Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
A camera?
Vivian tried to reach it but she couldn’t.
Fincher was watching.
Bastard.
She glared at the camera, considered flipping him off, but that wouldn’t do any good.
It was hard to tell how long she had been in here.
The piece of shit in the unit next to her started talking again. He’d been going on and on for what felt like hours. “Vivian,” he called. “Talk to me, please.”
She shuddered. She could only assume that Fincher had plans for her that involved . . . him.
Closing her eyes, she blocked the sound of his voice. Images from all those years ago whirled in her head. She tried her best to block them. Stay strong. Focused. She had to find a way out of here.
A pop or break outside jerked her attention forward. What the hell was that?
She moved to the door. The sound had come from that direction. That the bastard next door had gone silent told her he had heard it too. No footsteps outside. No voices. Nothing.
Reaching down, she pulled at her door, just to see if anything had changed. Wouldn’t budge.
Dammit.
A metal-against-metal grind brushed her senses. Her heart launched into her throat.
A door was opening.
Close by.
Very close.
Her gaze settled on the wall between her and him.
His door.
She put one foot behind the other and started backing up.
Footsteps.
At her door.
Fear exploded in her veins.
Metal rattled against metal.
The lock?
Her lock.
The grinding sound told her brain her door was moving upward before the visual image registered.
Her.
Door.
Opened.
The letters written in black across his forehead stole her attention for one second.
Nameless.
Terror ignited in her veins.
“That’s why he picked you,” he said in that soft whisper she remembered too well. “The lips. Such beautiful lips.”
He charged her.
She sidestepped at the absolute last second.
His shoulder slammed into hers, setting him off balance.
She rammed the heel of her hand into his chin at the exact instant that she launched her knee into his balls.
Too late.
His fingers gripped her throat.
They hit the floor. She kicked. Punched at his throat. Stabbed at his eyes. He howled in agony from her blows, and his fingers tightened with the pulse of the pain cutting off her airway.
She fought harder. Would not be a compliant victim again.
He pinned her on her back. Straddled her waist.
She banged at his trunk. Snatched at his balls. Bucked her hips.
“Ooh . . . that feels good,” he said.
She couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t stop clawing for a vulnerable spot.
“First,” he taunted, “I want a bite of those lips.”
He leaned down, swiped his vile tongue around his lips. Then bared his teeth and leaned closer still.
She snapped her head up, banged forehead to forehead with all her might. Spots formed before her eyes. Her head pounded.
“Bitch!” One hand loosened from her neck as he reached for his forehead.
She gasped for air. Reared her hand back and jammed her fingers into his throat.
He gurgled.
Vivian struggled to throw him off, but he was too heavy.
“Have it your way, then,” he screamed. “I’ll kill you first!”
His demented eyes locked with hers. “I’ve waited a long time, Number Thirteen.”
His hands clamped around her throat.
An explosion filled the room.
He froze . . . fingers loosened as he stared down at his chest.
Blood leaked from wide hole there . . . the crimson color soaking into his pale-blue shirt.
He slumped forward.
Vivian shoved him off her and scrambled away.
People were suddenly all around her. Cops. Paramedics. Pierce. Pratt. Schaffer and her yellow boots. Pierce helped Vivian to her feet.
She looked around, then at Pierce. “Where’s McBride?”
He didn’t have to answer.
She knew from the resignation in his eyes.
Fincher had gotten to McBride.
And he’d used her as bait.
UAB Hospital, 10:30 a.m.
Ryan’s eyes opened slowly. He licked his dry lips. Hadn’t felt like this since that first week-long post-FBI drinking binge.
He tried to raise his arm to wipe his mouth. Pain shot up his forearm.
“Don’t move.”
He turned slightly to the right. “Grace?”
“You almost got yourself killed going off on your own like that,” she fussed. “Too many stitches to count in your wrist and major surgery to remove the bullet and your appendix, since the slug lodged there.” She exhaled a weary breath. “But you’re alive.”
He inventoried various aches and pains and the damned hellacious fog in his head. “You sure?”
“You scared me.” Her big dark eyes glittered. “I could kick your ass for that, McBride.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” he said with the best lecherous grin he could produce under the circumstances. His grin slipped into a frown. “What about . . . Nameless?”
“He’s dead.” She gave him a knowing look. “All of him this time. He and the other one were accomplice killers. They’d been friends since grade school.”
Ryan’s confusion deepened. “How’d you get all that?”
“This guy had their real names tattooed on his chest right above his heart. Plus, he talked the whole time we were locked in neighboring storage units. We’re hoping this new information might help solve any other murders they may have committed.”
Ryan wished his throat wasn’t so dry. “I’m glad that’s over for you.” He searched her face. “He didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head. “I beat the hell out of him before Pierce shot him.”
Pierce. Oh yeah. The anesthesia had almost succeeded in helping Ryan to forget about him, but he was damned proud of Grace handling herself so well.
Grace sighed, fiddled with the edge of the sheet. “Pierce offered me a position at Quantico.”
Yeah, Ryan would just bet he had. “I hope you told him no.” He hadn’t exactly meant for the statement to come out so forcefully. He was damned surprised he had the strength.
“I did. My parents like it that I’m here. I’m beginning to fit in with the others.” She shrugged. “I guess I should stay. There’s room for advancement here too.”
“Good.” He tried to moisten his lips again. It wasn’t working too well.
“Here.” She reached for the cup and straw on the table next to his bed. “You can have water now.” She touched the straw to his lips, and he drew in a much-needed drink.
“What about you?” She set the cup aside. “You heading back to the Keys as soon as they release you?”
He wondered if that was hope in her eyes. She wouldn’t hold his gaze long enough for him to see. Sure sounded like it in her voice.
“Depends.”
Her gaze slid back to his. “On what?”
“On you,” he confessed.
“Does that mean if I ask you to say,” she ventured noncommittally, “that you will?”
“I’m reasonably confident I could be persuaded.”
She kissed his lips, smiled timidly, and murmured, “Will you stay?”
“You’d be getting a shitload of baggage,” he reminded her.
“I have baggage too,” she reminded him.
“I do like my sex kinky,” he added.
“I think I can handle that,” she tossed back.
“I guess the answer is yes, then. I’ll stay. Until you grow weary of me.”
“Won’t happen,” she countered. “Just so you know, there’s an offer on the table from the director for full, permanent reinstatement, including back pay, if you’re interested.”
“The offer’s flattering, Grace, but I’m not so sure I want that—except maybe for the back pay.”
“Whatever you do, it doesn’t matter.” She gently swept the hair back from his brow. “As long as you’re with me, the rest will fall into place.”
She was right.
Her. Him. Together. The rest was just bullshit anyway. “Have you ever had sex in a hospital bed, Grace?”
She laughed, then kissed him and whispered, “When you’re well enough, we’ll have sex anywhere you want. Within reason,” she qualified.
Ryan grunted. “Finally, a reason to wake up every morning.”