Torn (10 page)

“What? No, Viki—­”

“I won't mean to do it. But it will happen. That's why no one gets close. Not because I'm afraid of them. But because I don't trust myself.” What if she had a monster inside, one waiting to break out? She wasn't like Sarah. Sarah had confronted her demons, head on. She'd beaten them.

But Sarah . . .

Sarah hasn't committed my crimes. She doesn't know what I've done.

Or what I've already become.

Victoria opened her door, went inside, then shut it softly behind her.

W
ADE STARED AT
her bedroom door.

Because I don't trust myself.
What in the hell kind of bullshit was that? Victoria was one of the sweetest, gentlest people he'd ever met. He couldn't imagine her hurting anyone, but . . .

She has secrets.

Secrets he was more than ready to uncover.

He'd played nicely before. Never digging too deep, respecting her privacy. But now . . . he grabbed his laptop and headed into his room. Victoria was driving him mad. He needed to know as much about her as possible.

Because he wanted to make her pain stop, and he didn't know how.

He shut his door and a few moments later the laptop was booted up. A few clicks in the search engine and he had the stark facts of Victoria's life laid out in front of him. It wasn't as if he didn't know the general details. Everyone at LOST knew. Once upon a time, Victoria's life had been pretty big news.

The media had splashed her story far and wide when she'd been a teenager.

Young girl accuses famed geneticist father of murder.

Did Dr. Marcus Palmer kill his wife . . . and destroy her remains?

Wade hunched over the screen. He
knew
these details, but there was more to her story than just these headlines. So many secrets that Victoria was carrying with her.

When she was thirteen, Victoria's mother had disappeared. Just vanished.

Like so many at LOST.

He scrolled through the search results. Scanning the information. Five years later, Victoria had come forward with a shocking claim. She told the cops that she'd witnessed her father kill her mother in a jealous rage.

Fuck, I've got to watch my jealousy around her.

The last thing he wanted was for Victoria to ever think he was like her father . . .

He kept reading, looking for new information. During the trial, Victoria had described—­in grim and grisly detail—­how she witnessed the murder and how her father got rid of the body. Her father had been arrested. Tried . . .

And found innocent.

But less than a year later he was dead. Killed, by his own hand.

I know all of this already. I need to know what haunts her. What puts that sadness and fear in her eyes?

After her father's death, Victoria had packed up and moved across the country. She'd been given a full academic scholarship. The lady was a genius, no doubt. She'd got her M.D. and also received a doctorate in Biological Anthropology.

Facts. Simple. Cold.

But he wanted
more
. He wanted to understand why she'd been so driven, at such a young age. Why had she chosen to study the forensics of the dead?

She wasn't telling him her secrets, and Wade was desperate to understand them.

Just as he pulled up another newspaper account of her father's trial, he heard the squeak of the hardwood floor, a soft sound, just beyond his door.

He froze.

Then he heard the squeak again. For one wild moment he thought it might be Victoria, coming to him. But the lady had been pretty damn adamant that she wasn't looking for a bed partner that night. When a woman walked away and
shut
her door pretty much in a guy's face, it was a hard hint to ignore.

But if it wasn't Victoria . . .

Then who the hell was tiptoeing around outside his room?

Silently, he rose and stalked to the door. He didn't have a weapon, but he wasn't about to let that fact slow him down. Because if someone
was
on the other side of that door, then Victoria could be in danger.

And that wasn't fucking happening.

He curled his hand around the doorknob and turned it silently. He'd shut off the lights in the outer room before heading into his bedroom, so darkness filled the area when he crept out of his room. His eyes adjusted quickly, and in seconds he could see the form standing there.

Halfway between his room and Victoria's.

He rushed forward, moving without a whisper of sound. He grabbed the shadowy form and—­

Lavender.

Sweet, tempting lavender. Sweet, soft woman.

And he was holding her too hard. His hands were too rough. He needed to back the hell off—­

Not hold her tighter.

“Victoria!”

He'd pulled her body against his. He should let her go. He didn't.

“Sweetheart, what the hell were you doing?” Walking in the dark? Sneaking around? She was—­

“I was coming to you.”

Wade shook his head. Hell, no. No, that made zero sense. Why would she turn him away and then seek him out?

“I needed you,” she told him, her voice husky. He'd just grabbed her in the darkness, but she didn't sound afraid. Not at all.

Her hands were on his chest. “I don't want to hurt you,” Victoria said.

He was the one who'd grabbed her so that now they were pressed—­body-­to-­body—­as intimately as lovers.

We are lovers.

“But I need you,” she whispered. “Why do I need you so much? I was in my room, and I couldn't stop thinking about you. About the way you make me feel. About the way you make me forget everything else.”

Wade locked his hands around her hips and lifted her up against him. He knew he held her far too tightly as he moved unerringly in the dark, but there was no way he could let her go. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he felt the faint whisper of her breath on his cheek. “I'm . . . using you,” she said, the words hushed and ashamed. “It's not . . . right.”

He carried her to the bed. Then he turned off the light. He knew she wouldn't want him seeing her scars, even though he didn't care about them.

She didn't want him seeing her scars or knowing her secrets.

But she wanted him.

And he . . . he couldn't remember wanting another woman the way he'd started to want her.

“Screw right and wrong,” he said as he lowered her onto the mattress. “It's us.
Us.
That's all that matters.” He stripped off his shirt. Tossed it aside. His laptop was still open, providing a faint glow in the room. Victoria wore a loose T-­shirt, a silky pair of panties, and nothing else.

His fingers slid to the hem of her T-­shirt. He pushed it up slowly, his callused fingertips trailing over her stomach, her ribs, then touching her tight nipples. She was gasping for him, moaning his name. Electrifying him with her need.

He anchored the shirt above her breasts and bent down, leaning over the bed and licking her nipples. She tasted so freaking good. And as he tasted her nipple, strumming her with his tongue, his hand slid between her legs. He stroked her through the panties. He felt her grow damp, wetting that soft silk. His fingers slid under the elastic edge of her underwear.

Then he pushed two fingers into her.

Her hips arched up to meet him even as her sex squeezed him tightly. Fucking perfectly.

Two bodies, coming together in the dark. No past. No promise for a future.

He'd take that.
Now
. Later . . . later, he'd take everything.

Wade yanked her panties down, pulling them over her hips and jerking them off her feet. Then he unzipped his jeans and had his protection on in seconds. He didn't need long foreplay. He just needed her. But he had to make sure that Victoria was—­

“Now, Wade,
now.
”

Like he could tell her no. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he might just give her anything, everything, she wanted for the rest of his life.

He pulled her to the edge of the bed. Her legs locked around his hips, and he drove into her, one hard thrust that sank him in, balls deep.

For an instant he stilled. His hands caught hers. His fingers threaded with hers as he stared down at her.

She was so much more than a body in the dark to him. And he waited, needing her to say . . .

“Wade?”

Fuck, yes.
His
name. Because he was the one with her. The one who wanted to be with her through all the dark nights to come.
Fucking use me, baby. Use me until you're as far gone as I am.

He withdrew, then plunged deep. Again and again. There was no more holding back. She felt too good. Too right. And then there was only pleasure. Her release. His. Blending together in a mad tangle that was the fucking best climax of his life.

When it was over, he ditched the condom and crawled into bed with her. He wrapped an arm around her stomach and held her there, close against his side. He figured she'd leave him soon enough. After all, the last time they had sex, she'd been quick enough to kick his ass out.

But for that moment he just held her.

Slowly, he heard her breathing become even and deep. He kept his body still, not wanting to jar her. ­Victoria had gone to sleep. In his arms.

And she felt so good against him. Right.
Like she belongs.

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple and his eyes closed.

“Y
OU AREN'T LEAVING
me.”

His voice boomed, seeming to echo through the house.

“
You can't do this to me! You married me. You stay with me!”

Victoria tiptoed to the top of the stairs. Her parents were fighting again. Or rather, her father was. He'd been yelling so much lately. She thought he knew . . .

Her mother was seeing someone else.

Victoria knew. She'd begun to suspect weeks ago, when her mother started smiling and laughing more often. Her mother was
happy
. And Victoria hadn't realized just how sad her mom had been . . . not until the laughter started.

So that's what it sounds like.
That had been her first thought. She liked her mom's laugh.

Only her mother wasn't laughing right then. Victoria peered over the banister. Her mother and father were below her. As she watched, her father grabbed her mother, holding her shoulders, and he shook her.

“Stop,” Victoria said. Her father—­he shouldn't be doing that. He yelled, but he never hurt her mother. He was a respected scientist. Brilliant. Everyone said how brilliant he was. And they also said . . .

Victoria is just like him. Just like her father. She's got his mind.

His mind, and her mother's face.

But her mother's face was now a mask of fear. She was trying to get away from her husband, but he was still shaking her.

“Stop!” Victoria said again. Her voice was louder. Her mother heard and her head tipped back, her long red hair trailing over her shoulders. When she saw her daughter, the fear on her face got even worse.

Victoria started running down the stairs.

“No, Victoria, no!” her mother cried. “Go back upstairs! I'm fine!”

Her father shoved her mom away and whirled toward the stairs. Toward Victoria. “She's not fine. She's leaving us. For some bastard she met at a bar.”

Victoria felt tears on her cheeks. She knew her father was telling the truth. And she wanted so desperately to say . . .
Take me with you, Mom, please.

Over her father's shoulder, she saw her mother's suitcase. Packed all nice and neat, and waiting right next to the door.

“I married her,” Victoria's father said. His glasses glinted as he stared at Victoria. She was just a few steps above him. “She won't leave me. She won't do this to me. I gave her
everything.
” Each word rose with fury. “The house. The cars. The cottage on the fucking lake. My money. My life. She won't do this to me!”

His rage was shocking. Horrifying. His cheeks had reddened and his eyes blazed with a fury she'd never seen before.

“She won't do this to us,” he swore, then whirled back to her mother. Her mother was just standing there, staring up at Victoria, not with shock but with . . . .

Sorrow.

She knew he would do this.

This is why she was never happy. Never happy with him. She isn't shocked. She's seen this before.

But Victoria hadn't. She'd never seen this side of her dad before . . .

Her father hit her mother then. A sharp blow to the face. Her mom fell back, and Victoria raced down the stairs.
“No!”

D
ARKNESS. THE DARK
always hid so much. Lies, secrets . . . all were safe in the dark.

Most people had a natural fear of the darkness. They knew that bad things could wait in the shadows.

Very, very bad things.

He carried his precious burden through the dark. No one was at the spot—­why would they be? It wasn't safe here, not in the dark.

But he wasn't afraid. Why would he be?

He put her down gently. Brushed back her hair. He couldn't see her well but he knew just how beautiful she was. She would always be beautiful. He'd made sure of that.

He put her down on the worn path. His gloved fingers slid over her cheek, a final good-­bye.

He covered her up, wanting her snug and safe.

Then he walked away.

The darkness . . . it could hide so much.

Even the blackest of sins.

CHAPTER SIX

M
ATTHEW WALKER RAN
down the old path, his pace steady, his heart drumming. The sun was starting to rise, an absolutely perfect freaking view, and it felt as if he had the whole morning to himself. He loved this part of the day, getting in the four-­mile run was always a top priority for him, and this path—­his path—­was the best way to start any morning.

His feet pounded against the ground. The path snaked, heading deeper between the trees. His ear buds were in and the hard blast of music filled his ears. His gaze stayed focused up ahead and—­

Shit. Something is in my way.

Someone had dumped, hell,
something,
right in the middle of the path. Seriously, this wasn't the place to dump crap.

His pace slowed as he approached what looked like a big black bag . . . and maybe a blanket. Yeah, a blanket because part of it was flapping in the breeze and—­

That's not trash.

Matthew froze. He'd just caught sight of a—­a hand? A hand, reaching out. Only the hand looked wrong. Fuck, was that
bones
? He stumbled to a stop a few feet away from whatever in the hell was on that jogging path. But then, helpless, he inched forward.

Hair. There was hair blowing in the breeze.

And yes,
bones.
Dirt-­covered bones that had once been a person. A person who was thrown away like trash right in the middle of his running path.

Bile rose in his throat as he stared, helplessly, at the person he'd just found.

A
PHONE WAS
ringing. A fast, hard beat of music. Rough rock. The sound jarred Victoria from her ­nightmare—­a nightmare that she kept reliving, no matter how many times she tried to leave the past behind.

When her eyes opened, she saw the tall post on the bed—­an antique four-­poster bed. But not the bed she'd been assigned.

I stayed with him.

Her heart was pounding too fast because she'd been jerked awake by that jarring ring tone, and now she saw that she was still in bed—­Wade's bed. It came back to her then. She'd gone to him last night. Had hot sex with him and then . . . fell asleep in his arms.

The bed dipped beside her as Wade swore, and then he was padding—­naked—­to grab his still ringing phone. Victoria sat up quickly, pulling the sheet with her.
Naked. Oh, crap. I'm still naked.

She didn't know how to do the morning after routine—­mostly because a morning after didn't happen for her. She spied her T-­shirt, tossed on the floor. Were her panties close by? She sincerely hoped they were.

“Monroe,” Wade barked into his phone. “This had better be good—­”

He broke off and, as his face tensed, Victoria stopped worrying about her clothes.

Because, based on his expression, there was something far more serious for her to worry about.

“When? Where?” Each question shot from Wade with the impact of a bullet. “Yeah, yeah, I'll have her there as fast as possible.” His gaze flickered to Victoria. “Damn straight she's the best.”

She slid from the bed, keeping the sheet wrapped around her.

“You secure the scene, and we'll be there as fast as possible. And hell, yes, I'll want to talk with the guy who found the body.”

Body.

He hung up the phone. Wade nodded as he stared at her. “We need to get dressed, fast.”

She licked her too dry lips. “What body?”

His mouth tightened. “That was Detective Black. A jogger discovered . . . human remains this morning while making a run on Jupiter Trail.”

“Jupiter Trail.” She knew that name. “That's where Kennedy went missing.”

“And the remains were found just feet from where the cops discovered her discarded ear buds five years ago.”

No way that is chance
.

“Since our visit yesterday, it seems that Detective Black has been researching us,” Wade continued grimly. “He knows about you and your specialty—­”

The dead.

“—­and he wants you on scene to consult with the local M.E.”

Right. She hurried for the door. But on her way out of his room, her hip bumped the table, sending his laptop into a wobble. She was often clumsy when her mind was focused on something else and her body decided to follow its own path.

Instinctively, Victoria reached out to grab his laptop before it could topple over and hit the floor. When she touched it, it woke up and the screen flickered to life.

“No, Victoria,” Wade said quickly. “I'll get—­”

A search engine popped up on the screen. It showed exactly what information Wade had recently been seeking. Her cheeks flushed red hot, then seemed to go ice cold. There were dozens of search results on his screen. Some were purple, not blue, indicating that Wade had already clicked the links to read all the sordid details.

Young girl accuses famed geneticist father of murder.

Did Dr. Marcus Palmer kill his wife . . . and destroy her remains?

“Victoria . . .” There was a rough edge to Wade's voice.

Carefully, she pushed down the screen until it clicked back in place. “I guess Detective Black wasn't the only one doing some research.” And it hurt. Wade had been digging into her past moments before—­

Before what? You went to him,
a dark voice reminded her.
You wanted him. Don't get pissed because he gave you what he wanted.

Too bad. She was pissed.

Her chin lifted as she marched for the door once more.

But, suddenly, he was there. Face grim, Wade said, “I just need to know more about you.”

A broken bit of laughter escaped from her lips. “Oh, Wade. You should be so careful what you wish for.” Her hand lifted and her fingers rasped over the early morning shadow that coated his hard jaw. “Because sometimes, you really might not like the end result.” Then she skirted around him. “We have a job to do. Let's get it done.”
Because that is what I have to focus on now. The job. Not my past. Not you.

He didn't call out to her, and she didn't look back.

Victoria grabbed her glasses as she passed the table in the outer room—­glasses that Wade had so carefully removed the night before—­and she could feel her hands shaking. But she didn't know if they were shaking because she was angry.

Because she was scared . . .

Or because her careful control had totally been blown to hell and back.

J
UPITER
T
RAIL.
T
HE
place had been deserted when Wade and Victoria investigated it just a day before . . . but now it was filled with activity. Police cars. Yellow tape. The M.E.'s van.

And onlookers. Wade didn't know where the people had come from, but a crowd of about fifteen had gathered just beyond the line of yellow police tape—­tape at the entrance to the path.

He made a point of looking at all the people there. He knew that sometimes killers came back to the scene and watched the discovery of a body. Certain perps got a real kick out of standing back and seeing their dirty work, up close and personal.

Victoria bent to go under the police tape.

“No, no, ma'am!” one of the uniformed officers called out. “You can't do that!”

She straightened. “I'm pretty sure I can,” she muttered.

Before the young cop could argue with her, Detective Black was there. He rushed forward. “They're with me, officer. The team I said I'd be calling in.” He lifted the tape and motioned Victoria and Wade forward. Victoria slid under the tape, but Wade hesitated.

He looked at the uniformed cop who'd stopped Victoria. “You need to get the name and address of every person here. Make sure your crime scene guys get pictures of the crowd.”

The cop, a young guy who looked about twenty-­one and was already sweating bullets, stammered, “Wh-­Why?”

“Because you want to make sure your killer isn't hiding in plain sight.”

The young cop backed up, then shot a questioning glance toward Detective Black.

“Do it,” Dace said immediately, voice curt.

Damn straight the kid needed to do it.

Satisfied, for the moment, Wade followed Victoria under the tape and down the worn path. No birds called out this time, and the rising sun beat down on them with every step.

“When was the body discovered?” Victoria asked Dace, her voice devoid of emotion.

“Just after dawn this morning. A jogger thought he'd found trash on the path, but it . . . wasn't.”

“We'll want to talk to the jogger,” Wade said at once. He'd already told him on the phone. Hell, yes, he wanted to interview the man who'd found the remains.

Dace glanced back at him. “We don't know that this is related to your investigation yet.” There was no missing the caution in his tone. “I called you in because I wanted Dr. Palmer's expertise, not because I thought—­”

“That you'd found Kennedy Lane?” Wade finished. “Seriously, man, you don't need to bullshit me. This is the same place she vanished.
You
told me it was nearly the same spot where her ear buds were found. And on the five-­year anniversary . . .”

Dace faced forward. A small huddle of three men and one woman were up ahead on the path. “I can't speculate. I need to know for certain.”

And that was why he'd wanted Victoria.

She had worked for all the major universities at one point or another, lecturing, analyzing . . . and even the FBI had consulted her on numerous cases. When it came to identifying remains—­especially remains that had been exposed to the elements for long periods of time—­Victoria was the best, plain and simple.

“Dr. Palmer is here,” Dace announced as they closed in on the little group on the path.

Two men immediately backed away. Wade saw the gleam of the badges clipped to their hips—­
more ­detectives.
A woman was still bent over, a short distance away from what looked like a large black duffel bag. But at Dace's words she turned around, squinting up at them as the sunlight hit her face.

“That's our M.E., Dr. Eleanor Chambers,” Dace said.

A few feet behind Dr. Chambers, a man was crouched, snapping pics of the remains.
Crime scene tech.
It was easy enough for Wade to place all the players at the scene.

Dr. Chambers rose and nodded toward Victoria and Wade. Her hands were covered in white gloves. “It's good to meet you, Dr. Palmer,” she said, addressing Victoria. “I've been an admirer of your work for a long time.” Eleanor Chambers was an African-­American woman in her mid-­ to early forties. Her heart-­shaped face and wide eyes were solemn as she stared at Victoria.

“I . . . um, thank you.” Victoria tucked loose hair behind her ear. “What do you know so far?” The sunlight glinted off her glasses.

“I was waiting for you,” Dr. Chambers said. “The bag hasn't been moved at all. The guy who discovered the remains—­he said he didn't touch it. Swears it.” Dr. Chambers motioned to the man with the camera, and he stopped taking his photos. He rushed forward and pulled another set of gloves out of a black supply box on the ground. “Thanks, Tommy,” Dr. Chambers murmured.

Victoria pulled on the gloves while she stared down at the bag. “He covered her up,” she murmured. “He left her face exposed but he brought in the blanket so that her lower body would be covered.”

Wade could see what looked like human hair blowing in the faint breeze. Hair and bones.
Fuck.

“We can use the hair for DNA analysis,” Victoria said. “We can find out if it's . . . Kennedy or if it's someone else.” She looked over her shoulder, glancing up at Wade. “She's been buried.”

He blinked.

“The dirt. The decomposition. This body was put in the ground, then dug up and brought here.” Her breath whispered out, “It's deliberate. A message.” Her gaze said what she wasn't saying.

I think it's her. I think he brought her back because he wanted her body to be found on the anniversary of her disappearance.

Wade's gut clenched. One body returned . . . and a new woman missing. Was that why Melissa Hastings had vanished? Because the killer had decided it was time to go out and get a new toy?

“I want to talk to the man who found the body,” Wade said again. Hell—­body. There was hardly any
body
left. Just bones. And it fucking infuriated him. If he was staring down at Kennedy Lane, then some sick bastard had destroyed her.

And then he'd brought her back and dumped her body as if she didn't matter.

Dace motioned to him, and Wade moved with the detective back down the path. A final glance showed him that Victoria hadn't touched the remains. She was just staring at the bag and the bones, her shoulders hunched.

Does she even realize how much she gives away?
When she worked her cases, Victoria tried to act as if the remains never bothered her, as if she were comfortable with them. But he knew the truth. Sadness always swept over Victoria with the discovery of each body.

Another one we didn't save.

“This is Matthew Walker,” Dace said, pointing to a man who waited behind the yellow police tape, a man wearing black running shorts and tennis shoes. His phone was strapped to his arm, and ear buds hung loosely around his neck. The guy was pacing back and forth, nearly bouncing on his feet as he moved, but when Dace said his name, he immediately swung toward the detective. “He's the one who found the remains. Dr. Walker, this man is Wade Monroe. He's got a few more questions for you.”

“I thought . . . I thought it was garbage.” Matthew ran a hand over his face. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. “I was pissed that someone had dumped trash on the path, but then I realized I was staring at a freaking skeleton.” His breath heaved out. “At first, I thought maybe it was a joke—­maybe some frat boys had lifted a skeleton from one of the labs at the college and dumped it out here.”