The Art of Fear (The Little Things That Kill Series Book 1)

by Pamela Crane

  Yes, I had no balls.

  A sharp, incessant Chihuahua bark—I knew the breed by the compulsion to plunge a screwdriver into my eardrums just to make it stop—at the door was followed by a scolding—Sprocket, you stop that!—then the yapping receded into the depths of the house somewhere.

  Sprocket. I remembered the name and was pretty sure it was the same dog from when I lived next door. God, that thing had to be close to twenty years old by now. My bet was that it was too mean to die, like those grumpy old fossils who lived to be over a hundred, their longevity fueled by vitriol and hate.

  A moment later the clatter of the door handle was followed by a swoosh. A spindly woman with not enough brown hair dye peered through a head-sized crack in the doorway. Her skin overlapped itself like a head of lettuce. It took a moment for my brain to unlock the face from my mental catalogue, but sure enough, it was Mrs. Salinger … looking way older than she did when I’d last seen her fourteen years ago.

  She’d been an old mom even back then, having her son Benny in her forties. It was a fad many moms were hopping aboard, waiting until financial and career stability to have kids. For some reason it took forever to get there, which made for a lot of only-child families in this neighborhood.

  “Mrs. Salinger?” I asked, assuming she’d have no clue who I was.

  “Oh my gosh! Ari—Ari Wilburn?” she squealed.

  “Yes,” I chirped, dumbfounded by her recollection.

  In a rush of arms and hands, she pulled me into a hug and shook me like I needed resuscitating. After that hug, I just might have.

  “And who is this handsome young man? Your hubby?” She waggled her eyebrows like we were sharing a juicy secret.

  “Tristan Cox. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  I appreciated how he avoided the marital implication. No need advertising my single status to the whole neighborhood, which was exactly where the news would travel if left in Mrs. Salinger’s care.

  “Well, come in, come in!” Every word was accentuated, pulsing, and eardrum splitting. I had forgotten how her tinny voice carried. She pulled us through the door, then pushed us into a living room reeking of mothballs. “It’s been ages since I’ve heard from your parents. I tried keeping in touch with them, but they moved so much, I gave up on updating my address book. And you … just look at you! As gorgeous as ever. Benny’s going to be so disappointed he missed you.”

  “Benny still lives here?” I asked.

  “It only made sense. He’ll be finishing up with college at the end of this year, God willing. As long as he keeps his grades up. Spends too much time with the video games, if you ask me. I’d love for him to bring a girl home one of these days. But boys will be boys, I suppose.”

  Boys will be boys. Except Benny was a grown man of twenty-two.

  While Benny had been in the same class as Carli, he’d had a most obvious crush on me for as long as I knew him. A googly-eyed, drooling, tongue-numbing crush. Any time I’d invite him to play outside, he came down with a severe case of shyness that sent him into hiding, struck dumb, on his front porch. A weird kid, and it sounded like he hadn’t changed much.

  “So what brings you out this way?” Mrs. Salinger—for I never knew her first name—babbled on, avoiding even the slightest conversational pause. It was like a moment of silence literally pained her.

  “I actually wanted to ask you something. I was wondering if you remembered anything about the accident … like the car that hit Carli?”

  Her face fell into a frown. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry, but I didn’t see a thing. I didn’t even know what happened until Benny came running in screaming about it. The police came around asking questions, and I wish I had more to tell them, but I only heard about everything after the fact. And most of that was from Benny.”

  I could imagine her disappointment at missing out on the tragic details of the latest gossip. It was what she lived for back then, her stock-in-trade.

  “Wait—Benny saw it happen?”

  “He sure did. But he clammed up the moment the police came around. Petrified. I guess a man in uniform can be intimidating to a child. Plus he was a shy boy, you know. Even a glimpse from you and his little jaw just clamped shut!” She laughed as her memory swept her somewhere else in some faraway time, but I was stuck on something right here, right now.

  Benny.

  Benny saw what happened.

  Benny saw the car.

  “Do you think Benny would remember what he saw?” I asked hopefully.

  “I dunno, but you can come on by anytime to ask him yourself. I’m sure he’d like that. He’s got classes all day today, but he’ll be around tomorrow if you want to drop by.”

  I thanked her a million times over and vowed to return the next day. Was it possible the answer to my lifelong question had been next door all along?

  As we headed to my Focus, Tristan playfully hip-checked me. “You did good in there, kid.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do I need to be worried about you and Benny being alone tomorrow?” He chuckled, walking me to my driver’s-side door.

  “Hmm …” I thoughtfully stroked my chin. “Plays video games. No job. Lives with his mommy. Uh, how could I pass up that gem? Not sure I’ll be able to restrain myself.”

  And if Tristan didn’t watch it, I’d be losing my restraint on him too. But I locked that temptation away. At least for the moment. And yet I found myself standing there beside the car, waiting … for what, I didn’t know.

  Or maybe I did.

  Our eyes met, held, and I forgot to breathe.

  Tristan must have found the key to my desire, because a moment later I felt the air relax, then stiffen between us, a contraction of time as the silence gasped for breath. Then suddenly an electric charge jolted my heart. I could feel it—the moment before our first kiss.

  As he tilted my chin upward, every cell vibrated at his touch. I reached for the fount of his love, thirsted for it. I yearned for his passion to collapse upon me, pulling me under.

  His kiss was thrilling, supple, uncertain, masculine. Everything a kiss should be.

  Gripping my waist and pulling me into his, I shuddered against his firm body, fully aware of the shockwaves racking every nerve. I was certain my synapses were firing at a deathly rate, but at least I’d die happy. His hands on my body were an ocean—pulling me in, then pushing me away as his Cupid’s arrow pierced my heart.

  We were leather meets lace. Even if the lace—me—was a little yellowed.

  Perhaps kissing Tristan would be that regrettable Craigslist impulse buy when I got home, but right now he was the balm for my aching heart. Just what the doctor ordered.

  Chapter 21

  Ari

  Seven days until dead

  I don’t know where exactly Cloud 9 is, but I had set up camp and planned to stay a spell. After yesterday’s kiss, I didn’t know what to do with myself after I arrived home—alone. Feeling fidgety, I needed something to focus on, other than replaying the kiss for the next several hours.

  I ended up whiling away the time by looking through Josef Alvarez’s case file. Upon finding nothing, I pulled out the address book that I swiped from his house. He was probably the one guy left in a million who still used a tangible address book. There were barely a handful of names in it—Rosalita Alvarez, George Battan, Pedro Luis—until one in particular caught my eye: Killian Alvarez, complete with address and phone number. Luckily the info wasn’t as outdated as the address book.

  Calling him during my lunch break at work, my floor supervisor Florence and the kids’ department associate Gloria caught wind of the masculine voice on the other end and teased me mercilessly—and with way too much innuendo, which felt ickier given that they were both in their early seventies:

  “It’s about time you found a man to release all that pent-up horniness with.”

  Ew.

  “When’s the last time you did the horizontal tango?”

  Double ew.

  “
You’re overdue for some hard salami in your diet!”

  They screeched with laughter while I shushed them in the background, praying Killian hadn’t overheard as I explained who I was and made plans to meet after work. After hanging up I yelled an exaggerated “eeew!” and scolded them, explaining how he was a sixteen-year-old boy who was the brother of a friend. Of course that’s when the crude cradle robber comments had started, forcing me to hide out for a while in a changing room.

  The oversexed old bags were still ragging me when I clocked out of work five minutes early, thanks to my short lunch break, and headed to the Waffle House on Hillsborough Road, nervous about what I would say to Killian … and wondering how much Tina would kill me for doing so. Most likely she’d be dismemberment mad.

  The Waffle House’s yellow sign looked cheery and inviting against the gray concrete block exterior. The red awning shaded me from the sun scorching my winter-white arms. If I had any chance of surviving the fast-approaching summer, I’d need to get started on my base tan, as it was only April and we were already hitting the mid-seventies.

  Inhaling a deep, calming breath, I opened the glass front door and an icy blast of air conditioning tousled my hair and clothes. Damn, they kept the place cold.

  Inside, only a smattering of people sat in booths, making it easy to find Killian—the only Latino adolescent in the place amid the mostly elderly patrons. Like his sister, his features boasted perfect symmetry and shine. In the way he nodded his head at me in greeting, I instantly saw a ladies’ man.

  “You Killian?” I asked.

  “Yep. And you’re Ari, right?”

  “Hey.” I nodded and sat across from him.

  He tossed me a menu—more like flung it at me; it slipped through my fingers and onto the floor, making me feel foolish, even though it was his fault. I stooped to pick it up, bumping my head on table on my way up. After we had placed our drink orders, a syrupy residue from the menu clung to my palm, attracting shreds of my napkin to my skin as I wiped at it. I was officially annoyed now.

  Already this was going so well.

  “So you know my sister,” Killian began, slathering ChapStick on his lips before finishing his thought, “Sophia—er, Tina.”

  “Yeah, which is what I wanted to talk to you about.” The door was open, but I had no idea how to step through. Did I simply slam him with Your father may have been murdered by sex traffickers and they’re coming for her next? I’m sure there was some kind of etiquette involved, but when it came to manners, I was clueless. I blamed the foster system for that.

  “I don’t know how much you know, but Tina’s in the hospital right now.”

  “What? Is she okay?” He jumped up from the booth as if ready to bolt to the hospital right then and there.

  I patted the air in front of him in a sit-down-there’s-more gesture. “She’s fine now. But the reason she’s in there is because she got a threatening phone call. Are you aware of what she’s been through?” I had to tread carefully if I wanted to maintain Tina’s confidence while helping her.

  “Yeah, I know about it. The traffickers. My dad told me. That’s why I’m in America. Me and my dad came to find her to get her out.”

  “Really? What happened?” Clearly they hadn’t succeeded.

  “I found out dear old Dad got into more debt while we were here and they were gonna take it out on Sophia. I wanted my dad to pay them off to free my sister, but Dad had other plans. We ended up having a fight about it … a falling out or whatever. Haven’t seen him since.”

  Shit. He hadn’t seen his father since … when? I sure as hell hoped I wasn’t the one who would have to break the news to him about his father’s death. Unless Killian was the reason no one would ever see Josef again.

  This was not going as planned. “Do you know about your father …?” I couldn’t finish the sentence, and thankfully Killian wasn’t going to make me.

  “Being dead? Yeah, I’m aware.”

  Thank God I dodged that bullet.

  “I’m sorry about your loss,” I muttered as sincerely as I could force it.

  “Wasn’t no loss for me. Good riddance, old man.”

  He was clearly overcome with grief.

  “So you’re okay that he’s dead?”

  “The man sold his daughter for some quick cash, then dragged me here away from my life and my friends, only to run up more debt and leave me hanging. I had nowhere to live, had to get a job, never even finished school. What am I supposed to do now? He leaves me homeless, no cash, no nothing. So yeah, I’m cool with him killing himself.”

  “Tina and I think he might have been murdered.”

  “Fine, then I applaud whoever killed the bastardo.” He slapped his palm on the table, causing my glass of water to tremble and spill a few drops. Now that was unsettling, laying his endorsement of his pop’s murder out like a royal flush.

  The waitress apparently took Killian’s outburst as her cue to take our order. I shooed her away with an impatient gesture.

  As Killian’s hand rested on the table, something sparkled in the sunlight pouring in through the smudged window. His watch, bedecked in diamonds. And a gold ring adorned with red gems. I scanned upward, noting the gold chain hung around his neck and a diamond stud in one ear.

  Penniless, huh? Bullshit.

  I called his bluff.

  “And your bling?” I glanced down at his hands so he could follow my gaze.

  “You think I’d sell my sister for some jewelry? This stuff is from my sugar mama. I don’t even like gold. I wear it for her. I’m just as much a victim as Sophia. They came after me too. Threatened to hurt me, but they know they can’t touch me.”

  Typical teen machismo.

  “Who’s they?” I needed more. He was telling me what I already knew.

  “Some prick with a lot of cash, but I don’t know his name. Dad kept it all hush-hush. Just ask Sophia. She can tell you.”

  But Tina wasn’t talking. Afraid that I would go after the guy, she kept her secrets sealed. How was I supposed to help her find her father’s killer if she insisted on protecting him?

  “I’ve tried. No luck. So you say you care about your sister, but why haven’t you tried reaching out to her?”

  “I did! I got her number from my grandmother, left a bunch of messages, but she won’t talk to me. All I’m trying to do is look out for her, but she’s convinced I’m out to get her. I want to see her, if she’d let me.”

  Had Tina lied about that too? I was starting to wonder what the truth really was … and if Tina was playing me for a damn fool.

  “Look, let me talk to her.” Maybe if I helped ease their estrangement I could dig down to the truth. “I’ll see if I can mediate between you two. Since your grandmother’s here too, it might be a good time for a family reunion.”

  “Good luck with that. You clearly don’t know how stubborn the Alvarez family can be.”

  Family dynamics weren’t exactly my forte as my own track record clearly demonstrated, but if there was any chance I could help them—and claw my way through all of Tina’s fabrications, something I knew a bit about—it was worth a shot. If anything, the whole investigative thing was a fast cure for my anxiety. Ever since playing detective for Tina, I’d talked to more people than I had in the past decade.

  “The secrets your sister tried so hard to bury keep coming out of the woodwork, and your father was killed because he kept pissing off the wrong people. I have a pretty good guess at how stubborn your family can be.”

  Killian walked me to the door, then halfway through he looked at me. “Which hospital did you say Tina was at, again?”

  “Duke Hospital—on Duke Street.”

  “Thanks.”

  I regretted sharing my intel as soon as I said it.

  Chapter 22

  Josef

  San Luis, Mexico

  2013

  Josef was a man who took matters into his own hands. It was the reason he hadn’t always made the best of friends.
It was why he leased out his daughter to pay the bills. It was why Mercedes left him all those years ago. But this—the horror his eyes were witnessing—could not continue. It was time to take back what was his.

  Before this moment, porn was just a movie to get off on. A fifteen-minute fling with the imagination when he was bored or horny or tired. It was a hot chick and a faceless dude—as far as Josef was concerned—consensually getting it on so that Josef could, well, get off. The women got paid, the men got pleasured, and the customers got relief. Win-win-win.

  But when he stumbled upon a “hot new release” that was taking his favorite porn hub by storm, he just had to look. See what the fuss was all about.

  A mouse click. Buffering.

  Pregnant chick porn.

  Nah. Not his cup of tea.

  Well, maybe one more look.

  Then shockwaves.

  The girl in the film wasn’t some busty bitch he’d seen a million times before. But she was familiar. Too familiar—in the familial way.

  Though much older than he last saw her, he recognized the almond shape of her eyes. The way her cheekbones angled upward. The arc of her pulpy lips that used to kiss his cheek goodnight.

  It was Sophia. His baby girl. And judging by the swell of her belly, about six months pregnant. She was not the baby he remembered. She was a woman, but not quite. Despite her full breasts and long limbs, there remained the bloom of adolescence in the innocent face, contrasting with the abject fear in her eyes. She blushed in cherry blossom pink embarrassment and shame, and squinted away the reality of what was happening. It clearly wasn’t a choice.

  He counted the years … if memory served, she was way too young to be pregnant, way too pure to be doing this while a man moaned and groaned over her. Was this what she was commissioned to do now?