by Debra Webb
Lynette tossed the paperback aside. “What do you want to talk about, Tricia? The way you hate my job or the idea that you’re going to be stuck taking care of the baby all the time?”
Tricia glared at her. She had the most beautiful green eyes, and when she was angry, like now, they grew as dark as emeralds. “Aren’t they one and the same?”
Lynette shook her head. “Here we go again.”
Tricia struggled up from her chair and came over to the sofa, surprising Lynette. She sat down next to her and took Lynette’s face in her hands. “Don’t you understand that I’m frustrated and angry not because you love your job but because I’m terrified it’s going to take you from me.” She put Lynette’s hand on her belly. “From us.”
The tension melted from Lynette and she leaned down and pressed a kiss to her wife’s belly. “I’ve told you again and again.” She lifted her gaze to Tricia. “I’m very good at my job. I’m not going to get myself killed and leave you. You have my word on that.”
“This coming from the cop who just this week was shot at by a deranged old man?”
Lynette pulled Tricia into her arms. “You’re right. I can’t promise you I won’t be in the line of fire. I guess I can’t even promise you that I won’t get hurt on the job. There are a lot of crazies out there. But—” she held Tricia close when she would have pulled away “—I can promise you that I will do all within my power to make sure I come home to you and this baby at the end of every shift.”
Tricia drew back and searched her face, her eyes. “We need you.”
Lynette smiled. “I need you. Both of you.”
Tricia kissed her so tenderly that Lynette lost her breath.
Lynette stood and held out her hand. Tricia put her hand in Lynette’s and got to her feet. They walked hand in hand to their bedroom.
Taking their time, they undressed each other. Lynette kissed every part of her lover’s body. She was so grateful for this woman. So grateful for this child. Never in her life had she felt so blessed, so complete. She would not allow anything or anyone to come between them.
Tricia lay down on the bed, and Lynette joined her.
“We will always be together like this,” Lynette promised.
“A family,” Tricia confirmed.
“The best family,” Lynette agreed.
Then they lost themselves to the sweet pleasure of making love.
Forty-One
Commerce Street, 7:00 p.m.
Asher picked up the clean cloth and wiped down his Glock once more.
Cleaned and lubricated, he placed the weapon on the towel he had spread across the table. He lit a cigarette, drawing in a deep lungful and then slowly exhaling.
Feeling restless, he got up and walked to the window. His loft wasn’t anything to brag about. One big room with a decent-sized bathroom. But the view was killer. The big-ass front window overlooked the Court Square. In fact, he’d been the one to first spot the body Perry had left by the fountain. Then he’d been pissed as hell when that dick LeDoux had chosen Gentry over him for his task force.
Asher went to the counter and reached into the cabinet over the sink for the pint of JD he’d stashed there. He opened the bottle and downed as much as he could swallow before choking. He gagged, then wiped his mouth. For ten seconds he just stood there with his eyes closed, waiting for the alcohol to hit his bloodstream.
If he drank the whole damned thing, it wouldn’t be enough.
He went back to the table and sat down. He stared at the framed photo that sat in the center of the table.
“I miss you so much, Leyla. Why did you have to die on me?”
He’d found her in the tub, the water cold, a half-empty bottle of wine on the floor along with the entirely empty bottle of sleeping pills.
Because he’d been a womanizing ass before he met Leyla, everyone assumed he’d screwed up and done something to hurt her that made her take her life. Not true. She’d found out she had stage-four ovarian cancer, and the doctor had told her the only possible chance of extending her life was to remove her ovaries and undergo chemo. Even then she wasn’t likely to live long.
They were planning their wedding, and she’d already stopped taking her birth control pills because they wanted to have a baby as soon as possible.
Her letter said she’d decided to die her way to save her family and him the agony of her slow, painful death from cancer. She’d told him how much she loved him, and then she’d closed with fuck cancer.
She’d left a similar letter for her parents and sister.
He downed another mouthful of bourbon.
No matter how much he drank, the pain never really went away. He’d been so damned mad the other day when he’d confronted that old man. For a split second Asher had hoped the old guy would whip around and put that last slug in him. Asher doubted the distraught man would have had the balls to shoot anyone. He’d just wanted to have his say in a way where someone would pay attention.
Asher stared at his Glock. He’d stuck that thing in his mouth a hundred times and he still didn’t have the balls.
“Sorry,” he said to Leyla. He was too big a coward to be as courageous as she had been. Instead, he folded the towel and sat the Glock on top of it. He fished his cell from his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. He tapped the name of the woman who’d hit on him in that bar the other night. When she answered, he said, “Hey, this is Asher.”
She went through the whole spiel of how glad she was he’d called because she’d thought he wasn’t going to.
He licked his lips and forced them into a smile. “Well, I’ve had a hell of a week, and I’m a little drunk. I thought maybe you might pick me up, and we can get to know each other a little better.”
“Text me your addy, and I’ll be right there,” she promised.
“All right. I’ll do that now.” He ended the call and sent her his address.
Asher downed another swig of JD.
He’d drink a little more and he’d fuck this girl’s brains out, and maybe he could forget for a little while how much he hated himself.
Forty-Two
Oakwood Cemetery,
Friday, September 2, 10:00 a.m.
I was dead once.
In every way that mattered. The Storyteller took all that mattered from her. What was the point of living...of breathing?
Come back, Detective Gentry.
But a voice Bobbie still didn’t recognize had called her back. She had decided the vague memory she couldn’t quite grasp all these months was a dream or one of those near-death experiences. Maybe she would never know what or who had brought her back from that coma where she’d hidden from the desolate life that refused to end...the broken heart that refused to stop beating.
Bobbie placed the small teddy bear on Jamie’s grave. Beside him, she’d arranged dahlias on his father’s. James had loved dahlias. He said they reminded him of the honeymoon they’d spent in Mexico. She dragged a few fallen leaves away from their headstones. James’s parents had owned a family plot in this cemetery for more than a century. She and James never talked about where they should be buried, but this had seemed like the right thing to do.
It was the one step she’d taken that had pleased his parents.
The cemetery was a famous one with lots of big old trees and lovely burial monuments. There were visitors nearly all the time. James would appreciate that part. He’d loved the constant flow of people in the university library where he’d worked since he was a student himself. There’s always someone looking for a good book, he would say.
“I miss you so much.” Tears welled in her eyes. How could she possibly go on without them? Without Newt?
From the day she’d left the hospital for good she had been certain she wouldn’t survive the showdown w
ith the Storyteller. She hadn’t wanted to survive. Yet here she was. Not once in the past forty or so hours had she felt the urge to do anything about it. Before, she had known without doubt that she wanted to die. How could she possibly live without her husband and her child?
Now, rather than the suffocating certainty that she couldn’t go on without them, she felt a growing desire to get through the day—one day at a time.
For me.
Her fingers stilled on the cool grass blanketing the ground. A tiny part of her was ashamed of the selfish feeling, but in her heart she knew the people she had loved with every part of her being would want her to go on. They would want her to keep living. They would want her to be happy.
“I will always love you.” She pushed the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ears. “I think I’ll be okay now.”
In truth, she probably owed her survival to Nick Shade. When she’d told Perry about his mother, he’d lost his ability to stay focused. He’d gone off the rails for a few minutes. That momentary lapse had given her a chance to gain the upper hand.
The bastard was in hell now where he belonged. The FBI was on top of his father. He was going down for his crimes, as well. Tomorrow Gwen would be buried. Bobbie’s heart ached for the woman who had helped her so much. She planned to make a significant donation to Tara Evans’s ongoing leukemia treatments in Gwen’s name. It was the least she could do for the devastated family of Carl Evans. Between James’s insurance policy and the trust he’d inherited when he turned twenty-five, she could afford to help. James would agree with her decision.
LeDoux and his team had left yesterday. Bobbie would keep his secret, but she wished she could make him see what a mistake that decision was.
He’d have to learn the hard way just as she had.
Today, she would be attending Newt’s funeral. The fresh ache in her heart was sharp and crushing. Her team and the chief would be at her side. Something else she’d realized in the past forty hours, she owed it to Newt to pull her life back together. He’d lost his protecting her. She owed him for that sacrifice. Taking the easy way out would be a truly selfish act. In a couple of weeks she would go back to work and be the kind of cop her father was...that Newt was. She would make her uncle Teddy proud.
Bobbie stood. It was time for her to move on. She felt certain it wouldn’t be easy some days, but she was prepared for the challenge. Determined to start right now, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and walked forward. At the gate she hesitated. She wasn’t sure what the future held and, frankly, it was more than a little unsettling.
“I’ve been looking for you, Detective Gentry.”
Shade’s voice had her lifting her hand to block the sun so she could see him moving toward her. Her pulse reacted. She hadn’t told him she knew his real name or that she was aware who his father was. Mere details. Details that were completely irrelevant to who this man truly was.
“I thought you were gone.” The feelings he elicited, desire, need, hope—the ones Perry had stolen from her—welled inside her now.
“I wanted to find you first. To say goodbye.”
His words, find, Detective Gentry, echoed through her soul. “Wait.” She searched his eyes. “It was you.” Emotion stole her breath for a moment. “All this time I remembered hearing this voice, but I could never grasp where the words had come from. It was you,” she repeated. “When you visited me in the hospital, you made a promise.”
Come back, Detective Gentry. I will find him.
She swiped at a tear that managed to slip past her determination not to cry in front of this mysterious man. “Your promise brought me back when I was—” she took a breath “—done with living.”
He reached out and traced another tear that managed to escape. The warmth of his touch shimmered through her. “We did it together.”
She nodded. He was right. They had. “So what now?” She summoned a smile. “I suppose you’re off to catch the next serial killer on your list.”
“It’s what I do.”
For one long moment she could only stare at him. There were so many things she wanted to ask...to say. No. He didn’t owe her any answers and anything she said right now would likely come out far too needy and emotional.
“What about you?” he asked, breaking the awkward moment. “It’s time to take your life back.”
“That’s the plan.” She shrugged. “I’m thinking of getting a dog.” She had decided during her run last night to approach the woman down the street about taking D-Boy off her hands.
“Good plan, Detective.”
“Yeah.”
More of those tense seconds ticked off with them both standing there in the morning sun not knowing exactly what to do or to say next.
“I guess this is goodbye then,” she said, her heart pounding. She extended her hand for a so-long shake.
His fingers curled around hers, and she realized at that instant she couldn’t let this end that way. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him with all her might. “Thank you.” He smelled like the sun and the breeze, and she wanted to stay right here in his strong arms for far longer than either of them was prepared to allow.
She drew back first. “Be safe, Nick Shade.”
“You, too, Detective.” He cupped her face and traced her cheek with his thumb. “You, too.”
Bobbie watched him walk away.
When he was gone, she lifted her face to the sun and let go of the darkness.
* * * * *
Watch for the next SHADES OF DEATH,
A DEEPER GRAVE, coming soon from
Debra Webb and MIRA Books.
Did you miss the shocking prequel?
Be sure to order your copy of
THE BLACKEST CRIMSON
wherever ebooks are sold!
Keep reading for an excerpt from A DEEPER GRAVE by Debra Webb.
“Debra Webb is a master storyteller.”
—Allison Brennan, New York Times bestselling author
Looking for more suspenseful reads from award-winning author Debra Webb? Make sure to continue your journey with the electrifying:
A Deeper Grave
Serial-killer hunter Nick Shade built his career chasing monsters—sadistic criminals with a gruesome thirst for death. When he rescued Montgomery detective Bobbie Gentry from horrific captivity and helped her reclaim her life, he didn’t intend to be a hero. Or a target. But now a copycat murderer haunts him, and reuniting with Bobbie is his best chance at neutralizing the threat. Bobbie can’t forget the nightmares of her trauma—or the man who saved her. But the only way they can protect themselves is to trust each other.
“Webb keeps the suspense teasingly taut, dropping clues and red herrings one after another on her way to a chilling conclusion.”
—Publishers Weekly on TRACELESS
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A Deeper Grave
by Debra Webb
One
Only on the edge of the grave can man conclude anything.
—Henry Adams
Westminster Drive
Wednesday, October 19, 10:00 p.m.
Fern Parker turned up the volume until the music vibrated in her earbuds. She closed her eyes a
nd tried to pretend her parents weren’t right down the hall screaming at each other. Ever since they moved into this shitty house in this shitty neighborhood all those two ever did was fight. It didn’t matter that she and her brother had lost nearly all their friends or that they couldn’t even go to the mall or any damned where else without being pointed at and whispered about. The worst part was moving to a new school. Fern hated the place, she hated the other kids and she hated the teachers. All her parents cared about was proving who was the guiltiest.
She hated them both. Hated her life.
Fern pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut a little tighter. God, she wished she had some weed. Maybe she’d have some later. He had bought it for her before. Last time it was beer. A smile softened her lips. He was so damned hot. Maybe tonight they’d have sex. He’d pretended not to want it as much as she did, but she knew. He was only trying to be a gentleman. Older guys were like that. She didn’t care that he was older. He was watching out for Fern and her family like a guardian angel. No one else cared.
He deserved something for all his trouble. Besides, Fern was tired of being a virgin. Tonight she was going to be bad. Just let her parents try getting in her shit for being bad. “I hate you both,” she muttered.
Something touched her arm and she jumped. Sage. Her crybaby little brother.
“What do you want?” she demanded, removing an earbud. He scared the crap out of her sneaking around like that. She should have locked her door.
“Can I sleep in your bed?” He stared up at her with those puppy dog eyes all shiny with tears. You’d think he was five instead of ten.
Hard as she tried not to care, she regretted yelling at him and for one second she almost said yes. She loved the little brat even if he made her so mad sometimes. He always got scared when their parents argued. Then she remembered the guy she’d promised to meet after her parents crashed. No contest.
“Get out of here!” She snagged her brother by the arm and escorted him into the hall. “Leave me alone,” she warned.
“Pleeease,” he whined.
“Go away!” Fern slammed the door in his face.