A Madness of Sunshine

by Nalini Singh

  “A puppy?”

  Matthew nodded, then went silent.

  “I didn’t grow up here, Matthew,” Will prodded. “What about the puppy?”

  After taking a last puff, Matthew crushed his roll-up in the ashtray balanced on the window ledge. “Kid’s father gave him one for his ninth birthday, I think it was. Maybe it was eight, or maybe it was ten, eh? Tamariki all look the same to me.”

  The hunter coughed, his chest sounding clogged up. “Then one day, I see him running out of the bush near their place, saying his puppy had run away. He was crying, all red-faced and scared.” Another hacking cough. “I knew that pup wouldn’t survive out there all alone and I had Ripper with me—good hunting dog, never used to get distracted. I figured he could track down the punua kurī quick enough.”

  Will had the feeling he was about to hear something that wouldn’t ever leave his memory. “Did Ripper live up to his reputation?”

  “Yeah, he found the puppy, what was left of it. Someone had bashed its brains in using a rock.”

  Matthew looked at Will with sharp, dark eyes. “I couldn’t believe a boy that young could’ve done that, eh, so I just buried the puppy and told myself to forget it. But, I kept seeing that pup with its brains bashed out every time I closed my eyes. So next time I saw Trevor Baker down at the pub, I told him maybe he shouldn’t give his boy another puppy.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing, but that boy never again got a kurī.”

  As Matthew got up to pour himself a cup of tea, Will worked out the logistics in his head. “Vincent would’ve only been fourteen at the time the hikers went missing.”

  “He got his growth early, that boy.” Matthew topped up Will’s tea. “Was as big as a man by that age. As big as he is now.”

  Which wasn’t huge by any estimation, Will thought, but it was plenty big enough to overpower a woman of average size. He’d looked up the files on the missing hikers, knew they’d been small boned and ranged from five-one to five-four in height, their weights on the lower end of the scale. A strong fourteen-year-old boy could have taken each one.

  Especially if he came at them with a rock from behind.

  One blow to disorient, the other to incapacitate. And more to smash in their skulls just like the lost puppy’s.

  “’Course, Vincent wasn’t the only strong boy in the Cove that summer,” Matthew added without warning. “Back when he was younger, after I told him I couldn’t find the pup, he started crying harder and said another boy in town must’ve stolen the punua kurī, that he was jealous of Vincent’s gift.”

  “He ever name the other boy?”

  “I never asked.” Matthew drank some of his tea, then put down the mug and began to roll another cigarette. “Needed a beer after what I’d seen, just wanted to get down to the pub.”

  “You think it’s possible another child was involved?”

  The hunter took his time answering. “Rich, good-looking boy with all the nice toys living in a flash house? Āe, another boy might see that and get a hot head.” Sealing the roll-up closed, he said, “No way to hide a stolen pup in Golden Cove.”

  This time, every single tiny hair on Will’s body rose up. What kind of a child would bash in a helpless puppy’s brains rather than allow another boy to possess it?

  45

  Will drove back into Golden Cove as night was falling, not sure what he was going to do with the information, or even if he believed all of it—because Matthew didn’t only smoke tobacco. Will had smelled weed on him more than once, but since there was no indication the hunter was cultivating or selling . . . and because of those haunted eyes, he’d let sleeping dogs lie.

  If a man wanted to self-medicate to escape the nightmares, who the fuck was Will to stop him?

  He might not have made the same call as a shiny young cop, but now he knew that a man could be broken. Sometimes, oblivion was a gift.

  But if Matthew’s information was right, Will had to follow it up all the way to the horrific end. A teenage boy who’d murdered three women and gotten away with it wouldn’t have stopped. No, he’d just have gotten smarter, slyer. And maybe stopped hunting on home ground.

  Jesus Christ, how many bodies were buried in the bush?

  He pulled into the supermarket lot on the heels of that thought, ran in to grab a six-pack of beer from the chiller, though he was unlikely to have more than a single one. The town was too unsettled for him to be incapacitated. Whether he even had one would depend on whether or not Anahera was in the mood to let him stay the night.

  “Any news?” Shan Lee asked him at the checkout, the man’s face smooth and without wrinkles but his eyes worn.

  “No. Nothing.” He paid, picked up the beer. “Your daughter’s a smart woman, Shan, and she knows to be careful.”

  “Never thought I’d have to worry about those things here.”

  No, neither had Will.

  The front door to Anahera’s cabin was open when he went up to the porch, and he could hear rock music within. “Anahera,” he called out.

  When she didn’t answer, he stepped in, looked around, his shoulders tight and his abdomen clenched. A pot sat bubbling on the makeshift stove, while half-chopped vegetables lay on the cutting board. Listening harder, he heard the sound of water running nearby.

  Anahera appeared from around the corner seconds later. “Had to go wash off some dirt. A sparrow slammed into the window and when I went to see if it was okay, I managed to stumble into muck.” She made a face. “Didn’t want to wash in the sink, not when I’m cooking.”

  Will wasn’t listening—he was too focused on the fact that she was wearing only a towel, hitched around her breasts. Yellow and short, it made her skin glow. “You left the door open.” The words shoved out.

  “You did message to say you were on the road out of town,” she pointed out. “Can you watch the stove?” Turning on her heel, she walked off toward her bedroom. “I was in the middle of changing.”

  Will wasn’t sure he took a breath until he heard the click of her bedroom door closing. “Fuck.”

  The woman packed a punch.

  Closing the front door, he kicked off his boots before heading in and putting the beer in her small fridge—it appeared secondhand, was probably a loaner from Josie and Tom. When he looked at the pot, he thought she might be making stew. Whatever it was, it smelled damn good. After making sure it wasn’t going to bubble over, he turned to the cutting board. A wash of his hands, then he finished chopping up the vegetables on the board.

  He’d just put down the knife when she walked back into the room, having changed into a slinky black dress with long sleeves that hit her midthigh and exposed her shoulders. Her only accessory was a greenstone pendant worn on a braided black cord. Her feet were bare, her hair down.

  Not saying a word, Will went to the fire and stoked it up to a blaze.

  Anahera laughed, the sound big and husky. “Does that mean you like the dress?”

  Shrugging off the shirt he wore on top of a white T-shirt, Will hung it on the back of a chair. “That’s not a dress that inspires a simple like.” It was too punch-in-the-gut sexy for that.

  Anahera didn’t answer until she’d scraped the vegetables into the stew pot. “It will taste good,” she said. “I know not everyone’s a fan of stew, but you’ll have to trust me on this.”

  “Oh,” Will said, “I didn’t realize you were talking about the food.”

  Another laugh. “I didn’t know you could flirt, cop.”

  Neither had Will. It had been an age since he’d done it, since he’d wanted to do it. “Should I have a beer?” he asked.

  She took one of the beers from the fridge and, pulling back the tab to open the can, placed it on the counter. “You could pour me a glass of wine.”

  Spotting the bottle of red she’d opened the other night, Will
did as asked. Then he leaned back against the wall and watched her move around the kitchen. It was a small space and she filled it to overflowing, her energy intense.

  He took a swallow of his beer, ran his eyes over the elegant curves of her body. She caught him at it. “Somehow, cop, I don’t think your mind is on food.”

  “I am thinking of eating something.”

  Anahera turned off the stove. “Food’s done.” She prowled over to him until her breasts touched his chest, her bare feet against his. When she tilted up her head, it was with unhidden challenge in her eyes.

  Will slid his free hand behind her neck, under the dark heaviness of her hair, and massaged. “You like the taste of beer?”

  “I don’t mind it.”

  Keeping his hand where it was, he leaned down to kiss her. She rose up into the kiss, no passive receiver but an active participant. If his mouth tasted like beer, hers was rich red wine and something deeper, more potent, intrinsically Anahera.

  He knew already she’d never be an easy woman to be with—if tonight wasn’t the only night they were to spend together. Anahera was complicated and strong and apt to be difficult at times. Of course, Will wasn’t exactly easy himself.

  Sinking deeper into the kiss, he fisted his hand in her hair but drew back before it could go any further. “How about a bed?” He leaned around her to put his beer on the counter.

  “It’s a single,” she warned.

  Will looked to the fireplace. “Hold that thought.”

  Leaving her with an amused look on her face, he went into the bedroom and hauled off the mattress to put it in front of the fireplace. She padded across to him as he was throwing the sheet over it. He’d just finished tucking it in when she reached back and undid the zipper on her dress. “Protection’s in the bedside drawer,” she said as the dress slid down her body, the firelight flickering over her proudly naked form.

  “I got us covered.” Pulling the foil packets from his jeans pocket and throwing them down beside the mattress, he put his hands on this woman who made him remember he was alive.

  * * *

  —

  Anahera felt as if she was coming out of a long winter. That winter hadn’t begun with Edward’s death; it had started in the years prior, when they’d slowly become strangers to one another.

  Will’s hands, rough and large, were as different from Edward’s as she was from the girl who’d once run wild on the beach below the cliffs. Sinking into the sensations, she pushed up his T-shirt until he tore it off, then ran her own hands over the hard ridges and hollows of his chest and around to his back.

  The ridges there were unexpected, the skin coarse.

  “Burns,” he said, breaking the kiss. “They bother you?”

  Anahera devoured his mouth in response. A few scars didn’t bother her. Not when her nerves crackled with an electric heat. All she wanted was to feel more and more and more. Like a prisoner who’d been starved, she wanted to gorge.

  The firelight pulsed against Will’s body as he rose to strip off the rest of his clothing, and she had the best view in the house. When he came down over her, she picked up one of the flat packets beside the mattress and slapped it to his chest. “Put it on. We can do the foreplay later.”

  She wanted him inside her, wanted to feel sexually alive from the inside out.

  Rising up onto his knees, he sheathed himself. “Ready?”

  “Since you arrived.” Her words seemed to pitch him over the edge, this controlled man who burned against her.

  The next few moments weren’t controlled at all, the two of them coming together in a storm of need and lust and hunger.

  Racing heartbeats.

  Demanding hands.

  A guttural grunt from Will.

  A short scream from Anahera.

  Harsh breaths.

  46

  “I haven’t screamed for a long time,” Anahera said long minutes later. It might’ve been a cold crash into reality except that Will had his arm around her shoulders, and she was lying with her head against his chest. Anahera wasn’t sure how she felt about the intimacy—sex was easy, it was the rest that complicated things.

  Will stroked his hand down her spine. “I haven’t been with anyone for over a year.”

  “High standards?” she said with a self-mocking smile.

  “Nightmares.”

  “Those nightmares have anything to do with the burns on your back?”

  “Same case that led to the inquiry.” He ran his hand down her spine again. “You’ve got some scars of your own.” The words didn’t demand.

  Maybe that was why she gave him an answer . . . of sorts. “It shouldn’t be such a big scar, but it was an emergency and there were complications.”

  Will didn’t ask the obvious probing question, but he raised his free hand to brush her hair from her face. The gesture was oddly tender and it struck her with terror.

  Sitting up, she reached for her dress, tugged it on over her head. “Zip me up?” She swept her hair to one side.

  Will did as asked, then let her use the bathroom before he did so himself. He’d taken his clothes with him, came out fully dressed. “Should I drag the mattress back to the bed?”

  Anahera knew what he was asking. “I don’t have an answer for you yet.” She’d had no intention of tonight being anything other than a physical release, but Will wasn’t a simple man. He was the kind of man who got under a woman’s skin and made her feel. Made her come awake on the inside—along with memories of the sterile cold of an operating theater, memories so painful that she didn’t talk about them even with her best friend.

  Will said nothing, just set the table before coming back for the pot of stew she’d reheated and was stirring.

  Pot on the table, he took her hand and tugged her to a chair. “Stop running, Anahera.” A press of his lips to her temple before he took his own seat. “I can tell you from experience that the demons eventually catch up with you, no matter what you do.”

  “Sometimes, we need to run, need to give ourselves time to heal enough to fight the demons.”

  “Do you think all wounds can be healed?”

  Anahera laughed, the sound more than a little ragged. “You’re a damn good cop, Will.” The wound inside her would never heal.

  Will looked at her with far too much insight, but didn’t say anything further. It was Anahera who finally spoke ten minutes later, after they’d served themselves and were eating. “Hysterectomy,” she said without attempting to soften the blow. “I guess that answers your question.”

  “My burns were second degree. But that doesn’t answer your question, does it?”

  She stared at him, at this man who was forcing her to confront the past, and she wondered . . . “Why the sudden desire to know my past? Am I still on your suspect list?”

  “No.” He closed his fingers around his beer but didn’t drink.

  “Then what’s with the questions?”

  “Because I want to get to know you.” Those gray eyes, so difficult to penetrate. “The sex, I could’ve had if I’d wanted it. I’m no prize, but there aren’t that many single men around for competition.”

  Anahera wondered if he truly believed that, if he truly didn’t understand the magnetism of his intensity and quiet competence. It kindled a compulsion to unravel him, see beneath that disciplined control. Ironically, one of the things Anahera had loved most about Edward was that he was an open book—and look how well that turned out. At least Will was up-front about his secrets.

  “I feel so special.” She took a sip of wine. “What sets me apart from the herd?”

  He didn’t flinch at her sharp tone, didn’t set his jaw or look away. “You’re unapologetically you,” he said. “Complex, difficult, gifted.” The slightest upward tug of his lips, the faintest whisper of a smile. “I’m a cop. We love solving mys
teries.”

  “The only mysteries about me are sordid,” Anahera said, suddenly tired of pretending. “They involve a cheating husband, a pregnant mistress, and a case of deep-vein thrombosis that led to a fatal pulmonary embolism.” Such an unfair way for healthy and fit Edward to die, such a senseless waste. “Mystery solved.”

  “No, that’s just a splinter of you.” Will held the dangerously intense eye contact. “You’re a creature of mystery and you always will be. I’ll never solve you.”

  Anahera didn’t know why, but she said, “Leave the mattress by the fire.”

  As she lay down on the mattress next to Will later that night, she knew this was nothing like what she’d had with Edward. That had been a bright, hopeful thing with butterfly wings. She was harder now, her wings torn off to be replaced by scar tissue.

  Will was the same.

  What would come of that? What could come of that?

  Will’s arm crept around her waist, hugging her to the heat and muscle of him. But Anahera’s eyes stared out into the darkness sketched in shadows by the firelight, her ghosts loud tonight.

  * * *

  —

  She woke to the sound of movement. Her eyelashes lifted, her body heavy with the kind of sleep she hadn’t had for a long, long time. Still drowsy, she watched Will put on his clothes and boots, and wondered if he’d sneak out of the house, doing his version of a walk of shame.

  But, of course, that wasn’t Will. She saw him grab a small notebook she’d left on the counter, begin to write a note.

  “Will.”

  Abandoning the note, he came to crouch by the mattress. Brushing her hair off her face with one hand, he said, “I have to go. A local found something not far from the rubbish dump. The call just came in.”

  Anahera had a vague memory of hearing an annoying buzzing.

  Sitting up, she let his hand drop away, her attention fixed on his face. It gave her nothing. “What do you mean they found something? Is it Miriama?”