Falling for the ice quee.., p.13
Falling For the Ice Queen, page 13
Amelia Lake. The victim taken on the first anniversary of Eliza’s abduction. The notes on her case came up first. Notes. Her picture. The image of Amelia filled the screen. A vivacious redhead with sparking blue eyes and a dimple in one cheek. She wore a college cheer uniform and had a red star painted on her cheek as she grinned in her photo.
Memphis had compiled detailed notes on her. Eliza read through the material. Parts of the research burned in her mind. Amelia had been twenty-two years old when she went missing. She’d vanished on her way home from a bar in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. At the bar, she’d had a fight with her boyfriend. Told him that she would be finding another ride back to her sorority house.
She had never arrived at the sorority house.
The police had conducted an exhaustive search. No one could remember seeing her leave the bar. No one could remember anything to help find her.
The second anniversary of Eliza’s abduction…Casey Carter. Eliza swallowed as she gazed at Casey’s picture. Brown hair, shot with red highlights. A mischievous smile. She’d been working at a local bar in Galveston as she dreamed of being a singer. She’d been scheduled to close up the place for the night. The next morning, when the owner had gone in, the bar had been unlocked, and Casey had been nowhere to be seen. The owner had thought that maybe she’d hooked up with a customer, so he didn’t report her disappearance, not until the next night when she didn’t show up for work and no one could get her to answer her phone.
The third anniversary…Layla Darrow. The next victim. A pretty blond. One with soft gray eyes. A fragile build. No red star happily painted on her cheek. Just a slightly silly grin on her face. She’d been eleven months younger than Amelia.
She was younger than me.
Layla had taken her sister’s car while Delilah Darrow finished up work. They’d planned to meet at a bar to let off steam as soon as Delilah was done.
Layla hadn’t made it to the bar.
The abandoned vehicle she’d taken had been found the next day. Layla hadn’t. Delilah had searched and searched. But Layla hadn’t come home.
Fourth anniversary…Drew Salters. A brunette with green eyes. Wearing a trim business suit and staring back at Eliza with her steady gaze. Twenty-six at the time of her disappearance. She’d been planning to meet friends for a bachelorette party at a bar in Atlanta. When she hadn’t shown up, they’d just thought she got tied up with work. So they didn’t report her missing. Not that night. Not the next day. And Monday, when Drew didn’t show up for work, it was her assistant who finally realized something was wrong.
By that time, Drew was long gone.
She didn’t come back.
What had their families thought, Eliza wondered, when the women never came home? When they just vanished? Did they think they might still be alive? Did they think there was hope?
Delilah did. Eliza knew that with certainty. Delilah was still searching for Layla. After all, she’d gotten Memphis to take the case. She’d hadn’t given up.
But is there any hope left?
Eliza went to the next name even as she felt a tear slide down her cheek. Tameka Williams. Taken on the fifth anniversary of Eliza’s abduction. Tameka…Dark hair swept back from her forehead. Killer cheekbones. Sparkling eyes that tossed out a challenge to the world. In the photo, she wore gold hoop earrings and a small cross necklace.
Twenty-seven when she vanished. Recently divorced, Tameka had met a guy on an online dating app. She’d gone to a bar to meet him. Her friends had said that she’d deliberately picked a public spot for their first meeting.
Only five days later, when authorities were hunting for Tameka, when her brother and mother were desperately begging the public for help, when her preacher father called on everyone to find his precious daughter…
The bouncer at the bar would say that she’d never gone past the door. Security footage would back him up. Tameka never entered the local bar in Tallahassee, Florida. But her car was found in the bar’s parking lot.
Eliza blinked rapidly. She could taste the salt of her tears, and she wanted to stop. She wanted to stop looking at these women and imagining what it had been like for them…
But I don’t have to imagine. The nightmare comes to me all the time.
The last woman…Stephanie Stone. Taken last year. On the sixth anniversary. Twenty-four. Brown hair. A small mole near her lip. Stylish glasses. Eyes that seemed a little sad behind those lenses. Just a little lost. She’d gone to a bar in Biloxi, Mississippi. The bartender remembered several men approaching her, but he’d said that Stephanie politely dismissed them all. He’d been called away by other customers, and when he went back to check on her, Stephanie had been gone. She’d left her payment and a tip on the bar top for him.
Eliza swallowed as she read more of the details that Memphis had collected.
Two weeks. It was over two weeks before anyone realized that Stephanie was gone. She’d worked from home but had been scheduled to take a vacation. Her mother and father had been deceased.
The police were only alerted when her mailbox began to overflow, and neighbors grew concerned.
Eliza leaned forward as she read the notation Memphis had made…
By that time, her case was already cold. No cameras at the old bar. She disappeared, and no one noticed.
Eliza’s breath shuddered out. I did this. If she had just been able to remember who had taken her, if she could have just stopped the man who’d taken her…If she could have found him…
Those other women would never have vanished.
“Eliza…” Low. Rough. “Baby, I’m trying to give you the time you need, but your tears are ripping out my heart. Pretty shocking, honestly, because until you, I wasn’t sure I still had a heart.”
A sob tore from her.
“Fuck.” Memphis bounded toward her.
She couldn’t stop the tears. Couldn’t slow them. They just rained down as the images of those women rushed through her mind. “My…fault. I-I did—”
He hauled her out of the chair and into his arms. “No. Absolutely not. Don’t say it. Don’t think it.”
She was saying it. She was thinking it. She was—
“The sick prick who took you is the only one we blame. He did this. Not you.”
But if she could have just remembered—
“Not. You.” Fierce, but his hold was gentle. “You didn’t do this. He did. You got away. You survived. You lived. Sweetheart, you went to the cops. You told everyone what you knew. You did everything you could.”
The women were still gone. Their families devastated. Their lives…lost?
“He will pay. We will find him. We will stop him. We will make him pay.”
The guilt and pain tore through her.
Memphis carried her out of the guest room. Took Eliza back to her bedroom. Carefully, tenderly, he tucked her into the bed. Then his shadowy form hovered over her. “Don’t move.” Gruff. “I know you like to hop out of bed when my back is turned, but just don’t do it. I’ll be right back.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t stop seeing those women. I’m so sorry. Sorry for their pain. Sorry that she couldn’t help them. That she hadn’t stopped him.
“Here, baby.” A warm cloth pressed to her left cheek. He wiped away her tears. Moved the cloth to her right cheek. “If crying makes you feel better, then do it all night long. But if it doesn’t…can you stop? Because watching you cry is like taking a knife to the chest.”
Eliza pulled in a shuddering breath. “Tell me…”
“Anything.”
“Tell me that w-we’ll stop him.”
“We’ll stop him.”
“That h-he won’t hurt anyone else.”
“We are going to lock the bastard away. I am not going to give up. I don’t care how long it takes, we will stop him.” He eased down into the bed. Pulled her into his arms. “I fucking swear it, princess.”
Chapter Twelve
When she opened her eyes again, the night had ended. Sunlight streamed through her curtains and lit the room.
Her eyes felt grainy and rough, and Eliza couldn’t remember how long she’d cried. Memphis had held her, and eventually, she’d drifted to sleep. His vow had followed her.
We are going to lock the bastard away.
Their goal. Their plan.
Eliza trusted Memphis. She trusted him completely, and maybe that should have surprised her. She’d known him such a short period of time, after all, but…
But it didn’t matter. It was Memphis, and he was going to help her.
She dressed carefully, putting on designer jeans and a pale gray top. Matching sandals. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and she took a few moments to apply mascara and even a splash of red lipstick. Eliza added a little concealer beneath her eyes to try and hide the puffiness.
Look like you’re in control. That had been her mantra for years. Look like it even when you aren’t. Because no one will know the truth but you.
She strode down the hallway—and remembered being carried by Memphis. She entered the den with her shoulders squared and her spine straight.
He wasn’t there.
“Uh, Memphis?”
“In the kitchen!” he called, and the man sounded cheery.
She wet her lips and made her way to the kitchen. She didn’t want him to think she was weak. Didn’t want him to think that she couldn’t handle—
Eliza drew up short at the sight that greeted her. Memphis had made her breakfast, again.
“Morning, sunshine.” He shoveled eggs onto a plate. “You are absolutely gorgeous in the morning.”
How could he say that? “You haven’t even looked at me yet.”
He put down the pan. Looked up at her. “You were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. Absolutely gorgeous. Like I said before.” His green gaze seemed to heat. “I wanted to gobble you right up.”
You did last night. Nope. She would not say that. Not going to do it. It was better not to rehash all of the previous night’s events. Not the insane sex. Not the breakdown after.
“You look great now, too, but got to say, I prefer you when you’re completely naked and curled around me.”
So…he was focusing on the sexual events. Not the shuddering tear scene. Was that better? Worse? “You…you shouldn’t just say things like that.” Her kitchen felt too warm.
“Why not?” He winked before she could respond. “Because that stuff makes you hot?”
Maybe. Yes. “We should talk.”
“Um. Aren’t we talking?”
“I meant about what happened last night.”
“You meant about the phenomenal sex. Sure. We can talk about it over and over again.”
Frustration had her jaw hardening. “Do you take anything seriously?”
His gaze seemed to burn. “When it comes to you, my intentions are one hundred percent serious, be assured of that.”
The racing of her heartbeat filled her ears.
“I take you—I take us—very, very seriously. So we can talk about the sex we had. Do it all day and night long.” A muscle flexed along his jaw. “Or we can talk about the victims. But I’d rather not see you cry again so I am trying to distract you.”
He was? That was oddly sweet of him.
“Either way, I will one hundred percent not allow you to blame yourself for what happened to them. That shit isn’t going to fly on my watch, so don’t even try it.”
Some of the heavy weight around her heart—it didn’t ease, but it seemed to shift.
“You should eat. I should eat. We can talk while we eat. Talk about sex. About the other things I take seriously. About our hunting plans. Whatever you want.” He pulled out a chair for her. Waited expectantly.
Sighing, she sat down. Inhaled the utterly delicious scents. “You’re quite the cook.” A surprise that she’d discovered yesterday.
“That’s because one of my first jobs was at the diner down the street from the apartment my mom and I shared in Tennessee. Grew up in Memphis, by the way, in case you were wondering about my name.”
When it came to him, she wondered about a lot of things. If she’d had her way, Eliza would learn all of his secrets.
“I started by sweeping and bussing tables at the diner, then got bumped up to the kitchen.” He sat across from her. “Realized then that if you could be a passable cook, you could always get a job.”
She dug in and ate the breakfast, realizing vaguely that she was famished. Must have been all that activity last night. The fork nearly slipped from her fingers at the thought.
Memphis laughed. “You do this partial blush thing that is so damn cute. Your cheeks don’t go red. More like they pinken a little. And I do have to wonder, what caused that sweet pinkness?”
You did. Or rather, remembering what she’d done with him. “If I…hurt you last night, I wanted to say—”
“What are you talking about now?” He squinted. “How would you have hurt me?”
She ate more food. Ridiculously, insanely good. How had he made eggs taste so good? After swallowing and carefully sipping some orange juice to buy herself more time, Eliza finally said, “Because I believe I left scratches down your back.” She distinctly recalled that act.
“Oh, yeah, baby, you did.” He winked. “Told you we’d get around to that part. And to think, you were trying to act like you weren’t the kind of person who ignites in bed.”
“I’m not. Normally.” She still couldn’t believe how intense things had been last night. They hadn’t just had sex once. Had it been three times? At the end, she’d just been lost to pleasure that seemed to never end. “I’ve got one ex in particular who will tell you that I’m as close to frigid as it’s possible to—”
His fork hit the plate with a clatter. “Want me to teach him some manners for you?” Suddenly, all signs of playfulness were gone. His voice had become low and lethal, and his eyes blazed not with a sensual heat, but more like with the barely banked fires of hell.
“That’s certainly not necessary.” Her grip tightened around the handle of her fork.
“Name.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tell me his name,” he gritted out.
Now she was suspicious. “Why?”
“Because if I encounter the prick, I want to be sure and give him a few useful life lessons.”
“I…think you want to kick his ass.”
He laughed. “God, I love it when you say things like that in your prim tone. Future reference, it drives me crazy when you say ‘fuck’ in that polished voice of yours. Love it.” He leaned toward her, as if imparting a secret. “And, yes, I do want to kick his ass.” His gaze traveled over her face. “I find myself very protective where you are concerned.”
“Is it because we had sex?”
One shoulder rolled in a shrug. “I was protective before that.”
“Oh. So it’s because we’re…partners?” Or maybe it was because of her past. He felt bad because of what had happened to her—
“I think it’s just because…it’s you.” Another shrug. “Name.”
“I don’t want you to kick his ass.”
“Are you sure? Because it sounds to me like he said things that hurt you.” Memphis pursed his lips. “How about if I just promise to kick his ass a little bit?”
“If you get thrown in jail for beating up one of my exes, how are we going to find the man we’re really after?”
A muscle flexed along his jaw. “Fair enough.” He settled back against his chair. “But I will need the names of your exes. All of them. And your friends. Work associates. Everyone who is close to you.”
She’d just finished eating, and the meal suddenly felt very heavy on her stomach. “Because you think the man who took me has been in my life this whole time?” The man who’d taken her—and all those other women.
“I notice that you keep saying man. Is it because you remember him?”
Her lashes flickered. “I-I remember him calling to me. He was chasing me when I got out of that barn. Yelling when I was near the sunflowers. It was a strong, hard voice.” God, she wished she could remember more. Remember something to help.
“And you don’t think you recognized that voice?”
The flash she had of the voice—just a hard yell. Almost a thunder. Not like someone’s normal, everyday voice. Eliza shook her head.
“Cops are supposed to be searching for the truck that swiped us last night. Haven’t received a damn word yet from them and—”
She heard the chime of her doorbell.
“Well, well. Isn’t that timely?” He tossed down his napkin and rose. “You expecting some company this morning?”
It was Sunday. She didn’t expect anyone.
“Right.” An incline of his head. “Then let’s just see who decided to drop by for a visit.”
She jumped up and followed on his heels. He took a second to glance through her peephole, then Memphis swung open the door.
“Morning, Detective,” he drawled.
Detective Daniel Jones took a step back. “You’re…what in the hell are you doing here?”
“Uh, where else would I be?” Memphis questioned in return. “Got to watch out for the hotel rooms in this town. People break in when you least expect it.”
Daniel took in Memphis’s jeans, his shirt, and the fact that he wasn’t wearing shoes. “You spent the night here.”
“Ah, sure, and I intend to—”
“Memphis has taken over my security detail,” Eliza rushed to say as she stepped closer to his side. “He’s moved in with me for the time being.”
“Has he now.” Daniel’s hands went to his lean hips. He still wore his badge and had his gun holster under his arm.
“Yes, he has,” Memphis replied. “That’s what she just said.”
Eliza put her hand on Memphis’s chest. His very hard, strong chest, and pushed back. “Let Daniel come inside.” For Daniel to be visiting this early, he must have news.
Memphis backed up so the cop could come inside, and once Daniel had paced toward the den, Memphis shut the door and locked it. Eliza strode to stand near Daniel. “Did you find information that we could use? Out at the barn or—or did you find the driver of the truck?” She could hear the hope in her own voice.
