Page 54 of Mountain Man Daddy

“You just look like you’re heading out for a date, not to murder some poor innocent woman.” She shook her head as if the mere movement could rid her of his image.

“Innocent?” he snorted. “My victims are never innocent.”

“I am. You’re crazy.”

He laughed a belly laugh that curdled her stomach.

“It is a date of sorts though, and I think mental instability is a given with most serial murderers, no?” His amused expression fell away, and he looked at her seriously. “And are youreallythat innocent?”

She pulled in a swift breath, and her eyes stung, so she looked to her lap. Maybe Henry was right, but before she could think any further on it, he flew at her. The rapid movement was so unlike him that she screamed in alarm. His civility was merely a mask to the beast within. His hand clasped around her jaw and squeezed tightly. She squeaked in fear at the cold hatred in his dark eyes.

“Do you know what else besides mental instability should be a given, my sweet? Respecting the man that could snuff you out on a whim.” His words were forced through clenched teeth, and spittle sprayed from his mouth, landing on her cheek.

“You obviously feel very strongly for Mike,” she answered as calmly as she could, pretending fear wasn’t shredding her insides. “Because of that, I don’t think you willsnuff me out.” Her eyes tightened in pain as he strengthened his grip, but she refused to show alarm. She tasted blood where her cheeks mashed against her teeth and split. “If you kill me, he’ll be lost to you forever.” His eyes slivered.

“Once he’s back into hunting mode, he’ll chase me to the ends of the earth to avenge your death. He’ll never give up.” He leaned his face so close to hers she could feel his minty breath against her face. “He won’t stop until he takes his last breath or I take mine. You don’t see it, but I do. It’s rare these days, but yours is a love he’d gladly die for.” His fingers squeezed her jaw harder once again, and tears sprang to her eyes. “It wasn’t my plan to kill you, Avery, but I’m highly adaptable so don’t fucking tempt me.”

“Okay,please!” she whimpered. Her mind whirled as she attempted to keep calm and logical. She just wanted to keep him talking and there, but he was so unstable she couldn’t risk provoking him further. Her heart also flipped at his observation of Mike’s love for her.

“That’s better.” He smiled and released her face to pat her cheek sharply. “Now,” he said, straightening his jacket. “How do I look?” Avery swallowed the blood in her mouth and forced a small smile.Play nice, Avery, she told herself.

“Handsome.” She fought to keep from physically recoiling from him. There was truth to her statement, but knowing his inner ugliness made him repulsive to her. She couldn’t see him as anything but evil and revolting.

His smile widened slowly, and he winked at her. “I do love a fast learner.”

He turned again, this time lifting the keys and a set of license plates off the table. She saw a flash of them, but he kept them close to his body. XBN—excited being nobody, she memorized and struggled to read more. He started whistling again; this time when he got to the door, she called out.

“Why? Will you tell me why he’s so important to you?”

Prescott’s head cocked as he froze in the doorway. “And ruin the surprise?”

He turned and left without another word.

She waited, listening, attempting to quiet her thudding heart and erratic breathing. Had it been five minutes? He must have a car stashed somewhere, or maybe he planned on stealing one. She yanked on the ties around her wrist and hoped Mike found her in time. With the partial plate number, he might be able to catch Henry before he took his next victim. She hissed as the ties cut deeper into her skin, more blood seeping into the wood. She shut her eyes and imagined the woman who would wear ties just like her, knowing she wouldn’t be so deliberately cared for. The poor woman would die at the hands of a man who was somehow connected to the man she loved. Why was Henry so obsessed with Mike? She growled, trying to think.

Avery clasped her fingers tightly around the curved arms of the chair, squeezing to hold her arms steady then pressed her toes into the floor and hopped. She moved no more than a quarter of an inch, but it was a start. She jumped again, this time with more vigor, and then again.

She’d made it a foot and a half closer to the table when the door swung open. Henry stood there a moment shaking his finger at her. He’d been testing her? Her gut sank, and terror sprang to life within her. Would he kill her now?

“Tsk, tsk.” He walked to her, in his even-tempered way, stopping to pull a roll of antacids out of the plastic bag on the table. He took a moment to unroll them and fill his container. Then he opened a black duffle bag on the floor and pulled out a syringe. “I guess it’s nap time.” As soon as he pushed the plunger down emptying the syringe into her, Avery felt the effects and slumped, and before his back was out the door, everything went black.

* * *

By the time Mike had gotten his clearance and reinstatement back, Alex had disappeared, and Mike didn’t even care. Let the bastard run. He could deal with him later. Mike had much more important things to worry about. The local PD was ready to help in any way they could, so he had a temporary desk and computer access.

His heart clenched in his chest as he thought of Avery. Was she okay? Had Prescott hurt her? His chest burned as the many women Prescott had killed flashed in his mind, including the first one, Lydia. The one that he kept a picture of in his lockbox. All brunettes, all tall, all drug addicts, and all dead.

Mike seemed to slip seamlessly back into his role and googled ‘bars in Bathurst, NB,’ and several listings came up. Prescott usually picked up his vics in bars, and maybe that was an advantage. Bathurst was small, and most people didn’t have the money to spend much time in bars, so there weren’t many. He picked up the phone and called the new team commander in charge of Prescott’s case, Don Davies.

“He hasn’t killed since you left. He used to communicate with you via Skype, was it?” Davies’ voice sounded as if his larynx had been dragged down a gravel road and he breathed into the phone as if he were walking up a flight of stairs. He probably drank rotgut whiskey and smoked too much—probably spent too much time eating diner food and sleeping in his car, too. This might have been Mike had he continued working in the field. He wondered for a moment what the guy looked like, but didn’t linger on the thought. He needed the man to send him the files on Prescott and nothing more.

“Yeah, short video chats that bounced off hundreds of IP addresses around the world, completely untraceable.” The cop gave a snort that made Mike’s gut leaden. He knew the guy had knowledge of Mike’s past and had probably decided there was more to his relationship with Prescott than was evident, but Mike ignored him, ending the call as soon as he got what he needed. Avery was the most important thing, her and whoever Prescott chose to take as his next victim—not some vendetta he had to clear his name. He’d given that up when he’d disappeared into the mountains.

Prescott had spent most of his life in institutions with access to the internet, and he had a thirst for knowledge as well as a genius level IQ. Mike still didn’t understand why Prescott hadn’t taken anyone since Mike had left the RCMP. The news had completely stunned him, but it probably shouldn’t.

He’d long ago learned that Prescott cared more about getting under Mike’s skin than he did about the killing, he just hadn’t figured out why. The women were all hookers, addicts, and mothers. That made sense. Prescott’s own mother had been a beautiful brunette who had put herself and her need for her next high above all else.

She’d been seven months pregnant with her second child when she’d been shot and killed. Prescott had been ten years old at the time—found by the EMTs he’d called, a Saturday Night Special at his side, with only his prints all over it. He had planned his mother’s murder extensively; the investigators had found detailed journals. He told tales of the abuses he’d endured from various Johns, pimps, and drug dealers—most of it was for no other reason than their amusement.

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