His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(16)
Author: Shayla Black

“Whoever this handiwork belongs to, I’ll bet he trained once with the CIA or some other government agency. He knows what he’s doing, but he leaves telltale marks. Same guy, same M.O. And he always tears apart the vic’s residence, as if he’s looking for something. That’s not common behavior for a serial killer. So let’s get back to your earliest memory. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

His questioning made Bailey feel as if he was trying to lead her to a specific answer. In the interest of saving time and frustration, she cut to the chase. “What is it I’m supposed to remember?”

He peered at her, those hazel-green eyes studying her, as if trying to pry her brain open and see all the thoughts inside. “Let’s try this on for size. Do you have any memory of a really cold day in the middle of farmland? Of walking the side of the road in the snow, covered in blood? Of being spotted by a couple in a blue sedan driving down the road?”

Bailey’s heart stopped. He’d described a snippet of her dreams, but . . . they were just a product of her imagination. Her mother had assured her of that over and over. Her father had been adamant about it, in fact. She’d stopped mentioning the dreams to anyone years ago.

So how did this stranger know?

“What is it? You went pale. You’re remembering an event?”

She shook her head automatically. It had to be a coincidence. A good guess. Something that made sense. This didn’t.

“Yeah, you’re remembering. Try to focus. Jesus, I’ve been looking for you.” He leaned closer again, his face anxious. “Keep going. What next?”

In her dream, nothing. She never made it past the sedan and the couple stopping for her. “This can’t be . . . It’s just a dream I’ve had a time or two.” More like a thousand times or two.

“What if it’s not a dream, but a memory?”

“No. Then I would remember it. It doesn’t snow in Houston. I’ve never been to a farm like that. I’ve never seen that couple in my life.”

“Really think about it. If it’s a dream, and you’ve remembered it even after you woke, it had an impact on you. A big one. There’s a reason for that.”

He leaned in even more, and his male scent curled in her nose again. Bailey wished she could say that he came across as creepy or stalkerish. But no, he just looked hot. Older than her, yes, maybe by eight or ten years, but when she looked at him, she realized that all the guys she’d been dating and eyeing were boys. This one? He was a man.

That sounded all kinds of stupid and wrong, but seriously . . . He had a rugged appeal that was impossible not to notice.

Bailey frowned. How long did it take for a girl to fall in lust with her captor? Should she be checking her sanity, her IQ, or both?

“Do you remember anything in the dream before the couple in the car? Before you left those red footprints in the snow?”

She frowned. “How do you know there’s anything in the dream before that?”

“Because I know the history of this event. I know what really happened before that little girl fled that house and walked down the side of the road in shock until Good Samaritans found her and took her to the local sheriff. Tell me what’s in your dream. We’ll see if they match up.”

And give him anything that he could use to claim that he was right? That she was this missing girl? “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened?”

“The murder of four people. Here.” He turned away and grabbed a file she hadn’t noticed sitting on a nearby dresser. He thumbed through some of the contents until he came to what he wanted. Photos. He took a few in hand and prowled back in her direction. “Any of these look familiar?”

When he shoved the first picture under her gaze, she looked at the little white house, all alone in a big pasture, and a jolt of shock sizzled through her. It was the house in her nightmares. It wasn’t dusted with snow in this photo, as it was in her dream. But the same slightly dingy façade. Same white door with the brass knob. Same two windows on either side of the door. Same little detached garage behind the house and a bit to the left.

Bailey felt the blood drain from her face.

“You see that in your dream?”

“I-I . . .” How was that possible? “Maybe it’s a coincidence or I’m psychic or I saw it on the news. I don’t remember a murder. I would have recalled something that horrifying.”

“Maybe not. If you’re the girl who lived there and survived the massacre—and I think you are—you were barely five when it happened. You may have blocked it out. It’s not uncommon for the human mind to ‘forget’ things that are too traumatic to process.”