by Bush, Nancy
“Maybe Markum’s ready for some help,” Dance said as they worked their way down the hall back toward the elevators.
“I’ve blown any small chance I had with him. He went apoplectic when I asked about Bernadette Fread.”
“He’s a friend of your father’s. Maybe Dayton could talk to him.”
Jordanna didn’t respond until they were outside. The rain had stopped, but there was a surprisingly cold, kicky little wind whipping around. It tugged at the hair Jordanna had pulled into a ponytail. “My father wouldn’t help me. You know that.”
“Maybe he would.”
“No. He only wants to absolve himself, and I don’t want to play that game.” She stalked ahead of him to the car and climbed inside, waiting as he levered himself into the passenger seat.
“You don’t know that,” Dance said reasonably.
“Oh, but I do. I’ve been living this life a lot longer than you’ve been involved with it.”
“You’re a reporter on a story.” He looked at her, as if daring her to argue with him.
“What?” she demanded, though she knew where he was going and it was already pissing her off.
“So, use all your sources. Your father’s a friend of Chief Markum’s, ask for his help.”
“You really don’t get it.” It killed her that she’d poured out her heart, and now he acted like she should just get the hell over it.
“I get that you think your father sexually abused your sister, and that you reacted violently, whether you meant to or not. I also get that you were a teenager who’d just lost her mother. You may be right about your father. I don’t know. But from what you’ve said, you want to do serious in-depth reporting, and if so, you gotta do the hard work.”
She peeled out of the parking lot with a chirp of tires. “Sorry,” she said shortly. She didn’t want to be at the mercy of her emotions, but he was hitting her in her most vulnerable place, and the worst of it was, he was right.
“Call him up. Tell him what you’re doing. You don’t have to touch on the rest of it.”
“You’re not listening. Of course I have to touch on the rest of it. That’s what he wants from me!”
“You want me to talk to him?”
“NO.”
There was silence as several miles sped by under her tires. Finally, he said in a low, taut voice. “You told me how blind I was about the Saldanos. I denied it, over and over again, even though I knew you were right. I just didn’t want to face it because Max is a good friend.”
“This isn’t the same as that, if that’s where you’re going,” she said stubbornly.
“I had doubts. I just kept pushing them aside and look what happened.” He spread his hands and looked down at his left thigh. The material of his sweats pulled tightly where the bandage was.
When she didn’t respond, he asked, “What about you? Any doubts? Any at all, that what you saw was your father sexually abusing your sister?”
She wanted to shriek at him that he was wrong, wrong, wrong. But she also knew that those who screamed the loudest oftentimes had the weakest argument.
Could you be wrong? Could you?
“No doubts,” she stated firmly.
“Even though your sister denied it. Told you she was sleepwalking, that she made a mistake.”
“She was on top of him,” she ground out.
“Doesn’t that say more about her than your father?”
She slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road, perilously close to the large ditch that ran on either side of the two-lane highway. Dance met her gaze directly, unmoved by her erratic driving. “Just because you like my father doesn’t mean you’re right.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“You . . . don’t know . . . anything.” She was struggling for words, horrified that her nose was burning and she was close to tears. Swallowing, she put the SUV back in gear and eased out onto the road. Her chest was drum tight. She didn’t want to breathe because she thought she might sob.
“I know that your mother died of a terrible disease and your father handled it badly. You saw your sister in a compromising position and you took aim, literally. I know that you might never get past it.”
She threw him a hard look. Very slowly, she said, “Don’t do this.”
“Jordanna, if—”
“DON’T DO THIS. Maybe you’re goddamn right. I don’t care. You understand? I don’t care.”
Her cell rang again and she blasted, “Don’t answer it,” but Dance picked it up and looked at the screen. He turned it her way and she saw KARA. Snatching it from his hand, she clicked on. “Hey,” she said in a tight voice.
“Where are you?”
“I’m coming back from Malone.”
“Did you see Aunt Evelyn?”
That threw her for a moment. “No. It was something else.” She hadn’t thought once about her aunt, whom she hadn’t seen since her mother’s funeral.
“Well, I’m on my way. If you’re not there, maybe I should stop and see Dad before coming to the homestead. By the way, how is the place? Livable?”
“Just,” Jordanna answered by rote. Her whole being was concentrating on Dance.
“What are you doing in Malone, if you’re not visiting Aunt Evelyn? Does it have something to do with your friend?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. I’ve been looking into things.”
“What things?”
“Kara,” Jordanna started impatiently, then managed to stop herself from snapping at her sister. “Just meet me at the house in about an hour or so.”
“Okay. I’m going to grab some lunch. God knows, maybe I’ll see someone I know around here.” She half laughed.
“I’ve run into a few.”
“Oh, yeah? Like who?”
“Martin Lourde, for one. The one you told me about, with Emily? Remember?”
“I’m not likely to forget. What was he like?”
“Not really as interesting as you might think.” Jordanna was sorry she’d prolonged the conversation.
“Did you talk about Emily?” she asked curiously.
“A bit. He said he wasn’t her boyfriend.”
“I know he wasn’t.” Her voice faded out a little, as if she’d taken the phone away from her mouth. “He was just one of the guys she slept with. The boyfriend was someone else.”
“You were only fourteen at the time. How would you know?”
“Because I watched, Jordanna. I followed her. She had this, like, secret life, and I wanted to know about it. The real boyfriend was the one who got her on the path to the Lord.”
“Okay, fine. Who is that?”
“I don’t know. I just caught a glimpse of him once. He was a big guy.”
“They’re all big guys around here.”
Her attention seemed to be gone, too. “This town . . . it’s weird how often you run into someone . . . oh, my God.” She made a sound of disbelief. “It’s him! HEY!” she suddenly called, and Jordanna could tell she was hailing someone else. “I’ll see you later,” she said in an aside into the phone.
“Who is it? What do you mean ‘it’s him’? Who?”
“The dude I was just talkin’ about! Oh, my God . . . I’ll catch up with you later.” She hung up before Jordanna could ask any further questions.
“Your sister ran into someone in Rock Springs?” Dance asked, following her end of the conversation.
“Apparently.” She shot him a glance. She’d found Kara’s conversation disturbing and couldn’t wait to ask her about it. “I don’t want to talk about my dad anymore,” she said. “Let’s pick up some lunch and think about what to do next.”
“Find the neighbor kid on the ATV who discovered the body.”
Jordanna nodded. It was disconcerting the way he read her mind, but then they thought along the same lines. Another time that would have thrilled her, convinced her that she had what it took to reach his echelon of ability. Today, she just wanted to ig
nore him . . . because he was making too much sense.
He was coming out of the feed store, hauling bags of grain that he threw into the flatbed of his truck, when the girl called out to him. “HEY!” He looked around, not certain she meant him, but then she came up to him. Pretty gal. Vaguely familiar.
“I know you,” she said, and her next words sent him spiraling into a dark past. “You’re Emily’s old boyfriend.”
There was thunder inside his head.
“You’re the guy she was seeing,” she said in wonder. “I was just talking about you.”
The sun came out from behind a cloud and hurt his eyes. Stabbed at him. A message. “Talking about me?”
“I don’t know your name, but you’re the guy. Who are you?” She was smiling, but it was a smile full of evil intent. “I’m Emily’s sister, Kara.”
“Kara,” he repeated, and the sound vibrated through him, sending waves of panic and disgust. She was one of them. One of the Treadwell sisters. The reporter?
He must have said that aloud, because she answered, “No, that’s Jordanna, my other sister. She’s in Rock Springs, too, now. That’s who I was talking to. Jesus, it’s like we conjured you up.” Her grin widened and he thought he saw hot flames beating inside her throat. She’d used the name of the Lord’s son in vain. He thought of the branding iron, cold now. But it could seethe with heat quickly.
He looked around. There was no one on the street. A moment in time when everyone was inside the stores. She was standing beside his truck. Her blouse was pale peach and thin, the wind pressing it against her breasts. He could feel his cock rise. Maybe he could have her first, like Emily. Just once. Maybe God would forgive him.
No.
Throat dry, he said, “I’m driving out to feed my horses. Emily loved to feed the horses.”
“You have horses?” She sounded delighted. “I’d love to see them, if that’s an invitation, but I gotta know your name first.”
She was so fucking coy he wanted to slap her. Instead, he pulled his lips into a smile and racked his brain for an answer. It came to him so easily, it sounded perfectly natural when he drawled, “Some people call me Boo.”
“Boo? Like, ‘oh, my God, you scared me’?”
This time it was the Lord’s name. His smile froze on his face. He bent his head, glad for the cowboy hat that obscured his expression. “That’s right.”
She looked around. “I got a little time to kill.”
“You have a car?”
She nodded to a little gray compact next to the curb by Braxton’s, some foreign piece of shit, he thought with a sneer.
“Follow me,” he told her, then jumped behind the wheel and started the engine.
He watched her sashay across the road, swinging her hips like a mare in heat. He let his hand drift to his crotch and gave himself a few quick strokes through his jeans. That’s all, he told himself. That’s all. She’s Satan’s daughter.
He pulled into the road and kept an eye on her in his rearview. Part of him wanted her to just go away, drive off and disappear. Another part, the hungry part, silently begged her to turn that tin car around and follow after him. But if she did . . . if she did . . .
He thought about Bernie and swallowed hard. He’d managed to keep his cock out of her. He’d kept his mind strong, his mission pure. But he didn’t think he’d be able to this time. Kara was too sassy and smart, too much like Emily.
He watched her pull a U-turn and start his way just as he hit the outskirts of town. His mouth was dry, his heart pounding. He wouldn’t take her home. He would drive past his property and lead her into the hills, past the Fowler place, past her family’s homestead. It was safer that way.
He slid a glance at the glove box. Inside were the drops. Just a couple would knock her out, and then he could administer the eternal sleep.
His inner sight envisioned her hips as she walked across the road. The rhythmic movement. When she was out . . . just before he sent her to a better place. Not heaven—she was too soiled for that—but a purgatory where she could keep away from the devil’s clutches . . . Maybe then he could indulge himself, just a little. He wet his lips at the thought. A gift, for being a good soldier in the war against Satan.
No.
“Yes,” he growled.
He just hoped Boo would stay inside. If he came out to the graveyard again, he was going to get thrashed. There was no other way to teach him.
He drove a long way, taking the back road that led into the hills, but she stayed right behind him. She’s not the reporter, he reminded himself. You need to get rid of Jordanna, the reporter.
But first . . .
He turned onto the grassy track that led to the graveyard, afraid she might balk at the last moment, but no, she kept on coming. Her car was going to be a problem, but he could get rid of it. It was dense woods around the graveyard, and he could hide the car till dark and then just drive it off the cliff, like when he’d chased after Emily.
A half mile in, he came to a stop, popping open the glove box. He pulled out the bottle with the eyedropper, sucking up just enough liquid to do the trick. Palming the eyedropper, he climbed out of the truck and waited as she slowed to a stop. When she didn’t get out of the car, he walked her way.
She rolled down the window. “This can’t be your place,” she said, frowning. “This is the back side of—”
“This is where I came with Emily,” he cut her off.
“In high school?” Her tone said she was having serious second thoughts.
“Your house is just down thataway.” He hooked a thumb to his right.
“I thought so. But where’s your house? This can’t be right.” Her eyes swiveled that direction, and quick as a snake he snatched a hank of her hair and slammed her face into the steering wheel. She grunted, blood gushed from her nose and she started gasping and thrashing. Quickly he shoved the eyedropper to the back of her throat and thrust the plunger. She choked and shrieked, and he covered her mouth with his bare hand.
“Shut the fuck up, whore,” he cooed softly to her, yanking open the door and dragging her from the car. She started howling as soon as he released her mouth, and he dragged her toward the graveyard, her heels digging into the ground.
But she was no match for him and he flung her down beside the mound that was Bernadette Fread. Immediately he threw himself on her, loving the way she squirmed and squealed beneath him, her movements making him groan with desire, his body pushing against hers until finally she grew quiet.
It took everything he had to keep from sliding into her warmth, feeling her close around him. But if he succumbed, it would be that much longer before he could ascend himself.
Pulling himself together, he stepped back from her. He couldn’t leave her here just yet. There was work to be done to salvage what was left of her soul. He bent down and picked her up, hauling her over his shoulder. At his truck, he stowed her into the cab, stuffing her into the footwell as much as possible. He took a blanket from behind the seat and covered her up so she looked like an indiscriminate mound, then he climbed behind the wheel and backed around her car, mashing down grasses, and aimed back for the farm. At the barn he would give her a lethal dose and watch her slip away. Then he would sear her flesh and burn out the devil who was hiding beneath her skin.
Chapter Sixteen
Jordanna went inside the pharmacy again and ordered another two burgers from the grill counter. She looked over the menu but couldn’t see anything she would rather have. Besides, she’d told him she was getting burgers, and by God that’s what she was going to do.
It took ten minutes and she waited impatiently, not wanting to think about her conversation with Dance about her father, unable to think of anything else. As she walked away from the counter, bag in hand, she half expected to run into someone else she knew, but the only people she saw were strangers. The scent from the burgers made her mouth water.
Climbing back into the RAV, she plunked the bag into Dance’s hand
s and said, “I’ve got the general idea where the body was found. All the properties off Summit Ridge are part of the old Homestead Act, three hundred and twenty acres, so there aren’t that many doors to knock on to find the kid with the ATV.”
“Big properties.”
She nodded. “The housing tracts near town were put up in the forties, fifties, and sixties, but they’re all to the north. The homesteads are south, and then Summit Ridge runs along the back side of about four farms, ours being one of them, and curves up to the falls before heading into the mountains.”
“Small town with a lot of land around it,” he observed. He lifted the bag. “Thanks for this.”
“It was your money,” she reminded him. They drove toward the homestead for a few miles, then she said, “About my father, you’re right. I should talk to him. Maybe after Kara gets here, I’ll give it a try.”
He nodded noncommittally. Having said his piece, he apparently was letting her decide. Or maybe he realized he’d said enough to sway her and anything more might piss her off.
That thought made her smile, but then the smile faded. Do you really remember what you saw that night with Emily? Or, is what you’re recalling, what you believe you saw . . . maybe something you turned into fact, whether it is or not?
Jordanna thought back to that moment when she’d walked in her parents’ bedroom, trying to recall every detail of the scene she’d spent so many years trying to forget. What was foremost in her mind was Emily atop her father and the rifle in her own hand. She remembered lifting the gun as Emily looked back and started screaming, and her father sat up straight the millisecond before she fired.
He was damn lucky she was such a terrible shot or she might have killed him.
September yanked up weeds by the fistful in Jake’s backyard. She’d moved into his one-level rambler with him the previous fall, and though he called it their place, she still thought of it very much as his. Sinking back onto her sneakers, she squatted for a moment, reviewing her handiwork. But instead of dandelions and crabgrass, her vision was filled with pictures of Jay Danziger and Jordanna Winters at the hospital, followed by the image of Carmen Danziger’s set face, and finally a completely fabricated scenario of the elderly Phillip and Jan Singleton, glaring across a table from each other, their food poisoned, each hating the other one. She imagined the Singletons, married for more years than either had found they wanted, their discontentment nurturing a dark, deadly seed that had finally burst open into out-and-out hate. She’d didn’t believe for one minute that the Singletons had made a suicide pact, the way Fairy and Craig had suggested. In her experience, it was much more likely one of them killed the other first, then killed her or himself.