“Yep, she’s my gal,” Rafe said without hesitation.
It was true.
He didn’t know exactly what it actually meant. Or where it might lead him.
But Annie White was his gal.
Mitch drained his glass of lemonade in one long swallow.
“None of it set right with me,” he finally said.
“What do you mean?” Rafe demanded.
Placing his glass on the table, Mitch leaned back in his chair. “I spent a lot of time with Don White.”
“I remember.” Annie glanced toward the window over the sink. “We used to come here and I would play out back.”
“Yep. You always had a dozen dolls with you and you’d have a tea party beneath the apple tree while your father helped me learn how to use that damned computer.” He waved a hand toward the computer that was placed on the dining room table. “Organized my accounts for me.”
A fond expression softened the older man’s face, and Rafe had to hide a smile.
He didn’t doubt for a second that Annie had been utterly charming as a kid. Big hazel eyes. Freckles on her nose. Her hair pulled into pigtails.
And then her childhood had been ripped away.
Rafe would be damned if she would have to suffer any other loss.
“And you never thought there was anything suspicious about him?” he asked the older man.
“Why would I?” Mitch muttered, his tone defensive. “He was a decent, churchgoing man who devoted himself to his daughter and building a new life in Newton.” There was a pause as the man glared down at the table, one beefy hand shoving aside his glass. “Never did make any sense to me. Hell, it still doesn’t.”
Rafe froze, realizing this man didn’t believe his friend was responsible for the killings.
But why?
Was he just a man who didn’t want to think he could be so mistaken in his friend?
Or was it something more?
Rafe abruptly realized he needed to know.
Not just for Annie’s sake, but for the two women who were missing.
Taking a long moment, Rafe silently considered how he could convince the man to express his reasons for believing his friend could be innocent despite all the evidence.
Mitch Roberts had a shrewd, taciturn nature that made it difficult to urge him to reveal more than he wanted.
“Did anyone here know Don White before he moved to this area?”
Mitch took a long minute before he answered. “I don’t think so.”
“Strange he would choose to move to a place without any friends or family in the neighborhood.”
“Don didn’t like to talk about the past,” the older man said slowly, as if considering each word.
“You didn’t think that was odd?”
“Not really. He was still grieving for his dead wife and son. I didn’t want to pry.”
It would have been a natural reaction.
Most people didn’t like to poke at old wounds.
Which is why someone who didn’t want awkward questions about his past might invent such a tragedy . . .
“Were you surprised when he built a bomb shelter beneath his garage?” It was a question that had been nagging at him.
How many people had an airtight hidden room built beneath the ground that was a perfect place to stash dead bodies?
“He didn’t build it, the previous owner, Sam Johnson, did,” Mitch growled, his brows pulling into a deep frown. “Along with a dozen other farmers during the Cold War scare. I was the one who suggested to Don that he keep it stocked with supplies in case of a tornado.”
Ah. Rafe was forced to reevaluate his original assumptions as he received the unexpected information.
A specialty for him. And why he’d been so effective in the field.
Few people could think on their feet as quickly as Rafe.
“So any local would know it was down there?”
“You wouldn’t have to be a local,” Mitch corrected, his dark gaze assuring Rafe he knew exactly what he was trying to do. “All you had to do was walk into the garage and there was a door leading down to the shelter.”
“Could it be locked?”
“Yeah.” Mitch nodded his head toward Annie. “But Don kept the key in it to make sure the little one didn’t accidentally get stuck down there.”
That made sense. “Would he have noticed if the key was missing?”
Mitch shrugged. “Not until he had some reason to go down there. Could be weeks or even months before he realized it was gone.”
Rafe ignored Annie’s scowl as he considered the evidence against her father.
It wasn’t just the fact that the dead bodies had been found in his bomb shelter.
He’d been down there with them.
“Did White have any enemies?”
Mitch gave a shake of his head. “Not that I know of.”
Rafe glanced toward Annie. “Did you ever see him having trouble with anyone?”
“I don’t think so . . . Wait. There was one day at the restaurant. A man came to our table and started shouting that Dad stole his land,” Annie admitted, her body rigid as they discussed the father she’d loved even when others condemned him as a monster. “I think he must have been drunk.”
Mitch seemed momentarily confused, then he gave a low grunt. “That was probably the Johnson boy.”
Rafe instantly recognized the name. “Is he related to the people who sold Don White the farm?”
“Yep.” The man curled his lip in disgust. “They only had the one boy and spoiled him rotten. Brody always assumed he’d inherit the land, but when it became obvious he was destined to become the town drunk, they packed up and headed to Florida.”
“Brody blamed my father?” Annie shuddered, clearly disturbed by the memory of the ugly confrontation.
Mitch shrugged. “He blamed everyone but himself.”
Rafe knew the type.
Unfortunately.
He pulled out his phone and sent Teagan a quick text.
“Could he be violent?” he asked the older man.
“There were rumors he beat his girlfriend.”
“Where is he now?”
“Don’t know.” Mitch’s interest in Brody was clearly nonexistent. “He disappeared a few weeks after the murders.”
Rafe blinked in surprise. “Disappeared?”
Mitch shrugged. “Just packed up and left town.”
“And no one thought that was odd?”
“Brody was a born troublemaker.” Mitch grimaced. “Most people were happy to see the back of him.”
Rafe was on instant alert. “Was he ever a suspect in the disappearance of the women?”
“Lots of people blamed him at first, but before he could get lynched he ran his car into the side of the VFW building in LaClede. He was locked up when two of the women went missing,” Mitch said, squashing in the bud any hope that Brody could be responsible.
Adding the info to the text, Rafe shoved the phone back into his pocket. Brody might have an alibi, but the fact that he’d seemingly disappeared just after the murders was suspicious.
If nothing else, he might have noticed something. Drunks tended to wander the streets late at night, long after the upright citizens of Newton had crawled into bed.
“Anyone else who might have a grudge against Don White?” he asked.
“Hard to say,” Mitch admitted. “There’s always folks hoping to cause trouble, but Don usually kept to himself. He said that all he needed was to know Annie was safe and happy.”
Annie made a sound of distress, her hazel eyes darkening with pain. “My father was a quiet, gentle man,” she said in soft tones.
“He was,” Mitch instantly agreed, his voice daring Rafe to disagree. “Not the sort to do what they said.”
Okay.
Time to put their cards on the table.
Rafe leaned forward, holding the older man’s gaze.
“You don’t believe he’s responsible for the k
illings?” he bluntly demanded.
Mitch didn’t flinch.
In fact, he looked pleased that someone had finally asked him the question point-blank.
“Let me put it this way. When I was told Don White had murdered seven women and stashed their bodies in his bomb shelter, I found it hard to believe,” he growled, his gaze shifting to Annie. “But when they told me that he had his daughter down there bound and blindfolded . . .” He shook his head, his expression tight with a long-suppressed anger. “Well, nothing will ever convince me he would do anything to hurt his Annie.” Reaching across the table, he placed his hand on Annie’s tightly clenched fist. “Don would have given his life to protect you.”
He was hidden behind a stack of hay bales as the truck drove past him.
Sweet Annabelle.
She’d been so close he could see the honey highlights in her hair and the flush on her cheeks from the chill in the air. A pity about her hazel eyes. Those she’d inherited from her bitch of a mother. Of course, Annabelle’s held an innocence that the years hadn’t managed to steal, he was swift to reassure himself.
Then he frowned, his hands clenching.
Rafe Vargas was an unexpected complication.
His first thought had been to eliminate the interloper. The last time, their game had been interrupted. He wouldn’t tolerate another man ruining his reunion and taking away his beloved.
But Vargas appeared to be intent on protecting Annabelle.
For now it was perhaps best to leave her in his capable hands.
Soon, however, she would be back where she belonged.
With him . . .
Annie barely noticed Rafe urging her out of the homey farmhouse or into his truck. It wasn’t until an odd shiver inched down her spine that she came out of her fog enough to realize they were retracing their path back to Newton.
“Aren’t we going to continue our search for those missing women?” she asked in surprise.
“We’ll return later.”
“But—” Her words tangled in her throat as he reached out to grasp her hand.
It was no doubt intended as a friendly gesture, but the feel of his slender fingers wrapped around hers sent a warm flood of pleasure through her body.
Her heart skipped a beat, her stomach clenching with excitement.
“I sent a text to Teagan,” Rafe was saying, his thumb absently stroking the tender skin of her inner wrist. “He’s going to track down an address for Brody Johnson.”
“Then where are we headed?”
“We’ll have lunch in LaClede while Teagan works his magic.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she muttered, suspecting she would agree to just about anything when he was touching her.
He turned his head, his eyes darkening as if he could sense her ready response. She snatched her hand away, clearing her throat.
It wasn’t that she was morally opposed to sleeping with the gorgeous Rafe Vargas.
Hell, if she was a normal woman she would tell him to park the truck so she could get him naked ASAP.
But she’d discovered over the years that she wasn’t a normal woman. She was the daughter of the Newton Slayer. Which meant two kinds of men were attracted to her.
Those who were fascinated by the macabre.
And those who saw her as a perpetual victim in need of saving.
Until she was certain he could see her as Annie White, she wasn’t getting any man naked. Or until temptation overcame her righteous self-denial, she wryly conceded.
“Why were you asking if someone had a grudge against my father?” she asked, forcing her attention back to the encounter with Mitch Roberts.
It’d been wrenchingly painful to sit next to the older man and recall the days when she’d been a happy child, drinking lemonade and playing with her dolls.
Now she could at least breathe when she mentioned her father.
Returning his hand to the steering wheel, he turned onto the county road and headed south. “Nothing more than a hunch.”
She watched the passing fields, torn between her instinctive desire to keep the past in the past and a dangerous hope that it’d all been some horrible mistake.
“You don’t think he killed those women?”
He took a long time to at last answer.
“I agree with Mitch Roberts. From all I’ve heard, your father seemed devoted to you. Even if he’d been . . .” He struggled for the right word. “Sick, it seems impossible to believe he would hurt you.”
“He wouldn’t,” she said with absolute conviction.
“Still, the facts point to him being guilty,” he grimly reminded her.
“I know.” She heaved a deep sigh. Over the years she’d occasionally gone over the evidence, only to come to the same conclusion. “God, I wish I could remember.”
Rafe kept his focus on the road, but Annie didn’t miss the way his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Do you have any memories of the day you were found?”
She grimaced. Most of it was nothing more than a blur.
As if her mind was deliberately trying to protect her from the pain.
But being back in Newton had already brought memories that’d been long suppressed. Maybe she could strip away a few more layers to expose the truth.
“It was like today. A clear blue sky. A crisp breeze,” she said, a shudder racing through her. “Perfect.”
Somehow the fact it’d been so beautiful only made the horror of the day seem so much worse.
Rafe veered onto the highway, which was nearly empty of traffic. “Did you go to school?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get home?”
“I rode the bus.” She had a vivid image of jumping off the bus and racing across the yard. “I remember running into the house. I was excited because I got a hundred on my spelling test.”
Rafe nodded. “Was your father there?”
She shook her head. She’d called and called for him. “No, and I was worried.”
“Why were you worried?”
Annie bit her bottom lip. This was where the memories always started to become fuzzy.
She recalled walking into the living room and dropping her backpack on the floor, then she’d . . . what?
Her brow furrowed as she tried to visualize what’d happened next.
“I . . .” Her breath caught as she had a distinct impression of turning toward the small table next to the door. “The cookies.”
Rafe shot her a puzzled glance. “What?”
She shifted in her seat so she could keep her gaze locked on Rafe’s bronzed face.
Somehow the sight of him eased the panic that was beginning to bubble in the pit of her stomach.
“Even if my father was in the fields or out feeding the cattle, he always made certain that my cookies and milk were waiting for me.”
He slowed the truck, his expression tightening with concern. “What did you do?”
Annie’s heart thundered in her chest, a pain shooting through her head as she forced herself to return to that day.
“I went looking for him,” she said, able to see herself walking through the house before she headed outside.
“Did you go into the garage?”
Did she?
She remembered walking down the back steps and then . . .
She gasped as a sudden pain shot through her head, the fog returning with a vengeance. “Shit. I don’t remember,” she rasped, frustration blasting through her.
Abruptly coming to a halt on the shoulder, Rafe reached to undo her seat belt and pulled her shaking body into his arms.
“Hey, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he soothed, his lips brushing the top of her head. “We’re going to get this figured out.”
Chapter Nine
The office building was newly constructed in an upscale neighborhood of Houston, but the faded red brick and large windows with ornamental molding were designed to give the impression of solid age and respectabi
lity.
Exactly the atmosphere Lucas St. Clair had declared ARES needed in order to attract the appropriate client. Which meant a place where rich fucks and politicians with sensitive needs would feel comfortable visiting.
But while Lucas had been allowed the task of finding the right neighborhood, it’d been Max Grayson who’d had the final approval on the exact location.
With a budget that would make most government agencies salivate, he had very specific demands for his lab.
Now Teagan entered the long, brightly lit room that looked as if it should be in a sci-fi movie.
The floors were pure white ceramic tiles and the walls were framed with stainless steel freezers, floor-to-ceiling storage cabinets, and a waist-high counter that held a row of strange equipment. The far side of the room was reserved for Max’s massive desk, which held his computer and several flat-screen monitors.
At his entrance, Max looked up from a microscope he’d been peering into and slowly rose to his feet.
The forensic specialist was a large man, over six feet, with bulging muscles despite the hours he spent in his lab.
Like Teagan, Max came from a dysfunctional home. Of course, Teagan’s father had been a drunken, abusive bastard who’d nearly beaten his mother to death, while Max’s parents were financial wizards who’d made millions on a Ponzi scheme before being locked up by the feds.
Still, they’d both grown up with parents serving time.
One of those weird-ass coincidences that had drawn them together.
And the reason Teagan understood Max.
Both struggled to be the complete opposite of their parents.
For Teagan, it meant keeping people at a distance. He might take lovers, or hang with his cousins at his custom-built garage, working on his cars. But he never allowed himself to become close enough to hurt or be hurt.
With the exception of his four friends.
Max on the other hand was painfully honest, loyal beyond measure, and without the charming artifice of his parents.
You always knew exactly where you stood with Max.
“What have you got for me?” Max demanded, his gray eyes narrowed as he studied Teagan’s grim expression.
“This.” Teagan held up the table he’d collected before leaving Newton and meeting Hauk in Des Moines. Thankfully there hadn’t been any delay in leaving, and within a few hours he was back home. Not that he intended to stay long. “And a bad feeling.”