Protective Hearts E-Book

D.S. Williams

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Finn is the only surviving victim of the Chicago Heart Ripper.

Struggling to come to terms with what happened, she fights against the amnesia that prevents her from identifying the serial killer.

Caleb Sheppard is determined to protect Finn. He suspects that there is more to the prolific serial killer than meets the eye; why did he leave Finn alive?

With the Ripper on their heels, they race against time to retrieve Finn's memories, keep her out of the murderer's clutches, and discover the secrets of his identity.

What Finn does not realize is that Caleb is hiding secrets of his own - some of which she might not be able to accept.

Leseprobe

Protective Hearts

D.S. Williams

Copyright (C) 2015 D.S. Williams

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Chapter 1

She was out there. Somewhere. He knew it. Although the link was not complete, he was certain he would locate her. In time.

Standing beside the car, I viewed the house impassively, arms wrapped tightly around my chest in a self-protective stance. I wasn't aware of the posture I'd adopted but Ash noticed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders in a comforting gesture.

“I know it's not much,” he began hesitantly.

“It'll be fine,” I reassured him quietly. A narrow fronted two story in a sad state of disrepair, the faded blue cladding was in dire need of a coat of paint and the shingles needed replacing. Despite its ramshackle appearance, the structure appeared to be sound, a heavy lock and deadbolt visible on the front door.

As if reading my thoughts, Ash motioned towards the windows. “They're all secured, Finn. Bolts on every window, deadbolts on every door. There's an alarm system installed, which connects straight to the Sherriff's Office in town.”

For a few minutes, I studied the house and Ash scrutinized me discreetly, apparently sensing the tension, which rolled from me in waves. It was tangible evidence of the stress I'd endured, apprehension I couldn't hide from one of my dearest friends.

“Come on, I'll show you around,” he offered. Following Ash up the stairs, I stood back as he unlocked the solid front door and ushered me inside. The interior of the house was unexpected, the living room spotless and filled with contemporary furniture, a fawn leather sofa and two matching armchairs. Oak bookcases stood on either side of a picture window, a breathtaking view of the crashing Atlantic beyond. Fresh drapes hung at the windows and the walls had been recently painted, leaving a slight odor of paint fumes still perceptible. On the right of the hall, a dining room with elegant beech furniture led to a shabby kitchen. Although the benches were worn and the cupboards chipped, the kitchen was functional. Beyond that an enclosed sunroom led to a dilapidated terrace, which Ash assured me was sturdy enough despite its ramshackle appearance.

He guided me upstairs, where the master bedroom was comfortably furnished, and the bathroom was obviously newly renovated, with fresh tiling, paint, and fittings. The other two bedrooms were filled with paint cans, piles of wooden flooring, and the flotsam and jetsam of renovating an old home.

“The place was collapsing when I inherited it from my grandparents.” Ash rubbed a thumb across his jaw thoughtfully as he surveyed the master bedroom. “I had contractors replace the bathroom and do some structural repairs. The rest is a work in progress, when I can score a spare weekend to fly up here.”

I glanced at him, a quick appraisal catching the uncertainty in his eyes. I hurried to reassure him. “It's great, Ash. Perfect.”

Ash rubbed his fingers through his hair, eyeing me doubtfully. “Stay here as long as you want, Finn. I don't get up here often and the place sits empty most of the time. You'll be safe here.” His brown eyes were troubled, fine lines creasing his brow. “The security system will ensure nobody gets in.”

He caught the glimmer of anxiety in my eyes before I dropped a veil of composure over my features. “I appreciate it,” I said softly.

Ash cursed under his breath, I knew he hated seeing me like this. We'd grown up together and had become more like siblings than just friends. Ash, my brother Bryan and I lived on the same street as kids, growing up in the suburbs of Chicago. Ash and Bryan initially loathed one another, but when a minor disagreement resulted in a fistfight over a juvenile dispute, it was me who had waded in to referee. A four-year-old kid staring down two fourteen-year-old boys. It was a turning point for Ash and Bryan, turning mutual loathing into a deep friendship, which spanned two decades.

Even now, I had trouble recalling why they disliked one another in the first place. There'd been cultural differences, with Ash coming from Japanese American stock and Bryan and myself being purely Irish American. They made incongruous friends from the beginning, Ash was dark skinned with jet-black hair and chocolate brown eyes; Bryan freckled and blessed with the sky blue eyes and flaming red hair synonymous with an Irish background. Luckily, for me, I'd missed that particular legacy.

As kids, Ash and Bryan had a similar height and build, but when they turned fifteen the similarities ended abruptly as Bryan reached a soaring height of six feet three inches, whilst Ash was disappointed with his full height of just a touch over five ten. Despite their physical differences, both men shared an equal ability to attract women, with them both having handsome features and well-muscled bodies, honed through hours of physical exercise.

Their friendship continued throughout high school and college, before they joined the police academy together. Cementing their friendship as they worked their way up the ranks, their promotion to Detective was simultaneous. Their paths diversified from that point, Ash moved into Homicide as Bryan drifted into the harsh world of undercover work with the Vice Squad. For months, he would disappear into the seediest areas of Chicago, immersing himself in the underbelly of the windy city.

A familiar ache twisted my gut when I thought about Bryan, and I glanced surreptitiously at Ash, saw my pain mirrored in his expression. It was an agony he felt deeply, the loss of a friend who'd been like a brother. I winced uncomfortably, wrapping my arms more tightly around my chest. It was a gesture commonplace nowadays, an attempt at holding my fragile psyche together.

The sound of a car horn broke the stillness and I drew in a ragged breath, the sound making me jump. Nowadays I hated noises that were out of the ordinary, unexpected events, both of which combined to shatter my fragile nerves. Ash grinned and tugged my hand gently, catching it in his. “Don't worry, I know who it is.” He led me downstairs and out to the porch, where two cars had pulled into the drive behind Ash's Chevy Equinox.

“Hey guys.” Shep stretched as he stepped from the car, his muscular arms tensing. His dark wavy hair blew across his face when the sea breeze caught it, framing his striking features. “Jesus, Ash. Could you have chosen anywhere further away from Chicago?” Shep drew me into a friendly embrace, kissing my cheek and ruffling my hair. “How you doing, kitten?” he questioned.

“I'm okay,” I muttered.

“No you're not,” Shep countered mildly. “But you will be, Finn.” He offered me an affectionate smile and ruffled my hair once more, as though I was still a child. “You will be.”

It was a struggle not to cry with relief when my best friend, Shelby, clambered from the second car, along with her boyfriend Taylor Deveraux. Shelby dashed forward, incredibly graceful in stilettos and gripped me in a tight hug, holding me for a long time as I fought to control the tears which threatened to flow. When I regained some composure, I stared at her incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

Shelby glanced at the old house and didn't bother to hide the disdain in her light blue eyes. “When Ash insisted on bringing you here, I had to come and make sure it was okay. We flew in with Shep to Boston, hired cars there.” She wrinkled her nose delicately as she surveyed the crumbling exterior. “It's not the Hilton, that's for sure.”

Even as I reprimanded her, I couldn't help but grin. “Shelby, don't be rude. It's okay.”

Shelby raised her eyebrows. “It's the ass end of the world, that's what it is.” She glanced at Ash, who was watching her with a bemused smirk. They'd known each other for years, since Shelby and I met at grade school and Ash was very used to Shelby's acerbic personality and blunt approach. “How long are you going to make her stay here in Hicksville, U.S.A.?”

I didn't fail to notice the glance Ash and Shep exchanged, or the worried frown that crossed Shep's forehead before he swiftly smoothed it away. “Until I'm positive she's safe,” Ash announced decisively. “Now quit your bitching, Shelby. Massachusetts is not a backwater.”

Shelby gripped my arm firmly and guided me towards the house, leaving the bemused men in her wake. “I'll be the judge of that.”

Shelby toured the house from top to bottom, while Ash and Taylor trailed into the house with boxes from the back of Shelby's car. “I brought everything I thought you'd need while you're staying here,” she announced, as she descended the staircase. “Some of your books, clothes, a few of your favorite DVD's.” She reached the hallway and directed Ash and Taylor where to put the boxes. “Things to make you feel more at home.” She placed her hands on her denim-clad hips and glared at Ash. “Honestly, Ash, couldn't you have put her in one of those… what are they called? Safe houses?”

Ash dropped a box to the floor and straightened up. “Nope. It's better if Finn is miles away from Chicago, somewhere only the four of us know about.”

A long silence hung between the group and I swallowed deeply, trying to stave off the panic, which threatened to overwhelm me. It was an emotion I'd never dealt with until recently, one which I'd found was exceedingly difficult to control. I rubbed a hand across the top of my chest, a flutter of unease welling deep in my stomach.

“Shelby, she's gonna be safer here,” Ash declared firmly. “Now tell me how many more God-damned boxes of stuff you've hauled up here? You must have paid a fortune for fucking excess baggage.” The tenor of his voice made it plain the discussion was over, and although a flash of irritation appeared on Shelby's delicate features, she swallowed it back with a visible effort.

A scrabble of noise on the wooden porch caught my attention and Shep appeared in the doorway, leading what appeared to be an enormous black dog. “Finn, this is Rebel.”

The animal stared with alert blue eyes, cocking one ear as he appraised me silently.

“Rebel,” I repeated vacantly. Rebel was extremely large, bigger than any dog I'd ever seen before. With long pointed ears, shaggy black fur and a scary set of fangs, Rebel also looked like he would happily attack without a seconds thought.

Shep grinned. “Rebel belongs to a friend of mine. He's gonna stay with you here at the house.”

I eyed Rebel hesitantly. I'd never owned a dog and this one looked intimidating. Rebel scrutinized me meticulously, suggesting he wasn't much impressed about staying either.

“Shep, we didn't talk about this. I don't think it's a great idea…” Ash said, hands resting on his hips as he eyed the dog warily. “Is that even a dog?”

“Nope, he's a wolf. And it's gonna be easy. Rebel will hang around and keep an eye on Finn. All she has to do is feed him once a day, make sure he has clean water, and let him outside when he needs to go. It's simple,” Shep announced. “I'm staying tonight, so I'll have time to teach Finn the commands she'll need to know.”

“Commands?” I questioned sharply.

“Sure.” Shep rubbed his hand across the wolf's ears and Rebel lifted his muzzle, rubbing his head against Shep's khaki clad hip appreciatively. “Rebel will protect you, Finn. You give him the command and he'll rip anything apart which tries to get near you.”

Slumping onto the couch, I shook my head in disbelief. “Shep, I can't do this!” I threw my hands in the air helplessly, appealing to Shep for understanding. “I don't know what to do with a dog, let alone a wolf!”

Shep released his grip on the leash and Rebel approached, bounding across the room, and sliding to an abrupt stop in front of my knee. He barked loudly and dropped his huge head onto my denim-clad leg, watching me intently as he rubbed his muzzle against my thigh.

Leaning against the doorjamb Shep laughed, the sound echoing through the room. “You might not think much of Rebel, but he apparently likes you okay.”

Chapter 2

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I brushed my hair thoroughly, releasing the tangles from the day. It wasn't exceptionally late, but I'd pleaded exhaustion, needing to escape the concerned looks and constant security discussions going on downstairs.

I dropped the hairbrush onto the bedside table with a sigh and pulled the covers back, slipping between the cool cotton sheets, and settling against the plump pillows. Sounds of the ocean crashing into the shore were easily distinguishable from here, a reminder of how far I was from home. In twenty-four years, I'd never left Illinois and now here I was, halfway across the country in a strange house, a strange town, a strange state. For the hundredth time, I wondered if this was the great idea Ash seemed to think it was.

Lying on my back, I gazed at the ceiling, tracing the ornate patterns in the plaster with my eyes, as I made a determined attempt to unwind. Ash and Shep meant well and my safety was of paramount importance to them; nevertheless, the constant reminders of how secure I would be in Cape Washington were suffocating. It was an unrelenting reminder of how life had turned upside down, why Bryan was dead. Squeezing my eyes shut I breathed deeply, willing the tears away. There had been a million tears shed in the past nine weeks, enough to fill an ocean and yet they continued to fall every time I thought of my brother. He'd been my protector, my friend, and losing him had been to lose a part of my soul.

Somewhere out there was the person they were protecting me from. The man who'd murdered my only brother, wanted to kill me. Ash thought his plan was foolproof; to bring me out here, far away from the murderer's territory, on face value seemed a feasible proposal. Other than the four people downstairs, nobody would know where I was. Despite Ash's confidence, nagging doubts continued to surface persistently, leaving me to wonder whether Ash's plan could truly succeed. The killer was known for his superior cunning, an uncanny ability to stalk his prey and capture them. Was it possible that Ash and Shep could outsmart him?

Scraping noises alerted me to a presence outside the bedroom door and I held my breath. I hated being nervous like this. Being conscious of every movement, frightened by strange sounds was foreign to me. I'd never been jumpy, always had confidence enough to take care of myself. Now I was jumping at shadows, frightened of the dark and I hated it. For weeks I'd slept with the light on, needing the little measure of security, which kept the shadows at bay. It made me feel so foolish to need a night light, yet turning it off led to a wave of panic and breaking out in a cold sweat. Darkness was an enemy, a reminder of the helplessness I'd endured while I was held captive.

The scraping occurred for a second time, followed by a low whine and I rolled my eyes skyward with annoyance. Rebel. The wolf insisted on following me wherever I went, much to Shep's amusement. Pushing back the covers, I slipped from the bed, padding barefoot across the floor to open the door and shoosh the dog away. Before the opportunity to shoosh presented itself, Rebel slipped through the narrow gap and made his way into the room, settling on the throw rug. With a contented grunt, he lay his head on his paws and shut his eyes.

“Now just hang on a minute…” I began, eyeing the wolf with uncertainty. Shep was evidently out of his mind, thinking I should keep a wolf here. He was a wild animal and had no business being in a house, let alone a bedroom.

Rebel lifted his head and gazed at me for a moment, as though waiting for an argument. When none was forthcoming, he laid his head back on his paws and shut his eyes again.

With an exasperated sigh, I watched the animal suspiciously. He seemed friendly, but the attack thing had me spooked. We'd never had a dog when we were kids and by no means had I harbored thoughts of a pet wolf. Particularly one who insisted on lying beside the bed. He appeared to be fond of me now, yet his opinion could easily change in the middle of the night. For a brief moment, I considered asking Shep to come get him, and then vetoed the idea. Shep would only laugh and tell me I was being ridiculous.

Stepping gingerly past Rebel I settled into bed, watching the wolf cautiously. Evidently, he wasn't stressed in the slightest, curled up comfortably and soundly asleep. For a few seconds I wished I were he.

The steady hum of conversation was distinguishable from downstairs, punctuated occasionally by bursts of laughter. Shelby was enjoying herself, despite being stuck in 'Hicksville', as she'd christened the place. Personally, I found I quite liked it. After living in Chicago all my life, this was pleasurably quiet in comparison. With the waves rolling into shore and no traffic sounds, it was peaceful and soothing.

Shelby was a city girl at heart, born in Chicago and would undoubtedly live there all her life. The sights and sounds of inner city living were an integral part of who she was, what she loved. She was far more cosmopolitan than I'd ever be and considered Chicago the most beautiful city on earth. In school, she'd been the popular girl, fashionable, top of the class, and extremely intelligent. I'd been the bohemian type who was more interested in the arts, a free spirit who chose my own path and didn't seek to pursue the trends everyone else followed. Despite our differences, we became close friends, spending most of our teenage years living in each other's pockets. Every weekend would find Shelby staying at our house or I would stay at hers. When Shelby's family went on holidays, I was invited to join them and in turn, Shelby would spend hours at our house, learning to bake with my Mom and joining us on annual camping trips.

Shelby was interested in men long before I discovered them, and had made it her life's goal to find a partner for me. Her frustration increased incrementally as I rejected her many efforts over the years. It was commonplace to find me agreeing to one date, and then ditching them shortly thereafter. Whatever I was searching for, he hadn't been found in the selection of men Shelby thrust towards me frequently. There was no doubt I would like a man in my life – sadly, not one of the possibilities Shelby threw my way was the right one.

For Shelby it was as fundamental as learning the alphabet – she adored men and dated prolifically. Her relationship with Taylor had lasted six months to date, a new record. They were extremely happy and by far the most attractive couple I'd ever seen. Shelby was tall and slender, elegant and classically beautiful. With long blond hair and flawless porcelain skin, she could have modeled if she'd chosen to pursue it, but corporate law was her obsession and a career in which she excelled. Shelby and Taylor met at a Christmas function – Taylor was a firefighter, who'd been moonlighting as a bartender at the event. They clicked immediately and Taylor's calm serenity was the perfect foil to Shelby's spirited personality. Taylor was African American, a solid six feet two inches tall with closely cropped hair and a plethora of finely defined muscle. They made a dramatic couple with Shelby's fair complexion and Taylor's whipped chocolate skin tone.

Satisfied that I wasn't in danger of Rebel imminently attacking, I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling again. It would be nice to have a man in my life – someone who cherished me, someone to share life with and love. It wasn't for a lack of trying, thanks to Shelby's continual meddling I'd dated extensively. All of the men I'd dated had been nice, but they'd never had the magical spark I sought.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes, clasping my hands together over my waist. What was I doing? Why was this in my thoughts, when I had bigger issues to deal with?

Honesty forced me to confront the reason for the subject being on my mind. He was sitting downstairs in the living room.

Caleb Sheppard.

Known as Shep to his friends, Caleb was thirty-nine years old. He was six feet three inches of finely defined muscle, with a strong square jaw line and a superb set of dimples. His eyes were brilliant green, his olive skin tanned, his hair dark and shoulder length. He'd developed a friendship with Bryan six years ago and I'd found him incredibly attractive from the very first instant I set eyes on him.

And he was so far out of my league; we could be living on different planets.

Rolling back on my side, I pondered why I was so besotted with Shep – besides the obvious physical attraction – which was reason enough for infatuation. He was fun to spend time with, had a deep husky laugh and he delighted in any adventures that came his way. He lived life to the full, treated his friends with respect, and looked after his family. From what I knew, he had parents who adored him, two brothers who'd been blessed with the same stunning looks, and a younger sister he enjoyed teasing mercilessly. He was brilliant at his chosen career, running a private security company, which was well established and greatly respected. In fact, he was outstanding at everything he did. From the outset, I'd labeled him unobtainable and our relationship had always been friends with the common denominator of Bryan. When I met him, I was eighteen years old, he was thirty-three, and he'd treated me like a baby sister, which had never changed.

Our social circles saw us occasionally attending the same functions and Shep always arrived with a gorgeous girl on his arm. Women trailed after him like bees to honey and he was never short of a willing date. Rumors over the years suggested he was a passionately sexual man, his prowess in the bedroom reaching legendary proportions. Both Shelby and Bryan had intimated this fact from time to time and I had no doubt it was true. The man was like an Adonis and women no doubt fell over themselves to get into his bed.

I'd never admitted to anyone how I felt, not even Shelby. It was obvious I wasn't his type.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not unattractive. Standing five feet six inches in bare feet, my figure is curvaceous. Full breasts, slender waist, and curvy hips. Curvier than I would like, but hey, you can't have everything. My auburn hair is long and thick, running halfway down my back in gentle waves. My skin is rosy and my eyes are blue, surrounded by naturally long dark lashes. Mom tells me how pretty I am, but naturally, she's biased. I would never be classified as beautiful, not like the women Shep dated. He clearly had a 'type' – tall and slender, lean hips and petite breasts, exotic features, long blonde hair carefully styled – he'd dated dozens of them.

The sense of relief was tangible when I thought of Mom, knowing she was free from worry about my situation. Relocating to Cape Washington wasn't an issue, because there was nobody to miss me. Mom was settled in the nursing home, and she wouldn't recall if I'd been to visit. My father lived in Wisconsin with his new (much younger) wife and kids and I hadn't seen him in a couple of years. Dad was busy raising his new family and our relationship had reduced to intermittent phone calls. An assortment of aunts, uncles, and cousins wouldn't be concerned if they didn't hear from me for months. Most of them were Dad's relatives and had little to do with us since Mom and Dad's divorce.

And Bryan was gone, leaving a gaping hole in my heart and my life.

Refusing to dwell on Bryan's death, I returned to musing about Shep. It was utterly hopeless to think of him this way. He thought of me as a kid sister, nothing more. He was protective because he'd been Bryan's friend and naturally worried about my safety. He'd never shown any sexual interest, other than the occasional compliment or a little harmless teasing. And why would he? Shep went for exotic women, sexy and bordering on supermodel material.

There was nothing particularly striking about me. The most exceptional thing I'd done was to ditch college and take my own path, creating a career as a freelance sculptor. I'd created my own business; 'Finn's Fripperies' and sold my unique pieces to a boutique gift store in Chicago. I had a group of loyal friends, I'd never travelled far from Chicago, never been in any trouble. Occasionally drinking too much and smoking the odd joint were hardly signs of an edgy lifestyle. I had a few piercings and a tattoo. My life could be considered mundane.

Until recently, anyway. My life had taken a steep divergence from average the day I'd been kidnapped by the Chicago Heart Ripper.

Chapter 3

Dawn was creeping over the horizon when I woke, the light casting silvery shadows across the bedroom walls. The house was silent, only the crash of waves against the cliffs breaking the stillness of early morning.

A cautious glance revealed Rebel was lying exactly where he'd been last night. At least he hadn't eaten me while I slept. Seeing my eyes were open, Rebel got to his feet, lowering his front legs and stretching his body with a long shake, which worked its way all the way through to his bushy tail. When he dropped his huge head on the pillow beside me, I considered hurtling out of bed for a split second – but his expression was so pathetic, I laughed instead. I rubbed the top of his head tentatively, surprised to find the long black fur was amazingly silky. Rebel closed his eyes and a low rumble set off in his chest, making him resemble a large purring cat.

For a few minutes, I continued to scratch his fur, amused by the reaction it received. He was more like a dog than I'd expected, obviously relishing the comforting gesture of being petted. He seemed indignant when I abandoned the scratching, eyeing me reproachfully. “I can't spend all day scratching you,” I warned him.

Throwing the covers off, I sat on the side of the bed, yawning as I surveyed the room.

It was undeniably masculine and exactly what I expected from Ash. Oak furniture dominated the room, the dark wood balanced by an oriental design quilt in shades of green and gold. Plush pine green carpet was matched by heavy draperies in a similar shade. Ash had placed a large painting over the bed, an African American woman with heavily beaded hair and sensuous full lips.

Ash needed a woman in his life. He'd been single for as long as I could remember, dating constantly but never settling into a long-term relationship. Through the years I'd known him, there'd only been one long-term girlfriend, which led to a short-lived marriage seven years ago. Marianne was lovely, but Ash was too dedicated to his job, tied to a career that saw him working long hours and on call at a moment's notice. It was hard for any woman to play a secondary role to a man's career and although Ash and Marianne had tried hard, the strain became too much after two years. Last I had heard, she'd remarried and was living in Colorado with her husband and a couple of kids. Ash hadn't dated much since the breakup of his marriage, instead immersing himself further in his career. It was a shame, because he was a wonderful man and deserved a loving relationship with a woman who loved him.

Bryan had held the same opinion about marriage, insisting that being married to an undercover cop was no life for a woman. Bryan had made time to date prolifically, developing an appalling habit of loving and leaving women on a steady basis. I sometimes wondered if life in undercover had made Bryan the way he was, or was it an inherent personality trait? He'd never shown a desire to settle down with one woman, and I'd often been the one left to pick up the pieces, acting as agony Aunt to many of the girlfriends who'd fallen for him and had their fingers burnt when they'd wanted more than Bryan was willing to give.

I massaged shampoo through my hair in the shower as I thought about Bryan. He'd been a player, but he'd never deliberately hurt the women he dated. In truth, he'd had an uncanny ability to treat women with such profound respect; they invariably blamed themselves when he broke up with them. Miraculously it was never Bryan's fault; the women in his life were completely convinced it was something they'd done.

I missed him so intensely, and it created a physical ache in my chest. He'd always made time to see me, despite being busy with his career and endless parade of girlfriends. He'd dropped by at least once a week, sometimes falling asleep on my couch through sheer exhaustion. Life as an undercover operative was brutal, but he couldn't live without the adrenaline fix. He couldn't talk about what he was doing and it was clear from the erratic times he arrived, he was squeezing me in, around cases he was working on. Sometimes he turned up at two in the morning, but he'd always come, always cared, always been there for me.

Undercover was dangerous work at the best of times, but it hadn't killed him. Bryan had lost his life trying to save me and it created a sense of guilt so intense, I thought my heart would break because of it. If I hadn't become a victim of the Ripper, Bryan would still be alive.

Turning off the faucets, I stepped from the shower and reached for a towel, rolling my eyes at Rebel who was lying on the tiled floor. “This is going to stop,” I warned him, rubbing the towel across my wet skin. “Shep might think I need a guard… wolf, but I certainly don't need you in the bathroom.”

Rebel glanced up and barked once, before dropping his head back down on his paws.

Dressing in jeans and a red cashmere sweater, I pulled on socks and sneakers before heading downstairs. My efforts to be quiet were wasted when Rebel dashed down the stairs, his claws clattering on the bare wood. A glance into the living room confirmed Ash was still asleep on the sofa. Shelby and Taylor had decided to stay in a motel, but there was no sign of Shep. Maybe he'd decided on the motel option as well.

“Morning, Kitten. Want coffee?”

Shep's abrupt appearance in the dining room doorway was startling. He was bare chested, wearing faded blue denims, which rode low on his hips. Rampaging hormones bounced into life as I raked my gaze across a broad expanse of tanned skin, enhanced by dark brown nipples, which captured my attention. He had a tattoo above his left nipple, a tribal pattern that expanded over his shoulder and down his arm. Taking a deep breath, I forced my gaze upwards, catching the amused glint in his eyes. “Yeah, thanks.”

Shep walked through to the kitchen and I followed behind, trying to regain some control over my reactions. Watching the finely defined muscle flexing in his back didn't help, and I resisted the urge to reach out and touch him.

Clutching my hands into fists, I climbed onto a stool at the breakfast bar, watching Shep pour coffee into a mug and add milk before handing it to me. “Sleep okay?”

I shrugged, sipping the hot coffee. “As well as I ever do.”

Shep raised his own mug to his lips, swallowing a mouthful before he spoke. “Being away from Chicago could help. I don't like Ash's plan, but it might help you relax.”

“Why don't you like Ash's plan?”

“I'm not comfortable with you out here alone. That's why I brought Rebel along, makes me feel more comfortable, knowing you've got backup.”

“Nobody knows I'm here. Surely that's safer than staying in Chicago?”

Shep frowned, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “I hope so, kitten. This bastard is clever. I like to think we're one step ahead of him, but until he's locked up, I'm not gonna relax.”

“Thanks for looking out for me,” I offered quietly.

Shep smiled faintly. “I owe it to Bryan to look out for you, Finn. He was a good man.”

I cupped the mug between my hands, warming my skin against the heated china. “It would help if I could remember something useful.”

“Still can't remember the details?”

I shook my head despondently. The Doctor had said I was suffering from hysterical amnesia, whatever the hell that meant. I'd never had hysterics in my life, yet now there were huge patches missing from my memory. The first hours after I was taken were clearest, everything afterwards was blank, or patchy at best.

The day I was kidnapped had begun normally enough – I'd been doing deliveries, taking finished pieces to the storeowner who sold them. Delivery day was always hectic, but I preferred allocating one day a week to do the job, leaving the rest of the week for sculpting and teaching classes at the local community college. After stopping for a bite to eat with a couple of friends, I'd headed home, intent on working for an hour or two before preparing for a date. The ever-optimistic Shelby had introduced me to a new guy, and he was taking me out to dinner. Arriving at the apartment block, I pulled into the underground car park, pausing only long enough to gather up some paperwork and my purse.

Stepping from the car, I descended into a nightmare. Someone stepped up behind me, holding a sweet-smelling cloth to my face and I lost consciousness within seconds.

When I came around, the darkness was so absolute; I was convinced I'd been blinded. My arms were stretched above my head and held fast. I fumbled frantically with trembling fingers, discovering my wrists were encased in handcuffs, attached to a metal ring above my head. There wasn't a chink of light, but as time passed and I strained with other senses, I heard subtle dripping from overhead. The freezing air and smell of damp earth suggested it might be a cave. If it was a cave, I must be deep within the bowels of the earth to account for the total lack of light.

It took a while to figure out I wasn't alone. Faint moans and whimpers were hard to distinguish at first, but they grew louder as time passed and I yelled, trying to get the attention of the other person.

When she began to speak, her words chilled me to the core, and highlighted exactly how much danger we faced.

Her name was Bonita Templewood and in a faint voice, she confirmed she was also being held captive. Bonita didn't know how long she'd been here, only that her arrival was prior to mine.

“Has he hurt you yet?” she questioned listlessly.

“My chest hurts, above my breast,” I confirmed, frightened by the context of the question.

“That's the first thing he does, brands you like cattle,” Bonita said bitterly. “It marks you as his.” There was a long pause and I heard her coughing violently before she spoke again. “It's a heart.”

My blood froze in my veins and a violent trembling began in my limbs, which I struggled to control. I'd heard of the Chicago Heart Ripper – it was impossible not to have heard of his violent rampage. For more than eighteen months, he'd been kidnapping prostitutes from across the city. They were found exactly seven days after disappearing, dumped naked in the streets of Chicago, their bodies slashed and mutilated. Every single one could be recognized as a victim of the Ripper, by the heart carved into their chest, above the left breast. It was the only distinguishable mark, on bodies sadistically savaged. Media reports suggested the injuries were perpetrated while the victims were alive, tortured for days until the Ripper tired of his sick games and put them out of their misery.

“Where did he take you from?” Bonita asked. “I was working 49th Street, by Cromwell's.”

“He kidnapped me from my apartment block.”

“Yo, girl, you weren't working the streets?” Bonita demanded.

“I'm not, I've never been…” I was struggling to filter thoughts through increasing panic.

“You're not a hooker? Well, shit, that don't make no sense,” Bonita said incredulously, her voice a little stronger. “Why would he take you?”

“I don't know,” I admitted.

“Well, whatever his reasons, I know one thing for sure. My time is almost done.”

“What? What does that mean?” I demanded, testing the restraints again.

“He kidnaps a new girl, just before he kills the one he's holding. I've only got a day or two left,” Bonita stated. “Everybody gets seven days, that's what they said on the news reports.”

“Bonita… I'm so sorry.” It was a futile response, but I was struggling to comprehend the enormity of the situation.

“Don't be sorry, girl,” Bonita responded quietly. “I'll be glad to die.”

It was impossible to imagine what Bonita had suffered. What could be terrible enough to make death the better option? Horrific images filled my mind as I recalled grisly snippets from the newspapers.

Time wasn't easy to measure in utter darkness. It seemed as if hours had passed—or perhaps it had only been minutes—when the cadenced pace of heavy footsteps reached my ears. The steps were taken with deliberation, and steadily approaching, the sound echoing eerily. My heart hammered in rhythm with the chattering of my teeth. The sound of those footsteps was the most frightening thing I'd ever heard. Bonita started to whimper, the sound chilling in the absolute blackness.

What followed doesn't bear thinking about and has filled my nightmares. Bonita screamed and repeatedly begged for mercy, as the Ripper did inconceivable things, his voice a guttural monotone. He discussed what he was doing— as though he was narrating a perverted documentary.

He described what he would be doing to me next.

Tears streamed down my cheeks and blood trickled onto my forearms as I wrenched at the handcuffs, desperate to escape.

Bonita's screams slowed, progressively replaced by whimpers for mercy, and then blessed silence. I wondered if she was dead, if he'd killed her. Abject terror filled my chest, knowing I was next.

The sound of rhythmic footsteps started again, coming towards me unhurriedly and I yanked against the bindings, frenzied in my panic.

Cold hands stroked over my arms and I screamed. Though I couldn't see him, I could sense him standing near and my skin crawled. He rubbed his hands slowly and systematically over my shoulders and arms, before he fondled my breasts.

“You're my princess, Finnola,” he murmured, rubbing against me and I dry-retched, bile choking my throat. “You'll always be mine, forever more.”

Chapter 4

He stared at the finger of whisky Glowing golden amber in the bottom of the glass. He focused on his heart, his love, the link to her. Finnola. Where are you?

“Finn! It's okay. You're safe now. He can't hurt you anymore.”

Shep's anxious voice reached me and I returned to present day in a rush, found myself wrapped firmly in his arms. I inhaled raggedly, my cheeks wet with tears.

Shep drew away, cupping his hands against my jaw tenderly. “It's okay. It's over now, baby.” He stroked his thumbs across my cheeks, brushing the tears away and fury was evident in his startling green eyes. “I won't let him hurt you again, Finn. Not ever again.”

I drew a shuddering breath, inhaling the rich male scent of Shep's skin, wondering abstractly what cologne he wore. Whatever it was, I loved it. A subtle mix of pine and bergamot, the aroma calmed me, soothed away the horror of what I'd heard and imagined in the darkness.

“I promise you. I won't let him get to you. I swear I'll protect you,” Shep said huskily, still brushing tears from my cheeks.

For a long moment, I watched him, welcoming the calm assurances he offered. Shep returned my gaze and the fury in his eyes faded, replaced with another emotion I couldn't grasp. Inhaling another shaky breath, I watched Shep swallow deeply, his attention dropping from my eyes to my lips.

Shep suddenly cursed, turning away abruptly, and placing the kitchen bench between us. “Bad idea,” he muttered. “Drink your coffee, kitten. I'm heading up for a shower.”

I obediently picked up the coffee mug, holding it between my hands as both my mind and senses reeled. What just happened? For one second, I'd thought Shep was considered kissing me; in fact, I was positive the thought crossed his mind. Why did he pull away?

Shep strode away, leaving me alone with my tangled thoughts. With a sigh, I got up and went in search of something to eat, pushing the thought of Caleb Sheppard firmly to the back of my mind.

By the time I'd located a box of pop tarts and placed two in the toaster, I was convinced the moment with Shep was a figment of an overly stressed mind. I was pouring a second coffee when I heard a car in the drive, announcing Shelby and Taylor's arrival.

Shelby greeted me with a hug and glanced around the dilapidated kitchen with unconcealed disgust. “It's not too late, you know. You can still come back to Chicago with us,” she offered, a tiny crease wrinkling her smooth brow. “Ash can't keep you here in Hicksville, if you don't want to stay.”

“I'm fine,” I reassured her. “I like it here.” Catching the cynical roll of Shelby's eyes, I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I want to stay, Shel. I feel safer here.”

It was true, even if Shelby didn't believe me. I couldn't go home; the killer knew where I lived. After being released from hospital, I'd given up the lease on my apartment. Although living there had been wonderful, I would never feel safe there again.

After the kidnapping, I'd stayed with Shelby's parents, who welcomed me with open arms and warm hearts. It was exactly what I needed; Shelby's parents had always treated me as a second daughter, and their love and support was vital in the first few dreadful weeks after Bryan's death. Ash wasn't convinced of my safety in their suburban home however, insisting on this move to Massachusetts. Even Chicago's finest wouldn't know where I was and Ash had taken a lot of heat for his decision. I was the only living witness to the Ripper's murderous activities—if they caught him, my testimony would ensure a death sentence.

If I could remember enough to be any help.

“I want you close to us, Finn,” Shelby persisted. “If he finds out where you are, you haven't got any protection out here! There isn't even a phone for Christ's sake!”

“She's got a cell,” Ash countered, walking into the kitchen. “She'll be in constant contact with Shep and me.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead and gave me a reassuring squeeze as he met Shelby's gaze. “Trust me, Shelby. This is the safest option for Finn right now.”

“Finn needs her friends around her!” Shelby argued vehemently, crossing her arms over her chest. “She's fragile right now, you know that Ash! How can she possibly be comfortable out here alone?”

“She's going to be fine. We've talked about it and Finn and I agree this is the smartest option,” Ash responded calmly. “You need to trust me on this, Shelby. Having her stay in Chicago is dangerous. We haven't even got a handle on the Ripper's identity.”

“So leaving her to fend for herself is the sensible idea? You aren't giving me much confidence in the abilities of Chicago's finest!”

“You're beginning to piss me off, Shelby,” Ash growled. “Finn knows she's secure here. There's a security system, she'll be in constant contact with me, and if there's the slightest sign of trouble, I'll have the Rockport Deputies on the doorstep, faster than you can take a breath.”

“I'm pissing you off?” Shelby said incredulously. “This isn't about you, Ash! Finn needs to be with people she knows!”

“Could we stop talking about Finn like she isn't even here?” I muttered miserably. Shrugging free from Ash's arm, I pulled the pop tarts from the toaster and threw them onto a plate. “When did this become a situation in which I have absolutely no control?”

“When you were taken by the Ripper, kitten.”

Shep stood in the entrance, his dark hair damp from the shower. He gazed at me calmly, his expression impassive and for a long moment I stared at him, frustrated by what I'd lost. My life had been whole, complete before this happened. I'd been happy and confident, in charge of my own decisions. Having that control taken away was a bitter pill to swallow and I stalked from the kitchen, stomping through the sun porch and onto the balcony. I slammed the door behind me and was glad of it, wanted the others to know how angry I was.

The temperature was cool, the sky overcast despite it being the middle of summer. A vigorous breeze blew hair around my face as I leaned on the handrail, watching water crashing onto the rocks below. The house stood at the edge of the cliff, looking out across the rolling Atlantic. The smell of seawater reached my nostrils and I inhaled deeply, calmed by the rugged tranquility of the landscape. On both sides of the house, the forest almost touched the edges of the cliff, leaving a narrow pathway that snaked along the rocks. Majestic pines stood tall and thick, making it possible to believe this was the only inhabited building on earth.

Rebel crept up beside me, dropping to his haunches by my leg. Since waking this morning, he'd been constantly at my side, and I welcomed his quiet company. Rubbing a hand idly across his head, I found his fur was smooth and silky beneath my fingers. “I wish they would go away and leave us alone,” I told the wolf as I scratched behind his ears, “they're all gonna drive me nuts.”

“You really mean that?”

Startled by the sound of Shep's deep voice, I whirled around to face him. “Stop creeping up on me!” I snapped angrily.

Shep shrugged indifferently, leaning against the weathered railing beside me. “Sorry, kitten. Wanted to check if you were okay.”

“I'm fine,” I muttered. I'd assumed Shelby would come search me out and Shep's sudden appearance had me unbalanced. “And stop calling me kitten.”

Shep shifted against the railing to face me, his green eyes intent. “I've always called you kitten.”

I crossed my arms against my chest. “Yeah, well you can cut it out. I'm not your damn kitten.”

“No,” he retorted mildly. “When you're in a mood like this, you're more like a tiger.”

“Go away, Shep.”

He reached into the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lit one, inhaling deeply. “Why are you so angry with me, Finn?”

“I thought you gave up smoking?” I retorted sharply, watching as he blew perfect smoke rings, which dissipated rapidly in the brisk breeze.

“I did. Having you kidnapped by the Ripper tested my resolve.”

“Why the hell would you care?”

Shep's eyes darkened and he scowled. “Of course I care, Finn.”

“Well you can relax, I'm perfectly fine. Go back to Chicago and whichever bimbo you're banging currently.”

Shep dragged on the cigarette as he considered my words. “Sounds a bit like jealousy to me, kitten.”

I turned and stalked along the balcony to escape him. The last thing I needed was an argument with Shep, which skirted this close to personal issues. I'd kept my feelings secreted away, but the earlier moment inside the house, combined with shredded nerves was making me careless.

Instead of taking the hint, Shep followed to where I stood gazing across the ocean. “Go away, Shep. I don't want to talk to you.”

“I need to teach you the commands for Rebel.”

With an exasperated sigh, I turned around, searching his eyes for the truth. “Were you going to kiss me this morning?” I questioned bluntly.

For almost a minute, I thought he wouldn't answer, but he inhaled heavily and his expression softened. “I thought about it,” he admitted huskily.

“But it's a bad idea?”

His gaze flickered across to the crashing waves, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. It's a lousy idea.”

“Why?” I demanded quietly.

He put the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling deeply before he answered. “I'm too old for you, Finn.”

My eyebrows rose at the pathetic excuse. “That's it? You think you're too old for me?” I shook my head vehemently. “I'm not buying it; I've seen the women you've dated. They aren't any older than I am.”

Shep closed his eyes, sighing profoundly before he looked down at me. “They aren't like you, Finn.”

Anger rushed into my emotional psyche. “No, I get it. They're all incredibly beautiful and built like supermodels. I can see how kissing me would be a step down from that sort of thing.” I shoved away from the railing to go inside, but Shep caught my arm, twisting me back towards him easily.

“Is that what you think?” he murmured as he caught me against his chest. “You think I'm that shallow?”

“If the shoe fits…” I breathed angrily.

“Jesus, Finn! I'm just the wrong man for you. I know I'm the wrong man for you!”

“How do you know?” I demanded recklessly. “Why couldn't you be the right man for me?”

He gazed at me and beneath my fingertips; the pounding of his heartbeat matched mine. A muscle ticked in his jaw when he answered. “I don't do virgins, Finn. Never have.”

I shoved hard against his chest, needing to escape before rage overwhelmed me. “Well it's a pity you didn't do your damn homework, Shep. If you had, you would have known you could tick off that little issue. I'm not a virgin. Not anymore.”

Without a backward glance, I stormed away, running inside and upstairs. I reached the sanctuary of the bedroom before tears began to fall.

Chapter 5

Shelby appeared in the doorway, carrying a fresh mug of coffee and my discarded pop tarts. Without a word, she placed the plate and mug on the bedside table, and then crawled onto the bed, where I was sitting with my arms wrapped around my knees.

“Wanna talk?” she offered.

“Not particularly.”

Shelby sighed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “How long have you been in love with Shep?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“To me. Probably not to those bags of testosterone downstairs.”

I sighed, lifting my head and turning to my friend. “I'm not sure I'm in love with him.”

“You do have feelings for him?” Shelby probed gently.

“Yeah. What a waste of time and energy that is,” I announced bitterly.

“What happened?”

“I thought he was going to kiss me this morning.”

Shelby raised an eyebrow. “Really? Isn't that good news?”

“Not when he announced it was a lousy idea.”

My best friend's expression rapidly shifted from excited to indignant. “Why would he say that?”

“Apparently he's too old for me. And I'm not like the other girls he dates. And,” I sighed, reaching for a pop tart and nibbling on it, “he doesn't do virgins.”

“He said that?”

“Yep.”

Shelby's eyes sparkled with anger and she was clearly outraged. “Bastard!”

I chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of pop tart. “I threw him for a loop when I announced I wasn't a virgin.”

Shelby was clearly surprised by my announcement. “You aren't?”

“Not since I was taken by the Ripper,” I responded softly.

For more than a minute, there was complete silence in the room. “Shit. I didn't know, Finn. You never told me he raped you. I thought The Ripper didn't rape his victims.”

I shook my head, forcing the memories into the dark recesses of my mind. “No, he didn't rape the others. Only me. And it's not something I want to dwell on.”

We sat together in silence, Shelby rubbing my shoulder soothingly. “Surely that's helpful though,” she began tentatively; “wouldn't there be some DNA evidence?”

“Nope. He used a condom and he washed me each time.”

Shelby didn't attempt to hide her horror. “He did it more than once?”

I nodded bleakly. “I don't know how often it happened and I can't remember the details. I just know it happened and I recall snatches of what he did.”

“But Shep—” Shelby began, and then clamped her mouth shut.

I turned to face her, Shelby's expression confirmed she'd been about to blurt something she thought she shouldn't. “But Shep—what?”

Shelby shut her eyes, shaking her head. “Shep must have known about the rapes, Finn. He and Ash were poring over police reports, after you went to bed last night.”

I took a minute, absorbing the implications. “So he knew I wasn't a virgin.” I clambered off the bed, pacing across the room. “Shit! That makes it even worse – he comes up with a pitiful excuse for blowing me off – knowing it isn't even the truth!”

Shelby slipped from the bed and wrapped her arms around my waist. “I'm so sorry, Finn.”

I shook my head, fighting back tears. “Don't be. I've been a fool.” I lifted my chin defiantly. “I won't be making the same mistake again.”

“How could he not be interested in you?” Shelby questioned defensively. “You're a beautiful girl, Finn.”

“It's obvious he doesn't think so.”

“Remember the party we went to a few months back? The Priest and Hooker fundraiser?”

I remembered the night Shelby mentioned. How could I forget? It was the party, which pinpointed me as a target, according to Ash. He'd insisted it was the trigger for the Ripper taking me, the only event the police could identify which brought me into the Ripper's sights.

I hadn't planned to attend the event, but Shelby and Bryan talked me into it. They insisted I go along, although I'd argued it wasn't my scene and I had nothing suitable to wear. Bryan chuckled knowingly; announcing Shelby would have something I could borrow. My brother won me over when he insisted it was for a good cause. Held in the mansion of a prominent Chicago author, the event was raising funds to provide shelters for prostitutes trying to escape the life. After years undercover, it was a cause close to Bryan's heart – he'd seen the devastating effects prostitution had on women he met on the streets.

After giving in and agreeing to attend, Shelby spent hours preparing me and even Bryan's jaw dropped when I arrived at the event with Shelby and Taylor.

Shelby had outdone herself; turning me into a different woman, one I didn't recognize in the mirror. She'd located a red bustier in her wardrobe, which gave me an outrageously buxom look, my breasts pushed high in tight leather that barely covered my nipples. The short length of the bustier left a significant part of my flat abdomen on show. The plain silver belly ring I usually wore had been replaced with an ornate golden chain, which circled my narrow waist. A black leather miniskirt skimmed the top of my thighs, teamed with fishnet stockings and thigh-high leather stiletto boots. I didn't dare question why Shelby owned an outfit like this and was self-conscious from the second I saw myself, almost cancelling my attendance. Shelby insisted I looked wonderful and between her donning a similarly outrageous outfit and Taylor's quiet compliments, my nerves settled.

Shelby worked my hair into a mass of spiral ringlets, pulled to one side so they draped across my left breast. The entire effect was finished with a generous amount of makeup, lashings of mascara and black eyeliner, which highlighted the blue of my eyes.

Drawing back from the memory, I tilted my head at Shelby. “What about the party?” I questioned, unsure why she'd brought up the subject.

Shelby grinned. “Every man had a hard-on, the second you walked in. Don't you remember how many men wanted to dance with you?”

She was right; the costume had ensured I got plenty of attention at the party. Including the Ripper's, according to Ash's hypothesis. Although I wasn't a hooker, that night I'd looked like one, and somewhere, somehow the Ripper had been watching. The police thought he'd been at the party, but investigation of nearly four hundred guests came up with nothing tangible. “I still don't know what that has to do with Shep.”

Shelby's smile was knowledgeable. “You were too busy having a good time to notice, but I can assure you Caleb Sheppard was pea green with envy that night. He spent all night watching you, Finn.”

I shook my head. “It doesn't make any sense, Shel. He didn't even dance with me.”

“Trust me, Finn O'Flaherty. If I understand anything in this world, it's men. And I know Shep was absolutely engrossed by you at that party.”

≈◊◊◊◊◊≈

It took a while to bolster the courage to face Shep again. I'd made a fool of myself, but he was an adult and so was I – there was no reason to hide. He wasn't interested in me and I was going to accept the fact and move on. With my head held high and mustering every ounce of dignity, I walked into the dining room with Rebel trailing behind and stopped at the table where the men had congregated. “You wanted to show me what to do with Rebel,” I announced quietly.

For a few seconds Shep studied me, a flicker of emotion passing over his handsome features before he pushed back the chair and stood up, following me out to the gravel drive.

“Finn, we should talk,” he announced quietly when he reached my side.

“We don't have anything to talk about,” I responded coolly. “If you could just teach me the commands, that's all I need from you.” The implication was clear and Shep frowned deeply.

“I'd never intentionally hurt you, kitten…” he began, but I held up my hand, motioning for him to stop.

“Just show me the commands, Shep. That's all I need and please – stop calling me kitten.”