Page 4 of Wanted 2

"Safe," I said defensively. "Well, safe enough, I hope." And that was all he was going to learn about Jeremy. "I'm sorry for bothering you tonight,” I said, switching the subject, “But, thank you for your help."

He graced me with a curt nod and returned his gaze to the fire. "Don't let your personal life get in the way again," he said.

Stung by his sudden harshness, I rose to my feet. “I won't," I replied, turning to leave.

But he began speaking before I could get far. "Tonight is my wedding anniversary."

That paused me. "You're…married?" With that long parade of women?

"I was," he murmured, his gaze once again locked on the fire. "She died."

I hesitated. Was he opening up? When he didn’t continue, I inched back to the leather chair, sat, and waited.

"She was murdered," he said at last, his face a hardened mask. "She was pregnant at the time."

"Shit." I swallowed. That had to be rough. "I'm so sorry."

He took a drink. "The baby wasn't mine. Though, I did think he was until after her death. I’d always wanted a child of my own.” He drew a long breath, and then added, “I cannot imagine the depravity of someone who would abuse such a gift."

I looked away from him, his grief and my own pain mixing in my soul to create a cocktail of despair I couldn't stomach. I had no words of comfort to offer him. I had none for myself, either. We were both broken spirits trying to make the best of the hands we’d been dealt.

"My mother died in an 'accident'," I offered when the silence had dragged on too long. "But I know my father killed her in one of his rages."

The Count gave a solemn nod. "The authorities didn't investigate?"

I scoffed. "My dad was a cop. He was the'authorities'in this town." Which is why, though I threatened to call the cops on him many times, he and I both knew it was an idle threat. He didn’t want his buddies seeing what he'd become, but he knew they wouldn't do anything to him.

The Count looked at me fully then, his face impassive. "Sometimes, we must make our own justice in this life."

I couldn't tell him then how right he was, but I wished I could have apologized. For what had happened to him because of his wife…and what was about to happen to him because of me.

2

At the Count’s insistence I rest, I returned to my room and plopped myself on my bed. Normally, I’d worry about my father returning, but after coming across someone capable of suspending him in the air like a ragdoll, I figured he wouldn’t be so keen on a repeat. He didn’t like looking like a fool, and dangling in the air had fool written all over it.

With my father out of the way—for now—I just had to worry about Don…but the instant I thought his name, I felt the weight of my own sins claw into my shoulders.

“For Jeremy,” I whispered, forcing my thoughts to my brother’s bright future. I’d make sure he succeeded. He’d enter that science fair and show them all what he was made of, just what he could become. I wouldn't let our family name, or my weaknesses, ruin his chances.

I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow, struggling to fight off the darkness gathering in my soul like a foul storm.

Shit. At this rate, I’d never be able to sleep again.

But as with all things, time won out and my body gave into its own exhaustion.

I woke with the shrouds of a nightmare clinging to my mind like a spider's web. Only I wasn't the spider in this scenario, I was the bug trapped for dinner.

Panic seized me at the memory of my father showing up, and of the ticking bomb I was living under. Six days.

Six days or he would hurt—maybe kill—Jeremy.

Six days to save him.

I grit my teeth and swung my legs out of bed. The angle of the sun streaming through the curtains told me I’d slept the morning away. It had to be early afternoon.

After a quick shower and a fresh change of clothes, I padded to the kitchen to make my breakfast. There wasn’t much in the way of food, but I wasn’t exactly hungry. I opted for a simple blended fruit shake of blueberries, milk, and ice. As I downed the drink, I couldn’t help but recall the Count didn’t seem to be a big eater. In fact, he seemed to drink a lot of liquid, especially his unusually thick, red wine.

“Focus, Kass,” I grumbled at myself.

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