Page 79 of Ice Cold Christmas
They always called the sheriff’s office for estate business because it was outside of the city’s jurisdiction. The local sheriff—the previous guy, Sheriff Tom Jenkins—had been running the county for years. After his death, fresh blood had finally come in the form of Jamal Wroth. Victor liked Jamal. Respected him. A former Green Beret, Jamal didn’t stand for BS. Unlike the previous holder of his position… “The old sheriff took down a report.” There had even been references to pictures in the report. Where in the hell are the pictures? They weren’t in the file Victor had. “But from what I can tell, no charges were filed. Sheriff Jenkins kept the details private.” If Tom Jenkins blackmailed Sebastian, he probably blackmailed Brant’s family, too.
“Her ex beat Melody when she was a teen? She never told you about this?”
A person’s pain was private. You don’t…Her smile flashed in his mind. That wide smile. The dimple in her cheek. “She never said a word.” But she’d opened two shelters for abused women and children. He’d hadn’t asked Melody why she’d done that. He’d just thought, hell, he’d thought that she had a big heart. That she liked to help people.
Now he realized that she’d probably opened those shelters because she knew what it was like to be a victim.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Hunter ordered him.
Oh, that was easy. “I’m thinking Brant McKee is a dead man.” The prick just didn’t know it yet.
“Victor. Dammit, I was afraid of that. You can’t just go after and kill the lead candidate for attorney general in Maryland! We can leak the file you have, all right? We can wreck his life. Working with Declan Flynn, I’ve learned that there are a thousand ways to destroy a person. But you don’t get to murder someone. Repeat after me, ‘We do not murder?—’”
“The sheriff who originally investigated is dead,” Victor snapped. The piece of shit who should have locked Brant away. Who should have protected Melody. And what about her father? Why the hell didn’t Sebastian help her? Why didn’t he punish Brant? Destroy him? “The photos showing what happened aren’t here. The vic who could tell the world what Brant did…” My Melody. “She was taken a year ago. Nearly killed. Call me crazy, but I’m seeing a fucking pattern here. All of this is happening as the SOB is revving up interest in his run for attorney general.” The election would be held the upcoming November.
“You think Brant is making his past disappear.”
His gaze lifted to the ceiling once more. There had been no sound from upstairs. “It’s a possibility.” A pause. “She won’t disappear again.”
“I know.”
“Even if Brant is not involved in her disappearance, that sonofabitch will pay.” Three broken ribs? What. The. Fuck? Three? And where was the medical report? There had been a notation of three broken ribs, but to know that information, then Melody must have seen a doctor.
There were no medical records in the file.
“You don’t just stop,” Hunter muttered. “Perps never do. You don’t abuse one girl, then treat the rest you meet with the utmost care for the rest of your life. That’s not the way those pieces of shit operate. You hurt someone once, you hurt other victims over and over again.”
Victor agreed. “There will be other victims.” Victims who had stayed silent. Probably because they were fucking terrified. Or maybe Brant had done something to ensure their silence. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Do you think anyone else close to the would-be attorney general has gone missing?” Because that would be one sick pattern.
“If so, we’ll find them.” Hunter seemed certain. “After all, that’s what the Ice Breakers do.”
Yeah, it was. It?—
“Victor!” Melody’s scream echoed through the house.
Chapter Twenty-One
She was cold and wet.
Something brushed against her cheek. So chilling. The icy touch of death.
I know this dream. No, I know this nightmare. It was all so familiar, because it just would not stop.
Her eyelashes fluttered. She stared straight up. Softness rained down on her. Softness. Cold. Snow.
Her breath shuddered out. A white cloud appeared before her mouth. And pain pierced through her body.
Her hands flew down, touching her stomach. It was wet. Not wet like snow, though, more…soaked. Her dress stuck to her skin and when she pulled at it, she felt the tear in the material. Her fingers lifted. She saw the red on her skin.
But…this time, she paused. Focused harder on the dress. A red dress. Like, a cocktail dress. Beautiful fabric. Soft. The dress was red in the white snow. And she was bleeding because something had sliced along her stomach.
He sliced me. He’d had a knife, and he’d been coming at her. But she’d gotten out of the ropes, and she’d lunged up. She’d rushed past him.
But the blade had sliced across her stomach.
Her head pounded. Throbbed over and over, and her blood-covered fingers rose to touch the left side of her head. Her head hurt because—he’d tackled her. They’d fallen in the cabin. And he’d taken the side of her head, and he’d rammed it into the floor. Once. Twice. Three times? She’d screamed and begged.
He hadn’t stopped.
