If they proceeded. He knew her team was still trying to decide if his story was real.

It’s real.

“Not in public.” His voice was close to a growl so he tried to soften that, adding, “The last thing I want is some dumbass in a coffee shop overhearing about my past. We’ll go back to my place, talk there.”

“Right.” She looked down and seemed to realize that she was holding tightly to him. Her hands immediately pulled back, as if she’d been burned. “We can take a cab.”

“No need.” He gave her a tiger’s smile. “I brought my motorcycle.”

One brow rose. “In those clothes?”

“Of course.” He paused a beat. “You seemed to like the ride last night.”

She bit on her lower lip.

He wanted to be the one biting that lip. “You want to hear all about my past, then come with me. I’ll give you every dark detail that you want to hear.” Details he’d never told to anyone else. But, as she’d slipped away from him that morning, he’d come to a decision.

It was time to know the truth. Time to finally figure out what had happened to him.

The past would be laid to rest and he could finally start focusing on the future.

“All right.” Her shoulders straightened. “Let’s go for that ride.”

Hell, yes. Soon, he’d have Sarah exactly where he wanted her.

They headed for the revolving glass doors that would take them out of the hotel. They’d taken only about four steps when Sarah’s phone gave a little beep. She paused and glanced apologetically up at him. “Sorry, I need to see”—her gaze dropped to the screen and her fingers swiped across the surface—“if it’s—”

Sarah sucked in a sharp breath. “No.”

He leaned closer to her, craning his head so that he could see the image that had just appeared on the screen.

“Please,” Sarah whispered. “No.” Her hand was trembling around the phone.

A photo filled the screen of her phone. A woman was in that photo—fairly young, with long red hair that was tangled around her terrified face. Blood slid from a cut on her cheek, and the woman’s arms appeared to be pulled behind her—tied behind her?

“I know her,” Sarah whispered. “She looks just like Gwen did.” A stark pause. “That’s his sister, Molly.”

“What the hell?” Jax demanded. Whose sister?

Sarah was frantically tapping on her screen. She called someone then—maybe the person who’d just sent that fucked-up picture to her? Sarah had the phone at her ear, and fear flashed across her face as she seemed to wait for someone to answer her call.

MOLLY’S PHONE WAS ringing. Right on time. Humming, he picked up that phone and turned on the speaker. After all, he needed to be able to hear all of this conversation—and so did Molly. He brought the phone in nice and close to Molly. In the darkness he’d created, the glow from the phone was the only light.

“Hello?” Ah, that slightly sharp and desperate voice would belong to Sarah Jacobs. Dr. Sarah Jacobs. “Who is this?” Sarah demanded.

With his left hand, he sliced the knife down Molly’s arm. She screamed. A high-pitched, desperate cry.

“Molly?” Sarah asked. “Molly Guthrie?”

Another slice of his knife had Molly screaming again.

“Stop!” Now it was Sarah who yelled. “I know you’re there . . .” Her voice dropped. “Why are you hurting Molly?”

He smiled. He’d been waiting for this moment for so long. When he’d seen her picture in the paper and realized that Sarah was in his town, he’d moved up his attack. Why go all the way to Atlanta and hunt her, when he could make her play the game right there, in his own backyard? Especially since she was already there and tangled up with Jax Fontaine. Too perfect.

He brought the phone to his mouth. “Hurry up,” he told her. “See if you can find the girl before she dies.”

“Who is this?”

Ah, it wouldn’t be that easy. Her question was really an insult. She was the profiler. She was the one who had to figure all of this shit out.

“She’s lost,” he taunted, “so come and find her.”

SHE’S LOST, SOcome and find her. He’d hung up on her. The man’s words rang in her ears as Sarah slowly lowered her phone. She knew the woman in that picture—the woman who looked so terrified was Molly Guthrie. Sarah knew because she’d been researching Eddie Guthrie online, and she’d stumbled onto the guy’s social media pages. He’d had so many pictures of his sister Molly posted. Only Molly had been smiling in those photographs.

She hadn’t been tied to a chair with blood sliding down her face. She sure hadn’t been screaming in terror.

“What’s going on?” Jax demanded. “Sarah?”

“I—I have to call the police.” She’d stuttered. She tried to never stutter. Never show any weakness but . . .

Molly had been screaming.

And then Sarah could almost hear her father’s voice whispering in her mind . . .

No one is screaming. No one at all.

She pushed away from Jax. Her movements were too quick and jerky, and when she looked to the left, she saw Wade stepping out of the elevator. Gabe was with him. She ran toward them, aware that Jax was right on her heels.

When he saw her rushing toward him, Wade’s eyes widened. “Sarah?”

She didn’t speak, not then. Fear was closing her throat. She shoved her phone toward him—her phone and the picture of a terrified Molly.

Gabe crowded in behind Wade. “What in the hell is going on?” Gabe demanded.

“That’s the same thing I wanted to know,” Jax said.

Her breath heaved out. “We have to find her.” Come and find her. “Before he kills her.”

AS A GENERAL rule, Jax liked to avoid police stations. And cops. Cops tended to piss him off, and as for the police stations . . . well, he’d already spent more than enough time in them.

But he’d tagged along with the LOST group, driven by both curiosity and an odd urge to stay near Sarah. He didn’t like it when fear flashed in Sarah’s dark eyes. He rather thought he fucking hated it when her skin paled and the shadows beneath her gorgeous eyes deepened.

There had been fear in her eyes when he first saw her at the hotel room. He’d turned toward her, and the fear had been the first thing he noticed. Surely the others must have seen it, too?

And now that same fear seemed to cling to Sarah as she talked with the cops. Two detectives. Guys he’d met before, in different ways.

One guy was Detective Brent West, a fairly decent detective, even if the guy had a tendency to stick to the rules a bit too much. Jax had done a few favors for Brent over the years. Or rather, he’d done some favors for Brent’s family. So now Brent knew to . . . keep him in the loop on certain cases.

The other detective was Lincoln Cross, and Jax’s encounters with Cross had hardly been what he’d call positive. Especially in light of the news he’d recently gotten about the guy’s activities. You’re going to be paying for that, Detective. Don’t think you’ll escape.

“Let me get this straight,” Cross said as he lifted his hands. The guy hadn’t made direct eye contact with Jax. He kept focusing on Sarah and Gabe. They were all in a conference room down at the PD. “You’re saying Molly Guthrie has been abducted? And that the man who took her called you?”

“Yes—and I’ve said that same thing five times!” Impatience bit through Sarah’s words. “Now, we’re wasting time. I came to you first because I knew the cops needed to be involved.” Ah, she was definitely getting pissed by their lack of action. Jax could tell it in her sharpening voice. “But if you’re not doing anything, then my team can be out there, hitting the streets! Every moment counts in an abduction case, Detectives, and you both know that.”

A muscle jerked in Brent’s jaw. Yeah, he knew it. Jax also thought the guy would have preferred to be out in the street, searching for the victim, right then. But Cross was the lead there. Dick that he was.