Another slice of that knife and she could feel tears sliding down her cheeks. The pain was wrecking her. Destroying the girl she’d been. Leaving someone else—something else in her place.
Don’t fear the pain. Don’t tense when the knife hits you. Look at Asher. Look at him.
“Let my sister go, you fucking bastard! You want to hurt someone? Hurt me, not Ana! Let her go!”
Ana’s eyes were sagging shut. Asher’s voice was fading.
Was she dying? Ana didn’t want to go out like this. Tied up, trapped. Some sick bastard’s toy.
She didn’t want to go out like this . . .
Her eyes closed.
And part of her—
“Ana, baby, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
Her eyes flew open. It was dark, only a thin stream of light coming in from the open bathroom door, and he was there with her.
Cash. Holding her tight. Pressing a kiss to her temple.
“You’re safe,” he whispered. “No one is going to hurt you here. You’re safe.”
Her drumming heartbeat slowly returned to normal. She was in bed with him, his arms around her. He was lightly stroking her shoulder.
“You’re safe.”
Her eyes began to drift closed. The nightmare—the memory—was blessedly fading away. Maybe she would be able to sleep the rest of the night without the dark images haunting her. Maybe she’d be okay now.
“You’re safe . . .” His voice followed her as she slipped back into sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Her phone rang, making Ana jerk awake. She blinked a moment, getting her bearings, and she realized she was still in bed with Cash.
Naked, wrapped in his arms. And sunlight was pouring through the blinds.
She grabbed for the covers, yanking them over her body just as his eyes blinked open. “Ana?”
She clutched those covers tightly and crawled over him. Her phone was on the floor—somewhere. “It’s my boss.” She recognized the country music beat on the phone—it was a beat she’d picked out just for Gabe. She snagged the phone and answered, voice a bit breathless, “Ana.”
“I’ve got the information you needed.”
Cash was sitting up in bed. Only he wasn’t covering his nudity.
And he looked way too good first thing in the morning.
“Our team started with Jonathan Bright. Just like you said, he was our key. We started with him and worked backward, and damn, but you were right on target.”
Cash was staring at her, his expression tense.
“Cash is here,” Ana said. “I’m going to put you on speaker so he can hear what you have to say, too, okay?”
There was a beat of silence.
Yes, so it’s just after six a.m. and my voice was thick from sleep, and I just said that Cash was with me. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to connect those dots.
Her finger swiped over the phone as she edged back toward the bed.
“Jonathan Bright.” Gabe’s voice carried easily. “Died at age sixty-two. He was in town, making what appeared to be his weekly shopping trip, when he was struck by a sudden heart attack. That was thirteen years ago.”
Thirteen years.
“Before that attack, Jonathan led an . . . interesting life. When he was fifteen years old, his mother sent him to Bellhaven.”
First piece of the puzzle, sliding into place. “You know why he went there?”
“No. Can’t find anything other than an old admission log for him in the state system. No details on why or even how long he was admitted. But I did get another blip on my radar. Jonathan’s father? Marcus Bright? He was an inmate at Wingate Penitentiary.”
Cash climbed from the bed and yanked on his jeans.
“He’d murdered a coworker, stabbed him seventeen times in what court records described as a ‘fit of rage’—and Marcus died a year after going to Wingate.”
Wingate. Bellhaven. “Jonathan Bright sure has some powerful connections to our kill spots.”
Cash nodded grimly. “The perp wanted us to see these connections. That’s why he left the phone at Bright’s cabin.”
“Maybe the phone wasn’t the only thing we were supposed to find out there,” Ana said, trying to figure out what was happening. “Maybe we need to go back to that cabin and look again.” Because if she just took the puzzle pieces on the surface . . .
Jonathan’s father was incarcerated for a violent murder.
Jonathan was institutionalized by his mother when he was a teen.
Jonathan lived alone, in a secluded cabin, limiting his contact with the outside world.
She licked her lips. “If you look at his life, the guy would sure start to fit the profile for a killer.”
Cash’s brows lowered. “Faye told me about a news clipping she found at the cabin—for a girl who’d gone missing.”
“What girl?” Ana demanded.
Cash brushed by her and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through the photos. “Got her to send me a pic before the guys took it in for evidence. It was an abduction that happened years ago . . .” His shoulder brushed her arm and she squinted as she stared at his phone.
Area girl disappears . . . family desperate for her return.
She scanned the article. A thirteen-year-old girl named Jenny Love had vanished while walking home from her bus stop. Her parents were pleading for any information that might lead to her return . . .
“Maybe Jonathan knew what happened to that girl.” Because maybe he was the reason she went missing.
Gabe cleared his throat, the sound drifting over the line. “Did some research on that end, too. Seems that while Jonathan was living in that cabin . . . three boys and two girls all went missing, never to be seen again. One of them is a cold case file that you were working, Ana. Cathy Wise.”
Cathy Wise. The first time that Cash had appeared at LOST, Ana had been looking at Cathy’s file. “She was thirteen when she vanished. Blond hair, blue eyes. She’d gone to visit her grandmother in Virginia. The girl went out one day for a walk and never came back.”
“All the vics that vanished in the area had a similar story—all were twelve or thirteen, right at the age where the cops first thought maybe they were runaways, so valuable damn time was wasted. The kids weren’t taken too close together—looked like the abductions spanned ten years. A boy named William Marshall—Billy—he was taken first. Cathy was taken last. She was taken . . .” Gabe’s sigh filled the line, “Four months before Jonathan Bright died. After his death, there were no more missing kids who fit the age profile or abduction style.”
Cash’s eyes glittered. “We need to get cadaver dogs out to his cabin.”
Ana nodded. “We’re . . . we’re sure Jonathan’s death was from natural causes? A heart attack, that’s what you said?”
“No autopsy was performed. No records of one. Local coroner just called it on the scene based on evidence.”
She clutched the covers a bit tighter. “Thank you, Gabe.”
“You need anything else, Ana?”
“Sarah’s profile,” Cash said. “I want her take on this case.”
“She should be finishing up with that soon.” Gabe paused. “Sarah’s actually on her way up there.”
And Ana knew exactly why—Sarah was afraid their perp had killed her father. Whatever she’d determined in her profile so far, well, it had apparently just reaffirmed that belief.
“I gave her the jet. After what Ana told me happened last night”—because, yes, Ana had called in to brief her boss—“I didn’t want to take any chances. LOST will be helping the FBI, whether your boss wants that assistance or not.”
They talked for a few more moments, then Ana hung up the phone. She hurried into the bathroom, dressing quickly, and she heard Cash talking in the other room.
Ordering the cadaver dogs.
If bodies were at the cabin, they would find them.
The hospital was quiet. Nurses bustled in and out of the rooms, and mac
hines beeped softly. Cash glanced down at the gleaming floor, seeing his reflection beam back at him. Ana was at his side, her steps sure, confident.
A search team and cadaver dogs would be meeting them at Jonathan Bright’s old cabin. But before Cash and Ana joined that team . . .
He wanted to talk with Dr. Summers.
“She’s not quite herself yet,” the doctor to Cash’s right said. Dr. Anthony Paul. He’d been treating Dr. Summers. “Blood tests showed a very, very high amount of drugs in her system.”
“What kind of drugs?” Ana asked.
“A real cocktail,” he said, shaking his head. “Antipsychotic drugs, depressants, stimulants. You name it, and it was probably in that blend. Those drugs should never, never be mixed that way. Hallucinations—both visual and auditory—as well as depression and aggression result from that combination. When Dr. Summers was first brought in, we had to strap her down on the exam table, both for her safety and for the safety of the hospital staff treating her.”
Cash felt the faint pull of his stitches. “Definitely a good idea,” he muttered.
They turned left and entered another corridor. A security guard gave him a nod.
“We took your concern about the patient’s safety very seriously,” Dr. Paul said. “A guard has been on this floor every moment.”
Good to know.
Dr. Paul opened the door to room 604. There was a slow, steady beat from inside.
Cash started to cross the threshold, but Dr. Paul held up his hand, stopping him. “The patient is much more stable, but I would caution you . . . because of the drugs, her memory is going to be skewed. The things she says may not be accurate.”
He was sure the perp had been counting on that fact. If Dr. Summers had survived, nothing she said would be admissible in court because she would be deemed an unreliable witness.
Smart bastard.
The doctor’s hand dropped and they all entered the room.
“She’s still strapped down,” Ana said.
At her words, Dr. Summers’s eyes flew open.
“For her safety,” Dr. Paul murmured. “And ours.”
Dr. Summers squinted as she looked at Ana. Then her stare slowly trekked to Cash. When she saw him, she stiffened.
“Hello, Dr. Summers,” Cash said, keeping his voice soft and nonthreatening. “I was hoping you could answer some questions for me.” Just because her testimony might not hold up in court, well, that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about what she had to say.
A shudder went over the length of her body. The machine beside her beeped faster.
“Dr. Summers, do you remember what happened to you?” Cash’s voice was still soft. Her gaze darted around the room.
“It’s okay,” Dr. Paul said. “You’re safe here, remember?”
But her hands were twisting against the straps. “Monsters.”
Ana eased closer. “What about the monsters?”
“They were everywhere.” Her voice was husky, thick. “He told me . . . he told me that I should kill the monsters. They had to be st-stopped.”
Dr. Paul shook his head. “I’m sorry. She’s still suffering the effects of the medication—”
“Then he said . . . I was a monster.” Dr. Summers twisted her bound wrist. “He . . . he put the knife on the floor and he left me there.”
Oh, Jesus. Cash realized just what the perp had intended. For Dr. Summers to take her own life, the same way her patients had.
“Did you see his face?” Ana asked her.
Dr. Summers gave a jerky nod. “I . . . think so.”
Excitement pulsed in Cash’s blood. “What did he look like?”
Dr. Summers smiled. “I have no idea.” She started to whistle.
Fuck.
“Maybe try coming back again in a few hours.” Dr. Paul scanned her chart. “Or tomorrow. Her mind will be clearer then—”
She stopped whistling. “He was so nice the first time we met.”
Cash heard Ana’s sharply indrawn breath. “The first time?” Cash pressed.
“When he brought his sister to me,” Dr. Summers said, nodding. “He had to commit her, for her protection.” For an instant, she sounded like her old self. “She was a danger to herself and to others. She’d attacked him just the week before, he showed me the healing wounds. Attacked him. Tried to kill herself. He was just devastated.” She sighed. “But after a month with us, she’d shown such progress. She didn’t seem violent at all. That’s how we were able to move her to be with a more general population in the facility.” But then sadness chased across her face. “I didn’t know what was going to happen to her. That wasn’t my fault. She should have never even been in the violent offender area. She snuck past the guards and went in there . . . Luckily, I stopped him before he hurt her too much.”
“Chassity Pope,” Ana said. “You’re talking about her, aren’t you?”
Dr. Summers started to whistle again.
“Dr. Summers?” Cash prompted. “Tell us—”
“I would like ice cream.” A broad smile split her lips. “Ice cream and lemonade and no monsters.” She shook her head. “No monsters for me. Not today . . .”
Dr. Paul sighed. “She’s going in and out as the drugs flush from her system. And you have to keep in mind, even the things she’s saying . . . she could be making them up. Twisting real events with the shadows in her mind.”
“I think she knows exactly what she’s saying,” Ana retorted. She inclined her head toward Dr. Paul. “And you should damn well get that woman some ice cream. I think she’s earned it.”
Cash and Ana exited the room. Their steps were fast as they headed down the hallway. As soon as they cleared the hospital, he turned to face off with her.
“We need to talk with Chassity Pope,” Ana said.
Hell, yeah, they did. They also needed to talk with her brother. And he wasn’t quite convinced that Chassity was crazy. Maybe that had just been a ruse to get her inside the psychiatric facility. To get access to Forrest? And to Summers? Had they both been targets all along?
He pulled out his phone. “I’ll get Faye to head the search at Bright’s property. Then you and I will be heading to River View.”
But Chassity Pope wasn’t at River View.
“I’m sorry,” the temporary administrator-in-charge said, wringing her hands. “Her brother came in right after Dr. Summers was—was taken. He insisted on removing his sister from the facility. Said she had been endangered here and if we didn’t want the press to hear about their story, we would expedite her paperwork.” Her wide-eyed gaze darted between them. “I gave approval for her dismissal. I mean . . . a family member was there for her. He was the one who’d first admitted her, so it was his choice to take her out. He had the legal right—all of his papers were in order.”
“I want those papers,” Cash barked. “Now.”
With this damn case, they went . . . two fucking steps forward.
Three steps back.
The administrator hurried away.
“Her work was done here,” Ana said. “So there was no need for her to stay in the hospital.”
He swore. “Do you think she was faking all along?”
Ana’s gaze turned distant. “I saw her in the community room. She looked hurt. Looked like a victim. I just . . . I don’t know.”
“I didn’t think two of them were working together.” But he should have considered that shit. The crimes were so big, so elaborate…hell, yes, they would be easier to pull off with two people. “Should’ve seen it sooner.”
“Here!” The administrator was back, clutching the file before her. When Cash reached for it, though, she hesitated. “Do you have a court order?”
Cash growled. “What I have is Dr. Summers lying in a hospital bed. I have her telling me that Chassity Pope’s brother put her there. And I need to know where I can find him.”
Ana pointed to the surveillance camera. “And if that thing was on when he came to get his sister, we nee
d his picture.”
The administrator nodded. “It was . . . I—I can get the image for you.”
Hell, yes. Hell, yes. Now they were talking.
His eyes opened. He stared at the wooden beams above him, his heart pounding as the nightmare slowly faded.
Running. Running.
He heard laughter from the other room. High, mocking. Shit. He jumped from the bed and hurried toward the kitchen. “Chassity!”
She spun around, a knife in her hand. “Don’t call me that.”
But he’d grown used to that name. They’d used it for the longest.
“It’s not my name.” She smiled at him. The knife was still in her hand. She brought it down, hard, slicing into a melon. “I don’t have to pretend any longer.” And again, she laughed.
He breathed, slow, deep. “Be careful. I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
Her smile stretched a bit. “You always take such good care of me.”
He tried. Unfortunately, he was failing.
He could see that she was starting to slip away again.
She wasn’t strong enough for River View. I should have seen that.
“These are her drawings,” Ana said. They were in Chassity Pope’s old room at River View. A fast call to the FBI executive assistant director and they’d gotten full access to every bit of data that River View had on their former patient. Court order? More like a court demand . . . one that had come with a push from the EAD.
“I saw her doing this one the other day.” Ana held up a piece of paper. Shit, it looked like a river of blood.
“Guess she likes dolls,” Ana added. She offered Cash other images.
Sketches of dolls with round faces and dark eyes.
And a red river was behind them all.
“She seemed so fragile that day. I looked at her and I saw a victim.”
“Maybe that was what she wanted you to see.” What she’d wanted them all to see. Talk about the perfect disguise. He hadn’t heard from Faye yet, but he knew the cadaver dogs should be arriving at Bright’s cabin any moment. Would they find bodies out there? Bodies that were linked to Bright and to Chassity Pope?