Dead Set

by Melissa Pearl

  “Get off me.” She could barely speak, could barely breathe, his weight was crushing her tiny frame.

  He grinned. “And if I don’t?” He reached out a hand and stroked her cheek.

  She flinched at his touch.

  “This is how you touch someone,” he whispered. His fingers were like feathers dusting her skin. “You don’t sink your teeth into them.” His nails dug into her cheek and she gasped.

  His grin widened, his mouth twisting like some comic villain’s. “Doesn’t feel too good, does it?”

  “Stop,” she managed to gasp.

  He barked out a vicious laugh. “You think this is bad? Just wait and see what I’m gonna do next.” He lowered his mouth so it was a fraction away from hers. His breath was foul, and she gagged as spittle dripped from his mouth onto her lips. “You’ve been a pain in my fucking side for far too long. You know that? You think you’re such hot shit. Always walking around like you’re so high and mighty, thinking you know everything. So smart. Looks like you’re not so smart after all, huh? Letting a man into your house, all alone? What kind of woman does that?”

  She bucked, trying to bring her knees, her feet, anything into contact with him so she could try to shift him off her. But she knew as she was doing it that it was futile. She was too small and he was too big, too strong. His anger, his rage, only providing more fuel, more power.

  He crushed his lips to hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth.

  “You like that, huh?” he said, his tongue leaving a wet trail on her lips and then her cheek before he plunged it into her mouth again.

  She gagged, twisting and turning to try to avoid the assault. With one hand he held her in place and with the other he groped her body, his hand covering her breast, squeezing it too hard, too tight.

  Tears flooded her eyes and she twisted from side to side, desperate to get away.

  “Stop,” she rasped against his mouth. “Stop!” She bucked once more and this time, she managed to shift him off her, enough so she could draw her knee up and smash it into his groin.

  He groaned and automatically lifted off her to cup his crotch. She scrambled on her hands and knees, dragging herself across the floor.

  He roared from behind her and his hand plunged into her hair. He yanked her head up and then smashed it into the floor. Stars exploded behind her eyes and her nose cracked. Liquid pooled in her mouth, a rusty, iron taste on her tongue.

  Blood.

  She tried to move but her vision tunneled. She thought she saw Harry approach, his ears up, his teeth bared, but she knew this was impossible. He was kenneled. Everything was shifting, fading, blurring.

  She heard a crash, something that sounded like wood splintering. She lifted her head, tried to focus. Cold air rushed in from somewhere, sending shivers down her spine. A shadowy figure appeared, tall, looming. Angry.

  And then everything went black.

  35

  Tuesday, March 27th

  8:30pm

  Lucas didn’t think.

  He reacted.

  Alaina slumped on the floor, the wood beneath her head streaked with blood.

  Hair a tangled mess, limbs slack.

  His gaze shot to the man next to her, the man on his knees who held a clump of long blonde hair between his fingers, whose face was a mask of rage.

  Lucas threw his keys down and sprinted across the living room, launching himself at Rob. He landed on top of him, and he heard the whoosh of air escape from Rob’s lungs as his back cracked into the floor.

  Lucas didn’t think.

  His fist connected with Rob’s face, his hard knuckles smashing against his nose, against his jaw. Blood spurted from his nostrils, running down his face, coating his teeth, and still Lucas didn’t stop, his fist connecting again and again.

  His own rage fueled him. Rage at seeing Alaina sprawled out on the floor, unconscious or worse…dead. Rage at this man who had attacked her, who had strands of her hair wrapped between his fingers. He didn’t want to think about what else this man had done to her. He couldn’t.

  “Stop,” Rob gasped, his breath punching out of him in jerky sobs. He tried to shield his face with his hands. “Stop.”

  “You hurt her,” Lucas growled. His fist was poised in midair, ready to strike again. Rob’s left eye was swollen shut, his cheeks a mess of angry purple bruises.

  “I didn’t,” Rob whined. “She attacked me.” He touched his cheek. “That bitch bit me.”

  Lucas could see the teeth marks on Rob’s bloodied skin. He glanced at Alaina, just a quick look, but that was all Rob needed. He shoved Lucas off him, sending him backward, and pushed himself off the floor.

  His boot crashed into Lucas’s side and his body caved, doubling over. Rob kicked him again, his boot hitting the same spot, and Lucas cried out. He clutched his side, trying to protect it, but Rob moved on, this time smashing his boot into Lucas’s knee. He howled and Rob laughed.

  “That’s your bad one, right?” His smile was bloody. “Your little accident on the field? The one that cost you your job?” He kicked him again and the pain was so excruciating, Lucas was sure his kneecap had shattered again.

  “You’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, man,” Rob said, his foot raised, almost as if he were ready to strike again. “I was ready to take care of this bitch by myself, but you? You’ve gone and complicated everything, haven’t you? Showing up here, thinking you’re gonna swoop in and save the day? Newsflash, loser: you won’t. And now I’m gonna have to take care of your sorry ass, too.” His boot smashed into Lucas’s leg again, but Lucas managed to shift enough so the force came down on his calf.

  Lucas sucked in a lungful of air, trying to breathe his way through the pain pulsing through his knee and his side.

  He had to stand up.

  He had to fight.

  Dammit, he wished he had a gun.

  He set his hands on the floor to steady himself and he felt something cold beneath his palm. He maneuvered it into his hand and closed his fist around it.

  He closed his eyes, willing himself to fight through the pain, to get to his feet and take this asshole down.

  He opened his eyes. To his surprise, Rob wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t ready to strike. His attention was on Alaina, who was still motionless on the floor.

  Lucas made his move. He staggered to his feet, his eyes widening as Rob seemed to come at him in slow motion. His arm pulled back, almost like a bow, and Lucas lunged for him, crying out as he bore down on his bad leg but still followed through. It was the keys he’d found and slid between his fingers, the ring of keys fisted in his hand, his house key and car key both aimed outward like daggers. Rob saw them, his eyes widening as Lucas stabbed them into his groin.

  Rob fell to his knees and Lucas steadied himself, trying not to follow suit. The giant rolled around on the floor, clutching his groin and moaning.

  Lucas didn’t give a shit.

  His first thought—his only thought—was Alaina.

  He stumbled toward her, every move agony, when he heard a voice bark from the opened front door.

  “Get your hands up.”

  Lucas stilled and then, as he turned toward the door, a slow smile spread across his face.

  Blaine and Ollie crowded the entranceway, their guns drawn.

  Lucas dropped next to Alaina. But not before he managed to whisper, “About fucking time.”

  36

  Tuesday, March 27th

  11:00pm

  “I owe you.”

  Blaine glanced at his friend. “Damn right you do.”

  Lucas was back at the station with Blaine and Ollie. He’d given his statement and had watched with satisfaction as Rob Grimmer was booked on charges of assault, attempted rape and a host of other crimes. The responding paramedics had determined his injuries were mostly superficial—cuts and bruises—that didn’t require medical care, so he bypassed the hospital and went straight to the county jail for processing.

  Alaina was an
other story. By the time Blaine and Ollie had secured the scene and had Rob in cuffs, she’d regained consciousness. Lucas had ripped off his shirt and sat next to her on the floor, dabbing at the wounds on her face, trying to clean up the blood and stem the bleeding. She was incoherent, seemingly going in and out of consciousness, and he’d focused all of his attention on her, whispering words he couldn’t remember now. The paramedics had arrived and after a quick assessment, decided she was dealing with a concussion and possible head trauma and had whisked her away to the hospital. It had been almost impossible to wrench her free of Lucas’s grip until Blaine intervened.

  He squatted down next to his friend. “Look at me, man,” he commanded.

  Lucas could barely see him through the tears building, threatening to fall.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Blaine told him. “But she needs help.”

  Lucas shook his head. “No.”

  “Lucas.” Blaine’s voice was sharper now. “They’ll take care of her. She’ll have the best care.”

  “No, no, no.”

  “Sally,” Blaine said suddenly. “Sally will take care of her. You know Sally. You trust her, right?”

  Slowly, Lucas nodded. Sally was Nate’s girlfriend. Nate was Blaine’s brother and a fellow police officer. Lucas had never been particularly close to Nate, but he trusted him. And he trusted Sally.

  Blaine gave a slight nod to the paramedics and then gently lifted Lucas’s hand off Alaina’s shoulder.

  “She’s gonna be fine,” he repeated. “I promise.”

  And he’d been right. On the way to the police station, Blaine had gotten a call. Wordlessly, he’d handed the phone to Lucas. A woman’s voice on the other end assured him that Alaina was fine. A mild concussion, no internal bleeding. They would keep her overnight for observation. She was sleeping soundly.

  Sally’s voice was like a warm caress, offering him the reassurance he’d needed.

  “You want more coffee?” Blaine asked.

  Lucas blinked, and suddenly he was back in the present, sitting across from Blaine, the bright fluorescents making him squint.

  “Sure,” he said, holding out his Styrofoam cup.

  Blaine poured a generous slosh of coffee in it and Lucas sipped it, not even caring that there was no cream to tamp down the bitterness.

  “Why were you there?” Blaine asked him as he took his seat.

  “Where?”

  “At Alaina’s. You got there after Rob.”

  Lucas hesitated.

  Blaine frowned.

  “I was putting gas in my car,” he said. “And I ran into a woman I know.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “One of Noah’s former teachers,” Lucas said. “And a woman I’d sort of hooked up with a couple of weeks ago.”

  Confusion flitted across Blaine’s face.

  “Look, it’s a long story. But she said she’d seen Alaina earlier and told her something that wasn’t true. I…I stopped by to set the record straight.”

  “About the case?”

  “No, about us. She told Alaina we had a date for later in the week.” Lucas made a face. “And we most definitely did not.”

  Blaine stared at him from across the desk, his lips twitching. “You really care about Alaina, don’t you?”

  Lucas responded by shifting his gaze to his hands. He wasn’t ready to talk about it…mostly because he didn’t know how to put what he was feeling into words. Yes, he cared about Alaina, but he would’ve stepped in to help anyone under attack. But there was something different about his reaction, his response, when he’d seen Rob in Alaina’s home, and something different in how he felt in the aftermath.

  He’d been hyperaware, hyper-reactive. He’d felt like a gladiator, like a Secret Service agent, ready to defend to the death, the consequences to his own life and his own health be damned.

  The intensity of his emotions had blindsided him. Caught him completely off-guard.

  And he didn’t know what to do about it, much less how to explain it to the guy sitting across from him. Because he was still trying to explain it to himself.

  “I know how you feel, man.”

  Lucas looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “About Alaina.” He paused. “It’s the same way I feel about Rosie.”

  Lucas didn’t say anything.

  “It’s okay if you care about her. If you love her. You’re allowed to.”

  Lucas squirmed in his chair.

  Blaine smiled. “You don’t have to say it. I can read it on your face, man. You’re totally in love with her.”

  Lucas frowned. Sometimes he really fucking hated that he and Blaine were so close.

  Blaine chuckled, then cleared his throat. “You should go in.”

  “What?”

  “To the hospital,” he said.

  Lucas braced himself. “To see Alaina? You think I could?”

  Blaine shook his head. “Not what I meant. To get that knee checked out.”

  Lucas tried to stretch his leg, then winced. “I’m fine,” he said shortly.

  “Bullshit,” Blaine said.

  “I’ll go in soon.”

  “When?”

  He didn’t care about his leg, about needing medical attention. He cared about Alaina, and he cared about the case. Since he was in the police station, he knew which one he could get immediate answers on.

  “After I hear the full report.”

  Blaine picked up a sheet of paper on his desk and gave it a quick once-over. “Nate’s in there with Grimmer now. Jessica went to pick up Garrett so we can question him.”

  “What did Nate say when you spoke to him?”

  Blaine ran a hand through his hair.

  Lucas leaned in. “Don’t fucking hold out on me, man.”

  “I’m not, I’m not,” he said quickly. “Look, from what I know right now, it looks like the Grimmer kid had some sort of dispute with Noah. Something about a girl.”

  Lucas nodded. “Lindsay Hopkins. And I don’t think it was a dispute. I think he did something to her…”

  Blaine’s expression darkened. “Guess we’ll find that out when Garrett gets his ass in here.” He paused. “The older Grimmer admitted to losing his temper at Alaina’s. Assaulting her.”

  A muscle in Lucas’s jaw twitched.

  “And he admitted that his son inadvertently caused Noah’s death.”

  Lucas almost dropped his coffee. “What?”

  Blaine gave a slight nod. “Guess he and his buddy went over there to give him a talking to, scare him a little. They thought it would be funny to string him up as a joke…make him shit his pants or something. But then they heard a noise, thought someone might be home, and they got spooked. Took off. And didn’t take him down.”

  “Holy shit.” Lucas felt sick.

  “Uh-huh.” Blaine’s expression was hard. “Jack Whitman was the driver. Not sure if he was in the house, too, or if he stayed with the car. We have another unit we just sent out to bring him in for questioning.”

  Lucas heard him but his mind was drifting elsewhere.

  Alaina had been right about Noah.

  About his death.

  She had been right.

  37

  Friday, April 13th

  10:10am

  Sunlight streamed through the trees. The beams of light made the headstone glitter, almost as if the granite was somehow embedded with diamonds.

  “Is it okay?” a voice asked quietly.

  Alaina turned.

  Lucas was standing a few feet behind her, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He wore a dark brown thermal, a perfect match with both his eyes and hair. He’d traded in his snow boots for work boots, tan ones that were scuffed and worn. He held a cane in one hand, carrying it just off the ground, his legs appearing to evenly absorb his body weight.

  Her gaze drifted from him to the silver mailbox mounted to a wooden pole. It was planted just to the right of Noah’s grave. Sleek and shiny, it also reflec
ted the sunlight.

  Alaina smiled. “It’s perfect.”

  Lucas took a step toward her, using his cane to advance himself. His face registered no pain, which was a good thing. Alaina knew the last couple of weeks had been a struggle for him as he’d recuperated from the injuries he’d sustained.

  “I know you feel like you weren’t a part of his life these last few years,” he said. “I thought this way you could share with him what you’re doing. Write him a letter every once in a while.”

  Her eyes were bright with tears. “I will,” she promised.

  They were quiet for a moment, both of them locked in on the grave they were standing in front of. Birds chirped in the still-bare trees, some of the braver ones flitting to the greening grass in search of bugs. A slight breeze blew, a warm one finally, and it teased Alaina’s hair, whipping strands against her cheeks.

  Lucas reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Alaina didn’t respond right away.

  The last few weeks had had a dreamlike quality to them. She’d spent a day in the hospital, recovering from her concussion, and then had convalesced at home, battling nausea and headaches and visual disturbances for the better part of a week. Her physical injuries had been enough to sideline her from the responsibilities of her job, but the emotional scars had taken their own unique toll.

  She’d managed to move through the stages of grief pretty quickly, had actually felt like she’d sidestepped one or two of them, because now, standing at Noah’s gravesite, the wind blowing and the sun shining, she felt an overwhelming sense of acceptance.

  She missed him. Of course she missed him. And she still harbored guilt over all of the lost opportunities, his repeated attempts to connect and her constant rebuffs.

  But she also recognized that those were things in the past, things she had no control over. The one thing she could weigh in on, she did—and she’d been able to prove that Noah’s death, while not premeditated murder, had also not been a suicide.