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Body of missing Texas girl found in Del Valle

 

Officials in Texas say that remains found in an abandoned house this weekend are those of a 17-year-old girl who has been missing fourteen months.

Austin police confirmed Monday that the remains were burned beyond recognition. Police said that autopsy results indicated they belonged to Liv Reed. A 9mm shell casing and two unfired .38 caliber bullets were discovered at the crime scene.

Reed’s mother, Jill, told KRPC-TV that roller blades were found in the house. Liv was wearing them when she disappeared from Fentress Airpark. Her class ring from Eastside Memorial High School was also recovered.

Austin Police Chief, Eli Eary, said it’s believed that Reed was shot and killed in the abandoned Del Valle house, and her body was burned to destroy any evidence.

Her eyes blurred, unable to read further. An old ache clawed through her throat. Regret for Mom having suffered through her death and the terrible frustration for not being able to prove she still lived. And searing the edges of that ache was a harrowing sadness for the nameless victim who died in her place.

He stuffed the documents in the drawer, closed it, and shifted her legs to wrap around his waist. His lips stroked across her brow, his hands rubbing over her back. He held her as if he’d never let go. She held him the same way, arms tightening, fingers curling into flesh and muscle.

“There are no articles on the other captives.” His tone was distant, somber.

A ragged inhale hitched through her. “There was no fanfare with their disappearances. Those who did miss them wouldn’t have involved the police. Kate’s brothers are criminals. Camila was a nobody-gopher for the cartel. The others came from crack houses or no homes at all.” She kissed his neck, inhaling his scent to chase away the toxicity of the conversation, and leaned back. “What now?”

He rose, lifting her with him and standing her on her feet. His jaw was hard, his eyes equally so. “Now, we wait for Mr. E to come looking for Van. Or for us. And when he does, we’ll be ready.”

Her pulse kicked up in approval. She wanted him to color his words and fill her mind with images. His images. “Ready to do what?”

“To trap him and beat the ever-loving crap out of him until he exposes Mattie’s location. Then we’ll slice his throat from ear to ear.”

Hope spun around her, curling her lips. It continued to lift her through the night as he led her upstairs, fucked her, cuddled her, fed her, and fucked her again.

They remained in the safety of the attic for two days, waiting for Mr. E’s text, closing the door only when they were sleeping, planning and…exploring. The latter was a new experience with whips and ropes and creative sexual positions. She only egressed for food, and her sentinel was always an arm-length behind her. They never emerged unarmed. He carried his mom’s .22 in his hand. She carried the LC9 in the waistband of her jeans, wedged in her butt crack.

On the third afternoon, she crept down the stairs and stopped. Her toes touched the bottom step, illuminated by a glow of light. Josh bumped into her back.



Her scalp tingled. The hairs on her arms stood on end. The kitchen light didn’t reach the staircase.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She stretched her neck to peer into the sitting room. The lamp drenched the dated decor in a sickening yellow wash. She never turned that damned lamp on.

Her heart thundered in her ears. Mr. E hadn’t sent her a text. He always sent a text.

She spun and pressed a finger against his lips, shaking her head. His eyes narrowed, his body vibrated, and his stomach hardened to stone against her hand. She drew the 9mm from her waistband, flicked off the safety, and turned back. Choking on the thickening dread in her throat, she stepped into the hallway.

With a final glare at the silhouette of aggression vibrating in the staircase, she pointed a finger at him and strode toward the kitchen with the gun at her side.

She tripped in the doorway, her heart stumbling with her breath. A mannequin sat at the table, a naked woman with a head of hair, holding a doll. All the blood in her face dumped to her stomach.

She scanned the corners of the room for Van, unsure what to do with the gun. Raise it? Conceal it? Should she go for business as usual? She held it at her side. Where the fuck was he?

Her eardrums throbbed, straining for the sound of footsteps. She positioned herself so that she could see behind the bar, the entrance to the sitting room, and the mannequin at the table. “Van?” She shouted loud enough to dissuade Josh from charging after her.

But what if it wasn’t Van? What if this was one of Mr. E’s games?

A few feet away, the brown marbled eyes of the plastic woman stared back at her. A painted red line connected one glass eye to the pink hand-drawn mouth. Propped on the mannequin’s lap, the doll was the size of a small child, clothed in a red checkered dress.

Liv’s scar tingled in her cheek, her muscles stiffening to the point of pain. Staring at the morbid reproductions of her and Mattie, she tried to keep the contents of her stomach from painting the floor.

Gut-twisting curiosity shuffled her feet forward. With the gun rattling in her hand, she slid her other hand through the sparse hair on the heads. Each strand was different from the other but also…the same. They varied in hues of brown, intricately combed together and sewn into some kind of mesh cap glued to the scalps. The fibers between her fingers weren’t glossy like synthetic hair. They felt thinner, some damaged, realistic…familiar.

She jerked her hand back, her stomach bubbling toward her throat. Oh God. Her hair. Why? Jesus, fuck, what did it mean? She pressed a fist against her belly, backed up, and slammed into a hard body.

A hint of cologne touched her nose. The width of torso was too big. She turned, but Van’s arm around her chest caught her, pinning her back to his chest. His hand squeezed her breast, and she sucked in a breath. If she shot him, the contract on Mattie’s life would be activated.

She pressed the side of the gun against her thigh to thwart the shaking in her hand.

His lips touched her shoulder, her neck, the scar, creeping goosebumps over her skin. “I know you don’t approve of them, Liv. But I needed something to remember you by.”

 


Chapter 39

 

“What are you doing with the gun, Liv?”

Van’s voice was a low, strumming pulse in her ears. But there was an unraveling edge to it that scared the shit out of her. She drew in a breath and hoped to hell Josh stayed out of sight.

She trailed her fingertips over the back of his hand where he cupped her breast, to soothe him, to reestablish their fucked-up connection. “I thought you’d taken a permanent vacation.”

He sank his teeth into the side of her throat, not enough to break skin, but the sharp pinch stole her breath and raised her on tip-toes. One shift of his hand and he could break her neck.

She leaned into the bite. “Did you come back to kill me?”

His arm and teeth released her with a jerk. She fell forward, righted herself, and spun with the gun raised in both hands.

Three days of stubble darkened his jaw. His steely eyes were void of their usual glint, sagging beneath his hood. His smirk seemed forced as he slid a toothpick in his mouth. “You’re the one pointing a gun.”

She aimed at his chest. His jacket concealed the strength of his body, but she knew every muscle, every twitch, every scar. He’d taken her virginity, trained her as a sex slave, whipped her, fucked her, and loved her. She wasn’t any different from him. With one exception. She responded to the word No.

The light in the doorway behind him rippled. She didn’t shift her eyes, fearing it would give away Josh’s presence. To distract Van, she backed to the wall, until the length of the room separated them, and jerked her chin at the dolls. “Do they mean you won’t be pulling my hair anymore?”

“I won’t have a choice.” He searched her face longingly, desperately, as if collecting every detail into a special pocket of memory made just for her.

I needed something to remember you by.

She shivered and steadied the gun. “Why did you come back?”

The heat in his eyes said, To fuck you. His suspicious non-answers said, To kill you.

“Just say it, Van.” If she shot him, Mattie was dead. If he killed her, Josh would kill him. Mattie was dead either way.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” Sincerity wrinkled the skin around his eyes, but his voice was a monotone hum. His lips clenched on the toothpick, flattening into a line. His gaze hardened.

He was planning something cruel. Her molars sawed together, her nerves stretching. She bit down so hard on her cheek the taste of copper filled her mouth. “You murdered Mom.”

His face clouded, his timbre scratchy. “I’m sorry. I…” His expression blanked. He reached behind his back.

Jesus, he was going to kill her. Her heart stopped, and her finger slid over the trigger.

Time throttled into a series of choices, measured by the slam of her heart and the cascading motions that followed. Van tugged at something in the back of his jeans. She squeezed the trigger, and Josh yelled, “No!”

The recoil reverberated down her arms, and Van stumbled sideways.

He slumped against the bar. A dark circle of blood spread on the shoulder of his black t-shirt. He frowned at the crumpled paper in his hand, and the toothpick fell from his slack mouth.

“Oh, God.” Her voice was an echo in her fuzzy head. She lowered the gun, blinked. He hadn’t been reaching for a weapon.

He laughed, coughed. “I deserved that.” His legs slid out from beneath him, and he toppled to the floor.

Josh skidded through the room, tucking his gun in his jeans, his panic jolting her to move. Numb with shock, she handed the gun to him and knelt beside Van.

A river of blood soaked his shirt, coursed down his arm, and pooled beneath him. He lay on his back and peered up at her with the most heart-breaking expression on his contorted, beautiful face. No hint of anger or blame. It was as if he knew he was dying, and he was okay with it.

She pushed his hood off his forehead and cupped his damp cheeks. “You killed my mom. I thought you were going to kill me.”

He shook his head in the frame of her hands. “Tried to save her.” His chest heaved. “Drove…wasn’t fast enough.” He gripped her wrist and held her eyes, his nostrils flaring. “I was too late.” His eyebrows clenched together, and his breaths rushed out as he squeezed his shoulders against the floor. “I’m sorry.”

A low, agonizing hum vibrated her chest. He wouldn’t lie about that, and the realization tore through her in a barrage of buckshot. “Oh no, Van.” Her chest convulsed, and a sob climbed her throat. She stroked his cheek, staring at the blood soaking his shirt. “Oh, God. What have I done?”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment and snapped open, glassy with pain. “It’s okay. There’s no—” His spine arched, and he moaned. “No contract.”

She gulped at the thinning air and pressed her hands to the bullet hole. “No contract? No hit man to collect on your death? Or Mr. E’s?” She glanced at Josh, his eyes wide and locked on Van.

“A bluff.” The corner of Van’s mouth wavered as if attempting a smile. Sweat trickled down his temples. His gaze landed on Josh, and his lips bowed downward.

A bluff. She knew Van’s coercions intimately, and this wasn’t one of them. He would never fuck around with Mattie’s life. Tears rose up and burned trails down her cheeks. “If he doesn’t hire hit men then who killed Mom?”

“He arranged it.” His voice quaked. “His job—” His chest caved in, and his teeth snapped together in agony.

Warm streams of red pumped over her fingers. The steel in his eyes dulled, his complexion a pallor of white. He was losing too much blood. Josh disappeared behind the bar, banging things around in the cabinet.

The paper crinkled in Van’s fist. “You love him?” His chest stilled as if he weren’t breathing at all.

She didn’t glance away as she nodded, slowly, confidently. If anyone understood the connection between captor and captive, he did.

He closed his eyes and released a slow, easy breath.

Josh returned with an armful of dish towels, pressed them against the wound, and lifted Van’s shoulder to see beneath his body. Van hissed, his lips pulling away from clamped teeth, his eyes rounding in shocked pain.

“There’s no exit wound.” Josh lowered him to the floor and held the towels in place.

She caught Josh’s eyes, and they shared a harrowing look. The bullet was still in there. She reached in her back pocket and handed him the phone. “The code to unlock it is 0054. Call 911.”

“No cops,” Van murmured. He raised the wadded paper in his hand. “He’ll know.”

She flattened the edges of the news clipping, watching at Van’s shallowing breaths, and read the first sentence of the article.

Austin Police Chief, Eli Eary, stood at the podium during a recent celebration to honor his career…

“Mr. E.” Van’s voice jolted through her.

Her veins seized with shock, her body shivering. “Eli Eary? The police chief who handled my disappearance? He’s Mr. E?”

Van nodded, his hand gripping her knee. “My dad.”

She choked, her throat thick with tears, panic sprinting through her blood. She gave the paper to Josh and wrapped her hand around Van’s cold, sweaty one. Her thoughts wheeled violently around the axis that was her arrangement. “That’s why he gave me to you, why he’s so lenient with you.”

It also explained why Mr. E hadn’t punished him for his stunt at the intro meeting with Camila. He’d simply banned him from future meetings and deliveries.

Van’s eyes flashed, his voice straining. “He turned me into…this.” His lips curled into a weak snarl. “He killed your mother. I never—” He coughed and slapped a hand over Josh’s, adding pressure to the towels. “My mom was one of his.”

“One of his…” She searched his red-rimmed gaze and found a haunting, deeply rooted pain. “She was a slave?” She looked at Josh, seeking his reaction and perhaps his comfort.

Josh pressed one hand on the towels, the other settling on her back. His gaze formed a grim mirror of her own, creasing at the corners.

Was that why his mother fell into a life of drugs? Because she’d been a slave? Resentment engulfed her, shaking her limbs. Mr. E had ruined so many lives.

“Came back to kill him.” Van panted. “Needed your help.”

Across the room, the dolls waited at the table, his morbid things to remember her by. Her lungs shuddered. “Then you were going to disappear. You were going to let me go.” Guilt ravaged her insides, twisting and fraying.

“Have to kill him.” His eyes glassed over, his gasps weakening. “He’ll avenge me.” He choked. “He’ll kill Livana.”

“Livana?” The unfamiliar name hit her where she breathed. A name formed from two… “Mattie’s real name is Livana?”

He closed his eyes, his nod so devastatingly subtle beneath his short, bucking exhales. She was losing him.

“Van? Where’s Livana?”

“She’s…” His eyes flickered open, unfocused, and confused. He reached for her face.

She leaned in to meet his hand, eyes blurry, heart collapsing. “Van.” Her voice rasped, clogged. “What’s Livana’s last name?”

His clammy fingers fumbled over her scar, across her lips, and lingered on her chin. He opened his mouth and strangled on an incoherent noise that died in the air. His eyes drifted closed, and his hand dropped.

“Nooo.” She scrambled atop him, fingers trembling over his bloodless face. “No, Van. No, don’t go,” she screamed.

Anguish took hold in a series of wails, raging in her throat, shaking her limbs. He’d tried to save Mom. He was a fucking victim of his own father’s greed. Why had she thought he’d kill her? He never would’ve done that. He loved her.

Oh Jesus. Fuck. Fuck. Look what she did to him. “Oh, Van. I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t take it back. The bullet. The blood. She clung to his limp body, weeping, nose running, her heart shredding.

Arms came around her chest and pulled her to her feet. She elbowed him, dropped to her knees, and hugged Van’s waist. He gave her a few more minutes to release a torrent of sobs. Then his arms were back, wrapping around her and dragging her up.

He half-walked, half-lifted her to the sink, dragging her blood-soaked hands with his under the water. “I know you’re not thinking clearly, Liv, but we need to make a decision and act quickly.”

She wept in breathless starts and stops, staring at the pink-tinted water spiraling down the drain.

With his body wrapped around her back, his hands slipped over hers, rubbing her arms and rinsing away the evidence. “We have two choices. One, we go to the cops. Mr. E is brought in for questioning. His corruption may be embedded amongst his peers or he may be working on his own.”

“And Mat— Livana? If he were incarcerated, he could still kill her.” Goddammit, she hurt. Her head. Her heart. This shit with Van shouldn’t hurt this badly.

He tore off some paper towels and dried their hands and arms. “Two, we look up his address and stop him ourselves. By whatever means possible. Right now. Before he tries to call Van. It’s the safest option for Livana.”

Turning to face him, she gathered strength from his eyes and curled her hands around his neck. “Then it’s the only option.”

“Agreed.” The resolution in his taut expression matched his voice. “Mr. E tracks both of your phones?” He pulled her phone from his pocket.

“Yeah. Leave it on the counter.” She scrutinized their clothes for blood. Both in dark t-shirts, the smudges were inconspicuous. With a final glance at the blood-soaked body on the floor, she pressed a fist to her chest and blinked away the watery ache in her eyes.

“There’s a handwritten Austin address on the back of the news article.” He held it up. “Mr. E?”

She closed her eyes. “God love you, Van.” And goddamn him. He wasn’t making it easy to walk away on sturdy legs. She grabbed his car keys from the counter and headed toward the garage. “Van’s phone stays here. Mr. E is in contact with him hourly.”

Josh remained a breath behind her. “If his phone is here, Mr. E will know he’s here. You’re hoping he doesn’t call?”

She punched the code in the keypad and grabbed two long scarves from the hook beside the door. “Yeah. It’ll buy us some time to make the drive to Austin. Or if he does try to reach us, maybe he’ll think we’re asleep.” Van was asleep. Forever. Fuck, she should’ve been relieved, but the ache behind her breastbone burrowed in with brass knuckles.

Fifteen minutes later, she parked Van’s Kia in the Daddy’s Grill parking lot outside of town. The sun clung to the horizon as the gray cast of night crept in. She left the engine running. “I’ll be a minute. Try not to let anyone see your face.”

He glanced through the tinted windows at the three cars in the lot and said, sarcastically, “I’ll do my best.”

Inside, the waft of cigarettes and bar-b-que thickened her inhales. She stood before the only pay phone in the area, pumped it with coins, and lifted the receiver.

“Who is this?” The smooth, feline voice answered on the first ring.

“It’s me.”

Silence.

“This isn’t—” Liv cleared the rasp sticking in her throat. “This isn’t my usual call.”

“No, I don’t expect it is.” Camila’s tone was casual, but worry lurked beneath the surface.

“I need the house cleaned.” The tears broke through. She wiped them away. “There’s a mess on the kitchen floor.”

A gasp pushed through the line. “Your boy?”

“No. This one was never mine.”

“Oh.” A pause. “I feel like I should be happy.” Camila sniffed. “I feel…”

“Same here. I’m on my way to finish this. You have about an hour before the house gets crowded. Two hours tops. Code is 0054.” In a perfect scenario, they would kill Mr. E and sneak off into the night. If she were busted during an assassination of the police chief, she would use the slave house as evidence in her defense. But she didn’t want to explain two bodies. If she failed in her attempt, she didn’t want Van discovered by Mr. E. “Is the time-frame doable?”

“It will be.” She thought the line disconnected, but Camila’s voice came back. “Be careful.”

“Thank you.” For everything. The phone went dead.

She drove in silence for ten minutes before Josh breached the conversation she’d been expecting. “I’m trying to understand what you’re feeling right now and what you felt for him exactly.”

“I’m not sure I will ever understand it.” Van protected her from Mr. E in the best times, and her body bore his bruises on the worst days. Above all, he gave her a daughter. “I loved him and hated him with damaged devotion. He was embedded in my life for seven years. You don’t rip that away and feel nothing.”

He nodded, unbuckled his seatbelt, and gave her exactly what she needed. Twisting in the seat to face her, he slid a hand over her belly and clenched her hip. His other hand combed her hair from her nape, gripping the strands at the back of her head. With his body curled around her side, he dropped his head on her shoulder, the warm tendrils of his breath twining around her neck. He didn’t move for the length of the drive, and it was in that loving clench that she found the strength to forgive herself for killing Van.

Forty-five minutes later, they sat in the car, glaring across the street at a two-story home. Middle-income neighborhood, manicured lawn, well-lit walkway, and hanging flower baskets, it resembled every other house for ten blocks.

Dusk had settled. Cars lined the curb on both sides of the sparsely lit street. Van’s Kia blended in, but if Mr. E glanced at the car from his front window, he would spot them. The Kia was a generic car, but he knew what Van drove. He could make the connection if he were suspicious enough.

Josh caressed a warm palm over her thigh. “Mr. E hasn’t spent a dime of his illegal money, huh?”

She wrinkled her nose at the simple lines of his lackluster home. “He’s a police chief. How would he explain million-dollar luxuries?”

His strong profile watched the street. “He could’ve cut ties, retired to the French Rivera, and lived off of his fortune. Why is he doing this?”

She blew her cheeks out. “Maybe he likes trafficking humans. The power. The corruption. Maybe he’s just greedy and wants more money before he retires.” She grabbed the two black scarves from the backseat and coiled one loosely around Josh’s neck. “Better than chains, right?”

He leaned in and stole a kiss. “I love your chains, Liv.”

A flutter lifted in her chest. She looped the second scarf behind her neck. They would sneak in with their faces concealed, shoot the greedy motherfucker, and leave before anyone noticed. Easy as gutting all the other millionaire slave-owners.

Across the street, the front door opened. Josh gripped her hand as an older man strode along the walkway, shoulders squared, eyes on his phone. The outdoor lighting accentuated the streaks of silver in his black hair. She recognized the police chief in the news articles.

The road was free of traffic noise. If she rolled down the window, they’d be able to hear his footfalls. Could she shoot him at this distance? A shiver licked down her spine. “What if he’s texting Van? Or me?” Her blood pressure skyrocketed. “What if he’s on his way to the house? Fuck, what do we do?”

He squeezed her hand tighter. “Deep breaths, Liv. We’ll follow him.”

When Mr. E reached the SUV parked in the driveway, the front door opened again. A little girl ran out in blue-jeans and light-up sneakers with long brown hair winding around her shoulders. Her tiny chin pointed up, her eyes alight with laughter.

Fear and joy collided in a rush of nausea. “Josh. Her smile…Oh God, her smile.” She slapped at the button that rolled down the window just in time to hear, “Daddy! Daddy, wait up!”

A disgustingly familiar chuckle bounced down the driveway. “Come on, Livana. We’re in a hurry.”

 


Chapter 40

 

“No, no, no, no.”

Liv’s whisper seeped into Josh’s pores and chilled his bloodstream. Hooking his arms around her chest, he pulled her away from the window. “Are you sure that’s her?” He hoped to God she was wrong.

“Yes.” Her voice was a tearful hiss, whipping through the dark interior of the car.

He pressed his lips to her cheek in an attempt to soothe her, holding tight to her heaving body. “If he’s going to Temple, I don’t think he’ll bring your daughter with him.” The daughter Mr. E raised. His son’s daughter. His granddaughter. It made the decision to kill him a cluster of confusion.

He dragged his nose through her hair, his head swimming. Fifteen days ago, he’d sat in his Christian Ethics class, rooted in the belief that murder was a grave moral evil. A capital crime punished with eternal damnation. That was before he’d met Mr. E and the buyers’ network of soulless greed. Before his convictions had been tested.

He stroked his thumbs along her rigid arms. He certainly hadn’t felt unclean after shooting the bodyguard. Killing that man had been a last resort, one that saved her life. As for Mr. E…the bastard strangled Liv. Bashed her head against the wall. Enslaved Van’s mother. Trained his son to kidnap and torture people. He was beyond saving.

Hell, there were countless examples in the bible that justified homicide to protect one’s self and the lives of others. A heady sense of responsibility heated his blood and tightened his muscles. Liv was his to protect.

Across the street, Livana interlaced her tiny fingers with those of a man who trafficked sex slaves. A man who followed through on his threats, evidenced by Liv’s dead mother. A reminder that, once again, there were no nonviolent options left. As long as Mr. E lived, that little girl’s life was in danger.

As Mr. E looked down at her, it was difficult to interpret his expression in the dim light. If there was love there, even just a microscopic tenderness, what would killing the only father she’d ever known do to her?

A soft mewling noise rattled in Liv’s throat, her round panicked eyes locked on Livana’s affection toward Mr. E. “Oh God, Josh, why did he raise her as his daughter?” She pressed a hand to her abdomen, rubbing, her body shaking.

His arms locked around her belly, hugging her close. He wanted to believe Mr. E raised Livana because she was his granddaughter, but he suspected the reason was more perverse. What better way to keep his arrangement with Liv tightly fastened than to keep her daughter as close as possible.

“What if he figures out Van is gone? Oh God, he has my daughter, and I killed his son.”

“He’ll investigate why neither of you are answering your phones before he eliminates the only hold he has on you.” Maybe Mr. E considered Livana his daughter, but it wasn’t a mercy Josh would count on. The man had abandoned his own son to a woman who was too stoned to prevent her child from being raped. What kind of life was Mr. E giving Livana?

He buried his rising panic and kissed Liv’s head. Leaning her backward against his chest, he lowered their bodies below the windows.

The front door opened a third time. A blond woman stepped out, slender frame, hair in a pony tail. She was maybe a decade younger than Mr. E given her swift strides, the muscle tone in her arms, and her trendy jeans and blouse. With her purse in hand, she strode toward Mr. E. “I’m starving.”

Mr. E stared at his phone. “Change of plans. I need to be somewhere.” His gaze shifted to Livana who yanked on his hand in a futile attempt to move him forward. He untangled their hands and patted her head. “I’m going to drop you and Livana off at the station. We’ll pick up dinner on the way, and you can eat there.”

For a heart-stopping moment, he glanced at the street, his eyes probing the lines of parked cars. Then he climbed in the driver’s seat.

Josh’s muscles ached with tension. “Why would he take them to the station?”

“He’s paranoid.” She stroked his fingers absently. “For the first time in seven years, we’re not answering our phones. My mom’s murder gives me a damned good reason to revolt, and he knows the first thing I’d do is search for Livana.”

The woman clasped Livana’s arm, holding her in place. “We’ll just stay here.”

“Get in the car,” the voice barked from within the SUV.

The woman jumped and hustled Livana into the backseat. As she slid into the front seat, the engine started, and the brake lights illuminated the driveway.

“Shit. He’s backing up.” Liv slumped lower on his lap, dragging him down by his shirt. “Josh, he’s going to Temple. We need to be there.”

His pulse raced. “Shh. It’s okay.” He hugged her against him. “As soon as they leave, we’ll head back. We’ll beat him there.”

She pressed her face against his chest, nodding, her body trembling. “She’ll be safe at the police station. We’ll kill him at the house and…Jesus, what if he doesn’t come? It’s a huge risk.”

He stroked her hair as the rumble of the SUV grew closer. “This is a blessing, Liv. We’re captives. We’ll end this where he imprisoned us. It’ll be self-defense. We won’t have to run or try to cover it up.” He would see his parents again. She could live a normal life. His muscles clenched, his heart thundering. He wanted that for her so badly.

The rumble came to a stop beside them. Was the darkness and the tinted windows enough to conceal them? He popped open the glove box where the guns were stored and held his breath, his pulse drumming in his ears. Her fingers dug into his ribs, her body heaving against his.

The engine growled and the soft whir of tires on asphalt sounded the SUV’s retreat down the street. He blew out a shuddering exhale.

She melted against him, rubbed a hand up his chest, and curled her fingers around his neck. Raising her head, she blinked at him with watery eyes. “I—” she kissed the spot over his heart, leaned up, and kissed his lips, softly, breathlessly “—you.”

His heartbeat catapulted, strumming every cell in his body. “You, too, girl.” His mouth moved against hers, and during that brief, stolen connection, he felt her lips curve up.

For the next hour, they detailed their plan. The setup. The strike. The aftermath. When they pulled into the driveway in Temple, they had the story they would give to police ironed out and rehearsed.

She used the remote to open the garage door, and the emptiness within tingled down his spine. “Where’s the van?”

Her forehead furrowed as she parked the car and closed the doors. “Camila would’ve taken it to transport…” She rolled her lips, chin quivering, and rubbed her nose. “To transport the body.”

The tingle on his spine receded, replaced with a fortitude to do anything needed to ensure they survived the night. He handed her the LC9 from the glove box, grabbed the PT-22, and followed her to the kitchen door. His muscles burned through his strides, amped up and ready.

Her pass code released the door, and he slipped in before her, gun raised in two hands. He had three bullets left. He’d only need one, unless someone was waiting for their return. Did Mr. E have a larger network? Would he have called someone to meet him here?

The silence in the kitchen stood as still as the dark. She moved behind him, her footfalls trailing to the sink where she flicked the switch. Light flooded the room.

The yellow linoleum floor showed no evidence of blood. The matching yellow sink was also scrubbed. The chairs were pushed in at the table. No body, no bloody rags, and no dolls.

“I’m glad they took the mannequins,” she whispered.

No joke. In the end, Van had surprised the hell out of him. Perhaps Liv’s influence in Van’s life had altered his journey to one of redemption. Nevertheless, the memory of that man would be an eternal prickle creeping over the back of Josh’s skull.

She lingered above the spot where Van had bled out, eyes on the floor, her arms wrapped around her tummy. Her pallid expression produced a sympathetic ache in his chest.

Trusting that her friends had been thorough, he gave her the two phones from the counter and pulled her by her hand up the stairs, his gun out as he scanned the sitting room and hallway. The absolute stillness of the house was both reassuring and nerve-wracking.

She checked her phone as they climbed the stairs. “He sent one text, a little over an hour ago. All it says is, Where is Van?

“He would’ve sent that around the time he came out of his house.” At the top of the stairs, he entered the code with his gun hand. “You’re not texting back, right?”

“Of course not.”

Good. No communication would force him to show up. “What about Van’s phone?”

“I’ve tried every code I can think of to unlock it.” She walked through the outer chamber and snagged a black costume from the cabinet. “It’s a no-go.”

Fifteen minutes later, he knelt in the middle of her room, facing the closed door, his naked body prickling with goosebumps. With his wrists crossed behind his back, he was her slave.

She stood by the keypad, phone in one hand, the LC9 concealed in her thigh-high boot, the sheath of her minidress clinging to her curves. Holding her body motionless, she was his Deliverer.

Chains spread out around him and locked to the hooks in the floor. They led to the cuffs on his arms but didn’t attach to the cuff rings. Instead, they wedged beneath the leather straps. One jerk of his arms, and they would fall away. With his hands hidden behind his back, he held the PT-22.

The minutes stretched, his heart beating to the unfamiliar melody floating from her lips. Her lyrics were indiscernible, but the beauty of her haunting voice massaged its way into his muscles and invigorated his blood.

Their foremost priority was to lure Mr. E far enough into the room to close the door. Once locked inside, he wouldn’t be able to escape if something went wrong. And while she’d been adamant about being the shooter, he’d denied her pleas to relinquish his mom’s gun. No way would he allow her to defend them on her own.

Finally, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it and tossed it on the bed. “It says, Open the door.

 


Chapter 41

 

Sweat formed on Josh’s skin. His heartbeat thundered against his ribs. He dropped his chin to his chest and rested his finger beside the trigger guard, the gun held tight against his back.

Liv opened the door and stepped back.

Black boots stopped in the threshold. The door opened all the way, and a bath towel landed on the floor. Mr. E kicked the terrycloth until it was wedged beneath the crack, propping the door open. “Van’s phone is somewhere in this house. Where is he?”

Josh’s blood pressure spiked. There went their plan to lock him in.

Her heeled boots shifted a step backward, her silence constricting his chest. If Van planned to kill his father, he certainly wouldn’t have told the bastard where he was going or what he was doing. Why wasn’t she answering him with some kind of lie?

Josh raised his chin as subtly as possible, and his breath caught in his throat.

Mr. E wore his cotton jumpsuit and that god-awful canvas mask. His body angled toward Liv. She stood a few feet away, staring down the barrel of his semi-auto pistol.

Josh locked his jaw in a painful clench, his entire world a trigger-squeeze away from death. His fight response pummeled at him to attack, hardening his muscles and heating his veins. Timing would be everything.

A tic bounced in her cheek as her fingers stretched along her thigh, dipping into her boot and grasping her gun. “I’m not Van’s babysitter.”

The pistol swung, colliding with the side of her head. She fell to one knee, and her gun clattered on the floor.

Josh jerked so hard one of the chains fell loose from his wrist cuff. It clanked behind him, drawing the mask’s eyeholes in his direction.

She lurched for her gun and collided with Mr. E’s boot as he kicked it toward the shower stall.

“You gonna shoot me, you fucking whore?” He shoved the barrel beneath her chin, forcing her to lift on her knees. “Where the fuck is Van? You’ve got one second to answer. One—”

“Dead.” Her eyes burned, wide and fierce.

The compulsion to protect her wracked Josh with indecision. His pulse raced. No way could he level his gun before Mr. E fired.

Mr. E crouched and shoved his canvas mask into her face. “I don’t believe you. Last chance.” His gloved finger began a slow squeeze of the trigger.

A tremor gripped Josh’s spine as her throat bobbed against the press of the barrel. Her fingers curled against her thighs. “Your son cleared out his room before I killed him. Go see for yourself.”

Oh, God, Liv. Josh tightened his grip on the gun.

“You’re dead,” whispered from within the hood. In that everlasting second, as Mr. E’s finger pulled the trigger and the hammer released, Josh plummeted, gutted. Lifting his arms, he met his breaking point with a single-minded focus to join her in death and take the son of a bitch with him.

His heart roared with fear for her as he snapped his arms forward, clattering the chains and aiming the gun.

Mr. E’s semi-auto clicked, a jarringly quiet sound. Josh stopped breathing. It clicked? The pistol jammed? It misfired! OhGodOhGod, thank you, God.

Liv swung her arm, knocking the barrel from her neck, and Josh trained the .22’s sights on the mask. He squeezed the trigger as Mr. E jerked his hand to readjust his aim. Both guns fired.

The double boom pierced his ears. He choked on his terror as Liv’s eyes widened, her hand cupped around her neck. No, no, no. She couldn’t be hit. He bit his tongue, tasted blood, and forced his attention on the threat.

Mr. E’s pistol dropped. Red spouted from a hole in his canvas-wrapped neck, and he collapsed beside her. Josh had aimed true.

He scrambled toward them, his pulse thrumming in his throat. “Liv? Are you hurt?” He kicked Mr. E’s pistol, skidding it across the room, and pulled her hand from her neck.

Milky, unblemished skin stretched against the delicate lines of her throat. She glanced at the ceiling, and he followed her gaze. The bullet hole marring the sheetrock sank a surge of relief deep into his lungs. His eyes ached with the aftermath of jumbling emotion, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her.

The masked head twitched on the floor. Josh clenched his fist, vibrating with the need to take away the last of the man’s power. He found the ties on the back of the canvas hood and yanked it off.

Silver striped through thinning black hair. Bags of wrinkles hung from pain-filled eyes. The older version of the man in the news articles worked his jaw, unable to drag in a breath.

She leaned over the police chief, her nostrils flaring. “Van flew to the Keys and tried to save my mom.”

His eyes flashed, and his head rocked side-to-side.

“That’s right, cocksucker. And he came back to kill you.” Her voice strained with tears.

Kneeling beside her, Josh uncurled her fingers from Mr. E’s jumpsuit.

The man’s jaw opened and closed soundlessly, red trickling from the corner of his mouth. From the neck down, his body lay limp. Maybe the bullet damaged his spinal cord. He was definitely choking on his own blood.

“I went to your house and found Livana.” She grabbed his bobbing chin. “When your pretty blond wife returns from the station, I’m going to show her all the things you taught me to do. Then I’m going to kill her.”

Josh probably should’ve been bothered by her taunting a dying man, but his righteousness was buried beneath the huge freaking desire to crush the bastard’s skull with his fist.

A gurgle of blood bubbled from Mr. E’s mouth, followed by a strangled sigh. His face slackened, and his head fell to the side.

She checked the pulse in his neck. Josh pulled back the edge of a black glove and felt for a pulse on the wrist.

With her face only a few inches from his, he could feel her tension releasing with the slowing of her movements. He waited for her to glance up. When their eyes collided, a surreal moment hovered between them, fueled by their unified breaths. It was over. He leaned in, touched his lips to her trembling ones.

Her face crumpled. “I wanted him to die in a horrible way. This…” Her voice scratched. “This was too merciful.”

His heart fractured for all the torment Mr. E caused her. He spoke against her quivering chin. “He’ll be judged and spend eternity suffering for his sins.”

She shifted, staring at the body, her eyes welling, blinking. A quiver rippled across her lips. She turned toward him and coiled her arms around his neck, her lungs hauling tearful gulps of air. “It’s done, Josh.” She cried, quietly, her cheek against his. “I’m so sorry you had to be the one to kill—”

“Don’t, Liv.” He cupped her face. “I’m not sorry, and you won’t be either.”

“Okay,” she whispered, nodded. “Livana…” She pressed her face in his neck, her fingers clenched in his hair. “She’s free.”

And so was Liv. Free of fear. Free to live. Free with him.

As he held her, wiping away the streaks of tears on her face, he let fifteen days of tension twist free of his body, muscle by muscle, exhale after exhale. He waited for the guilt, for the darkness, for some indication to show him the wrongfulness of his path, but all he felt was liberation breathing through this passionate woman and the salvation that kept her heart beating.

God’s will led him to that house, but it was love that bound him within its walls. He was born with choices and would die with his decisions. Looking down into her huge brown eyes, her emotions so raw and beautifully exposed, he knew she was the most important decision he’d ever made.

He scooted to the mattress with her curled in his lap, snagged her phone, and dialed. Pressing a kiss to her salty lips, he lifted the phone to his ear.

“Bell County 911. What is your emergency?”

“This is Joshua Carter. I just killed the man who abducted me.”

 


Chapter 42

 

Ten hours later, Liv shuffled out of the interrogation room in the Temple police station, her boots scuffing along the stained carpet squares, the arches of her feet igniting pain with each step. Damned heels.

The highlights of the detectives’ examination swished through her weary brain. We believe Eli Eary acted alone in his crimes. Killing him in self-defense is permitted by the law. Your actions are not legally punishable. No actus reus. You and Mr. Carter are free to go.

The investigation was far from over, but for now, they were free. She and Josh had been separated the moment the driveway flooded in blue and red flashing lights. They were transported to the station in handcuffs, separately. They were questioned for hours, separately.

She stepped into the corridor, searching the unfamiliar faces for pale green eyes and came up empty.

No one followed her as she walked, but detectives and uniformed men stopped mid-conversation to watch her pass. Fuck them. She tugged down the short hem of her dress, feeling awkward and really fucking exposed.

She hugged her mid-section, dropped her arms, crossed her arms again. This feeling…this insecurity was so foreign. The last time she lived in a free world, she was just a kid. But in her twenty-four years, she’d never been unsupervised, never went anywhere without checking in with someone…Mom, Mr. E, Van.

As she passed offices and holding rooms, looking for Josh, she felt lost. She needed his hand on her hip, his fingers laced through hers, his eyes studying her with his bold affection. She missed him with every dry, achy breath.

Turning the corner, she entered a long hallway, anxious to see how he was doing after all the questioning. Their carefully crafted story to the police painted Eli Eary as a sadistic slave owner, not a slave trafficker. They claimed he acted alone when he abducted and imprisoned them. The detectives were overwhelmed with the discovery of the allegedly-murdered Austin girl from seven years ago and the nationally-mourned linebacker from Baylor.

She and Josh had agreed to omit the existence of other slaves, the dead buyers, and Van. Too much murder, way too many complications. In their story, Eli Eary used her and Josh—his only two slaves—for his sexual, sadistic pleasures. No one knew she abducted Josh. And no one mentioned Mr. E having a son.

Her longer captivity was more complicated. To expose her connection to Livana, she accused an unknown man of raping and impregnating her a few weeks after her abduction. Eli Eary threatened the child’s life as a way to control her. She was allowed limited errands outside of the house but lived in constant fear for her child. When she’d revealed that truth to the room of detectives, her painful tears fomented the story. The seven-year-old scar on her face might’ve garnered some sympathetic votes as well.

When they told her she was free to go, she asked for a visitation with Livana. They promised to do what they could with a cautious message. “Mrs. Eary is struggling with her husband’s death and his crimes. Give her time.”

They’d said the wife and daughter were safe in Austin. Mrs. Eary had been oblivious to her husband’s corruption, which meant she’d raised Livana as a legitimate mother. It was good news, right? Livana was loved and taken care of. Yet a deep ache flared in Liv’s chest. Her limbs felt heavier, her body colder.

It wasn’t as if she’d had aspirations to take over the role of Livana’s mother. God, she’d been so focused on just keeping her alive. But if she were to examine her dreams of the future, they did include her daughter. Losing Livana had left a hole inside her, and perhaps that hole would always be there, but she needed to see her. Needed to understand her relationship with her adoptive mother.

At the end of the hall, she paused at the doorway of the waiting room, halted by the hiccuping sobs tumbling from within. Across the room, Josh sat on a couch between his parents with their backs to the door. Their heads bowed together, their private huddle enveloped by a chorus of whispered prayers.

It was four in the morning. Her stomach hurt at the thought of them waiting for her. They should’ve gone home. Of course, Josh would never leave without her. But would they be together the next day? Or next month? Would he go back to school, live with his parents, work the farm, and become a minister?

What was her place in his life? She was a master at rope bondage. She could crack a whip without splitting skin. She knew how to suck a cock. As for the Bible, well, that was just an anthology of well-written fairytales. She wasn’t a minister’s wife.

He clasped his mother’s frail shoulder, his broad back twice the size of hers. At least, they let him put clothes on before hauling him to the station. They hadn’t given her the option.

Emily Carter’s graying brown hair had unraveled from her bun. Her flowery collared smock dress fell loosely around her skeletal frame. The woman Liv used to watch through binoculars had lost a lot of weight.

Guilt landed like a bullet in Liv’s stomach. She’d caused his poor mother so much grief.

Daniel Carter grasped his son’s neck. The humped curve of his spine and the weathered skin on his nape implied that most of his sixty-six years had been spent beneath the unforgiving Texan sun. Silver peppered his full head of black hair, and she knew if he turned around she’d see Josh’s pale green eyes in the older man’s face.

The sight of the three of them together, praying, and crying happy tears produced a sharp pain in the back of her throat. For a flickering moment, she entertained an unrealistic desire to receive some of the love they were expressing, but she didn’t deserve it. Taking him from his parents was the most selfish thing she’d ever done, but she would never regret choosing him.

She lingered in the doorway, unsure where to go or what to do. Should she interrupt their private reunion? Her fingers shook as she adjusted the clingy top over her nipples. The bottom hem reached just below her ass. One of the detectives had offered her his suit jacket. She suddenly regretted declining it. She resembled a homeless skank.

The truth in that thought clawed through her chest and burned her eyes. She was homeless. Also penniless, jobless, and without a family. Hell, she didn’t even have a change of clothes. Aching for Mom, miserable on her lonely side of the room, she backed out of the doorway.

What the fuck was wrong with her? She was free. Livana was safe. Josh’s parents had their son back.

Pull your balls out of your cunt.

Van’s words steeled her strides down the hallway. She’d wait on the bench at the end of the hall until Josh was ready. Her toes pinched in her boots, and her stupid eyes burned with stupid tears. She slapped at her cheeks and pretended she couldn’t hear the desolate echo of her heart in her ears.

Halfway to her destination, an arm hooked around her waist. She gasped and inhaled Josh’s clean familiar scent. Tension shuddered from her body. She let her head fall back on his shoulder and compulsively reached for his hand at her hip. Christ, she hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed him to hold her.

“What are you doing?” His breath caressed her ear, and his other arm crossed her chest.

She turned in his embrace, wrapped an arm around his muscled back, and pressed her palm to his whiskered jaw, savoring his heat seeping into her skin. “I don’t know where I’m going.” Her nose thickened with tears. Fucking hell, she was sniveling.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He was heartbreakingly beautiful, even more so when he regarded her as if he were searching, not her eyes but what lay behind them. “I’m not going anywhere without you.” He touched a knuckle under her chin and raised it. “The worst is behind us. It’s just you and me. Everything else is trivial. Got it?”

Her insecurities dimmed in the intensity of his gaze. She traced the curve of his bottom lip. “How do you do that?”

With his arm braced around her, he dipped two fingers inside the front of her dress and pinched her nipple. Leaning in, he kissed the corner of her parted lips. “I’m a horny slut, remember?” He adjusted her top, twined their fingers, and led her back to the waiting room. “Time to meet my parents.” He peeked back at her, grinning.

She shook her head and followed that gorgeous, confident smile. She’d follow him anywhere, even if it was to meet his parents with her tits creeping out of her minidress.

“Mom, Dad, this is Liv.”

The air shifted with the horrified widening of their eyes. Judgmental energy prickled over her cleavage and down her legs. They didn’t openly gawk at her body. It was a flash, a gasp, a quick glance away.

Holding their chins stiffly upward, their eyes locked on Josh as if another accidental glimpse in her direction would damn them to hell. What had he told them about her? Not the truth, certainly. But had he told them he loved her? His fingers were laced with hers, but that could imply friendship. She rubbed her sweaty palm over her belly, stared at the exit longingly, and met their narrowed eyes.

Emily clutched a wad of tissues to her chest, her face etched in wrinkles. Her gray gaze flicked to Liv’s scar and returned to Josh. “Oh dear.” Her voice was cold, forced. “You poor thing.”

Liv cringed. Ugh, her pity didn’t even sound sincere. “Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Carter.” She held out her hand.

Daniel clasped it, his fingers gnarled from manual labor, and let go. The hue of his eyes were indeed the same as Josh’s but duller and surrounded by dark circles. Worse, those eyes studied her as if they were putting her in a box labeled, Things To Keep Away From Josh. “You’re welcome to stay with us until you get on your feet. We don’t have a lot of room, but we’ll make it work.”

“She’s staying with us.” Josh gripped her hip, pulled her chest against his hard body, and rested his lips on her forehead.

She hooked her thumbs in his belt loops and kissed the hollow of his throat.

Daniel’s harsh squint was slightly more subtle than the ugly twist of Emily’s mouth. They knew their son had been imprisoned and used as a sex slave. She doubted Josh had gone into details with them, but imaginations were limitless, even for church-goers. They would’ve been told that she was a victim like their son, but she was still part of the evil that defiled their virginal boy.

“Excuse me, Mr. Carter?” A uniformed officer poked his head in the doorway. “If you’re ready to leave, we can escort your family to your car. There’s a lot of activity out front.”

Minutes later, she stepped into the cool evening air with Josh’s arm hugging her shoulders. A small assembly of news reporters lined the walkway to the parking lot, flashing bulbs and shouting questions. But their voices were smothered by the cheers of college kids, waving Welcome Home posters and Baylor Bears memorabilia.

“Somebody’s pop-u-lar.” She squeezed his waist, and his chuckle vibrated through her.

They walked behind his parents and two officers, weaving through the crowd that spilled into the parking lot. The college kids stared openly with wide eyes, likely imagining all the horrors of their captivity. Some shouted friendly greetings. Others held candlelit prayer circles.

Suddenly, Josh’s muscles stiffened around her. He stopped their forward movement and turned them toward a huddle of pretty twenty-something girls.

Seriously? “Josh, what are you—”

A flash of long black hair caught her attention.

Camila shimmied between two girls and held out a plastic grocery bag filled with clothes. Her huge dark eyes were cautious, flicking over the crowd.

Josh grabbed the bag, and Camila vanished behind the crowding bodies.

“Keep moving,” he said, holding her tight to his side, his height allowing him to see above the bystanders. His eyes were focused straight ahead. He must’ve spotted the car.

A knot formed in her stomach. Camila wouldn’t have risked exposing her connection with them just to bring a change of clothes. The thought niggled as she followed Josh into an old station wagon and shut the door. His parents climbed in the front, and she sat directly behind Mrs. Carter. Josh reclined in the middle, his big body crowding the bench seat.

He set the bag of clothes on the floorboard and whispered in her ear, “We’ll talk when we get home.”

She nodded, agreeing that a conversation about Camila in front of his parents would raise questions.

Headlights from passing cars flashed across his face as Mr. Carter pulled out of the lot. Something was working behind Josh’s eyes, and it had her sitting on the edge of the seat. He buckled their seat belts and tucked her close to his side.

The drive to Waco was filled with his parents’ gossip about church, accolades for the community’s support after his disappearance, and updates on the farm’s crop losses. Josh assured them everything would resume to normal soon, and her doubts about where she fit in sat heavy in her chest.

As Mr. Carter brought Josh up to speed on the business side of the farm, Josh caressed the skin above her thigh-high boots. Sliding toward the hem of her skirt, his fingers slipped between her legs and traced the edge of her panties. She held her breath and stared at his profile. Why was he doing this?

His attention seemed fully absorbed in the conversation with his dad as he eased beneath the crotch of her panties, found her wet, and pressed his index finger in to the knuckle.

She released a soundless breath and gripped his wrist, her body flooding with warmth. Still, he didn’t look at her.

“You fired the contractor, right?” he asked his dad, curling his finger inside her.

Her head dropped against the seat back, her thighs parting. Nerve endings tingled along her inner thighs. She realized he was telling her without words that nothing would change between them. The church talk, his parents, his previous life wouldn’t sever their connection.

She relaxed around his grinding hand, her lap shrouded in darkness. Her breaths quickened. Her mouth moistened.

He stroked her until she couldn’t contain her panting. His hand pulled away, and he drew his finger into his mouth, watching her with a smile playing at the corners. “Liv will be sleeping in my room.”

“That’s fine, honey,” Emily said. “I’ll make up the couch for you.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes, his arm resting over her lap. “No, Mom. She’ll be sleeping in my room with me.”

That was not how she’d envisioned him exposing their relationship. She slipped down in the seat, wishing she could disappear.

Tense silence pulsed through the car. He squeezed her thigh, and his eyes remained closed.

“Son.” His dad shifted, his gaze on the rear view mirror. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, and we’ll work through that. But the rules haven’t changed. You ain’t gonna be hitched and not churched. Not under my roof.”

Josh sat forward, slowly, his eyes narrowed on the mirror. “Your rules haven’t changed, but mine—”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Fuck, she didn’t want to cause this family anymore pain. She turned toward him and cupped his face, shifting his attention to her. “Please, Josh? I want to sleep on the couch.” He’d hear the lie, but she trusted he’d understand her intention.

He reclined against her, shoulder to shoulder, and traced the skin between her fingers. For a stubborn pain in the ass, he let the subject drop too easily. Which meant he was probably going to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Emily shifted the conversation back to church crap, promising that the ministers held all the answers to helping him heal. Forty minutes later, they shuffled into the Carter’s small, single-story home. The front half was split between a sparsely decorated sitting room and a galley kitchen. A short hall led to two bedrooms and a bathroom in the back.

He stopped her at the bathroom door. “Take a shower if you want. My room’s right there.” He pointed at the door across the hall. Following her in, he set the bag of clothes on the counter and dug through the jeans, cotton dresses, and t-shirts.

A comfortable warmth tingled through her chest. She owed Camila for so damned much.

He pulled out a camisole and sleep shorts. “Can you sleep in this?”

She nodded. “What happened back there with Camila?”

“She said something to me. The crowd was loud. I don’t know. I read her lips.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “I swear she said, Watch your back.”

What? Her spine tingled. “Why would she say that?” Their enemies were dead.

He unfolded the camisole, and a piece of paper drifted to the floor. Handwritten scribble bled through the thin folded stationary. Her shoulders tightened as they stared at it.

He picked it up, his eyebrows pulling together, and handed it to her.

Her heart raced as she unfolded the note. “Camila has no way to contact me.” Why would she need to? She gripped his arm and held it up so they could read it together.

We’re so happy for you! When you’re ready, our home is your home.
A couple lingering concerns…
The kitchen was clean when we arrived. The job was gone. No cars in the garage. Were you able to take care of this on your own?
Traquero and his wife are dead. Found two days ago. We’re not sure who did it, but the how was passionate. Definitely personal.

 


Chapter 43

 

Van’s death replayed through Liv’s head in slow motion. The gunfire. The river of blood on the floor. His final words. He killed your mother…Needed your help…He’ll avenge me. Leading her surge of emotions was the overwhelming relief that Traquero’s depravity had met a bloody end.

Josh closed the bathroom door, his complexion a sheet of white. “You shot him in the shoulder.” He rubbed the back of his neck, studying her. “It’s possible he survived that.”

She opened the toilet lid, flushed the note, and tried to keep her argumentative voice to a whisper. “He bled out.”

“Or passed out.” He shoved his hands through his hair and dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Ugh, so stupid.” He shut his eyes. “We didn’t check his pulse.”

Her mouth went dry. She closed the toilet lid and collapsed on top of it. Her chest felt hard and cold inside. “We left him there to die.”

He crouched before her and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Except he didn’t die. And when he came to the house last night, he’d already killed Traquero.”

She blinked, the movement irritating her gritty, tired eyes. “He must’ve flown to the Keys to help Mom.” She nodded to herself, swallowing past a tight throat. “He could’ve killed Traquero on his way back. But how did he know how to find him?” A horrible thought clenched her stomach. “What if he knows about Camila and the others?”

His hand wrapped around her neck, his thumb stroking the skin below her ear. “Think about why he killed Traquero.”

The only things predictable about Van were his jealousy and his hypocrisy. “Traquero hurt me.” Van had no qualms raising a hand to her, but Traquero had overstepped, recklessly. Van probably killed the wife in front of him just to make him suffer. “I think he packed up and left with the intention of protecting Mom and disappearing. When he failed, maybe he came back to avenge Mom’s death.” Would he do that? For her? The ache in her chest said, Yes.

“I despise Van.” He tilted his head. “But his behavior in the kitchen when you shot him…” A line formed between his dark eyebrows. “I got the sense that he was done. With Mr. E. With the whole operation.”

She sifted through her memories of the prior night when he was bleeding all over the floor. She couldn’t pick out a single word, expression, or action that suggested ill-intent. “If he knew about Camila and the others, he’d have


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