Dark Embrace

by Angie Sandro

  “I’ve learned my lesson in Body Dumping 101. I won’t forget next time.”

  We study the ground. Bloody shoeprints lead to the side door that exits the garage. They’re so obvious that I’m surprised we didn’t notice before. We got lucky. “Go check to be sure he’s not lurking outside,” I say.

  “You’re the one with the ax,” Anders snaps back, but he pulls the ax from my hand and goes to the door. I hold my breath while he peeks outside and then locks the deadbolt.

  “He’ll be back,” I say.

  “How could he survive? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  I should tell him about what I learned from Ferdinand and Mala, but he can’t even wrap his brain around the shadow. How would he feel about zombie assassins, and the avatar of death? Still, I owe him the truth, even if he doesn’t believe me. “The only thing I’ve seen kill them is fire, like the guy in the morgue by the shadow—”

  “That was you, Dena.” Anders rubs his face, shaking his head. “I saw—”

  “Nothing!” I yell. “The truth is staring you in the face, Anders. You’re deliberately being thickheaded. Everyone, including Sheriff Keyes, knows blaming me for those men’s deaths is absurd. What is the accelerant? Damn it, your theory makes less sense than the fact that Victor and his partners are almost indestructible. I won’t continue this argument with you. I need your help—so suck it up.”

  I swear a smile flickers around Anders’s lips, and I narrow my eyes at him.

  He shrugs. “Fine, but saying we’re not going to argue is like me saying the sky is green.”

  “Anders, a green sky would be ridiculous.”

  He rolls his eyes. “We need to get out of here.”

  “I agree. Victor will be back with reinforcements.”

  “How about if we hole up in a motel and come up with a plan?” He opens the car door then pauses when he sees I haven’t followed.

  “We need clothes and supplies.” I wave a hand down my body. “I’m not scandalizing the town by running around in a blanket.”

  His hot gaze sweeps from my toes to my barely covered breasts. “I’ve grown fond of the blanket.” He grins slightly before sighing. “Otherwise, we go back inside.”

  Fear sweeps over me at the thought of reentering the house. What if Victor didn’t leave?

  Anders places a steadying hand on my arm. “I grabbed some clothes from your house. Everything’s in the kitchen. It won’t take but a few minutes to get what we need.”

  I wrap my fingers around his and squeeze. “I don’t want to go back in there. Maybe…maybe we should get in the car and go while we have the chance. I mean Victor…”

  “Victor’s long gone, or he would’ve come for us by now. We were both so out of it, he could’ve killed us a thousand times.”

  I grip his hand tighter. “I do need clothes.” I take a deep breath and nod. “You’re right. He’s gone. We’re being paranoid.”

  Anders leads the way back in to the house, and I tiptoe behind him. The light of dawn peeps through his windows, giving the room that first shimmer of sun. My duffle bag sits on the counter of the center island, separating the kitchen from the dining area. The room is cozy, and definitely not the kind of kitchen where I would’ve imagined Anders cooking breakfast in the morning. He doesn’t come across as a granite countertop kind of guy. Let alone a wrought-iron pot rack with cast iron pots and pans. In fact, the entire house seems more upscale than what I imagined a cop could afford. Not that I know much about what upscale looks like.

  I walk over and grab the duffle bag from the counter, but Anders heads toward the door leading to the rest of the house.

  “Where are you going?” I ask in a shaky whisper that carries too loudly.

  Anders whips around, bringing his finger to his lips. “Shh.”

  I shrug, arms flying up as I silently mouth, “Let’s go!”

  He holds up one finger. Seriously? “My gun’s in the bedroom. I’ll be right back.”

  He glides from the room. I rock from foot to foot, listening as his footsteps cross the house. It doesn’t sound like Victor’s attacking him. The tension I’ve been holding onto drains. I take a deep breath, and the stupid blanket slips again. I open the duffle bag and find a bra, panties, a navy blue sweatshirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. Not high fashion couture, but then, I don’t own any.

  I pull the panties on under the blanket, keeping an eye on the door, then drop the blanket to pull on the bra. I’m bent over, adjusting the cups when feet move in front of me. I suck in a breath to scream, one hand rising to cover my breasts and the other fanning across my privates.

  Victor attacks just as it dawns on me that I’m an idiot.

  I dart around the island, putting it between us. The first thing my hands touch is the toaster. I yank the cord from the wall and throw it at Victor’s head.

  He ducks, and it crashes against the wall. “Enough!” he yells, batting away a waffle iron.

  “Not on your life.”

  “What about your friend’s life? You want to see her again? Stop causing problems.”

  I freeze, hands gripping frying pan. “What friend?” I’m afraid I already know who he’s talking about before he smiles, but I ask again because I need to hear him say her name. “Who are you talking about?”

  His voice twists with malicious glee. “Your little roommate wasn’t as much trouble.”

  His words hit as if he’s punched me in the stomach. “Bastard, where is she?”

  I run toward him, not caring about anything except that he has Gabriella. Forget the fact that he’s bigger than I am, or that he might be lying. All I know is that I’m going to dig my fingers into his throat and choke the information out of him. His hands grab my shoulders, and we both fall to the floor. My head slams into the tile, and everything goes shimmery for a moment. Long enough for Victor to toss me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  Footsteps tear down the hallway, then Anders bursts into the room. He aims his gun at us, or rather at me, since I’m dangling over Victor’s shoulder, blocking his shot. “Put her down.”

  Victor whips around, and I’m airborne. Anders tries to catch me, but the force of our bodies colliding sends us flying back to the floor. I land on top of him, unable to catch my breath. Victor grabs my waist and flings me aside. I roll across the slick, granite tiles until I crash against the wall.

  I hear Victor and Anders fighting, but my body hurts. I can’t move. My eyes won’t open until the gunshot echoes through the room. I grab the edge of the counter and pull myself up from the ground.

  Dizzy, I’m not sure at first what I’m seeing. It takes several head shakes and eye squeezes to clear my doubled vision, and I choke on my scream when I see Anders and Victor tangled together in front of the refrigerator in a spreading pool of blood.

  Neither moves.

  CHAPTER 22

  Reversal of Fate

  Anders!” I cry, staggering forward. Pain shoots from my right ankle, and I catch myself on the counter. Why doesn’t he move? I try to take another step, but my ankle won’t hold my weight. I drop to my knees and crawl across the room.

  Victor lies on top of Anders. He looks dead, but he looked the same way on the porch. Doesn’t mean a damn thing. He could be faking. Waiting to grab me. I’m afraid of falling into his trap, but I can’t…I stifle a sob. Oh God, Anders, be okay.

  My hand darts out, shoving Victor’s shoulder. He rocks and I flinch, scrambling back. A low groan comes from the pile, and I shift forward again. Please be Anders. “I’m here, Anders,” I say. “Hang on, I’ll get you out.”

  With a deep breath, I slide my hands beneath Victor’s chest and roll him to the floor. His glazed eyes stare at the ceiling. Faker.

  Shaking my head, I study Anders. Blood stains his shirt, but I don’t see an injury. Maybe the blood came from Victor, but if so, why doesn’t Anders open his eyes? I shuffle forward on my knees and press trembling fingers to his neck. At the same time, I lean my cheek ov
er his nose, feeling for a breath and watching for the rise and fall of his chest.

  He’s alive. “Anders?” I pat his cheek. “Come back to me.”

  His eyes open, squinting from the shaft of sunlight over his face. Relief stops my heart for a split second. I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared in my entire life. Which tells me a whole lot.

  Anders’s arm wraps around my waist. “I’m okay.”

  “Thank God, you scared the hell outta me,” I say.

  He shakes his head, as if clearing the cobwebs. I wrap my arm behind his shoulders and help him sit up. His gaze falls on Victor. “Asshole’s heavy.” He touches the base of his skull and pulls back bloody fingers. At my gasp, he gives a faint smile. “Don’t worry, I’m hardheaded.”

  “Yeah, I know. Stubborn as a mule, too,” I joke, but I don’t like the squiggly feeling in my stomach when I glance at the trail of blood running down his neck. “Hurry, you need to get up. My ankle…” It must be broken if it hasn’t healed yet. Another fifteen minutes and it’ll be fine, but we don’t have that kind of time. “I can’t put any weight on it yet.”

  Victor twitches and I flinch. He’s healing. Faster than I am. Anders isn’t in any condition to fight him again, and if I’m honest my ears are still ringing from the knock on my head. Even if I could find something to tie him up with before he regained conscious, I can’t guarantee he couldn’t break anything short of chains. But if we run, it means letting go of any chance of getting information from him about Gabriella. Hell, I don’t even know if he was telling the truth.

  “Anders,” I brush my fingers across his cheek, “about Victor. He said he—”

  “I shot him,” Anders whispers, hand tightening around my bare waist. His face dips into my hair, and he breathes in deeply.

  “I know. I’m so proud of you.” I pat him on the back. Victor lies at our feet, looking as dead as he did the last time Anders shot him. His chest rises. Once. Shit. We’ve run out of time. “Hurry, we’ve got to go. He’s almost healed.”

  “I shot him in the heart. He’s dead!”

  God, I’m tired. “We are not having this conversation again. Remember? No arguments.”

  I half drag, half carry him toward the garage. Every two steps, I glance over my shoulder, expecting Victor to be up and running after us. I grab my duffle bag as we exit into the garage. Why didn’t we bring the ax in the house? A beheading would’ve solved all of our problems, except I don’t think I could pull a Ned Stark on the assassin. Self-defense is one thing. But…execution, I don’t know. Plus I’ll need him alive if he really has Gabriella. Once I’m sure, I’ll be ready the next time he comes for me. And I know he will.

  Anders’s hands tremble when he pulls his car keys from his pocket. I try to take the keys from him, but he snatches them away. “It’s my car; I’m driving.”

  Victor’s coming. Hurry. I bite my lip, studying his eyes. He gaze remains steady; the fog dulling the green has lifted. “Fine.”

  He slides behind the wheel while I limp-run around to get in on the passenger’s side. His hand shakes. I reach over and shift gears. The garage door creeps upward. I grip the armrest, holding in my scream. It tickles the back of my throat, ready to burst free.

  In the corner of my eye, I see something move by the kitchen doorway. Panic floods through me. My uninjured foot lifts and jams on top of Anders’s, hitting the gas. “Go!” I scream. The car leaps forward and slams into the washing machine. The crunch of metal hurts my ears, and I cover them with my hands.

  Anders curses as he hits the brake. “We have to go back, Dena.”

  “I am not going back!” I grab for the wheel.

  Anders shoves my hands and leg onto my own side. He shifts the car in gear. “No. Reverse. The car needs to be in reverse.”

  “Oh…” I mutter, staring at the empty doorway. “Yeah, sorry. I thought…I’m sorry I broke your washer.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been eying a front loader at Home Depot,” Anders says, backing the car out of the garage and merging into traffic with one of those lighting swift turns that only police officers on TV make look simple.

  I twist in the seat, staring out the back window as we drive down the street. Nothing leaps out at us or stops us. Sirens scream in the distance, heading in our direction, but Anders avoids the first responders and turns onto a one-lane road. The housing development he lives in was built smack dab in the middle of acres of farmland. The developer touted the community as secluded and safe from unsavory elements. Guess we ruined its image.

  We’re a quarter of a mile from the highway onramp leading to town before I finally stop staring out the window and settle in my seat. I’m still not thinking straight. It takes getting ogled by a snaggle-toothed man driving a John Deere tractor along the shoulder of the road before it occurs to me that I’m in my bra and panties, and those are covered in drying blood.

  I lean forward and riffle through the duffle bag pressed between my knees. “I assume you grabbed the clean bra and panties hanging in the bathroom.”

  “No, the ones stuffed under your bed.” Is he joking? I can’t tell. He wears his distant expression again.

  “Anders—” Oh my God, he looked under the bed when he searched the house. Pepper keeps a bunch of kinky sex toys in a trunk under there. The idea of my mom strapping on…ew. No, I refuse to picture it. He’d better not be fantasizing about me wearing it either. Sharing toys in this case is not okay.

  I shudder, gagging a bit. Too gross. “That trunk is my mom’s.”

  “I didn’t promise to keep my comments to myself, but I will.” He cuts a sideways glance in my direction. His eyes dance. “I didn’t know how long it would be before you’d be allowed to re-enter your home since it’s a crime scene.”

  I brace myself for more teasing and let out an inaudible sigh. “That was nice. Thanks.”

  Surprise lights up his face. “I think that is the first sincere thanks I’ve gotten. You’re welcome, Dena.”

  A snappy comeback pops into my head, but I don’t want to ruin his smile. It brings a return of the warm tingly feeling, and I’m too chilled from everything that has happened to send it away. Maybe my lack of clothing is what’s causing me to feel so exposed. Vulnerability doesn’t sit well; it makes me itchier than the dried blood on my skin.

  I pull on a blue sweatshirt, and then a pair of jeans, wiggling in the seat. “Where are we going?”

  Anders nods to a motel just off the highway. “Super Delight? I figure it’ll be safe enough.”

  Yeah, I doubt anyone will think to check for us here. Everyone knows better than to stay at the Super Delight unless they want bedbugs, dope, or a prostitute. Mala’s mother used to turn tricks out of one of the rooms. I always avoided looking at the place when I drove past, afraid I’d catch her with some man. Or, if our eyes happened to meet across the parking lot, she’d read the pity in my eyes. I shudder, rubbing my arms as we turn into the driveway.

  Anders parks in front of the main office. Nothing can sneak up on us without being seen. He turns off the engine and faces me. “Do you trust me now?” he asks, in a voice hoarse with exhaustion.

  I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He almost appears to glow in the dim morning light. “With my life. Obviously.” The corners of my lips lift. “You’ve earned it.”

  The muscles in his shoulders relax, and he lays his cheek against the headrest. “Then tell me what’s going on. Starting with what Victor said before he grabbed you.”

  I swallow the emotion tightening my throat and tell him what I know about the bounty, the assassins, and about Gabriella. I leave out most of the metaphysical crap, figuring he’d just get annoyed. I can picture him saying, “Just the facts, ma’am. Just the facts.”

  I manage to get through the whole story without crying, until Anders presses a soft kiss against my forehead and says, “Okay then, we’ll find her. No matter what.”

  * * *

  Anders and I go into the main office togeth
er. Neither of us argue for separate rooms, almost as if we’re afraid to be alone. Gosh, I don’t know why we’d be paranoid after the night we just endured. We end up with the honeymoon suite, not for any other reason than it faces the parking lot. Nobody can sneak up on us. Hopefully no one will try, because I’m exhausted from the all-nighter. Passing out does not equal a full night’s sleep.

  I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. While waiting for the water to heat, I shake out my hair, which is covered in dried blood and other things I don’t want to think too hard about. Anders also packed my shampoo and conditioner, and despite how long it will take to get the curls untangled, I can’t go a minute more without getting clean.

  The hot water beats down on my bruised skin. I scrub at the blood, which doesn’t seem to want to come off. Clumps of my hair blend in with the red wash of blood sloughing from my skin, swirling around in the water at my feet. At some point, I begin to cry. I know don’t when, since the tears mingle with the water flowing over my head—as my cousin says, denial’s not just a river in Egypt. Once I’m aware of the tears, all the emotions I’ve struggled to control erupt. I cry out, sinking down to huddle beneath the warm spray, rocking back and forth, unable to put myself back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty, I’ve taken a great fall.

  Between my sobs and the pulsing water, I don’t notice Anders until his hand settles on my shoulder. He perches on the side of the tub and gazes at me with eyes so full of concern that it makes my tears fall even harder.

  With a deep sigh, he opens his arms. “Come here, Dena.”

  I squint at his blurry face.

  “Please.” He lifts me up, and I let him. He turns off the shower while I stand in the tub, naked in more ways than one. His hands are gentle as they slide across my shoulders, gathering my curls on top of my head and securing them with a towel. My mouth dries as he takes another scratchy towel from the rack and leisurely rubs it across my shoulders, over my arms, down my back. He captures each bead of moisture from my skin, running the cloth across my breasts, then my belly.