Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Preston didn’t take her advice and sit down. He did continue to look absolutely enraged. Gorgeous, sexy, but enraged.
At least he was in the conference room with her. Actually, he was super close to her. Inches away. Sloane could practically feel the heat from his body reaching out to envelop her. She found herself leaning toward him just the slightest bit.
Until he gritted out, “You made a man kill for you.”
With that charge, she stopped feeling warmth.
It was more like she’d just been doused with ice water.
“Not true.” Her words sounded as brittle as she felt.
“I had no idea that Cody was going to attack my family. I had no idea that I’d wake up one morning and find my mother and my stepdad covered in blood, their sheets soaked, their bodies littered with stab wounds.
Slashes. I had no idea that I’d just sleep through the night and never hear them cry out because Cody cut my stepdad’s throat and slapped duct tape over my mother’s mouth and that he…
” She drew in a shuddering breath. “Cody is the reason I want to stop killers. He’s the reason I made my entire life’s focus about stopping killers.
If you understand their motivation, if you can figure out why some people become such horrific monsters and why some don’t, then you have a chance. ”
His jaw was rock hard. But his eyelashes had flickered. She’d just told him about the worst moments of her life.
Yes, finding her parents had been far, far worse than being buried alive.
And finding them was just the beginning. Because Cody was still in the house with me.
She closed her eyes, hating that terrible memory. Her body trembled.
“Sloane?”
He touched her shoulder. She jerked and flinched, and her eyes flew open wide once more.
Preston’s expression was still furious, but it had softened. Somewhat. She was pretty sure that she caught the glint of concern in his eyes.
Uh, huh. He was concerned about her while she was about to blow up his world. “I’m sorry, Preston.”
“For lying to me?” He nodded. He lifted the hand that had just touched her and shoved it through his thick hair. The move just made his hair more tousled. Made him sexier. “Don’t lie to me again. Not ever. Be straight with me, and I’ll be—”
“I haven’t technically lied to you. I had nothing to do with the abduction. But I have been stalking you. Well, I prefer the term researching, actually. Much more professional. Less threatening.”
His hand fell back to his side. “What?”
“I’m a psychologist.”
“I know.”
“My focus is on abnormal behavior.” She’d told him that before.
“Your focus is on serial killers.”
At the moment, yes. Because her mother and stepdad had not been the first individuals Cody had killed. Cody…
So young. So handsome. So completely evil.
“Sloane?”
She bit her lower lip. “You still aren’t sitting down. This is more of a sit-down conversation, I swear it is.” Her head craned as she tried to peer around him and look at the door. “I also only asked for five minutes alone with you, so we don’t have time to waste.”
“Why are you researching me?” But then a little furrow appeared between his brows. “You know, don’t you? Even before we were in the coffin together, you knew that I’d been targeted before.”
She nodded.
“You knew I’d been kidnapped and buried alive. Back when I was fourteen. You knew all about my background long before you even came to this town, didn’t you?”
Once more, she nodded.
“I escaped.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I survived. I was the only one that escaped from that bastard. The only one to get away because I beat him.”
“I think he wanted you to escape.” There. The first big confession. Done.
“What? What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I saw the coffins that he built for the others.” She had.
It had taken some pull to get access, but, luckily, she knew the right people.
Or the wrong ones. They’d owed her favors.
Weird fact? One of the coffins had actually been in a true crime museum tucked away near Gatlinburg, Tennessee.
“I checked them, and I can tell you, they didn’t have loose boards.
The other coffins, that is. His craftsmanship was perfect.
He took pride in his designs. He wanted to seal in his prey tightly.
They didn’t have a chance of escaping. And he buried them deeply.
All six feet under. You weren’t that far down.
Just four feet, according to case files.
He…made accommodations for you. Because he wanted you to make it.
But you had to go through the nightmare, you see.
You had to endure the darkness so that you could die. ”
A hard, negative shake of his head. “I didn’t die.”
Part of you did. Sloane wet her lips. “You had to die so that you could be reborn.”
He turned on his heel. “This is crazy. I don’t have to listen to this bullshit.” With his strong back ramrod straight, Preston strode for the door. “I thought you were going to tell me something useful. I thought I’d hear the truth—”
“He was your father.” Four words. Four simple, brutal words.
Preston spun back toward her. Shock covered his face.
“Your biological father was the killer. The infamous Last Breath Killer.” She was far too conscious of the breath that she exhaled.
“He kidnapped you. He buried you. He wanted to kill the person you were becoming so that you’d be reborn.
He made you face the darkness. He wanted it to swallow you up, just the way that darkness had consumed him. He wanted you to become just like him.”
“No.” Adamant. Then, harder, “No.”
Yes. She hated telling him the truth this way. In the too bright conference room. While she was cuffed. While he glared at her and his hands tightened into fists. “I am currently researching the adult children of serial killers.”
“I am not—”
“The idea is to see why certain individuals might take up the darker traits of their parents. Why some don’t.” Don’t think about Cody. Or the way it felt when his hands closed around you as you stood next to your mother’s dead body and you screamed and screamed and—
“Don’t be scared, Sloane. We’re going to be together forever.” Cody’s voice. Would he ever stop haunting her?
Her heart raced.
“Why some don’t become fucking serial killers?” Preston snarled. “Is that what you’re saying? You think I’m going to lose my mind and start killing people?”
She stared straight at him. “Actually, I don’t. I don’t think that at all.”
“What?”
“He tried to make you like him. He put you through hell. But I’ve researched you.”
His jaw tightened.
“You didn’t cross the line. You aren’t taking innocent people and hurting them.”
His breath heaved out. “He wasn’t my father. You can’t know—”
Her five minutes had to be nearly up, so Sloane spoke quickly.
“Your biological mother was Mary Jean Addams. She ran away from home when she was seventeen years old because she’d fallen in love with a boy named Mitchell Donahue.
Mitchell was three years older than her.
A college student. From a rich family. Well educated.
And Mary Jean, oh, but she was sure it was love. ”
He seemed to have turned to stone.
“You’ve looked for your birth parents. I know you did.
You submitted your DNA to online resources, and that’s where I found you.
I have connections that others don’t.” She would not admit to her friendship with a certain hacker.
Not while she was already in the custody of the sheriff’s department.
Not like she wanted things to go from bad to worse.
Oh, wait, could they get worse? Probably. Better not tempt fate. “You linked to the DNA that was left at one of the Last Breath Killer’s crime scenes.”
He shook his head. Then dipped his head low.
“You did,” she insisted. “And I…talked to Mary Jean.”
His head whipped up. “She’s alive?”
OhGodOhGod. “She was sick.”
“Was.” He swallowed. “You said…was.” A nod. “She’s gone.”
His pain had flashed on his face, then vanished almost instantly. If Sloane hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed it. “Mary Jean confirmed that she gave birth to you. That she gave you up.”
“Why?”
She tried to get out of the chair and reach him. The urge to comfort Preston was overwhelming. But the cuff bit into her skin. It jerked her back.
He frowned. “What in the hell are you doing?”
Her free hand stretched toward him. Her fingertips just skimmed the side of his crisp, white dress shirt. Because, sure, he looked fabulous. Expensive, black pants, gleaming shoes, dress shirt.
Meanwhile, she had to look like death itself.
But…still alive. Still kicking. Not dead. Not today.
“Sloane?” His frown deepened as he eyed her reaching fingers.
“Trying to…” Ah, there. She touched him. Patted him. “Comfort you.”
“The fuck?”
She nodded. “If you were closer, I’d give you a hug.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re hurting.” Obviously. “And I made you hurt. So I want to make it better.”
“You just told me that my own father tried to kill me.”
It hadn’t just been his father who tried to kill him.
But she could not tell him those words even as she remembered Mary Jean’s trembling voice telling her, “I had the baby, and I knew he was a monster. He had to be. Just like his father. I thought…I have to stop him. I can’t let him grow up to be as evil as Mitchell.
He’ll kill. He’ll hurt. He’ll destroy…just like Mitchell.
So I…I put the baby’s head under the bath water…
just for a moment. A moment too long and then… ”
“Sloane?”
Dammit. She was crying. But Sloane couldn’t help it.
Horrified by her own actions, Mary Jean had rushed the baby to the fire department. She’d left him there. Right outside the bay doors. Never looked back. Or so she claimed.
“Nature or nurture,” Sloane whispered. “That’s always been the big debate. And if nature didn’t do the job, then your father wanted to step in and nurture you.”
He was still staring at her outstretched hand. “He…wasn’t my father.”
“He killed at least seven people. You were the only one to survive. You had to wonder why.”
“He wasn’t my father.”
“I came to town because I wanted to talk to you. I wanted—”
Preston took a step back. One, then another. “You wanted to research me. You wanted me to be a rat in a cage for you.”
No.
“Instead, you became a rat in a coffin with me.” A cold smile spread across his handsome face. “How does it feel to be part of the experiment?”
It feels like shit.
“Or was that part of the experiment? Were you in on my attack? Did you help plan what happened? Was trapping me in a coffin and burying me alive sort of immersion bullshit?”
Her eyes widened.
“Come on. Don’t look surprised. I survived a serial killer’s attack. You think I haven’t done my own deep dive into psychology? You think I haven’t explored all the darkness out there?”
“I—”
“I know the dark, and the dark knows me.”
This was getting out of control. Hah. Getting? It had been out of control from the beginning. “I had nothing to do with the attack.”
“No? You didn’t arrange to give yourself a firsthand view of my potential descent into madness in that coffin? You didn’t plan it all out so that your friends could save you before things went too far and we both died?”
“I did not. I had nothing to do with our burial.” A big stress on the our part of that sentence.
“If you didn’t, then who did? Because the Last Breath Killer is dead in the ground, Sloane. I’ve lived for years without any threats. But the instant you show up in town, I’m targeted. Tell me how that shit makes sense. Tell me. I am dying to hear your answer. Tell. Me.”
She couldn’t. “Maybe it’s really unfortunate timing?”
“Fuck that.” His eyes glittered. “Fuck you.”
“You almost did. Last night.” Why, why had she said that? Maybe because her own temper was stirring. Look, she got that she was destroying the guy’s world. But, dammit, he was hurting her.
How had he gotten the power to hurt her so quickly?
“Good thing we stopped. Saved us both from making the worst mistake ever.” He pointed at her. “Stay the hell away from me.”
It felt like he’d just shoved a knife into her heart. “I want to help you!”
He spun away. Stormed for the door.
“Preston!” The stupid table was too heavy. She couldn’t drag it with her to the door. “Wait! Don’t leave me!”
But he did. He ripped open the door and left her cuffed.
The door shut. Didn’t slam. Just shut. Quietly.
“That went well,” she muttered.
Don’t leave me.