The Beautiful Daughters (29 page)

And it was wrong of her to give him any hope.

As abruptly as she threw herself at him, Harper pulled away. “I'm sorry,” she choked. “I'm so sorry, Will. I never should have . . .”

“Harper.” Just her name, nothing more. Will said a thousand words with his silence, but Harper didn't have the heart to translate.

“You should go,” she said, and when he took a hesitant step toward her, she took one back.

“Okay,” he said. There was uncertainty in his voice, and Harper wanted to cave, but she thrust her feelings down and grabbed the bag that Will still clutched in his hand.

“Thanks for walking me upstairs,” she said.

“Look, Harper, I want you to know that—”

“I can't,” Harper interrupted before he could say something that ruined her resolve. “I can't do this right now. You really have to go.”

Will looked for a moment like he was going to walk away, and Harper finally let go of the breath that she held. But he didn't turn. Something came over his features, and Harper had no choice but to stand there and let him come. Will closed the space between them in a stride, his chest brushing hers as he looked down and took her chin in his hand. He kissed her once, gently, his lips so full and soft that she felt herself leaning into him almost against her will. Then he backed away and held her gaze long enough to say, “That should have been our first kiss.”

Harper watched him go. He didn't look back, and when he hit the stairs, the lights in the hallway went off. Harper was left alone in the faint, cold glow of the lamp that she had switched on.

If she was a different woman, Harper might have collapsed on the bed behind her. Cried or laughed or maybe stared at the ceiling, her heart spinning in her chest like a top. But she was a fighter, she had to be, and her mouth was still swollen from Will's kisses when she sliced those minutes out of the fabric of her life. It was a ragged cut, dirty and uneven, but it accomplished the job. Harper sniffed once, swallowed her tears, and dropped the bag of her belongings on the bed.

Then she switched off the lamp and crept across the darkened hall, feeling her way along the once-familiar path.

25

T
he back staircase led to a hallway behind the kitchen, and since harper felt sure that caleb and adri would still be contemplating the fire in the great room just beyond, she decided to take the main staircase instead. All was dark as she made her way through the house, and as she went, she felt herself let it go for the very last time. She and adri had promised themselves and each other that they would never come back here, and yet for years she had longed for exactly that. Not to relive old memories or visit a place that made her smile, but to atone somehow. To find a way to wind back the clock, make things right, start over. Well, there would be no new beginning for her, she knew that now, but adrienne vogt was a different story altogether.

Harper never intended to be a martyr, but as she pulled open the front door and whispered a goodbye, she found that she was more than a match for the weight of the cross she felt destined to bear.

Three cars were parked in the gravel drive, Will and Jackson's work truck, Caleb's mother's sleek silver Honda, and Betty. It had to be Betty. Harper raced down the steps and crossed the parking lot, her head ducked against the cool breeze, chin to her chest as if that would somehow camouflage her in the night. As if someone would be watching out for her, waiting to stop her if she attempted to go. Not likely.

Her hand was on the car door when she felt him.

A shift in the air, a shiver of understanding, and Harper's throat closed tight beneath the iron fist of her panic. “Will?” she tried to say his name, to summon him with a wish, a word. But no sound came out of her open mouth save a tiny, breathless moan.

“I thought you'd never come.” Sawyer's voice split the air, hard and cold as a knife.

She didn't know where he was, cloaked in night and watching her like a predator, but before she could even flinch he was behind her. Sawyer pressed himself along the length of her body, as close as a lover against her skin. One arm snaked possessively around her waist and held her shackle-tight. “Did you miss me?” he asked, and though the question dripped affection, it was poisoned with malice.

Harper went numb.”I've been waiting out here in the dark for hours.” His mouth was against her ear, his breath hot and harsh on her skin. She tried not to tremble. Not to vomit from the overwhelming wave of revulsion that washed over her at his proximity, the sound of his voice. It was better not to speak, to hold her tongue and let Sawyer talk himself out of the mood he was in. He did that. Talked and talked and talked, threatened sometimes and alluded to the fact that the well of his unusual appetites, his depraved ambition, went deeper than Harper had ever dared to guess. She was used to waiting him out. To letting him intimidate her, menacing, terrifyingly calm, until his anger ran dry.

“I watched you leave that old farmhouse with an entire entourage,” Sawyer accused. “Did you think they'd protect you? Did you assume that I'd leave you alone if you shacked up with some rich guy?” He whistled low at the silhouette of the mansion before them, the sweeping grounds, the scent of money in the air. “I'd threaten to expose you to him, but a guy like that would probably love to keep a girl like you. Maybe he already has a room with chains. Maybe he'd hold you there. What do you think? Would you like that?”

When she didn't respond, Sawyer took the top curve of her ear—the place where she had pierced a half-moon of tiny, diamond studs—between his teeth. He bit her, and though he had done so before, there was a new brutality in it. He was scarring her. Harper knew it even as her knees gave way at the burst of pain in her head, and she finally found enough voice to groan. She would have screamed, but Sawyer cut off the sound with the thick palm of his other hand, and reined his arm in even tighter around her waist so she wouldn't fall. It made her gasp and cough, her breath stolen in the moment that he crushed her closer still.

“I was on my way back.” The confession seeped out of Harper as the last of the air in her lungs wisped away. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and a single tear slipped down her cheek and joined the thin stream of blood that ran into her loose hair.

She had been wrong. Nothing could be worse than this. Nothing.

“Oh, Stacey,” Sawyer tsked. “Don't play with me. You don't mind if I call you Stacey, do you? I think it suits you better than Harper. I don't like Harper very much these days. Let's pretend she's dead, shall we?”

Harper wished that she was. She wished that she hadn't been so stupid, that she had calculated the cost long before she set out for Iowa and drew Adri and everyone she loved into this incomprehensible situation. What did it matter if Adri, if the whole world knew what she had done to David? She would take whatever she deserved, and gladly, if only Sawyer would dissolve like the nightmare he was. He was going to make her pay. She could feel it her bones. And she had never been so scared in her life.

“Stacey wouldn't run away,” Sawyer continued. “She knows her place.” As he talked he began to move, dragging her backward down the gravel drive of the Galloway estate.

Harper would have dug in her heels if she thought that
would help, but Sawyer was strong and he had lifted her entirely off her feet. Only her toes grazed the ground, small and insignificant in the secondhand Chucks she had loved only days ago. Useless. And she couldn't cry out, his hand was still smashed against her mouth and nose, smothering her.

Suffocating. Harper was out of air. Her lungs began to burn, her need for air eclipsing even the sheer terror she felt with Sawyer's arms so immovable around her. It was a desperation, a compulsion, and for the first time since he'd stepped out of the darkness, Harper began to fight. She squirmed, clutched at his muscled forearms, clawed all the way back to his shoulders and neck with her suddenly animate hands.

“You little bitch,” he spat when her fingernails dug into his skin. Sawyer dropped her, and because Harper hadn't been expecting it, she collapsed to her knees and fell forward with her hands on the sharp gravel. She knelt there, gasping for air while Sawyer breathed heavy behind her. “You made me bleed,” he said.

Her lungs were still on fire, the little nips of oxygen she managed to swallow weren't nearly enough to ease the ache in her chest. But Harper started to crawl away. She made it a foot, two, then attempted to push herself up so she could run. Or at least try to.

Sawyer began to laugh. “You think you can run away? You think I'd just let you go?” He caught her from behind, before she could stand, and threw her to the ground on her stomach. The gravel cut Harper's cheek, but that didn't hurt nearly as much as her arms when Sawyer climbed onto her back and dug his knees into her shoulders. “There are so many ways I could destroy you,” Sawyer said. “I could call the police right now. Tell them I've caught a murderer. Solved a cold case that they didn't even know existed.” He hummed a little, savagely happy, thinking. He loved to play with her, a mouse that he had caught in his claws. He delighted in it. “But I'm not done with you yet, Stacey. I hope you can understand that. That I own you. It won't go well for you if you keep trying to run.”

Harper was weeping, tears muddying the dust beneath her face, making her eyes sting. Her soul was a winged thing, flapping wildly in her chest and head, beating itself against the walls of her ruined body as if she was her very own prison. There was no way out. Sawyer had her, no escape. He'd deface her in every way that he knew possible, punish her until she wished for death. And then he'd throw her away. Let her kill herself or turn her loose on the streets a raving addict. Harper could feel the hatred, the sadistic cruelty wafting off of him like cheap cologne.

“Are you crying?” Sawyer asked. “Did I make you cry?” His voice seethed with false sympathy. “Don't bother. I don't care if you sob like a baby.”

All at once his weight was off her back, and Sawyer yanked Harper to her feet. She was dizzy, disoriented, tiny stones and a thin film of damp dust still clinging to her scraped cheek. “Don't fight me,” Sawyer warned. “Your face means nothing to me anymore. I won't touch your body, but I won't hesitate to break your nose, your jaw, your perfect cheekbones . . .”

He let go of her, and Harper stood shuddering, round-shouldered before him. She didn't try to run.

“Good girl,” Sawyer snarled. “Now, come.”

The lane was dark, but the trees were ink drawings above them, their branches smudged sable like fingers dipped in coal. Harper felt like they were reaching for her, plucking at her skin, stealing tiny pieces of her with each step she took farther away from the mansion. She hoped that when she reached Sawyer's car there would be nothing left of her for him to take. But she had never been more aware of herself, of all the places he could touch, all the ways she could be hurt. The closer they drew to the shadow of his Lexus, the more alive and whole and vulnerable Harper felt.

Sawyer took keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car doors. “Get in,” he told Harper. “Passenger seat. Oh, and put these on.”

His hand on hers in the dark, the sharp, cold tang of metal between them. Handcuffs.

Harper was rooted to the ground. She couldn't do it. Wouldn't.

And then, from the heart of the night, from the road between Sawyer's car and the Galloway mansion, a sound.

Her name.

“Harper?”

She opened her mouth to cry out, but Sawyer's hand found the back of her neck. Pinched tight. “You are mine. I'm bringing you back.”

A wind licked Harper's skin, and at that moment the clouds feathered away from the moon. Not much, just enough to reveal the world in relief, a landscape of shadows and darkness and ghosts.

“Harper?” Will was jogging down the lane, his pace light but his fists clenched as if he could feel the strain in the air around him, in the way the trees bowed over them, threatening. She could tell the instant that he caught sight of her, the stumble in his pace. And though she couldn't see his expression, his features seemed unaccountably pale to her.

Harper lifted her fingers. She had intended to wave, to say hello or something equally inane, but her hand pressed against the night, perfectly still. A warning.

Will stopped as if he had hit a brick wall. He was still twenty paces away from the place where Sawyer and Harper stood in front of the car, the interior lights glowing faint because he had unlocked the doors.

“Harper, what's going on?” But she couldn't speak. Discovered, at the moment that mattered most, that she couldn't utter a single intelligible word.

“I'm Harper's boyfriend,” Sawyer said. “I'm bringing her home.”

Will took a few steps forward. Jerked a thumb over his
shoulder in the direction of the mansion. “Why don't you come in? It's the middle of the night.”

Sawyer dropped his hand to the small of Harper's back and gave her a shove toward the car. “Let's go,” he said, ignoring Will. But Harper couldn't move. She couldn't talk and she couldn't move. She couldn't do anything but exist in the terror and the hope of the moment, every cell in her body calling out to Will with a despair that sank into the earth beneath her. Save me. She thought. Please.

“Come on,” Sawyer hissed and pushed her again. This time, he tipped her off balance. Harper stumbled, almost fell, but Sawyer caught her beneath the arm and jerked her up harshly.

“Hey!” Will called and started toward them. “Let go of her.”

Sawyer did exactly that. He let go, and Harper could feel him reach into the waistband of his pants, remove the gun that he always carried there.

“No,” Harper whispered, finding her voice. And then she shouted, “No!”

“What's going on?” Will had crossed half the distance between them when Sawyer lifted the gun and pointed it in his direction. “Oh.” His hands floated a little at his sides, palms at the ground as if he was patting it down, down. “Let's just back up a bit here, shall we?”

“Go home,” Sawyer said. “Just turn around and walk back to the house. Pretend that you never saw us.”

“Let's talk about this,” Will reasoned. He sounded so calm. Harper's heart sank, and rose, as she watched him chance another step closer.

“I don't think so.” Sawyer kept the gun trained on Will, but he nudged Harper. “Get in the car. Now.”

“No.” Harper said it so softly she wondered if anyone had heard her. They both had.

Sawyer made a sound of disbelief, and Will extended a hand to her. Nodded encouragingly. Just once. It was enough. Harper took a step toward him.

“I'll tell him,” Sawyer growled. “I'll tell the whole world. You'll go to jail for the rest of your life, you worthless piece of shit.”

“I don't care,” Harper whispered. She took another step toward Will.

A soft click. Sawyer had cocked his gun.

The rage that rose in Harper was blinding. So red it was black, so thick it choked her, stole the last shred of reason that she had been clinging to so fiercely. When Harper flew at Sawyer, it was the last thing he expected. He stumbled back when she hit him, her fists whipping against his face with all the fury she had bottled for years. Her childhood, her unrequited love, the things he had done to her. It was all contained in the arc of her arms. And Sawyer couldn't do anything at all because there was still a gun in his hand and she was too close to shoot. To take aim at Harper would be like turning the gun on himself. Not that Harper realized any of this. Not that she cared.