Dying to Tell (36 page)

He drummed his fingers on his desk, the scope of the investigation hitting him. This was bigger than Slaughter Creek.

Bigger than him.

He needed someone with access to more information. Someone who’d tell him the truth.

Dammit. He didn’t know anyone in the CIA, but he did know an FBI agent.

His brother.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, emotions pummeling him. The last time he’d seen Nick, it hadn’t been pretty. They’d both been young men, both grieving, both angry.

Nick had been glad his father was gone, had shouted that he hated him, that he hoped he was dead.

Jake had been so angry he’d slugged Nick. He hadn’t understood how Nick could say such a horrible thing when they didn’t know if their father was dead or alive.

A month later, Jake had enlisted. He’d come back for holidays that first year, but Nick had been sullen, and the distance between them had grown.

Would Nick help him now if he called?

Sadie had to go to the river. If Amelia was trying to remember what had happened that night, she might go back to the mill.

She rushed down the steps, flipped off the lights, grabbed her coat and keys, and ran to her car. The storm that had threatened
earlier had broken through the clouds, and sleet pelted her windshield as she drove. She slowed, flipped on the defroster, and negotiated the winding mountain road, haunted by the night shadows dogging her from the woods.

Nervous energy made her antsy as she neared the river. Ten years ago, when she and Papaw and Skid had left this place, she’d sworn she’d never return. The temptation to turn the car around and drive away hit her, and she braked.

But Papaw’s journal entries nagged at her. Had Amelia remembered the details about that night? If she had, maybe it meant that she was growing stronger. That she might one day be healed.

She pulled down the graveled road to the mill, which had been shut down for years, and parked, looking out at the water through the foggy glass.

She squeezed the steering wheel and closed her eyes, the sounds and smells launching her back in time. It was raining outside, the raindrops pinging off the roof.

The sound of a car engine sputtering nearby, rising above the whistle of the wind, jarred her, and she opened her eyes. Suddenly the eerie sensation that someone was watching her returned. She pivoted, glanced around at the mill and the river, then saw a dark sedan approaching.

That threatening call taunted her again. Had someone been watching her?

Why had she come out here? It was the last place Amelia would come. Amelia would want to be safe.

The only safe place for her was her studio.

Trembling, she started the engine, swung the car around, and headed back home, her tires slinging gravel. The sleet intensified, forcing her to crawl down the highway. The headlights of an oncoming truck nearly blinded her, and she skidded, fighting to keep the car on the road.

The mountain ridges towered above, sharp ridges jutting out like hands trapping her. She thought she saw something in the road.

A man...no, a ghost.

It was Arthur Blackwood.

Choking back a sob, she hit the brakes, but the shimmering image faded, and the road was black again.

God—she was losing it.

She slowed and tried to hang on to her sanity as she turned off the road onto the driveway and parked by the dark guesthouse, the night sounds echoing around her.

Then she noticed a light glowing in the main house—the lamp in the den. But she’d turned it off before she’d left.

Adrenaline surging through her, she opened the car door and climbed out. Maybe Amelia needed to be close to her grandfather tonight.

Certain her sister had come home as she expected, she slipped inside the house.

But what if it wasn’t Amelia?

Her earlier paranoia kicked in, and she removed her cell phone from her purse, ready to call Jake if it was an intruder.

“Amelia?” she whispered as she tiptoed inside. “Amelia, it’s me, Sadie.”

She scanned the room in search of her sister, but instead she saw pictures lying on the coffee table. Ghastly pictures of her grandfather’s murder. Of the bloody floor, the bloody walls, her grandfather’s body slumped in the corner, his head...blown apart.

Then a deep low voice echoed behind her.

I know what you did that night. I warned you.

Now you have to die
.

That voice...who was it?

Sadie pivoted to see, but something hard struck her over the head, and she collapsed on the floor.

The room swirled; then the scent of smoke began to fill the room as she sank into unconsciousness.

J
ake had Nick’s number somewhere in his phone history. He was surprised when his brother answered on the third ring.

“Nick, it’s Jake.”

His brother’s breathing echoed over the line. “This is a surprise.”

Jake hated the cynicism in Nick’s voice. Then again, maybe he deserved it. He should have tried harder to reach Nick, to understand him. But Nick had been so full of rage, and Jake had been brokenhearted over losing Sadie, and terrified about what had happened to his father.

“Jake, why did you call?”

He took a deep breath. “I need your help.”

Another pause fraught with tension, then Nick cleared his throat. “What kind of help?”

“Your professional help,” Jake said. “I’m the sheriff of Slaughter Creek now, and I’ve uncovered something that I think the feds might be interested in.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “Listen, Nick, I know this isn’t easy, that you probably don’t want to work with me, but this is about Slaughter
Creek Sanitarium.” He paused. “It involves an experiment I think took place there years ago. At the time Dad worked at the hospital.”

Nick sighed. “You’ve been investigating what happened to Dad?”

“Yes,” Jake admitted. “But there’s more.”

A tense pause. “I’m listening.”

Jake started from the beginning with Walt Nettleton’s murder, then went on to tell Nick about Sadie’s return, about the two doctors and what they’d uncovered, and about the suspicious deaths of Grace Granger, Bertrice Folsom, Emanuel Giogardi, and Dr. Sanderson.

“Sadie found a file in her grandfather’s closet that had notes in it from when Amelia had been treated by Dr. Sanderson. She was referred to as ‘subject number three,’ and there were descriptions of experiments using drugs and mind control.”

“You’re sure about this?” Nick asked.

“I’m looking at the file right now.” Jake ran a hand through his hair. “So far all the patients involved were from low-income families or immigrants who needed free treatment.”

“But if Sanderson is dead, then it’s over.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jake said. “I think someone else may have been behind this. And it looks like they’re getting rid of everyone who had anything to do with the project.”

Another pause, then he heard Nick’s muttered curse. “All right. Let me talk to my superior and explain what you found, then I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Jake hung up, his stomach churning. If someone bigger was behind the experiment and cleaning up, then Amelia was definitely in danger.

And since Sadie had been asking questions, so was she.

He tucked his weapon inside his holster, grabbed his jacket, and headed to the door. Cold air pelted him as he stepped outside, and anxiety tightened his shoulders as he drove toward Sadie’s.

He phoned Gigi to check on Ayla, and Gigi assured him that Ayla was enjoying the birthday party. He’d been afraid she was too young to spend the night, but Gigi said she’d danced off with her friends, excited at the thought of a sleepover.

He turned onto the old road leading to the farmhouse, his gut pinching when he spotted smoke curling into the sky in the distance. Was the farmhouse on fire?

Panic surged through him, and he stepped hard on the gas, skidding slightly on the black ice. He swerved around the curve, his fears confirmed as he realized the house was ablaze. He grabbed his phone and punched 911.

“Get a fire engine out to the Nettleton farm,” he ordered. “The house is on fire!”

Orange, red, and yellow flames shot toward the dark sky, smoke billowing in a thick cloud.

Terrified, he threw the car into park, jumped out, and ran toward the house. He took the steps two at a time, heat striking him as he pushed open the front door. Flames crackled along the interior, eating the floor and walls. Wood snapped and cracked, plaster from the ceiling raining down. He frantically searched the foyer, then the living room, dodging falling debris and flames. The furniture was ablaze, the curtains engulfed.

Then he spotted Sadie lying on the floor, unconscious, blood trickling down her forehead.

A board cracked and fell behind him, the whoosh of flames sweeping up the newspapers stacked on the floor. He had to hurry.

Kneeling beside Sadie, he checked her pulse. Low and thready—but at least she was alive.

Heat seared his neck as he checked her for other injuries. There was nothing visible, so he scooped her up into his arms. Sadie moaned, and he whispered her name as he raced outside to safety.

Sadie’s head throbbed, and her lungs churned for air as she regained consciousness. Jake was murmuring to her while fire crackled and boards splintered around them.

She clung to him and tried to open her eyes, but the room was so full of smoke, her vision blurred and tears stung her eyes.

“Don’t leave me now, Sadie,” Jake murmured. “Come on, we’re going to make it.”

She nodded against his chest, a whiff of cold air assaulting her as he raced onto the porch and down the steps. A siren wailed in the distance, its chilling sound mingling with the thunderous roar of the roof collapsing.

Jake rushed her away from the burning structure and carried her to his car.

He swung open the back door and eased her inside, then leaned over her. “Are you all right, Sadie?”

She nodded as she blinked back more tears.

Jake raked her tangled hair from her cheek. “What happened?”

Sadie gripped his hand, her memory foggy.

“Your head—it’s bleeding. Did you fall, or did someone attack you?”

Sadie gasped as the sound of the man’s voice echoed in her head. “A man...he was in the house. There were pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“Of Papaw’s murder,” Sadie said in a bleak whisper. “I found them in the den, on the table. Then I heard someone behind me, and something hard hit me in the head.”

Jake examined the cut, dabbing at it with his handkerchief. “Dammit, Sadie. Did you see who it was?”

She shook her head, then pushed herself up, straining to see. Horror filled her at the sight of her childhood home completely
engulfed in flames. The siren wailed closer, tires screeching as the fire engine raced down the drive and screeched to a halt.

“Are you all right?” Jake asked.

“Yes, go talk to them,” Sadie said, fighting for breath.

“I’ll be right back.” Jake squeezed her hand, then hurried toward the firefighters.

The firefighters quickly rolled out the fire hose and began to spray water at the flames. A moment later the porch caved in, the sound of the siding splintering telling her it was too late. There was no way they could save the house, or anything inside it.