She bit her lip. “Not a chance.”
“It was once. Cathryn came on to me,” he cajoled.
Anya shook her head, her stomach hurting. How had she ended up in a situation with such an asshole? To think she’d wondered, even once, if they could make a go of it. “You don’t know me, Carl. One mistake like that is all you get.”
He was silent for a moment. “Please.”
She dropped her chin to her aching chest. “Sorry, pal.” The curt words actually sounded like Loretta, and Anya stood straighter. She knocked her head gently against the wall. “No. For the final time, no.”
A ruckus set up in the main room. “I have to go. Don’t call me again.” She clicked off and yanked open the door, rushing inside. “Is there any news?” she asked.
Dingman stared at the photographs of the murdered victims. “Yeah. Reese called in and he’s about thirty minutes out from some abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere. It’s the only structure anywhere near the town where we think Loretta was taken.” Dingman didn’t turn around. “He’ll call as soon as the helicopter touches down.”
“Do you think we’ve found the place?” Anya whispered.
Dingman turned and looked over her shoulder. Her face remained calm, but her eyes sizzled. “I really do.”
CHAPTER
5
Cold trickled down Heath’s back. Pain pounded through his head, and he winced as he opened his eyes, blowing hay out of the way. He was flat on the barn floor, and his head pulsed like his skull had met the metal end of a hammer. The concrete beneath him felt like a solid block of ice. He uncurled his fingers inside his gloves, his bones aching. “Loretta?” he croaked.
The storm bellowed outside, and the worn barn slats clacked against each other.
He lifted his head and fought nausea, shoving up from the rough concrete to find her. Ah shit. She lay on her back, head turned to the side. A coarse burlap sack covered her from thighs to upper chest, stained with blood. He crawled over to her, his movements jerky. “Agent Jackson?” he whispered, moving to her other side and smoothing the hair back from her face.
His breathing stopped when his vision cleared and he could actually see her.
Her pretty brown eyes were glassy in death.
God. She was dead. He touched her cheek, and the skin felt unreal. Not alive. Just there.
That quickly, he flashed back to another dead woman covered in blood. His mother’s startling hazel eyes had also been glassy, and the smell of her blood still haunted his nightmares. Why did they always die and keep their eyes open? Were they looking for something? Somebody to save them?
He was too late again.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” His chest contracted as if he’d been kicked by a horse. Every muscle in his body tightened to the point of pain. He levered up onto his knees and reached out to close her eyes, his hand shaking. “Go somewhere nice, Loretta,” he whispered.
His entire body shuddered. While he didn’t know how to pray, he could offer silence. The floor chilled his knees, and a sense of urgency slammed into him. Outside, the wind whistled angrily, but inside, death kept silent.
He had to get out of there. His faculties returned, and he quickly looked around the otherwise empty room. Whoever had hit him had taken off.
He swallowed, and dots swam across his vision.
While he already knew the answer, he needed to double-check. Gently, with his hand shaking, he tugged down the burlap sack enough to read the letters M-I-N-E carved into her upper chest.
Fucking Copper Killer.
Rage ripped through Heath so quickly his ears heated. He sucked in air to calm himself, wavering slightly.
Reaching out, he smoothed the burlap back into place and fought the urge to wipe the blood off her temple. The killer liked to knock his victims out with a hit to the temple and then revive them. Closer scrutiny proved Loretta had likely been strangled to death. Heath didn’t want to know more than that and moved away from the body to stagger to his feet.
Tears pricked his eyes, and he rapidly wiped them away. Failure settled in his stomach and swelled like a sponge until it filled him. The woman had been dead for at least a day, and he hadn’t been even remotely close to rescuing her. The idea of the strong and proud agent being reduced to a naked woman in burlap made him want to puke. Bile rose in his throat, and he ruthlessly swallowed it down. How frightened she must’ve been.
Even now, he could hear his mother pleading for mercy from the asshole beating her to death so many years ago. Heath had tried to save her and had caught a backhand to the face, a slam into the oven door, and then unconsciousness.
There was no mercy when monsters harmed women.
