Page 33 of Closer Than You Know (Vera Boyett #2)

Eve used her bound hands to swipe at her face. She had tried really hard not to cry, but as the hours had passed, it had become more and more difficult. Daylight had come and gone, and judging by how tired and hungry she was, an entire day had passed.

Suri and Vera would be so worried. Luna too.

A burst of anger chased away the tears. She glared at the man who sat on a stool watching her. She wanted to kill this son of a bitch more than she wanted to take another breath.

Blasts of fury erupted in her chest like a series of explosions in a fireworks display. Her feet and legs hurt from being bound together too tightly at the ankles. Her hands were going numb. He’d taken the gag out when he’d wanted to ask questions, and he hadn’t put it back. She’d told herself to keep her mouth shut so he wouldn’t be prompted to stuff it in again, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep quiet.

“You know your sister was a big hero when she took down my grandfather and saw that he went to prison.” His mouth twisted in hatred. “Everyone thought she had rescued them from ‘the’ monster.” He emphasized the word by making air quotes.

“And you were a coward,” Eve said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have left your own grandfather to rot in prison alone for the crimes you helped him commit.” He seemed kind of young to have been killing for so long, but what did she know. He had that creepy blond hair—almost white—and pale-gray eyes.

As if she’d said as much out loud, he shot to his feet and charged toward her.

Heart racing, she held perfectly still. It wasn’t like she had much of an option. She was on the floor, leaning against a wall. There was nowhere to go unless she attempted to roll to her right or left. As numb as her legs felt, she wasn’t sure she could do that quickly enough. Instead, she braced herself and rode it out.

“You,” he growled, so close spittle flew in her face, “have no fucking idea why I did what I did. We were partners, and all he wanted was to save me ... now he is dying.”

“Seems pretty clear you just sat back and let him do it,” she said, allowing nothing more than a blink in reaction.

Fury flared his nostrils as air sawed in and out of him.

That nose was so close to hers she considered biting into it ... snapping it completely off. She imagined his blood spewing all over her face before he grabbed his own and stumbled away, howling in pain. Probably wasn’t as easy as it looked in the movies. But oh, she so wanted to hurt him.

Low-life creep. When Eve had first gotten a look at him, she had been kind of surprised. She’d figured the person doing this crap was just some random scumbag working for Solomon. But once she saw the bastard, she recognized this was someone related by blood to Dr. Palmer Solomon. Too young to be his son. Had to be his grandson. Then the shithead had confirmed her conclusion. She wondered if Vee had figured it out.

The ridiculous thing was that with his looks and his money—he wore a Rolex for fuck’s sake—he could get plenty of women. Instead, he secretly followed each victim like some pathetic outcast, sneaking around in the shadows. Then he abducted her so he could torture and murder her.

What a fucking waste of a pretty face. Her lips tightened with hatred.

Still, how old was he when he started killing? Two?

“My grandfather said it was his gift to me. He wanted me to be able to live my life. So, to fulfill his wish, I went to college and then medical school. I focused, poured everything into becoming a brilliant doctor—just like him ... just like he wanted,” he snarled, drawing back slightly. “It was the most difficult task I have ever undertaken.”

“I get it.” Eve nodded slowly, as if some epiphany had dawned. “He thought if he gave you rules and something real to do, you’d stop killing people. Stop being who you are.”

His eyebrows pulled down, and his lips rolled back, but rather than spew that fury all over her, he whirled away and started to pace. “It was a test, really,” he said more calmly. “To see if I could be good again.” He paused and glowered at her. “My grandfather is a very important man. It is up to me to carry on his prestigious legacy.”

“ Was ,” Eve pointed out.

His expression turned to one of confusion.

“ Was ,” she said again. “He was a very important man. Now he’s just an elderly statistic rotting away in prison.”

Patrick laughed long and loud. One of those outbursts that spoke of sheer madness. Oh yeah, this guy was totally over the edge. He started to pace once more.

When he’d said nothing more for several laps of the room, she asked, “So why did you fall off the wagon?” She shrugged. “I’ve done it a bunch of times myself.”

She should have let him sink into that conscious coma again, but somehow she just couldn’t resist taunting him. Maybe he’d get so mad he’d have a stroke or a heart attack. It happened all the time, even with people her age, and he wasn’t that much younger than her. The image of his face contorting and his hands grabbing at his chest played in her head like a social media reel. She almost smiled.

He sat down on his stool once more and studied her. “Such a clever girl. I know all about you and your big sister. I cannot wait until I have the two of you together. It is going to be so much fun.”

Eve was the one laughing this time. “Trust me, I’m the fun one. You do not want to go down this road with Vera. She does not play well with others.”

“I found your photos.” A grin widened across his face. “Did you enjoy killing your mother?”

Every part of Eve’s being went still ... cold.

He laughed, recognizing he’d struck a deep nerve. “Oh yes. I may have allowed my grandfather to—as you say—rot in prison, but at least I did not kill him with my own two hands.” He stared at his hands, laughed as if he’d told a hilarious joke. “Perhaps you and I have more in common than you realize.”

“What did you do with the photos?” Eve demanded, a new kind of panic spreading through her.

“Oh.” He smiled. “I left them for Vera. A little gift. I am quite certain she has found them by now. I wonder—assuming the two of you survive—if she will ever forgive you for such a heinous act?” He made a tsking sound. “What kind of eleven-year-old child kills her own mother? You could have at least waited until you were old enough to have a real grudge against her.”

Eve turned away from his stare. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not now ... not ever.

The desperation and hurt building inside her eased just a little as she considered this new nightmare and the reality of what it meant. In a twisted sort of way, this lowlife had done her a favor. Vera was now aware of Eve’s terrible secret. The realization made what she recognized deep down she needed to do far easier. Vera would not understand about the photos. Eve had never wanted her to know, and she could not bear even the idea of facing her now.

Which meant Eve no longer had anything to lose.

She would make sure this piece of shit never got to her sisters, even if it killed her.

If she was dead, Vera couldn’t hate her.