by Karen Rose
“And you changed your clothes there?” Dr. Dani asked gently.
“Yeah. Left money for the pants.” A few dollars. I’m not a thief. “Took a taxi.”
Another kind smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. Let’s get you taken care of.” She handed Linnea a paper drape. “Bottoms off. Unless you’re bleeding anywhere else.”
Linnea hung her head, her cheeks heating in humiliation. “No. Just there.”
A finger tipped up her chin and Linnea found herself staring into the doctor’s mismatched eyes. “You are not to blame, Denise. Whoever did this to you is to blame. I’m going to do a rape kit.”
Linnea shook her head so hard the room began to spin. “No. Don’t want that.”
“Why not?” The question was asked gently.
“Not . . .” Not a rape. But she couldn’t make herself say it, because it was a dirty lie. It had been. Every single time she’d been peddled to a “client” or an “associate,” it had been.
“Did you consent?” Dr. Dani asked.
Linnea shook her head again. “No,” she whispered, tears burning her eyes.
“Did you tell him no?”
“Yes.” Linnea’s voice broke on a sob. “Over and over. I begged him to stop. But he wouldn’t.” Because Butch had liked making her scream and then he had laughed, egging Butch to go harder. Because he’d wanted Andy to bend. To break. To obey.
Andy hadn’t. And now he was dead.
Dr. Dani’s hand was rubbing Linnea’s back in slow circles. “When did this happen?”
“Last night.”
“Then I’ll do a rape kit. There will be evidence. I’ll call a police officer and you can give a statement. I’ll stay with you. I promise.”
Linnea lurched to her feet, terror keeping her upright. “No. No police.”
“Shh,” Dr. Dani soothed, patting the exam table. “Sit down, Denise. I don’t want you to collapse on me.” She smiled encouragingly. “I won’t call the police if you say no. Can you at least tell me why you’re so afraid? I don’t want you to be afraid.”
Linnea swallowed, wondering if she could believe the doctor. Swaying on her feet, she knew that right then she didn’t really have a choice. “He . . . he’d find out.”
“The man who did this?”
“I can’t . . .” She edged toward the door. “He’ll . . .” Kill me painfully. After he tortures me just to hear me scream. “He wouldn’t be happy.”
The doctor’s lips firmed. “All right. You have time to decide what you want to do. You might change your mind later and report him. I have to submit the rape kit, though.”
Linnea considered it. She could file the report after he paid for killing Andy. Once he was dead, his right-hand man could rot in prison for all she cared. “All right. Do the kit. I’ll think about going to the police.”
“Good.” Dr. Dani touched her shoulder, lightly urging her back to the exam table. “I can see the bruises on your face. Where else did he touch you?”
“Nowhere.” Not this time, anyway. She crossed her arms over her chest protectively. As if that could hide the scars he’d put there.
“All right. I’ll be waiting outside in the hall. I’ll give you a few minutes to get yourself ready. Do you have somewhere safe to spend the night?”
Linnea hesitated. She couldn’t go back to the apartment she shared with Jolee. Or to Andy’s place. Those would be the first places he’d look. “No, I don’t.”
“I know of a shelter for battered women. Would you like me to call them for you? It’s one hundred percent confidential. Whoever you’re afraid of will not find you there.”
Linnea couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. She blinked, sending them down her cheeks. “Yes, please. Thank—” Her voice broke again. “Thank you.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 6:15 p.m.
“Whose car is that?” Wendi asked from the backseat, where she had her arm around Mallory’s shoulders.
In the front passenger seat, Meredith roused herself in time to see a blue pickup truck in her driveway as Colby parked his sedan behind it. She blinked sleepily, her brain a fuzzy mess. She was warm. Colby’s heater worked well. And I smell better.
It hit her then. What had happened. What she’d seen. She steeled her spine. She would not throw up again. That her hair was finally clean made it so much easier to keep that resolution. Thank you, Adam.
He’d been kind to secure a room for her. A change of clothes. A way to feel human again. Meredith wanted to read more into it than a gentlemanly gesture, but she couldn’t allow herself to do so.
As if she had a choice. She’d spent the last two hours hoping like hell that Adam’s explanation would be one that she’d want to hear. One that ended with them together.
That a happy ending was in their cards was a leap, to say the least.
“The truck is Diesel’s,” Colby said, putting the car in gear.
“I know that.” Wendi craned her neck. “I meant the other one.”
“What other one?” Meredith hadn’t opened her eyes in time to see another car and Diesel’s truck was so tall that it blocked their view. She felt a prickle of hope that it was Adam’s Jeep, but quashed the thought. Wendi knew the Jeep and she wouldn’t have passed on the opportunity to rag on Adam. Her friend’s loyalty was beginning to grow irksome.
“There’s a Mazda parked in front of the truck,” Colby said. “Blue four-door. It’s a rental. It has a sticker in the back window,” he added when Meredith opened her mouth to ask him how he knew. “Were you expecting anyone else?”
“Not for a few days.” Meredith rubbed the back of her neck. She’d fallen asleep in an awkward position. “For the holidays.”
Wendi frowned. “Will you see who it is, Parrish?”
“Of course. You ladies stay here.”
“Wait.” Meredith’s mind was slowly clicking back into gear. “Whoever it is let Diesel in my house, because he doesn’t have a key unless you gave him one.”
“We didn’t,” Wendi said, but Meredith was already out of the car, running for her front door.
Her friends had keys, but none of them would have been driving a rental. Only two other people had keys—her cousin Alex and her grandfather.
The front door opened and a pair of burly arms caught her in a hard hug.
Meredith clung, shuddering, breathing in his scent. Old Spice and pipe smoke. It always had been his, ever since her earliest memory. “Papa. Oh God. You’re here.”
Her grandfather pulled her tighter. “I got here about an hour ago,” he murmured into her hair, rocking her where they stood. “I just heard about what happened downtown. I would have driven straight from the airport to bring you home myself if I’d known.”
She burrowed her face into the softness of his sweatshirt. Downy fabric softener. Her big, burly grandfather loved the scent. She loved it, too, even though it totally clashed with Old Spice. Because whenever she inhaled the combination, she’d been safe. Home.
He gently wiped the tears from her face. She hadn’t even realized she’d shed them. “Your hair is all wet, Merry. Go inside, get warm.”
She tilted her chin up, studying his face. He looked good. Tanned and . . . himself. Still strong and standing tall at eighty-four years old. “I need to tell my friends good-bye.” She tugged on his hands, pulling him out of the house and down the walk. “Come on. Wendi’s in the car. She’d be upset if you don’t say hi.”
“Why doesn’t she get out?” he asked, then stopped walking. “Oh. That’s the girl you were with? The one who pulled you out of the path of the second bullet?”
Meredith blinked up at him. “You’re remarkably well informed, Papa.”
“Your friend told me all about it.” He thumbed over his shoulder. Diesel Kennedy now stood in her open doorway.
Her grandfather sniffed. “He was lurking in your driveway. He looked . . .”
“Like you?” Meredith supplied helpfully. Because it was true. Both men were mountains, both covered in tattoos. Both were bald—Diesel by choice and her grandfather due to age. Both appeared menacing until you knew them. Both had soft hearts.
He smirked. “Exactly.” He sobered. “I don’t want to scare the girl. Sounds like she’s had a hard enough day.”
Yes. A very soft heart. Meredith patted his chest. “Just say hi to Wendi and her beau. His name is Parrish Colby. I’ll gauge Mallory’s reaction and give you a sign. Hurry, now. We’ll both catch colds out here.”
Meredith led him to the car and Wendi popped out. “Clarke!” she cried, launching herself into his arms. He caught her, laughing in that easy way he’d always had.
“Wendi, it’s always a pleasure.” He waggled gray brows at Colby, who’d also stepped out of his car and waited, arms braced on the sedan’s roof. “Hear that you’re the beau.”
Colby blushed, and it was really cute to see. “Parrish Colby, sir.”
“I’m Clarke. Good to meet you, son. Thank you for bringing Merry home.”
Meredith glanced inside the car. Mallory’s head had turned and she blinked up at the older man. She wasn’t herself by a long shot—she’d retreated deep inside her mind. But she wasn’t afraid, either. Meredith gave her grandfather a nod and he leaned in to give Mallory his kindest smile.
“Hi, Mallory,” he said, using his gentlest voice. “I’m Clarke.”
Meredith leaned in beside him, feeling the grizzle of his cheek on hers. “My grandfather. Remember I told you he was coming? He surprised me.”
Mallory nodded warily.
Her grandfather cleared his throat. “I, um, I want to thank you, Mallory.”
Mallory tilted her head slightly. “Why?”
It was the first word Mallory had said since they’d left the hotel after talking to Adam. Meredith felt the worry in her chest loosen, just a little.
“You saved Merry’s life. Pulled her down under the table, out of the line of fire.” He cleared his throat again. “So thank you.”
Mallory’s mouth curved, almost too slightly to see. “‘Merry’?”
Clarke kissed Meredith’s cheek with a loud smack. “Isn’t she? Merry, I mean.”
Meredith rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to answer that, Mallory. I’m going to get this guy inside so he doesn’t freeze.” She leaned farther into the car, to squeeze Mallory’s clenched hand. “But he’s right. You did save my life. Remember that, okay? When you think about the guy who died? Picture my face. You saved me. Okay?”
A single nod.
“All right.” Meredith squeezed the clenched hand again. “I’ll call you later. You can call me, too, no matter what time.”
Another nod. “Okay.”
Meredith pressed a kiss to Mallory’s clammy forehead. “Try to sleep.” She extracted herself from Colby’s backseat and gave him a wave and Wendi a hug. “Thank you both.”
“You get some sleep, too,” Wendi said, then leaned up to hiss in her ear. “After you make a list of every single motherfucker who has threatened you. Ever.”
Meredith jerked back to blink at her friend, the venom in Wendi’s whisper a complete shock. Wendi had experienced horrors that would give most people nightmares for life, and every day she dealt with the aftereffects of brutal violence against the young women in her care. But Meredith had never heard her use this tone. “Wen?”
Wendi’s eyes filled with tears and it was then that Meredith noticed her friend was shaking. Damn me. Meredith had been so caught up in her own head, so worried about Mallory and Adam, that she hadn’t thought about the impact this would have on the people who loved her. Meredith drew Wendi close.
“I’m fine,” she assured her.
“No, dammit, you’re not.” Wendi’s small fist landed painlessly on Meredith’s back. “How could you be? You might fool everyone else, but you’re not fooling me. You’ll protect your clients over yourself.”
“And you wouldn’t?” Meredith pushed back. “You wouldn’t risk yourself for any one of the girls at Mariposa House?” When Wendi didn’t answer, Meredith chuckled. “So, Miss Pot, stop bossing Miss Kettle around.”
“It’s not funny,” Wendi hissed on a choked sob. “And it’s not the same. I don’t have assholes following me around, trying to intimidate me. Trying to shoot me or blow me sky-high. You write down every name, Meredith Fallon. Every single fucking one.”
Meredith patted Wendi’s back, forcing her own tone to be lightly wry. “It’d take me days to write down every single one.”
Wendi stepped back, swiping at her wet eyes furiously. “I’m so mad at you!”
“Wen,” Colby said quietly.
Wendi’s head whipped around to glare at Colby. “It’s true. Somebody needs to make her listen.” She whirled to turn the glare up at Meredith, nearly slipping on the icy driveway. “You’re really not going to even help the police protect you?”
Meredith gripped both of Wendi’s arms to keep her from falling. I did help them, she started to say. But was that really true? She’d told Adam where to look, and at the moment that was all she’d been able to make herself say. To a cop, anyway.
Meredith eyed the truck in her driveway. Diesel’s here, and he’s not a cop. Far from it. Through his work at the Ledger, Diesel had demonstrated mad hacker skills, excelling at digging—and finding—dirt. The Ledger then ran with the info, exposing those who’d somehow wiggled through the justice system, usually after hurting a child. In Meredith’s mind, Diesel was a frickin’ hero.
Still, asking him to hack into her most recent stalker’s life made her cringe inside. But these were extreme circumstances. And if Diesel found nothing, the police wouldn’t have to get involved. The information would go no further.
“You’re not telling the police, are you?” Wendi’s shoulders sagged. “Damn you. You’re going to let whoever did this keep trying until they don’t miss.”
Meredith heard her grandfather suck in a harsh breath.
“I absolutely am not going to do that,” she said calmly, giving her friend a meaningful look followed by a pointed glance at Diesel’s truck. She saw the moment Wendi understood. “I’m not interested in being shot or blown sky-high anytime soon. Or letting whoever killed that boy today kill anyone else. Got it?”
Wendi let out a shuddering sigh of relief. “Oh God. Yeah. Got it. Thank you.”
“Wen, honey,” Colby said, “get in the car. Keeping Meredith out in the open isn’t doing anything to protect her either.”
Meredith noticed Colby had been tensely watching the street, hand on his firearm. Just in case her attacker tried again. In front of my home. She also realized the heat at her back had been her grandfather keeping close, making himself a human shield. Goddammit. She risked the safety of everyone around her, simply by existing. The realization cemented her resolve to get to the bottom of this, however she needed to.
“I’m going inside now, Parrish,” Meredith said. “Thanks for everything.” Then she put her arm through her grandfather’s and led him up the walk to her house.
One person had already died today. No one else was getting shot on her behalf.
Chapter Six
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, December 19, 6:15 p.m.
Showered, bandaged, and wearing clean clothes, he pulled into his own driveway and parked the SUV he’d taken from the fleet at the Fairfield garage. That he bought only black SUVs and kept them all spotless wasn’t an OCD quirk. It was by design. If one got wrecked—or bled on—he could easily change it out for another. No questions meant no denials. No denials meant no lies that he’d have to keep track of and remember later.
He got out of the SUV, locked it, then did a slow three-sixty, checking out the houses on his street with a smile. His neighbors had outdone themselves decorating, especially the Wainwrights next door. Every year Ike Wainwright’s lights were the nicest on the block.
“Really nice!” he called up to Ike, who was perched on a ladder, adjusting the star atop the nativity scene in his front yard. It was populated by the three kings, shepherds, and the holy family, all fashioned from wax.
Ike owned a string of funeral homes. How he’d come by his expertise with wax was not something most of their neighbors wanted to think about, but Ike made a good living making the dead presentable. This he knew because he found out about each of his neighbors, from their income to their tax bill to how often they had sex with their respective partners. Ike and Mrs. Wainwright still got busy with regularity.
That meant the old man was happy and occupied and, most importantly, not a nosy neighbor. He didn’t like nosy neighbors.
“Thank you!” Ike called back. “I bet Dorsey that my house wins this year.”
He turned to study the Dorsey house at the center of the cul-de-sac, six houses down. The two always competed for best decorations. “I don’t know, Ike. Dorsey has that Santa’s workshop and he gives out candy canes.” He looked back up at Ike on the ladder. “You gonna have the animals this year? Because that might tip the scales in your favor.”
Ike always had a menagerie around the nativity scene, but the homeowners’ association had balked last year when he’d added a camel to the sheep and goats.
Ike scowled. “Yeah. Had to get a special permit. Lousy bureaucrats. I have a barn erected for them in the backyard. It’s not like we’re bothering any neighbors back there.”
Because their houses sat at the edge of the community. Directly behind their back fences was another fifty feet of trees, then a ten-foot electric fence topped by razor wire, followed by a thirty-foot sheer drop to Columbia Parkway. They got night traffic noise, but it was worth it to have the buffer. Nobody was going to sneak up on his home from behind.