Shadows in the Water

by Kory M. Shrum

  “No, no,” her father said, squeezing her shoulders. “Aunt Lucy can help you.”

  “Summer school,” she blurted. “Mom said I—

  “You don’t need to learn about wars, Lou-blue. You need help.”

  “I’m sorry about—” Louie stammered. “I know it’s not normal. I—”

  “No, no, hey,” he said. He pulled her into his arms. She collapsed completely even before he kissed the top of her head. A whiff of beer burned her nose. She liked the smell. She wrapped her arms around him.

  “This isn’t a punishment. You haven’t done anything wrong. Do you hear me?”

  “I don’t want to leave.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Her fists balled behind his back. “Don’t make me leave.”

  I only feel safe with you. She wasn’t sure if it was merely his size or the steady calm of his presence. He wasn’t reactive like her mother. He wasn’t volatile in his responses—one minute pleased, the next panicked—he was even. Predictable. A cool, unmovable stone to rest her hot face against.

  He grounded her in a world where she felt on the verge of falling through at any moment.

  “Maybe Lucy can come here,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “But you need to see her. I think she can help you. When we were children, she would disappear like you did.”

  She pulled herself out of his lap. Like her. Someone in the world like her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  An aunt. An aunt like me. “Why didn’t you tell me about Aunt Lucy?”

  “I had to find her first.” He considered the beer bottle as if the answer was hidden in the bottom. He looked up and saw the questions in Lou’s eyes. “Aunt Lucy and I didn’t always get along. I didn’t believe her. I thought she disappeared for attention. I figured she liked scaring our grandmother half to death.”

  Louie cupped her elbows with her palms and chewed her lip. An aunt. An aunt like me.

  “But I believe you,” he said and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “And I don’t want you to be afraid. When you’re out of school this summer, we’ll have three whole months to work on this. We’ll figure this out.”

  “This isn’t a trick?” Louie whispered, squeezing her elbow tighter. “I’m not being sent away to an insane asylum or something?”

  “No,” he said, firm. “Lucy wants to help. She thinks she can show you how to control it—”

  Louie’s voice bursts from her throat. “I’m not going in the water!”

  “You can control it,” her father said again. He pressed her hands to his beard, trapping them beneath his own. She loved this beard and thought it made him look very handsome. But it wasn’t enough to soothe her blind panic. Not now. The pool seemed to swell in her vision.

  “No.” She tried to pull her hands away from his. “You don’t understand. There are things over there.”

  He wouldn’t let go of her. “You can conquer this. And I’ll be right here.”

  Nightmares reared in her mind. A great yellow eye. Rows of stained teeth. Hooked talons reaching.

  “Master this, Lou-blue. Don’t be its victim.” He cupped her cheeks this time and kissed the tip of her nose. “Promise me.”

  Gunfire erupted in the house. Their heads snapped toward the sound of it in time to see strobe lights flash in the bedroom window. The noise of a wine glass shattering on the floor wafted through the open bedroom window. No screams. Then the gunfire ceased, and the bedroom fell dark again except for the soft blue light of the television.

  Seconds later, only long enough for her father to stand from the pool chair, men burst through the side gates into their backyard. A hand shoved aside a lilac bush. Petals the colors of bruises rained down on the lawn.

  Louie saw a specter, a phantom illuminated by the motion lights. And that was all she saw before her father lifted her off the ground and threw her into the pool.

  Her body hit the surface, and on impact, the air was knocked out of her, swallowing her scream. The cold water engulfed her, enclosed her limbs like tendrils of seaweed. Through the aqua distortion, she saw her father turn and run, his white shirt an ethereal target drawing the gunfire away from her.

  But even as she tried to frantically swim toward the surface, screaming and reaching out for him, she felt herself falling through.

  But she never forgot the face of the monster.

  Angelo Martinelli. And here he was at long last.

  “She’s dead. We made sure.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” She kept one eye on Angelo, but her attention was on the trees. She had only one reason for bringing Angelo here. Where are you?

  “What are you looking at?” Angelo turned toward the trees and peered into the black forest.

  Her shoulder burned. The warped flesh and old scar tissue was a reminder of the beast’s stealth. Of its ability to appear suddenly no matter how quiet or careful she was.

  It’s close.

  The dark seemed to ripple, and Lou had only a second to prepare herself.

  A beast with skin the color of tar leapt from the trees. Angelo screamed the way she must have the first time she saw the animal. If it could be called an animal. Six legs with scaly feet. Pus-colored talons and eyes. A face and round belly could be mistaken for cute, as long as it didn’t open its mouth and hurl its death screech into the sky. Or bared its double row of jagged shark teeth.

  Lou put one foot in the water, making Angelo the closer target. His decision to scream and run only sealed his fate. She knew she should jump into the water. Slip through before the animal could catch her.

  When she used La Loon to dump dead bodies, she never stayed longer than a minute. But Angelo was alive. She wasn’t leaving until she saw him dead.

  The beast’s serpentine back contracted, black muscle stretching long as it lurched forward onto its anterior feet. Screaming louder, Angelo dashed for her as if to throw himself at her feet and beg for mercy.

  “You can’t run from it,” she said. Her voice was weakened by her throbbing shoulder. Her old scars were alive again. “It’ll catch up to you every time.”

  One snap of its jaws brought Angelo down. A second tore open his belly, spilling his guts on the wet earth. The flesh stretched away from his rib cage, the scraps of leather jacket serving as inadequate protection.

  He stayed alive much longer than Lou expected, long after his intestines erupted, spilling out of his abdomen as if spring loaded. Then his screams weren’t much more than gurgling sounds. The water’s edge grew darker, thicker with Angelo’s gore.

  Lou took a step toward the creature. Its yellow eyes contracted at the sight of her. The eyes, forward facing like the predators of her own world. Its lips pulled back in a recognizable growl.

  Master this, Lou-blue. Don’t be its victim. Promise me. The sound of her father’s voice in her mind winded her. Her sweet father who was dead because of the man at her feet.

  The beast’s nostrils flared.

  “Am I still prey?” Lou asked, and slid one heel behind the other. She assumed a fighter’s stance and curled her fingers around the handle of her knife. “If you think so, then I still have business here.”

  Lou waited for the pounce. A lunge. The way it would rise on its hind legs like a fox.

  But the beast didn’t pounce. It regarded her with its acid-yellow eyes and then much the way a hyena protects its kill, the monster seized one of Angelo’s legs in its mouth and dragged his body into the woods to eat in privacy. It kept one great yellow eye on her as it went.

  4

  King found Lucy Thorne stretched on his red leather sofa, an icy glass of sweet tea balanced on her pale knee. Her body was ethereal in the moonlight coming through the open terrace door. It was if she’d never left him. In twelve years, the only discernible change was her hair. She wore it longer now. It fell over her shoulders and hung halfway down her back like a curtain. It had been pixie short, a cleaner version of Piper’s style when he met her.

  “Nice place you have here, Robert.�
�� Lucy put the glass of ice tea on a coaster, one of the many mismatched rounds of cardboard King had stolen from local bars. He had quite the collection. He worried she might notice how many bars. Or he would have worried if the top of her red sundress hadn’t stretched across her chest, showcasing hard nipples. It was difficult to worry when faced with hard nipples.

  She caught him staring and grinned. “The pension must be good.”

  “I’m a kept man,” he joked, heat filling his face. “I hooked up with the rich widow downstairs, and as long as I pleasure her when she calls, all my expenses are paid.”

  Lucy barked a short, sharp laugh. “I’m glad to hear you’re putting your talents to good use.”

  Your talents. The words were like a cold hand on the back of his neck. If anyone knew anything about his skills, it would be Lucy. He’d never worked so hard to please a woman in his life.

  It hadn’t been enough to keep her.

  Lucy ran a thumb down the side of her thigh, wiping up a glistening trail of moisture left by her tea glass.

  He realized he was standing in his apartment staring down at her like an idiot and not because she was beautiful but because he wasn’t sure what to do with the file. If he set it down, there was the chance she’d scoop it up. And while he didn’t think Lucy had any connection to the Venetti case, and wasn’t sent to steal the file from him, he also didn’t know why she was here.

  “Were you in the neighborhood?” Or feeling horny? Please god, say horny. He didn’t mind being used for a night. He would brush his teeth first. If he could squeeze one last dollop out of his crushed tube.

  Lucy’s coquettish face tightened around the mouth and eyes. “Right to the chase. I like that about you. Who has time for banter?”

  “We can banter,” he said, trying to recover the ground he’d apparently lost. Her tone had changed the way a woman’s tone always changed when he said the wrong thing. Was it because he kept standing over her? Did he seem hurried?

  He went to the leather armchair in the corner and sat down. He tucked the folder between the rolled arm and the cushion wedging it there.

  “No,” she said, not bothering to hide her curiosity. She tilted her head as if in question at the folder. Was he giving the game away like a first-year rookie?

  She looked away. “You’re in the middle of something. So I won’t keep you.”

  Keep me, he thought. I don’t mind.

  His aging and pitifully nostalgic mind accosted him with bright images of Lucy the last time he’d seen her. The way her long body had looked in the morning sunlight. She was naked, tangled in his sheets. When she smiled, he knew she’d caught him staring. She’d rolled over, exposing her breasts. On the small side but perfectly sized with dainty nipples the color of cotton candy. And Lord, what a carnival ride their lovemaking had been.

  “You’re less reputable than I remember,” she said, her elbows balanced on her knees.

  King blinked away his thoughts. “What?”

  She took a drink of tea, crunching a piece of ice between her teeth.

  “I—”

  “Nothing damning,” she said. “But you had such a hard stance on drugs sixteen years ago.”

  Her eyes slid to the Bob Dylan vinyl lying beside a record player. That’s where he kept his weed and a half-used pack of rolling papers. How had she known about that?

  “You searched my place?”

  “A little snooping,” she admitted with a coy smile. “I wanted to make sure you were still an okay guy.”

  “Okay is a low standard.” She’d hurt his feelings. When was the last time someone had been able to hurt his feelings? “I haven’t turned into a drug dealer or pimp. I don’t torture animals.”

  His buzz was gone.

  She frowned. “I’m not criticizing you. I’m only saying you seem less self-righteous than I remember. It’s a good thing, Robert. I always thought you needed to relax more.”

  Says the tofu-eating yoga teacher, he thought. He said, “Only young men can afford to be self-righteous. At my age, you realize we’re all equally fucked.”

  Lucy’s smile tightened, and her gaze slid away toward the balcony. They’re in the dark and yet he couldn’t bring himself to turn on a light. He believed she would disappear if he did. He wasn’t ready.

  “You didn’t come here to listen to an old man rant.” His chest clenched. “Tell me what you need. You know I’ll do it.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes. “What makes you think I want something from you?”

  “The fact that you’re here,” he said. “And you’re not the begging type. It’s important.”

  “Or maybe I do plenty of begging these days.”

  He said nothing.

  Lucy looked toward the balcony, her gaze growing distant. “Jack worshiped you, you know.”

  It was like she’d slapped him across the face.

  Jack Thorne.

  When King broke three ribs during a drug bust, he’d been asked to do a term teaching at Quantico while he healed up. Jack Thorne, with sandy hair and big brown eyes that made him look like a goddamn doe in an evening field, was one of his first students. But Jack was brilliant. Smart as a whip. A damn hard worker. And sharp instincts. When Jack graduated from his DEA training, King himself put in the request to have Thorne transferred to his department in St. Louis.

  The years he spent mentoring Thorne were the best in his life. King had his balls back post-divorce and he’d thrown himself into his work without apology for the first time in his life. He’d always loved his job, but now the work had been great because he had this bright, smart-ass kid at his side. Pushing him. Challenging him. King had never felt so alive, and they had the success stories to prove it.

  They were the golden years. Until Thorne and his attractive, if uppity, young wife got killed by the Martinelli family. Their deaths were on King. He was the one who’d given Thorne the bust. Asked him to do the press. Put his fucking face all over the goddamn media.

  He wanted Thorne to take the credit, him and his pudgy partner Gus Johnson. Hoped the recognition would give him the promotion he deserved.

  It got Thorne a medal and six bullets to the chest.

  The worst of it: Jack Thorne’s name was trashed, dragged through the mud by anyone who could get their hands on it. Overnight, he went from hero and family man to master manipulator. The media found a more sensational, better-selling tale. The murder of Jack Thorne and his wife wasn’t a revenge killing for Thorne’s arrest of Angelo Martinelli’s brother. It was gang shit gone wrong. Thorne had been aiding the Martinelli clan all along. He was a mole. A snitch. He betrayed his comrades and closest friends. And it hadn’t been enough to play both sides. When he’d gotten too greedy, the infamous crime family lit him up like flashing Christmas lights.

  It was all bullshit. The press and the department slandered a good man to save their own asses.

  Lucy was talking again. “He said you got through to him in a way no one ever could. And you may have changed, but you’re still a good teacher. Your students say so.”

  So she even knew about the occasional adjuncting for LSU’s criminal justice department. She’d been digging. For what? “If you’re looking for my references, there’s a job. What’s the job?”

  Lucy worried her lip.

  “Spit it out while I’m still riding the tail of my buzz. You know I’m very open to suggestion when inebriated.” It was a joke meant to put her at ease, even if he couldn’t ease his own dark thoughts.

  In his mind, he bent down beside a black body bag. His shaking hand pulled the zipper tab to reveal Thorne’s face. So young. So goddamn young.

  A fly landed on the dead man’s face, twitching its wings.

  “Lou is just like him. Tough. Smart. Too smart.” She barked another laugh. “Stubborn. Determined. Focused. A complete disregard for authority.”

  King grinned. “Quite a combination.”

  “She’s a challenge, but she is an achiever.”
>
  A letter of recommendation, maybe. King did the math in his head. Thorne’s kid would be 25? 26? Too old for college so it would be for the force then. Perhaps she wanted him to pull some strings and get her a job in one of the safer departments. But if she were even half as good as Thorne, she’d be wasted on a desk job. “You want me to put in a good word with someone? That’s no problem. I’m happy to help.”

  And he was. It didn’t matter that the minute Lucy learned her brother was dead, she’d dropped King like panties on prom night and assumed the mantle of guardian to the girl. It hurt. He’d missed her like hell for a long time too. Looking at her on his red leather sofa in the moonlight coming from the terrace he wondered if he’d ever stopped missing her.

  He didn’t blame the kid.

  He’d lost Lucy, and it was his own fault. He hadn’t gone after her because his guilt wouldn’t let him. It was his responsibility for getting Jack killed and for not working harder to salvage the man’s reputation when the whole fucking ship started to sink. Everyone took hits when Jack’s loyalty had been pulled up and examined. He saved his own ass, and he knew it.

  Louie would face her own problems in the force. Overcoming her father’s reputation was only the beginning.

  A cloud passed over the moon, and Lucy’s face was hidden in shadow. Only her mouth shown, her teeth glowing in the light as she let go of her bottom lip.

  He realized what she wasn’t saying. No, thank you. No that would be great.

  Not a recommendation then. “Is she in trouble?”

  King’s mind ran wild with the possibilities. Drugs. Prostitution. Kidnapping. She’d been kidnapped by a new drug lord, and he would have 32 hours to bring her back alive. He sure as hell hoped not. He was no Liam Neeson.

  Lucy shook her head. “She’s not a victim.”

  “I’m a piss poor guesser.” And it’s been a long night for cloak and dagger meetings. He ran a hand over his head. He moved from the chair to the coffee table so he could be closer to her. Right across from her. The wood groaned but didn’t break. He was close enough to smell her lotion now. She still smelled like sandalwood and peonies. He prayed she couldn’t smell his pickle-booze breath. “This is going to take all night if you make me guess, Lucy. If you want to stay the night, I can think of better things we could be doing.”