Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The following evening, Tanner strode into Knox’s home office with Levi at his side. Tanner had received the telepathic summons from his Prime just as he and Devon were finishing dinner. He’d brought her with him to the mansion and left her in the living room with Harper and Asher, where the two females were now discussing the arrangements for the “Welcome to the Lair” party that Harper was insisting on throwing. It would also double as a “Congrats on Your Mating” celebration.

With the help of the other sentinels, he and Devon had moved her things into Tanner’s apartment after they got back from the sports bar. It was as they were unpacking her stuff that Finn had called, grumbling to her that he’d heard about the mating through the rumor mill rather than from Devon. He’d also passed on his congrats, though. Her brother, Spencer, had left her a congratulatory voicemail, but she’d heard nothing from Kaye—nor had Devon expected to.

She and Tanner had talked a lot the night before. They’d lay in bed exchanging stories from their childhood and divulging things that seemed easier to share in the dark. They’d also made each other come several times before falling into something close to a sexually-induced coma.

Knox tapped a few keyboard keys and then pushed out of his leather chair. “Close the door.”

Tanner did so and then crossed to the black U-shaped executive desk that looked smart with the high-tech computer and multiple monitors. Maybe the room should have seemed dreary with the flint-gray walls, but the contemporary geometric rug, backlit glass shelves, and three abstract art canvases of mechanical clockwork gave the space a lift.

“Larkin found some info on Muriel that I think will interest you both.” His footsteps muffled by the rug, Knox skirted the desk and came to stand in front of them. “We’re still finding it difficult to locate Foreman, but it’s only a matter of time before we do.”

Whether they found him alive or dead was a whole other matter.

“Three months ago,” Knox began, “Muriel was attacked in her home by a human. According to the police report, he drugged her drink at a club, followed her home, and then broke into her place. He sexually assaulted her, the bastard.”

Levi squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

“The drugs kept her close to paralyzed, but she was aware enough throughout the assault to give the police a thorough description of him,” Knox went on. “Two nights later, a male of that description was found dead in an alley. Someone sliced his dick off before stabbing him multiple times. The police questioned Muriel but later cleared her. Dale gave her an airtight alibi. But I believe one, the other, or both of them found and killed the human.”

“I don’t blame them.” Tanner wouldn’t have done anything less.

Knox pulled open a desk drawer, leafed through some papers, and then plucked out a single sheet. “Keenan found this in her dresser when he did a search of her apartment. It’s a letter from Harry. A letter begging for her forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness?” Tanner carefully took the sheet of paper. It was so badly crinkled it was hard to read the words, like someone had scrunched up and then reopened it again and again. He read the date. “He sent this a month before she was assaulted?”

“Yes.” Knox slipped his hands into his pockets. “According to Milton, Muriel told the staff that she snuck into Dale’s dorm one night after a nightmare, unaware of what would happen, and was then forced to vote. Going by what’s in that letter, it seems that she also received the most votes that night.”

Levi stiffened. “The boys offered up a little girl like a fucking sacrifice?”

“It would seem so. Worse, it wasn’t an isolated event. Mattias convinced her that the tutors used to go to all the dorms; he would tell her he’d heard rumors that they’d be going to her dorm that night and so she should stay with them. Sometimes she would, sometimes she wouldn’t.”

Tanner swore. “How could Dale not have made sure she didn’t believe that bullshit?”

Knox shrugged. “Maybe he tried, maybe he didn’t—there’s nothing in Harry’s letter that would suggest one way or the other. In any case, she was forced to vote on more than one occasion. And she was abused on more than one occasion.”

Tanner rubbed the back of his head. “Shit.”

“In the letter, Harry repeatedly mentioned ‘that night;’ said it haunted him. I’m not sure what he was referring to, only that something particularly bad seemed to have happened to her one night and it was what gave Harry the guts to—in a roundabout way—go to Milton for help. Apparently, Harry couldn’t shake off the guilt that he hadn’t gotten help sooner.”

Levi tilted his head. “But why would he contact Muriel after all this time?”

“The woman who Harry was seeing has a four-year-old daughter from another relationship. He told Muriel in the letter that each time the little girl smiled, hugged, or looked at him with trust, he felt like a fake. Said it killed him that she trusted him to protect her, because he didn’t feel that he deserved that trust. He was frightened that he’d fail to protect her just as he’d failed Muriel at Ramsbrook.”

“He was only a kid himself back then,” said Levi.

“Harry obviously didn’t think that meant anything, because ‘that night’ was something he couldn’t forgive himself for. He said he didn’t expect Muriel to forgive him either, but he hoped there might come a time when she could; he hoped that his apology might mean something.”

Tanner placed the letter back on the table. “So, this would have brought back all the memories for her; made them fresh in her heart and mind. And then she was sexually assaulted in her own home. During the attack, the past and present probably mingled in her mind; it would have left her feeling weak, small, and helpless all over again. Killing her attacker might have made her feel strong, restored her sense of control.”

“That could have been what sparked her to go after the others she feels are responsible for her pain,” said Levi. “She couldn’t kill Giles or Shephard—they’re already dead—so she went after the boys from the dorm.”

“She killed them all, even Dale.” Tanner frowned. “Does that mean they all voted for her at one point or another, including her own brother?”

Knox’s mouth set into a flat line. “I suspect it does.”

“But he was very protective of her,” Levi reminded them.

“He was also a terrified, traumatized child,” said Knox. “He might not have voted for her. She might simply have blamed him because he didn’t make the abuse stop.”

Tanner scrubbed a hand down his face, hating to think what had happened to them all those years ago. Now that Devon was his mate and officially part of his lair, he’d been able to share the recent Ramsbrook business with her. And he’d watched her heart break for those poor kids who’d been abused. She’d also agreed with him that Muriel could be the person picking off those children one by one.

Tanner folded his arms. “Devon thinks it’s possible that the killer may also intend to end their own life after completing their ‘mission.’ They’ll know that the alternative is being tracked and punished by you or the Primes of their other victims.”

Knox gave a slow nod. “It’s certainly possible. The hope is that we locate both her and Foreman before such a thing can occur. I’ll have Larkin use facial recognition software—our system is tapped into most CCTV footage available. I don’t have a recent photo of Foreman, but I have one of Muriel. Surely it won’t be that hard to find her and …”

The Prime’s voice faded into the background as Devon’s mind practically slammed against his, vibrating with anxiety. Tanner, something’s happened.

He rushed out of the office, down the stairs, and into the living area. She was standing in the middle of the room, rubbing at her pale face.

Devon winced when she saw him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted your meeting. Calling out to you was instinct—”

“Fucking good, it should be.” Tanner gripped her forearms. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“I just had a call from Jolene. Pamela’s …” Her lower lip trembled, and she bit down hard on it. “Someone poisoned her, Tanner. They tried to kill her. The doctors pumped Pamela’s stomach, and she seems to be stable, but …” She paused, breath hitching. “I have to go see her.”

“I know you do. And I’m coming with you.”

*

The containment ward looked much like any hospital with its plain white walls, fluorescent lighting, and shiny tile flooring. Devon would wager it was more secure than San Quentin State Prison. She and Tanner had had to pause at several doors while someone punched a long-ass code into a security pad, allowing them entrance. It was no easy thing to get in or out of the ward, and security personnel constantly patrolled the long hallways.

In the daytime, patients often walked the hallways. But they were usually secured in their rooms no later than 7pm, so it was almost eerily quiet as she and Tanner made their way to the crisis unit where Jolene was waiting for them.

The astringent scents of bleach and disinfectant filled the air, irritating her feline. It didn’t like the ward; didn’t like being in a place that it knew it would have a hard time escaping if need be. But it never protested to Devon visiting Pamela.

The ward wasn’t exactly a cheery place, but it was the best place for Pamela. Jolene had once given Devon a tour, respecting that she wanted to know her mother was in a safe, clean environment. It was massive. There were counseling rooms, cafeterias, observation rooms, recreational areas, and common rooms. Devon usually spent time with Pamela in the visitation area, but she’d seen her mother’s room once. It was sparse and sad, especially with its fake window.

The ward was clean and well-kept, given the circumstances. There was the occasional dent here and there in the walls or floor, courtesy of the patients who liked to upend furniture, fling their power around, or throw shit. But there was no dirt or mildew or shabby furnishings.

“Devon?”

Hearing Jolene’s voice, Devon turned to see the Prime standing at the nurse’s station looking weary and downright pissed.

“You got here fast,” Jolene added, crossing to her.

“How is Pamela?”

“Stable.” Jolene sighed. “Her heart stopped once, but the doctors were able to get it going again.”

A harsh breath whooshed out of Devon. “Is she in there?” Her gaze flicked to the closed door behind Jolene.

“Yes. She’s sleeping, but you can see her in a moment.”

Flexing her fingers, Devon stepped closer to Jolene. “You have the person who did this to her, right?”

Jolene’s face hardened. “I wish I did. Nobody saw anything, none of the cameras picked up anything suspicious. But one of the nurses who works on the ward left early and is now missing. My guess? She was paid or blackmailed to poison Pamela and she left before anyone could notice that something was wrong. The other staff said she’d been acting strange all day. Said she was edgy and impatient.” Jolene rubbed Devon’s arm. “She’ll be found, sweetheart.”

Tanner raised a brow. “But will she be alive, or will she have her throat slit like Flanagan?”

“Hopefully, she’s alive, because I have some delightful things in mind for her,” said Jolene, her voice pure silken menace. “This whole thing has shaken up everyone. We’re not used to our own betraying us this way.” Jolene gestured at the trauma room. “Go see her.”

Pushing open the door, Devon stepped into what closely resembled a hospital emergency room. Pamela lay very still on the bed, eyes closed, lips parted, her skin so pale it made her orange hospital bracelet look almost neon—orange being “code” for patients who could be a danger to themselves.

A slender woman looked up from her magazine and smiled at Devon and Tanner, but she didn’t leave her chair until Jolene reassured her that they’d be fine alone with Pamela.

Swallowing, Devon crossed to the bed and took her mother’s limp hand. It was cold and thin. “Mom.” Her voice cracked, so she coughed to clear her throat. “Mom.”

Pamela’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing bloodshot eyes that quickly lit with recognition. “Devon,” she breathed. Her lips slowly curled into a blinding but shaky smile, as if she lacked the energy to keep it on her face. “I don’t feel too good,” she added, her voice weak and subdued.

“I know.” Devon gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re going to be okay.” God, it was horrible seeing her this way. Her mother never looked fully alert. Her eyes always seemed cloudy and could sometimes be disturbingly vacant. But she was never groggy or physically weak. Right then, Pamela looked like she’d had the life sucked out of her.

Pamela squinted, eyes dancing from object to object. Confusion marred her features, and it was clear she didn’t know where she was or why she was there. “Who’s the man by the door? Don’t recognize him,” she slurred.

“That’s Tanner Cole. He’s my mate.”

“Mate,” Pamela quietly echoed, but it was like the word didn’t really penetrate in her mind because she didn’t otherwise react. “Do you remember when we went sailing with Beck and Richie? You were four, I think. It was a beautiful day. You were convinced you saw a whale.”

A faint nostalgic smile crept onto Devon’s face. “I remember.”

“Beck stopped the boat at a cove. It was all dark and shiny and magical. He told you to throw a coin into the little spring there and make a wish. You made a wish that I’d get better.” Her eyes drifted shut, and she forced them open. “I tried, you know. Tried over and over. Never could make your wish come true, though.”

Devon’s throat thickened. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Her eyes slid to Tanner. “My girl’s special.”

“I know,” he said.

“You treat her like she’s special.” Her eyes involuntarily drifted shut again. “I would’ve done it, but I couldn’t.”

“Sleep now,” Devon whispered. “You need it.”

“You’ll come back?” she asked, eyes still closed, sounding half-asleep.

“I’ll come back.”

Once Pamela had drifted off to sleep, Devon slipped out of the room and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna kill the fucker for this, Tanner. Blood relative or not, I’ll fucking kill them.”

“I’ll help you,” he said.