The elevator doors opened silently. Men and women in expensive business clothes climbed on and off the elevator. Eve kept her chin up. Her clothes were older, faded, too casual for this office building, but it wasn’t like she had a lot of choice.
There were no choices for her.
The elevator dinged, and she hurried out onto the fourth floor. The lush carpet swallowed her footsteps. Then, a few desperate moments later, she was standing in front of a heavy, wooden door. Across the door, golden letters spelled: lost.
Her lips curved in a smile that just felt sad. Lost. Yes, that was exactly what she was. And she desperately needed the people inside that office to help her.
Eve turned the doorknob with trembling fingers and crept inside. A perky receptionist glanced up at her, showing a smile that flashed huge dimples. “Welcome to Lost, how may I help you?”
Eve had to swallow twice in order to ease the dryness of her throat. “I need to speak with Gabe Spencer.” He was the man she’d read about in the paper. The tough ex-SEAL who’d made it his new mission to create LOST.
LOST … the Last Option Search Team. This office and all of the personnel in it had one function, just one—to find missing people. To search for those that the authorities had already given up on.
The receptionist, a pretty girl with sun-streaked blond hair, gave a small shake of her head. “I’m sorry but do you have an appointment, ma’am?”
“No.” And Eve knew that the perky lady was about to tell her to hit the road. So Eve shoved her hands into her oversize bag—the only bag that she had—and yanked out a carefully folded newspaper. She smoothed out the folds and offered the paper to the receptionist. “I need to talk with Mr. Spencer about this.” This being the series of murders that had been highlighted in the Atlanta News three weeks ago. Seven women had been abducted. Tortured. Killed.
Their murderer hadn’t been caught.
“We don’t … um … we don’t really hunt serial killers here at LOST,” the receptionist said with wide eyes. “I’m not sure what you think Mr. Spencer can do for you—”
The office door opened behind the receptionist. At the soft sound, Eve glanced up automatically and saw a man—tall, handsome, powerful—filling that doorway. His hair was jet-black, thick, and still military short, even though she knew the guy wasn’t active with the SEALs any longer.
Gabe Spencer.
She’d done research on him at the local library. Found his picture. Read his bio, again and again. Thirty-four. Single. Master’s degree in criminal justice. He’d been a decorated SEAL, but he’d left the Navy after his sister had been abducted a few years ago. Gabe had made it his sole mission to find Amy and bring her home.
He had brought her home, just not alive.
His gaze was a bright, intense blue, and that gaze focused sharply on Eve. She shifted beneath his stare as uncertainty twisted within her.
He was handsome. No, almost too perfect. But his features had looked softer in the pictures she’d seen online. In person, his jaw was sharp and square, his cheeks high, his nose a strong blade … and his lips were sensual. The man had a deep, powerful appeal that seemed to fill the air and—
And she was just staring at him. Heat stained her cheeks. What is wrong with me?
“I don’t think we can help you,” the receptionist told Eve, giving a sad shake of her head.
But Eve wasn’t really paying attention to the blonde any longer. She was too aware of Gabe.
Gabe was still staring straight at her, too. His gaze dipped from her face down to her toes—the toes that peeked out from her high heels—then it slowly rose to study her face once more. His voice was a deep rumble as he asked, “Have we met, Ms. …?”
She almost laughed at his question. “I’m afraid that I don’t know if we have.”
One dark brow lifted as confusion flashed in his blue gaze.
“I’m here to meet with you, Mr. Spencer.” The words came out in a rush, but this was her chance. She had to take it. Eve grabbed her newspaper back from the receptionist. “Please, can you spare a few minutes to talk with me?”
That bright stare seemed to weigh her. Eve tensed. She was used to people assessing her. It was all they seemed to do lately. Assess. Judge. Find her lacking.
“She doesn’t have an appointment,” the not-so-perky-now blonde said. “I was just telling her—”
“Melody, I think I can spare a few minutes,” he said, and stepped back. Gabe gave a little wave of his hand, indicating the open door. “If you’d like to come inside, we can talk privately.”
Eve’s knees were trembling as she hurried forward. At least she didn’t trip or do anything to embarrass herself. Yet. This meeting was important. No, this meeting was everything. She had to get Gabe Spencer to help her. If he didn’t help her, she had no idea what she’d do next.
The office smelled of leather. A bright expanse of windows looked over downtown Atlanta. Gabe’s desk was huge, taking up a third of the room. She sat across from that big desk, sinking into one of the leather chairs. She expected him to assume a position behind his desk. Instead, he strode toward the left side of the desk, the side close to her, and he paused. His arms crossed over his chest as his gaze raked her once more.
“Is someone missing?” His question was low, sympathetic.
Eve gave a small nod, then offered him her newspaper.
Frowning, he read the headline. “The Lady Killer?” Gabe shook his head. “I know they recovered some bodies after the last hurricane swept through that area, but I don’t see—”
“They haven’t recovered all of the bodies. S-Some are still missing.” Her fingers twisted in her lap. According to the newspaper, there were seven suspected abductions and murders. But only four bodies had been found so far.
Three women were still missing.
His gaze scanned over the article. Then, after a few moments, he glanced back up at her. “You want me to find one of the missing women?”
He wasn’t getting it. “O-Open the paper.”
Frowning, he opened it. Pictures of the missing women were inside. Grainy pictures. Black and whites but …
“I don’t need you to find a missing woman.”
“That’s what we do.” His gaze was on the photos, not her. There was a slight southern drawl beneath his words, just a little growl of sound, barely noticeable. “We search for the missing. We—” He broke off and she saw his gaze widen. Slowly, very, very slowly, that bright blue stare came back to her face. This time she felt his stare like a physical touch on her.
Eve licked her lips and said, “I don’t need you to find a missing woman … because I’m pretty sure … I think—I think I am one of the missing. I’m one of the Lady Killer’s victims, only I’m not dead like they say in the paper.”
Gabe Spencer wasn’t talking. So Eve let her words tumble out. She didn’t want him to think she was crazy. She needed his help too much. “I’m not dead. I just … I don’t remember anything. I can’t remember anything that happened to me before June third of this year.”
“And what happened on June third?” he asked, voice lacking all emotion.
“That was the day I woke up in St. Helen’s Hospital.” She’d woken to a room of white. To the sterile scent of cleaners and disinfectants. To the steady drone of machines.
And it had felt … wrong.
I should have heard the waves. Should have smelled the ocean. Those had been her first thoughts, but after them, she’d remembered nothing of her life.
No names. No faces. No memories at all.
He just stared at her.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. “I’m not lying.” Desperation cracked beneath the words. “You can check at the hospital, and they’ll verify everything that I’ve told you.”
Dissociative amnesia. That was what one of the doctors had told her she had. She’d sustained a strong blow to her head. Some memory loss was common after an injury like that.
But she wasn’t just talking about some memory loss. She’d lost everything.
“I need your help,” Eve told him, and she knew it sounded like she was begging—she was. “Because what’s missing … my life is missing. I’m missing.” She stood on trembling legs and went to his desk. She looked down at the paper that had fallen to his desktop. Her fingers touched the picture of the beautiful smiling woman. A woman that could be her. “If that’s me, then I want to know what happened.” She glanced over at him. “I want my life back, Mr. Spencer.”
“Call me Gabe.”
A hard order as his gaze traveled carefully over her every feature. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. She wanted to, so badly.
“Have you gone to the police with your story?” he asked.
Her lips tightened. “The abductions and murders happened along the southern Gulf Coast. Not here in Atlanta. They don’t see the connection.” And she believed the detective that she’d spoken with had just thought she was crazy. Since one of her endless doctors had been giving her a psych evaluation at the time, the cop had probably felt pretty justified in that opinion.
A faint line appeared between Gabe’s brows. “No one has escaped from the Lady Killer.”
“No one that you know about.” Her fingers were shaking when she lifted them up to her neck. She pulled her hair back and pointed to the raised flesh, the long, white scar that slid around the left side of her throat. Usually, her hair covered that scar. She didn’t want people staring at it and asking questions she couldn’t answer. But this time … the scar could actually help her. Maybe. “I think that I got away from him.”