by Martha Woods
Michael smirked, "Tell me about it, something tells me our group isn't as tight knit." They both looked over to the door where Cayden was stood, apprehension clear on his face.
Liam rolled his eyes, "I'm not going to bite Cayden." Sighing, he extended his hand, "I figure... we can't fight each other forever. Since I'm with Skylar and apparently, you're with Farah, still no idea how that happened, maybe we should be more civil."
Cayden stepped forward and took the handing, he smirked, "Friends?"
Liam drew his hand back and growled, "Don't push it."
"Aw would you look at this?" Michael snorted, "We're best friends now."
* * *
The dinner was wonderful, everyone was civil, Liam even briefly chuckled at one of Liam's jokes. Skylar say back and smiled, though she couldn't get her father's warning out of her head.
To come down personally and tell us... That has to mean something, right? It doesn't make up for not noticing my pregnancy but... surely there's something there.
She shook her head, now was not the time to think of that. She was surrounded by the people she cared about, having a wonderful dinner and enjoying the moment. She wasn't going to ruin that with depressing thoughts.
She noticed that Michael was talking to her, she leaned in, "Sorry Michael, what was that?"
"I asked how things have been going, you know, with everything."
She smiled, "Everything's going fine. Actually, everything's going great! I'm going to be starting a business soon!"
Hayley looked surprised, "A business? What sort?"
"It's going to be tax related, we just bought the property yesterday." She grinned, "We're going to start construction soon."
Cayden whistled, "Impressive. You going to need any help? I mean, I don't know how much help I'd be, but anything you think I'd be good at I'll help out with."
She shook her head, "Oh no, you don't have to do that..."
He smiled, "But I want to."
Everyone else nodded, "So do we. Anything we can do."
She was stunned, she looked around the room at all of them, "You guys... I..." She blushed, "Thank you so much."
She smiled, "If I think I need help with anything, I won't hesitate to call you. That means so much to me."
Michael shrugged, "We're family Sky. It's what we're supposed to do."
So, this is what it feels like, this moment. This is how it feels to have a family.
Conversation continued after that, the new couples at the table awkwardly avoiding answering questions and taking joy in hoisting them on others. She looked around the table, the subtle way Farah was leaning towards Cayden, the awkward touches between Michael and Hayley. It was everything she wanted, everything she ever dreamed of having. In that moment, she was content.
She felt the baby kick, and kick hard. She gasped at the feeling, and everyone fell silent. They looked in her in worry, and she frantically waved off their concern. "I'm fine, I'm fine! Don't worry, he's just kicking." She looked up and smiled at Liam, beckoning him over, "Come here."
He stood and walked over, sitting down softly next to her. She reached over and grabbed his hand, placing it on her stomach. "What are-" He cut himself off as he felt the baby moving, the feeling of his child living and breathing underneath his touch. "Wow." He breathed out the word, not bothering to hide the fact that his eyes were starting to water. "I... Wow." The rest of the room looked at the two of them, the image of his tears of joy making their own eyes begin to water. Cayden couldn't help but feel joy for the two of them, looking at Skylar.
That's all I wanted. I just wanted her to be happy. He smiled, tears of happiness streaming down his face. Thank god she found it.
Liam awkwardly cleared his throat, "I'm... sorry about that, I lost myself for a minute." Skylar squeezed his hand, smiling up at him, "I... Thank you all for being here. It means a lot to the both of us."
The conversation drifted to other areas over the next few hours, the other guests coming over to feel the baby when he began kicking again.
For a while everything was normal. There was no prophecy, no worry about her pregnancy. There was no impending threat that they had to prepare for. For those few hours, they were just a group of friends from all areas of life, united at last, enjoying each other’s company. For many of them, it was the first time in a long time that they felt truly at ease.
* * *
Everyone was reluctant to leave, but they had their own homes, their own responsibilities to see to. As Liam closed the door on the last one, he noticed something. He hadn't stopped smiling for hours. The thought made him chuckle, "Can't have that happen too much."
Skylar wrapped her arms around his waist, "Thank you so much Liam."
"What for?"
She nuzzled against his back, "For everything. For inviting them over, for building a life with me. Thank you for being you."
He turned in her arms, placing a kiss to the top of her head, "I wouldn't be the same without you. Thank you for giving me a life worth living. Thank you for giving me happiness." He stroked her stomach, "Thank you for giving me a future."
She grabbed his hand and started to drag him to the office, he smirked, "You know I just cleaned that desk recently, I'm not sure I want to do it again."
She snorted, "Not that! We should probably start planning for the office, construction's going to start soon, we should probably come up with a plan."
He nodded, "That would be smart, I can't expect them to build without blueprints."
For the next hour, they discussed what they would be looking for, what would be the best option. She was really putting herself into the plan, the prospect of running a business one of the most exciting things she had felt in years.
He looked at her with love filled eyes, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at her in breathless wonder. "I love you so much Skylar."
She looked up at him, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She smiled widely, "I love you too Liam."
There they sat, the three members of the Conway family. A room seldom felt so filled with love as that one did that night.
* * *
He exhaled as he looked up at the moon, cigar smoke mingling with the steam of his breath as it floated to the heavens. He breathed in and out slowly, a movement that gave away no indication of feeling. He didn't seem nervous, happy, angry or sad. He just seemed to be there.
He stomped the cigar out under his boot as he leaned back against the car, the forest all around him. Boots crunching through the leaves caught his attention, "Christ boss, I can't believe we're in this shithole." The man checked underneath his shoes, "Can't go anywhere without stepping in shit."
The boss huffed, "My son is somewhere in this town Grayson, and I'm going to find him. Even if I have to tear this town apart to do it."
Grayson stretched his shoulders, "What do you want us to do?"
He shrugged, "Grab someone in town, ask if they know anything about some idiot from out of town coming through here. Ask if they know what happened, if you need to ask a little... harshly."
"What are you going to do if you find him boss?"
He shrugged, "If he's alive, I'll beat the shit out of him then bring him home. If he's dead..." He sniffed, "Well if he's dead then I'll kill every person in this town to make up for it."
Grayson nodded, "Alright, I guess we'll get started then." He whistled, "Boys! Fan out and search through town, look for anyone that might know where the boss's kid is!"
Car after car drove off, the forest lighting up with their headlights before plunging itself into darkness again. The boss breathed in the air deeply, letting the cold rush into his lungs before exhaling slowly again. He cracked his neck, methodically getting every crick out of it he could. He sighed, before looking back up at the sky.
Grayson walked up beside him, "Sir? I hate to ask you this but... Are you alright?"
He looked at him, "My son is likely dead. I don't anticipate finding anything except a body,
and maybe not even that."
"I'm sorry sir, we'll do what we can."
"What you can do is make sure the people directly responsible are brought to me. Alive. I want them to know who I am, and why they are going to die." He flexed his hand, limbering up his fingers, "I want to do it myself." He smirked as he looked at the clouds, the darkening of the sky as they covered the moon.
"Looks like a storm’s on the way."
Bonus Book 1
The Vampire’s Desire
(Book 1 of the Fatal Allure Series)
Martha Woods
© 2016 Martha Woods
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For permissions contact: [email protected]
Chapter 1
I am sitting at home sipping my glass of Shiraz and nibbling on cheese and crackers. I roll my eyes as the credits roll to a romantic comedy that ended with a stereotypical happily ever after. I scoff. I don’t know why I watched it. I knew the ending would be made up of a predictable plot where the characters’ love is the most important thing in this world and completely outweighed any rational logic for what would happen after the credits stopped rolling.
“Happily ever after.” I smirk. I know that there is no such thing. At least not when it came to romance. Why did a woman need a man to make her life complete?
What happened to self-esteem? To knowing that actually, you don’t need the stereotypical bad boy to change overnight and run off into the sunset with you? I always thought these movies would have a happier ending if right at the end, when the man had “changed,” the woman laughed and told him it was only ever about sex, and walked off into the sunset on her own.
Cara, my best friend, would describe me as cynical. She would say it’s a defense mechanism – if I don’t believe in love and romance, then I don’t have to admit that it’s just never happened for me.
I would describe myself as a realist. I just don’t think we’re programmed for monogamy, at least not long term. I have to agree with Cara on one point, though. It probably will never happen for me.
I’m a twenty-seven-year-old forensic scientist working for the LAPD. I am smart. I can hold my own in situations that would turn most people’s stomachs. Yet, here’s the kicker: whenever I find myself with a man who I find attractive, I turn into a clumsy thirteen-year-old who can’t string together a sentence. I’m the one who will trip up, knock something over, or say something really awkward.
One of my least disastrous recent dates, in fact, featured me getting so flustered when the guy had bought me a bouquet that I managed to knock over the entire display of flowers, causing who knows how many dollars of damage. There went that week’s pay. Needless to say, I declined a second date.
Maybe that’s part of the reason why I’m a cynic. Sorry, a realist.
But I’m not heartbroken about it or anything. I have Bella, my adorable and loyal puppy, and right now, she’s the only housemate I want or need. She’s been my constant companion since the day I picked her up from the pound. With my crazy work schedule, she’s really the best partner I could ask for, and she doesn’t mind a good long run. I reach out and run my hand over Bella’s soft fur. She wags her tail and snuggles closer to my side.
I reach for the remote and flick through the channels. I’m looking for a horror movie, maybe a sci-fi at a push. No more icky love stuff. Sometimes I’m in the mood to leer at a Rom Com, but the inclination usually doesn’t last long. I know it’s all totally contrived. Real love doesn’t exist. And commitment just isn’t in our DNA. I’ve had enough personal experiences to know that – and worked enough cases that reinforced the idea. People would probably agree with me about my “cynical” outlook if they knew how many murders were perpetrated by lovers. Cheating spouses, insurance scams, arguments gone horribly wrong…if that’s what love is all about, count me out. Something catches my eye, and I flick back a channel.
There. A good old fashioned newscast. No fairytales here.
“We can confirm that the body of an unidentified female has been found just moments ago in the parking lot of The Watering Well.”
Great, I think. I count to five, and sure enough, as I hit five, my pager lights up. With a sigh, I lift Bella off my lap and set her on the ground, reaching for my cell phone. I call in and let the dispatcher know I’m on my way.
I grab my car keys and my purse and lock the door behind me. I get into my car and set my bag on the passenger seat. My cell phone, I place on the dashboard. My pager goes in the little alcove in the center console, where I can see the screen clearly without taking my hands off the wheel to pick it up. I have a system. Some people might call me obsessive, but I prefer organized. Obsessive, organized. Cynic, realist. Cara would say I’m just trying to justify my personality flaws. She’s a lawyer, but she likes to think she’s also my therapist. I don’t mind, though. If nothing else, she keeps my ego in check. I chuckle a little to myself at the thought. Cara would keep anyone’s ego in check. She’s gorgeous, successful, always at ease, and always kind. It’s hard not to compare myself to her and come up a bit short.
As I drive towards The Watering Well, I sigh. I can’t believe a reporter heard about this before I did. I’m the chief forensic officer for the LAPD, and I found out about a murder through a newscast! Heads would roll of people found out about this.
I push the thought away. It’s not like Rick doesn’t already have enough on his plate without me making trouble for him.
I know before I’m even close to the scene that it will be Rick. Rick Gordon. And I know before I arrive exactly what I’ll find. Rick is the lead officer investigating a series of grisly murders in the city. They have happened over the course of the last month. All of the victims are women. All of them turn up in parking lots, alleys and other outdoors places. And all of them are mutilated.
The bodies look as though a wild animal has been on them, but there is never a trace of forensic evidence to back up such a theory. These murders are very much man-made. I find that fitting. The things human beings do to each other are far worse than anything a wild animal might do.
The public is becoming restless, spurred on by the unrelenting media coverage calling for action. A resolution. You know, in case the LAPD actually have solved the case but don’t want to reveal it until public pressure builds. Because of course, that’s how it works. Not.
It’s hard not to get irritated with the media during cases like this, but I know it’s not really them I’m frustrated with. I’m frustrated because my job, my purpose, is to find the evidence that will allow Rick to do his job, that will see justice done, that will give some measure of peace to the families of the victims. But the murderer is meticulous. He must be. I haven’t found so much as a hair, a skin particle, to trace back to the killer. I feel useless. And after seeing these women, bloodied and torn, I desperately want some closure for them. I don’t really believe in ghosts or spirits or even the soul, but I still feel compelled to help the victims, even in death. How can I do that if I can’t find a shred of evidence at the crime scenes?
I arrive at The Watering Well. I park on the curb side and get out of the car, quickly grabbing my kit from the trunk. I never leave it in the car – it looks too conspicuous and Rick worries it will make me a target. He’s overprotective. Usually that would drive me nuts. I don’t need anyone looking out for me, and I’ve worked hard to make my coworkers see me as an investigator, not some potential damsel in distress. But he’s one of the most important people in my life, so I cut him some slack.
The parking lot is full, even though it’s after 1 am and the pub has been closed for an hour. Even at a quick glance, this couldn’t be mistaken for revelers spilling out of the pub. The parking lot is also crawling with LAPD. The yellow crime scene tape flaps in the light breeze. The flurry of activity that would have arisen when the officers first arrived on the scene has died down and most of the officers stand in small groups, awaiting further instruction.
Awaiting me. Once I have trawled the scene and collected the forensic evidence – not that there will be any, I think to myself – the officers will be able to have the coroner called to the scene and the body removed. Okay, maybe I am a bit cynical.
I cross the road and duck under the tape, making my way to the largest group. Rick spots me at the same time as I spot him. He breaks away from the group and heads towards me.
Rick is somewhere in his early fifties, although he looks younger. He’s tall and muscular. His buzz cut hair has the tiniest hint of gray at the temples, but other than that, it’s jet black. He cuts an imposing figure. Poised, mean. Until you look at his dark brown eyes. They sparkle with warmth. And when he smiles, his face changes. It becomes soft and kind.
“Amy,” he says. He isn’t smiling now.
I nod a greeting. Rick looks calm, yet I know that actually he’s anything but. Inside, he’ll be concocting a hundred different ways his team can solve this crime. A hundred way to find potential witnesses gather evidence. His mind constantly whirring, looking for the break this case needs. But on the outside, he’s calm. And his appearance of calm works on two levels. It keeps his team calm. And it gives the impression of a man who has everything under control. I personally believe that this calm exterior during the press conferences is the only thing that has given the public even a tiny hope that he is well the on the way to solving this case.