Page 122 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The place wasn’t unused, that much was certain. Just uncared for. It smelled of dust and mildew and smoke, probably from the ashes left in the crumbling brick fireplace. The curtains were old and faded, and not one picture adorned the dingy walls.

He was supposed to believe that Kelly Montgomery, pampered and spoiled princess, was living here, driving to a job from here?

No way.

No damned way.

He walked to the desk, where a dusty phone/answering machine sat, red light blinking, next to a picture of Caitlyn’s little girl, Jamie. Kelly’s one nod to her family? Or something else? He sensed that there were more layers here than were first visible. Something he was missing. He’d had the feeling for sometime, but it had intensified during the past few days and then last night . . . Jesus, what had he been thinking?

You weren’t. You let your dick do all your thinking last night.

Disgusted with himself, he pressed the play button on the answering machine and waited while the tape rewound, then heard Caitlyn’s voice leaving a message, the message she’d left from her house last night. While he was there with her. Then he heard his own voice identifying himself and asking Kelly to return his call.

His jaw slid to one side.

Hearing his own voice seemed eerily out of sync. Warped.

In a second of paranoia, he swept his gaze over the walls and ceiling, half expecting to find some sort of tiny camera or bugging device, as if he’d been lured here and then was going to be photographed and studied. But why? What the hell was going on here?

Fleetingly, he remembered the night before and mentally kicked himself from one side of Georgia to the other. How had he let himself get so carried away; how had he ended up making love to her? He frowned at his duplicity. He’d risked everything. His profession. His honor. His beliefs. His damned marriage, such as it was. All for a quick roll in the hay. Absently, he rubbed the ring finger on his left hand and noticed the indentation, still visible though he hadn’t worn his band for a long time. How had he allowed himself to get so carried away?

Because the woman got to you. Intrigued you. Face it, you’re falling for her. She’s an enigma, Hunt, and that’s what you like, what you’ve always been attracted to. Think of Rebecca. Another flighty, fascinating woman who caused you a few hours of joy and years of grief. That’s what had started it all, his need to find Rebecca, and he’d discovered another woman, one far more complicated, one perhaps more emotionally dangerous.

He didn’t want to think he was so twisted around by a woman, any woman, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that both Rebecca and Caitlyn were more than they first appeared and were, in that sense, perhaps like each other.

Eyeing the surroundings, he walked through the sparse rooms. Leather couch, coffee table, dusty television. A bedroom with an antique iron bed and an old quilt, the bathroom stocked with the bare essentials, a bar of soap, tube of toothpaste, near empty bottle of shampoo and small box of tampons. One set of towels. The kitchen wasn’t much better. Three bottles of Diet Coke and a bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator, an unopened bag of corn chips, one can of tuna and a jar of peanut butter with one finger scoop removed. A roll of paper towels and one set of mismatched dishes that would serve four if stretched. The flatware was odds and ends that looked as if they’d been picked up at garage sales or secondhand stores. Certainly not the kind of place one would expect an heir to a damned Southern fortune to call home.

No one called this place home.

Except for the rats, snakes and termites he figured slithered and crawled around the foundation or burrowed in the closets. The little house looked like a place teenagers would break into and claim as a secret gathering place—excep

t there were no beer bottles or trash to be found. Not one speck of garbage.

He walked to the desk and opened the drawer. Not much inside, just a few pictures . . . all of members of the Montgomery family. So someone came here. Someone associated with Caitlyn. He looked around one last time and slipped out the way he’d come. He’d found nothing of consequence and certainly nothing to help him in his quest to find Rebecca.

If push came to shove, he’d go to the police. He’d have to. And endure their skeptical looks and disbelief when he explained about her.

In the meantime, there was Caitlyn. Beautiful, puzzling Caitlyn. What the hell was he going to do about her?

Sugar opened a bleary eye. It was dark and she was lying in a bed . . . but not her bed, not in her bedroom. Music was playing faintly. A song she should recall. What was it? Had she heard it in the club?

Lookin’ like a tramp

Why couldn’t she move? Couldn’t think straight.

Like a video vamp.

Def Leppard. That was it and the song, “Pour Some Sugar On Me,” or something like that. What the hell was going on? She squinted, tried to think clearly. The only light came from moonlight filtering through the windows, lots of windows with lacy curtains. The bed was soft, and there was the scent of honeysuckle drifting in through the lacy curtains billowing at the windows. She was lying on her back, naked . . . wait a minute . . . she couldn’t move and her mind wasn’t working right; the images were blurry, as if she were on a bad LSD trip. She tried to roll over but couldn’t, finally realizing that she’d been bound. She was tied to the bedposts, her legs spread-eagled, her arms pulled tight to one post over her head.

What the hell?

She shifted and realized with mind-numbing fear that she wasn’t alone. Shit! She turned her head and saw her sister. Christ! Sugar jumped. Her bonds didn’t move. Cricket, too, was naked, lying on her back, her head twisted to one side so she stared blankly at Sugar. All over Cricket’s body were little reddish pockmarks, stings or pimples or bites . . .

Sugar tried to let out a scream, but no sound came from her throat. She tried to strain and buck, but she didn’t move. She’d been drugged for certain. She heard a movement, looked down to the foot of her bed and recognized her captor. All hope sank as she stared into the condemning eyes.

“So you’re awake. We, your slut of a sister and I, have been waiting. Do you know who I am?”

Of course I do, you bitch!

---