Winter Song (Seasons Pass Book 1)

by Susan C. Muller

  Noah slammed his head against the pillow, frustration gnawing at his gut. If he raised the head of the bed, some monitor beeped in his ear, if he laid it back, florescent lights glared in his eyes. He needed to get out. Once home, he’d figure out his next move. How much trouble would he be in with his boss if he just walked out? What did they call it, AMA? Against medical advice.

  Well, first of all, he wasn’t sure he could walk. And he didn’t have a car, or pants. Getting Conner to drive him was out of the question, but he’d seen a patrolman out front. Could he convince the guy to give him a ride?

  He shifted uncomfortably on the narrow bed. His shoulders brushed the railing on each side and his feet hung off the end. He’d call Conner again, get him to find that doctor. He patted around on the bed, looking for his phone. Fuck.

  Well, they couldn’t take away his call button. He saw it sitting on a table, just out of reach. Apparently, they could.

  Evening shadows masked Ryan’s movements as he slipped through Gary Hudson’s back door. He crossed the darkened room without a sound. There was only one hope of returning to the life he knew, and removing Hudson was it. All the years he’d spent training his exceptional mind, gone in a flash. He wasn’t prepared for life on the run.

  But just in case he had to, he’d need a bankroll.

  The sound of ice falling into a glass told him where to find Hudson and he started in that direction. He’d not only researched Hudson’s background, but watched the man himself while preparing for his last job. He’d know Hudson anywhere. But Hudson had never seen him.

  “Hello, Gary. Having an evening cocktail?”

  Hudson spun around, flinging ice and bourbon across the Italian marble floor. Now his fancy house smelled like a cheap bar.

  “Who the hell are you? How’d you get in my house?”

  “I’m Icky. You didn’t think I’d take a job without checking out your house and learning if you’re really who you say you are, did you?” He put the slight Hispanic tilt to his voice that he’d used over the phone, but it was hard to pull off with his red hair. He’d never had to worry about that before. Hudson was the only client who had ever set eyes on him. Not that he’d live long enough for it to be a problem.

  “Are you fucking with me? You’re nothing but a snot-nosed kid. I wouldn’t trust you to mow my lawn.” Hudson gestured with his now empty glass.

  “And yet you hired me to kill your wife. Maybe you’re the one who should learn to do research. I did my job, now it’s time to pay up.” Despite the difference in their economic status, the man’s condescending attitude reminded him of his father, and he wanted to strangle him right then.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get out of here before I call the cops.” Hudson pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

  Ryan struggled to keep his voice low and calm. “Are you sure you want to do that? Wouldn’t you rather pay what you owe me and never see me again? The cops are already looking at you. If they find me, you’re done for. Give me my money, and I’m gone. Then the chain is broken. If you keep your mouth shut, you’re safe.”

  Hudson set down his glass and wiped his hands on his pants. He was dressed as if he’d just left his office. Dress shirt, dress shoes, slacks, tie. But Ryan knew he’d been home for hours.

  “Now’s the time, Gary. Make your decision. Close this chapter in your life and move on. You deserve a new start. You’ve done the work, now reap the benefits.” Ryan waited with feigned patience as Hudson’s pea brain clicked through the possibilities.

  “And I’ll never see or hear from you again?” Hudson chewed on his lip.

  “Scout’s honor.” Ryan placed his hand across his heart. Like he’d ever wasted his time playing Boy Scout. “I have to leave. This town’s too hot for me. I need a bankroll.”

  Hudson sighed, whether with relief or resignation, Ryan wasn’t sure. “Follow me to my office.” He spun on his heels and marched off without looking back.

  Ryan had cased the house earlier, but he kept his eyes open as he followed Hudson to his office.

  All those monitors and what good had they done the old guy? He’d bypassed them with ten minutes work, then watched ‘till the maid left and slipped through the yard and into the house just like he’d done three other times.

  Hudson took a small key from his pocket and opened what he probably thought was a secret door and pulled out the third file drawer from the top. Ryan knew exactly what he was reaching for.

  As Hudson bent to retrieve the accordion folder full of cash, Ryan slipped on a pair of gloves and reached for the baseball bat Hudson had stashed between two file cabinets.

  He took one step closer and tried to remember what some middle-school baseball coach had attempted to drum into his head. Left hand here, right hand here, plant your feet, reach back and give it everything you’ve got.

  Unused muscles strained as his back twisted. He struggled to keep a tight grip with his right hand. He’d positioned himself so that the majority of the blood splatter would be blocked by the open door. His dark clothing would disguise the rest.

  Hudson must have heard a noise or sensed movement because he lifted his head and twisted toward Ryan. “What the . . .?”

  Ryan had already started his swing, and tried to adjust the angle in mid-stroke. The bat grazed Hudson’s shoulder, which took the brunt of the force, before landing on his jaw. Hudson went to his knees, but grabbed the file drawer with his left hand and remained semi-erect. His right arm hung useless at his side.

  “Ou little ucker,” he mumbled through broken teeth and blood.

  Ryan stood, waiting for the man to fall. The pressure in his head pulsed with every maddening heartbeat as the anger built. Why didn’t the man go down? What right did he have to interfere with his perfectly laid-out plans?

  First the cop, then that damn dog. Now this useless piece of shit. Didn’t anybody know how to die?

  Hudson swayed slightly as he released his grip on the file drawer. His left hand groped in the accordion file and a gun appeared.

  Ryan laughed as the gun in Hudson’s hand wavered. Now it was getting fun. “What are you going to do, old man? You can’t even hold yourself up, much less see to point that gun at me. It might as well be a water pistol.” He danced from side to side, taunting Hudson.

  A shot rocked the tiny room and Ryan felt the breeze as it passed by his face. His ears rang and the smell of gun powder filled his nose. Before he had time to clear his head, another shot rang out. That one was wide of the mark and Hudson’s arm dropped.

  Enough was enough. The old fool might connect by accident. It had been fun, though. No one else had ever fought back. He might have to give some thought to doing the deed face to face from now on. No, that would be a foolish risk.

  He watched as Hudson struggled to lift the heavy gun. He’d never had any desire to play golf, but really, how hard could it be? He switched his grip on the bat and lined up with Hudson’s hand. His swing was off by several inches and he only connected with the tip end of the gun, but that was enough.

  Hudson’s hand slammed into the file drawer and the gun fell to the floor, but not as far away as he wanted, so Ryan kicked it to the other side of the room. Hudson spit and a wad of blood and teeth and a substance he didn’t even want to think about landed near his foot.

  “That does it, old man.” Ryan swung again and laid the bat directly across Hudson’s forehead. His head snapped back and crashed into the metal file cabinet. If it made a sound, Ryan couldn’t hear it. His ears still rang from the two gunshots.

  He reached across the limp body and pulled out the folder.

  Empty.

  “First you pull a gun on me and then you try to cheat me? Big mistake.” He kicked Hudson in the stomach and the man let out a low groan.

  Still with us, are you old fart? Then you should enjoy this. He pulled back his foot and kicked him again. And this. He kicked him twice more, the last time to the head.

  Hudson’s ne
ck twisted at an unnatural angle, and his eyes stared lifelessly at nothing.

  I haven’t had this much fun since I used to troll for bums on Saturday night. It almost makes up for seeing that cop come back to life. Almost.

  Blood covered every surface and it was impossible to walk out of the room without leaving tracks. He used the baseball bat to lever the nearest file cabinet over, and when it crashed to the floor, he crawled across it and out the door.

  In the living room, he tossed the bat into the roaring fireplace. It settled on top of the fake logs and caught fire immediately.

  Now what? This was supposed to be a robbery gone wrong, and without the money, I’m going to need a cushion. I’m safe here and don’t have anywhere else to go. Might as well do a little treasure hunting.

  Hudson’s closet yielded two thousand in cash and a stack of gold Krugerrands hidden under the carpet. His wife put him to shame. She had a false bottom built into her underwear drawer with five grand in small bills.

  Ho, ho, ho. So you were planning to leave him after all. Smart girl.

  Her jewelry would be too easy to trace, but it would look suspicious to leave it behind. He could toss it into a lake.

  Hudson was bigger than he was, but the wife was about his size. After a shower to wash off all the blood, he dressed in a pair of her sweats and tennis shoes. His clothes could go in the fire, along with the bat. In fact, maybe it would be best if the whole house burned down.

  No, that would draw too much attention. Better to open a few windows and let the cold air skew the time-of-death measurements.

  “Wake up.”

  An unpleasant hiss buzzed around Ryan’s ear. He sank deeper into his pillow and ignored the sound.

  Strong hands gripped his arm and shook. “I said wake up, you conniving little piece of shit.”

  Ryan opened his eyes and stared up into his father’s face, only inches away. A face red and contorted in anger. His room was still dark. It couldn’t have been much past five a.m. Only three hours of sleep on a day when he’d need all his wits. Why was Pops up so early?

  The hissing voice started up again. “What have you been up to now? The cops came by with a warrant last night. Said you were in some kind of a riot at school. Several kids fell and were injured. No one could find you. Upset your mother so bad, she took a pill and went to bed before supper.”

  If Pops was keeping his voice low, that meant his mother wasn’t up yet. Good. Time to figure things out before she woke. “What about you, Pops? Were you worried about me, too?”

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “I was worried alright, but not about your safety. So what time do you need me to have gone to bed?”

  Ryan sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “With nothing on TV and no one to keep you company, I’ll bet you went to sleep right after she did.”

  “That sounds about right. I fixed a sandwich, had a stiff drink, and was asleep by seven o’clock.”

  The alcohol on his father’s breath, and the empty bottle he’d seen on the counter, meant he’d had several stiff drinks before stumbling into bed. “I must have just missed you. I got home around seven-thirty and you were both dead to the world. After the upsetting day I had—seeing a man with a gun break into our classroom and my friends running and screaming—I just crawled into bed myself. Did the cops say what they wanted me for? Were they just checking to see if I got out safely?”

  Pops barked out a short laugh. “Yeah, right. The cops always bring a warrant when they’re concerned about your safety. Apparently, you’re wanted for breaking and entering the cop’s house down the street. I knew that fucker was up to something when he came around here the other night, acting so friendly.”

  He sat on the edge of Ryan’s bed, the anger gone from his face. “Listen, kid, I think we understand each other well enough that we don’t have to play tag with words. I’m too old and slow to pull the kind of inside jobs I did when I was young. And I can’t afford to bring any unwanted attention to myself. There’re still one or two things out there that haven’t reached their statutes of limitations. I’ve got a good set-up here. I’m working on getting disability payments, and your mother has a solid job. I’ll go along with you this one last time so we can keep to the status quo, but if your mother gets so upset she can’t work, all bets are off. I’ve filled my parental quota of covering for your sorry ass.”

  “You’re right, Pops. We understand each other perfectly. If breaking and entering is the best they can do, I’m safe. I can beat that rap, and it’s the only way I can get my life back. But I’m going to need a lawyer, and the sooner the better. You and Mom will have to hire him. I’ve got enough money saved to pay you back. I just can’t let anyone know I have it.”

  The room had lightened enough for Ryan to see his father’s face. One glance told him how serious his father was. “I wouldn’t trust you to pay for your own condoms. Give me the cash first, we’ll call it a retainer. And I will be charging interest. Now, let’s wake your mother and see if we can keep our stories straight.”

  “Sure thing, Pops. But while you’re in there, you might want to hide that bracelet I gave Mom for her birthday.”

  “Shit, boy. You’re even dumber than I thought. Didn’t I teach you never to take a souvenir?”

  The next hours were the worst in Ryan’s life. His mother cried, his father cursed, and the lawyer charged enough to make Ryan reconsider his pre-med major. He was fingerprinted, photographed, handcuffed, and led like a bull with a ring through his nose from one stinking shit hole to another.

  The big cop was nowhere to be seen—maybe he’d been put out of action for good—but the skinny cop was there, watching every move he made. His lawyer kept the cop away from him, not even letting him in the same room. The cop had tried, he could tell that much, but so far, he hadn’t had to answer any questions.

  Every time a cell door slammed, he jumped. He told himself he’d be home in a few hours but fear gnawed at his gut. What if they had more evidence than he thought and the lawyer couldn’t get him out? Should he have run when he had the chance? No, he had his life planned and hiding wasn’t part of it. Best to beat this now and be more careful in the future.

  Tears threatened, but he held himself together while they shackled him to a line of low class, bottom feeders and led him into the courtroom. The sight of his mother’s tears freed his own. Only now, they might help him instead of threaten his safety.

  He didn’t have to pretend to be afraid when he stood before the judge. But the lawyer did his job and Ryan was granted bail.

  His father whispered in his ear as the bailiff came to lead him away. “You better have enough stashed away to pay a bail bondsman, because I’m not risking my house as collateral that you won’t run.”

  There went the rest of his nest egg.

  Fortunately, he hadn’t had time to get rid of Crystal Hudson’s jewelry. He could at least have it melted down for the gold. That, or break into the bail bond office and take his money back.

  Handcuffs dug into his wrists as he sat on a cold, cement bench, waiting for someone to release him. Cell doors clanged and sounds of human misery floated across the holding area. The inescapable stench of unwashed bodies had embedded itself into every surface of the room.

  It was late afternoon, and he hadn’t been offered any lunch, but he wouldn’t have been able to eat it if he had. He needed to find a quiet place to sit and think about the rest of his life.

  He couldn’t spend it in a jail cell, he knew that. The noise, the smells, the lack of privacy, the general sense of…confinement. That didn’t even take into consideration the type of lowlifes he’d be crammed in next to. How did people live like that? He’d heard that some criminals felt more at home in prison than on the street. Unbelievable.

  Even a brief sentence would be the end of him. How would he ever be able to sleep, take a shower, pleasure himself? His mind would die of starvation. He already felt dirty. As a kid, he’d occasionally played in th
e dirt, gotten sweaty, but this was different. This went past his skin, into his bones.

  But could he give up his secret pastime? What if he just went back to using his special skills on animals, would that be enough? Maybe occasionally spying on the unsuspecting. No, that would never satisfy him, now that he’d tasted blood.

  Getting out of this situation was his only hope and removing Hudson and Derrick had been the right thing to do. Should he keep going with the big cop or the witness? He’d have to think about that.

  Noah squinted at the mid-morning sun as he opened the back door and his sister pushed her way inside, her arms full. Please God, not another casserole.

  “I brought you a casserole for later. I’ll just put it on the table so you’ll remember it and not stick it in the freezer.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Sweet Pea ran in and stood on her hind legs, sniffing the air. The casserole did smell pretty good. He didn’t let that fool him; he’d tasted Rachelle’s casseroles before. Her kids looked healthy, well fed, but they had been eating her cooking all their lives. They probably didn’t know any better. And her husband—he considered pepper to be one of the major food groups, so he’d destroyed his taste buds years ago.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be using those crutches?” She cocked her head to the side and studied him.

  After Conner called her yesterday, it had taken an act of Congress to get Rachelle and the doctor to agree to let him go home. But his knee wasn’t broken, just some pulled ligaments, and he didn’t intend to lie in bed, out of the action.

  He was wearing sweat pants with one leg cut off above the knee. A knee that was swollen, discolored, and supported by an elastic brace. He knew he hadn’t shaved, he couldn’t remember if he’d brushed his hair. Not a look that was going to make her feel comfortable enough to leave him alone.

  He limped across the kitchen, leaning on the counter for support. “I’m not putting any weight on my knee, and I use the crutches most of the time.” He had to get her out of here, fast, and if he told her how much the crutches hurt his sore arm, she’d never go. There were things in this house he didn’t want her to see.