Shadow of Vengeance

by Kristine Mason

  “Now that I think about it, you wouldn’t say that to me.”

  Blinking twice, I inwardly smiled. My friend does know me.

  “Anyway, I’m looking forward to watching the movie with you. We’ve been through a lot together. I don’t think I would have lasted this long if it wasn’t for you.”

  She’s always saying things like that, which amazes me. I can’t speak, and yet I’ve somehow given her the will to live? Her words are humbling. If only she truly understood the impact she’s made on my life. Her humility, her selflessness, her uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking and feeling…she is the only reason I look forward to each day.

  “This morning, my doc came to see me.”

  Heart racing, stomach balling into a knot again, fresh tears blur my vision. Anxious for the results of Lois’ latest MRI, I wish I could squeeze her hand, and give her the same comfort she’s given me day in and day out.

  She rubbed her bald head with her free hand. “He told me the cancer moved to my brain.”

  Anger and overwhelming sadness punched a hole in my soul. Blinking, I fought the tears, fought to be strong for her. But hot trails trickled down my cheeks and I grunted—a real grunt this time—trying desperately to voice my pain and misery over her results. She has become my best friend. Without her in my world, I see no point in living.

  “But don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere.” She leaned in, kissed my cheek, then whispered in my ear, “Not until you tell me who tried to kill you.”

  Chapter 6

  Rachel walked across the small bedroom she’d chosen at The House of Joy and reached into the computer bag for a fresh pencil. At the rate she was going, she’d blow through the twenty-four pack by Wednesday. Better than smoking a pack of cigarettes. A habit she’d given up after her return from the Army, and one she missed, especially now. While the rush of nicotine certainly wouldn’t make their investigation any easier, it might help battle her stress and frustration.

  Gnawing on the pencil, she stared out the window. Dark now, there wasn’t much to see, but she’d rather stare into the night sky than think about the investigation or…Owen.

  Not true.

  So she couldn’t help herself. Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t stop thinking about the press of his strong, hard body as he’d kissed her under the mistletoe. That night had happened a year ago, but it might as well have been yesterday. Even over a mouthful of pencil, she swore she could still taste his whiskey sweet kiss, the slide of his tongue, the touch of his firm, coaxing lips.

  Being stuck in Bola with Owen, saddled to each other until they found Josh, might end up being both heaven and hell. For years she’d tried to convince herself that Owen was the kind of guy who used women for sex to feed his ginormous ego. Only he’d never shown an arrogant bone in his sexy body and he’d always treated her with respect.

  She wanted to dislike him, had tried for years to keep their relationship distant and professional, but she couldn’t shake what he’d awoken the night he’d kissed her. He’d made her…aware. Of her body, her desires, her longings. That brief moment under the mistletoe had also made her realize something had been missing in her life. To this day she still didn’t know what that something was, or if she even wanted it. She just knew it was always there, on the fringes. Enticing her to explore her “Owen fantasies” and, ugh, her frickin’ feelings for him.

  One thing she knew for certain, for the past year, Owen, and whatever emotions he’d evoked, had been making her crazy. Which was stupid. She wasn’t his type and he wasn’t hers. She’d do well to remember that and stay focused on the investigation, not him. Not his smile, his blue eyes, his big, muscular body…his woodsy cologne that made her think of camping and stripping naked, then crawling into a sleeping bag with him.

  She bit hard on the pencil. Before she chipped a tooth, she tossed it back in the computer bag.

  Focus, Rachel. Think about Sean and Josh.

  Shoving all of her confusing thoughts aside and shifting them on the investigation, she realized Owen had been right. Searching through Sean and Josh’s room had been a waste of time. The only positive thing that had come from visiting Stanley Hall had been the security guard, Bill Baker. She hoped his tox screen came back positive for Rohypnol or some other drug that connected back to Sean. With the little concrete evidence they had, similar toxicology reports could prove a link to the kidnapper.

  Dr. Collin Stronach had also been a waste of time. The professor had given them nothing useful. The highlight of the interview had been Owen. Other than that nasty look he’d given just before they’d met up with Bill, she’d never seen him so…confrontational and insulting. She had to admit, she’d liked the way Owen had provoked the nutty professor and how he’d come to her defense when he’d thought Stronach had been hitting on her.

  Stop thinking about him. Think about Sean. Think about the investigation.

  She glanced at the file box Jake had given them. After their interview with Stronach, Jake had called and cancelled their dinner, which worked out perfectly. She’d been up since four AM, been stressed about her brother’s health and Josh’s whereabouts, and didn’t have any new, solid leads to share with the sheriff anyway. Plus, not having to meet with Jake had given her the opportunity to visit with Sean again.

  Her brother had never been a good patient, and had been a crabby mess when she and Owen had stopped by his hospital room. While there, she did ask him about the Mountain Dew, empty fridge, garbage can and cleanliness of his dorm room. Sean had told them that when he and Josh left, the fridge and garbage can had been full, and the empty Mountain Dew bottle had been in the trash. As for the state of their dorm room, Owen had been right about that, too. Apparently the boys had kept their room clean hoping two girls from their anthropology class would come by after the study session.

  They hadn’t stayed long at Dixon Medical Center. Her brother’s doctor was already gone for the day, and hadn’t left the results for Sean or Bill’s tox screens. Sean, who had been in obvious pain, needed his rest. Besides, she’d wanted to go back to Joy’s, change into her comfy clothes, begin going through the old Wexman Hell Week case files, grab something to eat and pour herself a drink. Not necessarily in that order.

  Instead of donning her fuzzy, pink and fuchsia polka dot pajamas, though, she’d opted for the lacy, formfitting, pale green camisole she’d accidentally packed and a pair of black yoga pants. She appreciated a warm, cozy room, especially when the temperature outside dipped into the teens. Unfortunately, this room had bypassed warm and cozy and had gone straight to desert hot. If she hadn’t been waiting for Joy to stop by her room and fix the temperature, she would have lost the yoga pants and stripped to her underwear.

  Too hot to eat the leftovers Joy had stowed away for her and Owen, she ignored the plate setting on the nightstand and drained the glass of water instead. With plenty of ice left in the glass, she poured a shot of vodka from the fifth she’d picked up from the liquor store on their way back from the hospital, then added some Sprite. After taking a sip, she plopped on the bed, then emptied the file box.

  Before locking herself in her room, she’d given Owen half the files with the intention of discussing the information in the morning over breakfast. While she should have taken the box to his room or downstairs to the community room where they could work together, she’d needed some time alone. Who was she kidding? She needed time away from Owen. The more she was around him, the more she thought about that kiss and all the possibilities it could have led to if he hadn’t walked away that night.

  Instead of allowing herself the opportunity to consider those possibilities, she took another sip of her drink, then flipped open one of the missing persons’ files. Derrick Rodgers had been the sixth student to disappear. He’d been eighteen, in his second semester at Wexman University, and pledging the Psi Upsilon fraternity. Ten years ago, on the night of January sixteenth, Derrick had disappeared after leaving a meeting at the fra
ternity house. The Hell Week note had been left on the pillow in his dorm room. All of his things had been accounted for, he’d been well liked, had a girlfriend, came from a good family.

  She studied his photo. He’d been a good-looking guy, tall, blonde, athletic. According to his parents, he’d never been into trouble, didn’t do drugs or drink, and had been a straight A student. The guys at the fraternity had concurred. According to the sheriff at the time, Tom Miller, he and his deputies had led a search party, consisting of a dozen men, through the woods surrounding the university. After one day, they’d given up and listed Derrick a missing person.

  “That’s it?” She sifted through the remaining files, wondering if maybe some of the sheriff’s notes regarding Derrick Rodgers’s case had fallen out and mixed with the others. No such luck. Apparently, note taking hadn’t been Sheriff Miller’s strong suit.

  As she moved on to the next file, a knock came at the door. “Thank God,” she said, and crawled off the bed. Another hour in this hotbox and she might end up with heat stroke.

  Opening the door she said, “Hey, Joy, sorry to bother…” She took a step back when Owen’s big body filled the doorframe.

  When he moved into the room she tried to ignore the way the worn, navy University of Virginia t-shirt hugged his well-muscled arms and chest. Except that ended up drawing her attention to the loose, grey sweatpants, which rode low on his lean hips and made his ass tempting enough to grab. Never in her life had she grabbed anyone’s ass, nor had she had the desire. Until now. She wanted to grab him from behind, then reach around the front of those loose sweatpants. Slip her hand beneath the waistline until she stroked—

  “Good God. It’s Africa hot in here,” Owen said, crouched and inspected the woodwork along the hardwood floor.

  “No kidding. This room could rival a sauna.”

  “Yeah.” He stood and angled the tall dresser. “Joy told me. She suggested I close the vents and kick the ceiling fan on high.” He crouched again and shifted a latch on the floor vent. Standing, he moved around the small room, his focus on the floor. “She said there should be two of them…here it is.” He moved the nightstand and revealed another vent. After he’d finished closing the vent, he reached up and adjusted the ceiling fan—which she couldn’t reach—to high.

  Within seconds, a blessed breeze ran through the room. “So much better,” she said on a sigh. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He glanced at the files on the bed. “Find anything interesting?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve only gone through one case. There wasn’t much there. Kid disappears, no evidence but the Hell Week note. What about you? Have you looked at any of the files?”

  “Just a couple, then I needed to refill my glass with ice. That’s when I ran into Joy in the kitchen and she told me about your room.” He nodded to her vodka Sprite. “I brought up some extra ice. I can bring it over, we can bitch about Sheriff Miller and the way he’d handled these missing person cases over a drink.”

  When they’d stopped at the liquor store on their way back from the medical center, Owen had picked up a fifth of Jack Daniels and a six-pack of Coke. Although normally not one to drink alone, and tempted to engage in a bitch session, she knew spending the evening closed in a room with Owen could be a mistake. Considering she was having a difficult time trying to erase any thoughts of him that didn’t have to do with work, she needed to maintain her distance when the opportunity, like now, rose.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass. It’s been a long day. I’m going to finish reading through these cases, then go to bed.”

  Nodding, he glanced at her breasts, then moved toward the door.

  Due to the heat, she’d forgotten about the lacy camisole, and immediately folded her arms across her chest. She’d only worn the top once, then afterward, had shoved it in her underwear drawer never to be used again. In her opinion and experience, women with boobs as big as hers had no business going braless or wearing skimpy camisoles. Unless, of course, the intention was to seduce, or in her case, stay cool.

  With his hand on the doorknob, he turned. His gaze drifted to her chest again and heat, having nothing to do with the wonky room temperature, rose to her cheeks. Even with her arms over her breasts, the breeze from the ceiling fan kissed her cleavage, which meant an ample amount of bare skin remained exposed and in plain view for him to see. She knew her breasts were one of her best assets. A part of her wanted to drop her arms and let him look his fill. Let him realize what he could have had if he hadn’t blown her off after their kiss. If only she had the nerve and at least one slutty bone in her body.

  When he met her gaze, she hugged herself tighter. His eyes had darkened and now matched the navy shirt he wore, and she swore he stared at her with something akin to hunger and longing. Then he blinked and whatever she thought she saw had disappeared. Or maybe she imagined the whole thing, which was likely the case. She might have a nice rack, but she didn’t have the face and body to go with it. Based on the women she’d seen Owen with, unless he was desperate, she doubted he would be interested in her. Not that she want him to be interested in her.

  Liar.

  True. She couldn’t help wanting what she knew she shouldn’t or couldn’t have—Owen Malcolm in her bed, naked and on top of her. Pining after a man who was not only way out of her league, but a serial charmer similar to the men her mom had been with, would only lead to resentment and feelings of inadequacy. She should know, because that was exactly how she’d felt after Owen had kissed her, then walked away as if it hadn’t happened.

  She glanced at his mouth. Memories of his lips on hers suddenly surged through her mind and body. The heat of his touch, the way his muscles had bunched under her hands as she’d clung to him, to his dominating lips…

  “I know you’re worried about Sean and Josh. If you change your mind and want to talk, I’ll be up for a while.”

  She shook the kiss from her mind. “I won’t,” she said, too quick and curt. He had to leave. Her nipples were starting to ache and her other girl parts were beginning to come alive. She needed him and his big, sexy body out of her room. She needed to go back to the files on her bed and lose herself in the investigation, not the confusing thoughts and memories just being near him evoked. “I mean, we have an early day. Jake’s going to be here at seven-thirty, and we’re meeting with the dean at nine.”

  He clenched his jaw, then nodded. “Right. Jake. How could I forget?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” He opened the door, then paused at the threshold. “There is one thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “I noticed the way you and Jake…interacted.”

  Confused, she furrowed her forehead. “Meaning?”

  “It’s not my business who you…I mean, it’s none of my, uh—”

  “Just say what’s on your mind.”

  “Fine. No offense, but you’re new to working in the field. Trying to mix business with pleasure isn’t advisable. Especially if the…ah…other party ends up not interested. It could make working the case uncomfortable.”

  How could such a brilliant investigator be so clueless? She had zero interest in Jake. Sure, the hunky sheriff wasn’t hard on the eyes, but based on the weariness etched on his face and the despondency in his dark eyes, she suspected the man carried a lot of baggage. She liked to steer clear of guys like Jake. She had enough baggage of her own.

  Rather than comment on Owen’s ridiculous assumptions, she wished him good night and tried to close the door.

  He stopped her. “So you admit you’ve got a thing for the sheriff?” he asked, his voice laced with accusation and irritation.

  Highly offended, she dropped her arms and fisted her hands. “I’m not having this conversation.”

  His gazed dropped to her chest again. This time she didn’t cover herself. She might not have the body and face to go along with the boobs, but she wasn’t ugly. How dare he act as if she was the one who
would end up rejected, not Jake.

  “Fine,” he said. “I just don’t want to—”

  “I don’t care what you want,” she interrupted. “Good night.” After she closed the door in his face, she moved back to the bed. Although insulted, she had to admit that the timing of Owen’s asinine bullshit had been perfect. Without trying, he’d not only reminded her why she should leave the mistletoe kiss in the past, but that fantasizing about Owen would prove pointless. He clearly had no interest in her outside of work, and undoubtedly found her unattractive.

  But as she began to sift through the case files, her mind kept wandering back to Owen. To how hot he’d looked in his t-shirt and sweats. To his smile and how good he’d smelled. Damn it. To that stupid, sexy kiss and how badly she wanted one more taste…

  *

  He turned on the lantern. Light immediately illuminated the basement and reflected off the pledge, who hung from the wall, his position unchanged since early this morning. The small space heater remained in front of him, giving little warmth. Moving closer, he raised the lantern and shook his head. He might have to cut Hell Week short. The little puke’s gauntness, his hollow, pale cheeks, and his shallow breathing worried him. His pledge couldn’t die before his time. Not now. Not when he’d come so close to fulfilling his destiny.

  “He doesn’t look good,” Junior said as she stepped down from the ladder.

  “He’ll be fine.” He smacked the puke’s face. “Rise and shine. It’s time for dinner and calisthenics.”

  “You’re unchaining him?”

  “Yes. Get the bat.” After setting the lantern on a bench, he pulled a bag of cold, cooked wild rice from his coat pocket. While he’d threatened to give the pledge maggots, producing the disgusting larva for consumption would have been too difficult, especially in the dead of winter. “I’m not about to feed the little puke. He can do it himself.”

  Metal bat now in hand, Junior hovered behind him while he released the pledge from his bindings. The pathetic puke fell to the ground, shivering and groaning, his naked back baring deep scratches from time spent against the rock wall.