Hunted

He turned off his engine and sat near the edge of the beach, almost surprised to find himself so close to Casey’s hotel. He hadn’t meant to come back there, had he?

Casey Quinn.

He’d seen her news stories before, most folks had. She didn’t work for some local channel—Casey was the big time. Prime-time TV on a major network. When he’d done some digging on her, he’d realized her pieces were always dark, focusing on the worst criminals out there. Not scare pieces, though, but reports that showed the broken lives that had been left in a monster’s wake.

He knew she’d come down to Hope to cover Theodore Anderson’s case—the sick freak had enjoyed kidnapping girls. Kidnapping them and killing them. He’d even killed his own daughter. Casey and the other reporters had been trying to interview both Theodore Anderson and the guy’s son, Kurt. But Kurt hadn’t talked to any reporters. Not yet. Josh was a bit surprised that Casey’s charm hadn’t worked on the guy. Her smile—yeah, he could see where she’d be able to get men to talk to her. That slow smile was pure sex appeal, and it did something to her eyes—made those dark chocolate eyes gleam. No wonder young Finn had overshared, but the deputy knew better now. Josh and Hayden had made certain the kid knew better.

He turned away from the beach and glanced up at her hotel. He’d touched her cheek and her skin had been like silk beneath his hand. She’d stood there, in those incredibly sexy heels, her skin a warm gold next to the white of her shirt, and that dark hair of hers had skimmed over her shoulders. She was small, built along delicate lines, but sure curved in every perfect place. When she’d been behind him on the bike—

Stop lusting, turn on the motorcycle and get out of here.

He wasn’t going to cross any lines with the reporter. A sexy face and body weren’t going to make him forget his job. He wasn’t young Finn.

He rolled back his shoulders.

Get out of here.

But he couldn’t help glancing at the hotel just one more time.

* * *

SHE HURT.

Casey groaned as she cracked open one eyelid. Her whole body ached and she was lying on something rough and hard. The hotel bed was normally soft, like falling into a cloud after a long day of work, but this—

I’m not at the hotel.

Both of her eyes flew open. She stared around, horrified. She wasn’t in her hotel. She was... Where in the hell was she? She tried to move her body and realized that her hands and feet were tied. Her hands were behind her back and she could feel what felt like rough hemp rope cutting into her wrists. She twisted and her body slid over...over plastic?

Yes, she was on a big sheet of plastic. The smell of fresh wood filled the air, and her frantic glance took in the room around her. She was in a home...of some sort. One that appeared to be under construction. No Sheetrock was up on the walls yet. She could see the wooden framework all around her.

And I’m on plastic. Oh, God. Because she knew why an abductor would put his prey on plastic. So there won’t be a mess left behind when he’s done with me.

She wiggled and twisted and finally managed to sit up. When she did, she realized that light was pouring in through one of the windows to the right. Light, and she could also hear the thunder of waves. I’m on the beach. In a house under construction. A house or some kind of condo complex or...

No, it’s a beach house. Because she remembered seeing about four houses that had been under construction on the west end of the beach. They’d been big, massive structures up on wooden stilts that screamed high-end real estate. But, if the place was under construction, where were the construction workers? Where was the crew? Where was someone who could—“Help!” Casey called out. Her voice was oddly weak, so she tried again, screaming, “Help!” with all of her strength.

She fought to remember what had happened to her. She’d been in her hotel room and then...someone had been there. He’d grabbed her. Rammed her head into the wall—jabbed her? Injected her with something? And she’d fallen. Everything had gone dark. But she thought that she remembered him...laughing.

The waves kept thundering. Her gaze narrowed on the window. There was only a little light coming in. Maybe dawn hadn’t fully arrived yet. Since it wasn’t dawn, that meant the work crew wouldn’t be coming for a while and—

It’s Sunday. Her eyes squeezed closed. No, the work crew wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon.

She jerked and twisted her way across the room. The plastic slid beneath her, bunching up, and she tried not to think about it—or about the man who’d taken her. The man who could appear any moment. The man who—

“I heard you screaming, Casey Quinn.”

She froze. Casey didn’t want to look over her shoulder. He was back there. If she looked at him, if she saw his face—

“Guess your screams mean...it’s time to get started.”

And she had to look back. Her head jerked toward him. He stood in the framed doorway. Dressed head to toe in black—complete with a black ski mask that covered his face. She couldn’t even see his eyes because there was some kind of weird mesh over them. “Stay away from me,” she ordered, hating that her voice shook.

He laughed—the laugh that she remembered—and he pulled out a knife.

The plastic beneath me...it’s to catch all of the blood.

“Can’t stay away,” he told her. “I have work to do.”

“Y-you’re going to stab me...five times?” Because that was what he did. With all of his victims, he stabbed them. And then he slit their throats and dumped the bodies in the ocean.

I fit his profile. Josh even said... No, no, this couldn’t happen!

He came toward her, moving slowly. He bent and brought the knife toward her. She heaved and strained against the ropes, but they wouldn’t give. He put the knife to her cheek. Pressed just enough that a drop of blood slid down her face. “Don’t rush me,” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting for this moment a long time.”

What?

“You and I are going to talk. You’re going to tell me all of your secrets.”

No, she wasn’t.

“Or I will cut you open.”

He lifted the blade away from her face—the moment she’d been waiting for. He was crouched close to her—his mistake. He thought that just because she was tied up, she was helpless.

He was wrong.

She lifted her feet—wish I still had on my heels, those spikes would have come in handy—and she slammed them right into his crotch, as hard as she could. He gave a grunt and staggered back. The knife fell from his fingers. She grabbed it, rolling and slamming her body harder into the plastic. The blade cut her fingers, but she didn’t care. She started sawing at the ropes that bound her wrists together and—

He drove his fist into her cheek, so hard that she saw stars. The knife fell from her fingers as her head slammed back and hit the plastic—and the hard wood beneath it.

He swore and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her toward him. As he hauled her up, her hands fumbled across the floor and something sliced into her pinky finger...something sharp and narrow.

A nail. A nail was sticking up through the wood.

“Don’t go passing out on me. We have to make a phone call. That’s step one for us. Got to let folks know who has the power here.”

She kept her hands near that nail and started to slide the rope against it. Was it making a grinding noise as she sawed? Could he hear her? The knife’s blade had almost cut all the way through the rope, and if the nail could just finish the job, then she’d have a chance.

He left her there, sagging on the floor, her hands behind her and working slowly with that nail as he yanked a phone out of his back pocket. Her gaze darted to his hands. He was wearing gloves, but she could see a little bit of tanned skin where the gloves ended near his wrists. The guy was Caucasian, a little over six feet, probably close to one hundred and eighty pounds, and he—

“I’ve got someone new,” he rasped into the phone. “Pretty soon, Sheriff Black, it will be time for you to find her.”

He’d called the sheriff. Did he always do that? Always call while the victim was still alive? The authorities hadn’t revealed that detail to the press, and if this was part of the guy’s MO, then no wonder Hayden Black had looked increasingly worn. He’d been fighting to find the victims alive, but he kept turning up dead bodies.

His finger slid over the phone—she realized he must be wearing those smart gloves that allowed him to still work a phone screen—and she heard Hayden’s voice fill the room.

“Give me proof of life,” Hayden barked.