this new guy was capable of? If he’d only gotten started…
Mindy was a nice woman, a nurse with a bright smile and kind heart. She helped others selflessly, had tried to be the woman he desired.
But Brad hadn’t had his head in the game.
Because another woman occupied his mind.
Now the case dominated his mind. Not Lisa Langley in particular, he told himself. He’d simply found a soft spot for a victim. Had felt guilty over his part in not preventing the abduction.
And hell, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d imagined holding her, kissing her, taking her beneath the sheets and proving to her that every man wasn’t a sadistic animal. He’d fantasized about making slow, easy love to her until he put a smile on her face that would wipe out the sorrow White had left there.
But that meant nothing. A sexual attraction, that’s all it was. No emotional attachments.
Brad Booker didn’t need anyone. Didn’t want to get involved. Couldn’t allow himself to.
He brushed at the dust coating his slacks, climbed in his sedan and cranked the engine, grateful for the blast of the air conditioner. An old-timer stopped by his pickup truck and studied him, his wife shifting a foam container of leftovers in her hands as she, too, peered at him. The diner probably served as a boiling pot for gossip. Brad supposed they didn’t see too many strangers in town. They were automatically suspicious.
Had they overheard his conversation with Lisa in the diner? Were they Lisa’s friends, trying to protect her?
If so, he should be happy she’d found solace in these north Georgia mountains. Friends in the small town.
And one day she might find a lover.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring the stab of unease at the idea as he debated over what to do. Drive back to Atlanta? Spend the night?
What good would staying do?
He had work to do to find Mindy. And Lisa knew how to contact him.
But she obviously thought he was a bastard. And he had been. Otherwise, Mindy might not be in danger.
And Lisa wouldn’t have run from him as if he was the devil himself.
LISA WANTED TO RUN AWAY.
Again.
She clenched the steering wheel with a steel grip and guided the car through town toward her cabin, trying to plan a route of escape. But where would she go this time? And how far would she have to run to escape the demons? Would she need to change her name again? Get a different type of job?
The bitter memories of the days and nights of her captivity rolled through her head. Day one—the blindfold. The tauntings. The darkness. The unbearable heat. The stench of blood and decay. Day two—his evil touch. The beating. The sick mind games. The constant fear pressing in her belly. Day three—the box beneath his bed. The sounds of his breathing. The claustrophobia. The hints of what he wanted….
Day four—the hunger. The dry, parched throat from pleading with him for water. The dreams of dying just to escape.
Gasping for air, she hit the power button to roll down her window and gripped her stomach, fighting nausea. A breeze rushed in, hot air filling the car. Dark clouds floated across the sky, obliterating the sun, but the weather forecast had predicted no rain. Yet the green-tipped mountaintops rose in front of her, the open pastures and farmland offering a sanctuary. Cows grazed in the fields, lazily gathering around a watering hole. A farmer in overalls was riding his tractor. An elderly woman in a bonnet stood with a hoe, examining her vegetable garden, a plump yellow squash in one hand. So picturesque. Safe. A perfect place to grow old and raise a family.
She thought she’d escaped the ugliness when she’d moved here. But in a heartbeat, one quick flash of time, Brad Booker had brought it all back.
She hated him for it.
Yet she ached to turn the car around and seek solace in his arms.
Blinking to clear the tears and regain control, she forced herself to concentrate on the beauty surrounding her. In the fall, when the apple trees were heavily laden, their fruits spilling to the ground, she gathered the Granny Smith apples and baked dozens of pies. Last year, she’d canned and frozen at least a bushel, had made homemade applesauce, apple butter and jelly. She’d savored the tart tastes, the miracles of nature.
How could that nature include humans so depraved that they fed on the weaker at heart?
Humans like William. And now this latest sick man.
How did Brad Booker continue to do his job without the atrocities of it eating at his soul?
She was still shaking when she sped up the driveway to her cabin, the serenity she normally experienced at the sight of her log home lost in the emotions warring within her.
Brad had suffered the atrocities—she’d seen it in his eyes. Heard it in his voice.
And there were the recriminations.
He was blaming himself now for this woman’s disappearance. As she’d once suspected he might have blamed himself for her abduction.
But it hadn’t been his fault. Just as it wasn’t this time.
Brad was the good guy.
William had been psychotic. And she had been a fool for not believing Brad the first time he’d hinted that her old boyfriend was trouble.
Her emotions in a tailspin, she glanced down the valley at the cabin where the stranger had just moved in. He’d been lurking outside her place this morning. Who was he really? What did she know about him?
Panicking, she threw open the car door and bolted up the graveled drive toward the house. Warm sunshine splintered through the dark clouds, the afternoon heat engulfing her as she opened the door and slipped inside. She slammed the door and locked it, then leaned against the wooden frame, trembling. She was safe. No one had followed her. She could hide out here forever.
The quiet seemed eerie around her.
Then the truth assaulted her. She’d chosen this cabin because it was at the top of the hill, away from strangers, from the town, so no one would bother her. Yet the location had isolated her from others to the point of preventing her from making friends.
Because she had wanted it that way.
The kitchen cupboard in the corner, filled with dozens of jars of apple butter and jelly she’d canned, mocked her. Dozens of jars—but she lived alone. All alone.
She had no one to share them with. Wouldn’t allow anyone close enough to even consider offering a dinner invitation.
She dropped onto the sofa and heaved for air, the realization that she’d locked herself away in a self-imposed prison filtering through the haze. William had taken everything from her the day he’d kidnapped her. Had stolen her innocence. Her trust in men. Her dreams of the future.
She glanced around at the bookcase, the sofa table. Empty. Only a few pictures
