From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two (33 page)

Chapter 42

Joselyn Whyte

You unravel me, with a melody

A soft reassurance wove into Joselyn’s subconscious.

You surround me with a song

It sounded like a chorus of angels singing, the words latching deep into her heart. Like a song she didn’t know but had heard somewhere was tuned to a frequency in her head.

Of deliverance, from my enemies, till all my fears are gone.

The sweet sound unfurled some deep, abiding peace that was only counteracted by an interval of breath-stealing sharpness hammering nails into her temples.

Something jarred her from the trance of the lullaby. She went airborne for a suspended moment, and then the music severed on the gasp that ripped from her lungs as her body crashed back down to earth.

Her head landed with a thud. Pain exploded behind her eyes, and a spark of lightning fractured the darkness before it settled back to black with a blink.

Her eyes were open, weren’t they? Why couldn’t she see anything?

The vibration beneath her ceased for a moment and then changed pitch, rolling her body forward.

Jerking her arms out was instinctual, but something pinched at her wrists. One arm was trapped beneath her, the other tethered to the first, leaving her helpless to brace for impact.

She splayed her legs to impose some sense of stability, but it was too late. Her skull banked hard against the wall, a hot rush of pain tugged at her consciousness. Sedation fell over her like a smothering blanket.

But then an engine revved, shocking her back to life when her heart mimicked the acceleration.

An engine! The rumble that shook her body was mutually exclusive to the tremors of panic that rattled her bones.

Her head hadn’t hit a wall. A trunk! She was in the trunk of a car—which explained why the scrap of wool exfoliating her face smelled like a sweaty gym bag.

A slithering cold caressed her skin as it all came flooding back. The gala. Finn. The alley. The flash. The car. Sal.

Oh, Sal!
Joselyn felt a trickle of warmth crest her cheek and sting in her nose. Had he survived?

Would she?

The car slowed and started to veer. Joselyn was able to anticipate the tumble of her body and braced her legs against the far end of the dark, empty space.

She strained to remember the last few minutes before blacking out. Had anyone seen her get taken? Did she even want to know where she was headed?

And could she escape the clutches of death again without Finn protecting her?

Finn
. She allowed herself only a moment of reflection to review the highs and lows of the evening. Those perfect moments in his arms could nearly erase all the devastation he left in his wake. Almost.

Man, she was a mess for that boy. A brainless, pathetic mess.

Oh Lord, why him? Why do I love a man I shouldn’t? And how is it possible, after all the ways he’s hurt me, that I still ache for him?

Catching herself mid-prayer, Joselyn couldn’t shake the feeling that God was, in fact, listening. That maybe He
did
care. She’d spent the better part of her life hurt and bitter, blaming him for the cruel and unrelenting losses that robbed her of her family, her childhood, her innocence … But in spite of all that, for the first time in her life, here on this final ride, she’d reached a place of surrender. She finally felt
worthy
of love. Not because she’d earned her stripes, but because of the one who had taken them for her. 

The car pulled hard to the right and caught her off guard. Forcing her onto her back, the pin turn shoved her head toward the side, but since her arms, while still bound at the wrist, were now free from the trappings of her body, she managed to shield her skull from another hard blow.

Slowing on what she gathered was a gravel road, the spitting clank of rocks shot up and pelted the underside of the car.

A gulp of air turned sour in her stomach.

They were almost there–wherever her final destination would be. Full-blown hysteria was ready to pounce, and she could feel the terror tightening its binds to render her defenseless against the predator.

There was nothing to be seen in the dark, so she closed her eyes.

She could see … her mother. Clear as the crystalline blue of her irises. With an easy smile, and a light of glory in her eyes, Joselyn could sense her complete joy. She felt herself reach out, but her mother was vanishing, flecks of light and color scattering like ants.

Her breathing shuddered and then eased, filling her lungs with strength. There was nothing but darkness, but Joselyn felt enlightened and ready to claim her life. Maybe she was meant for more than mourning. More than merely surviving. Seeing that vision of her mother, she knew it was time to let the ghosts of the past rest and really live.

Not real great timing for that particular revelation, but she still had a chance.

A hasty minute later she had formulated the only semblance of a plan she could think of. Coiling up into a ball, she lifted the fabric of her dress and untangled her legs. Poised and ready to strike, she closed her eyes, and lay as still and lifeless as she could manage.

The barrage of kicked up stones made a marked decrease in frequency. The gentle whine of the brakes squealed what sounded like an inch below her ear.

This is it.

Her heart rate hitched up a notch, but she combated the assuaging panic with unuttered prayers and a final deep breath as the slam of the driver’s side door signaled the end of the ride. The haunting crunch of the gravel planted images of charred and crushed bones beneath the murderer’s feet.

Her lungs constricted, battening down for the storm, as if the last moments of safety afforded by the sealed walls of the trunk were winding down to zero.

Fear not for I am with you …

At that moment, the first verse she’d read from Sadie’s Bible dangled like a lifeline, the words grabbing on before the terror could pull her under.

The slipping sound of fitting metal sheared at the lock, and the door lifted away.

Still as death, Joselyn didn’t dare open her eyes and lose her only advantage of surprise. One second of distraction could be the difference between life and death.

She could hear nothing but the muted breaths of her attacker, but it was enough to approximate a location.

Please, God. Let this work.

Allowing only a moment to distract him with the indecently exposed length of her leg to the scant fabric of her panties, she cracked her eyes and locked on to her target as he bent forward.

Now! Joselyn snapped her leg like a striking cobra. Those kick-boxing classes had been worth their weight in peanut butter M&M’s.

The kick caught him by surprise, but he managed to rear back, her foot only glancing off his chin. But her heel did manage to clip his neck. From the croaking sound that escaped the man, his windpipe.

Throwing her legs over the lip of the trunk, Joselyn’s feet slammed down on a tundra of rocks. She bit back a gasp.

Clutching the hem of her dress in one hand, she grasped the wheezing man’s shoulder and jerked him toward the thrust of her knee.

He wailed his distress and cupped his groin.

Joselyn dropped her skirt, gripped the man’s coat front with both hands and yanked his face down toward the open truck. She shoved against his backside, trying to force him in and feel for his keys at the same time.

Come on!
Grinding her teeth, she grunted, hefting the enormous man with all of her might, and then some.

Only problem was, he didn’t fit.

The compact trunk space of the old blue Civic would not accommodate his bulky frame.

Hope slipped loose like a tendril of her hair on the wayward wind. The sound of their struggle like reverb intruding upon the crisp winter silence.

Her attacker tried to jerk back, but she saw it coming and slammed the trunk atop his head, momentarily collapsing him back down. Her mind washed of any reasonable defense.

Without knowing any other course of action Joselyn slammed the door down once, twice, three times more to buy some time and ran.

The frozen stones, seemingly sharpened to arrowheads, cut into her tender feet. Tearing at the flesh, her feet grew slick with each agonizing step, the shooting pain catapulted up her legs and weakened her knees.

Scanning the long, deserted drive, Joselyn’s heart collapsed. There was nowhere to run. No one would see her. Or hear her. 

She forged on, racing toward the cover of trees that never seemed to get any closer.

Her breaths came heavy, and through the huff of white air and the sorrow spilling from her eyes mourning her wasted life, she saw only a tiny peek of the waning moon—a reminder of hope pouring out over the bleak and sinister night.

Joselyn felt her pursuer more than heard him. The crunching rocks should have given it away, but the adrenaline pounding in her ears drowned out all other noise.

It told her all she needed to know. Her heart was still beating. That meant, if only for the moment, she was still alive.

Chapter 43

Finn Carson

“That stupid jerk! No one stands up Missy Rollins! Wait until that little twerp sees what I write on Facebook, he’ll be ruined.”

The artificial redheaded basket case couldn’t seem to stay on point. Finn was more than tempted to slap her.

Thankfully Archer intervened. “Miss Rollins, we know you’re upset about your date, but this is important. After you saw the flash of light from your window you said you saw a car.”

Missy nodded, and as if suddenly aware of her male company, she adjusted her top and smoothed a hand over her hair before pulling out a flirtatious smile.

Finn’s hand twitched. Lord, help him, he would not strike a woman.

“Yeah, I saw a navy blue car. Not sure what kind. I only saw it from the top when I was checking my window for Lance. That pig!” She snarled. “I mean. My date. Just my date, not my boyfriend or anything.” The phony smile was back. “I’m single.” Her lashes batted.

Was that Archer’s teeth grinding or Finn’s?

“Even if you can’t give us make or model, what about size. Midsize sedan, coupe? Anything you remember would be helpful.”

The aloof witness smacked her gum and gave a poor imitation of a thoughtful pose. “I think it was small, Agent Hayes. Yes, definitely small. Like a little two-door. And it looked like the paint was peeling off the roof because there was like some silver and rusty metal showing through.”

There was a knock at the door, and the uniform that caught the lead went to answer. When the door swung open it revealed a spiffed up meathead with a quizzical brow and a bouquet of pink roses.

“Uh … Hi, Officer.” The guy’s gulp was loud enough to hear from across the room. “I’m here for my date with Missy, sir.”

“Lance!” The flighty redhead must have forgotten her peeve and rushed to the door to receive her bounty.

“Sorry I’m late. I was only running a few minutes behind, but then the cops wouldn’t let me in.” Looking as nervous as a schoolboy, Lance woodenly thrust out the flowers. “Here. I got you flowers.”

Flowers. Flowers.
Something wormed around in Finn’s brain. Something other than the scent of fresh cut blooms and first date awkwardness.

“Flowers!” Finn blurted as the first tentative pieces clicked together.

Archer turned, his eyes narrowed from the strange outburst. “What about ’em?”

“Joselyn kept saying something about the flowers and how she thought they’d come from her dad. Something about white lilies is significant.” And something was warning him not to shrug off his hunch that the flowers were somehow linked to Joselyn’s father. He looked to Archer to produce some sort of a connection, and bless Archer for his discernment, he went with it.

They bolted from Missy Rollins’s loft with the lovely view of the alley and went to facedown the bulldog himself.

“Well, what’s he saying?” Finn fidgeted in the passenger seat of Archer’s Suburban. His anxiety manifesting in a manic restlessness that had him uncrossing and recrossing his legs and arms more than a dozen times during the maybe three-minute phone call between Archer and Declan Whyte.

Archer held up a finger. “Umm-hmm. I understand that, sir, but I’ll decide what is and isn’t relevant at this point.”

Come on! Come on!

“Mr. Whyte, we will keep you apprised. But if you ever interfere with an FBI investigation again I’ll charge you with obstruction of justice, are we clear?”

Dang.

While the anticipation was excruciating, Finn had to admit he felt a smidgen of satisfaction that someone had put the mighty Declan Whyte in his place.

“We’ll be in touch.” Archer signed off. Heaving out a burdened breath, he stalled one second too long for Finn’s liking.

“Archer, you spit it out this second, or heaven help me—”

“Okay, okay. You were right about the flowers. Declan’s flower of choice for his bereaved employees is white lilies.”

“What, you mean like he sends them to his workers’ funerals?”

Archer nodded. “And their families. Company courtesy for the loss of a loved one. Now we’ve got something to go on.” Plucking his cell phone from his pocket, Archer dialed out and barked a slew of orders to someone at the FBI while weaving with a sort of maniacal precision through downtown traffic toward the FBI building.

“The breach in security was Declan Whyte’s fault.” Archer slammed his fist down on the steering wheel, the deadly growl of his words so low Finn strained to hear him over the heavy hush of rain and sleet. “All that money, and the man can’t even buy a lick of sense.

“He paid off the guard to allow his own henchmen in undetected. Told the guy at the back to walk away from the door and let those Gill and Royce clowns in for a little added protection.” The laugh that emerged was anything but comical. “They were the ones that chased you guys up to the safe room. His taking matters into his own hands left us vulnerable for attack.”

Finn ground his teeth to keep from swearing. “But how did the kidnapper know Joselyn would leave from that door specifically?”

“He didn’t. He had those homemade flash grenades hidden at every entrance. He sat around and waited. Probably had some of his own surveillance set up so he’d know which one to trigger if he got the chance.

“It guess it didn’t matter if the guard was there or not. I trust Sal over any one of those uniforms, and even he couldn’t stop him. The real problem was the diversion of those giant Scottish goons that pulled all of our resources inside. Even this psychopath couldn’t have anticipated that kind of luck.”

Within minutes they were bursting through the door of the FBI office. Activity hummed in the bullpen. Several agents rushed at Archer, all seeming to talk at once.

While they wove though the hive to Archer’s office, Finn understood that some of the agents were running all the plates from the vehicles that popped up on the traffic cams. Others were compiling a list of past and current Whyte employees and family members that had received a bouquet of white lilies per the company records released by Joselyn’s father.

Archer seemed to have gleaned more from the chaos than Finn and bossed a bunch more people around. All of whom scurried away to do his bidding without the slightest hesitance.

If anything ever happened to Finn, he’d want Archer heading up the investigation. The man was a machine.

The spate of activity was keeping Finn’s mind from wandering to a dark place. Silent prayers looped on an unspoken and almost mindless repetition, somehow keeping the anarchy clawing at his insides from cutting him to ribbons.

“I’d wager anything he took that exit there.” Archer pointed to the DOT schematic on the white board in his office, talking more to himself than Finn. “He’s too smart—too prepared—to risk being caught on camera, and that Forest Park cut through is the only one that avoids every traffic cam in the area.” Archer stormed around to his desk.

Finn followed and looked over Archer’s shoulder at the lists emerging on his computer. “So … you’re
not
going to look at these traffic cam photos?”

“It’s a dead end. I can feel it. I’ve got a few people on it, but we can’t afford to waste any more time.”

Finn dropped the folder and fought the urge to pace. “Okay, then what’s our next move?”

Archer snatched a stack of sheets spitting out of the printer and shoved roughly half of them at Finn. “Let’s start looking over these employee records. Don’t seem to be more than a hundred deaths for employees or family members for the last two years, so let’s get through these. There has to be a link here.”

Dropping to the chair in front of Archer’s desk, Finn started poring over the depressing files of factory mishaps and heart attacks, cancers and car accidents. Archer did the same. They worked in silence for no more than five minutes when Finn caught a break.

Tobin Devore
. “Bingo! This has gotta be him.” Finn scanned the page detailing the man’s loss. Losses. His stomach jammed up in his throat.

Archer was instantly at Finn’s side. “Oh, man. Not good. And look at the date. It was never a decoy. He set Joselyn’s house on fire on the one-year anniversary.” With a whispered curse, Archer slipped back behind his desk and hammered the information against the keyboard. With the whip of his finger, a posse of agents returned to retask.

Excruciating minutes passed while Archer and the team scrounged for the whereabouts of the ghost of a man. The flurry of agents bounded in from the bullpen with updates on their search. All of which led nowhere. And all of which made Finn feel about as useful as a garden gnome.

All they had was a name. A former address. A former occupation with Whyte Enterprises as a scientist/inventor in research and development. Brilliant, not only from the looks of the file, but the orchestration of the elaborate revenge.

The information they managed to obtain over the next half hour was useless. Everything else came back blank. No credit cards. No active DMV records. No current residence. No next of kin. It was as if the man liquidated his life and disappeared.

Something in Finn snapped. Without a word he fled Archer’s office. The fear pinched around his neck, hopelessness rising up to drown him. He needed air.

He rounded the corner to the exit and collided with a woman. The files she’d been carrying scattered to the floor.

“Sorry,” he muttered and bent down to help retrieve the mess. He froze.

Laid out before him was a moment in time he’d never forget—the moment in the loft of Joselyn’s bedroom, his first unguarded glimpse of the heiress he’d loved and loathed from afar.

Except it wasn’t a dream. He was actually seeing it. The surprisingly artful photography of Joselyn’s peeping Tom, Stuart, now lay before him.

Clinging to something, anything to feel close to her, Finn raked up the rest of the photos and refreshed his mind with the sweet memories of the night the tide had turned for them. Or for him, at least.

Oh man, that’s it!
Finn pushed the pictures at the woman and ripped another sheet of paper from her hand.

Stuart
.

These pictures were only from that one night. There had to be more.

Maybe Joselyn having a stalker would be the key. With Stuart being so dedicated to all things Joselyn, maybe he had unwittingly caught Tobin Devore on camera. Or captured some clue to where he might’ve taken Joselyn. His heart buoyed with the possibility, fresh adrenaline charging through his veins.

Declan Whyte’s stuffy business partner’s words from hours earlier came hurtling back.

“… can’t believe you ever let Tobin go. Heard he really lost it after what happened to his family.
”

The man lost his family, his home, and his job, all at the hands of Declan Whyte.

And now, Finn feared, he was out to even the score.

“Stuart!” The force of Finn’s fist splintered the door panel. “Open the door, now!” he roared.

Having pilfered Stuart’s home address from the spilled contents of the file and the keys to Sal’s Dodge Challenger from his desk—
sorry, bro
—Finn left to get answers, by any means necessary. He’d called Archer while he was en route and may have promised that he would wait until Archer arrived to confront Stuart about his “surveillance” photos.