Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,49

and we’ll be at Jekyll.”

“Melissa is there . . .”

“We’re going to find her. Keep believing that. We will find her.”

“Who else would have made the trade?” Victoria asked. “Who else would do it?”

Wade didn’t answer. Her fingers fisted in her lap and she stared straight at the road ahead of them.

MELISSA COULD HEAR the sound of water, rough waves lapping at a shore. She stumbled out onto the beach, not realizing where she was until she felt the sand beneath her toes. Dark, so dark out there, she could barely see anything. No matter how many times she blinked, her eyes just couldn’t seem to adjust to the darkness.

She rushed forward and slammed into something—­something hard and rough. A tree? It felt like one, so sturdy and big. Only there were no leaves on the tree. Her fumbling fingers ran over its surface. She’d hit the tree too hard because she’d been running as fast as she could.

Her side ached at the impact, and she took a moment, trying to desperately gulp in air. Then she heard . . .

Footsteps? Yes, yes, that was the rustle of footsteps. Because there had been a section of earth before she’d stumbled onto the beach and the softness of the sand.

She slid down, kneeling in the sand as she crouched next to the old tree. She wanted to just put her hands up over her head, hide like a child, pretending that if she couldn’t see, then the monster that was coming couldn’t see her, either.

Why was this happening? Why had he done this to her?

She just wanted to get away. She began to crawl, moving silently in the sand, creeping along because she didn’t want him to hear her.

The moments ticked past in silence. There was no other sound of footsteps. Had she imagined him before? Or—­Or had he gone off the rough path that she’d first been on and stumbled into the sand? When he walked on the sand, he wouldn’t make a sound, and the waves were so rough, pounding hard and frantically against the beach. She couldn’t hear anything but those waves.

The waves.

That was what she needed to do. She needed to get in the water. She was a good swimmer. She’d swim away. He wouldn’t be able to get her if she could just reach the water.

So she stood. She turned toward the water—­that crashing of waves—­and ran toward the sound. The scent of the saltwater reached out to her, and she stumbled forward, fast and sloppy. But she didn’t hit the water. Her feet sank in mud. Heavy, thick mud. She tried to trudge forward. The waves had to be there. She was close, surely—­

She fell. The heavy mud had tripped her and it seemed to be sucking her down. The waves were so close—­the water was close. She could feel the spray on her face.

But the mud held her captive. A sob escaped from her, burning her aching throat, and she crawled, so desperate to get forward. So desperate for freedom. Her hands were in front of her, sinking into that mud as she pulled herself, inch by inch, forward.

Inch by—­

Her grasping hands didn’t touch the sand.

She touched—­a leg? Pants?

He’s been here the whole time.

“No,” she said, a broken whisper.

A shadow seemed to loom over her. And she felt the prick of a knife slide under her neck. “Yes . . .”

The knife sliced deeper. Harder. Even if she’d still had her voice, there was never a chance to scream.

WADE’S FINGERS WERE too tight around the steering wheel. He knew he needed to ease up, but the tension pouring through his body was unrelenting.

The bastard had called her again. The killer was fixating on Victoria, and Wade knew just how dangerous that fixation was.

“Where do we go?” Victoria asked, voice hushed. “Where do we start searching?”

They eased off the bridge that led to Jekyll Island. He knew the place well, having spent those summers here as a kid. The island was usually pretty empty, which would make it the perfect spot for the killer to use.

It’s a pretty place. Everyone always thinks so.

But when I see it, I just remember death.

“Wade?” Victoria sounded worried. “Is everything okay?”

Not even fucking close. But this wasn’t the time to go into his nightmare of a past. He had a job to do on Jekyll. They’d do it and then get the hell out of there. He didn’t want to face his ghosts, not then.

He wanted to find the girl.