Best to just get it over with.
The locks sounded unnaturally loud as he flicked them open and the creak of the door filled his ears as he stepped into the small room. Shoulders he hadn’t realized were tense for another assault—God only knew what she’d found in here to wield at his head—relaxed when he realized she hadn’t moved. Was she unconscious? Asleep? Braden stepped closer. Every line of her body was pulled taut, though whether due to anger or fear he wasn’t certain.
The silence surged uncomfortably between them. Even though she kept her back to him, he was certain she tracked every move he made.
“My mother insisted I bring you down some clean sheets and towels. There’s a shower through the door across from you.”
No response.
Fine.
He dropped the stack of linens on the end of the bed. “I also brought you some sandwiches and a bottle of water.” Frustrated, he slammed the plate down on the nightstand. Satisfaction surged through him when her shoulders jumped.
Braden couldn’t help but goad another reaction out of her. “Nothing to say?”
“Did you expect a thank you?”
He latched onto the rage in her choked response. “No. I think we’ve established common decency is beyond your grasp,” he snarled.
She jerked up and twisted around, throwing a hateful glare in his direction. “Beyond my grasp?”
That got her moving.
She looked like an angry cat after a bath, hair matted to her forehead, eyes narrowed, ready to hiss and spit in his direction. He forced himself to ignore the tear tracks that stained her cheeks. Refocusing on his anger, Braden sneered, “I’d hardly expect a thank-you from a woman who lied her way into my bed. Tell me, Beth, did you enjoy it? Spreading your legs for me, then trotting back to Markko? Did he reward you like a well-trained bitch?” As the words crossed his lips, he reached to pull them back.
Confusion crossed her face first, then anger mottled her cheeks and filled her eyes.
“Get out.” Her anguished cry pierced his anger and plunged into his chest, stealing his breath.
“Beth…”
“Get out!” He narrowly ducked the plate of sandwiches she flung at his head.
Unsure what else to do, he left. He leaned back against the door, suddenly exhausted, the anger that had been maintaining him drained away, leaving a hollow void of disappointment behind.
The things I said…
Too late to take them back. Now his words stood between them, as solid as the door at his back. The cries filtering out from the basement room slammed against his heart, then drifted down and settled, low and leaden, in his gut.
Chapter Thirteen
“Got the background check.” Chase dropped a stack of papers next to Braden’s morning coffee.
“And?” Braden asked, resisting the urge to leaf through the documents. Possible scenarios had kept him up half the night, dragging him around in circles.
“The report has a few gaps.” His dad poured himself the last of the coffee, glanced into the hallway and reached into the back of a cabinet, withdrawing a few packets of sugar. “Your mother’s taken all the fun out of my diet. She thinks she’s replaced all the sugar with a crappy imitation.”
Braden smiled over the rim of his cup, palmed the wrappers off the counter and disposed of the evidence. “Gaps?”
“Right. First, as far as we can tell, she was pretty straight with you about a lot of things.”
“Apparently not the ones that mattered.”
“Well, she was honest about who she was.” Chase straddled one of the high-backed bar stools, rocking it forward onto two legs. “Her full name is Elizabeth Williams. We think she used to go by Liz.”
“Uh-huh.”
Chase plucked the report from the counter, thumbing through the pages as he rattled off mundane facts about her life. “Twenty-five, degree in architecture from Boston University, her mother died when she was fifteen, no father, some family friends took her in.”
“Skip to the part where she started working with Markko.” Braden set his teeth and crossed his arms, the drip-hiss of fresh coffee hitting the empty carafe reflecting his temper.
Chase and his father exchanged a look.
“We’re not sure she is,” his dad interjected.
Fuck. Just fuck.
“Considering I saw her markings, I find that hard to believe,” Braden argued, forcing the words past his rigid jaw.
“Yeah, that stumped us, too.” His father pulled out a chair next to Chase. “As far as we can tell, she’s got no blood ties to their family.”
“Then she was bitten.”
“That in and of itself is unusual. More so considering she had no reason to cross paths with the Bolveks.”
“Reason or not, she crossed their path at some point.”
“Yeah,” Chase interrupted. “And we think we know when.” He looked back through the report before continuing. “Beth accepted a scholarship to pursue her Master’s of Architecture at Boston, but she never attended. We wondered why.”
“What’s your point?”
“Turns out she spent some time in the hospital. Then, she checked into a private inpatient program,” his dad explained.
“Drug addiction?” Even as Braden suggested it, the idea scraped against what he knew of Beth.
Or what I thought I knew.
“No. Although, we don’t have the specifics.” His father paused, gathering his thoughts. “The clinic specializes in post-traumatic stress, schizophrenia and a variety of other mental health issues. She checked herself out after about a month, continued outpatient care for another three, then up and moved to the West Coast. We still aren’t sure why.”
“Where’s the connection?” How did the pieces fit? A mental patient? It was hard to believe.
“We weren’t sure if there was a connection,” Chase said. “But I had our guy dig a little deeper, look closer at the time between her college graduation and when she checked into the hospital.”
“Turns out, after she graduated, she and a friend…” Chase referenced the papers again, “…Rachel Collier, took a graduation trip abroad, backpacking through Europe. Details are scarce, but the trip ended early. Beth checked into the hospital less than a week later. She didn’t even attend the funeral.”
“Her friend died?”
Chase nodded in response.
“Let me get this straight. You think she was turned and her friend was killed while on vacation? You can’t be serious?”
Chase’s direct look was all the answer he needed.
“Morning.” Their mother walked in, Lucy hot on her heels, both dressed for the Pilates they did together three times a week. She poured a fresh cup of coffee and grabbed the artificial sweetener off the counter and headed for one of the open barstools next to her husband. She plucked his coffee from between his hands and replaced it with a fresh mug, pushing the artificial sweetener toward him. “You’re supposed to be watching your sugar levels.”
“What makes you think I’m not?” He grumbled as he reached for the artificial sweetener.
“Because I know you.” His mother smiled serenely as she passed his mug to Lucy. “And because I know you think I don’t know about your stash of sugar packets.”
“You two headed out for Pilates this morning?” Chase asked, changing the subject.
“Nah. Just a quick set on the porch—it’s nice out this morning.” Lucy leaned against the counter and pulled one of her legs back behind her, stretching out the muscles. “What are you guys talking about so seriously this early?”
“Beth’s background check came in.” Chase supplied.
“And the verdict? Friend or foe?” Lucy asked as she arched her back and pulled her leg behind her head.
“Not sure yet.” Chase gently shoved her, forcing her to put both feet on the ground. “It’s creepy when you do that.”
Lucy rolled her eyes and pulled the other leg behind her. “Whatever. So, how lon
g’s Braden gonna keep his girlfriend locked in the basement?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Braden’s lips pulled back in a snarl.
“Sure, Tarzan.”
Braden gnashed his teeth, the muscles in his jaw popping as Lucy’s smile widened. She opened her mouth to say something else, no doubt at his expense, but abruptly snapped it shut again.
“That’s enough, Lucy.” Their mother’s warning cut across the kitchen.
Braden automatically stepped away from the comforting hand his mother placed on his shoulder. Her sympathy grated against him worse than Lucy’s teasing.
For God’s sake, I’m fine.
He’d sort out this mess and head home. Regardless of the outcome. End of story.
Braden pushed away from the island counter and ignored his mother’s concerned expression and Lucy’s amusement. “Can we get this over with? I have things to do back home.”
“Oh yes, let’s.” Lucy bounced back and forth, vibrating with the same sort of excitement she exhibited every Christmas morning.
“I think this is something best handled by Braden and me.” Lucy’s excitement dimmed at their father’s proclamation. “You two enjoy your workout. I’ll fill you in later.”
“But Dad…”
“No buts. Go with your mom. Braden, let’s head downstairs.”
He followed his father out of the kitchen and down the hallway. “You don’t need me for this.”
His father paused at the top of the stairs, curious eyes seeking Braden’s. “No, I don’t.” His expression grew quiet and the lines around his eyes and mouth tightened seriously. “But she might.”
“You don’t think she’s working with them, do you?”
“Chase had some interesting insights to share last night. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions.” He pushed open the door and started down the stairs. “You shouldn’t, either.”
“Too late.” Part of him hoped Beth turned out to be the deviant little slut he’d accused her of being. Bitterness flooded his mouth as the bottom of his stomach turned over and plummeted, revealing the thought for the lie it was.
***
Beth turned on her heel, counted the fifteen steps that took her across the room and wished again for something to distract her. She’d woken a few hours ago, her nightmares so intense her eyes felt bruised and her throat scraped and seared with every breath. The third time she’d screamed herself awake she’d thrown herself into a pace, keeping one step ahead of the exhaustion that dogged her footsteps. Anything was better than dreaming.
She’d swept the room more than once for anything useful, anything that could help her. Unfortunately, the room yielded less than the car. The furniture was too heavy to break apart, there weren’t any windows and there was nothing in the bathroom save a few towels and some toiletries. So she’d paced, made the bed with the fresh linens and recited ingredients to all of Angie’s recipes. She’d sat on the edge of the bed once and dozed off while reciting the steps to making cranberry-orange scones. She hadn’t left her feet since.
Someone knocked against the door as the dead bolts slid back. An older version of Braden walked through the door, followed closely by Braden himself. Beth stopped pacing and took several steps toward the opposite wall, assessing them as she placed the bed between them.
The resemblance between them struck her first. They shared the same sharp jaw and slightly dimpled chin, the same hairline and the same wide mouth. The elder even had two small wrinkles that marked his dimples at the corners of his mouth; no doubt he had the same disarming smile. As far as she could tell, the physical differences between them were few and subtle.
Their body language, however, couldn’t have been more different. Braden stood near the door, his expression sullen, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze raking over the room, determinedly avoiding Beth. The man who could only be his father strode into the room and took a seat in the small armchair by the bed, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time.
“Please, Ms. Williams, sit down.” He gestured for her to take a seat on the bed across from him.
Beth weighed her options briefly, opting to sit stiffly on the edge of the bed, carefully beyond his reach.
I won’t give them the satisfaction of acting like some cornered, defenseless animal.
“My name is Matthew Edwards.” He leaned forward in his chair, as though he’d extend his hand in greeting. Instead he gave a wry grin and said, “I believe you’re already acquainted with my son.”
Beth followed Braden in her peripheral vision as he settled into the desk chair, but she refused to turn her head to meet his gaze.
“I apologize for the manner of your arrival,” the older man said, looking her over.
Beth shivered under his thorough inspection. She was a mess. But no matter how tempting, she hadn’t been willing to undress and take a shower last night. Embarrassed, she pushed her hair out of her face, then caught herself and pulled her hands down to her lap.
What do I care what they think of my appearance? They’re responsible for it!
“Do you need anything? A doctor?” His focused on her hands as he asked.
Beth glanced down and realized he was staring at the damage inflicted by her struggles with the zip ties.
“I’m fine.” Beth pressed her lips into a grim line and picked a point over his shoulder to focus on.
“Alright. We’ll come back to that.” The sound of rustling paper filled the air before he continued. “We’ve compiled a thorough report on your past, Ms. Williams. We’re hoping you can piece together some information for us.”
Beth bristled and met his gaze with a steely look. Her past was no one else’s business; they’d had no right to go digging through her personal history.
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Beth forced herself to remain still when Braden surged out of his chair and crossed the room in four long strides.
“Don’t be stubborn,” he said, his voice rough and frustrated.
She pressed her lips together. Petty or not, whatever made his life more difficult was fine with her.
“You owe us an explanation.”
Owed them?
Beth tilted her chin and met his angry gaze with a stubborn one of her own. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“The hell you don’t!”
“That’s enough.” Mr. Edwards’ voice sliced through the tension mounting in the room. Braden clenched his hands but kept his mouth shut. Beth followed suit.
“I certainly understand your reluctance to speak with us.” Mr. Edwards’ warm brown eyes sought hers. “But I’m afraid I must insist.”
Beth straightened her back and clenched her hands in her lap, coolly staring at the man across from her. His gaze remained warm and open, almost friendly. But the tone of his voice and the press of his mouth said he intended to have his answers.
“Fine.” Resolved, Beth kept her focus on the man in front of her, excluding Braden from her awareness as much as she could. “What, exactly, can I clear up for you?” Beth had no idea she could produce such chilly sarcasm.
“Thank you.” He briefly flipped through the papers he had, though Beth could tell by the speed of the shuffling that he wasn’t looking for anything so much as where to start. “We understand you grew up in Boston?”
“That’s right.”
“It says here your mother died when you were fifteen, but we don’t have any information about your father.” He let the question hang in the air.
“I never met him.”
Short and to the point. Don’t volunteer anything.
“Never?”
“No.”
“Okay. What about after your mother died, where did you go?”
“Your background check didn’t tell you?” Beth asked, angry and unwilling to give them anything on her friends and family that they didn’t already know.
“I’m more interested in what you have to say.” He relaxed back into his chair, a mannerism
so like his son, it felt as though she was speaking to Braden’s future self. “My mother made arrangements for me before she died.” When she was certain he wasn’t going to accept that as an answer she continued. “I moved in with family friends. I finished high school. Went to college. End of story.”
“Right. The Colliers.” His face softened again. “They had a daughter about your age, didn’t they?”
“They don’t have anything to do with this!” Vibrating with hurt and anger, Beth surged to her feet, fists clenched. She’d be damned if she allowed this nightmare to be dragged back to their door.
“Please sit down.” He uncurled from his relaxed position in the chair, but didn’t rise. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” His gaze remained warm and steady, his voice calm, and Beth found it difficult to hold onto her anger. “And I’ve no intention of bothering them, unless I can’t get the answers I need from you.” He let the threat hang between them.
Collapsing back onto the bed, Beth tried to slow her racing heart. She pushed her hair back from her face, ignoring the way her fingers trembled against her skin.
“Rachel. Her name was Rachel.”
“The two of you were close?”
“Yes.”
Sisters.
“I’m sorry. I understand she died a few years ago.”
Beth squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the sincerity in his voice. “Yes.” She wasn’t even sure if the word had left her lips, but he must have heard her because he reached across the space between them and gently squeezed her hands.
“We need to know what happened, Elizabeth. We have our suspicions, but we don’t have the details.”
“I can’t.” She didn’t think she’d survive if she had to tell the story. She hadn’t spoken of it to anyone since those first few weeks in the hospital. She’d put it away, ignored it for so long…
“I can’t.” Her voice cracked and shame colored her cheeks. She felt the sting of tears and clenched her eyes furiously against them.
“Alright. Why don’t I fill you in on what we know? You can correct any details we’ve gotten wrong.”