She laughed with delight when he hooked the scarf on the exposed pipe in the wall and flipped her over. He caressed the curve of her ass, slapped it, and then she moaned. He didn’t like the sound. To teach her a lesson, he spanked her again and again—each time harder than the one before.
Her body curled inward with every strike, and she trembled beneath him.
“Night of your life, right, baby?”
Beau positioned her hips, thrust deep, and then closed his hands around her throat. He rode her, feeding his need for destruction. The command he had over her every breath made him squeeze tighter. She fought him, struggling under his weight, and his grip tightened. He thought of the game, the referee, Coach Brewer, and all the people he would have loved to strangle at that moment.
Andrea’s face morphed and shifted. Her green eyes turned blue, and her plain features changed. Suddenly, it was Leslie who he rode; his hands were around her neck, his power over her absolute.
Spurred on by his fantasy, his thumbs squeezed into the back of her neck. The sounds of her throes on the cot heightened his pleasure. He could see Leslie’s tears, hear Leslie’s gurgling, feel her nails gouging at his skin, begging him to stop. But he didn’t stop. He squeezed harder and kept on until she would be his.
A dull snap resonated in the room.
Andrea went limp. Beau felt her weight settle in his hands and it took him out of his vision.
He removed his hands and waited for her to suck in a breath, but she didn’t move. He nudged her.
“Hey, wake up.”
He shook her, but she still didn’t move.
“Stop fooling around.”
Beau climbed off her and rolled her on her back. She wasn’t breathing. The dull luster in her eyes scared him to death. She wasn’t pretending.
He stood from the bed; his heart racing and a cold sweat covering his skin.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” He ran his hands through his hair, feeling like he would puke. “Think, Devereaux. Be smart about this.”
He stared at her, her hair fanned out on the cot, and his thoughts turned to Leslie.
Beau threw his hands into the air, spitting as he screamed, “You bitch!”
Pointing at Andrea, he pictured Leslie. “This is your fault. You drove me to this. You’re to blame for everything.” He paced at the entrance to the cell, his chest on fire, his gut cramping as if stabbed by nails. “If you had given in to me that first night, I would never have touched those other girls, or Andrea. You cost me my football career. You’ve destroyed my life!”
Leslie’s smile, the smell of her skin, the throaty charm of her voice—she was the reason for his suffering. She would pay for what she’d done.
Before he could deal with Leslie, he had to do something about Andrea.
He gathered up his clothes. “Get her out of here before the others find out what you’ve done.”
Who the hell cares.
The adrenaline pumping through him slowed. No one would find out. There were no witnesses. No one knew Andrea had been there. All he had to do was get rid of her body and walk away.
A sense of calm eased through him.
You got this.
He took his time dressing. Then he collected Andrea’s clothes and tied them into a ball.
Beau untied the scarf, his fingers lingering on the silky material. He raised it to his nose and breathed in the scent of her. Without a second thought, he put the scarf under his cot. He would keep that, to remember this night.
Her eyes were open, staring up at him. He closed them, but they didn’t stay all the way shut. Unable to take her empty gaze, he turned her to the side. Her neck made a funny crunching sound. Yeah, that was weird.
Before taking her out of the room, he stepped outside to see if he heard any trace of the party beginning at the beach, but it was still quiet. No music, no laughing, no noise at all. Perfect.
In the cells, he thought he saw what looked like a white cloak heading down the corridor toward The Abbey. He was about to head after it when it disappeared. A cold breeze brushed past.
Where did that come from?
The hairs on his arms stood. Someone watched him from somewhere in the shadows—he could feel their eyes on him.
It had to be one of the girls from the game. They had tracked him down.
Ready to rip whoever it was apart with his bare hands, he took off down the corridor, going from room to room, convinced someone had witnessed Andrea’s death.
He reached the door to The Abbey, finding no one. Had they slipped out before being caught? He tried the wooden door, but it wouldn’t budge—the damp must have sealed it shut.
He peered down the corridor. So where had they gone?
Never mind. Get the body out of here.
Where could he put her? How could he hide the evidence?
The only thought that came to mind was the river. He had no shovel, no means of digging a grave. And graves could be unearthed, especially by hungry dogs. The river was the only place he could dump the body and have all the evidence wash away.
Beau picked up her clothes, then hoisted Andrea’s body over his right shoulder. Maneuvering through the dimly lit hallway was not a problem, but when he came to the gap in the wall, he had a dilemma. Beau would have to pull her through the narrow opening.
He set her on the ground and breached the wide crack. Then, he grabbed her feet and tugged her through.
Outside, he thought he heard something. Beau paused, his heart racing, but there was only the wind.
Straining under her weight, he hurried through the grassy field while Andrea’s head bobbed against his back.
At the path, he heard voices coming from the beach. The revelers had arrived.
Hurry!
To his left, gaps in the trees offered glimpses of the rushing Bogue Falaya.
Beau stumbled down the embankment, carrying Andrea’s body to the shoreline. A narrow strip of beach opened up before him. It was good enough.
At the water’s edge, he callously dropped her on the sand, her bundle of clothes landing beside her. He found a Louisiana driver’s license and forty dollars in her coat. The license he tossed into the river and then pocketed the cash. The only other items she had on her were a set of keys and a couple of condoms.
Since he’d not touched or even seen her car, there was no evidence there to worry about. With her keys and the condoms at the bottom of the river, he picked up her clothes.
He couldn’t throw perfectly good clothes into the river. He had to make it look like an accident or an attack of some kind.
Rip them up.
The shirt was easy—the jeans, not so much. The coat took a lot of effort and he was sweating by the time he was done.
Once he saw the items turn the bend in the river, he went back for her.
Beau lifted her from the sand. Something appeared out of the corner of his eye.
He hesitated; someone watched from the line of brush along the shore.
A tall dog came out from the smattering of leaves. Black, with patches of fur missing, it had a long snout and skinny body. It sat on the edge of the beach, studying him.
They only appear when death is near.
Andrea’s words echoed through his head.
He was afraid to move in case the animal attacked. So, he remained still. Andrea’s body got heavier and heavier. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on to her.
Then the dog cocked his head and leaped into the brush, disappearing from view.
Gasping, Beau relaxed, and Andrea’s body almost toppled from his arms.
A shrill laugh came from the direction of the party. The dog must have heard it and been scared away.
With the moonlight shimmering on her ashen skin, he pushed Andrea’s body out into the river, mindful not to get his shoes wet. Her pretty hair spread over the water’s surface, undulating behind her. The current took her faster than he’d hoped. Soon, she vanished around the bend.
All
traces of her belonged to the river.
He rinsed his hands in the water as if he were washing away his sins. He envisioned Andrea being swallowed up by the strong current and never seen again. His crime was perfect. She’d come with no one and left with no one. The only person who knew of his interaction with her was now him. Beau was back on top. He could feel it in his bones.
Wiping his footprints from the sand as he backed away, he reached the end of the slender beach.
The brush to his right moved. It wasn’t the wind. There wasn’t any on the beach.
His exasperation quickly smothered his apprehension about Andrea’s death. “Dammit, who are you?”
He went rushing into the brush. He swept leafy twigs and vines aside, determined to find out who had followed him. Anger drove him. He paid little attention to where he went. Beau couldn’t see anything through the trees as he climbed the embankment.
The underbrush disappeared, and he was back on the cleared path from The Abbey. The pounding music rang in his ears. Or was that his heart? He wasn’t sure. He kept on, jogging down the path, searching the brush around him, but all he could find was shadows. Sweat covered his brow, and a spiral of panic rose in his belly.
There couldn’t be a witness. He had committed the perfect crime. Who could have been there?
He thought he heard footfalls behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder as he kept moving forward. He searched for any hint of who it could—
He ran smack into something and almost toppled to the ground.
“Beau?”
He caught himself and raised his head. The familiar deep melodic tone he knew well.
Mitch held out his hand, helping to hold him upright.
Grateful to see a familiar face, he patted Mitch’s thick arm and wiped his brow. He took in his damp hair and the beer in his hand as he caught his breath.
“Dude, you okay? I’ve been looking for you. I saw your car in the lot.”
He glanced back down the path toward the spires of The Abbey. “I was just walking around the old grounds and thought I saw … something.”
Mitch’s eyes narrowed, almost disappearing in the faint light. “Something? You mean, the ghost?”
Beau shook his head and motioned ahead to the path. “No, this was a person.” His voice became strained. “And I’m going to find them.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The satisfying sweetness of the chocolate filled Leslie’s mouth while she scooped the last dregs of ice cream from her bowl. The tick of the icemaker in the fridge was her only companion in the darkened kitchen. She relished the time alone after the commotion of the game. With her parents off to bed, and her sister still not back, enjoying her favorite snack in peace was the perfect ending to a rather satisfying evening.
Her mother had been cordial to Derek during and after the game—awakening a smidgen of hope in her heart for their relationship. Beau was about to become an FBI most wanted fugitive, or at least on his way to a well-deserved suspension, and Halloween was almost here. It was the one holiday she and Dawn had always enjoyed together. Maybe this year they would get one last chance to celebrate it before leaving for college.
The bang of the garage door shutting roused her. Soft voices drifted down the hallway to her spot at the breakfast bar.
She put her spoon down and waited to see who had accompanied Dawn home.
A pair of blue eyes set against a porcelain face poked out from under a girl’s gray hoodie. Bangs hid her diminutive smile.
“Taylor?” Leslie stood from her stool. “What are you doing here?”
She took in her unshapely clothes and lack of makeup—not at all what she expected from a former cheerleader. But nothing Taylor had done lately struck Leslie as ordinary.
“I asked her to spend the night.” Dawn set her bag on the breakfast bar. “We got to talking after the game, and she told me a few things about Beau.”
Leslie picked up her sister’s bag and handed it back to her with a scowl. “I think half the girls at St. Benedict could tell you a few choice things about Beau.”
Taylor shifted her purse on her shoulder, hiding her eyes from Leslie. “People don’t understand how dangerous he is. He’s sick, profoundly disturbed. Your sister needs to stay away from him.”
Leslie recognized something in her voice—the same terror she’d experienced with Beau.
“What did he do to you?”
Taylor twisted her fingers together, her eyes darting about the kitchen.
The girl’s frantic movements told Leslie something bad had happened to her. But what?
She stepped forward. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. But when you’re ready …”
Taylor sucked in a deep breath. “Thank you.”
The plonk of Dawn’s duffel bag hitting the floor made Leslie jump. Her sister seemed oblivious to Taylor’s distress.
“I’ll leave you with Leslie while I take a shower.” She unzipped her bag and pulled out her pompoms. “I’m soaked through from the rain and I’ve got to dry these out before they wilt.” She shook the pompoms and a few droplets of water settled on the stone floor.
Leslie, for once, was grateful for Dawn’s cluelessness. She didn’t want her to hear something distressing. She’d been through enough.
Before Dawn went across the den to the stairs, she glanced back at Taylor. “You can tell my sister your wild tales about Beau. I’ll bet she will love telling me ‘I told you so’.”
Dawn hurried up the staircase, but Leslie could tell her sister knew something was wrong. Running out of a room when conversations got heated or too emotional had been Dawn’s coping mechanism for years. Leslie was the one expected to handle the tough stuff; then she would give Dawn a watered-down version of the news to spare her the emotional upheaval. It was something she had always done for her sister—another way to protect her.
Once she heard Dawn make it upstairs, Leslie pointed to her ice cream bowl.
“Want some?”
Taylor nodded. “Yeah, that would be good.”
Leslie took her time getting the carton of chocolate ice cream out of the freezer and selecting a bowl for Taylor. While scooping a large serving, Leslie eyed Taylor’s clothes.
“You going for the grunge look there or is this more hip-hop?”
She pulled at her hoodie as if trying to hide her curves. “I like to be comfortable.”
Leslie pushed the bowl of ice cream across the breakfast bar. “Not too long ago, you were like Dawn, wearing your cheerleading uniform to class whenever you could, keeping your hair down, not up and hidden away.” She put the top back on the ice cream carton, her heart breaking for the lost little girl. “What happened to you?”
Taylor picked up her spoon, keeping her eyes on her bowl. “I’m okay.”
Leslie returned the ice cream to the fridge and then went back to the counter.
Taylor dipped her spoon into the chocolate mound in her bowl.
Leslie was certain if she didn’t get Taylor to open up, something bad was going to happen. But to do that, she needed the girl’s trust.
Her hands folded on the counter, Leslie searched for a way to make Taylor know that she understood her fear.
“Beau has been harassing me for months. Ever since the night at the river when I turned him down. He’s never let me forget it.” Her lower lip quivered, anxiety crushing her chest. “He says he’s going to take me to The Abbey and make up for the night I should have been his. He says sexual, ugly things to me.” Leslie clasped her hands together, squeezing hard. “The worst part is, no one believes me. I think Dawn is coming around, but there’s still a part of her not willing to let go of Beau. Crazy huh?”
Leslie sniffled, biting back her tears.
Taylor said nothing as she traced designs in her bowl with her spoon. “He’s a bad, bad guy.”
The voice didn’t sound like her. It was colder, deeper, and for Leslie, a bit sinister.
“Beau has had a lot of g
irls there. And I know he has hurt some of them.”
A numbing cold rose inside Leslie. “Hurt? What do you mean?”
Taylor continued to swerve and weave her spoon in the bowl, the eerie sound carried throughout the kitchen.
“I mean raped.”
Leslie gripped the edge of the counter, digging her nails into the gray granite. “How do you know this?”
Her eyes were dead. There was no sadness, no terror, no fear in Taylor’s face, just overwhelming hatred.
“I was at the river. Beau noticed me. I thought he was interested. And then he took me to his special place. That’s what he called it. There was nothing special about it.”
The subdued, unemotional way she spoke scared the living shit out of Leslie. She covered her mouth, infuriated.
“Oh, God, Taylor, no.”
Taylor’s flat expression never changed. She didn’t even shed a tear.
“It went on for quite a while. He beat me, raped me, and when he was done, he told me he would get my father fired from his new job at the brewery if I said anything to anyone.”
Leslie wanted to puke. Why didn’t she notice the changes? The clothes, the withdrawal from friends and school? It was the pattern of sexual abuse she had read about before, even seen in her own behavior, but had not recognized in someone she knew.
I’m an idiot!
She ran through the agencies she had heard about. The ones who helped rape victims. She had to make sure—
“The funny thing is, the whole time he was hurting me, I kept thinking what did I do? What did I do to deserve this? Was it something I said, something I did, the way I looked? I kept asking myself why.” Taylor dipped her spoon into the ice cream and brought it to her lips. She put the small portion in her mouth. The emptiness in her face lifted, and she smiled. “This is good.”
Leslie’s tears trickled down her cheeks as she watched the broken girl eat her ice cream. The barbarity of what she had endured, coupled with something associated with the pleasures of childhood, tore her apart.
“We have to get you help.” She reached for her hand.
Taylor pulled away. “No. I don’t need help. What I want is revenge.”
Death by the River (A St. Benedict Novel Book 1) Page 24