Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,50
“Everything’s fine.” Lying to her feels wrong.
“Why is it so dark here?” Victoria leaned forward to peer through the windshield.
“Because of the turtles.” He remembered this from his youth. “Nesting season. They keep the lights off or dimmed on the island so the turtles can follow the moonlight to the beach.” His brother Adam had loved those damn turtles. Every year that they came to the island, Adam had volunteered, helping out with them. But that had been Adam—good, kind.
Such a waste. I miss the hell out of him.
“There isn’t any moonlight tonight.”
No, there wasn’t any light at all. During their drive, they’d passed through a rough storm, and though the rain was gone now, heavy clouds still blocked the night sky.
Wade’s phone rang then, and he tensed at the sound. Freaking phone calls were starting to drive him mad. His phone was connected through the car’s speakers via Bluetooth, so he just hit the button near the steering wheel to take the call. “Monroe.”
“W-Wade?” a hesitant voice asked. A voice that he knew.
“Jim.” Good. Relief swept through him. “Jim, we’ve got news on Melissa. We think she’s alive and on—”
“Jekyll Island.”
Wade pulled the SUV to the side of the road. “What?”
“H-He told me to come to Jekyll Island. Gave me the address. Said to come alone.” Jim’s words were tumbling out, too fast. “My life for hers. Of course, I’d make the trade.”
“Oh, my God,” Victoria whispered.
The perp is going to kill Jim. “Where are you?” Wade demanded. “Give me a specific address, now.”
“She’s not here.” Jim sounded confused. “I—I think she was . . . but she’s not here now. Where is she?”
“Look, I want you to get in your car. Lock your doors. Got it? The bastard is out here, and he’s hunting.”
Jim didn’t speak. His ragged breath carried easily over the Bluetooth connection.
“An address!” Victoria cried out. “Tell us where you are! We can come to you!”
Jim mumbled an address, then said, “Cottage . . . at the end of the road. All alone. Almost didn’t see it. Trees were so thick. Climbing all over it . . .”
“Get the hell back in your car,” Wade ordered. “Right now, do you hear me?”
“I—I need to find Melissa.”
“He’s there,” Wade snarled. “He will kill you.” How much clearer could he be? “Get in your car. Get the hell in and lock the doors, do you understand me? Better yet, get the fuck out of there. Come meet me at the bridge or—”
“I won’t leave this place!” Now Jim was angry. “She’s here! I know she’s here! I won’t leave her!”
“Then just get your ass in that car! Lock the doors. Stay there until you see me!”
There was a rush of footsteps in the background, and then the line went dead. Wade immediately plugged the address into his GPS. Opposite side of the damn island. Figured. He just needed Jim to stay alive until he got there.
Then he heard Victoria on her phone, updating Dace on what was happening. He already knew Dace was trying to coordinate with the local authorities and get a search team out to the Island.
Jim made the trade. The kid should have called him first. He should have told him what the hell he was planning and not gone off on his own.
Wade drove down the bay side of the island, his gaze straining to see in the darkness. He knew the old Jekyll Island Club Hotel was nearby. Once upon a time the island had been a hunting getaway for the rich and famous. Rockefeller. Pulitzer. The big names had all spent time there. Back in the day, it had been their perfect place to hunt.
Now he’s hunting here. A killer who liked to play games.
Wade headed past the historic district on the island then went farther. Past the remains of an old house, one that he’d been told was haunted when he was thirteen. He’d even been dared to spend the night out there.
He’d always taken up dares. Adam hadn’t. Adam hadn’t cared about dares. But his brother stayed with him that night . . .
To make sure I was safe.
Wade hadn’t realized how much this fucking island would haunt him. Why the hell had the killer picked this spot?
He rounded the curve and started heading toward the Atlantic side of the island. His GPS told him to turn, and he headed down a snake-sized road. Down, down . . .
His headlights cut through that pitch-black darkness. The beam hit a