Paul. He would be up any moment, wondering what was taking her so long. She tossed the tablet on the bed, then stopped. Looked at it.
Her iPad. An e-mail. Logan had set it all up for her, though she’d yet to use it. She snatched it back up, fumbling, fingers tripping over themselves as she accessed the program.
“Bailey?” Paul, from the bottom of the stairs. “You almost ready?”
“Almost!” she called back. “Just a minute!”
She found Logan’s address, clicked on it. He wouldn’t get the e-mail in time. Not to save her or the baby. She fought back a sob. But Paul wouldn’t get away with this. Never again.
Quickly, she typed “Paul’s the—”
“What are you doing?”
“—one.”
Before she could hit send, he was across the room, wrenching the tablet out of her hands. “No!” she cried, and lunged for it.
He swatted her aside, easily, as if she were no more than an insect. She fell against the dresser, the photos of her and her mother tumbled.
He turned on her. “Bitch! You couldn’t mind your own business? You couldn’t just leave everything the fuck alone? Now what am I going to do?”
“Just leave. Go away. I won’t tell anyone about you.”
He shook his head, lips curling in disgust. “Fat chance, sweetheart. Besides, this is my home.”
Her vision blurred with tears. She took another small step backward. “Don’t hurt my baby. Please. For Logan’s sake.”
“Don’t you call his name to me. This is your fault.” He all but spit the last at her. Gone was any resemblance to the charming boy-next-door she’d thought him to be. “You brought this all on yourself.”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes.
“You’re right about that.”
Bailey spun around and darted for the door. “Tony!” she screamed. “Come, boy! Come!”
Paul caught her, dragged her back, one arm at her middle, the other at her throat. She clawed at the latter, struggling to breathe.
“Tony’s taking a little nap right now,” he whispered against her ear. “But don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
She fought bursting into tears. She had figured Tony was her only chance. Now she had nothing.
Paul half dragged, half carried her to the walk-in closet. “This is my family, Bailey. Mine. I protect them.”
He suddenly released her and she nearly fell, stumbling into the hanging clothes, grabbing at them for support, gasping for air.
No sooner was it filling her lungs than he had her on her knees, wrenching her arms behind her back. Securing her wrists with one of Logan’s ties. A basic blue, one Logan wouldn’t notice was missing. Especially when all he’d be able to think about was where she might be. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked against them.
No. She had to concentrate on the moment and finding a way out of this.
With another tie, he secured her ankles, cinching it so tightly her feet immediately began to tingle.
“How does killing innocent women help this family?” she asked, voice shaking.
“That’s me. It doesn’t have anything to do with this family.” He laughed softly, the sound affecting her like nails on a chalkboard. “Plus, you presume those women were innocent. I can assure you they were not.”
“Nothing to do with them? Then why’s Logan being questioned in connection to those murders right now?”
“They’ve got nothing.”
“Your box of trophies.”
“I’d wondered if Henry showed it to you.” He straightened, looked down at her, his hands on his hips. “Police don’t have it. I do.”
His words rocked her. “But how? Henry—”
“Idiot told me he’d been out there, to the hay barn. I immediately went to check on them and found they were gone. They were mine, Bailey. He had no right to take them.”
“He was just a sweet, simple old man. Why’d you kill him? He didn’t know what it was.”
“I couldn’t take the chance he’d tell anyone. But apparently, the damage had already been done.” He looked at his watch, then back down at her.
“The police know about the box. They’ll keep looking—”
He cut her off. “They do know. Stephanie told them all about it.” He laughed at her expression. “I have a friend in the sheriff’s office. Anything even remotely associated with Abbott Farm, she passes along.
“I should have planted them at August’s when I killed him, but I didn’t want to give them up. I earned them.”
She felt sick. She fought the wave of nausea back. “You killed August, too. Why?”
“He saw the rifle in the back of my truck and was stupid enough to ask me about it. I made something up, but I couldn’t take the chance he’d mention it to the wrong person.”
“But now that the sheriff’s office knows about the box they’ll be looking for it. They’ll—”
“They’ll nothing. Stephanie repeated what you told her. And you’ll be long gone. Big deal. You lied. Women lie.”
He said it with such disdain, as if women were the lowest form of life.
He pursed his lips. “The question is,” he said, “what to do with you?” He looked around, made a sound of exasperation. “I didn’t expect this to happen today. But when you went off about your memory returning and all that nonsense about Raine being a killer, you forced my hand.”
He sent her a look that communicated complete loathing.
“Why do you hate me, Paul?”
“I don’t. I liked you, Bailey. Until you got nosy. In the garage that day, I saw it.”
“It?”
“The red shoe. You tried to hide it from me, but you were acting so guilty.” As he talked, his gaze moved over the room, as if it might provide him with an answer of what to do with her. “You’re the worst liar ever.”
“And you’re the best.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“Your mistake. One of many.”
While he talked, she worked to free her hands. Subtle movements, straining against the silk fabric, twisting. She began to sweat. Her hands and wrists became slippery.