Love you to Death

by Shannon K. Butcher

  Elise stood, waited for the wave of dizziness to pass, and picked up her purse.

  “I’m not letting you go alone.”

  “It’s better that way.” Better that he didn’t see her break down again. She knew she would. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be unbroken again.

  “Like hell. You’re in no shape to drive across town, much less up to Chicago. You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t even know who to talk to.”

  He was right. She’d been ready to jump in her car and drive. She probably wouldn’t have even realized she didn’t know where she was going until she was miles away.

  “Do you know?”

  “Yes. I used to work for Chicago PD.”

  “Can you give me directions?”

  “No, but I’ll drive you.”

  “I’d rather go alone.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and the wet patches her tears had left behind. “Then you can wait until tomorrow, after you’ve had some sleep.”

  Sleep? Was he serious? Elise felt like she was never going to sleep again. She couldn’t even fathom lying down and closing her eyes. She knew exactly what she’d see.

  Headless. Handless.

  Ashley.

  Trent grabbed her arm, and until then, she hadn’t even realized how unsteady she was.

  “Go change. I’m going to call my brother and tell him I might not make it in to work tomorrow.” And just to make sure she didn’t leave without him, he snatched her keys and shoved them deep into his pocket. “We’ll leave in five minutes.”

  Elise was ready and waiting on him in three.

  Gary stored the dead woman’s lower leg in his refrigerator. He wouldn’t need the whole thing, but there wasn’t time to finish the job now. He needed the cover of dark to get rid of the body.

  He laid what was left of the woman inside the body bag and zipped it closed. Her head and hands were already in separate bags and stowed in the trunk of his car. As pretty as they were, he no longer had a use for them, and he knew from experience that separating them from the rest of the body made identification much more difficult and time-consuming for the police.

  Gary was enjoying himself too much to allow the police to find him.

  He’d just lifted the body to carry it up from the basement when his cell phone rang.

  Gary pulled off the surgical gloves, dug under the disposable plastic poncho, and retrieved the buzzing annoyance from his pocket.

  It was his brother.

  “Hello, Lawrence,” he answered.

  “Care to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

  Gary knew what he meant, but he found it more amusing to pretend ignorance. “Work, mostly. You?”

  “Stop playing dumb. I heard about the woman you met at Sally’s.”

  “I meet a lot of women there.” Among other places. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” asked Lawrence in a whisper.

  “Doing what?” he asked, just to get a rise out of his stuffy brother.

  Lawrence made a strangled sound of frustration. “You’re going to ruin everything. I have a business to run. I can’t have my brother behaving in such a deviant manner.”

  “Deviant? Some would say playing with dead people was deviant.”

  Gary could practically hear his brother’s spine straighten, each vertebra clicking into place. “I do not play with them. I perform an invaluable public service.”

  “You burn and bury corpses. It’s not curing cancer.”

  “I have a reputation to maintain, and you’re going to destroy it. You’re going to destroy everything I’ve worked for.”

  “Only if I’m caught,” said Gary. “And that’s not going to happen, is it?”

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to report you, if that’s what you mean.”

  “If you’re so worried, then you could always help me. Like you used to.” Getting rid of bodies was a lot easier when his brother cremated them. No muss, no fuss, no evidence. Too bad Lawrence had put his foot down a few months ago.

  As if that was going to stop Gary from finding all those women and bringing them home. He’d almost found enough pieces to finish stitching together the perfect body for Wendy to replace the one that had been crushed in the accident. The leg in his refrigerator was one of the last bits he was going to need. Just a few more pieces, and he’d be done. Wendy would be whole again.

  Then he could start all over. Give Wendy a sister to keep her company. Or a daughter. She’d always wanted a child, and now he could give her one.

  The thought made his heart pound as he gripped the phone tighter.

  “No,” said Lawrence. “I run a legitimate business. I won’t risk it for you or anyone else.”

  “That’s not what I hear,” said Gary. “I hear you’re working for one of the families, helping them the way you used to help me.”

  Haughty indignation rang in Lawrence’s tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. But I don’t mind. The more the merrier, right?”

  “Stop it, Gary. I mean now. No more.”

  “Or else what? What do you think you could possibly do to me? Have me offed by your new Mafia friends?”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “You won’t do it. It’s too late for that. You’re an accomplice now,” said Gary, just to goad his brother.

  Lawrence was terrified of prison. He was homophobic to the point of paranoia, and convinced that if he went to jail, he’d end up as some con’s plaything.

  There was a long stretch of silence on the line before Lawrence spoke. “You’re getting sloppy. People are asking questions. It’s only a matter of time before your depravity is uncovered.”

  Depravity. Gary had often wondered if there was something wrong with him—if his need to take these perfect, beautiful creatures apart made him sick. It wasn’t as if he’d sought out this passion. It had landed in his lap—literally—the night Wendy died.

  It was a gift she’d given him as she departed. A way for them to stay connected even beyond death. How could that kind of love be depraved?

  “You’d better hope my hobby stays hidden, because if it doesn’t, I’m taking you down with me.” With that, Gary hung up and pocketed his phone beneath the waterproof poncho.

  He pulled on a new pair of gloves, picked up the body and headed for his car. He still had a lot to do tonight if he was going to keep to his schedule.

  Gloria wasn’t going to wait forever to be caught.

  And Wendy wasn’t going to wait forever for a new pair of feet.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It wasn’t Ashley. That poor, mutilated woman wasn’t Ashley.

  Elise knew it as soon as she saw the irregular birthmark on the back of the woman’s left shoulder—right above a missing patch of skin. She didn’t dare ask why they’d removed that patch. She preferred to believe it had been done for some sort of forensic test.

  “It’s not her,” she managed to choke out.

  “You’re sure?” asked the young woman who’d met them.

  “Yes.”

  She pulled the sheet back up. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but thank you for coming.”

  Elise nodded. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Foster,” said Trent.

  His arm at her waist held her steady, guiding her back through the hallways. She never could have found her way without him. She hadn’t been paying enough attention.

  She still wasn’t. She was trapped in that thick, numbing fog that had settled over her during the drive here. Nothing quite seemed to penetrate except the warmth of Trent’s hand on her arm.

  He stopped and spoke to a man Elise didn’t know, signed some paperwork, then guided her out into the darkness and tucked her into the passenger’s seat of her rental car.

  “I’m going to find us a place to rest for a while, okay? Maybe get something to eat?”


  He was probably tired and hungry. It was nearing two in the morning and he’d missed a lot of sleep the night before helping her search for Ashley’s car. “Sure. That’s fine.”

  He got them a room at a motel and led her inside.

  Elise sat on one of the beds, staring at the black screen of the TV. All she saw was that woman’s mutilated body, the dead-fish pallor of her skin, the ragged flesh of her wrists. Her neck.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  She wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, but the door opening startled her when he came back inside.

  He opened a cold can of soda and handed it to her. “Drink this. You could probably use some sugar right now.”

  Elise sipped the drink because she simply didn’t think to not do as he asked. The ginger ale fizzed in her mouth and slid down her throat, easing the dryness she hadn’t noticed before.

  “Do you think you could eat?” he asked.

  She wasn’t hungry, but she hadn’t eaten much today. Or yesterday. Ashley was still out there, and she needed her strength to find her. “Maybe.”

  “I can run and get something, if you think you’ll be okay here alone for a while.”

  “Okay.”

  He knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his. He was so warm. She had no idea how he could be so warm when that room had been so cold.

  “Elise,” he whispered, making her look at him instead of the TV. His blue eyes were rimmed with dark lashes that curled at the tips. They were ridiculously beautiful in the midst of such a ruggedly masculine face. Golden shards of determination glowed, radiating out from his pupils. “We’ll find her.”

  “Not like that. I can’t find her in one of those drawers, Trent.”

  “Not like that,” he agreed. “We’ll find her before it’s too late.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I’m not, but what I do know is that if we give up now, she has no hope. Wherever she is, whatever she’s done, she needs us. If we lose hope now, we’re putting her in that drawer.”

  “Then I won’t lose hope,” said Elise, wishing she felt the words. “I’ll keep looking.”

  “We’ll keep looking. You’re not alone in this.”

  No, she wasn’t. She hadn’t realized how much she needed him until now. “Thank you.”

  He squeezed her hands. “I won’t be long,” he promised. “Why don’t you get a hot shower while I’m gone? Your hands are like blocks of ice.”

  That sounded good. Maybe a shower would help wash away the stench of that morgue and help her drive away the image of that poor woman’s body.

  * * *

  Trent made sure the door shut and latched behind him. Elise was completely out of it, and probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d left it hanging wide open.

  Seeing the corpse hadn’t broken her, but it had come damn close.

  If that woman had been Ashley…

  He didn’t even want to think about it. Just the possibility that it could have been had nearly killed Elise.

  She wasn’t strong enough to do this alone. Not that he could blame her. He wouldn’t have been strong enough to hold himself together if it had been Sam who’d gone missing.

  She needed him, and for the first time in two years, he felt like himself again. He really shouldn’t get involved, but what choice did he have? She didn’t have anyone else—certainly no one else with the background he had.

  It wasn’t as if he was doing anything more important with his life. Sam could handle things without him. In fact, Trent was pretty sure Sam didn’t really need him at all—he just told Trent he did so Trent wouldn’t feel like he was taking a handout from his little brother. It had fooled Trent for a while, but he knew better now. He’d just been playing along because it was the easy thing to do. It made everyone in the family happy, and it paid the bills.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Trent knew himself well enough to realize that if he let go and threw himself into helping Elise find Ashley, the thrill of the hunt would come roaring back to him. He’d get hooked again and be back where he was two years ago, mourning a friend and a career.

  He wasn’t sure he could walk away from doing what he loved twice.

  He’d told Elise he’d help, and he would, but he had to be careful about how much help he allowed himself to give. He had to be careful to remember that this was only temporary. Not his real life. His real life was back in Haven, not here in Chicago, where memories of his mistakes were everywhere. He could give her advice, but that was all. He couldn’t go out looking for Ashley with her. He couldn’t go to bars, asking questions and finding leads.

  What if he ran into John?

  Just the thought was enough to make Trent scan his surroundings, like his old partner was going to jump out and surprise him.

  John didn’t jump anymore. He couldn’t run, couldn’t walk. He couldn’t even stand. Trent had taken all of that away from him.

  He’d taken even more away from Regina Craft. He’d taken her son.

  Trent squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive away the memories of that night.

  So much blood. It had spread out over the cracked alley, making the pavement gleam under the yellow streetlight nearby. The smell of garbage mixed with the metallic tang of death had filled his nose, choking him almost as much as his panic.

  He’d managed to stem the flow of blood from John’s back, but there hadn’t been a thing he could do for Tyler Craft. He was already dead.

  Trent sucked in a breath, filling his lungs with fresh air. He wasn’t in that alley. He couldn’t go there now, not while Elise needed him to stay solid and help her get through this. He wasn’t going to be any good to anyone if he started taking a trip down memory lane. That road led only to helpless rage and debilitating grief.

  Trent shoved his personal hell aside long enough to find something for them to eat. He figured breakfast was going to be easiest on her iffy stomach, so he found a nearby diner that served it all day and night.

  When he got back to the room, her hair was wet from a shower. She wore the same clothes she’d had on before, because neither of them had thought about bringing an overnight bag. He’d intended to drive back home tonight until he’d seen how unstable she’d been after viewing the body.

  Elise sat on one of the beds. The TV was on, but the sound was so low Trent couldn’t hear any of the dialogue.

  When she looked at him, she seemed clearer—more like herself.

  “Good shower?” he asked, more to engage her in conversation than anything else.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m warmer now.”

  “Good.” He set the food down on a small round table in front of the window. “I got pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Want some?”

  She didn’t answer, but she came and sat down in front of one of the divided Styrofoam containers. Trent handed her a pack of syrup and took the lid off her orange juice.

  She looked fragile and uncertain, staring at her food like she didn’t remember what to do next.

  Trent opened the plastic pack of utensils and fixed her pancakes the way he ate his. He wasn’t sure if she was one of those women who never touched butter, but she didn’t stop him from spreading it on, or drenching them in syrup.

  He handed her the fork, and she looked up at him, blinking. “Do you think Ashley’s hungry right now?”

  Oh, God. He couldn’t let her go down that path. He’d seen how badly that could end. “No. I think she’s asleep. Safe.” He didn’t even care that it was probably a lie. He’d keep on lying to her if that’s what it took to keep her grounded. “She’d want you to eat and take care of yourself.”

  Elise gave him a distracted nod, but she started eating, staring off into space. Thinking.

  Trent needed to distract her and keep her mind from heading into dark places. “Tell me about you and Ashley. Where did you grow up?”

  She answered automatically, without pausing. “Wisconsin, mostly.”

  “What
about your parents? Are they still there?”

  She shook her head, and a damp curl stuck to her cheek. “Dad divorced Mom right after Ashley was born, and found a family he liked better.”

  “Ouch. That had to suck.”

  “At first. We got used to it. Mom married again a couple of times. Divorced again a couple of times.”

  “You make that sound like something everyone does.”

  Elise shrugged. “Look around. Seems pretty normal to me. How many times have your parents been married?”

  “Once. To each other.”

  “Huh. I didn’t think that happened anymore.”

  And she thought he was cynical. Rather than debating a touchy topic, Trent steered her back toward safer ground. “What did your mom do?”

  “Office work during the day, waited tables at night.”

  “Who took care of you kids?”

  She gave him a confused frown. “I took care of Ashley.”

  Which left no one to take care of Elise. Suddenly, her desperate need to do whatever it took to find Ashley started to make more sense. Elise felt responsible for Ashley because she’d grown up being responsible for her.

  “Were you two always close?” he asked.

  She ate a bite of bacon, grimaced, and went back to her pancakes. “Yeah. Right up until I graduated. Mom wanted me to skip college and stay home with Ashley. She’d just started high school and everything was a drama.”

  “Sounds pretty standard for that age.”

  “No. Not like this. She didn’t cope well with Mom’s last divorce. She went wild. We had to watch her constantly, or she’d run off with some guy—usually a much older guy. It’s a wonder she didn’t end up pregnant by the time she was fifteen. At least that’s what Mom always said. She was a big fan of the Lecture.”

  Trent remembered getting a few of those himself, though he doubted they were the same as the ones Elise got. “What was the Lecture?”

  “It started differently, but always ended the same way. If we went to a movie with a guy, or hung out at the mall or went miniature golfing, we were going to end up raped, pregnant, full of STDs, and dead in a ditch by sunrise.”