by Nikkie Locke
“Then the chief will go get him,” Burke promised.
She nodded. “As long as someone tells them.”
“Chief Whitley is doing that,” he assured her. “About those questions?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you want Dean here for them?”
She felt Dean’s muscle tense under her. Apparently he didn’t like the idea of leaving. That was fine with her. She could use someone to lean on. She nodded.
“You’re sure?” Burke asked.
“Yes.” She nodded.
“Where were you this evening?”
“We were at the bar with you,” Dean said.
“Dean, I need Payten to answer these questions,” Burke warned.
“Dean and I went out,” Payten answered.
“What time did Dean pick you up?”
“Eight,” she answered.
“I was a little early,” Dean added. “Not very early. Ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Then what did you do?” Burke asked.
“We went to the bar,” she said.
“When did you leave the bar?”
“About eleven-thirty.” She looked at Dean. He nodded his agreement.
“And then?”
“We came back here. We hung out in the kitchen. Dean left around one, I think.”
“What did you do then?”
“I called Bridgett. I got the phone from the kitchen and talked to her on my way into my room. When I saw — ” She stopped. “I — I hung up with Britt and called the police.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. The longer I thought about it, though, I knew it was Boston.”
“You left for the Hendrix’s as soon as you hung up with the chief?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
He hesitated. “Payten, did you see the note?”
“What note?”
“There was a note on your nightstand,” he informed her. “You never saw it?”
She shook her head. “I never went in the room. I stayed in the doorway.”
“That’s good.”
“What did it say?” she asked.
“I don’t think that’s important right now,” he hedged. “I think we need to think about where you’re going to stay tonight.”
“What?”
“You can’t stay here. There’s evidence here, and well, we’re just taking precautions.”
She stared at him. He was all police officer now. Not Burke, one of the guys she’d hung out with in school. Just Officer Pierce ready to protect and serve. It freaked her out.
“What exactly did that note say?” she asked.
“I don’t think — ”
“I think you need to answer her questions,” Dean interrupted. “This is her house.”
Burke glared at him, but he didn’t say anything to him. “Let me go get the chief.”
While he was gone, she moved off Dean’s lap. She stood up. She’d feel better facing Chief Whitley on equal ground, not cowering in his son’s lap looking for comfort. It was true it was much more comforting there.
It’s just so hard to be taken seriously when you’re sitting in a man’s lap, she thought.
Chief Whitley stepped in the room. He looked at his son.
“Dean, why don’t you take Payten home with you tonight?”
Before he could respond, she jumped in. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? What did the note say?”
Chief Whitley looked at her, at Dean, then back to her. He passed her a plastic bag with a small piece of paper inside.
“You’re next.”
She read the note over and over until she could hear it screaming inside her head. The terrible need to throw up again ate at the back of her throat.
“Well, he’s certainly blunt, isn’t he?” she noted.
She felt Dean’s hand on her hip. He squeezed gently. “Not something to joke about.”
“Too soon? Yeah, you’re right. Too soon.” She swallowed. She was definitely going to throw up again. “That’s one of my sticky notes. The pad is in the office. Excuse me.”
She shook off Dean’s hand and rushed for the bathroom. So much for holding it together.
• • •
“I need to see it,” Dean told his dad, watching Payten’s retreating figure.
“No, you don’t.”
Dean looked at him. “I need to see it.”
Carl sighed. “Fine. Go on.”
Dean felt his father behind him as he headed for the hallway. The smell hit him before he made it too much farther. He followed the smell into Payten’s room. What he saw turned his stomach. He understood why Payten was puking.
Her bed was soaked in so much blood he couldn’t tell what color the covers had been. He wouldn’t have known he was looking at a dog if Payten hadn’t already told him. As it was, he had a hard time telling what was what.
The body of the dog sprawled across the middle of her bed. The body had been split open from its tail up to its ribcage, and intestines had spilled out onto the bed. Hunks of the dog’s hide had been peeled off.
“If you’re going to puke, do it somewhere other than in here,” Smith warned him from her position on the other side of the bed.
“Why would someone do that to a dog?” he asked her.
She shrugged.
“Fear,” Carl answered. “It’s not about the dog. It’s about scaring your girlfriend.”
“It’s sick,” Dean told his dad, ignoring the girlfriend part of his statement.
Carl nodded. “It is sick. Payten can’t stay here tonight. With the threat against her, it would be best if she stayed with someone else.”
“I’ll take her to her parents’ house,” Dean said.
“That’ll do for now. Payten has been getting strange calls,” Carl told him.
“What do you mean by strange?”
“Hang-up calls,” Carl said. “Payten led Officer Smith to believe she thought they were prank calls, but maybe it’s something more.”
“You think the same person who has been calling her did this?” Dean asked.
Carl nodded.
“How do you get from prank calls to a dead dog in her bed?” Dean questioned.
“It’s mutilated,” Smith said. “It’s not just dead. That’s a lot of hate.”
“Officer Smith had the caller’s number blocked. The caller hasn’t been able to scare her. This is his way of showing her he still can,” his dad answered.
“He’s pissed,” Smith told Dean. “Pissed off big time.”
There was a long silence. He broke it by asking the question he had wanted to ask since he stepped into the room.
“Could Peterson — ”
“Don’t even think about it,” Carl warned.
“Dad — ”
“He’s in prison, Dean. He has been the past thirteen years. God willing, he’ll die there. Don’t even say his name to me.”
Dean left the room without saying anything else. What else was there to say?
He found Payten in the living room sitting on the couch. She had her legs pulled up underneath her with her dress covering them, her arms wrapped around them tightly. She answered more of Burke’s questions.
“Payten, was the door unlocked when you got home from the bar?”
“Of course not.”
“Yes, it was,” Dean said. He crossed the room to sit down beside Payten. She grabbed for his hand. He gave it to her and squeezed hers gently. “I didn’t think about it earlier, but I opened the door without you unlocking it.”
“Did you lock it before you left?” Burke asked.
Payten shook her head. “Bridgett was in my room, waiting for us to leave. She helped me get ready. She said she would lock the door on her way out.”
Burke nodded. “She must have forgotten. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
“Can I take Payten to her parents’ now? Dad said she couldn’t stay her
e,” Dean told Burke.
“I’m sure you can,” Burke answered. “Let me go make sure the chief doesn’t have any more questions for her.”
When Burke left the room, Dean turned his head to kiss Payten’s cheek.
“It’ll be all right,” he told her.
“Could I go home with you?” she asked him.
He paused. He hadn’t expected that.
“It’s just that it’s late, and I don’t want my parents to worry. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
He frowned. Like that’s going to happen.
“I’m fine with you staying with me,” he answered, “if that’s want you want.”
Burke came back into the room before she could respond. “The chief says you can go.”
“Thank you,” Payten replied.
Before she could stand up, Dean lifted her off the couch into his arms. Burke didn’t even blink. He opened the door for Dean and followed them onto the porch.
“You’ll need to come to the station tomorrow for some more questions,” Burke told Payten.
“I’ll make sure she gets there.” Dean opened the door to his truck with Payten still in his arms. He settled her inside and watched while she buckled her seatbelt.
“We’ll probably need to talk to you some more, too,” Burke called from the porch.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
Dean closed her door, then headed around to the driver’s side. He cursed softly when he saw the light across the street was on. In his rush to get to Payten before, he hadn’t noticed it. He cursed again when he saw Ms. Clarke’s face in the window. He couldn’t imagine what the gossip would turn the night’s events into, but he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant.
• • •
Dean woke in a cold sweat, gasping for air. He wasn’t surprised the nightmare had come, but he wished it hadn’t. He moved to throw his legs over the edge of the bed, but quickly realized he was on the couch.
What the — Oh. Right.
He slept on the couch because Payten was in his bed. She had fallen asleep in the truck on the drive to his house. It surprised him, but he guessed everyone had different reactions to stressful situations.
He had carried her from the truck to his room, and she never woke up. He had pulled off her boots after he laid her down. After several minutes of consideration, he left everything else alone. Traumatized or not, she was simply too tempting for him to attempt undressing her.
Still shaking off the nightmare, he pushed himself to his feet. Moving slowly, he walked to his bedroom and peeked in to check on her. She slept soundly with the covers pulled up to her ears.
Is she cold?
He looked down at the gym shorts and T-shirt he wore. She couldn’t be cold. He took one last, long look at her before pulling the bedroom door closed.
She’s safe, he assured himself. Nothing’s happened to her, and nothing’s going to. I’m going to keep her safe. I have to.
He knew once she’d dealt with what had happened she’d balk at the idea of needing someone to keep her safe. That didn’t stop him from needing to protect her.
He’d known the nightmare would come. As soon as he’d seen the blood, he’d known. It made him wonder. How could he keep her safe when the nightmares left him terrified and shaking? How could he keep Payten safe when he hadn’t been able to protect his own mother?
Chapter Fourteen
Something was poking her. She was awake enough to try moving away from it. It followed.
“Ugh,” she grunted.
“Come on, sleepy. Time to get up.”
She grunted again. She didn’t want to get up. She hated getting up. She liked to sleep. She liked to sleep snuggled between warm flannel sheets…
The thought yanked her into full consciousness. She looked at the sheets. Not hers. Definitely not hers.
Oh, my God, she thought. Where am I?
Something poked her shoulder again.
“Let’s go.”
She rolled over. “Dean?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Who else? You spend a lot of time waking up in strange beds?”
She pushed back the covers and stretched. “The only bed I spend time in is mine, thank you very much. Where are we?”
“My house. You fell asleep during the drive last night.”
She groaned when she remembered the night before. “Yuck.”
“Putting it together now?”
She sat up. “Yeah, and it sucks.”
“Yes, it does,” he agreed. He moved away from the bed, then returned with her boots in hand. “We have to go.”
“Why?” She grabbed a boot from where he’d dropped them on the bed beside her and started pulling it on. She realized she was still wearing her dress. It didn’t look too wrinkly.
Not that it matters. After all, he’s seen you with your puffy, I-just-bawled-like-a-baby face. Oh, and your hair is a mess, your make-up is smeared down your face, and you have morning breath. I’m sure the fact that your dress isn’t wrinkly is a big point in your favor.
“Are you listening?”
She looked up at him. “Uhhh…”
He grinned. “I’m going to take that as a no. I said we have to go open the diner.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Burke called. They don’t have any questions for you so you can skip the statements this morning. He wants you to stay with somebody at all times today. They’re working on a plan for your safety.”
“Oh, joy,” she grumbled.
“I thought I could drop you off at your parents’ to get ready. I’ll open the diner while you take a shower. I’ve got some clothes that might not swallow you if you don’t have anything at your parents’ house.”
“Have some there.”
“Good,” he replied. “Your dad can come over at some point so I can go to the station. Even though you’re off the hook, Burke still wants me to come give a statement.”
“Whatever.”
He grinned at her. She scowled back.
“What?” she grumbled.
“You’re not a morning person, are you, sweetheart?”
She stood up and tugged at her dress trying to pull the wrinkles out. “I’m up.”
“Good enough. Let’s go.”
Normally, she would be curious about his home. As it was, she barely noticed they were in a house. Before he finished backing his truck out of the driveway, she had fallen back asleep.
• • •
“Dean, my man,” Kalvin called out as Dean stepped into the police station.
“Don’t you ever work?” He made his way to the back of the room toward Kalvin and the ever-suffering Officer Smith.
“Sometimes,” Kalvin told him when he stopped next to Smith’s desk.
“Never,” Smith protested.
“So, I heard you whacked Payten,” Kalvin said.
He scowled. “I did not.”
“I know. Just thought I’d let you know the rumor.”
“It could be worse,” Smith told him.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, it apparently could be. One Ms. Taylor called here about an hour ago demanding that we retrieve Payten’s body from your home so her parents could give her a good Christian burial,” Smith told him with a grin. “How cool is that? I’m loving this small-town gossip thing.”
“Jesus,” Dean muttered.
“That’s not even the best one,” Kalvin said happily. “Kayla told Jack some really crazy one this morning about you being the one who butchered the dog.”
“Are you telling me — ”
“Yup.” Kalvin laughed.
“For God’s sake!” he muttered.
The door to his dad’s office opened, and Burke stepped out. “What’s up?”
“I’m going to pull Kayla Hamilton’s hair out by the roots,” Dean said.
“That would be an assault charge to add to your murder charge.” Burke grinned.
“You’re such a dick,” Dean said.
Burke la
ughed. “I know. Come on in here. You can give your dad your statement.”
The door to the building opened again. Bridgett, followed by her fiancé, stepped into the station.
“Hello,” Bridgett called.
Burke walked to the front to meet her and Michael. He steered them toward one of the desks there.
“I’m going…” Dean pointed in the direction of his dad’s office.
“You do that,” Smith said.
Dean moved slowly toward the office, but the walk was short. He tapped gently on the open door. His dad sat at his desk. He glanced up when Dean knocked.
He waved him in. “Grab a seat.”
Dean sat down across from the desk. He was uncomfortable in the office. He had been since his parents had divorced. This office wasn’t the one his father had been in at that time. The police station had once been housed in the city hall. It had been a couple years since the officers had moved into their current station.
Still, looking at the beat-up furniture that had made the move with his dad to the new office, he could remember what things had been like before the divorce. He could see his dad pushing papers at his battered desk while his mother moved in and out of the office. He remembered rolling toy trucks across the uneven coffee table his dad had shoved back in a corner. He could almost hear his mother laugh while she teased his dad about the dying plants in the window. The lumpy, ugly orange chair he sat in had been his time-out chair more times than he could remember.
Nearly every time Dean had to sit in that god-forsaken office, he had a nightmare. It made him avoid the office and everything in it, including his dad.
“Can we get this over with? I want to get Payten’s place cleaned up for her.”
Carl shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dean, but that won’t be possible.”
“What?”
“Officer Smith wants to get a team in from the city to run forensics,” Carl replied. “Rykers and Pierce agree.”
“What good is forensics going to do? The blood is the dog’s, right? You already know whose dog it was.”
Carl shifted in his chair. “We’re hoping he left something of himself at the scene. Fingerprints, maybe he cut himself while butchering the dog, something like that.”
“Is that likely?”
Carl shrugged. “We won’t know unless we try. We’ve got nothing else to go on. This is a long shot, but we have to try.”