Merciless

by Mary Burton

  “Nothing is eating me.”

  He smiled, knowing it was more effective than ranting, which was all he wanted to do right now. “I know you, Eva. I know when you are worried or tired or happy or sad. I know you. What’s eating you?”

  She tried to move past him, but he stopped her.

  “Did you get any more letters from that lunatic in prison?”

  The killer that had stalked her and nearly claimed her life last year had recently been sentenced to three life sentences. From the moment the judge had rendered his guilty verdict, the killer sent notes to Eva. Nothing had been outwardly threatening. In fact it had all seemed innocent. Please, please forgive me. I’m sorry.

  At first she’d not told him about the notes because she’d not wanted to upset him. But when the last note had arrived, he’d happened to be present.

  He’d watched the color drain from her face and watched her hands tremble. He’d read the note and immediately called the Department of Corrections. They’d agreed to suspend delivery.

  “Do you swear there have been no other notes?”

  “Yes.”

  And then came the question that had gnawed at him at two a.m. “Is it another guy?” He’d always worried that when she really found her power and saw her potential she’d leave him. He was, after all, associated with a dark past that any sane person would flee.

  Shock blazed in her gaze. “No.”

  The bands of tension around his chest eased a fraction. “What is it, Eva?” He released her, stepped back, and ran a hand over his short hair. “What the hell is it?”

  The edge of desperation in his voice triggered a well of tears in her eyes. One tear fell down her cheek, and she brushed it away. “I’ve messed things up.”

  Oddly, hope flickered. She seemed ready to open up. He could slay dragons for her, but he had to know what those dragons were first. “What could you have messed up?”

  “I’d never planned to do this.”

  “I can see that.” The edge in his voice softened.

  She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and faced him. “I’m pregnant.”

  “What?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Honey, that’s not possible.”

  “It is very possible.” Color flooded her cheeks.

  He frowned. “We were very careful, Eva.”

  His sister had died of cystic fibrosis, a genetic disease. The illness had viciously attacked his sister over her short lifetime. He’d remembered all the pain and suffering and had sworn he’d never put a kid of his own through that kind of life.

  “That’s why I waited so long to go to the doctor. I figured it was the flu.” She shoved out a sigh. “And when he told me I was expecting I made him run the test a second time.”

  “You’re sure you’re pregnant?”

  “I told you, the doctor ran the test twice. And there was that one time a few months ago when we weren’t so careful.”

  Garrison rubbed his hand over his jaw. She was right. There had been that one night when they’d been so excited to see each other. They’d not thought it all through.

  Shit.

  “Eva, I should not have biological children. The risk is too high for CF.” Silence hovered between them.

  “I’m not getting rid of it,” she said. “I’m not.”

  “You’ve never seen what the disease can really do.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not giving this baby up.”

  A myriad of disaster scenarios pummeled his brain. He thought about the endless hospitals and tests and medicines his sister had endured. And then through the darkness the image of Eva holding his child flashed, bright and clear.

  Emotion choked his voice. “Eva.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been online and done a good bit of reading. There’s a twenty-five percent chance the baby will be sick. Seventy-five percent chance it’ll be fine. Either way, I’ll figure it out.”

  He closed the distance between them and laid his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”

  Another tear trickled down her cheek. “It won’t be the first time.”

  Her shoulders felt small and fragile under his hands. He knew her well enough to know that she would keep the baby. God help her if this child was sick. Her life would be an endless stream of doctors.

  Garrison didn’t want to bring a sick kid into the world. He didn’t want to remember the smell of the pe-diatric wing of the hospital or see the painfully cheerful wallpaper that decorated the rooms. He didn’t want to worry about pills or ventilators.

  He didn’t want any of it.

  But he’d deal.

  “We’re getting married,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been wanting to ask you for months but didn’t because it’s not fair to you.”

  More tears welled in her eyes. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. She held him tight and for the first time in days let go of her grip on the tension.

  He kissed her on the forehead. “We can get married in a few days.”

  “There’s no real rush. The baby’s not due for seven months.”

  Baby. Due. Seven months. Shit.

  His hand slid to her belly. He’d hoped to feel a flicker of movement, but there was nothing. “You’re really sure?”

  “Yes.” She pulled a thread from his jacket. “I know the timing sucks.”

  Garrison and Eva were going to have a baby.

  The idea quickly took root and overtook every sense in his body. A protective urge welled inside of him. “Mom’s going to be thrilled.”

  “She’ll be worried like you.”

  “She’s more optimistic than me. She won’t borrow trouble. She’ll be too excited.”

  “I told Angie.”

  “And?”

  “She was excited. Told me to tell you.”

  He grunted. “Points for her.”

  “The timing was a bit serendipitous.”

  “How so?”

  “She hired a detective to find my father.”

  He frowned. “And?”

  “She did find him, or at least information on him. And you’ll never guess who he knew back in the day.”

  After Angie dumped way too much personal information on Kier, she felt foolish and embarrassed, so she’d paid for their dinner, despite his protests, and spouted excuses about work and deadlines. She left King’s without waiting to hear what had happened between Eva and Garrison, figuring they were still talking so that had to be a good sign.

  It made sense to return to the office. Work always waited for her. But she couldn’t stomach the idea of staring at legal briefs for the next few hours. Too much restless energy hummed in her body. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily tonight.

  She drove, not sure where she’d go. The gym was closed. It wasn’t like she had a huge number of friends. She worked, worked out, and spent time with her sister. Her life had become fairly limited in the last few years— a fact she could ignore until quiet, in-between moments like this.

  She kept driving until she’d ventured into the lower-middle-class neighborhood of Vivian Sweet. She’d memorized the address after they’d spoken in court.

  It was past eight and not the best time to pay a visit. And yet she slowed in front of Vivian’s address. A light was on in the front room, and though shades where drawn, she could see a shadowed figure pass in front.

  Angie parked and got out of the car. She rang the front bell.

  Footsteps moved to the door, and from the other side Vivian said, “Who is it?”

  “It’sAngie Carlson. From the courtroom the other day.”

  Chains scraped across locks, and the door opened. Vivian stood in the doorway, with a sleepy David laying his head on her shoulder. His eyes were half open, his thumb in his mouth, but he looked as if he fought sleep like it were a deadly sin.

  Vivian’s face reflected her confusion. “Ms. Carls
on?”

  Angie curled and uncurled her fingers wishing she had pockets or something to hold. Rarely did she scramble for words as she did now. “I was driving around. I thought I’d stop and see if you’d heard from Lulu.”

  The baby roused at the sound of her voice. He raised his head and looked at Angie, presenting her with a sloppy grin. Something tightened and twisted inside of her as she stared at the boy.

  “No, I haven’t heard from her,” Vivian said. “If you got a minute, would you mind coming in?”

  “Sure.”

  Vivian moved aside, holding the door open for Angie. The woman’s pale, frail arm stretched out from the cuff of her housecoat. Blue veins skimmed just under the surface of her skin. “Have a seat.”

  Angie glanced toward a couch covered with a faded flowered slipcover. On the far end was a pile of neatly folded baby clothes. She perched on the edge closest to the chair where Vivian took her seat.

  David was now fully awake and staring at Angie with bold curiosity. Clearly the last thing on the boy’s mind now was sleep.

  “I’ve messed up your evening schedule,” Angie said. “He would be asleep now if not for me.”

  Vivian patted the baby on his back. “It’s okay. I needed to talk to someone anyway about an issue that’s been preying on my mind.”

  “Sure.”

  For a moment she was silent as if wrestling with her thoughts. “I never banked on being a mother again,” Vivian said. “I was over forty when Lulu was born, and I’ll be sixty-three on my next birthday.”

  Angie tried to keep her gaze on Vivian, but her attention remained on the baby. She wanted to hold him, but asking didn’t feel right. “He looks happy and healthy.”

  “It’s all I can do to take care of him now. And I really worry about what will happen when he is older. I’ll be close to seventy when he goes to kindergarten.”

  The baby thrust out his arms to Angie and tipped his weight toward her. She reached out for him to steady him. Vivian released her hold on the boy and let him tumble into Angie’s embrace.

  He possessed surprising strength in his little body. She imagined when he grew up he’d be a big man. He’d have a body for football or soccer, not track or swimming. “Where is David’s father?”

  “Lulu doesn’t know who his father is. She was mighty confused around the time he was conceived and made a lot of very bad choices.”

  “Is there anyone who can help you?”

  “My husband died fifteen years ago, and I’ve no brothers or sisters. Ms. Carlson, I’m worried. What if Lulu doesn’t come back? And if she does, what kind of shape will she be in?”

  Angie couldn’t scramble any words of encouragement. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t want him going to the state. I don’t want him with strangers.”

  “Is there a neighbor or someone that you know who could act as his guardian?”

  “Can I even do that? I have custody, but I don’t know if I have the right to make decisions on his future.”

  “I’m not an expert in family law, but I can ask around and see what your options are.”

  “I don’t have the money to pay you or any attorney.”

  David’s shirt rode up on his back, and Angie tugged it back in place. “No charge. It’s important to me that he’s taken care of. I owe that much to Lulu.”

  “I appreciate that.” Vivian shook her head. “Two years ago when I sat in that courtroom and watched you tear into Lulu, I never figured you’d ever give me a reason to smile.”

  Angie patted David’s back. He burped. She didn’t always enjoy the demands of her job. “I had a job to do.”

  Vivian nodded. “We don’t always like what we have to do. I sure never figured I’d be suing my kid for her child.”

  The older woman stiffened and closed her eyes. Her expression froze, and her skin lightened two shades. She leaned forward as if she was going to be sick.

  “Are you all right?” Angie said. She wrapped one hand around the baby’s midsection and reached out to Vivian with the other. The woman’s skin felt like ice.

  Vivian took long deep breaths. “Ever had that feeling that something bad has happened?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, I’m feeling it now.” She raised her watery gaze to Angie. “I got the terrible sense that Lulu is dying.”

  Lulu searched the dark eyes of the new guy. She prayed he’d set her free, but feared he’d use her like his partner.

  The last hours with the other guy had been an endless tumble of violence and sex. He’d enjoyed hurting her and telling her she was getting exactly what she deserved. Now her body was so bruised and battered she doubted she could run even if this new guy flung the door wide open.

  The man held up a syringe and squeezed the plunger until a faint stream of liquid squirted out.

  She sensed without being told that the needle would take her pain away forever. She’d never have to struggle with sobriety or crappy jobs. She’d never again lay awake at night chewed up with guilt and ticking through the list of her screwups. She’d never have any more dreams about David being taken away from her. The needle offered freedom.

  But it was the kind of freedom she didn’t want.

  “Where is the other man?” she said.

  “Gone.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s finished with you. Now it’s my turn.”

  “Are you going to hurt me too?”

  “No. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I want to live,” she said. Her bruised throat felt dry and scratchy. “I don’t want to die.”

  The man’s eyes remained cold and dead. “You don’t get a vote.”

  She raised her hand up to his and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. Surprising strength coursed through her fingers as she dug her nails into his skin. “Get the fuck away from me.”

  He jerked away and slapped her hand down. “Be nice.”

  “Nice. Drop dead.”

  “That’s your move, not mine.” In one easy move, he drove the needle roughly into her neck and pushed the plunger.

  Liquid burned into her skin, sending death through her body. Her heart beat faster and faster, as if fighting against the attack. A vein in her neck throbbed.

  She drew in a breath, but her lungs wouldn’t accept any air. She pulled a second time, but her body refused the command.

  The eyes that stared down at her now fired with excitement and life.

  Like a vampire, he fed on her death.

  Oh, God, I don’t want to die!

  Panic exploded as death stole the last bit of life from her body.

  It was past nine when Detective Sinclair checked the address, glanced at the green tri-level, and got out of her police-issue car. The neighborhood was mid-income but nicely kept. The houses were older, smaller, but the lawns were large. The extra land was a real luxury in Alexandria, where nearly all the available land was developed with closely placed homes, condos, and high rises.

  She crossed the lawn and rang the front bell. A dog barked inside the house, and she could hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner. When she didn’t get an answer, she rang the bell again and knocked. The dog barked louder and the vacuum stopped. Seconds later footsteps moved toward the door, and after a pause, the door opened.

  Standing behind the screened door was a neatly dressed woman who’d pulled back her graying hair into a neat ponytail. She wore minimal makeup, which softened the lines around her eyes and mouth. “Can I help you?”

  Sinclair pulled out her badge. “I’m Detective Jennifer Sinclair with Alexandria Police. Are you Flora Redman Knight?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was hoping you could answer some questions for me about Fay Willow.”

  She straightened. “Fay? She died almost thirty years ago.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We’re looking into her case.”

  “Why now?”

  The neighbor next door came out on his front porch and glanced toward her. He st
ared without shame.

  Sinclair stared back until he shifted his gaze and retreated back into the house. “Would you mind if I came inside?”

  “Sure.” She pushed the screen door open wider.

  Sinclair was greeted by the scent of pine cleaner. The living room was decorated in soft greens and was showroom clean. A baby gate between the kitchen and the living room kept a barking Pomeranian at bay. The dog yapped as if its home had been invaded.

  “Tootsie, stop!” Mrs. Redman said. She moved to the gate, pulled a treat from her pocket, and fed it to the dog. “She’ll calm down. She’s been nervous around strangers since my husband died last year.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sinclair never considered herself a dog person. Cats were more to her tastes. They were quiet, independent, and not emotionally needy.

  “You wanted to ask me about Fay.”

  “Yes, ma’am. The original police file listed you as her roommate at the time of her death.”

  “Yes. We shared an apartment for about a year.”

  “Can you tell me about her?”

  “Beautiful. Ambitious. She liked men and they liked her. When she went missing I knew something was wrong. We’d been scheduled to travel to New York for the weekend, and she loved New York. I knew when she didn’t come home to pack her bag that something was wrong.”

  “Any idea who might have killed her?”

  “You know she was sleeping with Darius Cross?”

  “There was a brief mention of it in the police file.”

  She adjusted the pearl stud on her ear. “Darius never would have admitted to the affair, of course, but I knew. Fay couldn’t keep a secret so well.”

  “How did the two meet?”

  “At a party for the Talbot Museum. She was in charge of inviting the rich and famous to an opening. She delivered an invitation to Cross personally. I guess he took one look at her and decided to follow. Shortly after, he made a big donation to the Talbot.”

  “How long did the affair last?”

  “Six months. Up until about a month before her death. She and Darius got into a fight.”

  “About?”