Maybe Don't Wanna

by Lani Lynn Vale

  Carmen looked once over her shoulder at him, flattened her ears out, and then took a few steps farther into the trees.

  I frowned. Parker’s brows rose.

  He called her name again, and this time it wasn’t a few steps she took, but a full ten yards.

  Obviously, she wanted us to follow her.

  Parker did, and when he caught up to her, Carmen took off through the woods.

  When I started to follow, he slowed and held out his hand.

  “Don’t get too close to her,” he ordered. “And if I tell you to back off, you do it.”

  “What’s going on?” I questioned.

  He shrugged. “I haven’t seen her act like this since…before she was tortured.”

  Maybe she was having a flashback?

  I didn’t know. What I did know was that Parker was following her lead, so I would, too.

  I’d follow him anywhere.

  My eyes went down to his butt, and my eyes closed. He had a hole in his pants. The poor, poor man.

  ***

  Parker

  I felt something touch my ass and looked over my shoulder at the offending person.

  “Seriously?”

  She shrugged. “I’m telling you. I have no control. None.”

  Little did she know that I liked that she had no control.

  “Come on,” I ordered with my head. “If I pass out, you’ll have to call Rafe. And control Carmen because she might bite him.”

  I nodded my head.

  “I thought he was a dog whisperer, though,” she whispered.

  I gave her an incredulous look. “Have you met Carmen?”

  She pinched her mouth shut and didn’t reply. I was right, though. Carmen didn’t like anyone. Honestly, there were times I was sure that she just barely tolerated me. She did seem to have affection for Kayla, though.

  As we walked deeper into the woods, Kayla really started to twitch. The more we moved, the greater the worry on her face became, until suddenly I just stopped.

  I looked over at her with concern, but I was sure she could tell it was halfhearted at best. I wasn’t doing well at all.

  That jump into the pond in Virginia cost me, and now I was dealing with strep throat on top of the cold I’d gotten afterward.

  I wasn’t going to make it much farther.

  “I think you should call Rafe now.”

  I stared at her for a few long seconds, then nodded once. I felt something, too. But my senses were off, and I didn’t want to react if there wasn’t something to actually react to.

  Up ahead, I could see Carmen had paused, staring back at us with impatience.

  There was no impatience on my face, though, as I placed the phone to my ear after selecting Rafe’s number.

  “What do you feel?” I questioned.

  She bit her lip. “Honestly?”

  I nodded once. Of course, I always wanted honesty from her.

  “Sick to my stomach. Like, I’m about to throw up. Each step I take forward, my worry grows. I think we’re heading to that house I told you about with the creepy guy that was standing out front,” she said softly.

  Wariness swept through me, and I had to grab on to a tree to keep my feet.

  “Why do you say creepy?” I questioned, then held up a finger when Rafe’s voice sounded from the other end of the line. “Rafe?”

  She patiently held her reply in, waiting.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna send you my location. I need you to come here. Something’s wrong,” I said.

  “What’s going on?” Rafe asked.

  “Carmen won’t come to me, and each time I get close to her, she runs toward my neighbor’s property. She’s not snapping at me. This is her warning action.”

  He made a worried sound in his throat.

  I knew that Kayla’s interest had been peaked with what a “warning action” was, but I chose to hold my tongue instead of explaining anything to her.

  “She hasn’t done this since she…”

  “Since we found her,” Rafe supplied.

  “Yeah, since then. Something’s wrong, and now Kayla has a bad feeling. I’m literally about to pass out.”

  I looked at Kayla with worry. She was looking at me like I looked really awful.

  I bet I did.

  Most assuredly.

  While we were moving, I had felt okay. Better. But now that we were stopped, my momentum had stopped with me. I felt ready to fall to the ground in exhaustion.

  “Yeah. If you can’t find us, keep driving past the house. Kayla thinks we’re headed to the house past mine on the same road.”

  Once I ended the call, I went to a text message, and then sent him my location from my phone.

  I waited, wondering if we should go any farther, but then Carmen whined.

  My eyes went electric as a surge of adrenaline rolled through me.

  Then I heard it. The unmistakable, high-pitched ziiinnng of a saw blade.

  “Parker?”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Did you hear that?”

  I nodded. Even sick, I missed nothing.

  “The neighbor I was telling you about? He was wearing a raincoat.”

  I frowned. “Okay…”

  “He was wearing rain boots and rain pants, too. And it’s sunny as fuck.”

  I looked up at the sky.

  She was right.

  It was sunny as fuck.

  It was also fairly nice out for December. Sixties.

  But for him to be wearing a raincoat…something was off.

  Something that I was sure wasn’t a good off, either.

  “Did he see you?”

  She shook her head.

  “No. At least I don’t think he did. Carmen and I had been walking along the road, and the man had been facing the house, unaware of what was behind him,” she answered.

  Suddenly filled with resolve, I turned to Kayla and said, “Stay here.”

  She immediately shook her head. “No.”

  “Kayla…”

  She shook her head again, more vehemently this time.

  “No.”

  “You will.”

  “I won’t. Listen, Parker. You’re ill. You won’t be able to…”

  “I will. I’ve done this more times than you can imagine. Being a SEAL? You have no idea what kind of conditions we had to work in. This is a piece of cake. You, however, are a liability. I can’t see what’s going on while I worry about you.”

  With that, I left and knew she wouldn’t follow.

  She didn’t want me to go, yes, but she also didn’t want me to have to worry about her.

  As I slipped through the trees, I caught up to Carmen, who stayed at my side this time.

  She kept looking over at me, expecting me to pass out at any moment.

  Which might very well happen.

  It wasn’t until I was nearly to the clearing that I started to hear the screams.

  Chapter 23

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Life’s a bitch, coffee’s a must.

  -Coffee Cup

  Parker

  Every single one of my instincts screamed at me to make a move, but my knowledge of hostile situations had my common sense winning out over my instincts.

  I pulled out my phone and called 9-1-1.

  After explaining where I was, I waited.

  It was the longest twelve minutes of my life until Rafe came up behind me.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “There’s something really, really wrong about this place,” I replied softly. “The screams stopped…but I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

  The decline of the screams could mean one of three things. Whoever had been doing the screaming was now dead or had passed out, or the person causing them to scream had stopped what he was doing.

  “You want to make a move?”

  That decision was taken out of my hand when a man�
�in his rain suit—came out onto the front porch. I could just barely make out his face from where I was standing, but he looked quite pleased.

  Then I saw the blood dripping off of his jacket and knew.

  “It’s him.”

  “What’s him?” Rafe asked, voice barely a whisper.

  “The serial killer. That’s him.”

  He frowned.

  “How do you know?” he asked. “Maybe he’s just in there butchering a deer and doesn’t want to get dirty.”

  He had a point. That could be the case.

  Which was why we both stayed exactly where we were, not making a move.

  Neither one of us knew the situation. We didn’t know how many people were in the house. I was sick and running a fever. Could I fully trust my instincts? Would a cop? A jury of twelve of my peers?

  No. I wouldn’t be making a move. Not unless I was completely one hundred percent sure, that I was making the right move.

  And Rafe agreed with me.

  “Cops are here,” I murmured, seeing the lights through the trees before he came into view by pulling into the driveway.

  We both tensed when the man on the front porch stiffened.

  He reached for something behind his back, and that was when I saw the gun.

  Rafe did, too.

  We both had our weapons out and in our hands seconds later.

  The man on the porch had his hand curled around the gun, still smoking his cigarette, and watched as the two cops came out of the car. Moments later they started up the walk toward the man.

  “Hello, officers. How can I help you?”

  The officer on the right, Tyler Cree—who also happened to be the new police chief—nodded his head in acknowledgement. “We had a complaint about some screaming. Mind if we come in and take a look?”

  The man’s hand tightened around the butt of his gun, and then he was moving.

  The gun came around his side right about the time I shot him. The bullet entered the man’s right shoulder—but likely had done quite a bit of harm since I was carrying defense rounds.

  He fell like a tree and hit the porch with a loud thud.

  Rafe was up and moving moments later just as the cops pointed their guns in our direction. The cops were so far behind on what was happening that they looked twitchy and nervous.

  I shifted my body, then immediately felt a wave of dizziness sweep over me.

  I dropped the gun to the ground, held my hands up, and said five words.

  “I’m about to fall over.”

  Moments after saying that, Kayla came up on one side of me, and Carmen on the other, both of them lending me their stability.

  “I swear to God, if you give me strep throat, I’m going to be so mad at you,” she said, her voice a lot higher in pitch than it normally was.

  She was scared.

  Then again, I was, too.

  She and I both stepped over the gun that I left on the grass, and I felt a wave of sadness overtake me.

  “That’s my favorite gun,” I whined.

  “Okay…” she paused. “Is that a good thing?”

  “Bad,” I disagreed. “They’re going to keep that one until they’re done with the investigation. It could take them months to get it back to me.”

  She snorted. “You shot a man, and you’re worried about getting your gun back?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  By the time we arrived at Tyler Cree’s side, Kayla was gasping.

  “Johnny! What are you doing here? When did you get here! You’re supposed to be in Louisiana!”

  I looked between the other cop—Johnny—and Kayla.

  Johnny grinned at my girl, and I curled my arm around her a little tighter. Something that Johnny did not miss. Not even remotely.

  Cree cleared his throat before this Johnny could answer.

  “Where did you hear the screams come from?”

  I shrugged. “Heard ‘em as I was getting closer to the house. I haven’t heard them since.”

  Kayla shivered.

  When she would’ve taken a step up onto the porch, I held her back.

  “We’re gonna wait right here,” I said. “I shot the man with the gun, but there’s no telling who else is in the house.”

  Tyler and Johnny readily agreed.

  Rafe waved them past, not even offering to help.

  Neither of us were cops—though we damn well knew what we were doing when it came to sweeping a house for threats.

  But this wasn’t our pony show. This was theirs…we just helped out a wee bit.

  “Now what?” she whispered.

  “Now we wait. And hope I don’t get another fever, because if I do, this is going to be bad.”

  It was worse.

  ***

  It was two hours later when the questions finally died down.

  Not only did word get around that I shot a killer—but he was also the serial killer who had been slicing and dicing his way through the South.

  He’d just taken his two final victims from the house down the road from me, and the screams I’d heard before they were cut off were from the woman who he was busy shoving into a cooler that he was about to take out to his Suburban.

  We’d caught him just as he was about to take a small break—from chopping up the man who had previously lived at that property with a band saw that belonged to the owner—when the cops had arrived.

  After being transported to the hospital with a gunshot wound to the shoulder, the man had gone straight into surgery. He’d also had a police escort—as well as one from FBI—since he’d departed the scene.

  And I was slowly feeling the nausea take me back over.

  “Why did you think there was something wrong?” an FBI agent asked.

  I gave him a look. “I’ve already answered that.”

  “You have, but I’m asking you again,” he countered.

  I pulled out my phone, then dialed the number that I hadn’t called in quite some time.

  FBI agent and field director Rance Ruins—that really was his name—answered on the fourth ring.

  “Peter Parker Penn, if I do declare.”

  I grunted at him. “I need you to get a field agent off my ass.”

  Rance chuckled. “And what’s this agent’s name?”

  Five minutes later, I was doing my best impersonation of a zombie as I walked to the truck that Rafe had arrived in. “I could’ve done that, but not nearly as quick,” Rafe explained.

  I shrugged.

  “Working for them had its advantages,” I admitted.

  Then I bent over and threw up.

  Yep. The fever was back.

  And over a hundred and fifty reporters caught the entire thing on video.

  Super.

  Chapter 24

  If you listen closely, you can hear me not caring.

  -Parker to Rafe

  Parker

  I was in the hospital.

  Not for injuries I’d sustained taking down a notorious serial killer.

  No, I was in the hospital for complications from the fuckin’ flu, on top of strep throat, with a bit of the previous cold I’d gotten from my little dip in the pond while in Virginia thrown in for good measure.

  Kayla had just gone home to change out of the clothes she’d been wearing since the day before and to catch a quick shower—with supervision in the form of her friend, Johnny Mackenzie, at her side.

  Johnny, I’d learned, was the grandson of one of the founding members of a motorcycle club in Louisiana. But, despite his obvious affection for my girl, I didn’t deem him as a threat. Especially when the only reason he was there was to take Kayla home to change and to make sure she wasn’t accosted by the reporters as she did it.

  Honestly, I was glad that she was going home.

  I fuckin’ hated that she was sleeping in a freakin’ chair. I also hated that she was being subjected to this media bullshit. They w
ere relentless, and four of the reporters had already snuck into my room disguised as various types of hospital employees.

  One of those had been about twenty minutes ago.

  I honestly wasn’t expecting another attempt, that was why I’d closed my eyes and allowed myself a moment to rest.

  Yesterday, I’d found out that I had pneumonia thanks to a late-night ER visit, and I was admitted. They thought I would have to stay until at least this afternoon so they could run some stronger antibiotics through my system.

  The door opening barely registered to me, as lost in not being able to breathe as I was.

  Then I heard someone sit down beside my bed—in the hard chair that was on the opposite side of where Kayla usually sat.

  I opened my eyes and found myself staring at one of my worst nightmares.

  Raglan.

  The man who had ruined my life. The man that had taken my sister’s and mother’s lives. The man that I had dreamed about killing for what felt like a lifetime.

  The only thing that had been keeping me under control was the knowledge that he was serving time—and not even for what he’d done. Something somebody else had done.

  He’d kept the killing of my family quiet, and every single member of the gang I’d once been a part of had protected him. Covered for him. When he wouldn’t have done the same for them.

  Now, I had to live my life without them.

  And he was out.

  “Get. Out.”

  Raglan grinned. “Is that how to greet an old friend?”

  My stomach sank at that oh, so fucking familiar voice.

  I hadn’t heard it in a long time, but apparently, it wasn’t long enough to forget who the voice belonged to.

  I could still hear him saying the words: your sister or him.

  “You weren’t my friend, motherfucker.”

  It’d been a very long time since I’d seen him, but it was obvious that he’d aged well.

  As had I.

  I lifted myself out of the bed, and he pulled a gun out from his pants before I could get my feet fully on the floor.

  “I don’t think so.”

  I snarled at him. “Fuck you.”

  “What makes you think you can live a good life?” he asked, leaning forward. “What gives you the right? You took everything from me. My woman. My son. You made me do what I did. I don’t ever bluff, and you forced my hand with your sister. My kid has absolutely nothing to do with me, do you know how that feels? And now I get to watch on the news how you and your little girlfriend found a fucking serial killer? Fucking seriously?”