Ashes - Book 2 (New Adult Romantic Suspense)

by Johnson, Leslie

  Less than five minutes later, Brent and I are back on the ledge. For those women, there is nothing we can do. Our best strategy is to leave the crime scene as undisturbed as possible so forensics and the police can find the monster who did it.

  I show Brent the anchor sites I found and we scour the cliff face, looking for additional clues. Up top, Beth searches for additional clues as well.

  “I found something!” she calls down. “Rocks covering a hole. I didn’t touch anything, but there’s a plastic bag inside.”

  “Great job, Beth,” Brent told her. “Take a break. It’s too dark to continue a search right now.”

  With nothing else to do, Brent and I scale back up the rock face. At the top, I find a shivering Beth. I force her into a poncho and then we sit and wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  After an hour of silence, the sound of the police is deafening. It’s fully dark now and we can’t see them, but we can hear them just fine.

  I hear Beth say, “Oh thank heavens.”

  I give her hand a squeeze. She squeezes mine back and we sit that way, our fingers linked together.

  Now, as we listen to the authorities getting closer, I wonder how many are coming.

  It sounds like an army of bees at first, just a faint buzzing sound gradually getting louder and more directional, headlights growing brighter.

  The three of us stand as the first man reaches us.

  “Detective Mike Hardiman, LVPD. Where are the bodies?” He sticks his hand out to each of us in turn.

  I point straight down and he mumbles, “Aw hell.”

  Brent steps in. “I’ve got everything set up for your team to rappel down. Who’s going first?”

  “Dammit,” Hardiman says grimly. “Guess that would be me. But first, can you tell me how you found the bodies and the events that immediately followed?”

  Beth and I talk over each other as we fill him in on the chain of events: Daniel falling. Me going down and assisting with his rescue. The stench. The bodies. The 911 call.

  “Can you describe the scene, Gage?” Hardiman asks me and I describe it to him in absolute detail. His eyebrows shoot up when I describe the alter type area I found.

  By now, two policemen, two forensic specialists and the coroner have arrived on the scene. They listen to my description and then begin their line of questioning. I’m tired and emotionally fucked, and ready to get the hell out of here. I look at Beth and she’s swaying on her feet.

  I know the questions are important. Even off duty, I was the first responder. The details are essential. I know that intellectually.

  But when the coroner asks, again, if I disturbed the scene in any way, I want to punch him, but instead calmly say, “I’m trained in scene preservation so I didn’t disturb anything. I did look inside, stayed within two feet of the entrance. I needed to check for any signs of life. There weren’t any.”

  “What were you trained in?”

  “I’m a firefighter.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  I nod my thanks and say, “The only thing you will find are my footprints. And Brent’s. We used the same tracks both ways. The strange thing was there are no other footprints that I could see.”

  “It gets windy up here, you know.”

  I forced myself not to scowl. “Yeah, but even inside, there are no signs of anyone being there,” I tell him. I look at Brent, needing this to be over with. “Ready to show them?”

  I hadn’t planned to go down again, but it turns out only one of the newcomers has repelled before and they need help getting down. It is determined that Hardiman and the coroner should go down first and then decide what next action to take.

  Brent and Hardiman take the lead, while I tandem with Coroner Murphy. Four men on the ledge will be crowded, but doable for the quick assessment they’ll do tonight. Beth stays up top and I notice the youngest deputy paying close attention to her. I grit my teeth and say nothing.

  Once we’re all down on the ledge, I point out the anchor system I found. “I think that’s how they got down here.” I point my light at the pinned metal and the one above it.

  “Hmmm, interesting,” Hardiman murmurs. “But it makes sense. They’re well-hidden and you could transport a body easily in this pocket with a rope system.”

  Reapplying the menthol gel to our noses, we walk back toward the cave. Hardiman walks into the opening, his huge flashlight lighting the way. “Holy shit. This is more than a grave.”

  “Yeah, like I said, a shrine. To the back is the alter type thing I mentioned. Looks like some kind of ritual thing. Bones and all that.”

  I turn away as the coroner does his job, checking their level of decomposition. The women are clearly dead, but it doesn’t change the series of actions he must take to declare them as such and do his job. I guess every line of work has the paperwork horse shit they have to deal with.

  “It’s the dresses that get me,” Hardiman says. “Someone took a lot of effort setting this up.”

  There’s a lot of things that get me: the dresses, the flowers, the framed pictures. The risk of bringing dead women up a mountain. The complexity of the anchor system. The methodology is terrifyingly ingenious.

  I realize Hardiman is talking. “The reality is, we can’t really do much but preserve this scene until the morning. I’ll post a guard and we’ll start fresh at first light.”

  He points at me and Brent. “You two will need to fill out a statement, but that can wait until tomorrow. Miss Richards too. After that, if I need anything, I’ll be in touch.”

  He hands us both a card and we all four head back to the ropes. I’m thrilled to learn other SAR members have arrived and are rigged to pull us up. I honestly don’t know if I could have made the climb one more time.

  Chapter 4 — Beth

  I’m so exhausted, I feel it on a cellular level. Every breath I take is a challenge. When Gage reappeared at the top of the cliff for the last time, I could have cried in relief, but I didn’t. There are seven women who no longer have the ability to feel pain, to feel cold, to feel anything. I can suck it up. I must suck it up. More for them, than for me.

  Brent loans us an additional flashlight so we can make our way down the rest of the mountain without breaking our necks. We still have an hour and a half to hike and I’m fighting tears as blisters become living creatures, taunting me inside my boots.

  Gage holds my hand nearly the entire way, only letting go when I need both hands to scramble down a risky area. It’s a comfort. For me and also for him. I wonder for a moment how this day would have turned out if he’d brought along one of the other women he’s dating instead of me. I think of the blonde I met a few weeks ago and grin. That girl wouldn’t have put her pedicure into a pair of boots or even considered hiking five minutes let alone five hours.

  I glance back at him and he still looks terrible, as if the weight of the world is hanging around his neck. I want to talk to him, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to grill him on what he just experienced. Plus, I already know enough.

  He lets go of me so I can grab onto a rock and drop down a few feet. I move out of his way and wait for him to drop behind me. When he’s down, I can’t stand the silence any longer. When he reaches for my hand again, I drop my pack and pull him into my arms. His chin drops onto the top of my head and then he kisses my hair.

  “I’m okay,” he says and kisses my hair again, inhaling deeply. “God, I’m so glad you smell so good.”

  I smile against his shirt and wish I could say the same for him. His smell is like a slap in the face, the odor of the bodies clinging to his clothes … the smell of his exertion, his fear. But I don’t pull away.

  “Do you think you can eat anything?” I ask him and I feel him shake his head. “Then we need to get more fluids in you.” I grin. “Maybe a chocolate shake?”

  He pulls away, grabs my hand and begins pulling me behind him. I do my best not to wince with each step. “You, Beth Ri
chards, know me entirely too well.”

  Back at the Jeep, I assume I’ll be the one driving, but he holds out his hand and I drop the keys in his palm. This not being in control thing isn’t so hard. At least it isn’t so hard with him.

  He opens the tailgate and pulls out a bag he stowed there earlier today and yanks out a clean pair of shorts, boxers and t-shirt. He grins at me, the dimple in his cheek showing for the first time in hours.

  “I was hoping I’d get lucky and stay at your place tonight, but I’ve got to change now.” He grimaces. “These clothes are going straight into the trash.”

  To my surprise, he begins to strip. Right there next to the Jeep. Of course, there’s no one here, the park is closed and it’s fully dark. I turn off my flashlight, but can still see his outline by the light of the moon. The t-shirt is first, followed by his shorts. Then the boxers are down around his ankles and are being kicked off.

  “Damn, I need a shower,” he mumbles as he yanks on the clean clothes. I bend and gather the old ones up, and rummage through the Jeep until I find a plastic bag and seal them up tight.

  I remember a bottle of hand sanitizer and grab it, walking back around the Jeep to him. Oh my god, I’ve got to get these boots off. I can literally hear the blisters popping with each step I take.

  “Here,” I say and pop the lid, holding it out and squirting a huge glob in his hands when he holds them out. He sniffs it and I grin, “Sorry, it’s mango tango pineapple spritz, or something like that.” I don’t think he cares because he starts rubbing it into his arms, and into the back of his neck and around his throat. He holds out his hands and I give him another squirt. He rubs his hands down his legs and finally through his hair and down his face. He winces as the alcohol of the gel penetrates a scrape on his cheek.

  “Do you mind if we stay at my house tonight?” he asks and I nod. I’d go with him anywhere right now, I realize. “Damn. Almost forgot. I’ve got early shift tomorrow, gotta be up by five. If you don’t want to stay…”

  He trails off and I smile at him. “I’m staying. We’ll go straight to your house tonight and I’ll drive you to your truck in the morning.”

  He leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “Sounds good. I’m glad you’re staying.”

  I sit on the tailgate and wince as I pull off my boots. I’m careful with my socks, trying not to pull too much skin off with them.

  “Jesus, Beth,” Gage says as the bleeding sores are revealed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Well, I thought you had enough going on without a whiny girl crying about her feet.”

  He bends down and picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder. Walking around the Jeep, he opens the door and deposits me in the passenger seat.

  “Chocolate shake then shower. Deal?”

  I smile and nod as I buckle up. I text Steph to let her know I won’t be home tonight.

  Chapter 5 — Gage

  “All I want for Easter is my free front teef, my free front teef, my free front teef…”

  She’s been singing this same line for over an hour. Sometimes in whispers. Sometimes as loud as she can. Clasping my hands over my ears, I scream at my sister. “Shut up! Mom, make her shut up!”

  My five year old sister grins and sticks her tongue through the wide gap where three of her teeth are still missing. A small white point of the fourth tooth has finally poked through and she’s been showing everyone her ‘grown-up’ tooth for days.

  Gabby grins at me and yells at the top of her lungs. “Mom, Gage said the ‘s’ word.”

  I glare at her, ticked off beyond measure and try to ignore her. I turn my back and put all of my attention back into the war game I’ve created with my plastic soldiers.

  When she starts singing again, I whip around and she’s grinning, knowing she’s being a pain in my butt. I just want her to leave me alone. Why can’t she leave me alone?

  Since I’m two years older, it’s my place to set her straight.

  “It’s not Easter, stupid face,” I tell her. There. That should shut her up. “Besides, that’s the tooth fairy’s job, not the Easter bunny,” I go on, feeling very superior.

  “Mom!” she cries out. “Gage called me stupid face!”

  I glare at her. Little tattle tale. She sticks out her tongue, but starts to cry the minute she hears Mom’s footsteps in the hall.

  “I hate you!” I tell her under my breath.

  “Gage Nicholas Larson,” Mom says as she rounds the corner. “How many times have I told you not to call your sister names?”

  “He’s so mean,” Gabby wails, but sticks her thumbs in her ears and waves her fingers back and forth when Mom turns her back. I lunge at her, but Mom catches me by the back of my shirt.

  “But—” I begin my protest.

  “But nothing, Gage. You’re older and a boy. You should know better.” I brace for the spanking and, yep, there it is. Smack. Smack. Smack. I yell as if it hurts, even though it really doesn’t. It gets things over with a whole lot quicker that way.

  “She started it.” I point at Gabby and to my mortification, tears run down my face. Not from the spanking, but from the injustice of it all. “It’s not fair!” I yell and yank away from Mom and run into my bedroom, slamming the door and kicking the ball lying on my floor.

  “It’s not fair. Gabby gets away with everything and I can’t do nothin’ right.” I protest.

  A few minutes later, another set of footsteps are in the hall. Work boots this time. Oh shitola. No. My door slams open and he’s there … Dad. I immediately go on the offensive. Maybe I can convince him I didn’t do anything wrong…

  “She started it. I didn’t do nothin’.”

  Dad stays silent, just glowers at me. I try not to cower. I try to be brave. But when he unbuckles his belt, I start to beg…

  “Please … I won’t do it again. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything.”

  The words fall on deaf ears. He just pulls the black leather from the loops and then doubles it over and smacks it on his hand.

  “Stand up, boy. Bend over. Don’t make me tell you twice.” His voice is gruff. Ragged. Worse, the words slur just a bit. It’s always worse when he slurs.

  I hate my sister. I hate hate hate her. She always gets me in trouble.

  Whack.

  Why can’t I be an only child?

  Whack.

  I’d never be in trouble then.

  Whack.

  My mom screams and runs into my bedroom. Her hands are in her hair and her eyes are wide in horror and grief.

  “She’s dead,” Mom screams. “She’s dead. Gage, you killed her.”

  I stare at her and shake my head. “No. I didn’t...”

  Whack.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  Whack.

  The pain stops and I open my eyes. Where am I? The place stinks like too many flowers and there’s organ music blaring in my ears.

  It’s a funeral home.

  No.

  I don’t want to go. But someone’s pushing me from behind, making me walk up the aisle.

  Please don’t make me go! I’m screaming, but the words are stuck in my mouth. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see this. Please don’t make me.

  But then I’m there.

  The little white coffin is right in front of me. Gabby is lying there in a white dress, holding a pink flower.

  “You killed her!” my mom screams and falls to the floor.

  Gabby sits up and her head turns in my direction. “You killed me.” She climbs from the coffin. Her white dress trails behind her. She lifts her finger and points at me. “You’re a bad brother…”

  “Gage!”

  “…why did you kill me?”

  “Gage!”

  “It’s all your fault.”

  “Gage!”

  I snap awake, gasping for air, clutching at the arms shaking me back to reality. I’m up and off the bed, staggering from the room. I’ve got to get out of here. I need to breathe.


  “Gage! It’s okay.”

  Her voice is behind me now, but getting closer. Her fingers grasp my arm and I push her away.

  I blink. I’m awake.

  Fully awake.

  Beth is on the floor, her eyes wide. Oh God, what have I done?

  She scrambles to her feet, but she doesn’t run away. She runs toward me instead.

  I pull her to my chest. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I didn’t…”

  “Shhh, it’s okay,” she soothes and holds me tight against her body. “It was just a bad dream. You’re awake now. It’s okay.”

  I am awake. But the nightmare still haunts me. “Your fault. Your fault,” echoes in my mind.

  To my horror, tears burn the back of my eyes and my throat clogs as nearly twenty years of pain tries to erupt from me in an instant.

  “You’re shaking.” She rubs her hands up and down my arms and pulls me to the couch before running back to the bedroom. A second later, she is wrapping me in a blanket.

  I can’t talk. I can’t even open my mouth. I’m afraid of the sounds I’ll make if I do.

  Beth crawls into my lap, her arms tight around me. I pull her close. Then I can’t stop them. I can’t fight the pain that wracks itself from me.

  My baby sister. Those women. White dresses. Flowers.

  It’s too much.

  I can’t do this.

  But I also can’t stop it.

  The tears burn and I can do nothing but hold onto Beth as I let them fall.

  “Tell me.”

  I don’t know how long we sat there, but it feels like I’ve cried for a hundred hours.

  “It’s nothing. Just the result of a shitty day.”

  She pulls back and looks up at me. She says nothing, but stares at me with those big brown eyes. I sigh and pull her close to me again.

  “My sister died when she was five.”

  Beth gasps and her fingers curl into the blanket, but she says nothing.

  “I was seven and we’d gotten into a terrible fight that day. I was trying to play with my soldiers and she kept doing things like singing and moving my men around. Just anything she could think of to irritate me.”