From Darkness (Hearts & Arrows Book 3)

by Staci Hart

  He’d just wanted to be left alone.

  That night, that first night, they had parked in the woods at the trails where the kids partied and went mudding. It was empty that night of other cars, and Jane was on a mission, her hands diving into his pants. He was limp and soft despite her breasts in his face and tongue down his throat as she straddled him with the wheel of his truck at her back.

  His lack of enthusiasm didn’t stop Jane, not at first. He’d been staring at her tits, hoping for a miracle, but nothing happened, and after a few minutes, she pulled back.

  “God, what the fuck, Corey?” She climbed off of him. “You should have just told me you were a fag so we could have avoided all this.”

  He ran a hand over his tired face. “Fuck you, Jane.”

  “Apparently, you can’t.” She wiped off her lips, disgusted, and laughed. “I can’t fucking wait to tell everybody that Corey Rhodes can’t get it up. No wonder you’ve been pussing out about this. Have you always had your little problem? Maybe you should see someone about that.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Shut up.”

  “Don’t tell me to shut up, asshole.” Her voice was hard and cold as stone, all humor gone. “Hand me my shirt.”

  He looked her over for a moment, rage rolling under the surface of his skin like boiling oil. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?” She rolled her eyes and spoke to him like a child. “Just be the pussy you are and hand me my shirt.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “Shut the fuck up, Jane.”

  “Let go of me,” she demanded.

  His fist tightened. “No.” His dick stirred in his pants, and he smiled when she tried to pull away.

  “You’re hurting me.” A spark of fear lit behind her eyes.

  “I don’t care.”

  She tried to pull away again. “Take me home, asshole.”

  “We’re doing this, Jane. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  His hand trailed down her chest, and he yanked her bra down, exposing her breasts. She jumped.

  “Stop it, Corey.” Her voice wavered.

  “You don’t want me to stop. Look at what you did.” He took her other hand and laid it on his bulge.

  “You sick fuck,” she whispered. “I’m not fucking kidding. Let me go.”

  “No,” he growled.

  She slapped him hard, but he grabbed her forearms, threw her down on the bench seat, and gave her what she’d wanted all along. She didn’t stop fighting, not even when he rid her of her panties, not when he slammed into her, not when he wrapped his hands around her neck. He barely felt her scrabbling against him, not registering when her arm slipped away and she lay still, and he came so hard, he thought his heart would stop.

  When he came around, he looked down at Jane and unclenched his fingers, the skin underneath already turning from red to some strange deeper shade of purple. Her mouth hung open, her hair hanging across her face. He moved it away, tenderly tucking it behind her ear.

  Her necklace caught in a strand of hair, and he smiled as he unclasped the chain and laid it in his palm. What was once supposed to be a symbol of their relationship became a symbol of something new. The rush he got as he touched it was almost more than he could stand, and for a long moment, he sat in the cab of his truck with his head against the back window and his eyes closed, cock in his hand and heart on fire.

  He glanced down at Jane again, knowing he should feel guilt and remorse but he didn’t. He felt free, free from Jane, free from chains he hadn’t known bound him. He slid Jane over, turned the ignition, and drove deeper into the woods, more calm and satisfied than he’d ever been in his entire life.

  Rhodes rubbed the necklace a last time before laying it back in its drawer. He picked up Hannah’s earrings and laid them in his hand, turning his head as he inspected them.

  From the first time he’d seen her, he’d fantasized about her, but he couldn’t make a move. It had been dangerous, too dangerous, but he’d found he couldn’t turn off the part of himself that wanted her. It’d whispered in his ear the things he could do to her, replaying Jane over and over again on a loop, and every time he had seen her walking home from school in that goddamn crimson cheerleading uniform, the urge had grown.

  He always tried to make sure he was outside when she passed by in the evenings that she had cheerleading practice, and on the night he’d finally gotten his chance, it had been by sheer luck.

  Rhodes had been in his driveway, dragging his trash cans to the alley when he saw her hurrying through the dark street in the chilly autumn night. He froze, not expecting to see her so late. The disappointment at missing her earlier erased the second he spotted her.

  She gave him a wary smile as she walked toward him. Her eyes darted across the street, and he wondered if she was going to cross to avoid him.

  “Hey.” He smiled as he tugged a trash can up to the curb.

  “Hey,” she said with her hands in the pockets of her oversize letter jacket and her ponytail bobbing.

  He picked up another trash can and banged it into the first. It hit the pavement with a thunk and a clatter, and his recycling skittered across the pavement in her path.

  “Shit, I am so sorry.” He bent down to pick up cans.

  “Here, let me help you.” She knelt next to him, close enough to touch.

  He glanced around and saw no one.

  “Thanks,” he said as they stood.

  She deposited an armful of cans into the trash and smiled up at him. “No problem.”

  “It’s freezing out here. You don’t live far, do you?”

  “No, I’m just around the corner.” She glanced down the street.

  “Ah.” He nodded and glanced down at her uniform. “So, you’re a cheerleader?”

  “Yeah. Go Bulldogs!” She propped a hand on her hip and threw the other in the air with mock enthusiasm.

  He laughed, and she smiled back.

  “I’m Corey.”

  “Hannah,” she said as she took his hand.

  “Your hands are like ice cubes.” They were small, soft, and cold in his. He rubbed her knuckle with his thumb, not even conscious that he was doing it. “Come on inside for some cider.”

  Her eyes dropped to his hand. “I really should go.”

  He squeezed. “I insist.”

  She tried to pull away, and the look passed across her face. He pulled her into his chest and laid a hand over her mouth.

  “Shh. Don’t fight, Hannah,” he said into her hair as he dragged her into his garage.

  The memory was as crisp as the light twinkling off her earrings in his hand.

  They hadn’t found her body for weeks, and even though he had hoped for more time, he was satisfied. He’d had to switch up his routine for her, unable to use the secluded inlets to the river where he usually dumped the girls. His regular method would never have worked for Hannah. No one looked for prostitutes, but a sixteen-year-old girl would have all the patrols out.

  So Rhodes drove into northern New Jersey, to the Delaware Water Gap, through the winding path around the national park. The night was black by the time he pulled into a small inlet to the river, surrounded by pines and maples. He opened his trunk, pulled out his waders, and stepped into them. The plastic wrapped around her crinkled as he lifted her out, her skin already gray against her red uniform, her body stiff in his arms, and he carried her into the lake like a child, taking a last look at her before he let her go.

  The black water swallowed her up, and then she was gone.

  He’d acted on impulse, which was something he hadn’t done since Jane. And being out of his routine unnerved him, his paranoia nearly driving him mad as he drove home. But he told himself that by the time Hannah was found, if she were found, there would be no evidence.

  He hadn’t been overly concerned, not even when the PI had come asking around, not even when he’d realized she knew something wasn’t right. There was nothing she could do, no evidence that she could dig up on him.

&
nbsp; Or so he’d thought.

  A few weeks after he’d killed Hannah, he’d gotten a call from Troy, an old high school friend who worked at the library in their hometown. Troy had filled him in. The same redheaded PI who had grilled him about Hannah a few days before had gone to Deer Lodge, and the librarian had told her all about Jane and Sheriff Jackson. The investigator had photocopied all the old newspapers, and Rhodes could only assume she would speak to Jackson.

  Out of everyone, the old Sheriff was the one person who’d been bound and determined to pin him for Jane’s death. Some days, Rhodes didn’t know how he’d gotten away with it.

  Josie Campbell had walked away with something, and whatever it was, he wanted it. The thought consumed him as he staked out her apartment. She’d been easy enough to find, though he had no plan. He just waited through most of the day and into the evening, looking for some sign, some opportunity.

  When he spotted her red hair, he recognized her. But, when he noticed the box under her arm marked with the name Bernard, rage filled him like a hot, angry wind.

  She had more than he’d anticipated.

  He had to get that box.

  She left less than a half hour later, and her apartment was dark. He pulled on his gloves, cutting through the buildings, finding the fire escape around the back that led to an open window. A dumpster stood nearby, perfect to reach the ladder, so he climbed up and jumped for it, hoisting himself up rung by rung until he was on the platform. He waited by the window, listening. He only heard music playing, so he ducked into the bedroom and walked through the apartment.

  Two desks sat against the long wall of the living room, and he spotted the box almost immediately. It was the exact moment that a girl walked in from the other bedroom.

  They both froze, staring at each other with hanging jaws. He didn’t know who she was, hadn’t realized that Campbell had a roommate. He’d been careless. Again.

  They moved at the same time, both running for the desks where he saw a pistol behind her laptop. She was reaching for it when he punched her. She spun around, knocking a lamp over as she fell to the floor, and blood spilled from her mouth.

  He climbed on top of her and flipped her over while she kicked at him, but he was undeterred, his hands wrapping around her neck. She thrashed, her mouth opening and closing, hands scratching at his jacket, and he closed his eyes and breathed deep.

  It was too much to resist.

  He let her go, and she gasped and clawed at her throat, trying to scramble back as he unzipped his pants, but she was still too stunned to put up enough of a fight to matter. He shredded her clothes, opened her legs, laid his hands around her neck again and squeezed, feeling her pulse against his palms, watching her mouth search for air. Her eyes rolled back as her life slipped away, and he came as her body went limp, her fisted hands on his sleeves falling to the ground with a soft thump.

  His heart beat like a piston as he pulled away and reached for her necklace, unclasping it as the reality of the situation hit him like a freight train. Rhodes stood, took off his glove, and looked down at the girl, then at the silver disc in his hand, touching the small bird imprinted there, and he felt the circle of his ritual close.

  He pulled on the glove again and stuffed the necklace into his pocket before taking stock of the messy room, devising a plan. He picked her up and carried her to the bathroom where he laid her in the huge claw-foot tub. His eyes scanned the room for bleach, anything he could use to compromise the DNA that he’d left behind, and when he opened the cabinet under the sink, he found something even better. A bottle of Drano.

  He turned to her where she lay in the tub and plugged the drain. He put the spout inside of her and squeezed before pouring what was left in the bottle into the bathtub. The faucet squeaked when he turned the handle, and the shower stream rained down on her body.

  Satisfied, he went back to the living room to get what he’d come for. When he lifted the lid to the box, he found everything—photos of Jane sprawled out in the snow, interview tapes, his fingerprints—and he knew his concern was justified. He grabbed the girl’s laptop and made for the back window again where he placed the box on the platform and climbed out, closing the window behind him.

  It wasn’t until he got home that he discovered that her necklace was gone.

  He flew into a rage when he discovered it was missing and didn’t sleep for days. The papers and tapes, he’d burned that night, and the laptop he’d wiped and sold anonymously on Craigslist at a coffee shop the next day. He went back to her apartment three times but never found her necklace.

  After a week, he knew no one else had found it either. It was little comfort. The necklace was not only the thing he needed for his own devices — he’d touched it. If it were ever found, it could be the end of him. His only hope was that it had fallen out somewhere far away from her apartment and would never come to light.

  He sat in his basement, thinking back, forever sick at the thought of losing it, fighting the compulsion to go back as he had so many times before. Even if it were ever found, his prints weren’t on record anywhere. But one arrest would be all it took.

  So he’d prepared everything he could to leave town at a moment’s notice, though he hoped he’d never have to. He’d kept his nose clean for his entire life and doubted he’d start being reckless anytime soon—or at least, never as reckless as he had been.

  Rhodes’s fist was clenched; Hannah’s earring posts bit into his palm. He relaxed his fingers and laid the earrings in the drawer, next to Jane’s necklace, before closing it up and moving it back to its spot in the wall, reassuring himself as he climbed the stairs that, if he were going to get caught, it would have happened already.

  Josie zipped up her leather jacket as she walked up 8th toward the Port Authority Bus Terminal. It was just after dark, and the chill of the evening was refreshing after being stuck inside all day. She’d been digging through the previous week’s police blotters, the master lists of crimes committed, looking for anything that fit Rhodes.

  Hitting up her contacts was also on her to-do list, which was where she was headed. Over the months, she’d been making her way around the west side and east Jersey to the common haunts of the working girls. All the suspected victims had been hookers, and armed with a stack of photos, she’d gone in search of any information she could find. She had befriended more than a few of the girls, and they were always willing to help.

  Something was going to change soon. She could feel it.

  She knew a few girls who hung around the Port Authority and hoped to catch one of them before circling back to the garage where she kept her car. She had big plans for a long night of staking out Rhodes, complete with a full grocery bag of candy and her favorite book.

  Josie passed the terminal and looped back up 9th without seeing any of the girls she knew, disappointed by her misfortune until she spotted Trish leaning against a brick wall. Her gold sequined miniskirt was short enough and her platform stilettos tall enough that her tan legs looked ten miles long. Her hands were in the pockets of her cropped jacket, and her hot-pink lips stretched into a big smile as Josie walked up.

  “Josie! Hey, girl.”

  She smiled back. “Hey, Trish. How’s it going?”

  Her hazel eyes twinkled. “Slow, but the night is young. What’s up?”

  Josie leaned against the wall next to her. “Nothing really. I’ve been researching all day and was just headed out for some surveillance. Just thought I’d check in. Any word?”

  “Actually, I just ran into some girls from Jersey City the other day that I hadn’t seen in forever. Asked them if they knew anybody on your list, but they didn’t know any of your girls.”

  Josie raised an eyebrow. “Did you commit the list to memory?”

  “Oh, hell no. I carry it with me. Check it out.” She dug around in her huge purse and pulled out a sheet of paper with a grid of photos and names printed on the front and back.

  Josie took the sheet and looked it over,
impressed. “Smart thinking, Trish.”

  “Thanks.” Trish grinned and gave a little shrug. “I know a little Photoshop, so I put this together to hand out to the other girls. Lookit, I put that scum’s photo here,” she said as she glanced over the top of the paper and pointed, “and your number is at the bottom.”

  “You’re a genius.”

  “Why, thank you.” She tipped her head and popped her gum. “I got extras, if you want some.”

  “Absolutely. Are you being careful?”

  “Like always. I keep tellin’ the girls not to hang by themselves. It’s not easy though. We make more money solo, but maybe if everybody knows what the John looks like, we can avoid him and call you if we spot him.” She deposited the paper and exchanged it for a cigarette, a lighter, and a stack of fresh flyers, which she handed to Josie.

  Josie looked over them and shook her head. “Trish, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Girl, don’t thank me. We oughta be thanking you. Nobody really gives a shit about us.” She lit her cigarette and blew out a long line of smoke. “It doesn’t matter that I started taking college classes or that Gina works because her ma got real sick. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t what we want or that most of us are trying to get out of it. We’re not people to them, just a bunch of whores. But you care, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

  “You’re one in a million.”

  “Psh, maybe a hundred thousand,” she said with a smirk. “So, how’s the business of chasing bad guys?”

  “Slow, but the night is young.”

  Trish laughed and bobbed her head. “That’s right. You keep that chin up.”

  “You too, and call me if you hear anything.” Josie pushed off the wall.

  “You got it, Josie. See ya around.”

  Josie turned and headed to her car, feeling a little lighter knowing that Trish was heading up the effort to keep the girls on alert. She needed all the help she could get.