When Fall Fades (The Girl Next Door Series Book 1) (30 page)

“You found him? That was fast.”

“Not really, we’re going on over two weeks here. And Agent Mackenzie gets the props. But this might be it.” Archer scrolled through some of the info he’d just received on his phone. “Guy’s got a ton of priors and just got out of serving a twenty-year sentence. Could explain the timing. His father died while he was in prison. Maybe he’s looking for a little payback now that he’s out. Probably didn’t sit well that Charlie’s name was somehow cleared, while his dad had to stay in hiding all these years because of the evidence Westwick had on him.”

“Yeah, if we could find it. Not that it’s totally relevant now that we can sort of assume what was in the notebook. But you never know.”

“I’m gonna try to get in touch with some of my contacts in the army, see if, given the circumstances, they’ll release any classified info to us. So far I’ve gotten nothing but red tape.”

They settled in for the drive, swapping half-baked theories based on the information they had so far. Archer noticed a few police cars passing with their lights on as they neared Carbondale. He felt a check in his gut, but maybe he was just so desperate to tie up the loose ends and rid himself of responsibility that the stress was getting to him. He pulled into the police station, ignoring the knotted mass tightening in his stomach.

“Finally! I gotta take a leak!” Ever eloquent and graceful, Sal tumbled out of the car before it came to a full stop.

Rushing to catch up, Archer entered the small station and found the place in a state of pandemonium. Files and loose pages littered the floor as if a storm had just blown through and the half-dozen officers in sight scurried around barking at each other and dialing out for backup.

“What’s going on?” He flashed his badge to the nearest officer.

“Guy broke out of a holding cell while most of the office was on lunch. Somehow he got ahold of a Taser and took two officers down. So far, one of the officer’s guns and some faxed information is all we can account for that’s missing. Still trying to figure this mess out. As we speak, every news station within two hundred miles is alerting the public.”

“What’s the name?” Archer didn’t know why he’d even asked. He already knew.

“Uhh, Canterbury … James Canterbury.”

Not a moment later Sal appeared beside Archer. “What’d I miss?”

Chapter 31

Sadie Carson

T
he sweet breath of autumn air was a welcome reprieve from the heat still simmering off the pavement. With nothing but the wind in her hair and the purr of the Camaro’s engine, Sadie carefully rounded the bend where her Jeep had gone “off-roading,” hating the unease making a tangle of her intestines. A whispered suggestion to ignore her street and take the old girl out for a cruise carried on the breeze. And why not? There was at least another hour or two of daylight left. It wasn’t as if she had a hot date. But Sadie was exhausted, and most annoyingly, still shaken from the crash.

So she parked the hot rod and patted the dash. “Sorry, doll. Not today.” The poor girl sputtered out a forlorn sigh as Sadie cut the engine.

Sadie had gone back to caring for Andy—a war vet with a bum knee, diabetes, severe hypochondria, and enough neuroses to fill a small ark. He was requiring a lot more physical assistance after his gallbladder surgery, and as a result, Sadie’s back balked when she leaned over the center console to gather her overturned purse from the passenger floor. But, the aching of her body wasn’t nearly as acute as the pain in her heart.

Since the fund-raiser she hadn’t spoken to Archer. The two lonely days of separation felt like a lifetime. She still had her issues to sort out about Ryan, but the fear of every possible scenario held her hostage.

Even through all the confusion and the guilt, there was no denying that she ached for Archer—physically ached. If she could find a medical explanation for this ailment, she’d get vaccinated and be done with it.

That was what Archer was supposed to have been—a little dose of attraction to help build up an immunity for the long run. He should have been a temporary fix, a fleeting attraction, a failed experiment. But after the first inoculation, Sadie was hooked. Very soon she’d enter a full-blown state of withdrawal. How was she going to get that highly addictive man out of her system?

He hadn’t called, but she didn’t blame him. She was the one who needed to patch things up after her little disappearing act, knowing, at the very least, she owed him an explanation—one that would force her to decide.
That
, she was dreading.

Peeling off her work clothes, she changed into Archer’s baggy T-shirt and sweatpants. She hooked a finger in the neck, lifting the fabric over her nose and breathing in the scent of him she’d neglected—fine, refused—to wash away. She collapsed onto the heavenly softness of her bed. Exhaustion beckoned her surrender to a late afternoon nap, but as tired as she was she was too restless to sleep.

For the past two nights, teasing memories of Ryan had plagued her dreams—nothing corporeal like at the fund-raiser but disturbingly real none the less.

Why was this happening? And why now when she’d actually met someone? Someone all wrong for her, but still.

Driven to distraction, she snagged the remote from the nightstand and flipped on the small TV. She scrolled through the channels hoping to find reruns of
Scrubs
or maybe
The Andy Griffith Show
—anything to scatter the ping-pong effect of her brain volleying between Ryan and Archer.

All she found was daytime news and soaps. Every news channel flashed the same image of an armed and dangerous escape convict. “Well, that’s not gonna cut it.” She clicked it off.

It was obvious what she needed to do, but whenever she thought of confronting “the box,” kicking and screaming was her first inclination. Gathering her courage, Sadie shimmied to the edge of her bed and reached blindly underneath. Blood pooled in her head making her all tingly and even more unsure of the can of worms she was about to reopen. Her fingers gathered clumps of dust from the neglected space until she found what she was searching for. The thing that held mementos and feelings she had stowed away—way back into the deep recesses of her heart.

Sliding it into view, Sadie pulled it up onto her lap, smeared away the coating of dust. Then she let her hands rest on the top, absorbing the pain by osmosis. She squeezed her eyes against a hot rush of emotion and carefully removed the lid.

Make me brave.

When she opened her eyes, her heart gave a sharp spasm. Ryan—pictures of their youth, awkward and innocent. Ryan’s favorite Stan Musial baseball card that he’d lost to her in a round of four square, their prom picture of Sadie dipping Ryan, and an old Pink Floyd T-shirt he’d left at her house during a sleepover. Hundreds of memories lingering like apparitions in a room he had never set foot in. She forced herself to breathe through the pain.

Wallowing in her sorrow, she dug around, picking at the scab until it bled. The wound was as fresh as it had been five years ago when she spotted it—the thing that taunted her, dangling happiness just out of reach.

Ryan’s letter.

Sadie’s hand trembled as her fingertips kissed the envelope. Fighting against a swell of anxiety, she bravely loosed the letter—and her fragile heart—from the vault. Tears burned in her eyes before she’d even started. It was time to confront this. Again.

As she read, Ryan’s voice snuggled around her like an embrace.

Sadie,

I’ve only been gone three weeks now, but it feels like forever. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s weird that this is the first time I’m telling you that because it has been the story of my life for at least the past ten years. I have so many regrets, Sadie. The first of which is what a coward I’ve been for not taking a chance. For hiding all these years.

That kiss in the airport was the fulfillment of so many dreams for me, and if I close my eyes and pray, I can almost feel your lips on mine as I relive it every moment of every day I’ve been away from you. I regret that it should have been the millionth time, not the first. I wish I could rewind the clock to prom night when we were on the dance floor and you fit so perfectly in my arms. I wanted nothing more than to tell you how I felt, and now, because of your courage, I will.

I love you, Sadie Carson. More than you can imagine. If I could, I would look into your amazing eyes and tell you to your face how beautiful you are. How you make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world to simply know you. And how many times I’ve longed to make you mine. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. And I know I’m doing this all wrong, but when I get home I’m gonna ask you to marry me. I’m tired of living my life with regrets, and there is nothing that would make me happier than spending the rest of my life with you—if you’ll have me.

I’ll be dreaming of you until I can hold you again.

Forever yours,

Ryan

Sadie held the tear-stained letter to her chest, clinging to every word as if it was the first time she’d read them. “God, this is so hard. What do I do?”

Just then she heard something. It wasn’t a still small voice whispering the answer in her ear.
If only
.

It was … Frankie. He’d been quiet for the past week and she suddenly wondered if anyone from the FBI had remembered to feed him.

Frankie’s chirps grew louder and more frequent. The flimsy drywall seemed to somehow amplify the bird’s panicked squawks.

After thirty minutes of incessant and irritating chirping, Sadie’s nerves were shot. She decided she had to call the FBI to remind someone about the bird. That or pack up and move out.

Except after some searching, she realized her phone must still be in the car. Snapping her fingers, she grabbed her keys and strode out the long path to the Camaro, finding it where her purse had tipped over onto the passenger floor mat.

As she walked back to her door, phone in hand, a spiral of wind wrapped around her, whipping leaves into the air and plastering her hair to her face. She slipped the phone into a baggy pocket and wound her hair back with a band from her wrist.

When she glanced up, a large man stood on Charlie’s stoop, closing the door behind him. The man was a little hunched over, peering around his shoulder before turning to leave.

She was still too far away to see him clearly, but something about him was familiar.

Where had she seen that guy before? Was he one of Charlie’s bingo buddies? She continued her stride toward her door just as he approached the shared walkway
.

Something squirmed in her stomach. He did not look like the kind of guy who played bingo. In fact, he kind of looked like a—

In an instant, the mug shot from the news flashed in her mind, and she glanced at the approaching man with wide-eyed recognition. Apparently much sprier than his sixty-plus years suggested, he lunged in her direction.

Sadie’s body jolted into action, and she vaulted up the porch steps to her door. Her fingers grasped around the cool metal knob just as hard arms wrapped around her waist and neck in a vice. A brutal tug ripped her fingers from the door. Panic came flooding in, and she began to buck and claw wildly.

The angry latch around her neck siphoned away every breath. She croaked against the spearing pain in her throat and he squeezed harder until tears blurred her vision.

No no no no
.

Digging her chin down, she tried to weaponize her teeth in a futile struggle.

Her lungs were ablaze, blinks of darkness filtered into her eyes. She flung her head back and successfully rammed the guy in the face. His arms loosened slightly. But it didn’t matter. She felt every muscle go limp, and it all faded to black.

“
Oh
, make it stop.” A jackhammer was pounding a hole in her skull. The migraine was so intense she was about to yak. Sadie rolled her stiff neck from side to side, seeking relief.

Weird dream, too. She tried to lift her hands to scrub the lingering sleep from her face, but her arms seemed to be stuck.

Stuck? Her eyes shot open. Shadows hung in the dark room. “What … hap—” Horrific pieces of memory fractured through her mind.

She’d been attacked. Taken. The pain radiating from her skull suggested blunt force trauma, and the skin crackling near her eye when she winced hinted at dried blood. Yes, she’d woken up once before—that part was a complete blur but it must have been when he’d struck her.

The throbbing in her head made visibility hazy, but as she squinted into the darkness, she found she recognized her surroundings—she was at Charlie’s place. Thick ropes shackled her to an old metal armchair Charlie used to keep in the basement.

She strained against the rough biting rope, but the more she wiggled, the more it seemed to clench around her and tear at her skin. Hysteria threatened to strangle out every breath of oxygen now huffing from her spastic chest. The fear was so potent she was dizzy with it.

“Calm down, Sadie,” she whispered to herself with no immediate results. The weighty silence screamed of the horrors to come.

Out of self-preservation, an old familiar Psalm rose up from the depths of her soul. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me.”

A calm seeped into her pores—infiltrating her lungs and, for the moment, leveling her head.

Think, Sadie
.

She’d gone out to her car for a reason—her cell phone! “Oh, thank God.”

Her arms were restricted, each inch she forged into her deep, loose pocket a battle of pain and resistance. Please.
Please
let it still be there.

She could have cried when her fingertips brushed the edge of her phone. Gritting her teeth against the burn, she arched her back and lifted her hips, the ropes ripping at the raw skin on her forearms. Her hand stretched and her body twisted and writhed until she found a tenuous grip with two sweat-slicked fingers.

She’d just unlocked the keypad when she heard footsteps. The heavy thud of boots shook the groaning planks of the wood floor, the vibration inching up the metal chair as each step signaled a very short countdown.

Her heart stuttered, her pulse lit like kerosene.

Come on, come on!

A cramp seized her hand, her fingers clumsily typed a 911 text message to Archer’s phone—she hoped. She pressed send and silenced the phone before giving it a desperate toss onto her lap where she let it slip between her legs.

“Ahh, you’re up.” He traced a filthy finger across her cheek. “Lucky me.”