Their Summer Heat (21 page)

What an incredible conversation… “And killin’ people is not bad manners?”

“Think of us as moral vigilantes,” explained Calvin.

That was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard, and she didn’t believe them for a nanosecond. They loved the thrill, showed no remorse or guilt. “So, you’re finished killin’?”

“Afraid not,” said Collin. “The rest of the society bitches should pay.”

His brothers nodded in agreement.

Now she understood. They were a team, which made it easy to outsmart the FBI—they could be at two, three places at one time—like being in Virginia and Central Park.

“Who took pictures of me dancin’ at the…Prestons?”

“That would be dad,” said Calvin. “He used a remote control spy drone Cullen built.”

Dad?
There was one more maniac in this gang? “He spied on me while the rest of you stalked the women.”

They grinned, and she realized she shouldn’t be asking questions, should be focusing on escaping, but her head was still groggy. Getting answers would buy time—time for what, she hadn’t a clue, since nobody knew where she was. “So how did you determine which innocent woman’s life to take?”

“Whichever kill ensured success,” said Calvin.

Logical. Methodical
. “How did you know about the two ladies in the bathroom at the Wounded Warrior gala?”

“We had cameras all over that place,” said Cullen.

“But the FBI—”

“Didn’t find them because we removed them right before we left,” said Cullen.

The other two men smirked.

They were a team, a highly trained unit of sociopaths.

“Besides,” said Cullen. “I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

She slowly blinked. “What?”
That can’t be
. The FBI and those women never had a chance. “And the other two of you?”

“Collin’s a genius in the stock market,” said Calvin, “and I’m pretty good with computers. Money’s not an issue.”

Why did he speak of money? Was he comparing himself and his brothers to the Prestons? She didn’t give two flying figs about wealth.

“How did you find me?”

Collin grinned. “That wasn’t easy since there was no paper trail. Calvin hacked into the marshal service’s expense reports and used an algorithm to track the all the marshals’ movements. We had to follow a few, but the last one led us straight to you.”

Damn, wasn’t there anything they couldn’t do? This guys were incredible, so talented. If only they really worked for the good side.

“So, what happens to me now?”

“You, my sweet,” said Collin, “will be treated like royalty.”

“But I don’t want you to treat me like royalty. I want to go home.” She wasn’t even sure where home was anymore, but it certainly wasn’t here. She wanted her life back, needed to find out if the Prestons still wanted her, or if she needed to move on.

Collin grabbed her hand, and she resisted jerking away.

“Darling, you are home. I realize this is all new for you, but you’ll soon get to know each of us.”

Should she throw a fit or go along with everything for now? And what would happen when they found out she was carrying a baby? Did they expect her to have sex with them?

“Listen, I appreciate all you’ve done for me…”
Not really.
“But I don’t want to be here. You can’t keep me against my will. That’s called kidnappin’.” Like kidnapping was worse than homicide. “Now, if you let me go, I promise not to mention anything to the authorities. You can blindfold me and drop me off somewhere.”

“That’s not going to happen, sweetness,” said Calvin. “You’ll eventually get used to having us around. Now, you must be starving. Dad should return with the Chinese any minute. Why don’t we go downstairs?”

They moved in unison to help her out of bed. She wasn’t decrepit, but perhaps letting them think of her as weak might work to her advantage sometime in the future. When she stood, she swayed a tad.

“What was the stuff you drugged me with?”

“Chloroform.”

They had rearranged themselves, so she had no clue who had spoken, but it didn’t really matter. She wouldn’t put any effort into figuring them out. If they wanted her to know who was who, they’d have to wear fucking nametags.

She followed them down the stairs, noting most of the treads creaked. Taking a left into a little hallway, she noticed heavy curtains covered all the windows in the sitting area, so much so, she couldn’t determine what time of day it was.

In the kitchen, one of them pulled out her chair at a table. She sat and tried to calm her nerves. When the back door behind her opened, she couldn’t resist turning around.

“Dr. Stone!”

“Hi, my dear.”

Her body shook. A professor should protect his students, and this creep had ruined everything for her. She bolted from the chair, sending it crashing to the floor. “Dr. Stone, how could you?”

“These are my sons. They wanted you, and I’ll give them anything. One day, when you give me grandchildren, you’ll understand to what lengths you’ll go to support your children.”

Grandchildren. Dr. Stone thought she’d give him grandbabies? She swallowed hard, hope she hid her disgust. “Em, you never said anything about sons, only a daughter.”

Dr. Stone grinned. “I know. I don’t have a daughter, just three wonderful sons, but I thought you’d relate better to a female.”

She remembered him inviting her home, saying she could use his daughter’s room. Thank God she turned down his offer.

“Did you want a daughter? I noticed the canopy bed upstairs.”

“No, that was Mrs. Stone’s bed.”

Not
their
bed? “Why didn’t you ever mention your sons?”

Their dad set the takeout bags on the table and removed the contents. “I bought Kung Pau Chicken, Moo Shu Pork, Szechuan Chicken—”

“I’m not hungry. Why did you keep your family a secret?”

Someone set out the plates, while another one got the beers and silverware. One up-righted her chair, and she was so flabbergasted, she sat down at the table with four murderers.

The boys dug in to their meal, and she fought the bile rising in her throat, knowing she had to keep her secret for as long as possible.

“Please, answer my question,” she said.

“I didn’t know I had three sons until six years ago.” Dr. Stone smiled, his eyes crinkling like they always did. “You see, my dear, I used to be a serial rapist slash killer oh, some twenty-seven years ago, but the last woman didn’t die.” He piled Moo Shu Pork on a plate and placed it in front of her. “And because she was alive, I fled Colorado. Didn’t want to get caught, you see.”

No, I expect not.

“But when I went back to Colorado, I discovered she’d given birth to three sons seven and a half months after I left.”

“So you hooked up for a family reunion?”

“Yes,” said one of the sons.

“The boys, well, they just needed some training.”

This is so wrong on so many levels.
“So you turned them into…into…you.”

“Yes. You know I wrote that brilliant article on Heredity and the Serial Killer.”

Yes. They had studied it ad nausea, and she’d thought it was bullshit back then. “Did you guys ever kill before you met your dad?”

“Nope,” said one of them.

“Not even small animals?”

“Nah, he taught us everything we know.”

All three gave her triumphant grins.

“Well, Dr. Stone, because they became murderers after they met you, they don’t qualify as hereditary-induced serial killers. I think this is more of a dominant and subservient relationship.”

Yes, she understood Dr. Stone exuded charm in a subtle way. Did they have a daddy figure in their lives before Dr. Stone stepped in? She wanted to ask about their home life to ascertain his hold over them, but honestly didn’t give a damn, because she couldn’t win this argument. She wanted to ask if they understood their mom was raped and had been expected to die, thus leaving them unborn instead of an FBI agent, stock market whiz and computer hacker.

“No, my dear, they needed a nudge to open their eyes to the power. And they’re much more sophisticated than I ever was. All this technology. Flying the spy craft, well, that was spectacular.”

I’ll bet.

“Dr. Stone, you’re a scholar, for God’s sake.”

“Come on, Summer. You know it’s a sickness of the mind. I taught you that much.”

“The sickness needs treatment.” She glanced around the table. “Do you guys think you’re sick?”

“Of course not,” one said.

“Which one are you?”

“I’m Calvin.”

“Your dad just said it’s a sickness. How can you not know you’re sick?”

“Mental illness is not like a real sickness,” replied Calvin.

No…if left untreated, it’s a sickness of the worst kind.

She looked at the doctor, and he nodded in agreement. “They’re functioning people of society,” he added.

She resisted rolling her eyes. They were all delusional, no reasoning with any of them. She remained quiet, pushed her food around her plate as the men discussed plans for the next victim the same way most people discussed deer hunting. They knew the location of all the remaining ladies, knew how many agents were assigned to each one. She couldn’t believe they were talking about those women as if they were of no consequence.

“Do you believe in forgiveness?” she asked.

“I’m Cullen, and not when it comes to you.”

“Why?”

“They must pay for treating you like a…”

“Like the hick that I am,” she said.

“Don’t ever let me hear you say that,” Collin ground out. “You’re nothing but a beautiful, smart lady.”

Ah, the first real emotion.
“Collin, are you the one who cut my arm?”

His gaze narrowed. “I am, and I’m real sorry. I had to prove to the Prestons and Wallace that I—we—can get to you at any time.”

Sounded like a pissing contest only a killer could understand. “Where’s Mrs. Stone.”

“She’s downstairs. Come and meet her.”

The sons grinned, giving her an uneasy feeling. All three brothers politely stood, and Collin held her chair. She followed Dr. Stone down a flight of dark stairs, her nose twitching at the musky air. She held on to the railing, wondering if Mrs. Stone was assigned laundry duty. With a click, a pendulum swayed, casting a dim light, making the shadows dance. He motioned her to a white box. She stopped, stayed rooted in her position as fear slid over her skin and her belly roiled. He snatched her hand, pulled her even closer, and opened the lid.

Once again, she couldn’t force herself to look away. When the icy mist cleared, she saw a head with its mouth open in a silent scream.

And Summer screamed, too.

He quickly shut the lid and moved toward her. She backpedaled, fled up the stairs, tripping halfway up. She cleared the door and ran smack into a hard body.

“Easy,” said one of the triplets. He spun her around, her back to his chest, and engulfed her in his arms. The other two stood in the hall.

When Dr. Stone finally came back upstairs, he was red-faced and huffing, and she hoped he was about to suffer a cardiac arrest.

“What did you do to her?” she asked.

“She was getting too bitchy.”

“So you killed her?”

“No.”

Summer exhaled with relief.

“I killed her because she didn’t give me any children.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, but she sensed a hint of sadistic satisfaction in his tone. Before she could process what he’d said, the one holding her captive spoke up. “You have a choice to make, Summer. You need to pick which one of us you want to sleep with tonight.”

“So, you intend to rape me?”

“No,” said another one. “It’s just sleep. You will sleep with a different one of us each night.”

“Well, since you all look alike and act alike and sound alike, I don’t give a damn.”

The one holding her grabbed her chin and whipped it around. “You will pick.”

“Or?” She didn’t think they would harm her, not after going to all this trouble to grab her, but she wondered how far she could push them. Of course, she had a Preston baby to worry about, too.

“Don’t make this difficult, Summer. You fucked the Prestons; you sure as hell can fuck us.”

“How do you know I fucked them?”

“Aw, come on. There’s no way they didn’t fuck you,” one of them said.

She wasn’t admitting to anything, wanted to say they’d made love not fucked, but she kept her mouth shut. She pointed to the brother standing closest to her—the one who’d snatched her head around could sleep alone. The full horror of her situation suddenly hit her. She couldn’t fathom how she’d survive under another man.

The one she’d pointed to stepped in front of her. “I’m Cullen. My bedroom is the first one at the top of the stairs. You can wash up in my bathroom. I’ll be up in ten minutes.”

She whirled and stomped up the stairs, but instead of entering the first door, she went down the hall, opening all the doors, looking for an escape. This wasn’t a fire-safe house. No upstairs exit except for the main staircase.

Back in Cullen’s room, she went to the window and snatched open the curtains. Past the old, dirty windowpane was complete darkness. No streetlights, no warm glow from a distant house. She was in the country, but where? Looking down at the ground below, she figured running on a broken ankle would be painful but doable. She flipped the lock on the window and pushed up with all her might, only to discover the damn thing was nailed shut.

She’d have to check for a hammer the next time she visited the creepy basement.

Blowing a stray hair out of her eyes, she plopped down on the bed, swamped by absolute defeat. She couldn’t fight them; she wasn’t strong enough.

As the faint creak of the stairs grew louder, she fought her tears. She looked around for a weapon, deciding fighting was better than submitting. She jumped up, rifled through the nightstand. Nothing but condoms.

When the handle jiggled and the door opened, she whirled and backed up against the bed. “No. Please don’t do this.”

“It will be okay, Summer. We’ll go slow.”

Slow? If he were one of the Prestons, I would beg for it hard and fast.

Her eyes grew wide as he toed off his boots and peeled off his polo. Any other time, she would appreciate his cute face and well-defined abs, but this guy intended to rape her. He shoved his pants down and his erection sprang free. His muscular thighs and arms and chest made her think he worked out, kept in shape to do his killing.