Emory rested his hand on Jeff’s rock-solid thigh. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get so serious.”
“Oh, I don’t mind serious.” Jeff anchored his gaze to Emory’s eyes. “I can do serious.” He caressed his shoulder before cupping the back of Emory’s neck, drawing his face closer.
Emory raised his hand to Jeff’s side and twisted his body to bring their chests together. Their lips met, and the two lost each other in a kiss that was awkward at first but soon fell into an exultant rhythm. Tasting the wine on Jeff’s tongue, Emory now picked up on its elemental pleasures.
Emory was the first to pull away, just far enough for their lips to part, but Jeff was the first to speak. “Damn.”
Smiling, Emory glanced at the discolored bump on Jeff’s mouth. “How’s your lip?”
Jeff touched the spot where Emory had punched him that morning. “Totally worth the pain.”
Emory swept in for another kiss, but he pulled away as soon as their lips touched. “Wait. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
Emory returned to his own cushion and motioned at the space between them. “This. It makes me nervous.”
“Wait, are you a virgin?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then what’s the problem?” When Emory didn’t respond, Jeff released a heavy sigh. “What’s in your head right now? Spit it out.”
“All right! I’ve been so focused on my career, I’ve let my personal life basically atrophy. The point is I’m not sure I’m…good.”
“Like I told you before, you intrigue me, Emory Rome. I just want to experience you, whatever form that takes.” Jeff grabbed his arms. “As for the atrophy, I took some physical therapy classes in college. I can trigger that muscle memory for you.”
Now grinning, Emory pushed himself off his cushion and straddled Jeff to deliver a vigorous kiss.
Jeff’s fingers brushed against the handcuffs attached to Emory’s belt, and he pulled them off. “Ever use these outside of work?”
Emory’s eyebrows peaked. “I’m going to want to use my hands.”
“I didn’t mean you.”
“I don’t think I want you restrained.” Grabbing the handcuffs, Emory flung them over his shoulder, and he heard them clang to the floor somewhere near the fireplace.
Emory pulled Jeff down to horizontal on the cushion. Their hands grappled for the other’s flesh, reacting with savage aversion to any clothing that kept them from it. Shirts ripped, and pants were kicked to the sidelines. Pressing every square inch they could against each other, the two men rolled onto the hardwood floor, each fighting for dominance until one submitted.
CHAPTER 30
EMORY STARED AT the ceiling of his old bedroom, at the tiny phosphorescent stars he and his dad had painted years ago. They were faded now, but they still comforted him. Jeff lay sleeping at his side, breathing on a shared pillow like a neck-tickling breeze on an exertive night.
Although Emory sensed sleep lurking nearby, he couldn’t quite find it. He pulled his naked body from beneath the covers and exited the room with such a light footfall, Sophie didn’t miss a single step in her dream running at the foot of the bed. He drifted into the living room, the cozy space glowing in the faint embers of a fire that roared with a ferocious fever just two hours earlier. He collected his clothes scattered about and dressed himself again, along with his shoes. He saw his holster hanging from the arm of the couch, thought about putting it on but didn’t feel like carrying the extra weight. He retrieved his jacket from the back of a chair in the kitchen and left the house.
Emory walked over the fading snow and through the moon-glimmered mist to the fence at the edge of the woods. He took a moment to smile at the handful of visible stars before resting his forearms on a lateral plank and facing the hazy trees. Eyes wide open, he reveled in his current elation. “Jeff,” he whispered. Emory had known he wanted the handsome PI from the moment he first saw him through the windshield of his car, but he was not the type to give temptation a second thought, much less surrender to it. Each encounter with the green-eyed man had started with a conscious effort not to think of him in that way. Concentrate on the work, no matter how difficult he made it. Now those efforts were moot.
Thoughts of work slammed the door open to anxiety. What will tomorrow be like? How will we work together? What’s going to happen once this case is over? Was tonight just a one-time thing? Should it be? Oh god, it’s happening – just what I was afraid of. Emory had mastered his life and had it under control, but his actions tonight had made him vulnerable to self-doubt, like rust eating at unpainted steel. What the hell have I done?
Emory didn’t have long to contemplate. A woman’s scream pierced through the fog. His first instinct was to reach for his gun, which wasn’t there. He cursed himself for leaving it in the living room, but no matter, he had to act. He leapt over the fence and raced into the woods.
Without a flashlight, he had to slow his pace after a few steps. His eyes were now dependent on the deceptive moonlight diffusing through the fog, but even that light couldn’t penetrate the soupiness below his knees. Each step from here on out had to be gauged on the probability of hidden obstacles.
Speed-walking deeper into the woods, he heard the distant cooing of a mourning dove. He stopped to listen for anything human, and he could hear faint rumblings coming from the same direction as the bird’s call. He pursued the voices, stumbling over tree roots and the occasional pine cone as he course-corrected more than once. Even when the voices became more distinctive, he couldn’t understand a thing they were saying.
Emory saw a glow up ahead, and as he moved closer, he entered a small clearing. In the center stood a modest shack with a double-sloping roof attached on its longest sides. Erected adjacent to the house was a barebones outhouse. Light spilled from the only window on the side of the house. Emory crept closer. As he peered through a lower corner of the window, he could see it wasn’t a home at all, but a church.
He saw a woman in front of a pulpit, writhing on the floor like a possessed sidewinder. Encircling her were seven men, each with one hand on the woman and one hand raised as if taking an oath. Another man danced around the seven men while clutching three rattlesnakes in his right hand. Each time the dancing man passed a table, he drank a clear liquid from a mason jar atop it. In the pews, congregants performed a choreographed modern dance – many with eyes closed and gripping a Bible in an angry fist, while some flailed their arms above them like they were swatting at a flying terror. Except for the woman being healed, everyone inside the church was chanting nonsensical languages.
As he watched, a face popped up before him. On the other side of the glass, a woman with dark eyes and a scornful glare was looking into his eyes!
Startled, Emory stumbled back from the window, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his butt. Hearing something from his right, he jerked his head around. A scowling man approached him from the outhouse. The man didn’t say a word, but he was stomping his way closer.
Emory jumped to his feet and bolted for the woods. He could hear the snow crunching as the man pursued him.
Within seconds, Emory tripped over a root and went tumbling forward. He parted the thick lower layer of fog as he crashed to the ground. He turned himself around, but the approaching footsteps gave him no time to get to his feet and run.
Emory lay himself down with his back on the ground and allowed the fog to pour over him. He could hear the man just feet away now, but the fog that now concealed his body also kept him from seeing where the man was. Please, don’t step on me! A boot clomped down within inches of his head. He squeezed his eyes shut.
The man stood still for a moment, waiting for any sign of movement. When none came, he turned around and walked back the way he had come.
After several undisturbed minutes, Emory’s head and upper body rose from the fog like a zombie from the grave. He looked all around before rising to his feet. He started walking back to his old house w
hen a flashlight’s beam slapped him across the face.
Emory raised his forearm in front of his eyes to shield them from the perfusing light.
“What are you doing?” the light bearer asked.
“I was…” Emory began before the voice clicked in his head. “Jeff?”
Jeff shined the light onto his own face. “Who else would it be?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh-uh. I asked you first.”
“I was taking a walk.”
Jeff cocked his head to the right. “Don’t lie to me.”
“How did you find me?”
Jeff pointed the flashlight down and stirred the fog with his foot to expose the snowy ground. “I followed your tracks. From all the zigzagging, I thought you might be out here with a bottle of whiskey in your hand.”
“No drinking. Just fresh air.” Emory started walking again. “Let’s go home. I hate it here. Bad things always happen in the woods.”
“Okay, but you still haven’t told me what you were doing.”
As they retraced their steps, Emory told him everything that happened, after which, Jeff threw an arm around his shoulders. “I’m glad you’re okay. I woke up, and you weren’t there. I started to worry.”
“You were worried?”
Jeff pinched together his index finger and thumb. “Just a little bit. You are my ride home.”
The next morning, Jeff again woke up alone – except for Sophie, who was snuggled under the blanket with her head hogging the pillow. The dog opened her eyes a moment after Jeff, and the two found themselves in a staring contest. Sophie broke it when she closed her eyes for a big yawn, prompting a laugh from Jeff. “Not a morning person?”
He got out of bed and walked into the living room, where he found Emory on the couch reading a book. “What’s your aversion to beds?”
Emory smiled up at him. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Great.” He leaned over the back of the couch and kissed Emory. He ran his hands down Emory’s wet hair. “You showered already?”
“Yeah, and I’ll make us breakfast in a second.”
Jeff plopped his naked body on the couch beside him and glanced at the cover of Emory’s book. “The Bible? Atoning for our sins?”
Emory snickered. “You’re on your own with that. No, I’m just doing a little research. Listen to this: ‘And these signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they drive out demons; they shall speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.’”
“Is that the passage snake handlers use to justify their practices?”
“It is. I think they coined the term, ‘literally.’”
Jeff groaned. “I hate when people say that. They almost always use it incorrectly. I want to make saying ‘figuratively’ a thing just so people will be correct when they use it.”
Emory placed the book on the floor. “You should get dressed. My parents could be home any minute.”
“Damn. Why didn’t you tell me?” Jeff hopped up and scrounged around the room for his clothes. “Can I take a shower?”
“Of course.”
Jeff picked up the long-sleeve pullover shirt he had worn the day before to see that it was now ripped in two places. “You killed my shirt.”
Emory smirked at him. “You can always pick out a shirt from my old clothes.”
“From your old wardrobe?” Jeff pointed at him. “That was your intent all along, wasn’t it? My poor shirt was collateral damage in your plan for revenge.”
“That’s not true. It’s an unexpected perk. Paul Bunyan.”
Jeff picked up the rest of his clothes. “All your old clothes can’t be that bad. I’ll find something that I can make look good.” With determination, he eyeballed Emory as he left the living room.
“Good luck!” Emory yelled after him, laughing.
When Jeff entered the kitchen about twenty minutes later, he found Emory setting the table with breakfast. The PI was wearing a bowling shirt with a retro design. The short sleeves were, of course, tight around his biceps, and he had the top two buttons undone, exposing the hairy trench between his pecs.
Emory’s eyebrows perked up. “Wow, it looks good.”
“Not bad, huh?”
“I don’t remember that shirt.”
“It’s your dad’s.” Jeff sat at the table. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”
Emory sat next to him. “Oh yeah, I’m sure it’s fine.” Seconds later, he added, “Maybe just keep your coat closed when we pick him up.”
Jeff took a bite of his eggs. “I thought your mom was driving him home.”
“She called while you were in the shower. They’re releasing him a little later than they thought, so Dad told her to go on to church without him.”
“She didn’t ask you to go with?”
Emory took a sip of peach juice. “I told her I went last night.”
CHAPTER 31
SHERIFF ROME PACED in his hospital room, his eyes ping-ponging between the floor and his packed suitcase by the door. Checking his watch yet again, he returned to the bed and pressed the call button.
Without the sheriff saying a word, the nurse on the other end told him, “Your doctor will be here shortly.”
“Why can’t I just go?” the sheriff asked.
“We can’t discharge you until the doctor signs the order. Please be patient.”
“I’ve been patient, and I’m getting tired of it.” When the woman didn’t respond, he dropped the call button and returned to pacing. After two laps, he looked relieved to see his son and Jeff enter the room. “Emory.”
“Hey Dad.” Emory gave him a hug. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Ready to get out of here.” The sheriff extended a hand to Jeff. “Mr. Woodard.”
Shaking his hand, Jeff told him, “I’m glad you’re doing better.”
“Thank you. I just want to go home now, but the doctor hasn’t discharged me yet. I’m sorry to make you guys wait.”
“Oh we don’t care about that,” Jeff said. “Right, Emory?” Emory was deep in thought and didn’t respond, so Jeff elbowed him. “Emory, are you okay?”
Emory snapped to attention. “Huh? I’m fine. Dad, would you mind if we came back in just a few minutes? I have an errand to take care of.”
The sheriff shook his head. “I’ll be here.”
Jeff followed Emory into the hospital hallway. “What was that about?”
“Pristine’s here. I want to visit her.” Emory looked over his shoulder at the nurse station. “Wait here, and I’ll be right back.”
Emory walked up to the station, identified himself as a TBI special agent and asked for Pristine’s room number. The nurse assistant at the desk gave him the room number and said, “There’s a note here that she asked not to be disturbed by anyone but family.”
“Do you really think she meant to keep out the person trying to find whoever put her in the hospital?”
The nurse assistant frowned as she took a moment to think. “No, I guess not.”
When Emory returned to Jeff, they said in synchronicity, “I know which room she’s in.”
Confused, Emory asked, “How do you know?”
Jeff pointed to Victor’s back just before he turned the corner and disappeared. “Victor just left it.”
“Can you do me a favor and keep him occupied? I’ll text you when it’s all clear.”
“Will do.” Jeff pursued Victor down the hallway.
Emory approached Pristine’s room and peered inside the open door. It wasn’t a private room, but the bed closer to the door was unoccupied. The lights were dim, and the TV was on but almost inaudible. He could see the shape of Pristine’s legs under the blankets, but he couldn’t see her face to tell if she were awake or not. He decided to risk it. He stepped inside the room and touched the doorknob to the bathroom. After a brief paus
e to listen for any movement on her part, he opened the bathroom door and slithered inside, closing the door behind him before turning on the light.
He saw her makeup bag on the sink and her nightgown hanging from a hook on the door but not what he was looking for. Damn. Turning off the light, he stepped in silence from the bathroom and guided the door to a quiet close.
Emory waited for a moment and still heard nothing from Pristine. He stepped deeper into the room. When her pillow came into view, he saw that she was sleeping with her face turned toward the window. He also saw the object he sought on her bedside table. He crept closer until he was able to pick up the hairbrush. He pulled several strands from it, and as he began exiting the room, he retrieved a baggie from his pocket. The crinkling sound it made when he opened it seemed to echo throughout the room.
“Victor, is that you?” Pristine asked from behind him.
Emory stopped in his tracks.
CHAPTER 32
AT THE HOSPITAL in Barter Ridge, Jeff waited by an elevator, watching the numbers above the door light in descending order until it came to a stop. Victor got off on the first floor. Rather than wait for the elevator to come back up, he found the adjacent stairs and ran to his destination. Once there, Jeff scanned the lobby for Victor but didn’t find him. He saw a directional sign for the cafeteria and spotted a clock. It’s brunch time. He walked down the hallway and found Victor in the cafeteria line, so he jumped in a few people behind him.
Seeing only breakfast items being served, Jeff said to the server, “I just had breakfast. Do you have any lunch items?”
The small woman with a sweet granny-face pointed her spatula at the clock behind her. “Not until 10:30.” The time on the clock was 10:21. “Would you care to wait?”
Jeff saw Victor paying for his food, and he didn’t know if he planned to take it back to Pristine’s room or eat there. “No, I’ll just take a pancake.”
The woman looked confused. “Just one?” When Jeff nodded, she handed him a plate with one silver dollar pancake. Jeff hurried to the cash register with the plate, ignoring the server as she held up a packet. “Don’t you want your syrup?”
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