by Karen Rose
‘That has to kill you inside,’ Marcus said gently. ‘Knowing he’s free. But what does that have to do with reporters?’
She sighed wearily. ‘When Michelle went missing, we – her friends – told the police that Trent was abusive, that Michelle had been afraid of him. Which was all true. The cops were watching Bracken, but he didn’t know it then, because they were keeping it quiet.’
‘I take it that he found out.’
She nodded. ‘Because some narcissistic, big-mouthed, tiny-dicked reporter told everyone in town.’ She’d said ‘reporter’ with an angry sneer, but it was the ‘tiny-dicked’ adjective that made Marcus cringe. ‘At that point Michelle was still alive. But Bracken saw his name in print and went ballistic.’ Her throat worked as she tried to swallow. ‘I found her body the next day. She was still warm. Her blood was still warm. Still dripping down the wall of the alley where he’d dumped her.’
In an alley? Hell, this day had been a bad one for her. Finding Tala’s body in the alley this morning had to have yanked her back in time. He could offer his sympathy, but he didn’t think she wanted to hear it right now. Plus, there was more to this reporter issue. He could feel it. ‘How did the tiny-dicked reporter find out that Bracken was a suspect?’
Her lips twisted. ‘I told him.’
Marcus blinked again, definitely not expecting that. ‘You talked to the reporter? Why?’
‘Because I didn’t know he was planning to become a reporter. When I told him, he was just my boyfriend.’
‘Oh.’ Marcus tried to find something to say. ‘Tiny-dicked’ made a little more sense now, and he couldn’t honestly say it bothered him to hear it. ‘That’s one helluva betrayal.’
‘Yeah,’ she muttered. ‘All the reporters had been bugging me for interviews. Because I was Michelle’s best friend, they figured I knew things, and I did, of course. I kept saying “no comment”, but the assholes wouldn’t leave me alone. As if it wasn’t bad enough that my best friend was missing . . . Getting back to my dorm room had become worse than running the gauntlet, so I’d been hiding out in Donny’s dorm room.’
‘Who was Donny?’
‘My boyfriend.’
Marcus frowned. ‘I thought Bryan was your college boyfriend.’
Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. ‘No, Bryan and I have always just been friends. I already told you that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, soothing her with his voice, because she was sending out serious touch-me-and-die vibes. ‘You did tell me that. So why didn’t you just go home? I would think that your six brothers could have scared off any reporters.’
Her chuckle was mirthless. ‘Colin and Gil were married and in their own homes, and Phin . . . he was on tour in Iraq. Sawyer and Dorian were still in high school, and they wanted to scare the reporters off but Mom wouldn’t let them. Arrest records play havoc with college scholarships. Nate was still in elementary school, still a baby. I did go home, though. After.’
‘After you found Michelle’s body.’
A sharp nod. ‘For a few days. I couldn’t stay too long. We were headed into finals week and my parents had sacrificed a lot to send me to college. So I manned up and went back so that I could finish the semester.’ One side of her mouth lifted in a bitter half-smile. ‘Donny actually had the nerve to come up to me and ask for a follow-up interview.’
‘What did you do to him?’
‘Made it so that he’d never get a TV job. He was pretty before I bloodied his fucking nose. Afterward, not so much.’
‘Good,’ Marcus said grimly, then frowned. ‘But I jumped ahead. You were saying that you’d been hiding out in his dorm room.’
‘Yes, because I was a Class A idiot, trusting the limp-dicked asshole.’
‘How old were you, Scarlett?’ he asked kindly.
She swallowed hard. ‘Twenty,’ she whispered, and a single tear streaked down her cheek. ‘Twenty and so goddamn stupid. I didn’t think he loved me, but I never dreamed he’d use me like that.’
Marcus trailed the backs of his fingers over her damp cheek. ‘What did he do, honey?’
‘He’d been there for me, listening, letting me cry on his shoulder. I didn’t know he’d been taking notes the whole time. He sold his story to one of the network affiliates, with the proviso that he got to be the guest reporter.’
‘What news show would have agreed to that?’
‘The one that wanted the story the most.’
‘So Donny just up and decided he wanted to be a TV reporter one day? Was he taking journalism classes?’
Her mouth tightened, little frown lines spidering into her cheeks. ‘No, he was a psychology major. His plan was to use the story to get a job with one of the network shows like 20/20 and become famous using his psycho-know-how to trick people into revealing all.’
Marcus scoffed. ‘Was he delusional?’
‘As it turns out, yes. I didn’t know he wanted to be a reporter. I didn’t know he wanted to be famous. I don’t think he realized it until Michelle’s disappearance became national news.’
‘Did he get a job?’
‘Yes, but not with the network.’
‘Because you broke his fucking nose,’ Marcus said with satisfaction, earning him a small smile.
‘Exactly. He wrote for a tabloid rag, but never got rich or famous. His writing sucked and his story was a one-hit wonder, so to speak. He never got another big scoop and ended up being fired. He didn’t get into grad school for his psych degree either. Now he sells cars.’
‘Using his psycho-know-how to get people to buy cars they don’t yet know they want.’
‘Exactly,’ she said again. ‘So that’s why I don’t trust reporters.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘He wasn’t a real reporter, honey. I think you nailed it when you said he was a narcissist.’
‘Once Donny broke the story,’ she said far too quietly, ‘the real reporters were all over me. They would not leave me alone. They followed me from class across campus, sticking their microphones in my face. I’m glad I wasn’t carrying back then. I would have shot them.’
He had no doubt that she spoke the truth.
She said nothing for a long, long moment, then sighed heavily. ‘I couldn’t deal with them at that point, so I hid out in church.’
‘Your uncle’s church?’
‘Yeah. I’d spent a lot of time in the school chapel up until that point, but the reporters followed me in there too. So I called Bryan, because he had a motorbike. He picked me up outside the chapel. Stopped just long enough for me to climb on, and then he was off like a damn rocket. He lost the reporters, then took me to my uncle’s church, where he and Uncle Trace waited up with me for most of the night, along with Michelle’s family and the rest of mine. She and I had grown up in that church, been confirmed together by the priest before Uncle Trace. We spent the whole night on our knees, praying. Except when we were answering our phones. The damn things buzzed all night. The reporters had gotten our numbers and kept calling. We wanted to turn off the phones but we all kept thinking Michelle might call. That something would happen.’
‘I understand,’ Marcus said softly. More than you know.
She glanced at him, guilt in her eyes. ‘I know you do. I know how you all worried when Mikhail disappeared. I’m sorry. I know Michelle’s family and mine aren’t the only families to who have suffered like this.’
‘That was hell,’ he murmured, but at least he’d only found Mikhail’s body. He hadn’t been there when he died. Marcus closed his eyes. He hadn’t had to hear Mikhail’s pleas for him to help. He hadn’t been so lucky with Matty. And he’d been too young to deal with it.
Mawcus. Matty’s screams, the screams of a toddler, permanently etched in Marcus’s brain. Mawcus. Normally Marcus could block them, pretend that he’d never heard them – when he was awake, anyway. Unlike Stone’s anguished cries, which he heard waking or sleeping.
Make him stop, Marcus. I just want to go home.<
br />
‘Marcus?’ she asked, her voice thick with concern. ‘Um, Marcus?’
Eyes flipping open, he swallowed a curse. He should have known she’d pick up on his slip. ‘How did you find her?’ he asked, trying to get her back on to her story and off his.
‘I got a text the next morning, from her phone.’ Another bitter smile. ‘I thought my prayers had been answered. The text just said to meet her behind the dorm, that she didn’t want any of the reporters to see her. Asked me not to tell her parents either, because she didn’t want them to see her that way.’ An audible swallow. ‘She texted me a photo of herself. I . . . didn’t recognize her right away. Her eye was black, her face bruised. She said that Trent Bracken had done it. I was devastated, but relieved that she was alive.’
‘Did you tell her parents?’
‘No. Her mother had looked like she’d break any minute. She hadn’t slept in days, not since Michelle disappeared. Michelle’s dad had finally gotten her to leave the church so that she could go home and sleep. I think he slipped her a sleeping pill, because he had to almost carry her out to the car. I figured I’d get Michelle cleaned up, put ice on her eye and then call her mother. That way her mom could get some rest and Michelle could keep some dignity.’
Marcus frowned. ‘That I don’t understand.’
‘Her parents didn’t like Trent. He was rich, they were blue-collar regular folk. They suspected he wasn’t . . . gentle with Michelle. But I don’t think anyone thought he was beating the shit out of her. Nobody but me. I’d begged her to leave him, and she’d tried. She’d broken up with him the day before she disappeared.’
She’d reached the Ledger office and pulled into a parking spot on the street, but Marcus didn’t move. ‘What happened then?’
‘Bryan had left just before dawn. He had a morning paper route, ironically enough. When I got the text, I called him to come get me and he dropped everything. I played it cool with Uncle Trace and the family still at the church, told them I needed to go for a run to clear my head. I met Bryan a few blocks away and he drove like lightning back to the dorm. Most of the reporters were gone. The few that were left were camped out in front of the building, waiting to catch anyone coming out for early classes. Bryan zipped through the alleys behind the dorms and nobody saw us.’
She fell silent, staring straight ahead, her eyes unfocused. Unfortunately Marcus had a good idea of what it was that she was seeing.
‘You found her?’ he prompted gently.
A nod. ‘Yeah. Bryan and I found her together. Trent had finished the job.’ A very deep breath. ‘I must have screamed, because before I knew it, the alley was crawling with reporters, the guys from the front who’d heard me and run around back. I had cameras flashing in my face and microphones shoved down my throat. I still had her blood on my hands. Literally, I mean. I’m surprised you didn’t find pictures in your own archives. If a Ledger reporter wasn’t personally there, the paper had to have run the story with stock photos.’
He’d find out as soon as he got into the office. ‘What happened then?’
‘Bryan got me out, called my parents.’
The sudden spurt of jealousy disturbed him. ‘He was close with your family?’ he asked.
A wan smile. ‘Mom always called him her seventh son. She still does. Dad took me home, made sure none of the press bothered me. Dad was already pretty high up in the CPD hierarchy, so nobody fucked with him.’ She took another deep breath. ‘So that is why I don’t like reporters.’
‘I wouldn’t either, in your place. But I’m not sure that would be my biggest problem.’
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’d also feel like I’d killed my best friend.’
She glared at him coldly. ‘Your psycho-babble is as pathetic as Donny’s.’
He didn’t take her jab personally. ‘But that’s what’s really at the heart of this, isn’t it? You trusted someone who betrayed that trust, and your best friend died as a consequence.’
She was quiet for a long, long moment. ‘Yes,’ she agreed finally, her voice hoarse. ‘You’re right. Are you happy? You’ve dug it out of me. You can leave now.’
He reached over and gently gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. ‘No, I’m not happy, Scarlett. I’m goddamn furious right now – for you. What happened to you was disgusting, and those reporters should have been ashamed. But I’m not going to apologize for something I didn’t do. And I wasn’t trying to gouge this out of you. We have secrets, all of us do. You’re entitled to the secrets you don’t want to share – except this one was impacting how you see me.’ He gripped her a little tighter, taking care that he didn’t hurt her. ‘Me, Scarlett. I am not the man who betrayed you and I am not the reporters who hassled you. I’m not going to sell your story or my soul to sell a few goddamn papers.’
He was breathing hard, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. Until her eyes cleared and her lips curved in a genuine smile.
‘I know you’re not,’ she said. ‘I’ve always known, but I didn’t want to trust my gut.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I wanted you. Too much. I was willing to believe you weren’t what on the surface you should have been. I wanted you to be different, so much that it scared me. It still does.’
‘It shouldn’t. I’m not always the best man, but everything I’ve ever done I’ve believed to be for the best at that moment. Even . . .’ He released her abruptly, shaken by what he’d nearly confessed.
Her brows lifted. ‘Even what?’
Even murder. ‘I really need to go.’
She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and gave it a yank. ‘I told you everything, Marcus. Everything. Don’t you dare run away from me now.’
He was still breathing hard, but from panic now, not fury. Closing his eyes, he covered her hand with his, flattening her grip, pressing her palm to his racing heart. He thought she should be able to feel it even through the Kevlar.
‘Marcus?’ she murmured. When he didn’t say anything, she sighed wearily. ‘I told you what I did. My best friend is dead because I—’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong,’ he gritted out. He opened his eyes, met hers. ‘You didn’t kill anyone.’
She went very still, not breaking eye contact. ‘Whatever you did, it can’t be as bad as what I did, even inadvertently. Tell me. I trusted you. Please trust me.’
He swallowed hard, fighting to control his pulse. It’s only fair, he thought. She needed to know exactly who he was before this went any further. Before she gave him even more of her trust. He swallowed again, unsure if the panic was from the memories he’d never truly buried or his fear that she’d walk away once she knew the real him. ‘Google Matthias Gargano, Lexington, Kentucky, 1989. I’ll tell you the rest later.’ He let go of her hand and slid his fingers around the back of her neck, pulling her close for a hard, fast kiss that was all desperate need and no finesse. ‘You have a meeting. You’ll be late. Call me when you’re done.’
He jumped from the car, looking back only once to see her staring after him, her dark blue eyes wide and wondering.
Lincoln Park, Michigan
Tuesday 4 August, 7.25 P.M.
Drake Connor was tired, hot and hungry. He made his feet walk the last twenty yards to the gas station, which was the first place he’d come to that would have cold drinks and air conditioning. He’d walked miles, sticking to back roads. Lots of grass. Tons of countryside.
He’d stayed off the highway because he wasn’t sure who was looking for him, and he was becoming more cautious by the moment. You mean paranoid? No, because it’s not paranoia when people are actually looking for you. Considering his sister had reported her credit card stolen, she’d be sure to have reported her car stolen too. All he needed was for a local lawman to recognize him from a BOLO.
He was thirsty and starving. He still had the issue of no food or money, but he’d already planned how he’d get around that.
; Glad that he’d had the presence of mind to go back to Belle’s car for his ball cap, he pulled the brim down and leaned against the pole holding the gas station sign a good seventy-five feet in the air. He’d seen the sign long before he’d seen the station. Stood to reason it would have a decent amount of traffic, even though it was getting late. He just had to wait for the right vehicle – with the right driver.
A few minutes later, a possible combination pulled up to one of the pumps. A black SUV with tinted glass. A middle-aged woman got out. She wore a business suit with a skinny black skirt that ended below her knees, which would hamper her ability to run from him or fight him. That works. Her shoulders heaved in a weary sigh as she stretched her back. She was tired after her long day. Excellent.
Now if she’d only go into the station’s convenience store after she finished filling her tank, it would be the perfect setup. Drake slid his hand back under his shirt, making sure the handle of his gun was in the optimal position for a quick draw, pulled the brim of his cap low and waited impatiently.
‘Yes,’ he whispered when she put the gas pump away, got her purse and started walking inside. If she’d only left her car unlocked, it would have been an A-plus combo, but she pointed the key fob over her shoulder and locked the doors with a beep before slipping the fob in the pocket of her skirt.
Drake followed her into the station and up to the cashier, grabbing her around the neck when she reached the counter. He pressed the barrel of the Ruger against her throat, yanking her back against him when she tried to struggle.
‘Hands where I can see them,’ he said calmly to the cashier. ‘One false move and I’ll blow a hole in her neck. Open the cash register and put the money in the nice lady’s purse.’ He nudged the gun against the woman’s neck. ‘Open your purse for him, nice lady, and put it on the counter.’
Glaring balefully, the man behind the counter did as he was told, filling the purse with small bills. Drake had timed this well. The lotto numbers were about to be drawn and the Powerball was over fifty million bucks, so everyone had bought tickets on their way home.