Present Day

SUZANNA FORD

She knew what the noise was now. The elevators rushing up and down. She heard the wind whistling like a train—up and down, down and up—as the doctor cut the threads with a pair of office scissors.

“You’re going to be okay,” the woman said. She was obviously in charge. She’d been the first to come to Suzanna’s side. The only one who wasn’t afraid of what she had seen. The other guys hung back. She could hear their breathing like steam pushing out of an iron. And then the doctor told one to call an ambulance. Another to get a bottle of water. Another to get a blanket. Another to find some scissors. They jumped to obey, running off so fast that Suzanna could feel the ghosts of their presence long after she could no longer hear their sneakers pounding against the floor.

“You’re safe,” the doctor said. She put her hand to Suzanna’s head. She was pretty. Her green eyes were the first thing Suzanna saw. They looked at her down the blade of the scissors as she carefully snipped apart the threads. She’d covered Suzanna’s eyes with her hand so that the light would not blind her. Her touch was so light when she cut apart Suzanna’s lips that she’d barely felt the metal grazing her skin.

“Look at me. You’re going to be okay,” the woman said. Her voice was steady. She was so damn certain that Suzanna believed her.

And then she saw the man. Hulking. Lurking. He looked different. Younger. But it was still the same guy. Still the same monster.

Suzanna started screaming. Her mouth opened. Her throat scratched. Her lungs shook. She screamed as loud as she could. The noise wouldn’t stop. She screamed even when the man left. She screamed over the doctor’s soothing voice. She screamed when the paramedics came. She didn’t stop screaming until the doctor stuck the needle in.

The drug rushed through her body.

Immediate relief.

Her brain calmed. Her heart slowed. She could breathe again. Taste again. See again. There was no part of her that did not feel it. Her hands, her fingers, her toes, all tingled from the rush.

Release. Salvation. Oblivion.

And Zanna was in love all over again.

twenty-nine

Present Day

WEDNESDAY

Sinatra crooned softly through the speakers in Amanda’s Lexus, but Will could only hear Suzanna Ford’s screams. He had been so relieved to find the girl alive. He’d wanted to weep as Sara freed the girl. His father had hurt her. He’d tried to destroy her. But Will had stopped him. He’d won. He’d finally beaten the old man.

And then Suzanna had taken one look at Will and seen James Ulster come back to life.

He leaned his head into his hand as he stared at the passing cars. They were on Peachtree Road, stuck in the patch of traffic near one of the many strip malls.

Amanda turned down the volume on the radio. Sinatra’s voice mellowed even more. She put her hand back on the wheel. The other rested in the sling that was strapped around her shoulder and waist.

She said, “It’s supposed to get cold this weekend.”

Her throat sounded raw, probably from talking nonstop on her BlackBerry for the last twenty minutes. Hotel security. The Atlanta Police Department. Her own agents at the GBI. No one was going to skate on missing the fact that Ulster’s morning trips to the gym were simply an excuse for him to gain access to the stairs that led to the sub-basement. How many times had he gone down there to hurt her? How many opportunities to stop him had been missed?

The girl had been held at least a week. She was dehydrated. Starved. Mutilated. God knows what else.

Amanda said, “Of course, you can’t trust the weatherman. Never could.”

Will still didn’t answer.

The car accelerated as they drove past Amanda’s condo. The Regal Park complex was nice, but paled in comparison to its neighbors. They were in the Buckhead fingerbowl. Habersham Road, Andrews Drive, Peachtree Battle—residences on these streets started at two million dollars and jumped sharply north. The area contained the most expensive real estate in the city. The zip code was listed among the top ten wealthiest in the country.

“We could use some rain.”

Will looked at the side-view mirror as they approached the heart of Buckhead. An Atlanta PD cruiser was following them. Amanda hadn’t told him why and Will couldn’t bring himself to ask her. His breathing was shallow. His palms were clammy. There was no explanation for his feelings, just that he knew deep in his soul that something bad was about to happen.

Amanda slowed the car. Horns blared as she took an illegal turn onto West Paces Ferry Road. Her lips parted, but only to take a breath.

He waited for her to say something more about the weather, but her mouth remained closed, her eyes on the road ahead of them.

Will stared out the window again. The dread was making him feel sick. She’d already surprised him once today. It was a cruel thing to do. The shock had almost killed him. What else did she have planned?

Amanda pointed to a sixties-style house with fake Tara columns. The Governor’s Mansion. “A tornado cut straight through here a few months before you were born. Took the roof off, cut through Perry Homes.”

Will wasn’t going to take the bait. “What will happen to his body?”

She didn’t ask whom he meant. “No one will claim him. He’ll be buried in a pauper’s grave.”

“He has money.”

“Do you want it?”

“No.” He didn’t want anything from his father. Will would live on the streets again before he took a dime of the man’s blood money.

Amanda slowed down for another turn. Will finally asked the question. “Where are we going?”

She signaled for the turn. “Don’t you know?”

He studied the street sign. The X in the middle gave it away. Tuxedo Road. They were in the wealthiest part of the wealthiest section. Two million dollars would probably be just enough to cover property taxes for one estate.

“No?” she asked.

Will shook his head.

She made the turn. The car traveled several more yards before she said, “Your juvenile records are sealed.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have your father’s name.”

“Or my mother’s.” Will loosened the knot in his tie. He couldn’t get enough air. “That reporter with the AJC. Faith’s ex-boyfriend. He called you—”

“Because I worked on the original case.” Amanda glanced at him. “I’m the one who put your father in jail the first time.”

“No, you didn’t. Butch Bonnie and—”

“Rick Landry.” She braked for a steep curve. “They were the homicide detectives. I was in what was euphemistically called Vagina Crimes. If it went into a vagina or came out of one, that was my case.” She glanced over again, but only so she could enjoy his reaction. “Evelyn and I did all the work. Butch and Landry took all the credit. Don’t be so shocked. It was a common occurrence. I hazard to say it’s still going on.”

Will couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. It was too much to take on board. Too much information. Instead, he stared at the mansions rolling by. Castles. Mausoleums. Finally, he managed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter. It was just another case. I’ve worked on lots of cases over the years. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been doing this job an awfully long time.”