“No. She just wasn’t answering her phone. I need you to get to my house as quickly as you can.”
“Why?” Gideon asked, but he was already scooting around her to get out of bed.
“I’m still in Portland. My flight was delayed, but we’ve boarded now. Listen, I just got a text from my neighbor, Ned Eldridge. He said there’s a car sitting in front of my house. He didn’t pay attention to it, because there’ve been so many reporters camping out. But it’s been there for two hours. He got a photo of the driver.”
“Is it him?” Gideon asked excitedly. He found a folded shirt on the dresser and held it out to Daisy, his brows raised in a request for help. “Our suspect?”
“No,” Rafe said. “Gideon, I think it’s Mercy.”
The shirt fluttered to the floor. Gideon turned to lean against the dresser, his features slack with shock. “What?”
“I think it’s Mercy. I told Ned not to approach her. I didn’t want to scare her off.”
Gideon didn’t say a word. He just stared at the phone, his mouth open.
“Gid?” Rafe asked. “You still there?”
Daisy jumped off the bed, picked up the shirt, and started working on removing Gideon’s sling. “Rafe, he’ll be on his way as soon as I get him dressed.”
“Ohhh. Okay. I . . . I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole. What do you want Ned to do if she starts to drive away?”
“Stop her,” Gideon blurted. “Thanks, Rafe.”
“You got it. Drive safely, okay?”
“We will.” Daisy ended the call and opened the bedroom door. “Irina, Karl! Can you come here, please?” She had the sling off when the entire household gathered in the doorway. “Can you tell Agent Hunter that we need to go back to my place, right away?”
Gideon grabbed her wrist, halting her as she put his injured arm through the sleeve. “No we. Just me.”
“Yeah? No.” She looked over at them, focusing on her father, who’d opened his mouth to no doubt protest. “Mercy’s at my house. Gideon is not going alone.”
Irina nodded. “No, not alone. You will obey every word the agent tells you?”
“Every word,” Daisy promised, putting Gideon’s other arm in the sleeve. Unless he tells me I can’t go. Because Gideon was not going to face his sister alone.
Gideon huffed a laugh. “Daisy, I’m getting the distinct impression you were a bit of a handful as a kid.”
“You have no idea,” Frederick said dryly. “Daisy, take Brutus and go downstairs to wait. I’ll help him with his clothes.” He glanced at Gideon. “I’m going, too. I’ll ride shotgun. Literally.”
Daisy was about to tell him no way in hell when Gideon nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Frederick. Thank you.”
Daisy was still openmouthed and staring when Irina tugged her out of the room. “Do what your father says, Daisy.”
Daisy exhaled loudly. “Fine.” She passed Sasha’s room, where her friend stood in the doorway, not even bothering to hide her grin. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it,” Sasha snickered. “I’m too busy laughing my ass off watching you be all obedient and shit.”
“I’m obedient,” Daisy muttered. “When I want to be.”
“Sasha,” Irina chided. “Leave her alone. Karl, go back to sleep.”
“We weren’t asleep,” Karl said, waggling his brows.
Sasha groaned. “Stop. I can’t do this.” She closed her door with a snap.
Irina guided Daisy to the stairs. “My children insist on believing they were brought by the stork. Come, Daisy. I’ll make you some coffee to take with you.” She paused a few steps from the bottom, her eyes suddenly revealing her true emotions—anxiety and uncertainty. “You’ll call me, won’t you?” she whispered. “Let me know what his sister says?”
Daisy kissed her cheek. “Of course.”
TWENTY-SIX
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 10:10 P.M.
Bellamy, Anna. Pennsylvania. Fiddler, Janice. Washington. Zandra stared up at the ceiling, desperately grappling to hold on. Not to lose hope. Not to fall apart.
Not to get comfortable in the clean sheets, silk nightshirt, and soft ties around her wrists and ankles. Not to be grateful for the “kindness” because it wasn’t kindness at all.
He wants to break me. I won’t break.
But she was so damn tired.
Orlov, Nadia. Illinois. Stevenson, Rayanna. Texas. DeVeen, Rosamond. Minnesota. Borge, Delfina. California. Oliver, Makayla. New York. Danton, Eileen. Oregon.
Names on pieces of plastic, hanging in a sadist’s cabinet in a cold, silent basement. Where a dead woman lay in the freezer against the wall. Martell, Kaley. California.
Hart, Trisha. California. His most recent victim. Zandra remembered when he’d shown her the license, when he’d placed it in the cabinet. When he’d taken off Kaley’s lucky horseshoe and replaced it with Trish’s turquoise cross in some kind of macabre ceremony.
What day was that?
She didn’t know. She didn’t know what day this was. I’m going to die here. And he’s going to put my license in the cabinet and no one will ever know what happened to me.
Her eyes filled with tears and, hardening her jaw, she resolutely blinked them away. No. He will not break me. I’m going to get out of here.
The doorknob rattled and Zandra tightened her body in dread. He’s back. He’s back and he’s going to start all over again.
But the door didn’t open and the rattling continued, followed by a banging.
She sucked in a breath, too terrified to hope. Someone was out there. Someone not him.
But then the banging stopped and Zandra’s heart sank. They were leaving.
“H—” Her throat was too dry. “Help.” She wanted to scream it, but it came out as not even a whisper. “Please.” A sob tightened her chest and she fought it back. “Don’t go.”
But she was whispering. No one would hear her.
No one would help—
The door flew open, revealing a woman standing in the doorway. “You fucking slut.”
Zandra turned her head toward the door, staring. The woman wasn’t young. She wasn’t old, either. It was hard to say, at least with the scowl she wore. A scowl and a white satin peignoir. And five-inch heels.
Zandra started to ask for help but the woman burst into the room.
And slapped her.
Zandra stared up at her, tears forming in her eyes. He did this. He set me up. He wanted me to hope. To think that she’d help me.
It was too cruel. And too much. No longer able to hold the tears back, Zandra began to cry. Big, huge sobs that racked her body.
He’d done it. He broke me.
The woman leaned into her space, her face inches from Zandra’s. “Do not think your tears will move me,” she snarled. “You’re a manipulative bitch, like all the others.”
Zandra shook her head, no words forming. Tears flowing.
“Don’t tell me no. You’re one of his whores. Did you think I didn’t know about you? Did you think I’d let you have him?”
She was drunk, Zandra realized. And maybe high. The woman’s eyes were glazed, insane. Definitely insane.
“Water,” Zandra managed to croak out. “Please.”
“You get nothing from me except the fucking door.”
To Zandra’s shock, the woman began to yank at the ties binding her to the bed. Loosening the knots.
“You’re nothing. You come in here and play your little sex games. A little S&M, a little BDSM.” She sneered, ripping the first binding from Zandra’s wrist. The woman went immediately to the second binding, clawing at the knot with long, elegantly manicured nails. “I made him. He’s mine. Gave him the best years of my damn life and you think you can come along and take him from me?”
The second binding came off and the woman moved to the third, shoving the blanket up Zandra’s legs. She gave Zandra a furious glance. “What did he promise you? Money?” She snorted. “He’s got none. He comes to me for money.” She pointed to her own chest. “To me. I control his money. I control him. He thinks this is his house. He thinks he has secrets. I know all his secrets. I’ve known about his little kink for years. You’re not the first woman he’s brought down here.”
She loosened the knot at Zandra’s left ankle but used no care, her nails digging into already abraded skin. Zandra choked back a moan.
The woman chuckled. “You like that? You’re a pain slut. He must be a good master.” She sounded . . . proud? “I taught him everything he knows.” She was on the final tie. “You want him? Tough shit. Get your own. Start him young.” She looked up from the knot she was freeing and smiled, making Zandra’s blood run cold. “Ten is best. Twelve at the latest. They’ll eat right out of your hand. Literally.”
Zandra stared at the woman in horror, unable to move even when the last tie was ripped off her skin. And then she understood. “Sydney,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Sydney,” the name he called when he was in a rage.
Say you’re sorry.
The woman straightened, looking pleased. “He told you about me?”
Zandra couldn’t say anything. Not a single word.
“Get up,” Sydney snapped.
Zandra blinked rapidly, trying to get enough control over her body to stand. But she’d been tied too long, her body too exhausted. Her legs refused to move.