True Colors (25 page)
“Meanwhile,” Charlie said, “what are we going to do to ensure the evil bastard doesn’t get at my sister again?”
Logan clamped his teeth tightly together until he could trust his voice not to fail him. “I’ll take care of that.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FOUR
G
oofy-guy charm, Butch thought, was so underestimated. Seducing Sally Blake, middle-school math teacher by day and sad, lonely woman with no social life by night, had been almost pathetically easy. She’d abandoned her grocery cart, and they’d gone to the faux Starbucks next to the grocery store. Over caramel macchiatos and chocolate-chip scones, they’d traded jokes about Florida’s seniors, whom they affectionately called “cotton tops.” He’d told her how he referred to short elderly female drivers as “knuckles,” because all you could see of them when driving behind them was their hands clamped around the steering wheel. She’d laughed so hard that tears had streamed down her pink cheeks, and Butch had flushed with anticipation.
oofy-guy charm, Butch thought, was so underestimated. Seducing Sally Blake, middle-school math teacher by day and sad, lonely woman with no social life by night, had been almost pathetically easy. She’d abandoned her grocery cart, and they’d gone to the faux Starbucks next to the grocery store. Over caramel macchiatos and chocolate-chip scones, they’d traded jokes about Florida’s seniors, whom they affectionately called “cotton tops.” He’d told her how he referred to short elderly female drivers as “knuckles,” because all you could see of them when driving behind them was their hands clamped around the steering wheel. She’d laughed so hard that tears had streamed down her pink cheeks, and Butch had flushed with anticipation.
When only crumbs, crumpled napkins and paper cups holding the dregs of their coffee remained between them, she’d shyly invited him to her place “for a nightcap.” She’d even offered to drive, leaving his rental in the parking lot of the open-all-night store only six blocks from her modest ranch house in a quiet Lake Avalon neighborhood. Perfect.
And now he sat on the edge of her bed, gently stroking her supple, bare thigh, waiting for her to wake from the light sedative he’d administered right after he’d shocked her. A tingle arced through him at the memory of how her head had snapped back against his shoulder when he’d walked up behind her and zapped her in the small of the back. As she’d writhed at his feet, he’d picked up one of the wineglasses she’d poured and taken a sip of an oaky chardonnay from Napa Valley.
Life was good again.
He knew the routine once she awoke. She’d hate the restraints, beseech him with terror-drenched eyes to release her, to ungag her and let her beg for her life. He would, too. He liked begging. He liked giving them hope, then snatching it away. At times like these,
he
was in charge of hope and who got to have it and who didn’t.
Him
. That felt good. Powerful. Someday, soon, he’d make Alex Trudeau beg. He’d make her beg harder than the others, because she’d denied him once already. Until then, he had Sally.
he
was in charge of hope and who got to have it and who didn’t.
Him
. That felt good. Powerful. Someday, soon, he’d make Alex Trudeau beg. He’d make her beg harder than the others, because she’d denied him once already. Until then, he had Sally.
He finished the glass of wine and poured another from the bottle he’d carried into the bedroom after getting her ready. The sweat he’d worked up stripping and tying her cooled under the spin of the ceiling fan. His heart thumped fast and light in his chest. Anticipation of the moment when her pretty brown, Alex-like eyes opened and saw him for who he really was. Not a goofy, harmless guy after all. That moment of stunned recognition would be all it took to get him hard.
He had to wait thirty, fairly pleasant, minutes, thanks to the buzz from the wine. It didn’t hurt that she had such pretty curves. Plump breasts that flattened and spread because of her reclining position; the nipples, surrounded by dusty rose areolas, pointed upward in the cool draft from the fan. Her hips flared out from her waist, and she had a sweet little pooch of a belly, the skin soft and silky.
Her breathing changed, and her eyes opened. She blinked a couple of times, disoriented. The muscles in her arms flexed as she tried to shift position, and when they met resistance, she popped her eyes open wide and hitched in a startled breath.
“Hello, Sally,” Butch said softly.
Her head jerked toward him, and she made a sound deep in her throat, muted by the clean white-linen dish towel he’d found in the kitchen and used as a gag.
He smiled at her, hoping his affection showed in his expression. She was so perfect, so vulnerable, so . . . female.
His breathing deepened along with hers, and smiling still, his heart rate picking up, because this was it, this was his moment, he rose and began to undress. He took his time, folding his clothes and setting them on the seat of the arm chair by the bed.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured to her. “So very pretty. That’s why I picked you. Because you’re perfect.”
Her head thrashed from side to side, and she yanked violently at her restraints, her eyes wild with terror. The power he had over her surged through him, and by the time he finished undressing, he had to stop to take a few deep, calm breaths to slow the throb of blood between his legs. Don’t rush it, take your time, enjoy the moment.
He paused to wish he’d stuck to his routine with Alex. The thought of standing beside her like this, while she struggled, fear of him evident in every breath, only made him harder, and he stroked himself to ease some of the urgency. He had other plans for her, he reminded himself, plans that involved John Logan. Those plans would yield double the satisfaction.
This, with Sally, would merely take the edge off.
Sighing, smiling, he reached for the sheathed Bowie hunting knife he’d set on the bedside table. The knife had a seven-inch blade and hardwood handle worn from years of use. The well-used implement of an artist.
He sat on the edge of the bed next to Sally and, swallowing hard, removed the gag from her mouth. “You can beg now, Sally.”
As the pleas began to pour from her mouth, he straddled her—reveling in the heaving of her breasts, the long white column of her throat, the dark fear in her brown eyes—and positioned the knife in just the right spot, that soft, sweet spot above her belly button.
“No,” she sobbed, tears rolling back into her hair. “No, please, no.”
She convulsed wildly at the first shallow cut, her head arching back and a raw scream washing over his skin, like a woman in the midst of an intense orgasm. As he watched the blood well around the tip of the blade, a shuddering moan parted his lips.
Yes
.
.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-FIVE
A
lex woke to darkness and panic. She was back in the storage unit, and Butch McGee hovered over her, taunting her by wriggling his fingers an inch above her exposed skin. What horror do you want to experience this time, my little pretty?
lex woke to darkness and panic. She was back in the storage unit, and Butch McGee hovered over her, taunting her by wriggling his fingers an inch above her exposed skin. What horror do you want to experience this time, my little pretty?
“It’s okay, Alex.” Logan’s voice came from her right as he moved from the chair in the corner to sit on the side of the bed. “You’re safe.”
His hand slid down her arm until his fingers met and threaded with hers. She didn’t think to tense until it was too late, and then . . . nothing. No foray into Logan’s harrowing moments when he’d found her, tied and unconscious, in that storage unit.
Maybe it really was gone. Oh, God, please, please, please.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice soft in the dark.
“Fine.”
“Alex.”
“No, really. I mean, I’m tired, but that’s it. No, wait. I’m hungry.” She pushed up with her elbows. “Starving, actually.”
He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. Alex blinked and shielded her eyes until they adjusted to the brightness. The light hit his face from below, casting his eyes in deep, hollowed shadows, his expression beyond grim.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry.”
She wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. Their fight yesterday morning about her empathy? More likely he was sorry that the man who’d kidnapped her had a vendetta against him, as though it was his fault he’d done his job and bad people didn’t like it.
She stroked her palm over the stubble on his cheek, struck that he was shaking, and kissed him. His tongue tangled with hers, and the soft, reassuring embrace quickly turned desperate and seeking. She moaned, gasping when his warm, urgent fingers slid under her tank top and grazed the sensitive skin of her waist.
But then he backed off, his breath brushing her mouth. “You need more sleep,” he murmured.
“I need you.” She grasped his cheeks and kissed him again, openmouthed and wet, desperate to erase the horrors of the storage unit, desperate to get lost in the touch of this man.
She shifted to her knees, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt and eager to get him out of it, eager to remind herself of the good things, good
people
, in the world. She had one of the best right here with her,
the
best.
people
, in the world. She had one of the best right here with her,
the
best.
But, damn it, if he wasn’t going to go all noble on her and set her back from him, albeit with a shaky breath that hinted at his own rampant need.
“If not sleep, then food,” he said.
“I need this, Logan. With you.”
But he stopped her before she could get his shirt off, his hands on her arms holding her still. “Later,” he said. “I promise. First, you need to eat.”
Disappointed but appreciating his concern, she nipped his nose and then his chin. “Fine, go ahead and feed me. But I won’t let you forget your promise. And it’s going to require a little extra on your part to make up for making me wait.”
He grinned, finally, and it set everything right in the world. “Count on it. So how about you get some more rest while I go raid AnnaCoreen’s kitchen?”
She nodded, smiling against his lips as he kissed her fast and hard before getting up from the bed. He left her alone with one last smile.
Instead of settling back down and doing as he’d asked—she doubted he’d be surprised—she went into the guest bathroom and took a long, hot shower. She shampooed her hair three times and lathered up with shower gel twice. Her captor hadn’t done anything more than make contact a few times, but her forays into his head had left her feeling dirty and abused. She couldn’t prevent the twinge of sympathy for the tormented child her kidnapper had been.
Pushing aside the memories . . .
his
memories . . . she finished the shower and, wrapped in a towel, walked back into the bedroom. The dread of putting her filthy clothes back on faded when she spotted her camera bag and red duffle resting by the door.
his
memories . . . she finished the shower and, wrapped in a towel, walked back into the bedroom. The dread of putting her filthy clothes back on faded when she spotted her camera bag and red duffle resting by the door.
“Thank you, Charlie,” she murmured, realizing her sister had made a special trip to Alex’s house and back to bring her clean clothes and her lifeline: her camera.
The sun was coming up as she made her way to the kitchen, where she could hear the low voices of two men and the occasional scrape of a plastic spatula against a skillet. She expected to find Logan and Noah in conversation, but when she walked in, she saw a man she didn’t know seated at the table with a cup of coffee in front of him. He had the salt-and-pepper hair and lined face of a man in his early sixties. Handsome, too, in a sun-worn, weather-beaten, hard-living way.
“Oh, hi,” she said, casting a curious glance at Logan. He deposited an omelet onto a plate, then indicated the guy at the table with the spatula.
“This is Richie Woods,” Logan said. “A friend of AnnaCoreen’s.”
A
friend
with sleep-flattened hair and wearing pj’s. Smiling, Alex reached for the hand he offered.
friend
with sleep-flattened hair and wearing pj’s. Smiling, Alex reached for the hand he offered.
“Nice to meet you,” he said in a deep, gravelly drawl.
His warm, callused fingers had just closed over hers when AnnaCoreen walked in.
“No!” the older woman shouted. The teacup in her hand dropped to the floor and exploded into pieces.
Alex jerked back from Richie, shocked at the fierce expression on AnnaCoreen’s usually tranquil face. The woman stared at her, white-faced and panicked, and Alex stared back. What the hell?
Richie broke the stunned silence and rose. “You okay, AnnaCo?”
Alex glanced away from AnnaCoreen when Richie rose, just awkwardly enough to suggest arthritis in his hips or knees. She saw the real reason when he stepped from behind the table and walked over to rub a soothing palm over AnnaCoreen’s back.
Beneath his Bermuda shorts he wore a prosthetic leg from just below the knee down.
Alex closed her fingers over the back of the closest chair and held on as the muscles in her legs became the consistency of a stick of butter left on the counter on a warm day. A person wouldn’t have to touch Richie Woods to know his worst nightmare.
She swallowed hard against the nausea as she wondered what it might have been like to touch this man before her empathy had vanished. Experiencing what caused such a severe injury . . . She couldn’t even think about it. But, worse: What would her empathic stigmata have done about that missing limb?
She looked at AnnaCoreen and got why the woman had fumbled her tea and gone so deathly pale. The truth sucker punched her in the gut, and she gripped the chair harder. “You don’t think it’s really gone, do you?”
AnnaCoreen’s brow wrinkled with sympathetic pain, and it took visible effort for her to straighten her shoulders and raise her chin. “Don’t mind me, dear. I obviously overreacted. You’re perfectly fine, are you not?”
Alex watched the other woman’s face. Funny that a beach psychic had such a tough time telling a convincing lie.
Logan set an omelet-covered plate on the table along with a glass of orange juice. “Sit and eat,” he said gently.
As Richie knelt to start picking up the pieces of broken ceramic, AnnaCoreen stepped carefully over the mess and took Alex’s elbow. “Logan is right, dear. You need to refuel. We’ll take care of my silly accident.”
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