Carter Reed 2 (Carter Reed #2)(52)

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe me.

I pulled the sheet so I was covered and looked down at my hands in my lap. They weren’t shaking. They were calm. I held them up. “See. I’m fine. This isn’t our first time here, and I feel like we’ve been getting ready for this forever. War. It’s coming. Those were your words and well, it’s here. I’m not shocked. I’m scared—I won’t lie to you—but I’m here, and I’ll help in any way—”

A warning flared in his eyes.

“—Any way you’ll let me,” I finished. “Whether that means holding down the fort here or going out to fight side by side with you, I’ll do what you say.”

At my words, his shoulders dropped, relaxing. “Do you mean that?”

“I do.”

I did, until he was threatened. Then all promises went out the window. I’d protect him with my life. “You have to promise me one thing,” I added.

He grew wary now. “What?”

“Be. Safe.” I swallowed over a lump. “I know you’re the Cold Killer, but it goes both ways. You love me. I love you back. I’ll be safe, but you hold up your end, too. Be. Safe.”

He let out a deep breath. The lines around his eyes seemed to deepen, and he crossed the room to me. Bending down, he cupped my head and pressed his lips to mine. At the slight contact, I surged up and wound my arms around his neck.

He gave me air, for that small moment. Once he left, I’d be holding my breath until he returned, and I knew the process would repeat over and over again until he found my sister.

I wanted to pull him back down. I wanted to stall him and keep him with me a moment longer, but I didn’t. I sat there as he turned and left.

I could hear conversation a beat later, then a door shut. It wasn’t long before one of the guards cleared his throat outside the room, the door still closed between us.

“Miss Emma?”

“Drake?”

“Just letting you know Peter and I are here. Michael went with Mr.—he went with Carter.”

The lump doubled in size, but I called back as if it weren’t there, “Thank you, Drake.”

Michael. Peter. Drake. Carter. Me.

That was all that was left.

Carter returned in the morning, but he hadn’t found her. The next day was the same. Then the third day. The fourth. Fifth. The days blended into a week, then into the second week. All the same results. Nothing. They couldn’t find Andrea.

The next few weeks felt like we were living in an alternate universe. There were no friends to spend time with. There were no paparazzi in hiding because we were in hiding. No one knew where we were. No wine nights. No gun range nights. No nights at the club. Even the guards—we all protected each other. Carter kept looking for Andrea, and as the weeks progressed, a routine started for us.

Peter and Drake would go out during the day. Their job was to gather information, so they followed the Bartels like ghosts, wherever they went. They identified all the men who worked for them. They figured out all of their schedules for each day of the week.

Each night when they returned, they’d meet with Carter and Michael. Sometimes I joined the meeting. Other times I couldn’t stomach more bad news. They never seemed to get any closer. Then, after the meeting, Carter would leave. Most times he went alone. Sometimes he took Michael with him, but every time he came back, he was covered in blood.

When he came home, sometimes in the middle of the night and other times in the early morning, he walked past me in the bedroom, stripping off his clothes. He always left them in a pile and spent an hour in the shower.

In the beginning, I got in with him. He’d stand there, letting the shower rain down on him with his head bent, his eyes closed, and his hands clenched as the blood ran off him. Even after I’d cleaned him, he would remain in there.

Then I realized he was remembering everything he’d done. He was, in a way, washing away what he had done as he let that water rain down on him. So I began leaving him alone. As he showered, I gathered up his clothes and washed them. Carter never spoke of it. All he would say, later in the morning, was that he’d cleaned out another area the Bartel family controlled. That was all. No one asked, but we all knew.

The Cold Killer had returned.

Carter was killing men, and he was doing it alone. I could only assume he had Michael go with him if there was too much danger, if he needed backup for certain places.

The news was on in the kitchen when my sister was declared missing. Carter had returned a couple of hours earlier, and Drake was making toast as we all sat down at the table for breakfast. Michael brewed the coffee, Peter had grabbed a newspaper, and I made the eggs.

“Breaking news today. Andrea Nathans, daughter of prominent hotelier Edward Nathans and his wife, Cherise, has been declared missing. The police issued a statement not long ago that she was last seen in New York City where she went to reunite with a long lost sister. Andrea Nathans is twenty-six years old and described as slender, with brown hair and brown eyes. She is a known marathon runner. As more details are released, we’ll be updating you with the latest.”

The anchor turned to her cohost, and they began chatting about my sister. Was there more information? Did the police know anything? Were they sharing that information with the public? When and where was she last seen? They kept discussing Andrea, but they had no more information than what they’d already shared.