Storm Front (6 page)

“Tessa spent five years under the thumb of those depraved bastards,” Chad added. “Somehow, she found a way to escape, and we found her before they could take her back.”

Evan had gotten up, gone to the freezer, and brought Earl a frozen bag of peas, which he handed to him. Earl put it on his sore hand and nodded his thanks.

“You rescued her.” Earl’s thoughts were filled with murder and mayhem for the people who’d hurt Tessa. “You’ll take me to them. I don’t care where they’re serving time. I’ll only need a few seconds alone to beat the names of the others out of them.”

Chad shook his head. “Can’t. The two people who took her—Sylvia and Bob Branham—are dead. When Tessa finally … um … could talk … the police went to the warehouse used as a private club. They found the Branhams dead in the basement dungeon and the rest of the club empty. All the records and the other girls and some young boys were gone. Place had been drowned in bleach, and every surface wiped. Chicago CSI got less than nothing from the site. The FBI techs also found nothing when Chicago called them into the case.”

Earl cursed under his breath and hit the table with his fist, causing Chad and Evan to flinch and the bag of peas to slide off. He slapped it back on his hand.

Rein it in, Blackhawk. You’re no good to Tessa in a rage. Save it for when you find the fucker terrorizing her.

Tweeter sat up. “I remember the case. Callie told us about it. The Chicago couple ran a club catering to sexual predators.”

“Yeah.” Evan choked and then swallowed audibly. “Tessa felt so guilty she hadn’t been able to give the police details sooner, but she was so…”

Chad finished the sentence, his voice filled with unshed tears and anger. “…beaten up. Broken ribs. Vaginal bleeding. Anal bleeding. She had pneumonia. The, uh, brand was infected…” Chad stopped talking at Earl’s feral growl.

“Then they’re in hell where they belong.” Earl stood. “Bet the cyberstalker is either the murderer or the murderer’s accomplice. Could be some guy who bought the club’s records from the murderer. The club’s records would be ideal blackmail material. Don’t really fucking care. Whoever the stalker is … he’s history. The animals in the pictures? Are dead meat.”

He stalked toward the back exit from the kitchen. “I need to check on Tessa.”

Had to check on Tessa. Had to hold and kiss her. Kiss and caress the area on her hip where the bastard branded her. Had to tell her he’d never let anyone hurt her again. He’d kill anyone who tried.

* * * *

10:25 a.m.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod.”

Tessa, her vision blurred by tears, her knees weakened by shock, managed to make it to her room without falling down the stairs or running into a wall.

Closing the door, she leaned against it for several seconds in an attempt to catch her breath. She was breathing so rapidly she was in danger of hyperventilating.

In. Out. In. Out.

She counted slowly through the mental exercise her therapist had taught her to control the panic attacks. After several seconds, she’d regained a semblance of control and could think again and not act like a frightened animal.

This wasn’t the time to lose control.

When she’d awakened in her bed shortly after ten o’clock, she’d been pissed. She’d gotten up. And what had begun as a simple trip to the kitchen to retrieve her laptop, to ream Earl a new asshole for taking it, had turned into a scene from one of her more recent nightmares—the one in which people she respected, loved, discovered the revolting and degrading truth about her past.

God, they knew. Theyknewtheyknewtheyknew. They’d seen.

Con … cen … trate, Tessa. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

She moaned deep in her throat. The techniques weren’t working. Sickening heat swept over her. Her stomach heaved. She covered her mouth and, on shaky legs, barely made it to the attached bathroom. Dropping to the floor by the toilet, she lost the oatmeal and juice she’d had for breakfast. After a minute of debilitating vomiting, she sank back on her butt and then leaned against the wall, thankful for the support since she’d lost all use of her muscles.

Tweeter, Evan, Chad … Earl. They’d viewed what those people had done to her during her five years of sexual slavery. Seen the depraved acts that had taken her years of therapy to shove to the far recesses of her mind. The acts that, in recent weeks, had been thrust back to the forefront by her cyberstalker.

God, who was her tormentor? How had he obtained the images? Once again, she’d been reduced to an object to be used and abused. It was bad enough for her to relive the memories, feel the pain anew at seeing the images of her degradation, but for others to see?—ah, God … no.

Tessa shuddered, choked, then retched air and liquid into the toilet bowl until she thought she might die. At the moment, she wanted to die … just lie down on the cold tile floor and expire. Then she wouldn’t have to think or worry about any of it ever again. Wasn’t there peace in death? Infinite peace and no pain.

But she couldn’t die … refused to die.

She hadn’t died all those years ago. She wouldn’t give in now. But she also couldn’t face any of the people downstairs—not yet. Maybe, not ever again.

She’d have to leave. Today. Now. This instant. Go back to Chicago and retrench.

While Evan and Chad had known the basics of what had happened to her all those years ago, had sat through therapy sessions with her, they’d never
seen
or
known
the extent. She had purposely left some of the more horrific acts out of her sessions, acts depicted in the videos and images on her laptop.

She felt dirty and worthless all over again.

None of it is or was your fault. The people who know and care for you will understand.

Maybe … but she didn’t want their sympathy or pity.

It’s called compassion.

Same difference.

Tessa…

Shut up!

Tessa struggled to her feet, using the wall to brace herself as the world spun crazily around her for several seconds. When things settled down, she walked a few short steps to the sink. At the vanity, she picked up a wash cloth and scrubbed her face with cold water, then rinsed her mouth out. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and cringed. It was the face from her past, the face of the weak, helpless creature she’d been during the five years in the hell the Branhams had created.

You survived. The Branhams didn’t. You made something of yourself. Give yourself credit.

Ha! Credit for pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes all these years. Deep inside she was still the pathetic loser who’d allowed herself to be subjugated for five years.

You were barely more than a child. You did what you had to do in order to survive. The therapist…

Nuts to the therapist! And nuts to you, too.

Tessa, I am you. You aren’t thinking rationally.

No, she wasn’t and wouldn’t … couldn’t until she was back in Chicago in the safe haven she’d made for herself. A place where she could shore up her defenses, regain her cloak of confidence. She needed to go home … now.

It’s not Tweeter, Evan, or Chad knowing or seeing. You’re running from him. From Earl.

Damn straight. And why was she arguing with the stupid little voice in her head?

Because I helped, you, us, survive, get away all those years ago … and because I’m right.

Maybe, yes. Maybe, no. But instincts as old as time—fight or flight—had taken over her mind and body. She was tired, sick at heart … too afraid to stay and deal with the fallout of what the men had seen. She could barely deal with her own emotions. How could she even begin to deal with theirs?

Tessa left the bathroom and entered the walk-in closet. She pulled on her fur-lined boots and then her shearling coat. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, take the time to pack. She grabbed her purse, making sure she had the rental car keys and her return ticket for the flight from the Boise airport. She left the bedroom and then fled down the stairs.

* * * *

10:40 a.m.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Earl swiftly made his way to Tessa’s room and entered. She was gone.

Shit, shit, shit.

He checked the bathroom—she wasn’t there. The smell of sickness was in the air.

Fuck.

He re-entered the bedroom and touched the bed. It was cool. He checked his watch; it was ten-forty. He’d brought her up around ten o’clock, so she hadn’t stayed in bed long. But where had she gone? Not for a walk. The snow was blowing like a bitch, and it was well below freezing outside.

Then a horrible feeling struck. He’d taken her computer; she would’ve come after it.

Shit. Fuck. Damn. No!

Earl ran from the room and almost knocked over the Meyers twins who had their outside gear on.

“Hey, Earl. Tessa isn’t there,” one of the twins said. “She was heading down to the kitchen when we came up to get our coats fifteen or so minutes ago. Ren sent us back inside almost as soon as we got out there. Weather’s a frigging mess.”

“Fuck, just fuck.” His gut had been on target. She’d overheard them talking in the kitchen. God, she’d run rather than confront him, confront the others. That couldn’t be a good sign. She had to be hurting.

He had to find her.

Earl grabbed the boys’ shoulders. “Keep your coats on and check the grounds closest to the house. Tessa could be outside and in danger.”

“Why would Tessa go outside? What the fuck did you do to her?” one of the twins asked.

“She’s being stalked by an asshole from her past. She overheard us discussing it.” At their perplexed looks, he added, “Let’s just get the fuck out there and look for her.”

Earl ran down the hall and took the backstairs to the kitchen with the twins on his heels.

Ren, his brother Trey, Price Teague, and the Walsh twins were there, getting an update from Chad and Evan. Tweeter and Tessa’s cell phone and laptop were gone.

The men gathered in the nook turned to look at them as they entered the kitchen.

“She’s gone.” Earl struggled to keep his fear at bay. He was furious with himself for not going upstairs as soon as he’d seen the first image. “She must’ve overheard us talking about the photos. The twins saw her around twenty-five after ten. She has a fifteen minute or so lead on us.”

Chad swore and Evan moaned as he slunk weakly against the bench’s back.

“What coat did she wear?” Ren asked as he strode to meet them.

“How the hell should I know?” Earl looked at the man he respected as much as anybody he’d ever met and frowned. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” He waved a hand at the snow and wind outside. “She’s out in that, and it’s below zero without the wind chill.”

“If she’s wearing the coat she arrived in, then we’re good.” Ren turned to Trey. “Get to the Bat Cave. Pull up the security hologram and find her. We’ll all grab Motorola headsets. You and Tweeter can direct us, if we don’t spot her first.”

Then Earl got it. “You planted a tracker on her. I’d totally forgotten you did that for all the guests.”

The trackers were small GPS units that allowed the SSI security system to tell the good guys from the bad guys. The devices sent a location signal updated every thirty seconds and an ID to the SSI security system and created a holographic image map.

Ren could find anyone coming onto his property. But anyone without an ID was a bogey.

“Exactly.” Ren smiled grimly. “Let’s go. It’s easy to get lost and turned around in a storm like this. If she took her rental, she can’t have gone far. We didn’t clear the road all the way to the state highway. Her rental SUV isn’t off-road graded, so she’s trapped on SSI land.”

“Let’s hope she stays with her vehicle when she finds she can’t get through.” Earl followed Ren and the others out of the kitchen toward the hall leading to the underground garage. Calmer now that he was assured they’d find her, he was still worried about her state of mind.

A premonition, a gut feeling, swept over him like a snow squall.
Fuck.
She was in danger. This second. He knew it. His gut was never wrong. It had saved him many a time during his stint in the Army; he wasn’t going to disbelieve it now, not when Tessa’s precious life was at stake.

Earl ran faster. “Hurry.”

The others didn’t question his sudden urgency, but merely increased their speed. Whether it was because of his tone of voice or how he looked, his sense of imminent danger had transmitted to the others, to men just like him who’d managed to survive hell on their instincts and training.

When Earl found her, and after he was assured she was okay, he’d spank her sweet butt for running and not confronting him and the others for invading her privacy. Not that he planned to apologize for the invasion, since she should have told him or someone.

Then he’d make love to every precious inch of her and make her his.

No effin’ dating. No frickin’ courtship. No fucking civilized rituals.

As Earl pulled on his winter gear in the mud room off the garage, a horrible thought struck him. Could she even stand to have a man’s hands on her?

Don’t think about it.
He’d deal with that bridge when he came to it. He’d never hurt her. He’d cut off his own fucking dick first.

Then it hit him again … they’d fucking branded her.

Earl growled, and Tweeter backed off his position on Earl’s left side, a wary look in his eyes.

“You okay, buddy?” Ren put a hand on Earl’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Later. We’ll deal with what’s bothering me later. Let’s get the fuck out there before she freezes to death.”

Nothing else was important now. Tessa’s safety was paramount. He and Tessa would deal with her past later—as a team … with him as team leader.

She’d never have to deal with such shit alone again.

10:35 a.m.

As Tessa drove away from the Lodge, the weight on her heart lifted somewhat from relief that she wouldn’t have to face the men. They had still been in the kitchen as she moved quietly down the main stairs and to the front entrance. She had a head start on them.