Blacke and Blue

by Fiona Blackthorne

  “I see,” Trisha said, trying to sound cool and professional. Like she had before last night’s intimacy had happened. It was impossible, though, to rewind time and undo the night of passion that wouldn’t leave her mind’s eye. It was impossible to keep her body from tingling and responding urgently at every remembered touch.

  “So, what did you and Perk talk about?” Ian asked with a studied casualness that sounded far too forced for her liking.

  “He talked about his fishing stand being vandalized,” she replied, wanting and yet dreading to hear what Ian was going to say to this.

  “Yeah, we got a report about that at the station. The guys went and investigated but they didn’t find any evidence of anything other than forced entry.”

  “How do you mean, they didn’t find any evidence?”

  “Well, everything was in its place—”

  “How do you know that?”

  Ian laughed sourly. “Perk doesn’t dust much. The counter and worktable might be clean enough, but the shelves and spots for all the tools and gear have perfect dust-free spots for everything.”

  “That just means that whoever broke in was careful and replaced them back where it was obvious they went.”

  “Sure, that’s one theory,” Ian replied. “But it could be that nothing was actually taken and replaced.”

  “You mean Perk was making it all up?”

  “The only evidence we really have are his statements.”

  “What about the forced lock?”

  Ian shrugged. “That’s the funny thing. Apparently, the door was already unlocked when the lock was forced.”

  “Staging?”

  “Possibly.”

  “So what’s your theory?”

  “I don’t really have one.”

  “You don’t?” Trisha winced at the unintended harsh incredulity in her voice. “I mean, what about Perk making it all up? Or what about someone else who had a key? Or someone who could have picked the lock and then forced it to make it look amateurish or cast suspicion on Perk?”

  “All of that’s in play,” Ian replied coolly. “But, what does this have to do with our Butcher of Bangor?”

  Trisha sat back against the seat. She hadn’t realized she was leaning toward Ian more and more with every comment. She chewed her lip and searched her brain.

  “Nothing that I can see,” she finally admitted. “But, all the same…”

  Ian was silent, and she saw the angry tightening of his expression. She tried not to care that he was angry. She tried to ignore the desire to crawl into his lap and throw her arms around him and just feel him hold her tightly. She fought back against the need to kiss him until he got the idea and kissed her back while ripping her clothes off.

  He pulled into the motel parking lot, parking next to Trisha’s snow-covered rental car. Before she could even struggle out of the SUV, he was over at her car, brushing off the snow and scraping the ice off her windows and windshield.

  Trisha found herself blinking back tears. He might be angry at her for whatever reason, but he still cared enough to help her with her car. She had never had anyone clean her car off for her before. Again, she felt swept along by a wave of longing to surrender to the feeling of being cared for, and this time, it was accompanied by a weary rebellious urge to chuck it all, leave her job and all the death and damnation behind, and just be with Ian and Ger. For a painfully beautiful, clear instant, she could see it all.

  Mornings with coffee and jokes. She might learn to cook and do laundry. She’d help Ian with his work as she could. She’d spend time with Ger. Nights would be full of lovemaking and pleasure. There’d never be a moment when she faced the world alone or had to struggle against the relentless tide of real life by herself. It was a dangerously addictive fantasy, and one that she had to kick the shit out of, right now.

  She sniffed back the desire to cry and grabbed her bag and laptop case. She slid out of the SUV and crunched her way across the ice-crusted snow and salt to her car.

  “Thanks,” she said, not feeling ready to look Ian in the eye just yet. The tears were still just a little too close. “I’ll see you at the station?”

  “Later,” Ian replied. “I got some other things I gotta look into right now. I’ll check in with you in a couple of hours. Let me know what time you’ll be home tonight if I don’t catch you otherwise.”

  Those little words were so careless and yet so meaningful. Home. Trisha’s heart lurched at how much she wanted to be able to reply casually with a time and a kiss. But this wasn’t her home. She was here to do a job. Maybe her last job for a while, but she was going to do it.

  “I’ll give you a call,” she said, fiddling with her car key, trying to activate the remote starter instead of looking at Ian. She just couldn’t bring herself to see what expression was in his eyes, whether it was love or anger…or both.

  “All right,” Ian said after a long, hurtful pause. “I’ll see you later.”

  Trisha nodded and got in the car, watching in her rearview mirror, through her cleaned-off rear window, as Ian walked back to the SUV with hunched shoulders and head down, got in, and drove away.

  “What are you hiding, McDade?” she whispered to herself, feeling cracks and fissures start to put lines in her heart. “Why you? And, why Ger?”

  She sighed and leaned her head forward to rest against the steering wheel.

  Eyes closed and breathing deeply to calm herself, she didn’t even feel it when the blow to the back of her head came.

  Chapter 17

  The smell was the first thing that Trisha became aware of. Smell and then pain. Smell, and then pain, and then nausea.

  Bleach and rotting fish filled her nostrils, and she began to heave, her body jerking and spasming in an effort to empty her stomach. She dimly became aware that she couldn’t move as freely as she wanted, but there was no more time to think. Bile and acid and coffee came rushing up her throat, filling her mouth and slipping into her nasal passage. She began to choke, unable to get air in through her mouth or nose.

  Out of pure instinct, she turned her head to the side and forced herself to heave and spit out, choking and coughing in an attempt to clear an airway. Her cheek was now lying in a pool of her own vomit, and she felt tears running down her face. The smell was assaulting her again, with its rot and death and clinical, bleached terror.

  Her head was pounding, pile-driving pain in predictable pulses into her skull. She tried to open her eyes, but everything still felt too dark, so she shut them tightly again. An attempt to breathe slowly led to another bout of vomiting.

  Finally, spent and sick, she lay still. She randomly tried to think between heartbeats of pain, awareness coming in quick, single words like a deadly game of Jenga.

  Hard. She was laying on something hard. Dark. Room was dark. Rough. Something rough and scratchy was holding down her hands. Feet. Feet couldn’t move either. Edges. Her fingertips felt the edges of something. Narrow. Whatever she was lying on was narrow but long enough to hold her head-to-toe. Sort of. She had been placed there in a crooked position to fit onto the table.

  Table? Yes. She must be on a table. The rough and scratchy material holding her hands could be rope. Rope that was easy to tie to a table or around a table or…oh God…

  This time, there were only dry heaves, and she almost felt a little better after the spasms had passed. Any kind of brain exertion was extremely painful, so she kept trying to piece things together little by little.

  Ger…Ian…the car…

  That was the last she could remember. The car. Did she black out? No, she remembered thinking. Someone had been in the car? How? Never mind that. Where was she now?

  Her mind finally arriving at this key question suddenly opened the floodgates of consciousness. Where was she now? Who had taken her? How long had she been here? What was going to happen to her?

  Just as quickly as the questions had come, answers came, despite the raging flames of pain that now danced behind her eyes.
She was in Perk’s shack. He had mentioned bait, and that had to be what she was smelling. It was the only significant location that she had discussed around anyone else aside from the last dump site, and she certainly wasn’t outside. The shack and the killer were connected. Her earlier vague suspicions were now rock solid facts. Who was the killer then? Wait, she would think about that in a minute. She had to know how long she had been here and figure out how to get out.

  Her eyes were now adjusted to the dark, and it seemed that the shack was windowless? No. Wait. There was a shuttered window. There was no daylight coming through, so it must be dark outside. Dark came early these days, though, so it could be any time after 3:30 p.m.

  Ian might have expected her to call by now, so there was a chance he would be out looking for her. And maybe he’d think she’d gone to take a look at Perk’s shack and come here.

  Or, maybe, Ian…and Ger…knew exactly where she was and had brought her here to throw suspicion on Perk? Or maybe…

  No, she had to focus and get the ropes off. She had to get mobile. That was going to be the key to survival. She didn’t bother testing the ropes. She knew they’d be too tightly tied for her to wiggle out of them. At least the ones on her hand were. Now, her feet were another matter…

  Her snow boots were thick but loosely laced up. The hard rubber that came up to midcalf meant that the ropes couldn’t dig in as deeply to her ankles. She strained her neck upwards to look down at her feet, and sure enough, the ropes were tied around her calves.

  Forcing herself to relax and soften up all her muscles, she lay back against the table and slowly began to squirm and wiggle her feet out of her boots. The movement was awkward, and she felt shin splints start as she pushed and pulled her feet up the boots until finally, her feet slipped free of both boots and socks.

  “Okay,” she breathed quietly to herself, trying to inhale through her mouth in order to avoid more smell. “Next.”

  She looked around. It was too dark to make out much, and the table was positioned such that there was no way for her feet to reach any tools that could be useful to her. No, she’d have to figure something else out.

  Fighting off a rising tide of panic, she grabbed onto the first idea that came through. She began to use her legs to rock back and forth, shaking the table until it was rocking side to side and tipping onto one set of legs. With one last burst of strength, she threw her whole body to one side, and the table crashed down onto its side.

  As she hit the floor, she struck her head again, and vomit slid down the surface of the table to her cheek and neck. She clenched her teeth against the pain and urge to scream. One more move and she’d be close to free. Just one more move. She could do this. She would do this.

  Contorting her body and thanking her stars that she had taken yoga a few years ago in a failed attempt to bring health and balance into her life, she positioned herself to lift herself upright while still attached to the table.

  “Fucking upwardly mobile triangle pose,” she grunted between gritted teeth. “Fuck!”

  Her muscles strained and cracked with the effort, but finally, she was standing upright on her feet. Though she was still tied to the table, the ropes had shifted around her arms and hands, and she could sense an inch of give now.

  Banging her heels against the table and wincing as they touched the icy cement floor, she dragged the table with her over to a workbench where she saw a knife block. She grabbed a knife with her teeth and dropped it on the counter, squirming around so that one hand could get hold of it.

  Now began the truly agonizing part. The sawing. Back and forth. The aching muscles and fatigue in her hands and fingers and wrists. The hissing little slices and nicks when the knife slipped. The reaching for her last inner strength to keep herself from dropping the knife. She wouldn’t be able to get down to the floor and back up again. She just wouldn’t. There was no choice but to push through the pain and keep sawing. This would be over soon. Soon. She could do this.

  And she did.

  One hand free.

  Then two hands.

  Then feet in socks and boots.

  Her head was spinning but she was full of adrenaline. Footsteps were running up to the shack. The door began rattling on its hinges, the flimsy lock splintering the wood as something banged against it, over and over.

  Without thinking, she grabbed two knives, one for each hand, and flattened herself against the wall where the door would swing in. No attacking. Just running.

  The door shattered, and a blast of fresh, icy air brought Ian and Ger into the darkness.

  Trisha watched as they stumbled into the shed, Ian shining his flashlight in front of him and revealing the destruction she had apparently wreaked on the place with tipping the table over and grabbing knives and sawing through rope. She wondered randomly if she had actually done all that, but she stopped herself and took a deep silent breath in preparation for making a break for the door.

  Suddenly, Ger stopped and inhaled deeply as well, frowning as if trying to understand what he was smelling. With a touch of internal hysterical laughter, Trisha thought it was definitely an arresting smell. Her dizzy amusement died as he turned and looked her straight in the eye, even though it was next to impossible for him to see her in the darkness.

  For one second, she was frozen, then all hell broke loose and set fire to her heels. She dashed out the door and ran as hard as she could, barely registering the direction she was going in. The world bounced around her like an art movie camera, and there wasn’t enough light coming from the old streetlights that were up by the end of the driveway.

  She slipped on the ice and fell to the ground, jamming her palms flat against the slick, salted asphalt to break her fall. The bite and the ache made her wince, but she kept trying to get up. Her boots slipped against the ice, and her body began to lose its aches for numbness. Strength drained from her like water down a tub.

  “Trisha!”

  Two calls to her heart. Two voices she’d know anywhere, but where was she? Things were dark and spinning now, and she was going to be sick again. As if from a long distance away, she felt arms come around her as her body convulsed and she tasted air and the last of the bile she had left. She was so cold and tired now. She just needed to sleep. Just to let the darkness come.

  And the darkness came.

  * * * *

  Ian came into the bathroom, careful to shut the door behind him so as not to let the warmth and steam out. He had gone to heat up the towels in the dryer so that Trisha wouldn’t get cold when they got her out of the tub.

  “How is she?” he whispered worriedly to Ger, who was kneeling next to the giant porcelain soaking tub, rinsing off a very groggy and sleepy redhead.

  “I think she’ll be okay,” Ger replied, smoothing back Trisha’s hair as her eyes fluttered open briefly. “Dr. Nasir was here and examined her. He said it didn’t look like a concussion, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep her on bed rest for a few days.”

  “Like that’s going to happen,” Ian said wryly, handing his brother the towels. “Wanna bet that the first thing she does is demand to go back to the shed?”

  “I’m not touching that bet.” Ger chuckled. “I don’t like the odds.”

  Ian knelt down and tentatively touched Trisha’s pale, wet skin, thankful that his hands were warm from the towels so he wouldn’t shock her with any more cold. He felt like the only thing that mattered in the world right now was keeping Trisha safe and warm.

  “I can’t stop thinking of the moment we found her,” he said, leaning in to kiss Trisha’s head tenderly.

  Ger blanched as he reached for the drain and began to let the water out. “I’m going to kill the bastard.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “I’m almost one hundred percent certain.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you yet.”

  “What the fuck, Ger? Why not?”

  “Pack business.”

  “You mean…” Ia
n’s voice trailed out as his astonishment rendered him silent.

  “Yeah,” Ger said grimly. “It is someone from Blue Moon. One of us.”

  “How? Why? What the fuck?”

  “We’ll take care of it.”

  “Not this time. Not by yourselves. I have to be part of this process. Too many people are involved now. Too many outsiders. This has to be public somehow.”

  Ger remained silent and tight-lipped, feeding Ian’s growing worry and anger.

  Suddenly, Trisha moaned gently and leaned into Ian, and everything else vanished. He wrapped his arms around her, blinking back the vision of finding her face-down in the snow and ice, her hair matted with blood and vomit, her face bruised and crusted over with her own bile, and the raw red marks on her poor little wrists and legs from where rope had chafed. The worst had been the blank, unseeing panic in her dull eyes—eyes that were supposed to be sharp, winter-sky-blue, full of life and awareness and intelligence.

  His deputies had secured the scene, and it hadn’t been hard to reconstruct how his brave, resourceful woman had managed to free herself, despite her sickness and injuries. His heart swelled in pain and pride at the thought of just how badass his Trisha Blacke was. The pain grew sharp, though, at the thought of just how close he and Ger had come to losing her.

  Holding her close to him, not caring that his shirt was getting soaked, he felt full and complete, and he finally understood the grand theater of love, with its sublimeness, its tragedy, and the thrilling, unmissable experience of it all. It didn’t matter what was going to happen. It didn’t matter what difficulties lay ahead. It didn’t even matter in that moment if it was going to end. All that mattered was that he and Ger and Trisha were together, and that she was safe while she slept, and they could love her with everything they had.

  Ian McDade was not a man who had ever thought he’d fall in love. To find himself caught up in the tendrils of her fiery red hair and burning blue eyes had been the shock of his life. Yet, that was nothing now compared to the revelation of how deep his love went for her. How many hours had they known each other? Forty-eight? Seventy-two? Or had their atoms known each other and been entangled from the moment the universe had burst into existence? Compared to the size of the universe, it was only a small miracle, but because it was so small, it was so plausible. The three of them didn’t need time to know each other. They simply needed the time to exist together, bound eternally by the fundamental fact that their love completed all of them.