Page 125 of Stalker

I turned toward him, my breath caught as it always was every time he was close. “What is your real darkness, Wilder? If you killed simply after becoming judge and jury to terrible people who did horrible things, then what level of immorality entices the man inside?”

He took a deep breath, swirling the damn liquid in his glass as he did every time he was contemplating how to answer me. I wanted to smash the glass, tossing it against the wall. “Possession. The need to conquer, breaking down even the toughest of defenses.”

“As you think you’ve done with me?”

“Haven’t I?”

“Never. I don’t belong to you, and I have a resolute spirit.”

“Your spirit is something else that attracts me, but think again, sweet butterfly, if you don’t believe I’ve managed to break your defenses.”

Why did I have the feeling I’d never manage to escape from him?

Why was it that I wasn’t certain I wanted to flee?

There was no way of challenging him that would change his mind. “What now, Wilder? How are you going to hunt down your father?”

“He’ll be lured into a trap.”

“Created by you and your brothers.”

“Yes.” He finally took a gulp. I found myself watching him, studying his actions. Did I think I was going to break through his thick armor, finding some vulnerability? Not a chance.

“Then what? You kill him?”

He said nothing.

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do. Judge and jury.”

“As it should be.”

“You’re not God. Neither are your brothers.” I wasn’t certain my insistence meant anything.

“No, we are not.” He lifted his glass, finally drifting his gaze toward me. “We’re worse. Much worse.”

“If he’s continued his killing spree, he should be brought to justice.”

“He will be, but it’s obvious no prison can keep him.”

He was right about that. I needed to know what the hell had happened and how the man had escaped. Someone knew something. That his exit had been shoved under the rug just like everything involving the family had been years before continued to be a red flag.

However, there was no chance Wilder would allow me to leave his home or be away from him. I had to figure out a way. I sipped my wine, mulling over ideas. Only one made any sense, but it would be almost impossible for it to happen. Still, I had to try.

“Whatever you have planned, I can’t simply disappear without people questioning what happened to me. I need to call my office and make up an excuse.”

Every time he studied me as he was doing at the moment, it felt as if he was digging into my psyche, not only reading my mind, but picking apart my soul. I dragged the tip of my tongue across my bottom lip and he narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t think I need to remind you that lives are at stake. Make no mistake, Cassandra, Cain Demarco will not stop until he gets what he wants.”

“And exactly what is that?”

He took another sip of his drink. “For him and his sons to be immortalized, our family name burned in effigy. He’ll do whatever that takes to make it happen, including and especially taking the lives of everyone important to us.”

“What in God’s name do you remember? You were so young.”

He looked away, but not before I caught the look in his eyes. The deep array of emotions caught me off guard.

“People believe children younger than five aren’t mentally capable of remembering much if anything about an experience, but that’s wrong. What happens is that the images and voices are stored in a vault, key elements usually the cause of bringing them forward. In the case of violence or pain, when and if the memories are forced to resurface, those forced to remember are often incapable of deciphering truth from fiction. My father was a manipulative prick who used his respected profession to initiate trust. He also used his empathy to lure his victims into compromising situations. In addition, he managed to manipulate almost everyone around him into doing what he wanted so he could keep his hands clean.”

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