In a Heartbeat

The last thing he remembered was walking out the door twenty-four hours ago.

With unsteady hands, he reached for his pills and choked one down. Were the dark images that had slipped into his dreams real, or had he’d imagined them?

The blood on his hands indicated that he hadn’t simply dreamt of vile acts, but that he’d performed them. That he had enjoyed them. That she had deserved it.

That tonight he would lose time again, that he would fade into the abyss of darkness where a monster’s soul stole his body, that he would continue to do so until someone stopped him.

But they would have to catch him first.

And that was not an option.

CHAPTER FOUR

BRAD TRIED TO STEADY his raging heart as he held Lisa, but the familiar fear that had gripped him four years ago returned with a vengeance. When she hadn’t immediately answered the door, he’d nearly gone out of his mind with worry. And now, feeling her in his arms again, her chest rising and falling as she gulped in air, her slender frame trembling against him, the scent of her feminine shampoo invading his senses, he was helpless to do anything but stroke her silky hair and mutter nonsensical words.

Damn it. He had to get a grip. His career depended on it. And so did Mindy’s life.

Slowly, forcing his brain back into professional mode, he eased away, studying her as he would a stranger.

Except Lisa wasn’t a stranger.

Her face had lost the rosy color and bright smile she’d worn at the day care when she’d danced with the children, the change a stark reminder that he’d resurrected the painful memories that she’d tried so hard to bury.

“Brad…I’m sorry. For a moment everything rushed back.”

Anger ripped through him. “You don’t have to apologize, Lisa. For God’s sake, I know I’m the last person you want to see.”

She dropped her hands from his shirt, backed away, hugging her arms around her waist as if he’d called it right, and she had no idea what she’d been doing. Long lashes fluttered over pale cheeks that now looked drawn with worry.

“Are you all right?” he asked, knowing good and well she wasn’t.

“Yes, I’m fine.” The same valiant look she’d managed to wear during the trial slid back on her face.

He shuffled, dragged a hand through the short strands of his hair. It was a mistake for him to have come here.

“Sit down,” she said quietly. “I’ll get some coffee.”

He gave her a clipped nod, forcing detachment into his expression as she hurried away from him to the adjoining kitchen. Figuring she needed time to assimilate, and he needed it to regain his bearings, he turned and surveyed her small cabin. He’d been here maybe a half-dozen times over the past four years, and the homey atmosphere never ceased to amaze him. Yet her new home felt more impersonal.

Lisa didn’t keep clutter or knickknacks, no small ceramic kitty cats or collections as she had in her other apartment. To break the awkwardness when he’d first visited her here, he’d asked about that, but she’d turned sheepish and merely shrugged. He’d finally decided that she didn’t want the space to feel cramped—a remnant of her traumatic days in the box where White had locked her. She needed open spaces, room to breathe….

After growing up in a foster home and sharing a room with other orphans, he understood about feeling crowded.

The den was a tasteful smattering of blue and yellow, with a soft plump denim couch, throw pillows and an oversize chair in yellow-and-blue plaid. A few magazines, mostly educational and arts and crafts ones, were stacked neatly on the pine coffee table. A photo of Lisa in her mother’s lap graced the end table, another five-by-seven of her and her father at her high school graduation beside it. Lisa looked so young and happy, full of dreams for the future. But her father…Brad had never quite gotten a good reading on Liam Langley. Not during the questioning when she was missing, or during the trial afterward. He wondered if the two of them stayed in contact.

He noticed a small clay cup on the bookshelf, misshapen and painted bright orange. It seemed out of place, until he realized one of Lisa’s students had crafted the cup. Beside it stood four framed photos, each one a group shot of the kindergarten classes she’d taught since moving to Ellijay. Several childlike drawings also decorated her refrigerator. Maybe adding these touches was a sign she had begun to heal, to let others into her life.

Even if they were children….

Lisa approached him, carrying a tray with two mugs, creamer and sugar, and a pot of coffee. The temptation to reach out and help her taunted him, but he sensed her skittishness and refrained, vowing to be patient. She filled a thick clay mug for him. So she remembered his preference for black. Was that all she remembered about him?

She dropped an ice cube in her own to cool it, and he almost smiled. He hadn’t forgotten her small habit. Just as he’d never forget anything else about her.

Her gaze finally shot upward and met his, and he grimaced at the wariness darkening her eyes. Yes, she obviously remembered more—his promise to her that he’d protect her. His failure to do so. That it was his fault she’d spent days being beaten and tormented by William White.

And when she looked away, a blinding clarity that he’d never wanted to face sank in—she would never forget that he was at fault, or forgive him.

LISA CRADLED HER MUG to her like a lifeline. “Tell me about this woman that’s missing, your girlfriend.”

Brad’s gaze shot down to the coffee in his cup, his jaw tight. “She’s thirty years old, a nurse at First Peachtree Hospital in Atlanta.”

“How did you meet her?” Lisa asked, then silently chastised herself. Hearing the details of Brad’s personal relationship was none of her business and would drive home the fact that she hadn’t had one in years. And that the last relationship had gone horribly wrong….

“At the hospital,” he said, seeming nonplussed by her question. “When I went to talk to the doctors after White died.”

Lisa gasped. “She knew William?”

He shook his head. “No, she wasn’t on duty the night he was hospitalized.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Lisa gasped again. “Are you sure the same man kidnapped her and that woman, Joann Worthy?”

Brad nodded. “He’s calling the reporter White used to deliver his messages, Wayne Nettleton.”

“Why him?” Lisa asked.

“He must have enjoyed the way Nettleton sensationalized the story about White. White admitted he chose Nettleton because of his propensity for printing gruesome details.”

His gaze met hers as if to study her reaction. Lisa sipped her coffee in an attempt not to reveal her surprise or disgust. Wayne Nettleton was a sleaze.

“We’ve questioned him just like before, but so far, he’s clean,” Brad said. “He has an alibi for the nights both women were reported missing, although it’s shaky.”

“Where was Mindy when she was abducted?” Lisa asked, trying desperately not to picture the scene in her mind.

“She left the hospital when her shift ended, around three. Caught the MARTA train. She doesn’t have a car. Never showed up at her apartment that night. Police have questioned neighbors and no one saw anything.”

“Does she have family?” Lisa asked softly.

“No.”

Lisa’s heart ached for her. If they found her, she’d need a support group to recover. Then again, Lisa’s own father hadn’t exactly been Mr. Mom after the attack. Not that he ever had been. After her mother’s death, he’d closed himself off, thrown himself into work. She’d tried to get his attention by being the perfect child.

But she hadn’t been perfect.

And he’d seen all those flaws at William’s trial.

“We found the first woman in the woods near Lake Lanier,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if you read the entire article, but he buried her in the woods surrounding the lake by my cabin.”

Lisa set her cup down with a clatter. “Brad…you think this is personal?”