Every fiber of his being cringed at the thought of what Clinton Caine’s activities had included: stalking and abducting women, using his own children as bait; taking his victims to remote locations where he’d imprison, torture, and rape them until they bore children of their own—his children. Caine had been desperate for a family, one that would obey him and feed his desire for pain.
Nick had no idea where Caine’s pathology stemmed from—from his own family, most likely—but the father had definitely warped and ruined his favorite daughter, turning Morgan into an inhuman killing machine. It was a testimony to Morgan that she’d been able to break away from that indoctrination by blood.
She prowled the room with jittery steps, a supernova ready to explode. “I wish I could make you feel it, understand.” The words came at a stuttering pace. “It’s nothing like what I felt with Clint. That was…gleeful. A rush of power. Nothing, no one, could stop us. We were our own gods.” She spun to face him, the dark circles beneath her eyes making her appear haunted. “This, this is nothing like that. Back then with him, I’d stay up for days on the sheer thrill of adrenaline, but this…I’ve never felt like this, never.”
“Okay, okay.” He kept his voice soothing. “I’ve an idea. It might sound kind of weird, but work with me here.”
“What?” Her gaze was heavy with suspicion. “No pills. I don’t want any drugs messing with my head, especially not now with Clint loose. I need to stay sharp.”
“No pills,” he promised. “But we need to understand what’s going on with you. If you can’t sleep, you can’t stop Clint.”
She nodded at that. He motioned to the love seat, and she plopped down in it, acting for once exactly like the fifteen-year-old girl she was. Occasionally, after a meeting with Morgan and returning home to his own teenaged daughter, Nick mourned what could have been. Morgan would have been a remarkable, beautiful girl—if her father hadn’t ravaged her childhood in such a brutal manner.
“Now what?” she asked.
He eased into the chair across from her. “Now close your eyes.”
She did but then immediately popped them open. “You’re not going to try to hypnotize me?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m not going to do anything but listen. You’re going to do all the work. Close your eyes.”
Her expression was doubtful, but she did. It occurred to Nick that he was probably the only man on the face of the planet that Morgan would feel safe to drop her guard with. Well, maybe Andre Stone as well. The former Marine had won Morgan’s admiration and respect. Two out of seven billion? The odds were stacked against her in so many ways. Even without a vicious serial killer on her trail.
“They’re closed. What do I do now?”
“Now tell me about this feeling you have.” She opened her mouth, but he continued before she could protest. “Not how it makes you feel. Instead, I want you to imagine the feeling come to life. Imagine it as a place or a scene, something you’re doing. Don’t try to put the emotion into words. Rather, find the place that feels the same and take a look around, notice every detail.”
“Like what Micah does with his drawing?” Micah Chase was a boy whose life Morgan had saved. As much as Nick would love to get her to open up about her feelings for Micah, feelings he knew she hadn’t even admitted to herself, giving her the skills she needed to cope with her father’s escape from prison took priority.
“Exactly. Think of it as drawing a scene. What are you doing there? What’s the weather like? What does it smell like? Who else is there with you?”
She hugged her arms tight around her chest, a self-comforting act he doubted she was even conscious of.
“Have you found your place?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s cold, so cold. And dark.” God, had she returned to one of her father’s killing places? Many of them had been underground. He leaned forward, ready to redirect her, but she said, “Except the stars. I’ve never seen stars so bright. It smells like Christmas. Pine trees and snow.”
“Where are you, Morgan?”
“I’m walking on water—a pond frozen over? It’s so black, it’s like I’m walking on the stars reflected in it. But I don’t feel special or powerful enough to walk on water. Each step is an agonizing choice, the ice groaning, one wrong step and it will crack. It’s too thin, too brittle. It can’t protect me. No matter which way I turn, I’ll step wrong.” Despite her obvious fear, her voice remained calm, no panic—Morgan never panicked.
“Look up, Morgan. Do you see anything else?”
Her chin slid upward even as her eyes remained closed. “Oh God,” she breathed out, anguish filling her voice. “They’re all here. Because of me. I brought them here.”
“Who? Who’s with you, Morgan?”
“All of them. Micah, Andre, Jenna, you…not Lucy.” Her forehead frowned. “Why not Lucy?”