Novels 03 After Twilight, page 26
“And then, Kirstin, I’ll squeeze the very essence from you. Watch your life drain from your naked body.” Alex’s mouth slowly twisted into a smile.
Kacy fought back a scream, wanting more than anything to tell him that she wasn’t Kirstin. Never had been.
“Alex is alive? We are talking about the same Alex that Kacy watched drown, are we not?” Fin’s look of astonishment was almost laughable.
“Yes, we are. Bear with me. I’m not sure I’m completely clear myself.” The thoughts were coming faster and faster and Braedon was trying to straighten them out and put some order to them.
He sucked in a breath, forcing himself to remain calm, in control. “All right. I didn’t have time to verify it, but I’d wager a lot on the fact that the Martin in your pub is the real thing.” He sat on a kitchen chair, eyes narrowed, trying to piece it all together. “The one that was supposed to be the original turned up a month or so ago. During an appraisal it was discovered to be a forgery.” Along with a hell of a lot of other paintings sold by Solais.
Fin sat down opposite him, his elbows propped on the table. “Kacy told me once that Alex really loved The Transformation, that’s why she painted the copy.” He shot a look at Braedon. “And that’s why she gave it to me.”
“Right, so if Alex loved that painting as much as she says he did, it seems to me that it would be next to impossible for him to resist the temptation to own the real thing.”
“So you think that Alex sold Kacy’s copy and kept the original?”
“I do. It would have been easy enough. The forgery ring was most likely already in place.”
“Sweet Jesus.” Fin whistled through his teeth. “But I still don’t see how any of that proves Alex is alive.”
“It doesn’t, at least not by itself. But I found a contract with a deed in Kacy’s attic. It was addressed to an M. Giles. She said it was a mistaken delivery. To their New York apartment. I thought she was right. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Wait, I think I see where you’re going with this.” Fin rubbed a hand across his chin. “You’re thinking the initial M stands for Martin?”
“Exactly. Giles Martin—Martin Giles. It’s just a hunch, really. But think about it. Alex loved The Transformation. Man going from misery to joy, morphing from a black-and-white existence to Technicolor.”
“So you think that’s what he was planning to do? Make himself over and live a new life?” Fin narrowed his eyes, his expression shrewd. “But how in the world would we prove such a thing? Short of the man signing his name to a confession, there’s no bloody way to be certain.”
Braedon felt like banging his hand against his forehead. The answer was suddenly so obvious. A true V8 moment. “I’ll be damned. It was right there in my hand. I knew something was off. I just couldn’t place it.”
“Well, don’t go all blabbery on me, man, tell it.” Fin leaned forward, his eyes fierce.
“It’s the signatures.”
Fin frowned again in confusion. “You’ve lost me again.”
Hell, the whole thing was so crazy he wasn’t certain he hadn’t lost it himself, but he could see the slanted handwriting clearly in his mind. In fact, he’d seen it twice. “On the contract and on Kacy’s marriage certificate. The signatures. The names were different, Fin. But I’d swear that the handwriting was the same.”
“When did you see the marriage certificate?”
“In the attic, the same time I saw the deed.” Braedon closed his eyes, remembering the handwriting. It was distinctive, and though the letters were different, the style was identical. He opened his eyes, meeting Fin’s anxious gaze. “I can’t be sure, but I think both signatures were written by the same hand.”
“Where are the documents now?” Fin asked impatiently.
Braedon tightened a fist. “I burned them.”
“What in hell for?”
“I didn’t think they were important.” He’d been thinking about making love to Kacy. Nothing had seemed important. “Look, there’s probably something else in the attic that can tie Martin to Alex. Kacy said there was more mail. The police can look when they get here.”
Fin glanced at his watch. “If they get here. One of the downsides to living in the country.”
“Well, we can’t just sit here and do nothing. That maniac was here. He did this. I’d stake my life on it.”
“If you’re right, then he has Kacy. And that can’t be a good thing.”
Brandon’s stomach tightened into a tangled knot, fear surging through him. Fear mixed with rage. His gaze met Fin’s, seeing his own helplessness mirrored there. “How in the hell are we going to find her?”
“Hello, darling. Comfortable?” Alex’s voice filled the room, setting Kacy’s teeth on edge, sending a tremor of fear down her spine. The mattress dipped as he sat down beside her, running one finger along the swell of her breast. “You are so lovely. It’s too bad you couldn’t have been loyal as well.”
Anger surged through her. “Loyal? You’re the one who faked your death and left me behind to clean up the mess.” She croaked the words, her throat dry, her voice barely audible.
“But you’re the one who kept my letters and my painting.”
“What are you talking about?”
His face twisted with rage. “The deed, Kirstin. The only thing linking my old life with my new one.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “And then there’s The Transformation. What the hell did you do with it, darling?”
“I gave it away, Alex.” She spat the words out, anger swelling through her. “So that I could forget about you.”
“Impossible thought, Kirstin. How could you forget this?” His finger circled her nipple, the touch light, almost casual, an afterthought. She tried to twist away, but the ropes kept her firmly within reach. “You know what they say about wives, don’t you? It’s best to keep them locked up safely. Away from strangers.”
He closed his hand, his forefinger and thumb digging into the tender skin. “I saw you with him, you know. Through the window. I saw what he did to you. What you let him do. You’ve been a very naughty wife, Kirstin.” His knowing gaze met hers, his eyes flashing.
Her blood ran cold. He’d seen her with Braedon. Her face flamed with anger. “You bastard.”
“Yes, Kirstin, I probably am. But from now on I’m the bastard who butters your bread. And if you value that pretty neck of yours at all, you’ll do what I tell you.” He leaned down, his breath fanning her face. “Starting now.”
He framed her head with his hands, holding her still, and then slowly lowered his head, until his lips brushed against hers. His tongue traced the curve of her mouth and she closed her eyes, trying hopelessly to twist away.
“Hold still.” His grip tightened and sharp pain pierced her lower lip, and she realized with horror that he was biting her. She cried out, the sound lost against his mouth, and shrank back into the mattress, willing him to stop, to go away.
He sat back, an insolent smirk on his face. “Don’t ever forget that you belong to me, Kirstin. I decide what you do and what you don’t do. And only I have the right to touch you. Here.” He ran his fingertip across her neck and breasts. “And here.” The finger dropped lower and she bit back a scream, glaring at him.
Hating him.
He pulled his hand away, the sardonic smile still firmly in place. “That’s enough for now. I like the anticipation. It makes me hard, Kirstin. Hard for you.” He touched himself and she wanted to throw up. “I’ve brought you something to drink.” She retched as he moved toward her again, laughing. “Ah, dreaming of drinking me? Maybe later. Right now, I’ve brought water.”
He lifted a glass and Kacy had to fight to keep from begging. Despite her best intentions, her mouth opened of its own volition.
“Now, now, let’s don’t be greedy.” He dipped a finger in the water and trailed it along her lips.
She sucked at the drops, the moisture easing her dry mouth. He lifted the glass for her, holding her head with one hand. She tried to drink, but the angle was off and the water trailed down her chin and onto her chest.
Alex pulled the glass away. “There now, that’s enough.”
She whimpered with need. She was so thirsty.
“I’ll bring you more later. But now, a little prelude, I think.” He held the glass over her, tipping it slightly so that the water ran in a thin trickle, splashing across her breasts. Like the water droplets, it pooled below, on her belly.
Before she realized what he was going to do, Alex dipped his head, his tongue lapping at the water on her skin. Tears of humiliation and anger squeezed from behind her tightly closed eyes. She tried to separate herself from the body on the mattress, to find some safe place to go.
She thought about Braedon. And prayed that he would come.
Prayed that he would kill Alex.
Braedon sat on the front steps of the cottage, watching as Fin helped Paddy Fitzgerald settle Mac into his car. He was going to be all right, but Paddy needed to get the bullet out and patch him up and they’d decided—against Mac’s wishes, based on the way he was howling—it was something best taken care of at the surgery.
Fin thought Mac was in pain. Braedon knew he was frantic over leaving his mistress. Wherever she was. He buried his face in his hands, the feeling of helplessness robbing him of his strength. God, how had he let this happen?
The Garda had come and gone, taking the bodies with them. They were doing all that they could. They’d searched the house inside and out for clues but there was nothing definitive. They had agreed to watch the airports and ferries, but until he could prove that Alex Madison was alive, they would no doubt remain cordial but skeptical. He hadn’t told them about the note. Fin had agreed with him that, under the circumstances, it was too damning.
Between he and Fin, they’d canvassed everyone in the village. No one had seen a damn thing. It was as if the man was a bloody ghost. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to stay focused. It was up to him to find her. But how? He tried to think, but his brain was running in slow motion, a creeping sort of lethargy snaking through his body.
Fin dropped onto the step beside him. “Well, that’s that. Now what?”
“I honestly don’t know. She could be anywhere by now.” He lifted his head, hating the vulnerability in his voice. He was supposed to have taken care of her. He never should have left her alone. And now, because of his stupidity, she was God knows where, possibly hurt or worse. He clamped down on the idea, unwilling even to consider it.
“This isn’t your fault, you know.” Fin placed a hand on his shoulder, reading his mind.
“Isn’t it? I keep thinking about her telling me she’d seen him at the hotel. I didn’t believe her. I should have at least suspected that it was Max. But I thought the bastard was still in prison.”
“You couldn’t have known, man.”
“But I should have taken it more seriously when she said she saw Alex at the fort.” He closed his eyes, a picture of Kacy floating through his mind. Not out on the ledge, but that first morning at the ruins.
He smiled, remembering the way she’d looked, the mist curling around her. If it hadn’t been for the falling stones, he would have kissed her. With a start, he realized that he’d loved her even then. His heart sank. If he lost her now …
His brain overrode his emotions, a single thought telegraphing its message insistently. He opened his eyes, his senses trained on trying to decode what his subconscious had dredged up.
The fort. The rock slide.
Kacy had said the stones had collapsed. He frowned, forcing himself to concentrate. “The footprint.” He grinned suddenly, his lethargy gone.
“What footprint?” Fin raised his brows quizzically.
He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. “The one at Dunbeg. It’s the key, Fin. There was only one.” He stood up, his mind already trying to figure out what to do.
“What in the world are you blethering about now?”
He looked at his friend, too impatient to try to explain, and then relented when he saw the distress reflected on the big Irishman’s face. “Come on. I’ll explain on the way.”
“Way where?” Fin questioned, but rose to follow him as he set off across the drive.
“Dunbeg,” Braedon said, stopping at his car to grab his flashlight. Fin caught up with him and together they headed for the fort. “When Kacy and I were exploring the ruins, a section of wall broke off and collapsed. Kacy explained that the wind and rain and years of pilfered stones make that sort of thing a common occurrence.”
“So?” Fin held his hands wide, palms up.
“So, we went to check it out. And found that part of an entrance to the souterrain had caved in. There was a footprint in the mud by what was left of the opening. Kacy was worried that someone was trapped inside.”
“What does this have to do with Alex?” Fin interrupted impatiently.
“I told Kacy that the footprint was pointed away from the door.”
Fin frowned, his brows knitting together. “Meaning someone was walking away, not into the falling rock.”
“Right. And that’s all I thought about it.” He felt himself grow hot and shrugged. “There were other things on my mind.”
The ghost of a grin swept across Fin’s face.
“Anyway, the point is I missed the fact that there was only one print. It was raining cats and dogs. Mud everywhere.”
Fin quickened his step, hope lighting his ruddy face. “And if someone had walked away, there would have been more than one print.”
“Exactly. It was more like someone had stepped out and then back again.”
“Someone who saw his wife with another man?”
Braedon grimaced. “Someone who saw his wife in the arms of another man.”
Fin blew out a breath. “And in anger, created a distraction.”
“Seems plausible.”
Fin nodded, caught up with the idea. “Those tunnels riddle the hillside. They even lead down to the sea. A man could hide in there for years.”
“And he could hide someone else.” Braedon shuddered, rage twisting through him at the thought of his Kacy trapped somewhere underground with a madman.
Fin grabbed his arm, hurrying him along. “Come on, then. Let’s go find the bloody bastard.”
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Chinese water torture would have been more humane. Kacy wanted to scream. She was cold and her muscles protested in agony. And on top of everything else, something was in here with her. She was certain of it, could hear it creeping around, skittering about. Her mind was inventing all sorts of creatures and she shivered as much from apprehension as from cold.
She strained against her bonds. Nothing. She’d managed to loosen the rope around her left wrist, but not enough to allow her to escape. She bit back an oath and slammed her head back down against the mattress.
She had no concept of time, but she was tired and hungry and she had to … well, she just wasn’t going to think about that.
More than anything, she had to get out of here. It was all well and good to think about Braedon riding to her rescue, but it was probably good to develop a plan B, just in case. Tears threatened again and she dug her nails into her palm, driving them away. She jerked her left arm, twisting her wrist at the same time. The rope dug into her flesh and she bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain.
Alex was not going to get the best of her. She wouldn’t let him. She twisted her wrist again, and this time felt the rope slide a little. The skin was raw and it burned from where the restraint had cut her, but considering some of the alternatives, whatever she did to herself, right up to cutting her hand off, would be more than worth it.
She squeezed her eyes shut, folded her hand until it was as narrow as she could make it, and yanked. Searing pain shot up her arm, but she forced herself to ignore it and wrenched her hand free.
She lay for a moment, waves of agony washing through her, and then with steely fortitude, she pushed away the pain. No way was Alex going to get her without a fight. She reached for her other hand, looking down her arm as she fumbled with the knot, gritting her teeth with determination.
One down, three to go.
Chapter 28
KACY SAT UP, her left wrist throbbing. It was hard to see in the dim light, but from an upright vantage point she could make out rock and dirt walls. She was sitting on a makeshift bed and dilapidated mattress. She flexed her feet, inspecting her ankles, relieved to find that other than a few abrasions and some serious bruising, they were fine.
She could walk. Granted, she wasn’t up to a marathon, but under the circumstances she’d take what she could get, as long as it meant getting the hell out of Dodge.
Her wrist hadn’t fared so well. It didn’t look good. It was purple and scraped raw in places, the bone dipping inward, forming an odd crater in the center of her wrist, and her hand was swelling, her fingers ungainly and stiff. She swallowed back nausea as a wave of pain washed through her.
There wasn’t time for this. She’d feel sorry for herself later. Right now, she had to move. She eased off the bed, finding her balance, waiting until her head stopped whirling. Finally steady on her feet, she held her injured wrist with her good hand and surveyed the room, trying to figure out exactly where she was.
Faint light filtered through chinks in the rock wall directly behind the bed. Crossing over to it, she braced herself with her good hand and tried to peer through a small gap, hoping to see what was on the other side. The stones under her hand shifted, scraping against each other, plummeting outward, leaving a larger hole.
She stumbled, lurching backward, grateful when she regained her balance without falling. Sucking in a deep breath, she froze, staring at the patch of sky through the gap, her mind reproducing instant replay of the rocks tumbling end over end to the beach below.
