Page 83 of Ricochet

Every nerve in his body flared like a livewire. He took long, easy breaths, having already popped his pills, and flipped on the lights.

Eyes wide, he fell back on a chair behind him with a gasp. Strung around the walls and ceilings like ghosts were large photographs—black and whites that showed him talking to the girl, her getting into his vehicle, him walking her to the room of the motel, the subtle stroke of his hand against her hair as he ushered her into the room.

She’d been scared at first, but he’d assured her he was leaving her with a good friend who’d help her find some odd jobs and make some cash, rather than send her back home. Theresa had convinced her to stay by promising to look out for her. After a few drinks laced with roofies, she’d passed out and woke up a prisoner.

Cox thought he’d seen the last of her.

Gun held level, he swung around the empty room. Rubbing the tightness in his chest, he headed for the bathroom, kicked in the door, and flipped on the lights.

A message screamed from the mirror, red like it’d been written in lipstick:

Her name is Danielle.

You’re Next.

Cox clutched his chest and exited the bathroom, ripping down pictures from the ceiling and walls. With images spilling over in his arms, he darted back down the staircase to his car. He’d burn them. Every single one of them. And the fucking bastard who’d pulled the stunt would die a slow, merciless death, he promised.

A shudder ran down his spine as he wiped the sweat from his brow and ignored the tightening behind his ribs. He pulled his cellphone and scrolled through the names, shaking his head when he stopped at the last cocksucker he wanted to talk to in his current state. Unfortunately, the asshole was the only one he knew who could answer the burning question inside his head.

At the greeting on the other end, Cox cleared his throat. “Riley, this is, uh … Cox.”

“Something come up?” No doubt, a polite version of what the fuck are you calling me for?

“Nah, I got a question. Encrypted emails.” He raised a trembling hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any way to find out who sent them?”

“Depends on the sender. For the most part, they’re not easy, no.” A pregnant pause followed his comment. “Is this related to our Eye for Eye dude?”

“No. This … this is a completely different case.” Back up. Abort mission. He needed to get off the phone before the guy asked questions that’d have him slipping up. “I thought you might say that. Thanks. I gotta go. Have a good night.”

“Yep.”

Cox clicked the phone off, kicking himself for what he could’ve gathered on his own. He’d been stupid to loop Riley into his mess, but, hopefully, the bastard’d been so fucking stoned, he’d forget they’d had the conversation.

CHAPTER 36

Aubree

I walked into the bathroom, Nick following behind. Candles had been placed along the tiles. Petals drifted across the top of the steaming water. Warm jasmine pervaded my senses, the calm scent attempting to overpower the tremor in my muscles.

The ambience should’ve been beautiful and perfect. Instead, I stood trembling, my heart beating like a hummingbird, as I stared into the depths of the tub. It was huge, the size of an outdoor hot tub that could’ve easily fit three, and probably about three feet deep.

My fingers curled into Nick’s, and my gaze flitted from the tub to his. “I … I can’t.” I took a step back, and his grip tightened, inciting a panic that had me twisting my wrist free from his grasp.

I’d feared deep water since I was twelve years old.

“Talk to me?” he asked.

I couldn’t help the frantic shake of my head. “I … I don’t …” I’d always had a hard time admitting a fear—particularly one that made me feel truly vulnerable. Weak. Ice crawled up my spine, a wake of shivers following its path.

His finger hooked beneath my chin, and he tore my focus away from the mesmerizing placid water. “I’m not going to force you, but I promise I won’t hurt you.”

My gaze trailed down to the irregular jagged skin climbing my wrist.

“Something happened to you. It’s why you cut yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, not wanting to elaborate, for fear I’d break down in front of him. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t stop the words. “Um. When I … When I was about twelve years old, I ventured down to the river with some kids from the neighborhood.” I cleared my throat. Instinct had me swinging my attention back toward the door, in the event I had to run. “River Rouge is where I grew up, and we often played and swam down by the bridge. Some bigger, older boys showed up and jumped in the river. They were horsing around. They …. They pushed my friend and me underwater. I hadn’t taken enough air. I panicked.” Dryness crept up my throat at the memory, and I had to suck in a breath as I recalled the terror of seeing sunlight blur the water’s surface. It’d seemed too far from reach. “And that’s when my mother showed up. Looking for me.” I smiled at the memory of my beautiful savior. “She raised some hell with those boys and told them if she ever saw them down at the river again, she’d cut their balls off and feed it to them.” Laughter hummed in my chest, wanting to escape, but in the next breath, I frowned. “I developed a fear of water from that day forward. Had nightmares, imagining what would’ve happened if my mother hadn’t shown up. Three years later, my family and I were staying with my grandmother, who lived on the water.” Fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, I drew in a breath against the crushing of my chest, which always preceded the next part of my story. “My mother decided to swim out to a small island in the middle of the lake, like she’d done when she was young. She got tired on the way back and slipped beneath the surface. By the time my father reached her, she’d drowned.” The puffy line of my scar passed beneath my fingertips as I rubbed over it, back and forth. “I remember wanting to jump in after her, but I was paralyzed. Too frightened to go into the water. I couldn’t save her. She was a great swimmer, taken by my greatest fear in the world.” Wiping a tear from my cheek, I sniffed, staring down at the red halo surrounding my scar where I’d rubbed too hard. “I felt useless. Worthless. A coward.”

“You’re not a coward.” His palm cradled my cheek, the warmth of his skin penetrating my bones, and I squeezed my eyes shut to hold back the tears.