“Now I can’t go to that Target anymore. Have to go to the seedy one on the other side of town.”
Dragging in a long breath, she admired him for a little too long. “I hate it when that happens.”
Turning to face her, she knew he would kiss her. “Did you text him yet?”
Her brow wrinkled. “Who?”
“Roscoe.”
“Oh!” Jumping, she tapped at her phone, asking Roscoe how he was doing after nearly getting mauled to death by Smokey the Bear just before finding another dead body this morning. It was a rhetorical question. If he was anything like her, she knew how he was doing. But if Luna’s suspicions were on target, Roscoe was nothing like her.
Hitting send, a warm breeze carried Holden’s cologne right to her, triggering the need in her gut. She looked up from the screen, releasing a melancholy breath. “I can’t believe we’re on a stakeout.”
“That makes two of us.” Holden stared straight ahead, watching people come and go. “Always kind of thought I’d be, oh I don’t know, getting paid for it.”
She patted the back of his hand. “Would some donuts help?”
“If only they delivered.”
Malin laughed sharply. “Like you ever eat donuts!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you have like two percent body fat. When was the last time you ate a donut?”
“Yesterday.”
She stared at him without blinking.
Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight in the seat. “Okay, last week.”
Her lips pressed together.
Holden sighed. “Alright, it was last year on my birthday.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Silence swept in on the sweet-smelling breeze while Malin watched pedestrians shuffle past on the sidewalk next to them. She tried gauging what was rattling around in their brains, coming up with trivial things like: what to eat for dinner or watch on TV. Insignificant plans that made her jealous. She longed for the days when picking the right outfit for a girl’s night out was her biggest dilemma.
“A twelve-pack would actually be better than donuts.”
She followed his eyes to a narrow drugstore three doors down and hopped out of the Bronco. “I’ll be right back.”
“I was kidding,” he yelled after her.
A bell rang when she burst into the store, where the strong aroma of candy, chips and urine was waiting to greet her. The lights were too bright and, suddenly, she had the oddest feeling that Holden would be gone when she came back out. That this was all a ruse to get rid of her and her wild imagination. Hurriedly rounding a corner, she pushed through a glass door and entered a large cooler that was loud as hell and chilled her to the bone. Grabbing some beer, she shook off the cold and grabbed some chips, hoping the quiet clerk with a permanent sneer would ring this shit up before her ride left without her. The bell rang above the front door, injecting a volt of nervous energy into her as a man and woman entered the store, laughing and carrying on about something that just happened. Turning, Malin stared up into the wrinkled eyes of an old man with a wiry beard and tattered army coat. Clutching a bottle of Wild Turkey, he smiled down at her, a missing front tooth the doorway to his mouth. Her muscles tightened as he wiped his red nose with a dirty handkerchief.
“Need some help carrying that to your car, Miss?” he asked, stuffing the hankie back in his coat. “I’m heading your way.”
“No thanks, I’m…” Her brow folded. “My way? How do you…?”
The clerk said something she didn’t understand, angrily motioning for her to take her change. Grabbing the money and the bag, she bolted for the exit, throwing the tall man a quick look over her shoulder and cringing when he winked back. Malin spun back around and plowed into a guy in a Chicago Cubs jersey coming through the door. Putting a shoulder into him, she rushed outside and inhaled deep breaths to appease her starving lungs. Relief swamped her system when she saw the orange streetlight gleaming off the Bronco’s electric blue paint. Climbing in, she passed Holden the bag and locked her door even though there wasn’t a top.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, setting the bag between his feet.
She shook her head, trying to hide the way her hands were shaking. “Nothing,” she replied, keeping an eye out for tall, dark and creepy.
Holden tore open the twelve pack and passed her a beer. “Your phone was buzzing.”
Taking the can, she snatched her cellphone from the console. “Roscoe,” she muttered, bringing up his text.
“What’d he say?” Holden asked, cracking open a silver bullet and taking a long pull.
“Says he still can’t believe any of that happened and he’ll be going to bed early tonight.” She paused. “With his gun.”
He swallowed with a sigh. “Well, that’s no fun.”
“Do you believe him?”
Wiping his upper lip, he clicked his head to the right. “Nope.”
The tall man never came back out of the drugstore and, eventually, Malin forgot about him, passing the next hour drinking beer with Holden and watching Roscoe’s apartment building from down the block. Darkness clawed at the sky and, thanks to the booze, she had a good buzz going that lightened her mood.
Holden covered his mouth and started to choke. “Tor? Are you serious?”
Malin felt the red creeping into her cheeks and tightened her ponytail to hide it.
“Is that really his name? Come on. Tor?”
“That’s really his name.”
“Is it short for something, like Torrance or Theodore or…Tornton?”
Malin couldn’t stop a laugh. “Tornton? I don’t think that’s a name.” Her levity tapered off into a long silence as they stared down the street and drank their beer. “His stupid name should’ve been my first sign things would never work out. That or his Red Room of Pain.”
“You can do better than that, doll. And everyone knows that a Silver Room of Pain is the hot thing right now.” Holden stopped the can in front of his lips. “So, what happened anyway?”
Exhaling, Malin plucked at the pull tab. “He cheated on me with some blond bimbo from his work.”
“Of course, he did.” Holden got quiet and turned back to Roscoe’s car, looking like he wanted to say something more and coming up short. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“Me neither.”
Lightly slapping his arm, something electric shoot through her upon contact. The traffic dwindled and the temperature dropped. Clearing her throat, she massaged the back of her neck. “So…do you really have a Silver Room of Pain?”
Smirking, he studied her under the streetlight’s glow, the heat of his gaze making her fidget in the bucket seat next to him. “What’re you, like twenty-three?”
She patted his hand, igniting a current of sexual tension. “Aww, you’re sweet.”
“Twenty-five?”
“Getting closer.”
“Six?”
“And you call yourself a detective?”
Holden turned back to the apartment building and chuckled. “Damn, you’re just a pup.”
Taking her shoes off, she put her bare feet up on the dash and cracked another beer. “How about you? Thirty-eight?”
Downturned lines wormed through his face. “You’re not very good at this, are you, doll?”
“Thirty-five?”
“That is super hurtful and rude to even ask.”
“Thirty-two?”
He cheered her with his beer and took a drink.
Malin used her thumb like a windshield wiper to clear the condensation from her can. “Do you miss being married?”
Resting an elbow out the window, he barely shrugged. “Sometimes. Not so much being married to Angela, but I miss feeling like I belong somewhere.”
“You don’t feel like you belong anywhere?”
He shrugged again, gazing at some what if off in the night to the soundtrack of the outside world going on around th
em. A throaty motorcycle. A distant siren. Vibrating music from a car stereo stretching out of sight. She turned on the radio to break the tension between them and Taylor Swift came blasting out of the speakers. Malin’s eyes bulged in their sockets. “You listen to pop?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied, abruptly changing the station to something with a little more guitar.
“You are so busted!”
“The carwash guys must’ve hit the seek button.”
“Uh-huh, right.”
He threw a hand out. “I was just there. Look how clean my car is!”
“Riiiight.”
He shushed her and turned up the volume.
“Amber Rowe, last seen on video leaving a Target store at Wolf Creek Mall five days ago, was found this morning at Clearwater Lake with her throat slit,” the broadcaster reported, stopping for a dramatic pause that made Malin think they’d lost the signal.
She sat up straighter in the seat and looked at Holden, hairs bristling on her arms.
“Law enforcement officials are looking into a connection to our Jane Doe, inexplicably pulled from Blackwater River three years ago, and will provide a case update at a ten-a.m. presser, which we will bring to you live right here on KGST.” A piece of paper rustled in the background and the announcer continued in a frustrated breath. “Look folks, the police won’t say it so I will…I think it’s pretty clear we have a serial killer roaming the streets of Cottage Grove.” The paper swooshed and quieted. “His calling card is a bloody noose and if you thought it can’t happen here, that it can’t happen to you, think again. One need not look past the front page, to see the darkness at our doorstep.”
Malin’s heart beat faster when Holden’s hand swallowed hers.
“So, watch out for your family tonight, my friend,” the announcer said in a soft tone, letting a moment of dead air sink its teeth in. “Watch out for your neighbors and those you don’t even know because we’re all in this together, and the only way we’re going to beat this threat is by sticking together. These atrocities do not define this town, nor will we let them. We will rise above it…together.”
Holden turned off the radio and rubbed at the scruff on his chin, gathering his thoughts. “Cat’s outta the bag now,” he said. “He’s right though; the only way we’re going to beat this is by…” Trailing off, he sank down in the seat, eyes pinching into investigative slits. “Show time, doll.”
Malin followed his tight gaze out the front windshield to see Roscoe darting across the street to his car. A dreadful feeling washed over her like a cold December wind, chilling her to the bone and making her fasten her lap belt. This was it.
Chapter18
The silver Grand Am slid through city streets under watchful lights, oblivious to the classic Bronco a few car lengths back. After stopping at a tobacco hut and then a Popeyes, Roscoe sped off to a newer condominium complex on the outskirts of town. Holden parked in the street and shut off the engine, dousing the headlights and watching Roscoe park down the way.
“Do you think he saw us?”
Holden kept his eyes fixed on the Grand Am. “No.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Hunting.”
Malin pulled a cigarette from a crinkled soft pack with unsteady fingers. She should’ve bought a lighter at the drugstore so she didn’t have to keep waiting for the Bronco’s to heat up every time, and considered asking for the Zippo back but was afraid to touch it again, fearful of the carnage it might reveal. The dead girl propped against the tree was enough mental torture for one lifetime, not to mention the fact that Roscoe may have put her there.
Roscoe sat inside his car without getting out and smoke rolling from a window.
“Do you recognize this place?”
She flinched when the lighter popped back out. “No.”
Holden drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and Malin could tell he would’ve been good at this. He had an eye for it and a sixth sense as well. “Lisa’s place maybe?” he asked, stroking his chin.
“No, she lives in an apartment on the south side.”
He nodded, fingers tapping.
Malin took a long drag, making the cherry glow. “So, what do we do now?”
“Wait until he makes a move.”
“What if he goes inside?” she asked, smoke slipping from her nose.
“Then we wait.”
“Yeah, but what if he kills somebody in there?”
“Then we’ll know he did it.”
Malin ashed outside the truck, crumpling her brow. “We’re not going to save them?”
“Let’s not forget Roscoe is still my boss.”
“Oh, so now you’re worried about losing some stupid bartending job when another girl could lose her life?”
“Wow, flair for the dramatics much?”
Her jaw fell open. “Dramatics? I’m having visions of dead girls!”
“Jesus, would you calm down,” he hissed, setting his jaw against the anger building in his eyes. “You’re going to blow our cover.”
Giving him her own version of the evil eye, she blew a stream of smoke up to the stars dotting the skyline. He was right. If they were going to pull this off, she needed to relax but that seemed as impossible as Roscoe being a killer.
“Look,” Holden sighed, “I get that you want to stop anyone else from getting hurt, I do. And I want to stop anyone else from getting hurt too, but let’s be honest, your theory about Roscoe is flimsy at best.”
She swatted at a fat June bug looping about her face. “How do you figure?”
“You know how many smoke shops alone sell matte black Zippos? And just because his ex-girlfriend has blond hair doesn’t mean anything. Half the people in this town have blond hair. My ex-wife has blond hair. Does that make me the killer?” Holden unbuckled his lap belt and twisted in the bucket seat. “We have to be careful here because we’re treading on thin ice.”
“What about what my mom said?”
“That will never hold up in a court of law.” His eyes swung back to the Grand Am and narrowed. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. We have to be sure before we go barging in on people without a warrant or a badge, especially people who just happen to be my boss.” Raising his chest with a humid intake, he released it. “And yes, I’m worried about losing my stupid bartending job. I just went down that road and can’t afford to go down it again.” He rested an elbow out the window and avoided her blue eyes while Malin twisted the bulky rings around her fingers in the unnerving quiet pressing against her chest.
He was right again and she needed to relax. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call your job stupid.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Okay, I did.” She squished her lips into the side of her face. “But if it’s any consolation, you make a mean brandy old fashioned.” She patted his leg, desperate to touch him just one more time. “But you have a lot more to offer than brandy old fashioneds and I think we both know it.”
He turned to her, warm eyes glittering in the moonlight. Her pulse quickened when she caught herself rubbing her thumb across his leg, like she’d been doing to the beer can. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She fell into his lips before she could stop herself, kissing him softly while fireworks exploded inside. The hint of spearmint mixed with the beer and cigarettes on her lips and she loved it. Drawing apart much too late, Malin studied him with the world spinning around them in a dizzying blur. “Sorry.”
Holden smiled, pulling her down when Roscoe exited his vehicle. “Here we go.”
Peering over the dash, they watched him avoid the tinted front doors and disappear around a large bush on the right side of the building, prickling their curiosity.
“Is there another entrance over there?” Holden asked. “A patio door or something?”
“I’ve never been here before, remember?”
“Welp, only one way to find out,” he said, quietly opening his door. “You stay here.”
A hurtful look washed over her as she slipped out of the vehicle and joined him in the street.
“You’re not very good at following instructions, are you?” he muttered, trotting toward the three-story building set off with dark wood and sand-colored stonework.
“Where’re we going?”
“We’ll go around the other side and take a peek around the back,” he panted, trying to act normal but walking way too fast for that. “Try to act normal. People are jumpy right now.”
Passing a younger couple out walking a low-riding beagle, they forced themselves to slow down, nodding polite hellos before picking up the pace and slipping around the back side of the building. Sinking into the shadows, Malin and Holden peeked around the other side.
“I can’t see anything.”
“I think he’s behind that bush at the other end. Come on.” Holden started moving again, bending over like he was exiting a helicopter.
Malin followed with her pulse thudding in her neck and the taste of him still on her lips. The first floor was made up of garden level condos with no patio doors and no way in. The second-floor balconies looked insurmountable, just out of reach for someone to scale. Her legs were heavy and suddenly she didn’t want to know where Roscoe went. Holden shot a hand up and slowed down, using the building’s shadows to cover their movement. Reaching a large rounded bush, just as meticulously trimmed as the others, they exchanged a quizzical glance as an odd sound floated in from the other side. Crouching, they peeled back some needled branches for a better view. Malin wiped a cobweb from her face and the sound grew louder, faster. Like someone tugging at their cheek. Light from a lower level window filtered through the branches and Malin’s heart leapt into her throat when she saw Lisa lying on a bed with blond hair spiraling out on the pillow behind her. Tipping her head back, she shut her eyes and moaned while massaging the shaved head wiggling around between her legs. Malin slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Holden nudged her with his elbow and pointed. Turning, she peered through the branches to see Roscoe cowering in a dark corner and beating his meat like there was no tomorrow. Frozen by repulsion, her face soured, making Holden clap a hand over his mouth to stop a laugh. Roscoe pumped in the dark, stealing Malin’s breath, and, despite the horror of it all, Holden’s case of the giggles spread like the flu. She bit her tongue, refusing to laugh under any circumstance. It wasn’t even funny; it was sick and if Roscoe caught them now, she would absolutely die. Tears blurred her vision. Lisa moaned louder. Air wouldn’t come. A snort squirted through Malin’s fingers and Holden elbowed her to be quiet, only making matters worse.
The Hunting of Malin Page 11