Chapter 6

Jonah stepped from Noelle's vehicle, careful not to jostle his aching body. He stared at the walkway to her immaculate light-gray one-story bungalow in a residential area of Savannah, wondering if he had the energy to make it into the house. The attack had aggravated his previous injuries and added more to the list. Those would heal. It was the fear that had dug its teeth in and refused to let go.

For the past two hours, he'd only heard half of what the EGA ladies had discussed, but he'd gotten the gist of their decision. Whether he wanted it or not—which deep down, he did—he had a bodyguard twenty-four seven. And the most determined women on the planet digging into Ken's crime. The whole situation added a layer of helplessness to his already sour mood.

Noelle rounded the car. "I'd like to get you inside as soon as possible." She made a quick scan of the neighborhood. "I'm ninety-nine percent positive that no one followed us, but I'll feel better once you're tucked inside."

"Got it." Jonah had a strong desire to curse at Ken for throwing away his career and reputation along with putting Jonah in danger, but what good would that do?

He trudged up the walkway edged by a well-groomed yard. It seemed like everything Noelle owned had a pristine look. Unlike himself and his chaotic life. Why would now be any different?

Noelle unlocked the door and turned off the security system. He followed her in, and she locked the door and reengaged the alarm. A typical behavior for her. He saw it every time he visited.

Jonah slipped off his shoes by the entrance and placed them neatly next to the wall. He laid Ken's planner on the kitchen table to his left, then pointed to the duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. "I'll go put this in the extra bedroom."

Without waiting on an answer, he trudged down the hall to the first bedroom on the right. He knew the house well thanks to his caregiving during her concussion. Plus, he'd spent many evenings here over the last ten months, chilling with her. Something about her house—maybe the soothing pale-green walls—relaxed him. Or it might be the company and have nothing to do with the interior design.

He placed the duffel on the white queen-sized comforter and stared out the bedroom window. A shiver ran down his spine. He grabbed the curtains and yanked them closed. His heart raced. The bruises on his neck chose that moment to throb. His fingers brushed the tender skin. He had to get a grip. Shaking off the dark path his thoughts chose to travel, he eyed the dresser and considered the bathroom at the end of the hall. No, he'd unpack his clothes and toiletries later. Sorry, Noelle, I just don't have it in me right now. He spun on his heels and returned to the living room.

"Hungry?" Noelle stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.

"Maybe a little." He sounded like a sulky child. But at the moment, he didn't care.

"I had a gallon-size bag of homemade chicken noodle soup in the freezer. I dumped it into the pot and added a little more broth. It'll help it thaw faster." She tapped the spoon on the edge of the pan and placed it on the small plate next to the stove. "I figured it would be the easiest thing for you to swallow."

His throat had contusions inside and out. The soup sounded perfect. "Thanks. I'm sure you're right." Jonah collapsed on the couch and closed his eyes. How had his life gone from good to a disaster in a matter of hours?

"I'll give you until after dinner to sulk. Then you have to snap out of it."

He grabbed the throw pillow, held it to his chest, and rested his chin on it. "Fine." He heard her chuckle.

Dishes and silverware rattled in the kitchen. A few minutes later, Noelle strode in and plopped down beside him. "What's going on inside that head of yours?"

His gaze met hers. "Other than someone tried to kill me at least twice?"

"Remember, you survived. That counts for a lot. And if Alana, Juliette, and I have anything to say about it, we'll get to the bottom of whatever this is and keep you safe."

"I appreciate that." Jonah clasped her hand. The softness of her skin belied the tough bodyguard he'd witnessed in action over the past year. His gaze traveled to her eyes—a blue so bright that it reminded him of the clear waters off the coast of Jamaica. How had he not noticed before? "I trust you."

Noelle stared at their connected hands, then up at him. "I…um…thanks."

Time to confess that he'd zoned out at the office. "I have to admit, I didn't pay attention at EGA. What's the plan?"

The smile that graced her face sent a flutter loose in his belly. "When you didn't complain, I had a feeling you weren't listening."

"Oh boy, maybe I should have concentrated on what y'all discussed."

"It's not that bad." She squeezed his hand. "You're staying here since my security is top-of-the-line. Alana and Juliette will take turns monitoring the perimeter at night while I sleep. I'll take the day shift. If I need to go somewhere, one of the others will step in."

He narrowed his gaze. "So you're going to be my shadow? Everywhere?"

"I'm not going to follow you into autopsy or be always on your heels. You can go about your day as normal. If you need privacy in your office, I'll stay in the hallway. But I won't be far if you need me."

He returned the pressure on her fingers. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She rested her head on the back of the couch and gave him a lazy smile. "Dinner will take thirty minutes or so. Would you like to rest first or take a look at Ken's planner?"

Rest sounded wonderful, but figuring out what had put him in the line of danger held a sense of urgency. "Let's dive into the planner while we wait for the soup to heat."

"Stay here. I'll go get it." She retrieved the bound calendar and returned to her seat.

Jonah scooted to an upright position and accepted the planner from her.

She shifted closer and peered over his arm.

"He didn't tell me when he started falsifying reports, but his wife died a few months ago. I'm thinking we should flip back to a few months before she died and see if anything stands out. If not, we continue to work backward."

"I agree. It gives us a jumping off point."

He turned the book to February. Jonah sucked in a breath, unprepared for his reaction to Ken's handwriting. "It's hard to believe he's gone."

Noelle stayed silent while he pulled himself together.

Meetings filled several dates during February, along with Ken's autopsy schedule. Plus, a couple of doctor's appointments were thrown in. Jonah changed the angle to read the haphazard writing. Something about the notes scribbled in the margins gave him pause.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." Jonah pointed to the numbers. "They aren't case numbers. Or at least, I don't think so."

She tapped one of the notations. "They're too long and not the right coding for police reports."

"There's two here." He flipped to January. "One here."

"Check the other months."

He looked through the planner, focusing on the notes in the margin. After discovering one or two each month, Jonah lifted his gaze to Noelle. "What do you think?"

"Looks like we found a possible connection. But we'll have to figure out what the numbers mean to confirm that suspicion." The timer went off in the kitchen. "Soup's done. Bring the planner, let's eat."

Noelle left him sitting on the couch.

The savory aroma reminded him of his childhood home. His mother hadn't been able to cook anything edible, but his father could have outcooked the best five-star-restaurant chef any day.

He stood and ambled to the kitchen table, mulling over the codes in his head. "So, instead of figuring out what the numbers mean, since it's giving me a headache, what about working on where to find the information we need?"

"You knew Ken best." She stirred the soup, then ladled some into two bowls.

"I thought I did." He ran a hand through his hair. "But apparently not as well as I believed."

"Don't do that. You and Ken were friends. Sometimes people don't want to burden their friends with the depressing parts of their lives." Noelle set the bowls on the table along with spoons and napkins.

"Isn't that what friendship is? Standing beside each other in good and bad?" Jonah picked up his spoon but didn't break eye contact with her.

She arched an eyebrow. "We're friends, right?"

"Good ones."

"We don't have secrets? Things we haven't told each other?"

He studied her for a moment. Oh, they both had hidden events in their pasts that neither wanted to share. "You have a point."

"The Ken I knew was a good guy. He probably got in over his head and didn't want to bring you into his troubles."

"In the end…he did." Stage two of grief had hit Jonah. He was angry with Ken and wanted to rail on the man for being stupid. Ugh. Only three more stages to go. Assuming he didn't get stuck in one.

For the next several minutes, they ate in companionable silence. He, lost in his thoughts; Noelle—he had no idea where her brain had gone, but by the look in her eyes, somewhere dark.

After placing her spoon next to her bowl, she clasped her hands on the table. "Where would Ken hide documents?"

"I have no idea."

"Yes, you do. Think. If he had information that he had no intention of sharing but wanted to keep for security purposes, where would he put it?"

The impossible question rolled around in his brain. He knew Noelle hadn't asked to be cruel. She was convinced that Jonah had the ability to figure it out. "His desk drawers are out. Too obvious and too neat to hide anything. I'd say maybe his file cabinet but in disguise. Like hiding in plain sight."

"That's a good possibility. Keep going."

He scratched the scruff on his jaw. "If it were me, I'd have a backup. A flash drive or something small. Maybe both documents and an electronic record."

"Now we're getting somewhere." She rubbed her hands together.

He pushed the remnants of his dinner away and slid the planner in front of him. The concept of the files tucked in with paper reports and a flash drive hidden in Ken's office took hold. "I'd like to search his belongings tomorrow, if that's okay."

"Sounds like a solid plan." Noelle cleared the table and quickly cleaned the kitchen.

"Thanks, Elle."

She shifted to face him. "That's what I'm here for—to help."

He nodded. "If it's okay with you, I'm going to shower and get comfortable for the evening."

"Go ahead. While you do that, I'll head to my office. The one next to the guest room. I'd like to work for a while before heading to bed."

He closed Ken's planner and tucked it under his arm. "I'll join you when I'm done." Once in his bedroom, Jonah placed the book on the dresser and gathered his clothes.

Had they really found the clue needed to solve the mystery behind Ken's deception?

If not, how many more attempts on his life could he live through?

* * *

The notes and photos of cold cases pinned to one of the office walls weighed on Noelle. She'd examined each case in detail over the past year, and if the answer lay in the information in front of her, she hadn't found it. But it was in there—somewhere. It had to be. She refused to let a serial killer go free when she had the ability to stop him.

At least she and Jonah had something to go on with Ken's case. They might not have figured out what the numbers meant yet, but she'd bet they were closer to an answer with those than she was with the ten murders staring back at her.

She rested her hip on the corner of the small desk near the window and studied the board from a different angle.

The pictures of the cuts on her upper arms and chest caught her eye, taunting her. Her investigation into the serial killer included her own living nightmare. As the only survivor, the officers had redacted her name from the reports to prevent her identity from leaking to the public. The images in the file had no identifying features to reveal her as the victim, but Noelle knew, along with a select few detectives who'd since retired. And that's all that mattered.

She rubbed the scars on her arms through her blouse, wishing, not for the first time, for the ability to go back and make a different decision.

"Hey. Still working on those cold cases?" Jonah leaned against the doorjamb.

Tousled wet hair hung limp at his temples. He'd changed into comfortable sweats and a T-shirt. He looked more relaxed after his shower. The smell of his citrus soap drifted across the room—an aroma uniquely Jonah.

"What can I say? I'm determined."

Jonah joined her in front of her murder wall and crossed his arms. "Have you discovered anything new?"

Many nights she and Jonah had sat on the loveseat that butted up against the opposite wall, bouncing ideas off each other. She'd never explained her interest in the cold cases or this particular serial killer. Jonah knew she held a secret, but he hadn't pushed her to reveal it. Something she appreciated.

"Not much." Noelle narrowed her gaze and examined him. He'd relaxed, but the day had taken its toll. She took pity on him and motioned to the loveseat. "Let's sit down."

Without complaint, he eased himself onto the small couch. After she joined him, he tilted his head. "Thanks. Now, run it down for me."

"Are you sure you want to do this tonight?" The man had experienced the taste of death. She had no desire to push him into a trigger.

He nodded. "I want to help. This"—he motioned to the photos—"seems important to you. We've discussed these before, but give me a rundown again."

Might as well let him a little farther into her world—at least the basics. She sighed. "As you know, I've taken an interest in these cases. You may or may not have figured it out yet, but they're all the work of a serial killer. The last case dates to eight years ago."

He pointed to the photos of her on the wall. "And the first? How long?"

Her pulse rate spiked. When they'd talked before and she'd pored over the documents, he'd been her sounding board, nothing more. "Fifteen years." She gripped her own hand hard enough to hurt.

Jonah shifted in his seat and wormed his fingers between her clutched hands. "All eleven of the other cases have names and pictures of the women. Why not the first one?"

Air refused to fill her lungs. Why had she thought Jonah wouldn't eventually ask? A stupid move on her part. She stared at the gruesome image of her cut flesh and chewed on the inside of her lips. Did she tell him?

"Elle, look at me."

Her gaze drifted to his.

"I've never asked, and you don't have to say anything. But I'd love it if you'd trust me."

His brown eyes held a depth of compassion that sent a rush of tears to the surface. "I…um…" She'd never told anyone except the detectives investigating the crime. Of course, her parents and her therapist knew, plus she'd told Lizzie the basics, but she'd always glossed over the details to everyone but the police officers. Could she reveal the ugly scars of her past—emotional as well as physical? She inhaled. "This serial killer is personal."

"You know the first victim?"

A humorless laugh escaped. "Know? Oh yeah, I know her."

"Who is it?" Jonah waited for her response, not rushing her.

Every cell in her being screamed at her to stay quiet. But this was Jonah. The man she'd shared more with in the past ten months than she'd shared with anyone else in her life. She blew out a long breath and steeled her spine. "It's me."

His eyes widened, but the silence in the room lingered.

A two-year-old required to sit still had nothing on Noelle. She forced herself to stay seated, but the lack of reaction gnawed at her. "Please, say something."

"But you're here. Not dead." He waved a hand at the wall.

That's what he'd taken away from her confession? "By a freak accident, I escaped." More like a gift from God.

He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. "I'd like to hear about it, if you're willing to share."

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. Sharing with him might be the hardest thing she'd ever done. Was she willing to chance his disgust once he knew the truth? "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"You've always fascinated me, but now…" He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. His palm brushed along her jawline before he reclaimed her hands. "Yes, I want to know. Besides, I have a feeling you haven't talked about it since it happened. I'd be honored if you told me everything."

His touch sent tingles racing over her skin. What would it be like to feel his caress as more than a friend? The black hole in her stomach grew. She'd never have a romantic relationship with him or anyone, but Jonah deserved to know the truth about her past.

Mind made up, she took three long breaths, then faced him. "It's not pretty."

"I've seen the photos and heard you talk about the reports. I don't expect it to be." His hands remained wrapped around hers.

She cleared her throat. "I was seventeen at the time. I loved hanging out with my friends. It was a Friday evening, and we'd gone to the local mall. Time got away from us. Before we knew it, it had gotten dark outside. My friends had parked on the other side of the mall. I told them goodbye and headed to my car. The minute I left the store, my internal warning bells went off."

"But you didn't listen to them," Jonah stated.

"Exactly." She slipped her left hand out from under his and rubbed the scars on her upper arm through her shirt. "I've never made that mistake again."

"I imagine not." He gave her a sad smile.

"I headed for my car. I was two steps away—almost to safety?—when a hand closed over my mouth and a needle jabbed into my neck. I tried to fight, but by then it was too late." Her body shook and tears dripped from her chin.

Jonah wiped the wetness from her face with his thumb. "Easy, Elle."

The simple touch calmed her—kept her grounded in the moment. She sucked in a breath. "When I woke up, he had me strapped to a chair with a plastic tarp spread out underneath me. At first it didn't dawn on me why the floor was covered. The drugs hadn't left my system yet. Once the haze wore off, the reality of my situation hit hard. I panicked. I struggled against the restraints, but it was worthless." Her heart rate spiked to stroke level.

"You can stop if it gets to be too much." Jonah's soft tone held so much empathy she about turned into a blubbering mess.

She glanced down at their hands and took a deep breath, settling her pulse. "No. You need to know."

"I'm listening."

"Let's just say that over the next four days, the man who'd abducted me used his fists and enjoyed using a knife." She pointed to the pictures on the wall. Each victim had cuts on their upper arms and across the upper part of their chests.

Jonah's teeth clenched, and his jaw twitched.

Noelle recognized the signs of the man barely holding his temper in check. She appreciated his anger on her behalf. "Fast-forward to the day I escaped. My assailant had a thing about bodily waste. Not that he fed me, but he made sure I had enough water to keep me alive. He'd allow me to use the restroom three times a day, and if I didn't hold it, let's just say he wasn't happy about it." She waved off the stray thought. "Anyway, on that day, a noise caught his attention before he finished securing me to the chair. He rushed from the room. It gave me the opportunity to work free."

"Do you know what the sound was?"

She shook her head. "No. But I didn't care. I staggered to a door on the opposite side of the room from where he'd exited and prayed it led to the outside. It did. I was barefoot, half naked, but I didn't care. I ran as fast and far as my abused body allowed. I ended up at an old farmhouse. An elderly couple took me in, wrapped me in a blanket, and called 911."

"And since you're looking into the cases, I'm assuming the guy got away."

"Correct. I had no idea where he'd held me, and by the time the police interviewed me, my brain had shut down to protect me. I knew what had happened, but the details, like his face or his location, my mind had wiped from my memory."

"And today?"

She sighed. "It's still gone. After enough time had passed, my therapist told me that I'd probably never remember."

The crease in Jonah's forehead deepened. "Did the guy ever try to get to you again?"

"Until about eight or nine years ago, I sensed someone watching me. Needless to say, I became fanatical with my safety. But no. He never tried to abduct me again."

Jonah's gaze went to the pictures. "No one before you?"

"Not that I can find. But who knows?"

"And the one eight years ago was his last?"

"Looks that way. I checked over the next year or so and didn't find any cases that matched." And she lived in fear on the daily that he might return.

"Any idea what happened to cause him to stop?"

She paused to think over his question. The last thing she wanted was to give him a flippant answer. "The only things I can think of are, number one, he's in prison for an unrelated crime; two, he's dead; or three, he moved from the area. However, the last one is unlikely since I have contacts all over the United States and would know if a similar crime had been committed around that timeframe."

"Could he have just stopped killing?"

She shook her head. "Highly unlikely. People like him don't up and quit without a life-altering reason."

"Yeah, I assumed that, but a guy could hope, right?" He shrugged.

Even with her raw emotions and nausea swirling in her belly, she smiled at Jonah's comment.

He released her and ran his hand down her arm.

She flinched and jerked away, the memories too fresh.

"Elle?"

"Sorry. I…why don't we get some rest and start fresh in the morning searching Ken's office."

His shoulders sagged. She knew she'd hurt his feelings, but his touch—what would it be like to lean into him? Have his arms around her? Kiss him? Have a relationship with him? All the things she wanted and could never have with anyone. Not even Jonah, her best friend. Her psyche was too broken. Her body too damaged. The killer had robbed her of any possibility of a normal future.

She shook herself off the dark path of regrets her thoughts had taken her down before the emotions overwhelmed her. She stood and held out her hand to help him up. "I called Raven when you went to get your shower. She's picking up several changes of clothes for you and your mail, then plans to drop them off in the morning. She also promised to visit your house often to feed and pet Samson. Raven knows how special he is to you. She'll take good care of him."

He accepted her gesture and pushed to his feet. "Please thank her for me if I don't see her. And Elle, thank you for telling me about your past."

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. "I'll see you in the morning." Without another word, she rushed from the room, leaving Jonah alone in her office. Retelling her story had opened old wounds, the events vivid and alive in her mind like they'd just happened. Her skin crawled at the recollection of her experience, making her want to take a shower and scrub away the memories.

Moments later, standing under the stream of hot water, she rested her head on the cold tile. Sobs tore through her until she had no more strength to hold herself upright. She slid to the floor and hugged her knees.

God, why?

She'd asked that question every day since the madman had left her scarred and damaged.

Taking a cleansing breath, she picked herself up off the shower floor. She'd shed enough tears over her painful past for the night. Time to let go of what she couldn't change—for now. But her memories would return with a vengeance when she least expected. It always happened, no matter how hard she tried to move on.

She glanced at her arms and sighed. She wanted a future that included a husband and maybe even children. Her closeness with Jonah had caused her desires to resurface, but knowing her arms and chest would repulse Jonah, or any man for that matter, she had to stuff her dream back where it belonged—in the not-going-to-happen column of her life.