Torn (9 page)

Dace whistled. “Then he is one lying piece of work . . . because I have it in my files . . .” And he started fumbling with the files on his desk. “I interviewed the guy—­twice—­and he denied being anything but her advisor and—­” He stopped searching the files as his shoulders sagged. “I was so fucking green back then.”

Silence.

He looked at Victoria, then at Wade. “Anything I can do to help you two, just say it, okay? Shit, you've been here only a few hours and you already know one witness lied to me. How many more probably did the same thing?” His cheeks flushed. “I just wish someone could bring Kennedy home.”

There was a personal note in his voice when he said her name. His tone changed. Softened. For some reason, that change pulled at Victoria.

“But I guess . . . she doesn't have a home anymore, does she?” Dace said, shaking his head. “Her mother's dead. No other family left. No apartment. The world just kept right on spinning, even when she vanished from sight.”

Just as the world was doing now . . . when Melissa Hastings was gone? The fact that it
was
the anniversary of Kennedy's disappearance made Victoria's stomach feel hollow.
Two abductions, two women from Worthington . . . exactly five years apart.
“There is something you can help us with,” she said, even as Wade reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. She knew he was pulling up the picture of Melissa.

“While we were at the Worthington campus today, we found out that this woman is missing,” Wade announced. “Melissa Hastings. She disappeared last night around ten, and she hasn't been seen since then.” He handed Dace his phone.

The detective's eyes locked on the photo. “She's close to Kennedy's age. But Kennedy was a brunette, and . . .” He exhaled. His gaze rose from the phone as he looked at Wade. “Last night at ten?” he murmured. “Not enough time has passed for an official investigation. You both know that.”

“We do,” Wade said, voice curt.

Dace's expression hardened. “The more time lost, the less chance we have of bringing her home.”

He was absolutely right.

“Screw the official procedures.” Dace headed for the door. “I'll see what I can do. I'll pull in some favors. I'll be damned if another woman just vanishes on my watch.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

“I like that guy,” Wade said.

Victoria nodded. “Yes, it's . . . nice to have a cop on our side.” She'd met her share of hostile PD personnel before. As Dace had said, cases could become territorial. Real pissing matches.

Good to know this wasn't one of those instances.

“Maybe we'll get lucky,” Wade added. “If they can search for Melissa's cell phone, we might be able to find out where she is.”

But Victoria doubted it would be that easy, and, based on Wade's expression, she could tell that he felt the same way, too.

Curious now, she inched closer to him. “Is it because of . . . her?” She waited a beat, then pushed. “Amy?”
Gabe's sister. The woman who'd vanished and changed the lives of two men.

Gabe.

And his best friend, Wade.

Wade's jaw clenched. “Be careful what you ask.”

But she wasn't feeling careful. He'd said he wanted to pull back her layers. Well, she wanted to learn more about him, too. “I know you joined LOST because of what happened with Gabe's sister.” A sister who'd vanished while Gabe had been away, fighting for his country as a SEAL. But while Gabe was gone, he'd asked his best friend to keep an eye out on his sister.

So the stories said.

“I thought Amy had gone off with her boyfriend,” Wade said. “I should have dug deeper. Should have searched sooner.” His voice roughened. “By the time I got my act together, hell . . . you know she was still alive until
two
days before Gabe and I found her?
Two fucking days.
Amy had a chance . . . If we'd just gotten to her sooner . . .”

There was emotion in his voice that couldn't be denied.
So that part of the story is true, too.
Maybe, Victoria reflected, she shouldn't have listened to gossip. But she had. “You cared about her.” Maybe a whole lot more than
care.

His gaze sharpened as he looked at her. “If you're going to dig up all the bloody parts of my past, does that mean I get to learn your secrets, too?”

She stepped back.

He swore. “Victoria, I meant—­”

The door opened. Dace stood there, his expression grim. “Same freaking red tape,” he muttered. “My captain won't authorize any sort of search, not yet. Not without any signs of foul play.” His hands were fisted. “He is fucking old school on this. Every moment counts. Every single one. If she were a missing kid, he would have been all over this case. But because she's over eighteen . . . because we don't have any proof that she didn't go off on her own . . . he wants to wait.
Wait.
”

“Waiting is a huge mistake,” Wade said. “Action needs to be taken. You are right—­every single moment counts.”

Dace shook his head, his disgust obvious. “Sometimes, I get so sick of the bureaucracy here. My job is to save lives, not . . .”

“Collect the dead?” Victoria finished quietly.
That's my job.

Wade gave him a grim nod. “Don't worry, Detective. I'm not done on this investigation.”

No, Victoria didn't think he was. Now she understood a lot more about him. Every case . . . every time he searched for the missing, was it some kind of atonement for Amy? Because Wade hadn't been able to save her, now he had to try and save everyone else?

She could have told him it was a mistake. There was no way to save the world. Some days you couldn't even save yourself.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
HE SUN WAS
setting, and Vintage was already packed. A long line circled the entrance to the bar. Wade headed straight for the front doors, with Victoria at his side. They'd gone back to their B&B—­briefly—­after leaving the police station. He'd wanted to check in with Gabe and update him on the changing situation in Savannah.

And now they were back at Vintage to see the bouncer, Slater. Slumping on a stool out front, he had long red hair and arms like tree trunks, and as far as Wade was concerned, the fellow was looking at Victoria with way too much interest.

She still wore her glasses, perched lightly on the end of her nose. Giving her what Wade thought of as her smart and sexy look. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, tumbling with a bit of wave, and she wore jeans that hugged her awesome ass way too well.

The bouncer waved her closer. “Irish?” There was a note of hope in his voice.

Victoria looked a bit startled by the question. “My mother was. Yes.”

He smiled. “A beautiful Irish lass is always welcome in—­”

Wade cleared his throat. “Hi there, Slater.” An edge had entered his voice. Mostly because the steroid dick was flirting with Victoria
while I am standing right here.
“I'm not a beautiful Irish lass, but I have some questions for you.”

Slater winked at Victoria. She flushed. “She can come in Vintage anytime. You can't.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Get the hell out.”

Asshole.
“Yeah, I'm not going anywhere.”

The bouncer stood. Was that supposed to be impressive? He was an inch shorter than Wade. So what if he had hulk muscles?
The bigger they are, the harder their asses will hit the ground.
That was a lesson he'd learned long ago.

But before he could start teaching him how
not
to gawk at a pretty lady, Victoria jumped between them. “We're looking for a woman who was here last night. She was seen around ten, but after that she seems to have vanished.” She offered her hand to Wade and mouthed,
Give me the photo.

Jaw locking, he handed her his phone.

She held it up so Slater could see the image. “Her name's Melissa Hastings. Your boss—­Luther—­said that you were working the door last night. Do you remember her?”

His eyes narrowed as he glanced down at the picture. “Actually . . . yeah, yeah, I do.”

Hope pulsed inside of Wade. “Did you see her leave?”

Slater cut him a quick glance. “She looked drunk off her ass. I was worried because she was stumbling, but her boyfriend said she was okay. That he was taking her home.”

Wade felt his muscles lock. “What did this boyfriend look like?”

“Didn't get a real good look at him. Just saw her because she stumbled.” Two college-­aged boys tried to slide past Slater, but he put up a hand. “Get your skinny asses back. Not your turn inside.” Then he looked back at Victoria. “He had dark hair. I think.”

“You . . . think?” Wade murmured.

“Not a lot of lights out there.” Slater gestured behind him. “Maybe he had blond hair. Not like I could see that damn well.”

Wade locked his back teeth. “Anything you can tell us for certain?” he growled.

“Yeah, he was about your size.” He pointed to Wade. “I could see that well enough, even in the shadows. And he put her in some fancy new ride—­a Jag. Sleek and sporty as shit.”

“You're
sure
it was her?” Wade pushed.

“I think it was.”

Again with the uncertain “think.” Wade knew just how unreliable eyewitness testimony could be. When he'd been a detective, two witnesses who'd seen the exact same scene would often offer completely different accounts.

“Look, buddy . . .” Slater shook his head. “Nothing's sure in this world, now is it?” Then he turned his attention back to Victoria. “If you want to stay awhile, my break is coming up soon. Maybe you can help me remember a little more about that missing woman.”

Wade closed his fingers around Victoria's wrist and pulled her back. “This Irish is taken.”
Go get your fucking own.

He heard Victoria suck in a sharp breath, but she didn't speak. He was sure she'd have plenty to say to him later. But they had an agreement, didn't they? No ties. No strings. Partners, with benefits.

He squared his shoulders and faced off against the bouncer. “Melissa Hastings hasn't been seen since she left Vintage last night. The cops are—­”

“Yeah, pegged you as a cop from the first glance.”

Wade gave him a cold smile. “And you're wrong. I'm not a cop. I'm someone who is very, very interested in finding this missing woman, alive. So I need to know—­did you get the tag number for the vehicle? Can you give us more details on the man? Can you give me
something
that might bring Melissa home?”

Some of the bravado left Slater's face. “Listen, man,” his voice dropped, “like I said, I just saw her stumble, okay? That's why I remembered her. I glanced up, noticed her with the guy, but he got her in his ride and out of here before I saw any tag. Hell, I didn't even think about looking for one. It was just some dude, taking care of his lady.”

Wade feared it was a whole lot more than that. “You said he talked to you, though.” Wade forced his jaw to unclench. This guy was frustrating the hell out of him. “Did he have any accent? Anything odd about his voice that you noticed.”

“Nah. No accent. Just . . . normal, you know? Nothing that stood out for me.”

Right.
Not helpful.
“You should expect a visit from a Detective Dace Black soon.”

Slater winced. “Boss isn't gonna like it if this place is crawling with cops.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt Luther will like it more if he finds out that someone has been preying on women in
his
bar.”

He kept his hand wrapped around Victoria's wrist as they headed back to the SUV. He could feel the tension in her body, practically rolling off her in waves. But she didn't speak. Not while he opened her door, not while he climbed inside and turned the ignition, and not afterward.

“Shit, Viki,” he said, the shortened version of her name spilling from him. “Say something!”

He turned toward her. They were parked under a streetlight, and the faint illumination spilled into the vehicle.

“I think that if Melissa had just been spending the night with a lover, she would have contacted her friend Jim by now.” Her words were hesitant. “The fact that she appeared drunk and this unknown man was so quick to lead her away, I'm suspecting more and more that she could have been roofied or—­”

His hands tightened around the wheel. “You think she was abducted.”

“Yes.”

And almost twenty-­four hours had passed. He'd be calling Dace and updating him on the news they had uncovered about the Jag, fucking ASAP. But first . . . “Aren't you going to rip into me because of what I said back there?”

Victoria's silence could say a whole lot. Too much. That silence stretched and . . . “I agreed to your deal,” she finally said.

It was hard to breathe. “Partners, with benefits.” Just so they were both crystal clear.

“Since I agreed, you should know I'd tell you before I—­”

“Decided to go fuck someone else? Hell, yeah, you'd better tell me that.” He was about to rip the steering wheel out of the dash. He sucked in a deep breath and had to say, “Be careful.”

“With what?”

Wade pulled away from the curb. “Me.”
Be careful with me, sweetheart. Because I sure am not the sharing type.
And when he'd seen the redhead practically eating Victoria with his eyes, a jealous fury had burned within him.

He'd promised her no ties. No strings.

He'd lied.

He wanted her bound just as tightly as he was. One way or another, that would be happening.

T
HEIR BED AND
breakfast was filled with antique furniture, heavy and dark. Victoria and Wade had been given a cottage to share—­one in the very back of the historic Savannah property. One that promised them the utmost privacy. There were two bedrooms in that little cottage. One bathroom. A kitchen and even a den area.

So why did the space seem so incredibly small?

It was just after midnight before Victoria and Wade made it back to the cottage. They'd returned to the police station. Talked more with Dace. The detective had promised to retrieve traffic cameras from the area around Vintage. Hopefully, the cops would find a shot of the Jag on those cameras. Maybe an image of Melissa and the mystery man who'd been with her.

But the day had ended, and Melissa still hadn't come home.

And as for Kennedy . . .

Her five-­year anniversary had passed. Vanished, gone without a trace. Victoria rubbed her arms as she paced toward the large stone fireplace. The fireplace wasn't lit. It wasn't cold at all in the room. Victoria's chill came from inside of her.

Life moved on and just left Kennedy behind.

Wade's footsteps sounded behind her. He had a heavy tread as he moved across the gleaming hardwood floor. She glanced back at him. Now that they were in the cottage, she was on edge. Actually, she seemed to constantly be on edge with him.

This Irish is taken.

His words kept ringing through her head. They weren't supposed to have ties between them. She
wouldn't
let herself have any ties with him.

Possessiveness, jealousy—­obsession. No, that wasn't going to happen with her.

Wade lifted a brow and his golden eyes gleamed. “You don't need to be afraid.”

She immediately shook her head in denial. “I'm not.”

“Liar,” he accused. “You think I can't read you?”

Dear God, I hope you can't.

“It's because I got all pissed that the bouncer was flirting with you, right? You didn't like that.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Am I supposed to apologize because I didn't like the way he was looking at you? 'Cause that's not happening. The asshole was lucky I didn't take a swing at him.”

Victoria shook her head. “No, this is wrong. This isn't . . . you.” He was the ex-­cop. The good guy. He was supposed to be safe.

But Wade gave a low, rough laugh. One that sent a shiver over her. One that made her think of darkness and tangled sheets. Sex and pleasure. “It isn't?” His head cocked. “And just who is the real Victoria? The smart and reserved lady in glasses who pulls her hair back? Or the woman who puts on the short skirt and goes looking for a night of fun?”

She licked her lower lip. “They're both me.”

He nodded. And his hand rose, his knuckles sliding over her cheek. She had to resist the urge to lean into him.

“And the jealous lover? The one who doesn't want anyone so much as looking at you?”

She flinched at his words.

His hands dropped. “That was me. Ex-­cop, jealous lover—­all me.”

“W-­We have a case to work here.” She backed away from him. Fast.

But this time he followed her. He caged her between the wall and his body. Wade didn't touch her, though, just trapped her there. “I hate it when you do that,” he said.

The pounding of her heartbeat filled her ears. A desperate drumming that seemed to shake her entire body.

“You don't need to back away from me. I might be a tough asshole, but I swear, I would
never
do anything to hurt you.”

Her breath felt cold as she pulled it into her lungs. Very carefully, his hands rose and he took off her glasses. She blinked, staring up at him as he put the glasses down on the nearby table. His body kept surrounding hers. Trapping her.

“Did another lover hurt you, Viki? Is that why you pull back from me?”

“No.” A lover had never hurt her. “I'm always careful.”

As soon as she said the words, she realized they were a mistake.

“Careful?” Wade pounced on that one word. “How so?”

I don't pick lovers who can hurt me. I don't look for ties. It's just sex. Pleasure. Bodies in the dark.
Because anything more than that was dangerous. Anything more would be positively lethal.

Not just to her . . .

I won't be like him.

“I'm tired,” Victoria said softly. “I'm going to bed.”

But he didn't move back.

“I can see it,” Wade said, his voice just as soft as hers had been, but . . . rougher. “When I look into your eyes, I can see the fear there.”

“I'm tired,” she said again.

“Want to know what scares me?”

The question caught her off-­guard. She'd thought that he would push her more. But . . . “What?” She couldn't imagine anything frightening him.

“The idea of you being hurt.”

His words stunned her.

“You think I didn't get a serious wake-­up call when you were taken in Louisiana? When you were stabbed? When that bastard could have killed you?” His voice seemed to roughen even more with each word. “I couldn't help you. I couldn't
get
to you. And when I finally had you back, I had to stand there and watch the docs work on you. I had to see your blood and know that there was nothing I could do.” He backed away.

She didn't move.

“So the
last
thing you ever need to worry about is me doing something to hurt you, Victoria. Because I can't. I would sooner cut off my own arm than do anything to you.”

His words were so brutally honest and dark. Her gaze slid from his and she moved—­woodenly—­toward her room. At the door, she stopped. Without looking back—­it was easier if she didn't have to look at him—­Victoria allowed herself to confess, “I'm scared that I will hurt you.”