Cold Blood (Lone Star Mobsters Book 4)

by Cynthia Rayne

  “Maybe we outta take this on outside?” Pretty Boy stepped closer.

  Grady hesitated a moment, and then backed up.

  “This ain’t over, Etta.” He shuffled off.

  Etta sagged against the wall in relief. She trembled from the rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins, urging her to run. Now that Grady had gone, Etta didn’t have to be brave and stand up to him.

  “What the fuck is goin’ on?” Pretty Boy pulled her into a hug.

  “Nothin’.” She clung to him anyway, needing some support.

  “No, it’s not. Come on, Etta, let me help.”

  “I’m fine, Pretty Boy, don’t worry about it.”

  “Yeah, that looked real fine,” Ace said. “If you don't tell us, we’re gonna pass this info onto Justice, and he’ll take it from there.” He raised his brows at Pretty Boy who nodded in agreement.

  Terrific. She knew Justice wouldn’t let this go. He’d want some real answers this time, and she doubted he’d be okay with her handling this one.

  “Well, boys, it’s been nice seein’ you, but I gotta go.” Etta had to see an old friend.

  ***

  An hour later, Etta sat on a creaky wooden chair in Hell’s police department.

  She waited to speak with the town’s one and only detective, Benjamin Frost. Etta held onto a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Who knows how long ago it had been brewed? When she’d shaken creamer into the cup, it formed these gummy balls of yuck on top of the liquid. Still, she held onto it, because it gave her something to do with her hands.

  Etta was unsettled from her encounter with Grady. Her heart raced, and she had trouble concentrating. She had at least a hundred items left to complete on her safety list, and it was overwhelming. Once she had some plans in place, she’d feel better.

  To distract herself, she glanced around the office.

  It was a tiny, postage-stamp sized place. Like the old television show, Mayberry, Hell’s police department only had a couple of jail cells and a few desks. There wasn’t exactly a crime wave in town, even if the bikers had literally set up shops. Most of the time, the police responded to minor emergencies like the time a water main burst at the tail end of town.

  Frost was on the phone, speaking with someone while she waited for him to finish. Back when she’d pressed charges against Grady, he’d walked her through the process. After Etta woke up from the coma, she’d spent two weeks in an intensive care unit. He’d been at her bedside a lot of that time. If it hadn’t been for Frost, she wouldn’t have made it through the first few days.

  She’d also met up with him in cases involving child abuse and domestic violence over the years since she worked for the county. It had been a long time since she’d been on the other side of the equation.

  “Hey, Etta. What can I do for you?” Frost motioned to her, and she took a seat on the opposite side of his desk.

  “I need a restrainin’ order.”

  Etta knew the legal process by now. It took forever to push a case through the courts. She should’ve started the ball rolling the second she’d found out Grady had been paroled.

  Shoulda woulda coulda. At least I’m here now.

  “Grady paid you a visit already? I’m not surprised.”

  She frowned. How had he known?

  “I keep track of special scumbags. Ones who’ve earned my...” His lips twisted. “Attention. I heard he got released.”

  “Yeah, he’s on the loose.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Frost had short strawberry blond hair, a perpetual layer of stubble on his chin, and bright blue eyes. He wore a pinstriped blue suit, and it was perfectly pressed. He was a dapper dresser, and she’d always pictured him working in some large metropolitan police department like Boston or New York City. He’d once been a Marine, and he seemed out of place in this backwoods town.

  “Me too.”

  She was still having trouble wrapping her head around the parole board’s decision. They’d convicted Grady of a third-degree felony, and he’d never even shown one ounce of remorse for his reactions.

  People who got caught with drugs did longer sentences than someone who’d nearly murdered his own wife. It didn’t make a lick of sense. Grady had been sentenced to ten years but had gotten out in eight.

  “Guess he didn’t learn his lesson. So much for rehabilitation. Did he threaten you?”

  “No, he walked up to me at the post office.”

  The legal definition of a threat and an actual one were two different things. For a threat to be taken seriously, the person had to be specific. Something along the lines of, “I’m going to stab you to the death in the shower” like in Psycho.

  Smart criminals knew better than to let their plans slip. It was one of many things about the legal system which irritated her. It was rigged against the victims.

  “Let me guess, Grady happened to run into you?”

  “Yep, he said it was a coincidence.”

  “Bullshit. Too bad we can’t prove it.”

  “I know.” They’d been through this many times on a variety of cases. “Oh, and a potted plant showed up on my desk at work.”

  “Sticks of fire, right?”

  “Yes, he busted out the same old moves.”

  “I don’t suppose he left you a note.”

  “No note, and I didn’t see any identifyin’ information from the florist if he used one. I also checked with the IT guy at my work, and the plant came in with one of our clients. She said a man in a pickup truck asked her to take it inside for him.”

  “If you give me her name and number, I’ll follow up with her. It will be hard to prove though.” Frost shook his head. “Think he’s gonna ramp it up?”

  Etta doubted anything would come of the lead. By now, Grady had learned how to cover his tracks.

  “Grady’s going to finish the job he started.” In the back of her mind, she knew this day had always been coming. “He believes I ruined his life.” The nerve. She’d been the one who’d been put into a coma.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “That about sums him up.”

  His friends and family had even taken Grady’s side. Like she’d blackened her own eyes and tossed herself down the stairs. Her own parents had been horrified. Etta’s mother had pleaded with Etta to leave him on several occasions, but she’d stuck it out.

  “We’ll see what we can do, but there’s no guarantee. No contact with you was a condition of his release, but this is a tiny town. The court makes concessions for the proximity. I’ll try to push for a protection order, but there’s no guarantee a judge will sign off on it, but at least, we can keep him away from your residence. When you’re in public, all bets are off.”

  “Got it.” All of this was familiar territory.

  The last time she’d gotten one, Grady had relocated to Crimson Creek, so it hadn’t been an issue. She wished he’d get the urge to move again.

  Frost blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Etta.” He offered her a hand, and she squeezed it.

  “Thanks.”

  “It ain’t my place to say, but you’re gonna get through this. You’re tougher than anyone I’ve met.”

  “Think so?” At the moment, Etta was nervous, and she didn’t feel particularly brave.

  “Yeah, I’ll always put my money on you. And I know you don’t wanna hear this, but if this gets out of control, you should consider movin’. Since Grady’s on parole, he has to stay in the area, but you don’t have those restrictions. I heard Louisiana is beautiful this time of year.”

  Screw that. She’d done nothing wrong. Why should she be the one who had to make a run for it?

  “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” It had taken her a long time to crawl out of the depression and despair and pull herself together. She refused to regress into the beat down person she’d once been.

  Frost nodded. “I thought you might not take my advice. I understand, even if I don’t agree. You’ve got my number, and I want you to call me if anythin�
�� happens.”

  “I will.”

  “I mean it.” Frost always took cases personally. It was one of the many things she admired about him, how much he cared about people. “Here’s the paperwork.” He handed her a stack of forms on a clipboard.

  Etta took a seat in the corner once more and filled it out, though she doubted a protection order would do much to keep her safe. At least she was taking the necessary steps to build a solid case.

  After she finished up at the police station, she’d call Justice up and invite him over to dinner. She knew Pretty Boy and Ace had already told him, but Etta wanted to be proactive.

  She’d also document the encounter she’d had with Grady. The court needed a timeline of events. Etta knew what she was up against and she wanted to do everything by the book this time—be ready for anything that might happen, although Grady had a real unpredictable streak.

  Grady had always kept her on edge, uncertain of what he’d do next, and he hadn’t lost his knack for throwing her off. His temper had been unpredictable, and his reactions were out of balance with the situation at hand.

  Who knows what horrors he had in store for her this time?

  Chapter Nine

  “This is some fantastic spaghetti.” Justice was lying his ass off, but for a noble reason.

  “No, it isn’t.” She punctured a scorched meatball with her fork.

  “Course it is.”

  He chomped on a crunchy piece of pasta and did his damndest to look happy about it. When a fella’s trying to impress a lady, he goes out of his way to compliment her, and he wanted Etta to like him. Besides, Justice loved sitting at her kitchen table, eating the food she’d made for him, even if it was nearly inedible. The domesticity felt downright comfortable.

  I could get used to this.

  She beamed, and his heart stopped pumping for a split second.

  “You’re bein’ nice. Even on my best day, I’m a terrible cook, but it gets worse when I’m distracted. I managed to screw up reheatin’ frozen meatballs and boilin’ pasta.”

  She’d somehow charred the meat, while the sauce was lukewarm. It wasn’t like his friend Voodoo’s down home cooking, but parts of it weren’t too terrible.

  “Hey now, I was in the military, so this is like a four-star gourmet meal in comparison to their grub.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Trust me. They used to serve us shit on a shingle.” He could still taste it in the back of his throat—fatty undrained beef, sprinkled with powdered milk, tap water, and half-cooked flour.

  “Doesn’t sound too appetizin’.”

  “It wasn’t. Picture hamburger gravy on nearly stale bread.” His stomach clenched. “But compared to food in the field, it was amazin’. You don’t know the horror of an MRE.”

  “MRE?”

  “Meal, Ready to Eat. Rations they gave us in Afghanistan. The chicken fajitas were awful.” He’d rather eat grass than put that gunk into his mouth. “Although, in my dad’s day, they had it even worse. They called frankfurters the four fingers of death.”

  Justice’s father had been a naval officer, and so had his granddad before him. Going into the Navy had been a foregone conclusion from the time he’d been a little boy. The day Justice graduated from training, his father had been so proud of him. And if his grandfather had lived to see it, he would’ve been excited, too.

  “So see? This is much better chow.” He munched on some more noodles, and Etta took his plate away.

  “Stop, you don’t have to eat it. I’m gonna make us some PB&Js instead.” She busied herself smearing peanut butter and jelly on bread.

  Pretty Boy and Ace had told him all about the incident at the post office, and he was itching to know more, but he wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Like him, Etta had been through an ordeal, and the last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.

  “Geez. I can practically hear you thinkin’ over there. I know you wanna ask me about Grady.”

  “Well, since you brought it up.”

  Etta sat down across from him once more and handed him a sandwich on a paper plate, before taking a bite of her own. He waited for her to begin, but she ate instead.

  “Let’s start somewhere easier. When did you get married?”

  “It was a long time ago. I’d just turned eighteen at the time.”

  Justice set his jaw. “He was your high school sweetheart, then?”

  “No, Grady was in college, when I was in high school. I met him at my afterschool job, at the library. Grady was smart, handsome, and a bit older. I remember thinkin’ how classy he was—Grady was all charm with a silver tongue, and I fell for it.”

  “You were young.”

  “And foolish.” She expelled a deep breath. “I used to be so involved in school—in the band, a member of key club, and we did all these service projects. Before I met Grady. I was a straight-A student takin’ advanced placement classes. That all ended the spring of my senior year. It’s like I couldn’t see anythin’ else but Grady.” She shook her head. “I wanted him in my life, and I made so many concessions to get him. I dropped out of all my clubs, my grades fell. I applied to colleges, but Grady said they were so far away, and didn’t I want to be with him instead? And I let it happen.”

  Justice didn’t comment. As far as he was concerned, Grady had the problem, not her.

  “Tell me how you met him.”

  “At first, I thought Grady was a hero type. I was working late one night, when this jock asshole, Tommy, wouldn’t leave me alone. I was never popular, more into books than boys. I must have been some kind of challenge to Tommy, but I couldn’t figure out the appeal. Anyhow, one night the jerk caught me unaware while I was out in the stacks. It was a big library with these enormous bookshelves which were around six feet tall so nobody could see us. Anyway, he grabbed my ass and then put his tongue down my throat.”

  “And Grady stepped in and put a stop to it? So he came off lookin’ like a great guy.”

  “Yeah, if only I’d known what he had in store for me, I would’ve run away screamin’. But back then, I thought he was the love of my life. It all happened really fast. We started datin’ and then we were engaged. We got married graduation weekend. It was no big thing, we went to the courthouse and then had cake at my parent’s place. They both wanted me to wait for a while so we could do it up right, but Grady said we should get hitched right away.” She frowned. “It should’ve been a clue.”

  The bastard had probably wanted her under his thumb, as soon as possible. From what he had read, which wasn’t much, abusers hurried their victims into relationships straight away. The fool had gotten Etta to marry him, only to treat her like a punching bag. What a dickhead.

  “Tell me more.” Justice wanted to let her guide the conversation. He only wanted to know what she felt comfortable sharing.

  Etta put her peanut butter sandwich down, as though she had lost her appetite. She wiped her hands on a napkin, and then took a drink of water before she began.

  “At first, it wasn’t so terrible. It started with verbal abuse, which hurt, but at least it wasn’t physical. He teased me, made fun of me, put me down in front of other people. It started real subtle, and then he got rougher. Once, he slapped me for mouthin’ off.”

  Justice had never hit a woman, and had no desire to, under any circumstances.

  “I don’t even recall what I said. We were out with friends at a backyard barbecue. He pulled me around the corner of the house, popped me one, and then told me to never disrespect him again. I was too stunned to say anythin’, and I didn’t wanna make a scene in front of our friends. Compared to what he did later, that one was a love tap.”

  Grady had probably been sussing out her limits. Justice guessed he was trying to get a feel for what she’d tolerate. Those kind of men enjoyed pushing people’s boundaries, seeing what they could get away with, and Justice had seen them in action before. He’d been at the mercy of one himself.

  “It got steadily worse�
�slaps, kicks, and he used a belt on me. I don’t mean a whuppin’ either.”

  Justice had been switched as a kid. It had hurt, but he wouldn’t call it abuse.

  “One day, about two months into our marriage, he slammed me into a wall, then tossed me on the kitchen floor. To this day, I’m not sure what else happened.” She rubbed the back of her head. “I woke up hours later, bloody and bruised.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Yeah, Grady needs a beat down in the worst way.

  She shifted in the chair. “It’s almost like once he put a ring on my finger, Grady felt like he owned me. He wanted me entirely dependent on him for everythin’, and I was in the end. When I left him, I had nothin’, just clothin’. Everythin’ was in his name— the car, the house, and I’d signed a prenup, too. His family had insisted on it.”

  “His folks had money?”

  “Very. His dad was a football star, and his mother was a stay at home mom. My family was just barely middle class, and both my parents worked at the local factory. Grady used the money to his advantage. He wooed me with presents and nice dinners.” She laughed without humor. “I thought it was some kind of modern-day fairy tale story, and he was my prince charmin’.”

  “Instead, it was a nightmare.”

  “Yeah, and I sacrificed my own dreams for him. Before I met him, I used to have such grand plans. I wanted to go to med school and become a psychiatrist.”

  “But he talked you out of it?”

  “Grady pressured me to give up school, pushed me to ‘take care of our home’ and preparin’ to be a lawyer’s wife instead.”

  “Grady wanted to be a lawyer?”

  “He wanted to be a bigshot, handlin’ high profile cases.”

  “With his father’s connections, it probably would’ve worked.”

  “Yes, but he’s been convicted of a felony now, and he blames me for robbin’ him of his future. Then again, Grady has trouble takin’ responsibility for anythin’. It was always somebody else’s fault, never his.”

  “He sounds like a real bastard.”

  “Believe me, he is. I used to make so many excuses for him. I thought it would get better if he weren’t under so much pressure, but it never did.”