Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,52

person’s head would be. Blood near the bottom ropes.

You tied her here, didn’t you?

“That’s not enough blood for a mortal wound,” Victoria said, voice hushed.

He’d figured the same thing. He leaned over the cot, careful not to touch anything there. “There’s a lot of blood on the rope.” And he knew what Melissa had done. “She got loose.”

“Where is she?” Jim asked. “Why did she run?”

“Probably because she’s scared out of her mind.” He turned back toward Jim and Victoria. The house was empty. No killer. No victim. “We have to start a search of the island.” Because Melissa could be out there, running blind or . . .

She could be out there, and the killer could be hunting her.

Victoria nodded as she gazed at Wade. “Every inch,” she agreed.

Melissa needed them, and every moment was important. The problem? Getting a team organized and getting the hell out there. Each second that passed without a search was too much of a waste. Dace and his cop buddies were rushing in, but how long would it take them to mobilize there?

Wade hurried back outside, with Victoria and Jim close by. Victoria made Jim sit on the steps while she examined his wound.

“How’d you get the gash?” she asked him.

“I—­I fell forward when she hit me. Must have . . . slammed into the floor. Or the cot. Something . . .”

Wade paced the scene, trying to imagine where Melissa would go. She would have been terrified when she went outside. So desperate.

It would have been pitch-­black out there . . .

He stilled, listening. He could just make out the roar of the surf. That roar meant . . . waves. The beach. In Melissa’s desperate mind, had that roar equaled some kind of safety? If you couldn’t see anything, then maybe you’d run toward what you could hear.

He wanted to run toward that sound, searching for her, but . . .

Victoria.

He didn’t know where the killer was. He did know that the guy was already too fixated on her. Can’t leave my partner on her own.

Then he saw the flash of lights rounding the corner. Local cops, coming to help on the scene. Hell, yes.

Victoria would be safe. He could hunt.

“Talk to them,” he ordered her as the cars drew closer. “Get the search going.” She knew how to organize a search task force—­at LOST, that was day fucking one material.

Victoria grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”

The pounding of the surf called to him like a lifeline, the way he thought it might have called to Melissa. “The water. I’m going to the beach. Starting the search there. Get boots on the ground, Viki. Get her help! Call in the K-9 unit!” They needed every single asset they could get on this case.

And they didn’t have time to waste. Because Melissa was running out there, desperate, and the perp could be, too.

“I—­I TRIED TO find her,” Jim confessed, anguish heavy in his words. “I wanted to help her.”

The local authorities had swarmed the scene. Unfortunately, Dace hadn’t been with them. It had taken far too much time to organize the local authorities. They’d wanted to focus on the house, on collecting evidence, when Victoria kept telling them that the missing woman was out there. Focus on the island—­start looking for her!

No wonder Wade had run when he saw the cop cars. He’d known that the scene was safe with the authorities so close by, and she realized he hadn’t wanted to be slowed down by a million and one questions. He’d wanted to search.

So he’d left her with the million and one questions.

But the men and women there . . . they meant well. They were just in far, far over their heads.

“Never had something like this happened here,” one of the guys said.

Victoria thought he had come over from the mainland. He seemed so hesitant as he stood next to the patrol car.

“You really think some guy . . . he’s been torturing women out here?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time a killer has used an island,” she said. Her mind drifted back to the Lady Killer case and the victims she’d found on Dauphin Island. “Sometimes, the proximity to the ocean and the seclusion—­they work to a killer’s advantage.” Especially when it came to body disposal. Talk about easy. Just jump on a boat, weigh down your victim, and drive away . . .

But Kennedy’s body wasn’t dumped in the water. She was buried.

Buried . . . and