it under one band of her panties, the thin strap at her hip doing nothing to shield her. He tugged, gave a snap of his wrist, and the blade sliced through the material like a table knife through warm butter. He repeated the action on the other side until her underwear lay against her.

Echols set the tip of the blade under her navel.

“Change your mind?”

She pressed her lips together.

He nodded and drew the tip of the knife in a slow path along the center of her stomach. Her body shook as it bit into her skin until it reached the top of her groin. Still, he continued, licking his lips as he drew the cloth covering her sex away with the knife. The sharp blade trailed to the side, and he pushed into her skin harder, pressing along the crease of her thigh.

“Open your legs, Charlie.”

He didn’t even look at her, instead focused on her bared sex. She clenched her teeth together, rotated her free wrist. He ran out of patience, pushed the knife harder against her skin and she cried out in pain, unable to hold it in.

“Now.”

She jerked to move, tears welling.

“Slowly, Charlie. Wouldn’t want you to bleed out, just yet.”

She moved slower, opened her thighs until she was completely bare to him. The knife made a pass over her nether lips, just the tip, but she went rigid as pain sliced. Charlie focused on the man above her, watched as he bent over her. A buzz filled the air. The dildo came into view and he pressed the length into his mouth, licking it in a crude fashion before pulling it out with a pop.

Her stomach revolted. He leaned closer and hovered the vibrator a hairsbreadth from her clit. The air hummed, and she fought to control her body. He did this to his victims, made them feel the shame of pleasure as he tortured them.

Never again.

She reared up, brought her free hand in the air and
brought it down hard across his face. The metal from the cuffs cut along his skin, slammed against his temple, and a red geyser spewed in the air. She hit him repeatedly, pounded all her fear, pain, anger, and unmistakable grief into him, until it felt as if she poured it out, like water flying out from a dam.

His body collapsed on her legs, and she
sprang into action, knowing she only had so much time, or maybe nothing at all. She wrapped her pulsating hand around her bound wrist and yanked the chain, heaved with all her might. Her back muscles cramped and howled painfully against her shoulders, but she kept tugging. Metal cut through her skin and she cried out as she continued to break the restraints.

The wood groaned, snapped, and she t
eetered, flew to the side. She folded at an odd angle with Echols still lying on her legs. She thrashed, kicked at him until she pulled free.

Scrambling across the bed, she tumbled to the floor and a deep, pained groan c
ame from behind.

“You bitch!”

She tried to gain her bearings, crawling while agony licked across every part of her body. Her jacket. She needed to get to her jacket.
Only five more feet, Charlie. Come on!

Movement from behind, the t
elltale sound of a round chambered just as she grabbed the stock of her Glock. She rolled to her back, pain splintering her arms, wrist, thighs. Raised the weapon. Time seemed to go too slow. The weight of the gun pulled on her arms. Lifting her gaze, she fought to control her spinning vision and found Echols staring at her from the opposite side of the bed, his service weapon trained on her chest. The red laser was bright against the pale wash of her skin. He gave a crooked grin and tensed.

The shock of a gunshot echoed through the air.

Chapter Eighteen

Trent pulled up behind the chief’s cruiser, gravel spitting beneath his own, and scanned the dark yard. He shut off the engine and pushed open a door, stepped out of the car, and met Woolsey’s gaze for a moment. The chief walked along the side of Charlie’s cruiser, but Trent wasn’t focused on that. Instead, he took in the dark windows of the house, the quietness enveloping the area like a thick fog. No crickets chirped, no cars sounded in the distance, the howl of the wind even missing. Silence played a chilling game, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood seconds before a loud gunshot rocked the air.

“Christ!”

He ducked behind the side of his vehicle and reached for the service weapon hidden at the small of his back. He caught the chief’s gaze as the man bent behind Charlie’s car, his pistol wrapped around large hands. His pulse thundered in his ears, amplified now in the sudden silence after that loud shot.

“You see anything?” Woolsey
barked the question through the still air.

Trent picked his head up over the black hood and scanned the edges of the trees,
thankful the moon was full tonight and gave him a bit of light. From what he could tell, without the light from above, this area would be pitch black. Unusually full, it shone like an orbiting lamp, helping with what was left of his night vision.

He shook his head
in answer to the chief’s question.

“Nothing.”

He took a step to the front end of his car, Charlie’s cruiser a foot from his bumper.

“Easy, son. You don’t want to go rushing in there. You don’t know what you’re gonna come up against. Be smart, fall back on your training.”

He ground his teeth together, fighting against the urge to run for the front door. Charlie had to be inside. His intuition screamed he needed to hurry, bust down the door, grab and scuttle her away to somewhere safe. Protective instincts ran through him like a freight train going eighty miles an hour. His hands tightened around the stock of his gun, and the hard rubber gave him comfort, a reminder of who he was.

Peeking around the front bumper, he scanned the yard again.
It was empty. He looked to the chief, knowing—no, needing—to move. “I need you to cover me. I want to move up and will hold position at the front door to cover you as you come up. I can’t just sit here.”

Woolsey’s brows drew together, and his lips pursed as if he were going to argue.
If he did, Trent would go without him.

Instead,
the chief nodded.

“Good. On three. One…” Trent braced a hand against the car. “Two…” He waited a beat and pushed
off the vehicle, lifting his gun as he made his way across the yard in quick, sure steps. His weapon stayed steady in front of him, and he took it all in, including the still house. It was too damn quiet. He bounded up the wooden steps to the porch and pressed his back to the wall next to the door. His heart pounded in his ears, and his throat was dry.

He listened, tried to push past the steady beat in his ears before he lifted his fist, and dropped it again, a universal sign to proceed.

He didn’t watch the chief cross the yard, but instead focused on the quiet coming from the house, the wooded areas surrounding them. Seconds later Woolsey stood next to him breathing heavy.

“You sound a bit out of breath there, chief.”

“Hell, if my patrolmen could see me now, they’d make sure I joined them in PT each week.”

Trent li
fted the side of his mouth, understanding the need for humor in the tense time. Some people broke out in tears when stressed, others ran the other way. Apparently the chief made jokes, something he could appreciate.

“Getting up in age, old man? Surely you’re joking.”

Woolsey snorted. “I made a call in as you crossed the yard. Patrol is coordinating with county PD to get some backup out here. It’s too quiet.”

His lips thinned. “
You noticed, too. I won’t wait, Chief.”

“I know, son. I don’t blame you. Let’s go get our girl.”

He nodded, agreeing with more than going inside. Charlie was his girl. He took a deep breath, his chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks at the realization. His closed his eyes briefly and pictured her smiling face. If it were possible, his heart swelled at the sight. She lit his world, much like the sun basked the Earth. She gave him the energy he’d needed to get through the rough shit he’d been dealing with his mom. She drove him to want to be a better, stronger man. All for her.

Christ, what a time to realize it.

The chief nudged him in the shoulder, and stared in his eyes, his face softening at something he must have seen.

“Understand, son, no matter what we find inside. She care
s for you. I’ve never seen her so hung up on a man. You better do right by her.”

He swallowed, pushed down the knot in his throat, and spun in a circle as he pivoted and stepped in front of the entrance. He pulled back on the screen door, and the chief stood to the side. A loud boom slammed into the air as Woolsey’s boot met the wooden door. Before he could blink, they both entered the dark ho
use, the chief low, he above, scanning the interior.

Quiet.

His pulse kicked, and he pushed past Woolsey, entering the kitchen and great room. A needle lay on the dark counter top, but he didn’t stop. The urge to find Charlie screamed at him, especially if that needle had any implications on the scene. His gut flipped, and he spun around to make his way down the hall.

He peeked in each open door until he came
to the last room on the right. The chief stepped up behind him, and Trent stared at the door, scared to move, fear at what they’d meet on the other side a living thing in his veins. The house was too fucking quiet!

His hands tightened around his gun again, and he lifted his foot, kicked it forward, and the door slammed against the sidewall. He took in the mussed bed, broken wooden slats littering the white pillow. He stepped to the side of the bed and sucked in a sharp breath. Echols’ prone body lie on the floor, pain-filled eyes pointed to the ceiling.
A dark spot spread from center mass on his chest, what Trent suspected must be blood and a result of the gunshot they had heard outside.

The chief’s harsh curse had him spinning around. His stomach rushed up his throat, bile, hot and heavy
at the sight of Charlie’s pale frame slumped against the wall. Her hair was like a dark nest around her head, a shocking contrast against the white wall. Naked, but for a bra, she trembled violently. Her gaze jerked around the room, pulsing back and forth between him and the chief, like a skittish animal caught in a hunter’s trap.

He took a step forward and the familiar sound of a gun cocking turned him to stone. He froze. Charlie pointed the Glock at him, the muzzle shaking, but aimed center mass on his body.

“Drop the fucking weapon, Rossi.”

Like he’d been holding a hot coal
, he lifted his hands, tossed the weapon on the bed where it bounced once and settled. Her voice was like the gravel in the drive, raspy and strangled.

“Charlie, we just want to help.”

Trent glanced at the chief as he spoke and back at Charlie. She looked so damn vulnerable and scared huddled against the wall. Nothing like the strong woman he had come to know over the past couple of weeks.

“You may want to help, Uncle B. But he, he
knew
him. They trained together, they were partners. You can’t be blind to this!”

Charlie shouted the
last few words at him, accusation in her face. Tears slid unabashed down her cheeks and had his heart thundering in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, hated that he couldn’t. Her instinct for survival was in full gear. The mood stretched over her features, over the tight, quivering muscles of her body. One wrong shake of her finger against that trigger, and he’d be the next on the ground.

“Charlie,” he began slowly, “I didn’t know. I swear to you.”

“Bullshit,” she spat. Her face twisted in agony. “You fucking knew.” The words choked out of her, her pain tangible. She put the back of one of her hands against her mouth to try and capture a sob. He stepped forward, then stopped when she lifted the gun.

“Christ, Charlie. Think for a moment. I had no clue. Let me come to you. You’re scared and cold. You need help, let me give it to you. I would never hurt you. I swear on it.”

“You sure are swearing a lot tonight, Rossi. I wouldn’t make any promises you can’t keep. How can I trust anything you say? Where were you this time? You’ve shown me a few times just how much I can depend on you, huh? Tonight—now? No different.”

Woolsey inched his way to the side, bent to put his fingers at Echols
’ neck. “Christ, he’s still alive.”

She glanced over at the chief, then came back to him. Her eyes, normally a beautiful hazel were dark as the night outside
, the pupils wide. She was on the edge of tumbling off a cliff into losing it.

“
I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “You can’t understand how much I am, but okay, you want me to back off, I will. Just answer me this one question.”

“Fuck you.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, her words slicing through his chest. He hated to ask, but he needed to know. “Are you okay? Did he—did he hurt you?”

His voice grew strangled and he had to take a deep breath.

“Get out, Rossi. Get out of here before I show you how well I am.”

He forced down the denial. Now wasn’t the time. He could
n’t argue her into listening, and she denied him the opportunity to comfort her with the gun in her hand. So he gave her the only thing he could. Time. He cared enough to give it to her. Without a word, he turned for the door and stepped out in the hall. His footsteps echoed in his ears, sounding heavy and desolate, just like his heart.

He stepped out on the porch,
and the thick, heated air wrapped around him like a cloak. His mind spun with questions, and his chest ached. Lights flashed across the lawn as four patrol cars skidded to a stop. He grabbed his badge, lifted it and his hands in the air as the county boys ran up.

One young officer moved across the green lawn, a gun trained on Trent until he stepped up closer and recognized the flash of gold he held. A
fter a nod from the cop, he pulled his arms down, motioned over his shoulder with his head.

“They’re inside. Last door on the right down the hall.” He swallowed and called out as the patrolman moved past
, then remembered the state of her undressed. “And knock before you open that damn door.”

With a deep, troubled sigh, he stepped off the porch and headed for his vehicle, needing to make a few calls.