THIRTY-FIVE
Footsteps returned.
Rose sat up, immediately aware of the floor’s hard surface. She’d fallen asleep on the rug, preferring it to the dirty bed. She was cold, but not cold enough to use the strong-smelling blankets. Not until she had to.
It was late. Or else very early. Her internal clock said she still had a few hours before her usual wake time. For a second she missed her phone, slightly ashamed at how reliant she’d become on it for its alarm and time. Her father would say, “I told you so.” He used technology to get the best out of his small ranch, but he never relied on it. He made certain everything would run as close to normally as possible without power.
And here she was feeling helpless without her phone.
The footsteps in the hallway stopped outside her door. They were different from the running steps she’d heard hours earlier. These were heavier, more confident. A loud pounding sounded on the door and she jumped.
“You awake?”
There was the voice. Finally. After fifteen years of waiting, she knew unequivocally that this was the second man who’d attacked her that night. He pounded on the door again.
“Wake up!”
“I’m awake,” she answered before she could decide if it was best to stay silent.
“Get back from the door,” he ordered. “On the bed.”
Without thinking, Rose scrambled onto the old bed, stale fumes rising as she positioned herself against the headboard.
Then her brain kicked in: Is he going to rape me?
Terror froze her muscles as her mind shot down that avenue. Sweat started under her arms and bile churned in her stomach. She grabbed the thin pillow and gripped it across her abdomen. As if that would stop him.
She knew of everything in the room; there was nothing to use as a weapon.
I have my hands and feet. My head.
She would fight back with every ounce of her being. She had nothing to lose.
He cautiously opened the door, letting the light from the hallway into the room. While preparing the room for his prisoner, he’d removed the lamp and everything else. He’d considered removing the bed but had decided it might be useful.
The light spilled across Rose Kilpatrick’s face, but she didn’t flinch.
Does she see no light at all?
She was on the bed as ordered, looking like a cornered animal, ready to bite if he came too close. He’d always thought of her as a kitten. A helpless, tiny animal that needed someone to take care of it and protect it. For years he’d fantasized about that type of relationship with Rose.
He’d taken her because he deserved it. He’d played by the rules for over a decade and as of yesterday had nothing to show for it. Mercy and her snooping had made certain of that.
Fury over his stolen weapons had driven him to act. With one maneuver he’d punished the woman who’d screwed up his plan and grabbed the reward he’d let slip through his fingers fifteen years ago.
Rose.
He’d silently watched Rose since that night, wondering what her life was like. He got glimpses here and there. Rose walking through a store with one hand on her mother’s arm. Rose talking to her preschoolers as they sat in a circle at her feet. He didn’t understand how she read them a book and knew when to turn the pages, but the children had watched and listened with rapt attention.
Now she faced him. Her eyes were closed as usual, but her hands clasped a pillow in front of her.
Like a pillow can stop me. But first he needed an answer.
“Who opened the door?” he asked her.
“W-what?”
“Who opened the front door? The front door was wide open when I got here.”
“I don’t know! I’ve been locked in this room!”
He studied her face but saw only confusion. If she had heard someone come in the house, surely she would have yelled for help. Could I have left it open? It didn’t matter; she was still here.
“Do you remember me, Rose?” he asked in a low, smooth voice.
“Yes.” She looked ready to rip out his throat.
He smiled. Her defiance triggered a pleasing warmth in his belly. “Say my name.”
“I only know your voice.”
A big weight fell from his shoulders. For a long time, he’d wondered if Rose could identify him—he’d heard blind people had amazing hearing recognition. The few times he did have to greet or thank her, he’d lowered his voice, praying she didn’t recognize it, as he fought a need to possess her wholly.
As he stared at her on the bed, that need vibrated inside him.
Patience.
“Do you know what happened to Kenny that night?”
She said nothing.
“Answer me, Rose. It’ll make things easier on you later.”
Her lips pressed together.
“I heard the shots. You killed him, didn’t you?”
A slight tremor shook her body. It was a powerful feeling to be able to stare at a person without her seeing you. And even better was that she had no idea who was talking to her. He looked his fill, appreciating the beauty of the blind woman.
“I knew he was dead,” he said. “I got rid of his shit and told the boss he’d taken off for a different city. He’d only been working there a few weeks and had a hot temper. No one was sorry when they heard he’d split.” He hadn’t cared that Kenny was gone. He’d always known the man was dangerous. He’d been the driving force behind the attacks on all the women. He’d followed Kenny’s lead, loving and hating the simultaneous rush of power and danger.
He’d known it couldn’t last.
But he’d learned something from his adventures with Kenny. He liked having a woman subject herself to his demands. The power was exhilarating. One day he’d realized that Rose was the perfect woman for him. She needed a man in a way no other woman did.
But once Kenny was gone he’d been scared straight for years. He’d tried to walk the straight and narrow. He’d had a few long-term relationships with women but always found himself jumping to meet their needs, not the other way around. They’d managed to hold the power in the relationship. Not him.
Not the way he wanted it to be.
With Rose he knew it would be different. He’d waited for her for a long time.
And now she’s mine.
“Do you know where Kenny’s body is?” he asked.
She gave him a stubborn look.
Satisfaction rolled through him. “I don’t think anyone will stumble across his bones anytime soon.” He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms on his chest, remembering how he’d lived in fear for weeks that someone would knock on his door, asking if he knew anything about an attack at the Kilpatrick place.
Instead there’d been nothing. No rumors had circulated. No cops had knocked on his door.
No one had talked of an attack.
The Kilpatricks had kept it to themselves.
Just as he’d been promised they would.
Karl Kilpatrick was a take-care-of-our-own type of guy who didn’t like outside interference in his family. He’d often imagined the patriarch crushing all mention of the attack on his daughters, not wanting the cops nosing around his home, especially if one of the attackers had been killed on the premises.
A thought struck him. “Your father does know what happened that night, right?”
Her fingers tightened on the pillow, but she kept quiet.
“He doesn’t know? You girls didn’t tell your father?” Shock rolled through him and he laughed. “Holy shit. I’m impressed.”
Rose held perfectly still.
Something like admiration warmed his chest. “That’s part of the reason Mercy left town way back then, isn’t it? She needed to get away from your family full of liars. If you only knew how many liars have the last name Kilpatrick. Killing someone is a big secret to live with, and I admit I was surprised to see her return as an FBI agent. I wonder if the Bureau knows they hired a murderer?”
This time Rose caught her breath, filling him with glee that he’d triggered a reaction. “I wonder what would happen if they got an anonymous tip about the background of one of their agents.”
Her brows narrowed. “They’d immediately be led to you. I’d tell them of your involvement.”
A big grin split his face. “How are you going to do that when you can’t identify me?”
She tilted her head, a small smile on her lips. “That’s where you’re mistaken, Craig Rafferty.”
It’d been a process of elimination.
Rose had originally heard the mystery voice at the Bevins ranch fifteen years ago. A minute ago when he said he’d told his boss that Kenny took off, she figured the pair of attackers were probably ranch employees. The job was known for its high turnover, and Bevins often hired hands who simply showed up looking for jobs. If this speaker was able to erase all signs of Kenny by simply disposing of his belongings, then Kenny had been one of the hands who traveled until they found a ranch where they fit in comfortably.
There were only a few men who’d been employed at that ranch all this time.
She could easily recognize the voices of Mike Bevins, Chuck, Tim, Randy, and Les.
Craig Rafferty had typically been a silent shadow when she encountered a group of the hands. One whose presence she always felt; he’d emanated the aura of a large, silent man. She’d assumed he was shy or tongue-tied around women.
When she’d delivered scones to the ranch on Thursday, she’d listened closely. Craig Rafferty hadn’t been around, and most of the men she’d met were too young. It wasn’t until she was locked in this room that she’d realized Craig was one of the men who hadn’t been present.
Had he purposefully avoided her?
His heavy steps told her the kidnapper was a large man.
He’d spoken to her as if he knew her, which he did.
Every name but one had been crossed off her list.
She’d been ready to pretend she didn’t know his name until he’d threatened her sister. No one threatened her family.
What did I do?
Her legs began to shake.
She’d instinctively defended her sister, and now Craig had a witness who could identify him.
For the first time, she was truly terrified.
The pillow against her stomach wasn’t going to stop him.