Page 59 of Mountain Man Daddy

“Lydia?”

Prescott looked forward again.

“Don’t play dumb, Michael. I know you better than you know yourself. You keep her with you. Victim number one. Your first failure.”

Mike swallowed, his throat tight. He did know. He knew well.

“I was a good sweet boy, Michael. The psychiatrists loved me, so did the nurses and social workers at the institution. I managed to get the information I needed out of them. I kept tabs on you and our sister your whole lives.” Prescott spun his glass and the amber liquid swirled.

“Lydia didn’t make it. She started at sixteen, drugs, prostitution, pregnancies. I had to kill her. It was like our mother all over again. She would’ve only ended up hurting those kids—our nieces and nephew. And after her, I found as many as I could. I had to save those children, too.”

Mike swore and threw back the scotch that sat in front of him. Prescott sipped his slowly.

“I shouldn’t have killed Ella though. I wouldn’t have if I’d known they’d suspect you. And if I’d known you’d walk away.”

“You killed my wife?” Mike’s heart froze, and his breath stuck until Prescott looked at him again. Mike’s jaw tightened and his hand fisted at his side. She hadn’t deserved to die. Grief swallowed him for several minutes until Prescott spoke.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” He turned to the officers at the door. “You hear that, boys? I killed Ella Hunter.”

Mike grabbed his jacket and yanked him back around to face him.

“She didn’t deserve to fucking die.” His words came out with rage. “I just wanted her to be happy. She could have been happy with Mark.” He let Prescott go, and his arm fell to his side.

“I know that now,” he said softly, finishing off his drink and setting down his glass. “You need to save me, Michael.”

“Save you? Why the fuck would I save you?” Emotion was thick and suffocating in his throat. He couldn’t wrap his mind around any of it, but he wanted nothing more than to put the barrel of his gun against Prescott’s skull and pull the trigger.

“It was no longer about protecting them or us anymore. It was about pain. I knew that as soon as I’d killed Lydia. I enjoyed her anguish. And later, I wanted those women to suffer. I fed off their torment. That’s wrong, Michael. It must have been why I made sure you were on the case. You were always meant to save me.” He reached out to touch Mike’s shoulder, looking him in the eye, a spark of light coming to his expression. “I need you to kill me. I need you to save me like I saved you.”

“No fucking way. I want you to rot in prison the rest of your life knowing I wouldn’t give this to you too.”

“You disappoint me, Michael.” He shook his head, gathered a breath and spun on his barstool. As soon as he started to rise and he reached into his jacket, someone yelled “gun!” Mike dropped to the floor. Shots fired. Mike’s feet shoved off the baseboard of the bar, shooting him toward the middle of the room. Pulling out his Glock, he pointed it at Prescott, who lay on the floor facing him. Blood foamed at his lips, and his eyes stared blankly. It was over. It was finally over.

Suicide by cop.

* * *

Avery dreamed of Rocky and her sweet mountain man daddy, but then Prescott tore his way into her dreams and twisted them. She woke and bolted up with a start when her nightmare had Prescott killing both Rocky and Mike on the side of the mountain.

She shivered in the cold, dark room. It was inky black, and the quiet felt unnatural. She shoved the blankets aside and blindly walked to the main room. The fire was out, all but a slight glow in the coal and ash below. She opened the door and piled more wood in, then wandered to the window, hugging herself, wondering where Mike was and if he was safe. In the dim light of the moon, she saw Rocky’s bed and swallowed the thick emotion welling in her throat. Her eyes went to the chopping block next. That’s where she’d attempted to play with the bear. They hadn’t really bonded until he followed her though.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself and shivered. She was about to head back to the warmth of the bed and wait for Mike when she remembered Officer Riley. Her brow wrinkled, and she looked to the bathroom. The door was open, and there was nowhere else inside the cabin that he could be, so she scanned the property. Something flashed in the wooded area down the mountain, and she squinted to get a better look. Fumbling through Mike’s coat, she found the binoculars.

It was too dark to see much until a cloud broke open, exposing the moon. That’s when she saw Alex. What did he want? And seriously, where the hell was Riley? She watched Alex approaching the cabin, a glint of silver in his right hand and a beam of light in his left. He was staying to the sides of the brush to keep hidden. The door was unlocked, so she lunged for it, locking it tight, then ran for the cell in the bedroom.

With the phone in her hands, she went back to the living room, wondering who to call. Mike had the work phone, but she didn’t have the number. She didn’t know the address of the cabin if she dialed nine-one-one. But she found herself wondering whether she needed the police in the first place. Would Alex really hurt her? They’d lived together, been intimate, and shared a life. Her hands trembled as the image of him shot in the bed of his apartment. All the blood, her horror, and her tears. The betrayal.

Avery stilled her shaking hands and drew in a deep breath. He might be an asshole, but Alex was nothing like Prescott. He didn’t have the same kind of motivations. Alex was greedy and a liar, but not a murderer. She could handle him.

Her eyes darted around the room, and she quickly went to the cellar hatch. She couldn’t see Alex any longer with the moon hidden by another cloud, but she knew what to do. She twisted the latch and let the door fall open into the hole. She yanked the ladder up and dragged it into the bedroom. When she came back, she pulled the rug back over the hole. It was a sturdy little rug and didn’t show any dips where the floor fell away, at least not enough to notice in the dimly lit cabin.

She quickly unlocked the door and went back to the kitchen. She stood in the corner where the small, L-shaped counters met, pressing her belly tightly against it, fiddling with the kettle, knowing the clearest path to her was over that rug. She heard the gentle shuffling of someone climbing the porch stairs and the squeak of the doorknob. She wondered if Riley was lying in wait somewhere. It was a comfort thinking he was, but her gut said she was on her own.

“Mouse.” His voice was still full of charisma and charm, but now it made her shiver. She spun slowly, keeping herself tight into the counter corner—like a trapped mouse. “What are you doing up?”

“Alex.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I have a better question. What are you doing alive?” She moved her hand slowly behind her, enough for him to catch the movement but for him to think she hadn’t wanted him to.

“Stop moving, mouse.” He held up his hands and gave her a half smile that made his dimple stand out. It was a smile that had once made her heart patter. “I’m not going to hurt you. I love you.”Liar.She swallowed the urge to laugh sardonically at his bullshit and relaxed her shoulders a bit instead. She bit her lip, hopefully looking like the insecure, smitten girl she once was.

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