“Sad,” he replied. “But it does tie everything up nicely. If Darren was forced to kill those kids by the cartel, it would fit the evidence.”
“How so?”
“The vomit at the first crime scene. He got queasy cutting up and burning his nephew and puked. He wasn’t emotionally connected to the second victim, so he wasn’t affected as much. I’d also bet that he was given the blueprint of how to carry out the hits. Cartels are mostly made up of Latinos, and most Latinos are Catholic. They’d know the Bible as well as anyone, they’d just pervert the written word and use the bloody parts as a message. What do you think?”
“I think it all fits,” the agent affirmed. “We’ll track down the brother-in-law and bring him in. He’ll talk.”
“Maybe you’ll get to put another dent into the St. Louis cartel.”
“It would be a nice silver lining, and as much of a win as we can hope for in all of this. Nice work, Benitez. We’ll take it from here, but you’ll feature prominently in our report just like I promised. You can head on home.” Layton slapped him on the shoulder and smiled.
Manny nodded and headed in the opposite direction, handing his file to the deputy standing along the wall. He blew out a deep breath of relief. He may not get to complete the arrest of the man responsible, but he had been a key component in the investigation. And that was enough for him.
Wasn’t it?
Manny walked through the waiting room on the way out the door. As he went, he saw Tom and Kristin Lowes in the corner. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but Tom was doing the pleading and his wife was crying and pushing him in the chest. She must not have known what was actually going on until now. Manny shook his head and pushed open the door.
Tom Lowes was right. Two boys were dead, but these murders were going to destroy so many more lives.
THIRTY-ONE
Manny came back with a giant pizza in his hands and a giant smile on his face. He was as genuinely excited as Maureen had seen him in a week. He told her all about his interview with Tom Lowes, and how they had finally caught the break in the case that they had been looking for.
“The Feds are going to bring in the brother-in-law,” he said as they stood in the kitchen. He was grabbing two plates out of the cupboard and barely pausing for breath. She could hardly keep up with him.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said as he handed her one of the plates with two slices of pepperoni on it. “I want you to know that.”
Maureen’s relief that the ordeal was finally over was mixed with trepidation over what was to come. Now that she had fulfilled her purpose, what would become of her? Once the killer was in custody, would Layton come back for her and force her to serve time for her other crimes? Could she parlay her cooperation into leniency? Or would she have to go on the run again? Part of her wanted to stay and make a more permanent home, maybe even with Manny. But deep inside she knew that it would never work. Even though her feelings for him had begun to deepen, it would never last. But that was something for the next day. For tonight, there was only one thing to do.
Maureen went to the cabinet and pulled out two of Manny’s double-shot glasses and set them on the counter. She then grabbed the premium bottle of silver tequila that she had been saving for something special. This seemed like as good a time as any, so she filled both to the top and handed one to him.
“A little toast,” she said, grabbing her own glass and raising it to him. “To the best detective I’ve ever known, and the only cop I’ve ever trusted.”
“Salud,” he said, smiling and tipping the shot into his mouth.
“Sláinte,” she said, before draining her own glass.
Maureen filled both glasses again before capping the bottle, tucking it under her arm, and carrying it and her food into the living room. She plopped the bottle and her plate on the coffee table and took a big bite of her pizza. Manny sat down next to her and turned on the television, clicking through the channels until he found the sports show he was looking for.
“So, Irish, huh?” he said as he put down the remote and picked up his own plate.
“What’s that?”
“That toast of yours. It’s Irish, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“I didn’t know you were Irish, that’s all. I don’t think Allen is an Irish name.”
“I’m pretty sure I told you that.”
“You said ‘old country’ when you told me about your mom. Never said that meant Irish.”
Maureen took a swallow of her tequila. She didn’t know how she felt about telling another man in Sycamore Hills about her past, even if that man was Manny. She decided, since he obviously liked her and she didn’t think he was so bad either, that she could give him a little. But he’d have to reciprocate.
“Half Irish. Mom’s a Keane from Donoughmore in Cork. Dad’s American. He’s older, liked younger women. My mom caught his eye while he was on a business trip, whirlwind romance, better life for her, blah blah blah, you get it.”
“But they obviously broke up. Did it have something to do with your brother’s murder?”
Maureen nearly choked on her pizza. “I know I didn’t tell you that!”
“Layton,” he said. “It’s in his case notes. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry.”
“Just forget about it,” she replied, shaking her head and finishing her drink before pouring another. “But yeah, you’re right, they broke up. Though they were already separated when my brother died.”
“I’m guessing you don’t see them often, judging by your nomadic existence.”
“Haven’t seen my dad since I was eight. Mom, maybe around thirteen.”
“No desire to reconnect?”
“My dad left me and my brother with our conservative, superstitious Irish Catholic of a mother to screw his secretary. Why would I want to have anything to do with either of them?”
“We all need family.”
“Not all of us.”
Manny took a drink of tequila and finished off his first slice. Maureen sat quiet for a moment before deciding she wanted her reciprocity.
“What about you?” she asked the detective.
“What about me?” he replied.
“You’ve had me here basically as your hostage for more than a week,” she said, putting as much honey in her voice as possible, “and yet, you haven’t told me anything about yourself. I’ve told you stuff about me. It’s only fair.”
“What do you wanna know?”
“You’re a smart guy, obviously. Why be a detective?”
“I wanted to give back to my hometown.”
She took a hard look at him and their eyes met. The detective held her stare for only a moment before he blinked and looked to the side. “You’re lying,” she said triumphantly.
“How can you tell?” he asked with a grin.
“I’m psychic.”
Manny looked as if he was trying to hold back his laughter at her on-the-nose joke, but it trickled out regardless. Maureen smiled too.
“I’ve got an idea,” she said.
Maureen jumped off the couch and dashed into the kitchen. She grabbed another plate and piled a few more slices onto it before shoving the box with the remaining pizza into the fridge. Out of the fridge, she pulled out a six-pack of beer and then returned to the living room. She set the fresh provisions on the table and filled both their glasses up with tequila again.
“I’ve got a game we can play,” she said to Manny, sitting down and tucking a leg under her. “You’ve been trying to get to know me, but you haven’t told me much about yourself, so I’ve got a way we can do both. We take turns asking each other questions. If you answer, the other person has to drink. If you don’t answer, then you have to drink. You can play with beer or tequila, your choice.”
“I’m game.�
�
“Opening shot first,” she said and grabbed her shot glass and drank it down.
The detective hesitated for a second, then followed suit. She reached for the bottle again, but he beat her to it and poured two more shots for them and pulled two beers out of the case, opening them and setting one in front of each of them.
“All right,” he said, “who’s gonna start?”
“Where did you go to school?” Maureen asked, not daring to give him the first question.
“Truman High here in town. Then I studied criminal justice at Saint Anselm in New Hampshire.”
Maureen drank half of the tequila in her glass.
“What about you?” he asked. “What was your school?”
“School of hard knocks,” she said.
Manny gave her a sideways look.
“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It was called Saint Dymphna’s. And that’s all you’re gonna get out of me.”
He took the entire shot of tequila in front of him.
Trying to show off for me, huh? “I don’t even think I know how old you are,” Maureen said, taking a sip of her beer to chase down her second slice.
“Twenty-nine. Would it be rude to ask you the same?”
“I don’t care,” Maureen said. “I’m cradle robbing at the ripe old age of thirty-four.”
They clinked glasses and downed their shots again.
“How many times have you been arrested?” Manny asked.
“I thought it was my turn, but whatever. I’d say at least half a dozen times, but it might be a couple more.”
“What was the worst offense?”
“Uh-uh, you don’t get two in a row.” She waited for him as he took a heavy swallow of beer. “Who was your first kiss?”
“Leslie Wynn, eighth grade.”
They continued their back and forth with the bottle of tequila slowly draining down and the beers falling along with it. Craziest place she’d ever had sex (truck stop bathroom). First time he got drunk (third week of college, puked in the bushes of the house where the party was). Maureen avoided the questions about her family but answered the rest. And she learned more about him than she ever thought she would. Some was boring. He played on the junior varsity football team in high school but quit after his junior year when it became obvious he wasn’t going to be good enough for varsity. His mother was the first member of her family born in America, and his father was a naturalized citizen from Mexico. He’d only been out of the country once to visit his mother’s family in Puerto Rico. Some was actually a bit interesting. When he was a kid, he had a pet snake named Chavez who got out once and ate the family guinea pig. He tried out for the cheerleading team in college to meet girls and ended up being the mascot for the basketball team for two years. Eventually, Manny’s speech was starting to slur enough for Maureen to ask her first question over again.
“Why be a detective?” she asked.
Manny paused, blinking, as if trying to decide something. After a moment, he reached for his half full shot glass and slowly began to raise it to his lips. Maureen placed her palm over the top before he could drink it. His mouth brushed the back of her hand. Maureen felt her heart jump, but she kept her face neutral. With a tiny smile and raising of his eyebrows, Manny acknowledged that she wasn’t going to allow him to not answer the question. He sighed and put his glass down.
“It wasn’t easy growing up as a Hispanic kid in a lily-white town,” he said, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling. “I mean, I’m as American as they come—both my parents are legal citizens and Spanish is actually my second language—but all people see is this brown skin, and they listen to all that bullshit on TV about Latinos sneaking into the country and stealing jobs. I guess I let it affect me more than I thought. And it doesn’t help now, when all my coworkers were the king-jock seniors while I was still in grade school.
“Anyway, all I wanted to do was get out of here when I graduated. Saint Anselm had a full-ride scholarship available for a minority student who wanted to study criminology. I was third in my class, and my SATs were thirteen-seventy, so I went for it. I’d always liked detective stories, and I’m good at solving puzzles, so I thought I might be able to make a difference by solving crimes. And wouldn’t you know it, I got it. And I gotta tell you, I really liked it, and I was good at it. But no matter how many friends I made, it was a small private school, and the kids who went there had money—and lots of it. They didn’t let me forget that I was there on charity because of my ethnic background.
“During my senior year, the FBI put out a call for the country’s top criminology students for an early recruitment interview. My student adviser sent in an application on my behalf. I didn’t even know. But I said I would do the interview. I went down to DC, but on the day of the interview, I just couldn’t make myself go. I caught a bus out and rode all the way back up north. I never told anyone that I bailed, I just said I didn’t get accepted.
“I ended up at the New Hampshire Justice Department as an aide, and I was pretty good at that too. Learned more about the inner workings of the law and saw firsthand how the DAs used police evidence to build cases. My bosses recommended me for a couple promotions over the next five years, but I never could pull the trigger. I don’t know, afraid I guess.
“I decided to just come home. It seemed easier to settle into mediocrity down in Missouri than up in New England. I applied here at the police department. They didn’t even have a detective before I came, but Captain Wellner decided to bring me on board. That was a little over eighteen months ago.”
“Something tells me that you haven’t been solving murders this whole time,” Maureen said, leaning on her elbow and watching him.
“This is my first, and I gotta tell you, I wanted to be the one to solve it. I wanted it bad. Maybe too much.” Manny shrugged and leaned forward to grab his glass. He swirled the liquor around before tipping it back into his mouth and slamming the glass back on the table.
Maureen had about half a beer left in front of her. Deciding that he shouldn’t drink alone, she drained it in two swallows.
“You did a good job,” she told him. “You got that Lowes guy to give up his brother-in-law.”
“Yeah, but let’s be honest, I was only in that room on the charity of Layton. He could have done it himself just as easily.”
“But you’ve already proved that you’re really good in the interrogation room.”
“I couldn’t crack you,” he said with a cynical laugh.
“You got closer than anyone.”
Manny turned his eyes toward her. They were beginning to shimmer, and the effects of the booze were slowly eroding his mask of self-confidence. He stared at her for a long, unwavering moment. Then slowly, he lifted himself off the couch and pivoted to face her. His mouth twitched, looking as if it wanted to pucker. He moved closer, but slowly. Maureen could tell he was waiting for a sign. She froze in her seat, but she didn’t put up any resistance. Instead, she closed her eyes and waited.
His kiss was soft and wet. He tasted like tequila and pepperoni, of course, but his lips were smooth, and Maureen couldn’t help but kiss back, allowing herself to grasp his face in her hands and pull him into her. Almost immediately, she found herself lying back on the couch and pulling him on top of her. She felt Manny’s hands glide up her leg before he rested one behind her head and the other cupped her breast, causing her nipples to harden and press on the padding of her bra. She thrust her chest upward as he ran his lips down her neck and began to kiss her collarbone.
After a moment, Maureen’s brain snapped back to reality. She wanted this for sure, wanted him, but her need to be in control overwhelmed her other senses. She gently pushed him in the chest and guided him to a seated position on the couch. He offered no resistance, and ever so slowly, she ran her hand between his legs and felt him begin to get hard. She straddled his
lap and clasped both hands behind his neck. She leaned forward, grinding her hips into him and gently ran her tongue around his ear before trailing it down his neck. He let out a gasp of pleasure and reached his hands under her shirt. Maureen felt her heart jump as his fingers began to caress her back.
“No,” she gasped in a barely audible whisper and stopped his hands.
Manny froze for just a moment and looked at her. He seemed puzzled and startled by her reaction. She wanted to warn him about her scars and explain why she didn’t want him to touch them, but she couldn’t get a word out. Manny seemed to realize why she stopped him as he gently began to run his hand back and forth on either side of her spine, his fingers tracing the crisscrossing path that each of the pale, white marks made. He stared deep into her eyes and despite the liquor, his own were full of a saddened sympathy that showed her he understood. It was a look that she had never seen a man give her in her entire life.
Maureen stared back at him, bit her lip, and slowly moved her hands to the hem of her shirt. She drew it over her head, threw it to one side, and immediately reached back to unhook her bra. She did her best to tell herself that the only desire she was feeling for him was a physical need for sex, but it was impossible to deny the emotional connection to Manny she was feeling in that moment. The look he had given her made her feel truly seen. It was frightening and thrilling at the same time, and she decided to satisfy herself to the fullest.
Maureen cupped Manny’s face and threw every ounce of lust that was building inside into her kiss, probing his mouth with her tongue and grinding her hips even harder against his bulge. Then she grabbed him by the back of his head, and shoved his face into her chest, forcing a rock hard nipple into his mouth. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to give in to pleasure, if only just for one night.
THIRTY-TWO
Ra’ah’s knife glinted in the candlelight as he drew it across the whetstone in his left hand, pleased with the work that it had already done and eager for the next task. His mission had gone far from perfectly thus far, but he had at last found his next soul to save. She would be easy to follow, and her weakness would give him ample opportunity to acquire his sacrifice. It would need to be purified first, a complication in his plans that he had not foreseen, but that was of little matter. Ra’ah had the perfect place for the ceremony. He was glad that he had made sure it stayed under his control.
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