Games of Zeus 02- Silent Echoes

by Aimee Laine

Ian’s fist made contact with Michael’s shoulder, though he pulled the punch.

  “Ow.” Michael rubbed at it. “You’re the worst big brother ever.”

  “And you’re full of—”

  Michael’s snort of laughter preceded the, “Yeah. I am. But you are ‘the man’ when it comes to women. Blondie got you by the short hairs? You do something—”

  “Hell, no.” With a capital H. He’d wanted to. Every urge within him said ‘take’, yet he hadn’t. He’d walked away.

  “Is it ‘cause she’s white?”

  “No.”

  Michael huffed air. “That’s wrong on so many levels since Mom and Dad have been married for forty years.”

  “I said no.” Ian gave Michael a measured glare. “Of course it’s not that.” Ian draped a hand over his forehead. Race had no bearing on the women he’d sought. Never had. Never would.

  “Then what? ‘Cause bro, if a drink and a pretty smile didn’t send you to the priesthood, what did it?”

  A deep, long, extended sigh left Ian’s lips. “Her roots are in North Carolina. Mine are here. That’s not going to work.”

  “Excuses, excuses.” Sarcasm dripped from Michael. “Your roots are wherever Tripp is, and he’s in North Cakalacky. Give me the real answer.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Ian stood again and meandered to the window. It’s just not that simple. His green eyes reflected back at him under the darkening sky. I just don’t know. She’s different. I want her like nobody’s business. Ian held up his hands. “Enough sappy shit. What bar you want to hit?”

  “Rocky’s down on fifth has unlimited nachos on Thursdays.”

  “Give me a sec to change.” It’s time to get Taylor Marsh out of my head for good.

  2

  Yellow caution tape ran from Taylor’s garden to barn, to rear fence post, and back around to her house. Blue lights spun in a dizzying array as she sat on her front porch under the watchful eye of Sergeant Dale, a Rune police officer. The fire trucks and ambulance had come and gone, replaced by a couple extra official-looking vehicles.

  “Ms. Marsh—”

  She tilted up, raising an eyebrow. “Riley Dale, do not talk to me like you don’t know me.”

  Riley, in his grey and blue uniform, with his smooth cheeks and deep, dark blue eyes, chuckled. “C’mon, Tay. I’m a Sergeant. I can’t be informal on a crime scene investigation.” He tapped her toe with his, pointing out toward a set of spotlights that hummed and warmed up as the light of day faded.

  “We’re practically siblings, Riley. Been neighbors since we were twelve.”

  Riley shifted his weight and returned to his earpiece. His half-smile fell into a full frown, his shoulders drooping while he alternated between touching his earpiece and glancing in her direction.

  “Spill it, Dale.”

  His lips curved but stopped at smirk level. “Can’t just yet.”

  “Why are all these people here? What do they think the bones are?”

  More gravel crunched while, at the same time, a unit of jumper-clad people stepped from another SBI van, which had taken the last non-yard spot. If anyone else showed up, he’d have to park on her near-pristine lawn. At a quick glance, seven cars filled her drive and yard while a dozen-and-a-half suited worker bees milled about in various stages of doing ‘stuff’.

  Riley’s lips firmed. “They’re human, Tay.”

  She leaned back on the porch. “I know that part. That’s why I called you.” After I woke up with my face in the dirt. “But, why is the SBI here?”

  “The State Bureau of Investigation comes when they are called.” His gaze strayed toward the mess of people. “Now hush. I really can’t talk to you about this.”

  “Rile—”

  “Shh.”

  A man in a suit and tie pointed toward the site of Taylor’s find before he made his way toward where she sat.

  “Rile—”

  Riley held up a hand. “Say nothing, Taylor. Nothing, got that?” He turned as the suit joined them.

  Taylor stood, crossing her arms over her chest and spreading her feet wide enough to keep her balance. She intended to create a bit of perceived stubborn confidence, despite the nerves tingling throughout her body.

  “Ms. Marsh?” the suit asked.

  “Yes?” She kept her tone firm but kind.

  “I’m Jeremy Faine … with the SBI Crime lab.” He held out his hand.

  Taylor shook once and let go. “I’d say nice to meet you, but I think that would be inappropriate given the circumstances.”

  Jeremy gave her a short nod. “Right.” He faced Riley. Nodded. He turned to the site. Nodded.

  How robotic is this guy? The head gestures added to her curiosity, but at the same time, they brought the hairs on her arms to a stand.

  “Anything I can—” Taylor’s words earned a glare from Riley.

  Jeremy swiveled back to her, his hand slipping into his jacket. He pulled out a paper, opened it and held it up, but Taylor couldn’t read it in the darkening night. Jeremy gave yet another nod to Riley.

  Riley’s eyes hardened. “Taylor—”

  Cuffs appeared from within Jeremy’s suit coat. Riley bumped him out of the way.

  A shiver ran the length of her body. “What’s going on?” She spun out of Riley’s way as he reached for her.

  His lips went to a thin line as the cuffs came closer. “Don’t freak out. You’re not under arrest.” Through gritted teeth, he added, “And keep your damn mouth shut.”

  Wide-eyed, Taylor stopped moving as Riley took her arms and drew them behind her back. The action brought with it a familiar muscle constriction to her entire upper torso. Her throat seized. Her eyes watered. “Can’t—”

  “Just stay calm. Breathe through it.” The click of handcuffs registered before the pressure on her wrists took hold. “I’m right here with you. Right here.”

  Her mouth opened and closed, but air failed to go in or out. Taylor’s eyes burned. She stared hard at Jeremy, willing him to hear her unsaid plea. I need air! Why does this happen to me?

  “Breathe, Taylor,” Riley said from behind her. “It’s just a formality.”

  Tortured, her lungs screamed for air, and her legs wobbled.

  Jeremy grabbed her as she pitched forward. “Ms. Marsh?”

  She opened and closed her mouth again.

  Riley jumped around to Taylor’s front, taking Jeremy’s place. He laid his palms against her cheeks. “Look at me, Taylor. Here. Look at me.”

  Her eyes failed her. Arms … need … untie. A watery view of Riley’s face came into focus right before Taylor’s body slumped against him. Bound. Again.

  Her eyes rolled back until even her thoughts went silent.

  • • •

  Rocky’s couldn’t have been louder and still met the noise ordinance for New York’s night crowd. Michael and Ian had walked in, headed straight for the bar and both ordered beers. Around them, the place reeked of sweat, secondhand smoke from those bringing it in with them from outside and spilled alcohol.

  A DJ pumped music through the room while at least two dozen televisions displayed a variety of stations, none of which interested Ian.

  He downed the contents of his beer and tapped the bar for a second.

  “Might want to pace yourself there, bro,” Michael said.

  Ian shook his head. “Better to just get drunk. Then all the thoughts go away.”

  Michael snorted. “Temporarily. Until you puke all night.”

  “I don’t get sick. I know my limit.”

  A waitress with her blonde hair tied in a ponytail sidled up to them, her tray, pad and pencil in hand. “You boys care for some hors d’oeuvres? Or a meal?” She leaned over the counter, dropping a small piece of paper onto a stack, which a second bartender picked up. Her breasts piled up as she pressed into the walnut countertop, her blue eyes daring Ian to take in his fill.

  “I’ll take a burger,” Michael said as Ian said, “You’re not my type.”
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  The slap to Ian’s shoulder accompanied the waitress’s pout.

  “What the hell?” Ian asked.

  “When has blonde and blue eyed not been your type?” Michael asked.

  Never. “Tonight.” He drank deep from the beer and signaled for a third.

  “We came here to get your mind off her. To get you back in the saddle.” Michael jutted his hips out as if that would entice Ian to jump on a horse he didn’t want to ride.

  “I know. I’m just not …”

  “You need the right motivation.” With beer in hand, Michael pointed toward a group of women who eyed Ian over their shoulders every few minutes. One, with straight black hair, licked her painted red lips. Another, with red hair to her butt, crooked her finger at him. “They’re motivated.”

  “Then, by all means, go get them.”

  Michael nudged Ian’s shoulder. “No, you go. You have to get out of this funk.”

  “They’re too young for me.”

  “Dude, they’re over twenty-one, and that’s close enough to half plus seven.”

  Ian snorted a laugh. “Who told you that was the rule?”

  “Grandma.”

  They both laughed again.

  “Go, man. Let tonight be the get-back-on-the-horse night.” He clinked his beer against Ian’s. “Or, you be the horse and let her ride.” With another bump to Ian’s shoulder, Michael stood. “I’m going after the group in the back right.”

  By the largest of the TVs, a group of barely-over-twenties stood together.

  Michael gave Ian a nod and sauntered away.

  Two of the women in the group eyeing Ian stretched and curled fingers his way. With a deep sigh and a third beer to begin the dulling of the senses phase of the night, Ian began his walk toward them.

  • • •

  A hum filled Taylor’s mind, ran up through her legs and into her arms. She blinked tired eyes, working to focus on her surroundings of black and metal, flashing red and blue, and the humidity of southern springtime.

  “Taylor …” Riley’s voice penetrated the fog.

  A cop car. Riley’s cop car.

  The engine hummed, sending vibrations through the vehicle. As her mind whirred, she jerked her arms and found them attached one to the other.

  Riley leaned over the open door and reached in, offering her shoulder a light squeeze. “I’m sorry, Tay. I didn’t think the panic attack would come on so strong. I really didn’t.”

  He’d cuffed her. He’d pulled her arms behind her and made her into a common criminal. Hurt and disappointment filled her. Not at Riley, but herself. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She hadn’t reacted so strongly to her phobia in ages—ten years, in fact.

  “Tay?”

  She focused on her breathing, anxiety ebbing like the ocean’s tide. “I’m okay.”

  “I should have told you before I did that. It was Faine—” Riley shook his head. “No, totally my fault. No excuses. I knew and didn’t—”

  “It’s okay. I’m …” Wigging out. “Okay.”

  “You were right. I’m really, really sorry. I should have been your friend. Not a Sergeant. I won’t let that happen again.”

  While she couldn’t believe how strong her reaction had been—blindsiding her with paralyzing fear—she believed his apology and that he meant it. Beyond the car, people continued to work, lights buzzing as they illuminated her yard, and in the center, her pile of wood sat just where she’d found the bones.

  “You’re not under arrest. They just wanted you secured for questioning because of the … nature of the situation. God, I’d swear that Faine has something against you, and he doesn’t even know you. Showed up outta nowhere like he owns the crime scene.”

  Crime scene?

  “But, I told them I’m staying with you right here until they do whatever or take official action.”

  “I’ll be okay, Riley. Really. I will. What happens next?”

  “Ms. Marsh?”

  So focused on the activity beyond the car, Taylor hadn’t noticed anyone else join them.

  “I’m Lieutenant King.” His deep voice rumbled over the hum of engines and lights.

  “Dale.” Faine’s voice chased after them, pulling Riley from the car.

  “Would you be willing to answer a few questions tonight?” King asked.

  She tracked Riley and Faine’s path away from the car as she answered, “Sure.”

  “When did you purchase your house?”

  “Ten years ago.” The day I returned from Alabama.

  “And you’re a native of this area?” He scratched something on his pad.

  She didn’t need to think for that one. “Yes.”

  “You own Marsh Construction?” King barely looked up when he asked or wrote anything.

  “Yes.” She squished up her nose, shooting a glance at Riley, whose arms flailed while Faine wagged a finger in Riley’s direction.

  “Why did you call the police today, Ms. Marsh?”

  She wanted to roll her eyes. They knew very well. “Because, in the demolition of a shed on my property, a set of bones turned up underneath.” The image of the face, its jaw wide as if in a scream, forced Taylor to close her eyes. She inhaled, focusing on happy thoughts of her house unencumbered by yellow caution tape, and calmed.

  “Can you tell us what happened in Alabama ten years ago?” the lieutenant asked.

  “No.”

  “Ma’am?” The lieutenant’s tone turned irritated. “You cannot give us any clarity?”

  She raised her lids and stared straight at the officer. “What happened in Alabama isn’t relevant to today in any way, shape or form, and I wish to leave the past … in the past.” That they knew about her time there surprised her. Their bringing it up made her blood boil.

  Faine stepped into Taylor’s view again. “Is there a problem here?”

  “No,” King said, eyes narrowed.

  “Have you—” Riley received a glare from both the other men—superiors if Taylor understood their gestures.

  They all faced her again.

  “It would be in your best interests—” King started.

  “If ya’ll want to ask me about stuff that happened ten years ago, that wasn’t my fault, that was all a setup, you go on ahead, but do so during part of the day where I’m not exhausted and wondering if my roses are going to be trampled on.”

  “Our investigation—”

  She stared hard at King and moved to Faine as he threw up his hands. “Your investigation is about a set of bones on my land. Now, what would you like to know about that?”

  “We’d like to know who you murdered and why,” Faine said in as monotone a manner as possible.

  Taylor jerked back. She hadn’t expected anyone to say murder. She expected to hear she’d unearthed a cemetery plot, and they’d have to bring in an excavation team, archaeologists or historians.

  When her gaze landed on Riley, he hung his head.

  Uh-oh. “You know what? I think, if you’re going to ask me any other questions, I might just want to have my attorney present.”

  Faine puffed up his chest. “Something to hide already?”

  Taylor wanted to clock the attitude right off the man.

  “No, sir. But I like to cover my ass, and I do believe it’s best to do so right up front.”

  “If that’s the way you’d like to play this game—” Faine started as King withdrew a paper, his own expression sour. “Taylor Marsh, you’re under arrest.”

  Not again.

  3

  Pitiful whines, muffled sniffles and cries of ‘I didn’t do it!’ pierced Taylor’s ears as the Corrections Officer, Breck—by her name tag—led Taylor down a grey-walled hallway toward booking.

  The warrant King held had, in fact, been an arrest warrant, executed by the newest judge on the bench and delivered under orders per one Jeremy Faine. ‘No point fightin’ it’, Riley had said. ‘It’ll only make it worse. Just get through it, and I’ll come by in the mornin
g’.

  He could only escort her as far as the outer walls of the female wing, but he’d convinced Breck to keep the cuffs in front and sent her off with his signature smile and a promise to call her attorney for her.

  Taylor kept her head up, banking the sigh wanting to escape. She wouldn’t fight it, didn’t even have the first-timer nerves about her, since she already knew the drill. Once had been enough of a lesson.

  ’Least this time, I have help from the get-go.

  “Have a seat.” Breck pointed to the row of orange, plastic chairs and held on to Taylor’s arm as she dropped into one. “Someone will come get you in a second.” The officer disappeared around a corner.

  Taylor fell back as exhaustion weighed heavy on her. Her mind spun to Riley, her home and the bones. With deliberation, she closed her eyes and remembered what had stared back at her. The blank eyes. The smoothness of the features that had barely been covered in any dirt.

  The familiarity bugged the living daylights out of her, but she couldn’t figure out what gave her the impression she’d seen the bones before.

  “Taylor Marsh?”

  Her body jolted back to reality, and Taylor held up a hand to the new woman who’d called her.

  “Come on, honey. It’s after two on this fine—” The woman spun her watch around. “—Well, I’ll be damned, it’s Earth Day. It’s no wonder I’m ready for summer and my dinner break.” A sweet smile graced her face. “I’m Officer Hough.”

  At the wave of Hough’s hand, Taylor stood and walked toward her and another jail hallway.

  Hough directed Taylor through photographing, took her fingerprints, and swabbed the inside of her cheek. She led her to a room with a flat, steel desk, a locked, metal cabinet, a chair, a table and a female officer with a shotgun in her hands.

  Taylor’s calm dissolved as her wrists flexed within the cuffs digging into her skin. A cramp knotted her foot as heat flushed through her body.

  “Now. It’s just us girls in here, and if you cooperate, we’ll have this over in a jiffy.” As Hough talked, she set her clipboard on the desk, slid on a pair of rubber gloves and took Taylor’s wrist with the gentleness of a kitten. “I’m going to secure one hand to the bar, and the other you can use to undress. Murder charges get the full work-up, but I’m inclined to make this fast. Got a Lean Cuisine waiting for me.”