Chapter Nine

Kelly

Trying to get some sleep is going to be a bear because I spent the entire day reading all the information I could dig up on Anabel Ash and the Carver Killer. I am in no way interested in trying to solve the case, I just want to learn everything I can in order to keep her safe. I also don't want to bring the situation up with Anabel until I can get my head around what happened to her. All her trauma happened when she was a child, ten years old to be specific. No wonder she has such severe PTSD.

Sitting back on the bed, I stretch my legs feeling mentally exhausted from all the information I just stuffed in my head. I feel certain that I'm going to be working through this in my dreams, simply because I always do. The positive things in my life get processed through good dreams and the negative things get processed through nightmares. Whether that's a good coping mechanism or not, that's the way my body deals with stuff.

I eventually climb under the covers and get comfortable. Nightmares or not, I need sleep if going to be able to function. Trying to drift off to sleep with every horrible detail of my client's abducting floating around in my head is difficult.

I can't imagine what it must have been like for a ten-year-old to be present when her family was killed, to have somehow managed to escape. I remember everything I was taught about survivor's guilt. How it eats away at a person and makes them feel unworthy of surviving when others didn't.

I read over the police report. It said that she'd been locked in the basement by her mother and told to be quiet. Anabel refused to talk but she drew pictures of what happened. The police were also able to piece together a lot from looking at the crime scene. Someone came in the middle of the night and her parents tried to fight off the intruder but were no match for what turned out to be a serial killer. The images in the police file were horrific. The killer got his name from how he cut intricate designs into the bodies afterward.

The child psychologist who treated her, reported Anabel was afraid of the police to the point that she ran from them, crawled under the stairs, and it took them a minute to find her. I imagine those officers trying to drag her out from under those dirty basement stairs and my heart breaks for her. Poor little girl must have been terrified.

Unexpectedly another face enters my mind. The man who helped me when I broke down. The man I refused to provide an alibi for. That's something that has been weighing heavy on my mind for the past few days, since he came to see me at the shelter. I feel so guilty not stepping up and doing the right thing, but part of me worries that getting involved could put me in danger. Danger of what? I honestly don't know. Maybe my job and training mean that I've seen the worst of people, and now I've read through Anabel's file, my decision to stay silent seems right.

If he'd been charged, then of course I would have to come forward, I couldn't let an innocent man be jailed for a crime he didn't commit. But from what I've read of the case they had no evidence to arrest him.

I wonder what had happened between him and his wife? The papers had published some salacious details and speculation as to why he'd done it. But after the initial couple of stories, they'd published a retraction, saying that Mr. Ellis had been released without charge.

I close my eyes thinking about how strong and certain of himself he seemed. His kind, dark eyes and the tender way in which he strapped up my ankle. The way he picked me up and carried me to his truck as if I weighed nothing. We didn't talk much, I'd been too shaken after everything to hold a conversation, and all I'd wanted to do was to get home. But we'd sat in companionable silence until my dad and brother arrived.

I remember his mouth, full lips circled by a neat beard and heat suddenly rushes through me as I imagine what it would feel like to kiss those lips. Would they be hard or soft? Would his beard feel rough against my cheek or was that hair softer… God, what the hell was wrong with me? I'm fantasizing about a man whose wife has just been brutally murdered. When he'd come looking for me at the shelter he didn't seem like a distraught widower, just a man trying to clear his name. But how would anyone act in that situation?

I try to push those thoughts from my mind and ignore my throbbing clit and get some desperately needed sleep instead.

***

I'm on the mountainside, my tire has blown, and I need to get off before it gets dark. It's nowhere near dark yet, but I've only got a couple of hours of full daylight left at the most, before night falls. I'm terrified thinking what sort of creatures are lurking on the mountain at night. There could be bears, wolves, or coyotes. Could there be mountain lions too? I pick up my pace as I try to half jog, suddenly I hear a noise and jump back. I land awkwardly on my foot, I don't think it's broken but it hurts to put weight on it. I try my best and keep heading downwards until the pain gets too much. I must have limped for hours because sunset has given way to the hazy gray that happens before full darkness falls. I'm sitting on a rock panicking then suddenly a light emerges from the bushes.

It's a man wearing a headlamp and from the illumination that lights his face, he's the most handsome man I've ever seen. His dark brown, shoulder-length hair is tied back with a few strands falling over his dark eyes. He's wearing a thin, faded black t-shirt and I can see tattoos snaking up his muscular arms. I should be scared but my heart is pounding.

The stranger doesn't say a word, instead he stalks across the track towards me and scoops me up in his arms. He smells of woodsmoke and sunshine and as I lay my head on his chest I inhale deeply. All thoughts of pain gone as he carries me down the mountainside as if I weigh nothing. It's almost like we're flying.

Before I know it, we're in a new location, I'm beside the river, there's no one for miles around. I can hear the water rushing past, and the chirping of cicadas somewhere in the distance. It's chilly and I shiver. Though is it the cold or the presence of this man? I feel my nipples tighten in anticipation.

He's stalking around his campsite like a panther, and I wonder if he's real or have I fallen and hit my head. Watching his strong body and the way he moves, sends shockwaves through me. His t-shirt is hugging his muscled form like a second skin, and he looks as if he belongs in the wilderness.

"I didn't kill her, you know that, right?" he says as he tends to the fire.

I don't know what he's talking about, but I go to tell him that I know, but it's like my voice has gone.

I should be scared, but instead all I can think about is this man. Had I hurt my ankle? I wiggle my foot, it seems okay. The river flows to my right, I can hear the water rushing, but instead it's my blood coursing through my body. I feel so hot, like the flames of the fire are consuming me.

"Take your clothes off," the stranger says. "You'll feel better. I'll heal you."

Mutely I strip off my leggings and t-shirt, I'm sitting there in my sports bra and panties. My hand drifts down to touch myself and I feel how wet I am. They're soaked.

The stranger smiles, then licks his lips. My eyes head downward, and I see his hard length straining against his jeans.

"Fuck me," I say. Suddenly I can speak again. Why couldn't I speak before? I'm trying to figure that out, when a snake slithers past.

The man jumps over the flames and grabs a hold of it by its tail and throws it into the river. "I'll always protect you," he says, his voice sounds hoarse with lust.

He then starts to peel off his t-shirt and I see inches of his tattooed abdomen appear, he's tightly muscled and looks like he works out a lot. Or perhaps he has a job that keeps him fit. He throws his shirt down and unbuttons the fly of his jeans.

I'm watching as I pull off my sports bra. I cup my breasts in my hands and offer them to him as if they were a gift. He comes over and kneels before me, his jeans still half unzipped, his cock straining to escape.

I feel a shiver run through me as he takes me into his mouth, pulling on my taut nipple, sucking it deep.

I'm moaning, my eyes flutter open for a second and I see shooting stars, the night sky is ablaze. I feel his strong hands start to ease my panties down and the cool night air hits my skin.

"Touch yourself for me," he demands.

My fingers travel down my stomach and graze over my clit. I'm moaning as I find my wetness.

"I know you'll be delicious," he says, as he licks his lips. He's got a beard and I get even wetter thinking about how it would feel to have him between my legs, his rough beard rubbing against my tender skin.

"You know what you have to do," he says.

What? What do I have to do? It's like my brain won't work properly.

"Save me and I'll save you," he says, his voice fading away.

***

Jerking awake, my heart is racing. For a moment I'm not sure where I am, the dream was so vivid. I feel like I can't get my breath, if I close my eyes all I can see is that man. I feel so wet. I'm not even thinking as my fingers find my swollen clit, I moan as I rub myself, imagining it's Talon's lips pressing against me. I shift so the palm of my hand is pressing against my clit, and I part my soaked folds with my other fingers desperate for relief. Two fingers slip inside, and the fullness sends me to the edge. My hips grind against my hand as I bring myself to orgasm. I'm soaked in sweat and gasping for breath as I lay in bed wondering what the hell just happened.

Turning the images over in my mind, I try to work out why my brain wove together facts and flights of fancy the way it did.

‘Save me and I'll save you,' it's clear that my subconscious is telling me I need to do the right thing and provide Talon with an alibi. Something about that man tugged at my heartstrings. Maybe it was because he lost his wife under such tragic circumstances or because he was in danger of being arrested for a crime he clearly didn't commit. I feel bad fantasizing about a man whose wife has just died. When he came to see me, he didn't appear like a grieving widower, and there were all those stories in the papers about how his wife was cheating on him, but still. It felt wrong somehow.

As for what my subconscious was telling me? I really wasn't sure. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt like I was in danger. If I had to be honest, I'd felt unsettled since I'd left work yesterday, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, but I just put it down to being worried about Anabel and guilt about not giving Talon an alibi.