by Avery Flynn
“You okay? You’re not looking so hot.” Jake tilted his head.
Now was not the time to flake out. She’d have plenty of time for that when she finally made it home.
She tried to look reassuring, but her calmness wavered. “It’s over.”
“Ha!” the killer croaked from the floor. “You have no idea what you’re in for now, Honey Child. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be laying—”
Jake ended the tirade with a kick to the psycho’s stomach. Though bloody and battered, the killer looked…happy. His face lit by some evil inner light, he looked like someone who taunts you because he knows the best secret in the world but has no intention of sharing it.
“Honey, just look at your choice of lovers to know all is not right with your world. They always leave you in the end. Always.”
His maniacal laugh made her take an involuntary step back. Her throat constricted.
“I should have killed you last night at the house. I’d have saved you a lot of heartbreak. Literally.”
Jake squatted down and slammed his fist into the Voice of Doom’s face, silencing the killer.
Chapter Eleven
Looks like you only grazed him,” the EMT muttered as she packed up her equipment and stuffed it into a navy and black duffel bag.
“Maybe I’ll have better luck next time.” The words were out of Claire’s mouth before she had a chance to censor them.
The EMT looked up as she unwound a stethoscope from around her neck. Her severe French braid pulled her face tight, but couldn’t help with the bags puffing up underneath her exhaustion-dulled hazel eyes. They were the serious eyes of a woman who’d spent too many sleepless nights trying to keep the dying alive.
For a moment, Claire could hear her own heart beating as it pounded in her chest. Damn. Why couldn’t she think before she spoke? She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to mitigate the callousness of what she’d just said but nothing came out. Instead, she stood there with her mouth agape like a fish flopping around on the bottom of a boat.
The EMT looked away and stuffed the stethoscope into a zippered pocket. “Yep. I heard about this one. You probably don’t remember, but I was here the night you found that girl. We brought her to the morgue.” She closed the bag and slung it over a shoulder. “I wouldn’t blame you if you shot him right between the eyes. Just next time, even though officially I hope there isn’t a next time, please shoot him in the next county. I don’t like having to patch up tweaked-out murderers.” She gave a terse nod and joined her partner at Harvest’s door.
Claire stared after them as they walked out into the parking lot. She envied them. They got to escape the Voice of Doom. She had to stay in the same room with him until the investigators got a chance to talk to her. Unease crept along her skin as he watched her from across the room. Because of his injury, he remained on the floor surrounded by deputies. Their presence did little to ease the fear scattering her thoughts as her muscles tensed.
The blood that had seeped through the right back pocket of the Voice of Doom’s jeans jarred Claire’s mind back to Saturday night. Dried blood matting Kendall’s hair. Fear grabbed ahold of her heart and she squeezed her eyes shut. Stark terror rose up, took her back to that night.
“Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them?” The deputy’s voice sounded too loud to her ears.
“I’m not an idiot, of course I understand, Officer Donut.”
His snide tone triggered the memory of the first threatening phone call. Tears pushed against her closed eyelids. A familiar helplessness descended over her. Just like that night, she was scared and unable to protect the people she loved.
She shivered and Jake tightened his arms around her. The heat emanating from his body soaked into her cool skin. She’d almost gotten him killed pretending he was her bodyguard with benefits. How could she have done that? How could she have been so selfish? Gritting her teeth, Claire choked back a sob.
For forty-eight hours she’d lived on the precipice of disaster. Through it all, she’d held on to her anger with an iron grasp and let it guide her actions. She’d refused to show how scared she’d really been.
The click of the handcuffs locking around the killer’s wrists exploded her tough-girl facade.
Claire lost it. Fat tears cascaded down her cheeks and her shoulders shook from her efforts to stifle her sobs.
Jake turned her around in his arms and pressed her cheek to his chest. His hands stroked her hair.
“Let it go, Claire.” His lips brushed the top of her head. “Just let it go.”
It poured out of her. All the fear and frustration ran down her face in hot tears that dripped off her chin. Jake rubbed her back in circular motions. His touch anchored her to him. Somehow she understood that he’d hold her until the tempest insider her ran its course.
For a few minutes the world consisted of Jake and her, the deputies working around them forgotten. She basked in the comfort he provided and snuggled in deeper. His responding sigh set off a fluttering in her stomach.
Everything she needed in life was wrapped around her.
The realization came to her crystal clear and fully formed, as if someone had spoken it aloud. Suddenly, the warmth in her body vanished. Her breathing turned heavy as she sucked air in and out, unable to fill her lungs. Her arms tingled. Fighting off a wave of dizziness, she pushed away from his chest.
She promised herself after Brett that she’d never need someone else that much again. The idea of needing Jake scared her almost as much as the events of the past two days.
“What’s wrong?” Worry lines creased his forehead.
Her line of sight narrowed. Focused on his slate-blue eyes, her peripheral vision turned dark. Her fight-or-flight response surfaced, demanding release. Unable to form words, she jerked away from him and stumbled backward until she smacked up against a barstool.
“Claire, we need to take you down to the station. The investigators can talk to you there so you don’t need to wait around while he’s here.” Hank dipped his head toward the Voice of Doom, whose gaze bored holes into her.
She inhaled several deep, cleansing breaths. Her heart slowed and her surroundings came back into focus. She grabbed Hank’s hand tight in her own.
“Jake, Sgt. Carlyle will take you over in a bit.” Hank ushered her toward the door.
“Claire.” Jake’s voice rang out above the deputies’ chatter and the snapping of the forensics guy’s camera flashes.
She glanced back, unprepared for the determined set to his square jaw. Before she could process what it meant, his face softened. His signature smirk set off fireworks inside her. She fought against the instant buzz of attraction but, her nipples tightened.
“We’ll talk later.” There was no question in his words.
His challenging tone set off a warm flush that heated her chest.
“Promise me, Claire.”
Even if he wasn’t here for the long haul, he wanted him. Needed him. For her, it wasn’t just physical. She yearned for the total package. Her heart skipped a beat. “I promise.”
A relieved sigh escaped as Claire sank back down onto the cheap vinyl couch in Hank’s office. She could sleep tonight without every light in the house on. The sound of her phone ringing wouldn’t set off alarm bells. A giddy excitement buzzed through her body, she couldn’t wait for everything to be normal again.
Absentmindedly, she picked at a one-inch tear in the stiff fabric. A seed of discontent bloomed. It wasn’t really over. Not yet. She had to know why it had all happened. She wasn’t leaving the sheriff’s office until she did.
Beth had told her once that juries didn’t like to convict unless there was a motive. Apprehension squeezed her upper back tight. She rolled her neck and stretched her shoulders, but the muscles remained coiled. If he went free, he’d make good on his promise to hurt her and her family. Dread wormed its way into the recesses of her mind.
She would spend the rest of her life looking
over her shoulder, waiting for the moment when the Voice of Doom would appear. She shuttered. If he didn’t spill his guts to the investigators, she’d have to find the phone and flash drive. If juries wanted motives, she’d find one. There was no way this psycho would stroll out of jail ever again.
An antsy she could shake itched its way up her spine and she paced around Hank’s office as she chewed her bottom lip. She’d been hanging out in the cramped space for the past hour, ever since the investigators finished talking with her. They’d introduced themselves as Strunk and White, no first names, asked her a few questions and released her right as the first-shift deputies were heading home for dinner.
The walls of Hank’s office closed in on her as she marched around the small space. She had to get out of here. Waiting and worrying was making her nuts.
She grabbed Hank’s coffee cup and hustled out the door. The fluorescent bulbs, sizzling above the hallway’s Army-green vinyl floor, intensified her hungry headache. Her stomach growled for dinner, a snack, anything. Maybe she could snag a donut in the break room.
Anything would do, but the apprehensive little girl inside her cried for comfort food: creamy mashed potatoes, lasagna stuffed with meatballs, warm chicken noodle soup, anything made with chocolate. Unfortunately, she’d have to placate her hunger with the vending machine’s heart-attack-in-a-plastic-sack food.
Hank’s oversized “I Heart Nebraska Football” cup quivered in her hand as she strode down the hall. Already, she’d had four cups of strong coffee. Caffeine ran through her veins faster than a rabid dog chasing a squirrel. Still, she jonesed for more. The joys of addiction.
She half hoped and half dreaded running into Jake in the hall. She hadn’t seen him since the deputies separated them at Harvest for questioning.
“My name is Frank Darcy and I want to call my attorney.”
That voice. Every hair on her body stood at attention. Frank Darcy? Burlington had told the truth about Kendall’s biological father.
Appetite forgotten, she jerked to a stop. Where was he? If she could listen in on the interview, she wouldn’t have to wait on Hank for the answers. A quick glance around confirmed no one else would see her eavesdropping. If she got caught, there would be hell to pay, but it would be worth it.
To her left, a door stood ajar. She tiptoed over and stood with her back flat against the wall. Craning her neck, she caught a glimpse inside the video room. Hank and two deputies crowded around a black-and-white TV watching the closed-circuit feed from the interrogation room.
“Look, Barney Fife, I said I want to call my lawyer. Give me a phone. Now.”
Small speakers attached to the TV added static to Darcy’s cynical tone. Hearing him talk and watching him on the grainy footage sent a cold blast of fury across Claire’s skin.
The murdering jerk slouched back in his chair and dismissed the investigators with a turn of his head. Strunk and White sat across a narrow table from him. An unopened case file filled the space between the two sides.
He looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The EMTs must have shot him full of some pretty damn good meds to even out his meth high. If he worried about going to prison for murder, it didn’t show on his face.
The cup handle cracked in her tight grip. She’d shoot the bastard in the ass again if she had the chance. Of course, at the time, she’d been aiming a bit higher. Nervous about hitting Jake, she’d flinched.
Too bad.
“Sure, sure. You’ll get your call,” Strunk said. He smiled. No malice touched his face.
Judging by his companionable attitude, she figured he played good cop.
“Course, we’ll have to put you into lockup until he gets here. It’ll only take, what, five hours for him to get here from Denver. Sound right, Steve?”
White cracked his knuckles. “Yep.”
“It’s a pretty drive, what with everything turned nice and green from last night’s rain. The lawyer might stop for dinner. Maybe even at Harvest. The wife has been begging me to make reservations there for months. Your attorney, he might check into a hotel. Be here what, around nine tonight?”
“Yep.” White lumbered over, stood behind Darcy. A feather couldn’t have fit between his protruding belly and Darcy’s shaved head.
“You’ll have to spend the night. Deal with the drunks pulled over after Monday Night Football. Might get puked on. Man, those are nice shoes you’ve got. Hate to see what regurgitated nachos and beer would do to them.” Strunk paused, flipped through some papers. “So why don’t you talk with us a bit first. Dragging in a lawyer only slows the process down.”
Darcy and Strunk faced off against each other in silence. After a few moments, Darcy leaned forward, his face a mask of gullibility drenched in sweat.
“Really? You think my lawyer-free cooperation would make your DA look kindly on little ol’ me?” Sarcasm thick as honey, but nowhere near as sweet, coated Darcy’s words.
“Now, Frank…can I call you Frank?” Strunk leaned forward, hands open, palms showing.
“You can call me Sugartits McGee if it makes you happy. But I’m not talking without a lawyer. Phone. Now.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Good cop looked straight into the camera, shrugged his shoulders. Without a word, he gathered his papers and left the interview room.
Frustrated, Claire wanted to holler at the men in the video room. They couldn’t just give up. They had to make him talk.
White strolled to the door, paused and looked back at Darcy. “Hope that bandaged butt of yours starts feeling better soon, Sugartits.”
Out in the hall, Claire fought to stifle her chuckle. She lost. It bubbled out of her before she could cover her mouth.
A hand flung the video room door the rest of the way open. Hank glowered at her from inside the doorway.
Oh, crap.
She’d survived the psycho in the next room, but now her own brother looked as if he were going to kill her. She held out his coffee mug like a peace offering.
“Coffee?” Her cheeks ached from her smile’s fake sugary goodness.
“You need to go home. Now.”
Hank’s hand pushed against the small of her back as he forced her down the hall.
“Hank, just let me talk to him. He’ll talk to me, I know it.”
The vein in his neck went into overdrive, pulsating like a jackhammer. He’d clamped his jaw down so hard, she worried he’d break a tooth.
“No.” The single word from Hank came out low and slow.
She scrambled for another option to find out why Darcy had killed his own daughter. Was there really access to three million dollars out there somewhere on a flash drive? “How about the interview video? Can I watch it? I could point out and similarities between how he talks now and during the phone calls he made to me.”
Hank opened the door to his glass-encased office and grabbed his empty mug from her hand before walking inside and barring her from following him. “No.”
“What if—”
“For the last time, no! You are not sitting in on the interview. And no, you can’t watch the video of it. Now go home.” Hank slammed the door in her face.
She wanted more information. She needed her pound of flesh. Riled up and ready to continue the argument, she grabbed the doorknob.
“Get away from my door or I’ll arrest you for being a pain in the ass.” Hank’s muffled words made her jump sky high.
She spotted him glaring at her through his office window. The stern look on his face and the stubborn set to his jaw showed he meant business. She stomped her foot in frustration.
“That’s not a real charge, Hank. Let me in.”
He yanked the blinds closed.
Exasperated, Claire kicked at the blue plastic recycle bin next to Hank’s door. She missed. Her sandal flew off her foot and sailed down the hallway.
Perfect. Just perfect.
She clomped over to her shoe, the slick floor cool against her one bare foot.
She froze with her sandal in one hand, bare foot angled up toward her knee. Warmth flowed through her, wrapped around her shoulders and melted her irritation. Her skin tingled and her fingers ached to touch him.
Bodyguard with benefits. What had she been thinking? There was no way she could ever touch this man again and keep her heart. Hell, she could barely be in the same room with him without wanting to throw herself into his arms.
She’d only known him for a few days. He lived hundreds of miles away. They were both too headstrong to function together as a couple. In her experience with men, the thrill wore off quickly. They got bored. They cheated. She couldn’t go through that again. To protect herself, she had to walk away.
Half heartbroken already, Claire turned. Her resolve wavered at the sight of him. His hair spiked up in all directions as if he’d spent the last hour running his fingers through it. He’d missed a button on his shirt when he’d hastily gotten dressed earlier. Had it only been a few hours ago that they’d been on their way to buy condoms? Heat blasted up her body at the memory.
That damn smirk tugged at the right side of his mouth. “He locked me out too.” He stood at the end of the hallway, two steaming cups in his hands. “Coffee?”
Her stomach lurched. She’d downed too much already. Any more of that cheap, bitter brew and she’d spew. Not the lasting impression she wanted to leave him with as he walked out of her life. “I’m good. Thanks.”
An awkward silence fell. Neither moved.
Baffled by the whole situation, she had no idea what to say or do or feel. She’d never gone from sex to shooting before. Hell, she’d never come on her desk before with someone she’d only known a few days and wouldn’t know for much longer. She needed to escape.
“Well then, I guess you’re heading back to Denver soon. Have a safe drive.” A cold brick settled on her heart. She had to get out of here before she started crying again. Hanging her head she trudged down the hallway toward the door. One problem. She had to get by him.