Cynthia Eden - Before The Dawn

Another soul taken.

He pushed through the woods. The branches tore at him, but he didn’t care. There was more blood there. Some high up on a tree, forming a bloody hand print as if she’d stopped to brace herself. Other drops were low, on leaves, as if they’d dripped from her body as she fled.

He kept walking ahead, calling for her, following that blood trail, but she never spoke back to him. Never called out for him to help her.

He knew why. Because she was afraid. Because Dawn thought that he was just as much of a monster as his brother.

And the problem was...she was right.

* * *

“WE’RE ABOUT TO LAND.”

He jerked at the soft voice, his gaze shooting to the right. Macey Night gave him a worried frown. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?” Her unusual eyes—one blue and one brown—showed her concern as she stared at him. “I was talking to the captain. He said we’d be touching down soon.” She slid into the seat across from him and hooked the seat belt over her lap. “I thought you’d want to know.”

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d been staring out of the window, trying to get into the head of the killer they were facing, but memories of Dawn had come back to haunt him.

“You said her name.”

His hand tightened around the armrest. “Didn’t realize I talked in my sleep.”

Macey stared straight at him. “May I ask...what was it like?”

“To kill my own brother?” His voice was cold. He was cold. He had to have that ice to block off his emotions. Otherwise...

Iceman.

“I had a choice to make. I could let a killer destroy an innocent woman or I could stop him. Since I’m not a sadistic bastard, I stopped him.”

“You were involved with Dawn Alexander before her attack.” She pulled at the sleeve of her top. Long sleeves. Macey always wore long sleeves. “What happened between the two of you?”

“You’ve seen the photos of Jason Frost.” Jason Frost. He always tried to refer to him formally. He couldn’t say my brother. Because he had to keep it separate. His brother had been the guy who kicked the ass of any bully who’d tried to mess with Tucker. His brother had been the one to teach him how to ride a bike. His brother had been the one to hold his hand when their mom was buried.

Jason Frost had been a depraved killer. His brother had been his best friend.

Tucker cleared his throat. “You’ve seen photos,” he said again. “You know we look...similar.” Even more so now. Time had sharpened his features so that he resembled Jason even more.

“You guys could be twins.”

Right. Because fate was cruel and twisted. “Would you want a lover who had the same face as the man who tortured you for hours?”

Her face went white. She pulled on her sleeve again. “No.”

He swallowed. “Right. So...that’s what happened with me and Dawn. I wanted to stop causing her pain, and the best way to do that was to stay far away from her.”

“When we get to New Orleans, do you want me to be the one to make contact with her?”

Because one of them would have to meet with her. Once they’d talked to the local cops and learned the latest details of the case, it would be necessary to have a sit-down with Dawn. Her being in New Orleans while a crime like this occurred? He wanted it to be just a coincidence, but he couldn’t take any chances.

“Tucker?” Macey prompted. “You want me to handle the interview with Dawn?”

He looked out the window. He could see the lights from the Big Easy. “I think that would be best.” Because he’d never responded just right when he was around Dawn. She stirred his emotions too much. She made him want...too much.

No, that was seven years ago. He hadn’t touched her in seven years. “You don’t have a personal involvement with her,” he continued, clearing his throat because his voice was too rough, “so you should handle the interview.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Her voice was a gentle rebuke. “It’s not about personal involvement. It’s because you don’t want her to hurt,” Macey added softly. “When she sees your face.”

He glanced back at her. There was no need to reply.

“You might look like him, but that’s just skin deep.”

Easy enough to say. But having a lover who was blood kin to the man who’d spent hours making you scream? That wasn’t exactly something a woman could get past.

The captain’s voice floated over the speakers and the plane began its descent.

* * *

“BEFORE WE’RE DONE, I’ll teach you to like the pain.” He smiled as he trailed the knife over her face. “You’ll hurt at first. When the blade cuts you. You’ll cry.”

A tear trickled down her cheek. “Please...let me go...” Her voice was a desperate rasp. “I...I won’t tell anyone...about you...”

She was a liar. Straight to her core. He let the tip of the blade slice into her cheek. She screamed, a high-pitched, desperate sound. No one was around to hear that cry.

“You’ll beg,” he continued. He moved the knife down her neck, making small cuts, enjoying the desperate sobs that broke from her. “You’ll promise anything if I stop the pain...”

He let the bloody blade slide down her arm. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her feet were tied to the chair legs. He’d stripped her so that she wore only her bra and panties.

“But then...” He backed away and smiled down at her. “When the pain does stop, you’ll wish for it to come back. You’ll be so desperate for it.”

She shook her head. “L-let me go...”

Never.

“I’ll teach you to like the pain.” He rolled back his shoulders. “And your lesson will start right now.”

CHAPTER THREE

DAWN ALEXANDER SAT at the table in the little interrogation room at the New Orleans Police Department. It wasn’t her first trip to the station on Royal Street, and it wouldn’t be her last, either. She’d been working in the city as a PI for the past three years. She often butted heads with the local cops, and she often worked with them as a team. Depending on the case, they could be best friends or worst enemies.

“Okay, Anthony... Why did you drag me in here first thing this morning?” Mornings weren’t her thing. She worked at night, and, in fact, she’d just crawled into bed at 3:00 a.m., only to be woken right back up by the detective knocking on her door four hours later.

Anthony Deveraux stood near the back wall—only it wasn’t really a wall. A large pane of glass stretched for five feet near him. That glass threw Dawn’s reflection back at her. Or, it would have, if she’d been staring at herself. Dawn made a point of never looking into a mirror too long.

She didn’t always like what she saw staring back at her.

It was one-way glass, of course. Cops or the DA would usually be on the other side of the glass as they watched suspects get grilled.

Her green eyes narrowed. “Just what am I suspected of doing?”

“Nothing,” Anthony said quickly, his handsome face tensing. Anthony was a good detective. She’d met him shortly after her move to the Big Easy. One of her first contacts. He was tough and fair, and he seemed to like going after the especially dark cases. His black hair was close-cropped and his golden eyes were shadowed as he glanced at her, then away.

Away? Alarm bells had been going off in her head ever since she opened the door to see him nervously standing there.

“Were you sent to collect me this morning because you’re my friend?” She was feeling her way as she tried to figure out exactly what was going on. So she’d done a bit of spying on her last PI case. She hadn’t technically broken any laws.

Anthony gave a slight jerk of his head. Not really a nod. Not really a denial, either. “You... You’re related to a case that I’m working on.”