Shrouded in Darkness (Shrouded Series)

by Thomson, H. D.

  He watched Margot step out of the post office. She hadn’t seen Carl, but Carl had seen her. The cop stepped out from the squad car, yanked up his pants and walked along the shoulder of the road in her direction. When she caught sight of Carl, even from this distance, Malcolm recognized Margot wasn’t thrilled at his appearance. Not that he blamed her. He’d never liked the guy. Granted, he’d only met Carl twice, but that had been enough to know the cop wasn’t worth a minute of his time. But by thinking of Carl as just stupid, Malcolm made the mistake of underestimating him. Something he hated to admit. Malcolm didn’t make mistakes. Not important ones.

  A wall of thick, gray clouds marched across the sky. It brought with it a cold, dry wind that bit into his skin, pulled at his hair, and tossed the flag hooked above the entrance to the post office. The cloth flapped loudly against the otherwise quiet downtown street. No one was about. It was still too early in the morning for the tourists or even the locals. The only place open other than the post office was the donut shop on the edge of town and Flap-Jacks, some dive that offered breakfast Malcolm hadn’t dared touch. The diner probably hadn’t seen the likes of a health inspector for years. He’d always known Greyson wasn’t exactly a Mecca for haute cuisine or five star lodgings, but it wasn’t until these last couple of weeks that he’d found out firsthand the lack of amenities in this stinking town.

  “Hey, Margot!” Carl called.

  Malcolm pressed against the corner of a brick building and nervously fingered the gun. He watched Carl stop in front of his ex-wife. Damn it! If Malcolm took a shot now, he’d hit both. He needed Margot off to the side to get a clear aim at Carl.

  Malcolm didn’t particularly want to kill anyone. Not because it went against any code of ethics. Shit, no. He’d had enough of self-righteous bastards in his life. He’d learned all too early that they were a bunch of hypocrites. Even Jake had turned on him. But he didn’t want to think of Jake. He’d only get angry, which he didn’t need right now.

  No. Killing someone was just messy. It would add more complications and questions. Unlike the explosion at Miltronics, Malcolm didn’t have a ready alibi to extricate himself if the cops started sniffing his way. Then there were a couple of prissy-assed investors who hated any type of headlines. But what the hell else was he supposed to do? It all came down to self-preservation.

  He couldn’t afford to wait another day. Not with Carl walking around with too much information rattling around inside his head.

  Margot watched Carl come toward her. He was the last person she wanted to see this early in the morning, particularly when he didn’t look any happier than when they’d last talked. She rocked the plastic handle of the mail bin between her fingers and paused long enough for him to reach her side. Then Margot slowly walked toward her car as Carl fell into step beside her.

  “We need to talk, Margot.”

  Carl also didn’t sound any happier than last time. She sighed. “What about?”

  An explosive bang ripped through the quiet of the morning. Margot jumped and dropped the plastic carrier. The bin clattered against the pavement. Pivoting, she searched the street. The door to the post office swung closed. Someone must have just stepped inside. At Max’s, the blinds on the front window and door were shut tight. A car’s engine rumbled down the next street, while the flag above the post office door slapped at the wind.

  Margot turned back to Carl and met his stunned expression. He opened his mouth several times but said nothing. At the same time, they both glanced down and saw the hole in his jacket to the left of his chest. Before either had time to react, another loud explosion ripped through the chill morning. A hole appeared inches below the other. Carl staggered back, clutching at his chest.

  “Carl!”

  He crumpled. Margot grabbed his arm but the jacket’s nylon sleeve slipped from her grasp. He fell hard, awkwardly, without the buffer of outstretched hands. His shoulder took the worst of the hit as he landed on his side.

  She dropped down beside him, scraping her thinly clad knees across hard concrete and dagger-like pebbles. Nudging him over on his back, she unzipped his jacket, pulled it apart and wished she hadn’t. Blood, vivid, scarlet, terrifying, stained his white shirt and ate up the snowy fabric with alarming speed.

  “Oh, God.” She sucked in a lungful of air. “I—no.”

  Margot leaned over. Carl didn’t turn, didn’t do anything but stare at the sky. Pain twisted his face into a pale mask of harsh lines. His breathing was ragged, watery, frightening.

  From across the way, Max sprinted toward her.

  “Don’t worry, Carl.” Margot assured. “Help’s coming. You’re going to be all right.”

  “What happened?” Max slid to a stop beside her, winded and flushed. “I heard a noise and then saw Carl on the ground here.”

  “He’s been shot. He needs an ambulance. Please—”

  She didn’t have to say more. Max sprinted toward his shop.

  Margot needed to remain calm. For once in her life, she had to be strong, to hold true. She couldn’t run away or cave in. Not this time. She had to get Carl through this. She just had to for Joyce.

  What would Joyce do if something happened to Carl? He was her baby brother, her only brother.

  “Max’s calling for an ambulance. It’ll be here any second.” The closest hospital was in Pinetop, a good hour away by car. Margot suspected he’d never make it that long. The only other way was to helivac him out. “Just you hold on.”

  “Margot.”

  The word came out as a sigh more than anything else.

  “Ssh. Don’t talk. Don’t say anything. You need to save your strength.” Margot choked back hysteria that threatened to bubble up her throat. Shrugging out of her jacket, she reached over and lifted his head in gentle hands and bundled her jacket beneath his head.

  As she pulled back, Carl clutched at her arm. It was a weak attempt at best. His lips moved, but all he managed was “I—”

  “Don’t talk—” She bit her lip to smother the sob.

  “I—I can keep a secret—” Carl grabbed her hand, his palm cold against her fingers. So very cold.

  “Carl. Listen—”

  But he wasn’t listening. He was struggling for words.

  There was an urgency in his grasp, in the way he tried to speak. “I’m not... I’m not as stupid as everyone thinks—” Carl’s voice turned more forceful as he clutched at her hand. “No one knows. The car accident. There’s more. I did something. Not even Malcolm or J—” Suddenly, Carl inhaled. Liquid gurgled in the back of his throat as he struggled to speak. “ John—”

  His hand bit into her flesh, then slackened and completely went limp. Carl stared at her, but then he didn’t.

  He was dead.

  Margot sat on the dirt and concrete, oblivious to everything but the wind bitterly caressing against her face. She became aware of cries in the distance, people rushing forward.

  Someone led her away. She didn’t know who, and she didn’t care. Just like that. Carl was dead. He’d been standing right beside her one second, then the next he’d been laying in his own blood.

  She was the one to tell Joyce later that morning. She was the one to hear her friend’s cries of anguish. She was the one to hold and comfort her until Joyce’s aunt and uncle drove in from Pinetop. And throughout it all, guilt, raw and painful, dominated every thought. From as far back as she could remember, she’d never treated Carl with any respect, never had anything nice to say to him. It all seemed so crazy, so very pointless. No one had a clue as to why Carl had been shot. It wasn’t gang related. The town wasn’t big enough.

  Why?

  Because of this secret he was hiding? Had he been about to reveal it? Had someone wanted him silenced because of it? And why mention Malcolm to her? Had Carl known all along that Johnny’s car crash wasn’t an accident? Could he have been tied in with Malcolm? Could they have both been involved? Could her ex-husband have shot Carl dead? God knew, Malcolm was already a murderer. O
ne more body wouldn’t matter. But killing Carl seemed so bizarre. She didn’t understand the reason behind it.

  So many questions and suspicions, but no answers or clues.

  Before driving home, Margot dropped by the mini-mart and bought herself a bottle of Merlot. With her nerves completely shot, she struggled through the checkout and the drive home. She was on the edge of an abyss and so close to falling that it terrified the hell out of her. At least the wine would get her through the night, because she intended to get thoroughly drunk. She didn’t have anyone around to tell her otherwise.

  Jake was gone. His pickup missing. Margot hadn’t seen all him day, which was fine by her. She’d have her wine without anyone nagging at her. God, who was she kidding?

  She needed Jake. She wanted to deny it, hated to admit it, but, oh, how she craved his strength, his support and comfort. He’d crept into her life. If Margot wasn’t careful, she’d start relying on him. The way he’d cleaned the cuts on her hands with such tenderness. The way he listened—really listened—to what she said. The way he cared...

  No. Margot wasn’t going down that road.

  She stepped into a house absent of light and color. The sun hadn’t broken through the dense cloud cover yet and didn’t look like it was going to anytime soon, as if the weather somehow reflected the day’s terrible events. For a moment, Margot just stood in the hall and listened. Nothing. No strange sense of being watched or odd moving objects. Margot hadn’t experienced any of that for the last week. Maybe all that had been her imagination—an unconscious part of her hoping for a sign that Johnny still lingered somewhere, some sliver of comfort that he was on another side.

  Margot walked into the kitchen and opened the bottle of wine. She shouldn’t be wallowing in self-pity. Not when Joyce was dealing with her brother’s death. Sadly, Margot knew exactly how her friend felt, and she wouldn’t wish that on her worst enemy.

  The first glass went down really smooth. It tasted wonderful against her throat. Just a touch of spice.

  Bottle in one hand, glass in the other, she retreated upstairs. After setting both down on the floor by the tub and turning on the bath water, she stripped, tossing her clothing on top of the closed hamper. Then Margot stepped into the tub and gasped. Hot, steaming water slipped over her calves and higher, closing over her hips, waist and breasts and on up to her neck as she slid deep into the tub. She rested her head on the inflated pillow she’d attached earlier and let the bite of the water lap against her reddening skin. The intense heat drained the energy from every pore of her body, while three-quarters of a bottle of Merlot helped drain every searing thought from her brain.

  Jake flipped the light on in the bathroom, saw Margot and panicked.

  In a glance, he took in her limp arm and outstretched hand over the side of the tub, the overturned wine glass on the floor just beneath her fingers, and the cool marble of her skin against the black porcelain tub. They were all vivid and horrifying images against the florescent light.

  “Margot!”

  When he’d first stepped into the house, he hadn’t yet worried. But when his calls went unanswered, uneasiness had turned quickly to dread. He’d seen her car out front and knew she had to be inside, so he’d searched every room downstairs. Then he’d hurried up here only to find this...

  Jake fell to his knees. Margot’s long, black lashes and full, red lips, parted as if on a sigh, were stark contrasts against her translucent skin. Bath water pooled just beneath her chin. A few bubbles hugged the sides of the tub and did nothing to conceal the full thrust of her breasts, the narrow waist, the flare of hips and her long, pale legs. She lay unmoving, vulnerable and exposed.

  Heart pounding in fear, Jake checked her limp wrist for a pulse. He found one, steady and unmistakable, against his shaking fingers.

  Margot was going to be okay.

  She’d scared him. Scared the hell out of him. Angry now, Jake gripped Margot’s shoulder. Her damp, raven hair, snaked around his gloved fingers as he shook her—hard.

  “You little fool. Wake up!”

  Margot winced, shrinking away from him. “Don’t yell—my head—”

  “Damn it! You’re drunk!”

  Margot squinted up at him. She didn’t look the least bit guilty.

  Jake grabbed the edge of the tub. Better that than a part of her body. “Are you out of your mind? You could have drowned! Do you know that?”

  She folded her legs up against her chest, and wrapped both arms around her knees, shielding her nakedness from him. With the heel of her hand, she rubbed at her brow. “Leave me alone.”

  “The hell I will!”

  He reached into the tepid water and hauled her wet and naked body against him, drenching his jeans and long-sleeved sweater. He hooked an arm beneath her knees and heaved her into his arms. Damn, she was heavy. Until Margot, he’d never made a habit of picking up women, but now it seemed commonplace. And Jake didn’t like it one bit. Both times he’d had her in his arms he’d thought he’d lost her moments before.

  Straining beneath her weight, Jake shifted to get a better balance. His blasted heel caught on a puddle and nearly landed them both on the floor. Granted, he might have saved them from a tumble, but in the process, he whacked his elbow against the wall and knocked his funny bone to hell and back.

  “Damn it, woman!” He wanted to shake her. “What were you thinking?”

  She slapped at him. A sad attempt at best. “Leave me alone.”

  The light from the bathroom shone into her bedroom and gave him enough visibility to get to her bed without breaking a leg. He set her down on the foot of the bed none too gently, rushed to get a towel in the bathroom and started to rub down her skin.

  “Stop it!”

  Ignoring her well-placed smacks to his face and arms, Jake dried most of her off and pulled the bedding back for her to slip underneath. After she had the sheets up to her chin, he asked, “Where’s your nightgown?”

  “Under my pillow.”

  Jake immediately stuck a hand beneath her pillow and pulled a ball of silk from underneath and shook it out.

  She jack-knifed into a sitting position while still managing to hold onto the covers. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He ignored her outraged cry and stuck the hole of her gown over her head. “I’m getting you dressed. It’s obvious you’re in no condition to do it!”

  Margot’s head popped through the material. Sputtering, she rammed the silk material down to her waist and squirmed around to get the gown situated. It looked like she was having a devil of a time untwisting it from around her waist. If at all possible, her face looked paler than before.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Well, you’re not going to get any sympathy from me. You deserve an upset stomach. What were you thinking? Any fool knows you don’t fall asleep in a tub full of water. And the added craziness of drinking on top of that! You could have drowned yourself!”

  “So?”

  “So?”

  That one little word made him want to yell that much louder. Jake managed—just barely—to bite back an angry retort. His emotions were high, near breaking from the shock of finding her lying like that in her bathtub.

  He’d thought the worst. And who the hell wouldn’t? Anyone walking in and seeing her so deathly pale against that black tub of hers would have thought the same.

  Margot eased back against the pillow, dragging the bedcovers up to her chin again and closing her eyes. A deep sigh shook her slender frame. At least she’d stopped shivering from the cold, but she still looked too fragile. What would have happened if he hadn’t walked in and found her? She might have slipped beneath the water. She might have drowned.

  The possibilities drove him nuts. “That’s it! I’ve had enough. You’re not having another glass! I’m going to make damn sure of it! It’s killing you.”

  He stopped. Revelation hit him. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  She put both
palms over her ears. “I don’t want to hear this.” Margot glared at him, but the beam from the bathroom light caught the glitter of tears at the corners of her eyes and the tremor of her chin. “I can’t handle anymore confrontations. Not tonight.”

  “Why?”

  She dropped her hands to her sides. “Because Carl’s dead. Someone killed him! Right in front of me. I was there, two feet away. One minute I was talking to him—and the next—the next he—”

  Margot broke into sobs, deep, pain-filled cries that slashed at his heart.

  “Oh, Jesus...”

  Her words knocked his legs from under him. He sank down hard on the end of the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clutching her knee over the comforter. “I didn’t know. I swear. I had no idea. Believe me. I would never have acted like that...”

  With hesitant fingers he touched her hand, which rested against her lap, then slid his other hand up over her arm to cup her shoulder. She didn’t reject him as he feared but sat up and eased into his arms. He tucked her head against the crook of his shoulder and rocked her.

  Jake cleared his throat. Calm. He had to get a grip on things. The last thing Margot needed right now was for him to jump all over her again. But damn, the situation was driving him nuts.

  “Can you talk about it?” he asked. “I mean—about what happened?”

  She clutched the sleeves of his sweater and twisted the fabric between her fingers. “I was just talking to him... I forget about what. I guess it wasn’t important,” she said between rapid, shallow breaths. “He was hit in the chest by two bullets. Before I knew what was going on, he was on the ground. There was blood. So much blood.”

  Ice rushed over his flesh.

  “It was on my jacket. I couldn’t get it off. It was everywhere. I—I had to throw it out. The jacket.”

  “Do the police know who did it?”

  “No. The other two deputies don’t have a motive. At least none they know of or are willing to tell me. But I think I know who killed him.” She gripped his arms tighter, pressing her nails through his sweater and into his skin. “I just don’t know why.”