Torn

DEDICATION

I want to dedicate this book to my readers—­you are so wonderful! Thank you for your support, your emails, your Facebook notes, your Tweets—­thank you for everything!! And I hope you're ready to get LOST again . . .

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

F
irst, I must say “Thank you” to the wonderful Avon staff—­working with you is a pleasure. Thank you so much for the support that you have given to the LOST series!

I had an absolute blast researching this book—­my stay on Jekyll Island was particularly memorable (ghost tour, Driftwood Beach, a night sighting of turtles trekking to the ocean). And, no, there weren't any deranged killers on Jekyll . . . just gorgeous views. Thank you to the people of Jekyll for such a fabulous welcome and for sharing the beautiful island with me.

I have loved writing the LOST series, and I hope that readers are enjoying the tales! More books are coming—­and more twisted villains are waiting.

 

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

K
ENNEDY
L
ANE'S SNEAKERED
feet pounded over the pavement. Her breath heaved in and out and her heart raced as she ran. The trees passed her in a blur. Her ear buds were snugly in place, blasting out a hard and fast beat that pumped her up. The music played and her gaze stayed locked on the trail in front of her.

Only two more miles to go. Two more . . .

She jogged faster. Her pace was on target. She'd do great in the upcoming race this—­

He stepped from behind a tree. A tall, thick oak tree. She didn't have time to avoid him. Didn't even have time to stop as his arm flew out. His arm—­powerful and strong—­caught her right along the throat as she literally ran into him.

Kennedy flew back. Fell. Slammed right into the hard dirt trail.

Then she looked up, glaring as the man stepped fully into the old path.

And her glare froze.

He shouldn't be here.
She yanked out her ear buds. “What the hell was that?” She rose and brushed the dirt off her legs and then dusted off her palms. Her throat ached where his arm had hit her. The jerk had nearly strangled her. “You can't do some crap like that to me—­”

Sunlight glinted off the object he held in his right hand, and her words stilled as she realized just what he gripped so tightly.
A knife.

Kennedy backed up a step.

“Did you think we were done?” he asked her, shaking his head. “Just because
you
said we were through?”

“Wh-­Why do you have the knife?” But Kennedy knew. She could tell by that sick, twisted expression on his face. And to think she'd once thought he was so handsome. So perfect.

He wasn't perfect any longer.

You have to get out of here.
No other joggers were out on that trail. No one was close enough to hear her screams.

So she wouldn't waste her breath on a scream.

He glanced down at the knife, almost as if he were surprised to see it in his grasp. And when he looked down, Kennedy seized that moment. She turned and ran. She pumped her tired legs faster and faster and—­

He tackled her. The impact was so hard that her whole body shuddered when she hit the earth. Then he flipped her over and before she could fight him put the knife to her throat.

“Sweetheart . . .” He smiled at her. “I'm not here to kill you.”

Liar.
She could see her death in his eyes.

“I'm just here to love you . . . and you're going to love me.”

She didn't. She wouldn't. No matter what he did.

“We're going to be together you and I,” he promised her softly, “for a very, very long time.”

CHAPTER ONE

F
IVE YEARS AGO
a woman named Kennedy Lane went for an early morning jog and she never returned home.” Gabe Spencer stood at the head of the conference table and spoke in a quiet, emotionless voice. “She was a twenty-­two-­year-­old college student living in Savannah, Georgia. The authorities searched extensively for her, but they were never able to locate Kennedy—­or to develop any leads in what was considered an abduction case.”

Beneath the conference table Victoria Palmer nervously rubbed her palms against her jean-­clad legs. Another case. Maybe this was what she needed. Lately, she'd started to feel as if she were about to jump out of her skin. Her nightmares were getting worse, and she needed some sort of escape—­desperately.

“Kennedy's boyfriend—­Lucas Branson—­is the one who first alerted authorities to her disappearance,” Gabe continued in his tough, no-­nonsense voice. Gabe . . . he was the one who'd brought their team together, the mastermind behind LOST.

The Last Option Search Team.

And that was exactly what their little group was . . . the last option for so many families. When cases went cold, when the cops gave up, families turned to LOST for help.

“Kennedy didn't turn up for their date, and Lucas became nervous. He went to her place, found no sign of her, and when she still hadn't shown up the next morning, he called the cops.”

Victoria reached for the manila file in front of her. All the LOST agents had a manila file, just like hers. Gabe believed in being thorough, so she was sure every detail of Kennedy's abduction would be spread out for the group to review in their manila files.

“Branson came to me this morning,” Gabe added. “So as of . . .” he glanced down at his watch, “ . . . three hours ago, LOST is officially on this case.”

Across the table, Wade Monroe gave a low whistle. That sound drew Victoria's attention, and she found him gazing at the handouts in the file.

“Five years . . . and not a single lead? No blood, no DNA trace evidence,
nothing
?” Wade's dark brows rose as he looked over at Gabe. “Seems like she just vanished from the face of the earth.”

Gabe nodded, and, for a moment, sadness flashed in his bright blue gaze. Victoria knew that the cases were always personal for Gabe—­the ex-­SEAL had started LOST when his sister vanished. He'd found Amy—­too late—­and become desperate to try and help others.

You can't help everyone, though. You can't save every lost soul.

Sometimes, you couldn't even save yourself.

Victoria's heart pounded a bit faster. Lately, she'd started to think that she might be past the point of saving.
Joining LOST was a mistake. I should've stayed away.

She should have stayed locked away, all safe and sound, in the labs at Stanford. Instead . . .

“Victoria, I want you heading out to Savannah.”

She nearly fell out of her chair when she heard Gabe give that order.

And suddenly everyone's eyes were on her. Victoria schooled her expression as quickly as she could and her hand lifted as she made a quick show of adjusting her glasses, not that they needed adjusting. They hardly ever did, but the tactic often bought her precious time when she was nervous. “But there's not a body to study . . .” She almost flinched at her own words.
Talk about sounding cold.
Jeez, but she always felt like she said or did the wrong thing. “I mean . . .” Victoria cleared her throat. “If there aren't any remains for me to go over, I'm not sure how helpful I'll be with this case.”

The dead were her domain. Mostly because she didn't know how to handle the living. A forensic anthropologist by trade, she'd been behind the safety of an Ivory Tower when Gabe had convinced her to join LOST.

And, lately, it was a decision that she regretted.

“You'll be plenty helpful,” Gabe murmured, then inclined his head toward Wade. “You and Wade will be teamed up together on this case.”

No, no, oh, please . . . no.

Wade flashed her a wide smile, one that instantly sent a flicker of heat surging through Victoria's veins.

Wade Monroe was trouble—­trouble that she couldn't quite handle right then. Handsome, dangerous, and more than ready to play dirty on any case—­yes, that was Wade, all right. He was a threat to her, she knew it. Wade was an ex-­cop, an ex-­
homicide
detective, and while the guy was great at following up on leads and building comradery with local law enforcement personnel . . .

He made her nervous.

We're friends. We've been friends since day one. So why do I suddenly feel so different around him?

Maybe because their last two big cases had sent them both into a life-­or-­death panic? Maybe because the memories had unlocked in her mind and they just wouldn't stop?

She felt different around everyone now. It was harder to keep her mask in place, but Wade—­handsome, sexy Wade—­was the one who made her feel most on edge. She had to constantly watch herself with him.

And, lately, she'd felt
him
watching her, too much.

Victoria cleared her throat. “I'm not sure I'm the best agent to accompany him.”

Wade's golden eyes narrowed. Such an unusual color. Beautiful and . . . intense.

“Why not?” It was Gabe who spoke. “Victoria . . .” And his voice softened as he added, “It's time for you to get back in the field.”

Her gaze shot around the table and desperation gripped her heart. There was sympathy on the faces that stared back at her. Sympathy and, God forbid,
pity.
She hated the pity.

Dean Bannon sat to her right. An ex–­FBI agent, Dean had seen plenty of horrors—­up-­close and personal. He was tough as nails, and
he
wouldn't ever balk at taking a field case.

Neither would Sarah Jacobs. The profiler was to Victoria's right. Sarah, the woman who could get into any killer's head without the slightest hesitation—­she wouldn't be running scared.

Just me.

“This is a good case for you,” Gabe assured her. “And Kennedy needs you.”

Kennedy. Right. The woman who was missing. The woman who was probably dead. A woman who wouldn't be coming home.

I'm supposed to help the dead. I'm supposed to give them their justice.
Didn't Kennedy deserve justice?

Yes . . .

So Victoria balled up her shaking hands and nodded briskly. “What time do we leave?”

“Seven
A.M.
tomorrow,” Gabe told her, and approval gleamed in his eyes. “Be packed and ready to go.”

And that was an order. Right.

“You'll take the private plane to Savannah, and then you'll have an SUV rental waiting for you,” Gabe added. “Don't worry. My assistant will take care of all the details.”

Not worry? Right. She excelled at worrying.

The team members filed out—­not that those assembled were the only agents at LOST. The organization was growing by leaps and bounds these days, and she knew that Gabe was even talking about opening a second office, maybe one along the West Coast. Currently, LOST was in a high-­rise located in downtown Atlanta. But if Gabe really had his eye on expansion, she knew a second office wouldn't be a dream for much longer.

What Gabe wanted, he got.

Victoria grabbed her manila file and hurried toward the door. Sarah was lingering there, and, even though Victoria considered the woman her friend, the
last
thing she wanted was for Sarah to start poking around in her head. Sarah was a perfect profiler—­

I just don't want her profiling me.

Because maybe, just maybe . . . Sarah might stumble upon all of those dark spots that she tried so hard to hide from the rest of the world. Once, she'd thought that Sarah might be like her. That she might understand just how hollow she was on the inside.

But the last case had changed that idea. Sarah had fallen in love, she'd battled her demons, and even made peace with her past.

Sort of, anyway . . . if facing off against your serial killer dad counted as making peace. Because Sarah
had
faced him—­she'd gone up against the infamous Murphy Jacobs and come out alive . . . and stronger.

Murphy the Monster. The serial killer had escaped from jail. Most folks thought he was dead, killed in the fire that had lit up New Orleans on their last case. But . . . Victoria wasn't so sure. A guy like Murphy would be smart enough to cheat death. And at the scene of the deadly inferno that
most
believe had killed Murphy . . .
I thought I heard him humming . . . humming as he slipped away.

Did Sarah worry that her father was still out there? Victoria didn't know for sure. What she
did
know . . .

I'd never want to face off against my father again. So it's a good thing he's under six feet of dirt.

“Viki,” Sarah began, her voice hitching just a little, “we should talk—­”

Victoria forced herself to smile. “Definitely. We
definitely
have to do that. How about as soon as I get back from this case? Because, wow . . .” She glanced down at her watch. A move she'd totally stolen from Gabe. “I have got to hurry home and pack if I'm going to be ready by seven
A.M.
”
Such a lie.
She always kept a bag ready and packed. An old habit. “But as soon as I get back . . .”

Worry flickered in Sarah's dark eyes.

She hurried away from her—­okay, she pretty much ran down the hall toward the elevator. She wasn't going to waste time stopping by her office. If she did, someone else might snag her. She was getting out of there. She'd review the file, get her bag, and be at the airport—­ready to board LOST's private plane—­just in time for that seven
A.M.
departure.

She jumped in the elevator and jabbed the button to close the doors. She had to get out of that place. It was so hard to breathe and as those doors slid closed—­

A body bag, zipped up around me. No air. Can't breathe. I'm—­

“Viki?” A man's hand flew through the elevator doors, activating the sensors and sending the doors flying back open. His deep, dark voice also vanished the nightmare that had tried to swirl around her.

Not a nightmare, though. Not really. Just a memory.

As the doors opened fully, Victoria squared her shoulders and pasted a false smile on her face.

Wade frowned back at her.

Wade . . . big, strong, dangerous Wade. He'd made her feel nervous from the moment they met—­
he still does.

He stepped inside the elevator. “You leaving for the day?”

“Yes.” Her voice came out too high. She cleared her throat.

“Me, too. Guess we'd better both get packed and ready.” He pushed the button for the bottom floor. The doors closed. They started to descend and—­

And he hit the button to stop the elevator.

“What are you doing?” Victoria demanded. “You can't just—­”

“Stop the elevator?” One dark brow rose. “Sure I can.” His head cocked to the right. Wade was wearing jeans and a T-­shirt. He was often casual, usually pulling off one of those rough and tough I-­don't-­give-­a-­damn-­vibes as he stalked around the office. She wished she could not give a damn, too.

He had his laptop bag slung over one shoulder, and she was sure that his case files were inside that bag, too. His arms were crossed over his chest as he studied her.

Victoria found herself backing up. In such a small space, retreat was pretty hard, but she still made a rather valiant effort.

His jaw hardened. “You don't need to be scared of me. You should know that by now.”

Right. Dammit, she
did
know that. Victoria stopped retreating.

“What's going on?” Wade's voice softened. “And don't say nothing, because it's obvious that something is happening with you. You hardly talk to anyone lately. You didn't want to go out into the field. Hell, you used to beg Gabe to send you out, but now—­”

“That was before.” She hated the brittle sound of her own voice. “Before a twisted SOB kidnapped me, drugged me, stuffed me into a body bag, and then decided it would be ever so much fun to use his knife on me.” That case—­it had changed everything for her.

His golden eyes darkened as he moved closer to her. Her shoulder bumped into the elevator's back wall, a mirrored wall. She hated mirrors. Hated looking into them because she was always afraid of what she'd see staring back at her.

My father's daughter . . . ?

Wade's hands rose, and for a moment real fear pulsed through her because she thought he was going to touch her, but . . .

He didn't. His hands flattened on either side of her head and she eased out a quick breath.

When Wade touched her, her heart raced too fast. Her skin heated.

His touch makes me want him so badly.
She'd thought the attraction was just on her side, but lately Wade had been staring at her with a gaze that seemed to burn.

Just like he was staring at her right now.

“I wish it had been me,” he gritted out. “I'm so sorry you went through that hell.”

Oh, Wade. You don't know what hell is. I've been there more times than I can count.
But that man who'd taken her . . . he'd forced her to see her past once more. He'd opened Pandora's box, and she couldn't seem to close it, no matter what she did.

“Have you talked to someone?” Wade asked. While he hadn't touched her, his body was still intimately close.

“Gabe set me up to see a counselor.” Like she hadn't talked to one of those before—­and hated the whole experience. She wasn't the soul-­baring type. “He says I'm totally fine.” Actually, the guy hadn't said anything of the sort, and Victoria had only visited him twice. Sharing just wasn't her thing.