Page 64 of The Killer She Knew

“Doesn’t feel good, does it? Not being in control.” Hell, her voice sounded as though it’d been dragged over gravel. Along with the rest of her. Leigh pulled her feet under her, pressing to stand. Her own steadiness wouldn’t last long, but she’d make sure he paid for what he’d done. “Max Ford—or whoever the hell you are—you are under arrest for the murder of… a lot of people.”

“This isn’t over, Leigh. You of all people should know I don’t stop until I get what I want.” His laugh punctured through the haze chasing her down. Ford took that step forward. “And I want you.”

Every muscle down her spine clenched. She couldn’t win. Not against his size, his strength, his determination. Ford was going to get what he wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it. Fear coursed through her at the possibility the barbiturate had been measured for someone much smaller.

“She’s taken.” Dean fisted the bastard’s shirt and rocketed his fist into Ford’s face. Knocking the killer unconscious.

Seconds ticked by. A full minute?

Time had lost all meaning in this room.

Leigh studied Dean’s muscled back as he released his hold on the man he’d hunted for eighteen years. Right until her legs couldn’t support her any longer. She collapsed, letting the flood waters consume her lower half and earning herself Dean’s full attention. Without the threat of dying, she couldn’t rely on adrenaline to keep her going. It drained faster than it was supposed to. That couldn’t be normal, but there was nothing she could do about it now. The push and pull of water intensified around her. Her heart rate spiked as Dean took shape mere inches away, one arm pressed against his chest.

“Shit, little rabbit.” The endearment shouldn’t have soothed the frantic thoughts about being alone in the same room as him rushing to the front of her mind, but she couldn’t fight it either. Strong arms threaded under hers and around her back, hauling her against his chest. Body heat soaked through her clothing and drove deeper. Becoming part of her. “It’s over. I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

Over? Her head hit his arm. She had nothing left, and all Leigh wanted to do was succumb to the weight increasing in her body. Shot. He’d been shot. “You’re bleeding.”

“So are you.” They were moving. Leaving this flooded, dank room and Ford behind. Her feet dragged behind her, but he kept her against his ribcage with his uninjured arm. Dean had come for her. After all these years, he’d been telling the truth.She didn’t know what to do with that at the moment. “Only difference is I look good coated in blood.”

Her eyes grew heavy. The amphetamine was losing its hold on her nervous system. Blurring the exposed piping and electrical above her into wavy lines. All the while Dean was there, pulling her back into consciousness with his voice and the back-and-forth rocking of his body. “You make it sound… like it happens all the time.”

“This certainly isn’t the first,” he said.

Leigh wanted to ask what that meant. What he’d been doing all these years on the run. Where he’d been. If he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him. She wanted to know if he’d gotten married and had kids and lived a life while she’d been brought back to the past over and over by the secrets she’d kept. She wanted it all, but her body had other ideas. It was shutting down. Giving up on her. “Ford…”

Where was he? And what was it about her that drove the men around her to violence?

“Dean. Though I can see why you might be confused.” He looked at her then. He picked up his pace if the rocking sensation was any indication. Becoming more desperate. Not a good sign. “We’re almost there. Stay with me, Leigh.”

First named. It must be serious.

She didn’t have a chance to answer as darkness greeted her like a friend she couldn’t shake.

THIRTY-NINE

Durham, New Hampshire

Sunday, October 13

10:17 a.m.

Everything hurt, and she was dying.

The hurricane had finally released those stuck under the campus shelter in place. Forty-eight hours. Six bodies, including the two forensic techs Ford had shot. Durham PD was still working on pumping flood waters from the campus basement, but it’d been easy for them to get to the imposter’s body. The barbiturate she’d dosed him with and Dean’s fist had knocked him unconscious, although that hadn’t stopped Ford’s autonomic nervous system from trying to breathe face down in three feet of water. But it was over. The man they’d known as Ford—soon to be identified by DNA, dental, and prints—would never hurt anyone again. The medical examiner had a hell of a few weeks ahead of him. In the end, Durham PD would be able to close eleven open murder investigations, including Teshia Elborne’s.

Leigh dragged her legs over the side of the bed. Three days she’d been stuck in this hellhole with no indication of when they’d let her leave. Scratchy sheets, thin gowns, no showers, too many visitors. She couldn’t take it anymore.

She’d only made it a few steps toward the door before it swung inward.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Shock widened Ava’s eyes. Her adopted daughter pointed over Leigh’s shoulder. “Get back in that bed. Right now.”

“You realize I’m the mother in this scenario, right?” As much as she hated being forced to sustain pokes, prodding, painkillers, and fake smiles from the staff, Leigh couldn’t hate Ava’s need to help. To stay close. With the case closed, they finally had the time together they deserved. And all the takeout they could stomach. Residual pain throbbed in her joints and wrists. And her face. Oh, and the strangulation bruises around her throat. She turned back for the bed. Making it out of this room might’ve been too lofty a goal, even with three days of fluids to counter the drugs Ford had dosed her with. Her hands planted on the mattress. She really didn’t want to get back in the bed. “I’m supposed to be the one to tell you what to do.”

“You can’t take care of me if you don’t take care of yourself.” Ava closed the distance between them, setting the grocery bag in hand on the side table. Unpacking the small white containers, she tossed a pair of chopsticks on the bed. “Bed. Now.”

“Listen here, warden. I’ve survived worse than torture.” Though she couldn’t give an example right now. And she didn’t owe a fifteen-year-old anything but a roof over her head, three meals a day, clothes, an education, and unconditional love. All of which was on the verge of being taken away if Leigh didn’t get out of this room.

“Don’t make me get Grandpa and Uncle Chandler.” Ava pointed a black plastic fork at Leigh’s face.

---