Leaving the patio door open behind the sheers, he moved to the door and peered down the hall. Outside one of the many closed doors was a silver tray, set on the floor, with a few dishes left on it like this was a hotel.
The first door next to the tray turned out to be a bathroom. He didn’t see details, since the lights were out. He assumed the next door was the bedroom that these dishes had come from. The tray held an empty bowl, a mug with a tea bag in it, wrappers from cough candies, and a little plastic cup that looked like it came with a bottle of cough syrup.
Knuckles had to grin. It gave him some security when the information he’d been fed appeared to be accurate.
He reached for the door knob, and it turned so smoothly in his hand he doubted if his grip was tight enough. He pushed and it swung inward.
God bless good carpentry, he thought as he moved over the threshold without a single creak.
This room was dark. He stood still, closed his eyes, and waited until the count of thirty. When he opened them again, he could pick up every sliver of light he was missing after being in the brighter hallway.
Little pirate trick his dad had taught him.
There was someone in this bed. The room was much smaller than the one he’d entered, but still had a definite feel of luxury. But none of that mattered. He moved in, catching sight of a head, dark against the brilliant white pillow it rested on.
Holy shit. Talk about déjà vu.
He shook it off, then reached out with one hand and pressed the man’s head down. Of course, he woke up right away. But he was clumsy from sleep and could only flounder. He was facing the side of the bed where Knuckles was, so his left hand came down with the blade, aiming for a spot under his chin, pressed deep and yanked his arm up fast.
The gurgling he expected. When he let up on the man, however, he didn’t expect the floundering to lead to the lamp crashing off the bedside table.
Not his problem. After he dropped the blade, he headed down the hallway, fighting not to run so fast he tripped himself and did something stupid like hit his head and give himself a bloody nose, leaving his DNA all over.
In the women’s room, he was pulling the sheers back when a voice said, “Stop right there!”
He froze, then swiveled his head to the door. A teenage boy was on the hallway threshold, legs braced wide, arms out in front gripping a pistol with both hands.
Shit.
“Who the fuck are you?” Knuckles asked, sounding like a moron. But to be fair, he was caught off guard.
“Who are you?” the kid asked.
“Just let me head out this door, kid,” he said, hands up, palms out. “I’ll let you be, hand to God.”
The little fucker cocked the thing.
His stomach leapt into his throat. “Listen, this doesn’t have to go bad.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m leaving. And I’m leaving you in one piece.”
“What? What’d you do to my dad?”
Shit.
He made to run anyway, but the gun went off and tore a hole in the trim around the patio door, really close to his hand. Shit, gunshots were loud up here. One more and the neighbors would be calling the cops.
So, he rushed the kid. All he wanted was the gun, just to knock the cock and balls off this prick. But the kid brought the gun around again and Knuckles knocked it out of his hand, then punched him.
Punched him hard. The kid’s body swung to the right, but his head was about ninety degrees ahead of it. He bounced off the doorjamb, already limp.
Shit. Holy fucking shit.
Knuckles knelt over the young body, touching his chin. Blue eyes stared upward at the ceiling, not blinking. He had to be about fifteen? Sixteen, tops?
He landed on his ass as he realized that punch had killed. Snapped his neck? Just from that?
Fuck. He’d killed a kid.
Knuckles’ eyes closed. No, no no no nonononononono...
Not this. He couldn’t be here again. He didn’t want to remember, he couldn’t go back there.
So instead, he got off his ass, and ran.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“So, let’s take a look at what’s happening in there,” the doctor said with a big smile, looking away from the ultrasound screen. “You ready to see your baby?”
Grace’s hands fidgeted at the hem of her shirt, pulled up over her stomach. “Is there anything to really see?”
Danielle smiled and smoothed out Grace’s hair. “You know there is, honey. We looked it up online.”
The gunk was already on her belly, so the technician put the wand to skin and began prodding around. Her daughter was slight, so Danielle was certain they’d get a good look, even at ten weeks, give or take a few days.
Sure enough, that arched screen found a black section, and inside was a little grey and white jellybean.
“Oh wow,” Grace breathed, covering her mouth.
“So, we have the spinal cord, and there’s the head.”
“Oh my God, it’s huge.”
They all giggled, and the wand moved over again.
“So, eight weeks. There’s a central nervous system forming right now, along with its little internal organs. The cartilage will be turning into bone now, and there will even be little flaps forming the ears. And your baby will be moving soon, but it’ll be a while before you feel it. Your baby weighs about a third of an ounce, and about an inch tall.”
Grace gasped. “Still so small?”
“Yeah. But there’s a lot going on in that little bundle.”
They got her to print a photo of the jellybean from the side. They decided then that they’d call the baby Jellybean for the time being. They weren’t going to be the ones to name the baby, after all. But for now, it was Jellybean.
Grace and an adoption councilor had decided on a family to adopt the baby already. They were sent updates through the doctor, and they were paying the medical bills. But there was going to be no contact with them.
That had been Grace’s call, and it surprised Danielle. She thought for sure that Grace would want to fully approve them. But it was going to be a closed adoption, and not meeting the people, in person, would help with the separation. At least, that’s how Grace put it, and Danielle was just support.
She was somewhat impressed with her ability to keep her mouth shut. When Grace asked what she should do, Danielle told her. When she was asked what she thought, she kept it to both sides of the question. And Grace’s decisions, to Danielle’s mind, made perfect sense.
Somewhere along the way Grace stumbled across a website talking about uninterrupted skin-to-skin contact between mother and child, and she’d gone on a crying jag that lasted two hours. She wanted to do that, but she also thought it might break her heart.
Danielle didn’t want Grace to put herself through it. There was a lot of evidence that seemed to prove that it improved the respiratory and immune systems, temperature, glucose stability, and decreased crying that indicated the baby started life less stressed out. The problem was that it forged the mother-child connection for Mom, too.
Grace’s argument was that she could tell the baby why she was being adopted, and let him or her know that it wasn’t because they weren’t wanted. The question was whether she could handle it.
That made Danielle cry too, to be honest.
So, the compromise was that they’d plan for it, but at the moment the baby was born Grace could say no, and they’d hand the baby over to the adoptive family. The doctor was pleased with that decision, too. She had confirmed the health benefits for the baby, and suggested that immediate breastfeeding not take place, just the holding. That might help the separation while still setting the baby up for good health. Grace was also interested in possibly donating her breast milk.
After the doctor’s visit, Danielle suggested Grace skip the rest of the afternoon. There was only another hour in the school day anyway. So, they went for ice cream.
Grace was sure she was al
ready getting big, and Danielle assured her that this was nothing. She could whine when her pants wouldn’t do up anymore.
They talked about nothing over sundaes and cream sodas, an overall pleasant outing. To be honest, Danielle was beyond pleased to see her daughter turning to her for help instead of arguing about everything she said. Clearly though, it’d be preferable that she not be knocked up to get them to this level of their relationship.
“So, you can finish this school year. I wonder if the baby will be on schedule,” Danielle mused, licking the back of her spoon.
“I hope Jellybean comes early,” Grace said, digging up a spoonful of ice cream and chocolate syrup. “So, then I can just start the next year, all normal like.”
Grace also seemed to think losing baby weight would mean all was fine and dandy with life. Danielle had no way to prepare her for the hormonal changes that came after.
“Are you still doing okay?” she asked, setting her spoon in her empty bowl and pushing it to the side. Grace would know this had nothing to do with the pregnancy; every now and then she’d get quiet, lost in her thoughts, and Danielle was sure she recognized the look.
Grace shrugged, chasing the last fraction of an inch of melted ice cream around her dish with her spoon. “I guess. I mean, I’m not entirely sure why I get sad thinking about Brian. I don’t think I even liked him, I just...wanted him to like me. I have no idea why.”
Danielle smiled. She knew why; attention from an older boy, for a girl who would always be seen as different. Assholes would smell that from a mile away.
“And what about you?” Grace asked, sneaking a look then setting her bowl down. “Any word at all from the leather menace?”
“Don’t call him that.”
“Why not? Mom, the window got shot out in our kitchen.” At least she kept her voice down as she said it. “He goes out to look into people breaking into his house and vanishes? Doesn’t even come back to see if we’re all okay? Who does that?”
Knuckles O’Shay does, Danielle thought wryly. It was true. Six days ago, the incident with the shooting happened, right next door. Frankly, she’d been too scared to call the cops, and none of the neighbors had called, either.
That night a board magically appeared over her window while she was trying to get Annie settled back into bed with no adequate explanation as to why she could not mention any of this at school to anyone. Grace had been easy to coax back to sleep; she was always tired lately. And she was already promising she wouldn’t be bragging about the shooting outside her house at school.
Then the next day, shortly after school let out, a van appears at her house and Tank, Fritter and Rusty are putting a new window in her house, refusing to let her know how much it cost or how she could pay for it.
Adeel had come with them, which was great because he and Annie sat out in the warm sunshine reading books and talking about school. Or, Annie talked and Adeel listened. Almost immediately Grace appeared in the kitchen, and it didn`t take a genius to figure out why. Fritter and Tank had removed their shirts, and Danielle almost laughed. Manly, shirtless tasks. She had to admit, the barrel-shaped strength of Tank was impressive, and Fritter’s physique spoke of a lot of time spent in the gym repeatedly lifting heavy things. Rusty kept his T-shirt on, but it was awfully tight in the shoulders and arms.
There was no flutter or warmth in her cheeks, though. The entire two hours it took them to replace the window, she was waiting for Knuckles to show up. He didn’t.
He didn’t show up the next day, either. Or the next. Or the day after that.
Six days, and as far as she could tell he hadn’t even been home. Not a word, complete radio silence.
At first, she thought he was handling whatever else had happened that night. Then she thought the club had him doing something, but that didn’t ring true. He would have called.
Now, she just felt stupid. He was obviously done with her, and this was how he handled it. He walked away, severed the tie completely. She’d meant nowhere near as much as she thought.
A foolish hope was insisting that she was incorrect. That something was actually wrong with Knuckles, and he was staying away because he thought that was the right thing to do.
The fact they’d made love that night hurt. He’d held her, cuddled her, fallen asleep with her. Then gone outside to see what was going on at his house and...it was like he’d never been in their home. The common story about the man that went out for cigarettes and never came back.
The first four days had her nervous. The last two, she was angry. But she also couldn’t bring herself to berate him in front of the kids. Annie was moping enough as it was. They’d finally got the motor on the bike running and she didn’t understand what could be more important that getting the project done. She didn’t see Danielle’s side.
But Grace did.
“I can’t speak for him, Grace,” Danielle said, aiming for lightness. “I can’t swear enough to speak for him.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Mom, you’re too smart for this. It’s okay to be pissed. Annie’s not here right now. He’s not my best friend. I liked him, but after this...” She shook her head and reached for her ice water. “This is bull, Mom. He can’t just turn his back.”
“I guess he can, Grace. I didn’t expect it, but that’s what happened.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Of course it does. I haven’t cared about anyone since your dad. And I’m really mad that he’s also stomped all over Annie’s feelings, too. She’s so crazy about him, and he just...” The breath she drew was ragged. “That hurts the most. I’m tough enough for it, I’ve learned a lesson here, I guess. But Annie...Christ, this is going to hurt her so much.”
Grace nodded, lip quivering. “I could punch him for that.” She covered her mouth as her eyes filled, then she laughed. “Oh my God, Mom. What the hell is with these hormones?”
She laughed, covering her daughter’s hand that was still on the table. “Oh, that’s the miracle of life right there. It’s a beautiful thing.”
“It’s making me a crazy person.” She wiped her eyes. “Was it like this for you?”
“With you, yes. I honestly can’t remember with Annie. There was so much going on.”
Right then Danielle’s cell went of, and she reached for it, already knowing it had to be work. She took the call, and Grace got up to go use the washroom. “Danielle Prince.”
“Danielle?”
“Troy? What’s up?” Ever since Danielle had told him about the possibility of Brian Crawford having pictures of Grace in a compromising situation, Troy had mellowed out around her. The other bit of good news was that the forensic tech team hadn’t found any content on any of the phones or laptops in the trailers that contained anything of the sort.
“I got a hell of a mess for you.”
“Wow. It’s my lucky day.”
“Some kids looking for snakes along the county line—that is, the soon to be abolished county line—found a body. We sent the CSI guys out there first and they found six very dead people, piled in one not very deep grave.”
“Holy crap.”
“Yeah. Did you want to look at the site?”
Not really. But what she said was, “Sure. I’m just out with Grace, but I’ll drop her off and meet you. Where are you guys?”
She got a rough idea of the spot, then hung up as Grace came back to the table. “Work?” she asked, not bothering to sit again.
“Yeah. Sorry, honey.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s always kind of urgent when you get a call. I understand.”
-oOo-
“Holy shit, that smells terrible.”
Troy laughed and handed her a handkerchief. She’d never known anyone that carried them before, but Troy did. She only found that out after Kings County Chief Deputy Coroner Tracy Cooper had suggested she attend more crime scenes, based on her degree in forensics. At the time, she’d been reluctant, but after doing it a few times she had to admit it was helpfu
l to see the scenes so that, while processing evidence in the autopsy suite, she wasn’t wondering if a fiber or organic material was foreign to the scene or not, just to determine if it was a clue as opposed to something that could be expected to be found in the environment.
But this particular scene was out to chase her back to her sterile suite. She had to walk down an incline and through some scrub brush to get to where the Sheriff’s department CSI team was working, and from fifty paces the stench hit her like a slap in the face. There was a thick, noxious perfume to a decomposing body. Both sweet and spoiled. Troy’s handkerchief smelled of laundry softener, and mostly covered the stink.
“I think we have six DBs so far. They’ve reached the bottom of the hole, so they’ll start moving them all to bags. You can take a look as they do.”
She nodded, already pulling the DSL camera out of its tote bag. The lens cover went in her pocket—regrettably, along with the handkerchief—then she started snapping photos of the surreal tangle of arms and legs in the crevasse. It literally resembled a den of snakes, what with the arms being the only obviously recognizable thing. The legs were all denim-clad, and from what she could tell there were T-shirts in the mix, too.
When the first body was lifted out they laid the victim out on his back. She found that odd, until she realized he was wearing a black leather kutte, and while it was caked in dirt, the rat emblem on the back was obvious.
She stopped breathing, counting in her head again the number of bodies Troy said were in the hole, and the number of bikes outside her house that night when her window got broken.
Six. Six in both instances.
Releasing a breath that sounded like she was having an asthma attack, she snapped a few photos of the kutte, then the body was turned over and that’s when she noted the missing hands.
Shelter (Red Rebels MC Book 5) Page 35