Wrecked

  Dedication

  For the readers. For the dreamers. For all of those who understand the true pleasure that can be found . . . in a book.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Praise for Cynthia Eden and her novels . . .

  By Cynthia Eden

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  The knife sliced into her skin. It cut deep, and the pain was white-hot. Ana Young locked her teeth together and stared straight ahead . . . straight into her brother’s horrified eyes. He was tied in the chair across from her, yanking and twisting against his ropes as he tried to break free.

  But he couldn’t escape. Neither could she.

  But she could stay silent.

  Asher . . . her twin wasn’t silent. He was screaming, “Let my sister go! Stop it! Stop, please! Don’t hurt her!”

  Asher didn’t get it. The man with the knife . . . he enjoyed hurting her.

  Another slice. Even deeper this time. Ana licked her lip and tasted blood. The first slice had been to her face. Only her attacker had paused after that.

  “Let’s save her pretty face for later.”

  And the knife had gone into her body, again and again. She tried to keep her eyes open. Tried to keep looking at Asher. When the end came, she wanted his face to be the last thing that she saw. She wanted Asher to know that she hadn’t been afraid. That she was strong.

  Another slice of that knife and she could feel tears sliding down her cheeks. The pain was wrecking her. Destroying the girl she’d been. Leaving someone else—something else in her place.

  Don’t fear the pain. Don’t tense when the knife sinks into you. Look at Asher. Look at him.

  “Let my sister go, you fucking bastard! You want to hurt someone? Hurt me, not Ana! Let her go!”

  Ana’s eyes were sagging shut. Asher’s voice was fading. It suddenly seemed so distant. Odd, since he was just a few feet away. They’d put them close together so Asher would be able to see every cut perfectly.

  Was she dying? Ana didn’t want to go out like this. Tied up, trapped. Some sick bastard’s toy.

  She didn’t want to go out like this . . .

  Her eyes closed.

  And part of her died.

  The good part.

  “Ana?” A hard hand closed over her shoulder. Ana jerked at the touch, and the dream—more like twisted memory—vanished in an instant. She jumped to her feet, whirling around, and Ana found her boss, Gabe Spencer, frowning at her.

  Way to make a killer impression on the big boss, Ana.

  She shoved back her hair, lifted her chin, and straightened her spine. Not that straightening her spine did much. When you were all of five feet, two inches, it was often hard to look intimidating. She wasn’t the kind of woman who wore high heels—they just slowed her down when she was chasing criminals—so Ana had long grown accustomed to tipping back her chin and staring at the world with her go-to-hell gaze.

  Only it wasn’t exactly appropriate to use that gaze on the big boss.

  Like it’s appropriate to be caught sleeping at the office by him.

  Ana cleared her throat. “Hi, Gabe. I was . . . brainstorming on the new case.” She smiled at him. The smile was one of her secret weapons. Slow and disarming, that smile had saved her ass more times than she could count. In her line of work, some people erroneously thought that looking delicate was a weakness. Not so . . . Ana used her deceptively delicate appearance every single chance that she had.

  But Gabe—former SEAL and now big, bad man in charge of LOST—well, he didn’t exactly look disarmed. His bright blue stare swept over her, and a faint furrow appeared between his brows. “Did you pull another all-nighter?”

  Maybe.

  “Ana . . .” He sighed out her name. “I hired you because I know you’re good. Your track record speaks for itself. You don’t have to burn yourself out because you’re trying to tear through the old case files at LOST in order to prove something to me.”

  Gabe was a good guy. He wasn’t chewing her ass out for the on-the-job nap. He understood exactly what she’d been doing.

  So Ana let her guard drop, just a bit, with him. After all, she’d known Gabe for years. They’d been friends long before she’d finally let him lure her into joining the LOST team. Gabe knew her secrets. Well, most of them. There were some secrets that even Ana’s twin brother, Asher, didn’t know.

  And I plan to keep things that way.

  “There are just so many of them,” Ana said, glancing over at her desk and the files that were spread out there. “All those people . . . still missing. All those families . . . just hoping that their kids will come home. Husbands, looking for wives. Mothers, looking for their daughters. Friends, looking for—” She broke off, her lips pressing together. “I just want to help them.”

  And that was why she’d finally given in and joined LOST.

  The Last Option Search Team was Gabe’s baby. Years ago, his sister had vanished, and when the local authorities hadn’t been able to find her, Gabe had joined the search. Unfortunately, he’d found his sister too late. He’d buried her instead of returning her home, and after that terrible tragedy, Gabe had made it his mission to help other families. The agents who worked at LOST were truly the last option for so many. People turned to LOST when their hope was gone. When the FBI and the cops and everyone else said the case was dead . . . LOST kept looking.

  And the agents at LOST had been showing amazing results. Hell, within the last year, they’d even stopped two serial killers. They’d saved victims, not just found bodies. They were making a huge difference in the world.

  And I want to be part of that difference.

  So maybe she’d been burning the midnight oil as she reviewed case files. One in particular kept nagging at her. Cathy Wise. The girl had been just thirteen when she vanished.

  And I was fourteen when I was abducted. Only Ana had gotten to go home again.

  Cathy . . . hadn’t. Not yet.

  “I get personally involved,” Ana confessed. “I know I should probably hold back but . . .” But I can see myself in these cases. We have to help the victims.

  “No.” Gabe’s voice was soft. “We need to be involved, Ana. We need to care. It motivates us to get the job done.” He inclined his head toward the files. “But you can’t let the job consume you. As hard as we try, there will always be other cases out there. Others who go missing.”

  Her stomach twisted because she knew he was right. Every day, someone new vanished. Every day, a life was destroyed.

  “That’s why I’m in your office now,” Gabe added. A faint smile curved his lips and his eyes glinted. “Not just because I wanted to interrupt your nap time.”

  Trust me, with the dream I was having . . . I’m glad you did interrupt.

  “We have a new case.”

  Ana took a quick step toward him.

  But Gabe lifted a hand. “Before you get too excited, this case comes with some strings.”

  Strings? What was that supposed to mean? Sh
e was over her probationary period at LOST. She’d been handling cases on her own for weeks now.

  “You’ll have a partner on this one.”

  Well, yes, that was standard LOST procedure. Always have someone watching your ass. That was a Gabe Spencer directive that had come down on day one.

  “He’s . . . not with LOST.”

  Okay, now she was curious. “Then who is he with?”

  “The FBI.”

  She tensed. A natural reaction for her. She didn’t tend to like the Feds. With her past, with the way she’d seen the Feds tear into people’s lives . . . I don’t exactly play nicely with them.

  “He’s the one who brought us the case, Ana. Come in, talk with him, and just listen to what he has to say.” Gabe paused. “And you should know that the agent asked to work with you, specifically.”

  Oh, hell, no. She did not like where this was going. Her inner alarms were definitely ringing. “What’s this FBI agent’s name?” The knot in her stomach twisted tighter even as she started a mental chant of Don’t be Cash Knox. Don’t be Cash Knox. Don’t be—

  “FBI Agent Cash Knox.”

  Of course. Because she truly did have some of the worst luck in the world.

  “There a problem?” Gabe asked, squinting a bit at her.

  Oh, jeez. Ana hoped she hadn’t flinched or made some kind of horrible, pained face when he mentioned the FBI agent’s name. “No, no problem at all.” She pasted a big smile on her face.

  “Agent Knox said that he’d worked with you before.”

  Worked with me. Had sex with me. Let’s not go over all the gory details right now.

  “But,” Gabe continued carefully, as he inclined his dark head toward her, “this case . . . it’s not going to be an easy one.”

  Fine with her. “I don’t like easy.”

  He nodded, looking pleased, and Ana knew she’d given the right answer. “Then come into my office,” Gabe said, “and I’ll tell you everything. Agent Knox is waiting for us.”

  Right. She rolled back her shoulders. “Lead the way.” While I get my shit together. Because she hadn’t seen Cash in years . . . two years and a month, to be exact. She hadn’t laid eyes on the guy since she’d left him sleeping after a night of great sex. She’d slipped away and hadn’t looked back.

  Because Cash is like Gabe . . . one of the “good” guys. And good guys weren’t meant for her. Ana shoved a lock of hair behind her ear, grabbed her rather beat-up jacket from the back of her chair, and she hurriedly followed Gabe out of her office and down the hallway.

  As they walked down that hallway, she glanced out of the bank of windows to her right. The bustling city of Atlanta was definitely alive and well . . . even though it was only a little after eight a.m. Gabe had been right about her all-nighter. She’d pulled another one because staying at home, having her demons torment her—well, it wasn’t an option she wanted. So she’d escaped into work.

  I thought if I couldn’t help myself, maybe I could help someone else. Someone like Cathy Wise.

  They passed Gabe’s assistant and Melody gave Ana a quick, friendly wave. Ana waved back even as her gaze darted to Gabe’s closed door. Cash was in there. How was she supposed to handle this?

  Act as if nothing ever happened. She could do that. Cash would be all business, and so would she. Besides, it wasn’t as if a good guy like Cash would cause trouble. Maybe he didn’t even remember their night together. They’d both been drinking, thanks to the big celebration. Ana had brought in one of the FBI’s ten most wanted, a sadistic asshole named Bernie Tate who’d enjoyed kidnapping and murdering women in their early twenties. He’d taken three victims by the time he was stopped.

  And I was the one who stopped him.

  She was still proud of that fact.

  Gabe opened the door to his office and held it, waiting for her to walk inside. Ana schooled her features, made sure her steps were slow and steady, and she marched in to face her past.

  FBI Special Agent Cash Knox was turned away from her. He stood in front of the large windows in Gabe’s office, and Cash’s stare was on the city below. But, as soon as she crossed the threshold into the office, his body stiffened and his head turned in her direction.

  Cash’s gaze met hers. She’d forgotten just how intense his green eyes were. Forgotten that his face wasn’t exactly handsome. Instead, it was rugged, a face with an edge that had made her think of danger the first time she’d seen him. Cash’s jaw was hard, square, and currently clenched. His cheekbones were high, and a faint dimple notched the middle of his chin. A line of stubble coated his jaw, dark stubble to match his hair. Cash kept his hair cut almost ruthlessly short—that style hadn’t changed in the last two years. The guy’s hair was so thick that if he let it grow, she was sure it would be something to see . . . sexy.

  But that wasn’t his style. An FBI agent who toed the line didn’t have too-long hair. And I’m guessing that stubble isn’t his normal style, either. It looked as if she wasn’t the only one who’d pulled an all-nighter.

  Cash stalked toward her. He had on a suit—a well-cut coat and basic black pants. She thought of that suit as FBI business time. His badge gleamed on his hip and when he shifted his arm, she saw the bulk of his holster.

  Gabe followed Ana into the office and shut the door behind him.

  “Ana Young,” Cash said, his voice as deep as she remembered. “It’s been a long time.” He offered his hand to her.

  And she was a professional, so she just gave him a small smile and took that hand. “Has it?” She released her hold after touching him for what she figured was a good-manners length of time. Maybe her fingers tingled from the contact. Maybe she just imagined the tingle.

  “It has,” Cash agreed, dipping his head toward her. “Two years, to be exact.”

  No, it’s been two years and one month. Not that either of us should know that.

  Cash lowered his hand back to his side. “The last time I saw you . . .” Cash began.

  Do not finish that sentence. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been naked. And on top of him.

  “The last time I saw you,” Cash repeated, his jaw hardening, “you’d just done the job that several dozen FBI agents hadn’t been able to accomplish. You’d found Bernie Tate and you’d brought him into federal custody.”

  Her eyelids flickered. “It was my job. I was a bounty hunter.” Actually, she could admit with pride that she’d been the best freaking bounty hunter in the whole United States. “And there was quite a reward on his head.” But the reward hadn’t mattered to her—it never did. She’d wanted to get that monster off the streets so that he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

  And she had. Bernie was currently rotting in a maximum security hold in Virginia, Wingate Penitentiary. A place reputed to be a real hell on earth.

  “I need you to do that job again,” Cash said.

  Now she blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  Gabe walked around her and headed toward his desk. “Seems there was an . . . incident late last night.” He eased into his chair and the leather gave a long groan beneath him. “Since you were pulling an all-nighter at the office, I’m guessing you missed the news.”

  Ana glanced between Gabe and Cash. “What news?”

  “Bernie Tate was being transferred,” Cash explained grimly. “But during that transfer, the prison van broke down. Bernie Tate escaped.”

  “You are kidding me.” He’d better be kidding.

  “I wish that were the case,” Cash told her. “Trust me, I do, but he’s gone. And I need you to find him.”

  “Before he kills again.” She started to pace. She did that—when she was pissed, when she was scared, when she was trying to figure out what the hell to do next. “I can’t believe this! The guy should have been locked away for the rest of his life! He shouldn’t be out! How the hell did this happen?” She thought of his victims . . .

  She still remembered them all.

  Brenda George, twenty-two, a nursing s
tudent who’d been stabbed twenty-two times . . . the perfect number to match her age.

  Kennedy Crenshaw, twenty-four, a young mother who’d still been alive when the cops found her . . . only she’d died an hour later, her body littered with stab wounds.

  Janice Burrell, twenty-eight, a divorcee who’d made the mistake of hooking up with Bernie at a bar. He’d stabbed her so many times that her blood had covered the walls of her motel room.

  “He said there were more victims,” Cash murmured. “So the FBI worked out a deal to have him moved to a different prison, provided the guy talked and told us where those bodies were hidden.”

  Her eyes squeezed together. “You got played. Bernie isn’t the kind of guy who hides his kills. He wanted everyone to know what he was doing. He was proud of his crimes.”

  “I agree,” Cash said, surprising her.

  Her eyes opened and locked on him.

  “But my boss didn’t listen to me.” The faint lines on either side of his mouth deepened. “Now we’re in a serious clusterfuck situation. The media is in a frenzy. We’ve got manhunts going in the area, and we need to get Bernie Tate back into custody, freaking yesterday.”

  Gabe tapped his fingers on the top of his desk. “I explained to the agent here that LOST doesn’t normally hunt down criminals.” His expression tightened as he studied Cash. “Our goal is to help the victims.”

  Cash raked a hand over his hair. “And I told your boss that if we don’t stop Bernie, there will be more victims. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Ana swiped her tongue over her top lip, feeling the old scar that raised the skin there. “Agent Knox is right. Bernie Tate isn’t going to just disappear quietly into the sunset. He will start hunting again, and he’ll take down as many innocent people as he can.” She strode toward the windows. “Especially since he’s been in prison,” Ana mused. “He’s been away from the blood for too long. He liked the blood, liked the thrill he got from hurting women.” She could see people walking down on the street below. Men and women, going about their normal lives. Having no idea . . .

  Danger is everywhere.

  “You caught him before, Ana,” Cash said, his voice roughening with intensity. “I think you can do it again. I got the all-clear from my boss to pull you in on this. The FBI wants Bernie back in custody, as quickly and as quietly as possible.” There was a pause. “I need you, Ana.”