Kiss of Deceit

by Patricia A. Rasey

  “Well, sorry I can’t help you. I’m not her keeper, just her fiancé.”

  Bob glanced at Marcus. A muscle ticked in his tightly-clenched jaw.

  “Sorry to have bothered you, Chad.”

  “No problem. You give me a call as soon as you find her, though.

  I’d hate to have to worry about her the entire day.”

  Bob had to hand it to Chad; some acting job. The man really did sound sincere and the sheriff seemed to buy it—every false word.

  “I certainly will. Thank you for your time, Chad,” the sheriff said, then turned off the speaker phone. He looked at Bob. “She’s probably running late, doing a last minute errand with a friend or neighbor. Who knows—but I’m sure there is absolutely nothing to get concerned over.”

  Bob fidgeted. He knew Joe was wrong, and if his intuitions proved correct, then LeAnne’s life might very well hang in the balance. Had she discovered the identity of the murderer? For LeAnne’s sake, he hoped not.

  Snake suddenly stood, drawing everyone’s attention. His stormy expression spoke volumes: Marcus Gallego had not bought into Chad’s sincerity. “You two can sit here and discuss the weather for all I care, but I’m going looking for her.”

  “And where in the hell do you intend to start?” the sheriff asked, a condescending smile on his face. “Good God, if we don’t know where to look, how will you? Be patient boy, she’ll turn up.”

  Snake grumbled a few expletives then stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  “So what’s with him? What’s his interest in LeAnne?”

  “Snake Gallego seems to have grown fond of our detective.” Joe’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m not fond of her?”

  “Of course you are, as well as I, but I think LeAnne’s caught more than just the interest of that biker. I don’t know what’s gone on between them, but I’d say his interest in finding her is of a different nature than ours. But that’s neither here nor there. The important thing is what I discovered while I was in Boston and I think you need to hear it. All of it.”

  * * *

  Snake hung around the empty hallway long enough to hear what Bob Reese had to say, raising the hairs on his nape. Prosecutor Chad Baker appeared responsible for murder and would be held accountable. If not by the court of law, then by Snake Gallego. Not to mention what he’d do to the prosecutor if he dared to lay one finger on LeAnne. His palms itched to wrap his fingers around Chad’s throat and squeeze the life from him. If not for putting LeAnne’s life in jeopardy, then for causing his own recent misery.

  He left the sheriff’s office and hopped on the back of his Softail. Time was of the essence—if they were not already too late. The sheriff and his chief deputy could discuss strategies on finding LeAnne, but Snake meant to take action. His first stop would be her home.

  When he had gone to LeAnne’s, this morning, he had every intention of telling her why she shouldn’t marry the prosecutor. Though he had nothing to offer, he simply could not sit back and watch her marry someone she did not obviously love.

  But upon his arrival, it seemed no one had been home. The bolts on all the doors had been tightly fastened and the garage door had been down. Snake looked around, but found nothing out of the ordinary, but then he hadn’t expected to.

  This time was different. This time he knew her fiancé was capable of murder.

  Snake pulled his motorcycle into the drive and stepped off the black shining bike. He rushed to the back door, took a quick glance about, then busted the small window with his elbow. He reached in and unbolted the door, then carefully turned the knob.

  The dim kitchen appeared untouched. A strong scent of bleach filled his nostrils. No dishes littered the counter, no pans from the night before. Snake opened the dishwasher and spotted clean plates. The appliance sat only partially filled.

  A stainless steel meat mallet lay on the top shelf. He rolled the drawer outward and closely examined it. LeAnne had made pasta and marinara sauce, causing him to wonder at the purpose of the mallet. He slid the drawer back into place and stormed into the living room. Here, too, everything looked in place.

  Almost too neat, too tidy.

  Marcus had been here enough times to know LeAnne always seemed to leave a glass or two about. Shoes lay discarded by doorways or entrances. But now, none could be seen.

  He ventured into the bedroom. The bed sat made with its patchwork quilt and pillows tossed neatly to the head of the bed. Another oddity. LeAnne’s bed always seemed unmade, covers tossed haphazardly across it.

  The bathroom bore no water spots around the sink, mirror, or faucets. The house appeared damn near unlived in. Not that LeAnne lived like a pig, but not neat as a pin either.

  Marcus stood there, silently contemplating the state of her home, when he noticed part of the sheet hanging from beneath the quilt. The sheet itself had not truly caught his attention, but the dark spot it seemed to point to on the beige carpet did.

  Kneeling, Marcus scratched at the stiff surface of the brownish-red dry spot. Flecks attached themselves to his fingers as he raised them to his nose. His heart plummeted to his stomach.

  Blood.

  Christ Almighty, had Chad used the mallet to crush in LeAnne’s skull, then quickly washed and cleaned away the evidence? Surely Chad would know what cops looked for. That would explain the overly-clean house and the half-filled dishwasher.

  As he snapped to his feet, his world teetered and blackness threatened. Each breath seemed a fight to draw. For the first time in his wretched life he looked to the heavens for an answer. Had he arrived too late?

  It suddenly occurred to him that Chad would have had to hide the body. No dead body—no foul play. Unless they had a body of strong evidence. This, too, would explain the neatness of LeAnne’s house. Chad’s home in the country would have been the perfect place to bury her. Rows of corn stood in single file around his house. He could have buried her small body far into the earth where, in the fall harvest, her grave would go unnoticed.

  Dear Lord in heaven, he hoped he wasn’t too late. He ran from the house and headed for his motorcycle.

  * * *

  LeAnne awoke with a sharp, painful thud in her skull and attempted to raise her head from the soft pillow. The pain stemmed deep, from the base of her skull and through the mass of her brain. The agonizing thud seemed to drown out all sense of thought, rendering her inert. She carefully laid down her head, keeping her eyes closed.

  She tried to come up with a valid explanation for why it hurt like hell, but the pain seemed to win as she attempted to roll to her side, but it left her immobile. After taking several deep breaths, LeAnne tried to open her eyes. Night had obviously fallen, thankfully, for sunlight might have been too much for her to bear.

  Blinking several times, she attempted to focus on something, anything. Her vision clouded over, even in the dim lighting. Her head spun and bile rose in her throat. When LeAnne again attempted to roll to her side, she still found the movement impossible. She had to settle for turning her head, though nothing came but empty heaves, her mouth incredibly dry.

  Giving way to her helplessness and searing agony, she allowed the blackness to engulf her once more. With unconsciousness, the pain seemed bearable.

  * * *

  A soft rumbling startled her awake. Hours or minutes later, she was unsure. The thud in her brain still remained, but no longer swallowed up her senses, enabling her to think. She opened her eyes a mere crack and squinted through the dark room. A foggy haze still remained, but she could now make out the briefest of shapes. A desk sat by the far wall, a chair slightly off-center in front of it. Above it, pictures and newspaper clippings seemed tacked to the wall.

  LeAnne tried hard to focus on the pictures, but her head thumped mercilessly again. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her churning stomach.

  What the hell had happened?

  The rumbling that had awakened her continued, grew in intensity. The sound seemed vaguely familiar, th
ough she tried not to concentrate too hard on the memory of it, lest she find herself passing out once again. Baby steps; one thing at a time. She took in several deep breaths before opening her eyes and glancing in another direction: the briefest movement of her head sent shards of pain through her skull.

  Daylight spilled through a crack. The shaft of light seemed to be coming from a door. She tried hard to concentrate on the opening. Steep cement stairs led upwards, as though she were below ground.

  As if to attest to this, the scent of damp earth assailed her nose. She wiggled the fingers stretched above her head and felt a cool, dirt wall. A cellar of some sort?

  When she tried to pull her hands down to wipe her perspiring face, she realized something hampered her movement. Though her brain still seemed a foggy haze of pain, allowing her little if any conscious thought, it came to her. She had been bound. And for the first time since wakefulness, she realized why her mouth had been so dry— something had been stuffed in it. She couldn’t have spoken or cried out had she the energy or inclination.

  Scenes of the night before slowly flashed before her: Chad sitting across from her, Chad watching wrestling, an engagement ring, an Indian bandanna, raw, blinding pain.

  “Oh God,” muffled silently through her. The pain in her skull returned tenfold, telling her that Chad had obviously hit her with something.

  But where the hell had he taken her? Her world swirled and everything seemed to come at her at once. Chad Baker, her fiancé, the man responsible for the deaths of Jillian Gallego, Miranda Holliday, Samantha Duncan, Cora Smith, the caretaker.

  And now he had her.

  The loud rumbling in her head cut short, greeting her with sudden silence.

  Before the inkiness of unconsciousness could swallow her again, she realized what the approaching sound had meant: Marcus Gallego.

  Chapter 30

  Snake stepped from his motorcycle. His glance swept the side yard and surroundings. The beige-colored house sat alone, large oaks and maples partially shielding it from view. Rows of corn stood like barriers on three sides, reminding him of his earlier thought: LeAnne could be buried somewhere out there. His stomach churned. He couldn’t conceive of life without her.

  Cardinals could be heard along with the annoying caw of a few crows, but other than nature, all seemed deathly quiet and uninhabited. He had carefully parked his motorcycle beside the barn, keeping it purposely from view. The last thing Snake needed was some nosy passerby alerting Chad Baker of a visitor at his humble abode.

  After taking a quick look up the road and finding it empty, Snake jogged to the side of the house. With a hankie, he checked the knob of the side entrance. The lock held fast. A peek through the window told him Chad’s home sported no fancy alarm system, probably hadn’t felt the need, living in Henry County.

  Snake’s fist, covered by the handkerchief, struck the window; glass shattered and tinkled to the linoleum. He reached in, snapped the deadbolt free and turned the handle.

  Once in the house, Snake glanced around, upstairs then down, in closets and cabinets large enough to hide a person, finding nothing out of the ordinary. The prosecutor seemed meticulous, no dust or dirty dishes spoiled the interior. Neat and fastidious, just as LeAnne’s house had been left. The antiseptic smell of bleach hung heavy in the air, reminding Snake of the similar scent left at LeAnne’s. Now, more than ever, Snake believed Chad must have been the last person at LeAnne’s house, making sure no traces remained.

  He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but nonetheless, a sense of disappointment and helplessness washed over him. He knew that LeAnne needed him, this he could sense. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Somehow, LeAnne seemed more lost to him now than when she spoke of her intentions to go forth with her marriage, even after the nights they had spent in each other’s arm.

  Snake struck the drywall of Chad’s house, leaving a gaping hole, ignoring the pain to his fist. Christ, why had he allowed her under his skin? Why the hell did he care?

  He hadn’t been actually ready to offer her anything more than what it already was. Marriage and Snake were antonyms, but LeAnne and Marcus were synonyms. An equation impossible to solve. He could admit his love for her, but he could never offer her a lifetime. After one failed attempt at matrimony and the work involved to keep the relationship alive, Snake decided long ago, had he to do it all over again, he’d remain a bachelor until he took his dying breath.

  * * *

  Snake’s hands reached out, palms up, leaving a chain dangling between them. His dark eyes pleaded with her to release him. Silver cuffs encased his wrists, cuffs she had put there. Shackles bound his feet.

  “No,” LeAnne shouted as a large man grasped Snake by the red collar of his prison uniform and led him away. She had been wrong. Why wouldn’t they listen?

  Perspiration ran down her face and stung her eyes as she fought against invisible restraints. She couldn’t let them take him.

  “No,” she screamed again, “he’s innocent—can’t you see—he’s committed no crimes.” But the man only laughed and continued on his slow, methodical way.

  “Don’t take him. He’s all I have,” she whispered hoarsely, broken sobs choking her words.

  LeAnne yanked at her wrists and kicked with her feet, but she was powerless to help. Tears streamed unheeded down her cheeks. Helplessness consumed her, rendering her inert.

  When they reached a door at the far end of the long corridor, the man holding onto Snake turned slowly, a menacing grin on his face. She stared into the eyeless face of Chad Baker. Only black gaping holes lay where eyes should have been.

  LeAnne’s heart stopped. A glacial chill washed over her, turning her blood to ice. “Please,” she pleaded feebly. “Have mercy on me.”

  “As you did me?” he roared; his eye sockets lit like twin fire-red coals. “You are nothing but a common whore. For that alone I will take away what gives you pleasure.”

  “Oh, God,” she mumbled over and over as she struggled madly to be free. “Oh please, God—No!”

  His hideous laugh returned as two black Dobermans appeared in the opened doorway, flooding her with relief. Ajax and Comet. Surely they would save Snake from a fate worse than death.

  But instead of attacking the ominous man, they turned on their owner. Snake stumbled dumbly backwards as the two dogs knocked him from his feet and nipped and bit at his flesh. His hands and feet bound, he had no way of defending himself as one bit at the crotch of his pants, refusing to let go.

  “LeAnne!” came Snake’s agonizing wail. Nothing more, just her name, over and over. “LeAnne!…LeAnne!”

  With a sudden jerk, she awoke, her breath coming in shallow pants. The arduous throb in her head reminded her it had been nothing more than a dream, a repulsive nightmare. LeAnne scanned the dank interior and saw Snake nowhere in sight.

  But through the haze of her disorientation, one word could be heard above the beat of her pounding heart. One that sent hope rising up in her chest like a thousand butterflies. “LeAnne.”

  * * *

  Snake called her name for what seemed the thousandth time, knowing with a certainty no answer would come.

  He ran his palm down his perspiring face. Why he stood in the middle of the yard and yelled her name over and over was lost to him. Maybe it somehow cleansed his soul, freed his spirit of the guilt of not being able to find her, to help her. She had come to his rescue once, saved him from a life in prison: one behind bars, and one of the heart. Now it seemed to be his turn.

  After the traitorous Jillian, he thought to never care for another again. But then came LeAnne, making him realize Jillian had been a mere idol, something he gave to but that returned to him nothing; not his love, not his friendship. LeAnne was different. She loved him, Marcus Gallego, for who he was. Marcus had never felt that kind of love in his life and wasn’t sure what to do with it.

  Of course, she had never told him she loved him, but she hadn’t needed to. It was in th
e way she made love to him, with her soul, not just her body. His heart ached at the prospect of never feeling that love again.

  Snake headed for his motorcycle. Chad’s house had been a dead end. He had found no trace of LeAnne and the barn held no secrets. He lifted his leg over the seat of his Harley, and sat down, taking a final glance about the yard.

  With a shake of his head, he pushed the start key, kicked up the stand, and held the powerful bike between his legs. It was too easy to travel back in his mind and feel LeAnne’s arms around him for the first time.

  Revving the engine and popping the clutch, he circled the big yard, past a pile of broken branches and twigs, down the driveway, and onto the country road.

  * * *

  Earlier, the sound of Snake’s motorcycle had grown in intensity, sending her heart pumping furiously in her chest, only to have it plummet as the rumble grew distant.

  She fought and screamed behind her binds. “No,” her heart cried. Desperation stole her breath and nearly sent her back into that dark world where nightmares reigned. LeAnne fought hard to maintain her consciousness. The last thing she wanted was to be totally defenseless if Chad should come back.

  And he would.

  She knew that with a certainty. Chad was not finished with her. He wouldn’t be until he saw her dead. With her hands bound tightly, she imagined she would meet the same fate as the others.

  Jillian Gallego, Miranda Holliday, the caretaker, Cora Smith, and Samantha Duncan. God only knew how many more lives he had taken before he moved to Henry County some five years ago. He had wormed his way into everyone’s confidence and their hearts—including hers. How could she have been so blind?

  Realizing that with each yank of her bind, it only tightened the hold on her wrists, LeAnne slackened the bandanna, using her fingers to try and loosen the simple knot. It took all of her energy to concentrate on the task and not the blinding thump of her skull.