by T. F. Walsh
A crunch of acorn broke her trance.
Instead of relaxing at the obvious lack of threat, her temper flared. Son of a bitch runs me off the road, then stops to laugh at me while he eats dinner. Well, I’ll wipe that smug look off his face. She tried to open the door. Stuck. Thumping at it with her full weight didn’t budge it an inch.
Her flurry of movement startled her audience, and stuffing the nut fully into his cheek, he jumped off the hood.
“No!” she roared. He wouldn’t get away.
She broke through the windshield with the butt of her gun and crawled out onto the hood. Out of the car, she read the terrain. The full moon illuminated, even under the forest canopy, better than sunlight.
Pain. Her stomach clenched and churned, and she slipped to the ground. Landing hard, she tried to stand, but pain shot through her head. Crying out, she dropped to her knees. She gripped her abdomen and howled.
Agony ripped through her entire body in waves, from her toes that screamed as if ripping from her feet, to her face and head that felt pummeled by hammers from the inside. Every inch of her skin crawled, itching, aching.
Slowly, the excruciation subsided. She lay on a carpet of leaves. Her eyes closed tightly, she panted for breath. She whimpered and tried to sit. Once free from the residual twinges, she stood hunched, gasping for air, and glanced around.
Colors popped. Oranges, reds, and greens seemed to have an electric glow. Their radiance energized her. Excited her. She scanned the area. Several yards in from where she crouched, the squirrel froze again, its head tilted, its ears perked.
Lightening fast, she leapt. In a few short bounds, she landed on the small creature, digging her nails into its stupid furry body.
Her mind roared, “Fucking squirrel! Ruin my car. Could have fuckin’ killed me!” She didn’t notice as she shredded the mass in her hands in feral rage.
Good. She held the fragmented guts in her right hand, and what was left of the small, muscled haunch in her left.
Hungry. She bit into the meat and shuddered with pleasure as juices ran down her chin.
Small. Not satisfying. She grunted, and searched for more. Absently rubbing the contents of her right hand into her hair, she loped after another rustle in the leaves.
• • •
Lydia stretched under the comforter. The perfect temperature of the sheets made her want to roll over and go back to sleep. Memories of dreams, where she ran through the woods after small animals, flitted through her mind, then faded. Her entire body lay limber and relaxed, like she spent the night having great sex. Even the room smelled wonderful. Perfumed.
With a smile, she sighed deeply. She pulled the pillow closer around her head. So comfortable. But she had to start her day.
She needed the results of the raid, and to check on Ellen and question her kids. Lydia still suspected a disease responsible for the drastic changes in Jacobs’ behavior and mutation of DNA. She’d try to get through to the Centers for Disease Control today. Perhaps they knew more.
Finally ready to lift her head, she pushed to a sitting position and leaned a hand behind her. It squished into something.
“What the — ”
Red coated her nails, as shiny as new polish, and dripped from her raised hand to her pillow. The dots mesmerized her, made her eyes cross and vision swim. The dots formed shapes — small animals darting through piles of leaves.
“No,” she whispered. “No. It’s not real.”
Standing, she spun to stare at the bed. Bits of fur, skins, and unidentifiable sludge littered the comforter. Panting, her heart racing, she crouched, extending her hands over the ruin that had surrounded her all night.
“No,” she said again, as if the denial could make the foul sight disappear. “Oh, no.”
Her first instinct told her to gather all evidence and toss it in the dumpster. She paced the room, racking her brain for alternatives. Finding none, she stuck with her initial impulse and gathered the comforter, sheets, and pillowcase into a ball around the furry, fetid remains.
On the way to the door, she caught her reflection. Her hair stood at all angles, pasted in place as if by a red styling gel. Bile rose in her throat. Streaks of dirt and blood colored her face, arms, and clothes. Shaking, she glanced at the window, then the clock.
Five–fifteen in the morning. Ryan still slept. Maybe she could squeeze around the corner and into the bathroom without waking him. Grabbing a change of clothes, she opened the door a crack. Deep breathing came from the direction of the couch, so she decided to go for it.
The shower tested the limits of her cop sensibilities. Under the water, the gelatinous muck spiking her hair thinned and ran red down her body. Although she wanted to move quickly, she shampooed, lathered with soap, and rinsed from head to toe three times until the water ran clear and her fingers met no obstruction when she ran them through the strands.
Under the pelting spray she tried to recall exactly where she had collected the squirrels. She remembered the woods, the freedom, and the rage. A chill crawled up her spine in spite of the hot water.
The car. She braced her hands against the wall and remembered running off the road. Traces of fury attempted to rise within her. Instead of overtaking her, they made her ill. She stood until every trace washed away and she felt steady again.
She dressed and snuck into the bedroom to retrieve the macabre bundle, checking the mattress for any sign the sludge had filtered through the sheets. Dry. Well at least she didn’t have to replace the mattress before Ryan awoke.
She couldn’t entertain the idea that the violent dreams and oppressive hunger actually happened. For the first time in her life, she deliberately ignored what the detective in her observed plain as day.
As she moved out of the bedroom with her bundle, she remained mindful of Ryan on the couch. How wonderful he is, she thought as she carried the evidence of her excursion to the front door. Setting the bundle in the hall, she turned and studiedhis face as he slept.
He lay on his back. His hair, released from the low ponytail, framed his chiseled face. The effect tugged at her. If not for her urgent need to rid the apartment of the soiled bedding, she would close the distance and kiss those full lips.
Struggling with sudden longing, she sighed, taking a step toward the sleeping man that only a week ago annoyed her like a cloud of buzzing gnats. She turned for the exit and bumped into a small table by the door, knocking off a lamp.
Eyes wide, she snatched it out of the air. Marveling at her reflexes, she replaced it with a smile.
“Nice catch.”
She spun, startled. “I’m … uh … taking out the garbage.” Sure, right.
Rising on an elbow, he smiled. “You forgot the bag.” His eyes sparkled, igniting a heat within her. Her mouth dried and her breath caught in her throat.
“Right.” She stepped into the open doorway and grabbed the bag. “Dumpster out back then? Good. Okay.” And without waiting for a response, she ducked out, closing the door behind her and leaning against it.
“He has to think I’m crazy now,” she mumbled.
Then she hefted the bag of sheets in her free hand and headed for the elevator, muttering a prayer to get to the dumpster unseen.
Chapter 13
Having deposited her cargo in the dumpster, Lydia sighed. Well, that’s done. The robin’s-egg sky was speckled with cotton ball clouds and tinged with pink and purple from the rising sun. Despite sounds of the city filtering into the alley, the morning was peaceful. She took a moment to gather her nerves, her head back and her eyes closed.
You’ve got it, too. The thought came unbidden. She shook her head in denial and rubbed her eyes.
No. She pushed the answer through her mind.
You killed all those innocent animals.
No.
You g
utted them and rolled in their entrails.
“No.” She backed to the brick wall, rubbing her arms. “It was a dream,” she whispered, trying to forget her bloody shower. “I’ve been having such crazy dreams since — ”
Since you were attacked in the woods? The thought seemed to sneer. Where are your wounds? Your scars?
She crumpled into a ball against the wall. She recognized the voice. The voice she used when she and Adams did “good cop, bad cop.” Bad cop was hers. Usually it didn’t take much of her attitude before a criminal or witness spilled to the baby-faced Adams with his sensitive smile.
Bad cop whispered in the corners of her mind, forcing her to see what she longed to deny. No one could cut her a deal, make her feel safe against the harsh reality thrown in her face.
You’re going to become just like Jacobs.
Her hands shook and her breath rattled in her throat as she glared at the dumpster, solid and green, holding the horrors she committed last night. “Maybe I already have.”
“Have what?”
So wrapped in her thoughts, Lydia hadn’t heard Ryan approach.
He wore a white T-shirt and ripped shorts. Leaning a well-muscled shoulder against the building’s rear doorframe, he contemplated her.
“Shit.” She jumped to her feet. “Why are you sneaking up on me?”
Holding her fiery gaze, he lifted a pizza box, and from where he stood, tossed it like a Frisbee into the open dumpster. “You missed dinner last night.”
“Yeah.” She brushed palms across her pants. “Late night.”
He didn’t move aside when she tried to squeeze past into the building. Instead, he leaned against her, pushing her into the frame.
She ignited everywhere their bodies met. She struggled to breathe, not because he flattened her, but because it was the last treatment she expected. The treatment she most wanted.
As if reading her mind, he crushed her mouth with his. Hungry with need, she wanted him to take her, and gripped the back of his head to pull him closer.
His hands tightened on her shoulders, then pressed and groped down her body, leaving a tingling trail in their wake.
His mouth left hers, nipping and licking its way to her throat. She wanted to let him continue, but his hot breath grazing the flesh of her throat left her vulnerable. Tilting her chin, denying him access, she brought her hands between them and pushed.
“I have to get ready for my shift.” She headed to the apartment. Without looking, she could tell he remained in the doorway.
She fought the urge to return to him and finish the kiss. If she really caught what Jacobs had, she would turn against Ryan next.
Time to move out, she decided. Even with her mind made up, stepping into the elevator, she silently wished Ryan would chase after her, push her against the wall and take what she denied him.
She managed to put new sheets on the bed and have coffee made before she found him draped across the sofa, staring at her. Either she’d been too absorbed in conflicting emotions to hear him, or he moved as silently as a cat. Must be the former.
“What?” With steaming mug in hand, she attempted to keep simmering desire from her voice.
He shrugged and lifted the remote, shifting his gaze to the television.
Closing her eyes, she stifled a sigh and finished off her coffee. Even though his attention seemed rooted to the television, something told her he still focused on her.
“Got to get over to the office today,” she said while fixing another cup of coffee. “Find out what happened with the raid last night.” Hopefully, she could borrow a car at the precinct. She glanced at him. “Check in at the hospital.” She paused, waiting for a comment.
Nothing.
“So have you heard from your source lately?”
At this direct question, he answered, “Nope.” He continued to click the remote.
Heat crept into her cheeks. “If you hear anything, call my cell,” she snapped.
Receiving a grunt as response, she slammed her mug on the counter. “I’ll be out of your hair by tonight.”
She had no reason to be so infuriated with him, and she couldn’t put her finger on what angered her so much. Once she entered the bedroom and started to stuff clothes in her pack, the anger dissipated. I’m a fool.
She stared around the room and realized how little she had with her. In the few short days living there, she’d become attached. Accustomed. Comfortable. More welcome in Ryan’s apartment than in the one she’d called home for the last two years.
Tears stung her eyes. She’d also gotten weepier in the past few days. Furious with herself, she squared her shoulders and hefted her sack. She needed to get control. Fear that she might hurt Ryan choked worse than the tears.
Leaving she could do. She spent most of her life leaving people she’d started to care about. This was no different.
Then why did her heart rend in two? How, in only a couple of days, had she come to rely on him so much? Not to take care of her, hold her, or cushion her, but simply for his presence.
Sucking in her cartwheeling emotions, she went cold, as she had so often against the horrors and heartbreak of her job. She turned.
Ryan stood in the doorway, blocking her path. “Where are you going?”
He refused to budge as she attempted to storm past. Thwarted, she stood nose to nose with him and silently demanded he move.
His soft gaze raked over her, and though she kept her expression stony, she couldn’t hold on to the flash of rage that filled her a moment before, and she allowed him to remove the pack from her shoulder.
“Lydia,” he said his voice a husky whisper.
Her defenses crumbled and she fell into his arms, which wrapped around her tight and strong. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. So right, so wonderful. No tears came this time. She just breathed the scent of him.
“I think I may have what Jacobs has.” She tried to lean back and look at him.
Giving her a squeeze, he released her slightly. He didn’t care. He didn’t fear her.
“What if I came after you? What if I hurt you?”
Lifting a finger to brush the hair out of her face, he said, “I can take care of myself.”
His eyes met hers. The green of them intensified and held her, like a fly in amber. Hands, warm and firm, moved up her spine to bring her close. He slowly leaned into her. Heart racing, she licked her lips in anticipation of his mouth. This time, he came gently, holding for a moment before deepening the kiss. Heat rose between them, and she twined fingers into his hair.
Her cell phone rang. Sagging slightly, she pressed her forehead against his and gave a bitter chuckle before moving to answer it.
Although he relinquished most of her, his hand sought one of hers even as her other reached for the phone.
“Hey,” Adams said cheerfully. “Wanted to give you an update.”
“Go.” She moved to the couch and Ryan moved with her, cupping her hand in both of his.
“Okay, short version. Jacobs returned to his place last night and lost it. While he made a mess, he managed to impale himself on a picture frame. It appears he trashed the house and fell into a pile of debris.”
“Shit,” she said with a sigh. “At least he didn’t hurt anyone else.”
“That’s not all. When Ellen discovered what happened, she checked herself out of the hospital, picked up her kids, and took off.”
“Why is she running now? She stayed in that house, living in fear for days.” Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ryan bow his head.
“She told a nurse someone had been lurking around the house just after Jacobs was attacked. Maybe she was afraid he would come back now that Jacobs was gone.”
“All right, go to the house and poke around. Take someone with you
. I don’t want any of us working alone.” She couldn’t blame Ellen for running, and she didn’t know what to think about a second threat. Shaking her head she closed her eyes, one thing at a time.
“Right,” he answered.
“I have a couple of leads to work on. Meet me at Lester’s Diner on Sloan Street for lunch to compare notes.”
“Working alone?” he asked, concern in his voice.
She smiled at Ryan brushing a thumb across the top of her wrist. “No. I’m letting the reporter tag along.” This earned a mock bow and mouthed thanks.
“Ah, okay. See you at lunch.” He hung up.
She flipped the phone closed with one hand. “You don’t know me — ” she started to say until Ryan raised a hand.
“You’re wrong. I know that you’re a dedicated cop. Your personal life is almost nonexistent. You have few friends and little or no family. You are harder on yourself than you should be. You’re passionate.” He traced a finger along her cheek and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “And you’re beautiful.”
She struggled not to lean in for the promise of an ardent kiss that would lead to rolling, hot and sweaty, across the floor. “Are you sure you want to deal with this?” Her mind strayed to how she awoke. The memory snuffed the spark of passion. She wondered if she should tell him about that morning. “It could be dangerous.”
“I already said I can handle myself.” He shifted on the couch. Again with that infuriating half smile.
She knew so little about him, but she believed his assertion. With a nod, she withdrew her hand from his and stood.
“Okay then, let’s get down to business.” From her pack, she withdrew a pad and pen. Tapping one on the other, she paced the room. “We have a killer with animal instincts, and as it happens, DNA.” She grimaced. “That still doesn’t make sense. Maybe he’s trained a dog to attack on command.”
She completed one circuit in silence, then continued. “He trashes my apartment when I get close to him. He attacks Jacobs when he gets too close. Or had the dog attack. We have no witnesses to the attack, but even a trained dog would have made noise and Adams would have heard. Regardless of the evidence, it could not have been a dog.” She slowed and stood directly in front of Ryan. “Where were you getting your tips?”