Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,53

Victoria had found Spanish moss in that black bag with her.

Her gaze darted around the scene. Heavy trees twisted and turned around the little house—­trees that were all weighed down by Spanish moss that blew in the breeze. Thanks to the cop cars, the scene had been illuminated enough for her to easily see the moss.

Did you bury Kennedy here? Instead of sending her out to the ocean?

Maybe the killer had wanted to keep her close.

Maybe he hadn’t been able to let go . . .

Not until he took someone else.

“We can have a K-9 unit here in an hour!” a woman called out.

An hour . . . that wasn’t going to cut it.

Victoria’s gaze tracked back to the darkness. She hadn’t seen Wade since he’d run off. Where was he? He needed backup.

I’m his backup. I’m his partner. I should be out there with him.

Jim was in the back of an ambulance. An EMT was treating him, examining the heavy gash on his head. He was safe. She’d talked to the cops in charge. Given them as much information as she had. Now she was just standing there, playing a waiting game, while Wade was out there, alone.

Every instinct she possessed screamed for her to go after him.

“Captain!” She grabbed the arm of the man who was leading that group. “We need to start that search!”

“My men are almost ready to go, ma’am. We’ll start a full-­island sweep, heading to Driftwood Beach and combing from the north end of the island on down.” He gave her a brisk nod. “We’ve got this, ma’am. We will find her.”

She wanted to have his confidence.

Her head tilted back and she glanced up at the night sky. The heavy clouds that had covered the island were starting to pass. She could see the glitter of stars and almost make out the glow of the moon. If they could get just a little more light, it would help the search so much.

“You coming with us?” the captain asked.

As if she would be left behind. “Let’s do this.” Please, Melissa. Just hold on. We’re coming.

TREES WERE TOSSED onto the beach, stripped of leaves, battered by the waves and shaped by the tide.

Wade knew exactly where he was—­Driftwood Beach. A place that had been whispered about so much when he was thirteen. A beach of ghosts.

The trees were scattered all over that long stretch of beach. Getting through them was like navigating a maze. But the moonlight and starlight had finally started to spill onto him, and he could see better as he made his way through the obstacles.

“Melissa!” He yelled her name as he headed down the beach. He’d been calling out to her, again and again, during his search, but she hadn’t called back to him.

Maybe he was in the wrong place. Maybe she’d gone south. Or, hell, maybe she’d even gone into the water, so desperate to get away from her abductor.

For an instant Wade stilled. His gaze turned to the ocean and those rushing waves.

Jekyll Island. He really hadn’t wanted to come back to this fucking place. It held too many memories for him. Mostly bad ones.

The water . . . it taught me about loss.

He fucking hated boats and water now. Hated them.

If Melissa had gone into the water, they’d have to get the Coast Guard out there, ASAP. She could be weak, confused, and the waves out there were already rough because of the storm that had come through earlier. If she wasn’t careful, the water would take her away.

Just as it took my brother.

“Melissa!” Wade shouted again. “I’m here to help you!” He continued moving deeper down the beach. The driftwood trees were slanted, left and right, across the sand. He climbed over one. “I’m with a group called LOST! The cops are here, too! It’s time to go home!”

He stepped forward. Maneuvered past more driftwood and—­

There was a faint sound behind him. A rasp. Could have been nothing. A crab moving across the sand. But . . .

He swung back around with his weapon drawn.

That was when he saw her.

Her arms were tied to the driftwood. One anchored on her left side, one on her right. Her head sagged forward and she was on her knees, all but hidden behind a massive tree.

Fuck. He rushed toward her, dropping to his knees in the sand. He put the gun down beside him when he reached to touch her chin. “Melissa? Melissa, it’s all right . . .”

But it wasn’t.

He