TJ winced. “I couldn’t tell. From what Pike said on the phone, and from what he asked us, my guess is she’s been dead awhile. And buried. He kept harping on the condition of Drew’s hands—whether Alicia noticed if he came home dirty, that kind of thing. Plus, whoever she was, she wasn’t easily identifiable. Or at least none of the deputies on scene recognized her. I could tell that much just from the questions.” She visibly braced herself. “In answer to your question, Ethan: no, I don’t suspect Drew in all the ViCAP cases. Not because I don’t think he was perfectly capable of forcing a woman, but because he had fund-raisers or other political events that give him an ironclad alibi for a couple of them. Of course, if we’re looking at more than one rapist, the situation changes. He certainly won’t have an alibi for every one of the nights—or afternoons—in question.”
“You checked your own brother’s alibi?” Ethan’s puzzled question prevented Lucy from asking her own. TJ had admitted checking Billy Pike’s whereabouts during some of the cases; Lucy hadn’t realized she’d also scrutinized her brother’s activities.
“That a problem?” TJ asked in prickly tone.
“Not at all,” said Ethan, ignoring her defensiveness. “I knew you were thorough when I hired you.” Lucy saw TJ’s muscles relax and could have leaned across the table to kiss Ethan for so handily putting her at ease. Instead, she toyed with her napkin and looked at anything but him.
“What the hell is going on in this county?” Ethan asked. “One college student, upstanding, pretty, clean-living as far as we can tell, is murdered in a ritualistic fashion that would indicate a serial killer at work. An up-and-coming politician who comes from one of the town’s top families is shot to death with a long-range rifle. Nothing ritualistic about that that we know of, but both he and Renee are left out in the open, where anyone can find them. Another victim, a woman not recognized by the locals, is also killed—we don’t know yet how—but this one is buried. Bears no relationship in MO or pattern to the other killings.”
“People are going to lose their minds when it becomes public,” TJ said gloomily. “The only positive thing about the mystery woman and Drew being the sheriff’s cases is that leaks may be kept to a minimum.”
“You saying our department has a leak problem?”
“I’m saying our department has Marge.”
Ethan sighed. “Point taken.”
“Look,” Lucy said, determined to get them back on track, “if we assume for the moment that the ViCAP pattern cases are related, then TJ’s research shows they can’t be laid at Drew’s door. So where does this mystery woman fit in? Can we put her aside until we get more details?”
“I think we’ll have to,” TJ agreed. “And given that it’s the sheriff’s case, who knows when that will be? But I had an idea on the way over here: remember how you said the rapist got off on watching the women he’d raped recover? And that Renee was meant to scare the town? Maybe he figures Drew’s important and therefore a more terrifying object lesson.”
Lucy started to speak, but under the table Ethan tapped her foot gently with his own and then stood.
“Rita, Tom,” he said to the couple approaching the table. “What can I do for you?”
“You can get out there and find out who’s killing the citizens of our town!” The woman, Rita, glared at Lucy with poison in her eyes, and then turned her wrath on TJ. “And you, Tara Jean. Drew was your own brother, and here you sit doing absolutely nothing!”
“Rita,” the man tried to pull her away.
“Mrs. Calloway,” TJ said, rising. “Believe me, if there were anything I could do at the moment, I would be doing it. As you say, Drew was my brother. But right now, his case is in Sheriff Pike’s hands.”
“And that means you have to sit down with the likes of her? Why, everyone knows she threatened Drew. She probably killed him.”
“Rita!” Again, the man—her husband?—tugged on her arm.
Lucy saw Ethan give TJ a subtle shake of the head, telling her to leave the subject alone. “Rita,” he said kindly, “I know you’re afraid. I understand that. As TJ said, Drew’s murder is the sheriff’s case. Renee Josephs’s murder is mine, and I am doing the very best that I can to find out anything about it. You never met the girl, did you?”
“N—no.” Rita seemed taken aback to have the questioning turned on her. Lucy dabbed her lips with a napkin to hide her grin at Ethan’s tactic.
“And you haven’t heard anything? Any gossip, any news about strangers in town?”
“I’m not a gossip!”
“I certainly never meant to imply that you were. But the citizens of this town are the police force’s best source of information.”
“Well, I don’t know anything. Except that all this started when she got here.” That poisonous glare returned to Lucy.
“I understand,” Ethan said. “And Miss Caldwell is cooperating fully with our investigation.”
Rita’s lips twisted into a grimace. “I’m sure.” She took her husband’s arm. “Come on, Tom, let’s go somewhere else.”
“Who was she?” Lucy asked as soon as the couple was out of earshot. “I don’t even remember anyone named Rita.”
“You wouldn’t. She’s Marge Bollingham’s second cousin. She didn’t even move here until you’d left town.”
“Lovely. I can’t wait to get out of this town.”
“I’d tell you to go right now, but I know you wouldn’t listen,” Ethan said.
“Damn straight.”
Ethan’s phone rang at almost the same moment Lucy heard the storm sirens go off outside.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m on my way. TJ, too.” He dropped money on the table to pay their bill. “Duty calls. It’s all hands on deck until the storm slacks off a bit. I’ll drop you off at home and come by as soon as I can get away.”
Chapter Twelve
We breathed alcohol and smoke and innuendo from the day we were born. But Momma didn’t mean for us to suffer, and she never abused us either physically or verbally.
from A Bad Day to Die by Lucy Sadler Caldwell [DRAFT]
LUCY HAD BEEN working for three hours when the lights in her house began to flicker. Within minutes, they died completely. Damn. She had maybe an hour of battery life on her computer, but with the Internet connection down, she couldn’t access the server to upload her information, and she hadn’t thought about buying storm lanterns or flashlights when she moved back to the Hollow.
Hooking up a spare drive to her computer since her wireless backup relied on electricity, she copied over all the information she’d entered. How long would it take them to get the power back on? She prowled the house, anxious. With the plywood over the front window, she couldn’t see out, and even the gray half-light of the stormy sky couldn’t make its way into the living room.
Maybe she should have gone to the library after all. It was closer to town and doubtless on a generator if not on a different part of the electrical grid altogether. Here, she felt vulnerable, not a sensation she enjoyed.
Her disposable cell phone buzzed from inside her bag, indicating a text message. She dug it out and flipped it open.
ARE YOU ALONE IN THE DARK?
Shit. Lucy’s lizard brain screamed for flight—notsafenotsafenotsafe—but for all she knew, that’s exactly what he, whoever he was, wanted. She dropped the phone back into her purse and pulled out the revolver she carried in a specially constructed side compartment. Her eyes were adjusting slowly to seeing with only the faint illumination seeping in from windows in other parts of the house, so she dragged a chair into the corner and set up a guard station where her back was protected.
She wanted desperately to call Ethan, even if only to hear his voice. But he’d promised to come over as soon as he could, and she knew he’d stick to his word. She was safe in her corner. She could wait this guy out. And if he showed up, she could
put a bullet through him without any hesitation at all.
Still, she wished Ethan were there.
Rain clattered on the roof and spattered against the windows, punctuated by the occasional rumble and crack of thunder. Her watch ticked off the seconds. Hundreds, thousands of seconds passed before she heard the low thrum of a Hemi engine beneath the myriad sounds of the storm. Closer and closer it came, dying at last directly in front of her house.
Her phone rang again. Without taking her eyes off the door, she flipped open the cover.
“Your house is dark,” Ethan said, “which means your security cameras probably aren’t working. Since I have no desire to face the business end of your shotgun, I figured I’d call before knocking on the door.”
The shakiness of her own laugh surprised her. “Probably a good decision. I’ll let you in.”
“I’ll drive around to the kitchen door. I’m soaked, and I don’t want to drip on your carpet.”
The engine outside came to life again, and she heard him pull around as she eased out of her chair. The tension had stiffened every joint and muscle in her body. Oh, Momma, telling your story is making me old.
“I thought you couldn’t get away from the station,” she called out as Ethan dashed up to the door, two battery-operated storm lanterns in hand. Even as she spoke, she realized how ungracious she sounded. But Ethan just grinned at her, his heavy beard shadow and dripping black hair giving the expression a faintly piratical cast. She could almost imagine a sword in place of the pistol hanging from the duty belt that encircled his lean hips.
“You have a real problem with saying thank you, you know? We’re going to have to work on that.”
A blush crept over her face. “Thanks for bringing lights.”
“I’d have been here sooner if it had occurred to me you wouldn’t have them. Everything’s back on in town, but it can take them a while to restore power to the outlying areas like this.”
“Some things never change.” She set the lanterns down and turned to him. “Something happened earlier,” she said.
“What do you mean something happened?” Immediately, his hands were on her arms, his eyes sweeping over her, looking for damage.
“I’m not hurt. Really. It was just another threat.” Lucy showed him the text message.
“Dammit, Lucy, we had a deal! Why didn’t you call me right away?” He shoved his chair away from her and stalked out of the kitchen. She caught up with him pacing in the dark living room.
“Ethan—”
“Don’t. Look, I know you’re not used to asking for help. I get that. I do. But aside from your mother’s murder, we have Renee’s, Drew’s, and the other woman they found out in the woods. We also have a slew of other missing women, some or all of whom may be dead.
“If even a few of those cases are related, we have a monster on our hands, and he’s obviously fixated on you. Even if you don’t give a damn about your own safety, consider cooperating for the sake of the other women he may go on to later. Or consider it for Tim’s sake. If this guy kills you, who’s left to take care of him?”
Lucy dropped to the sofa. “That’s low. Using my brother to manipulate me.”
“I know it is.” Ethan took off his duty belt and laid it on the coffee table, then sat beside her. She could feel the heat of his body reaching out, drawing her in despite the fact that not even the coarse black hairs on his arms touched her skin. “But here’s the thing: your only goal is to find your mother’s killer. I want that, too. But I have other, equally important priorities, and one of them is being certain nothing happens to you. If that means reminding you that Tim relies on you, so be it.”
“Don’t lecture me about Tim. There hasn’t been a day in his life I haven’t put him first. Not since the minute my mother brought him home from the hospital.” Lucy rubbed her temples. “He was precious. Perfect. She’d even given up drinking—at least mostly—during her pregnancy. For a couple of years, right before and right after he was born, things were better than I ever remember.”
“And then?”
“She got lost again. She turned Timmy over to me and gave up.”
“Not entirely. You said she had a plan to get all of you a new start.”
It was as good an opening as any, and the duty belt had given Lucy an idea.
“Do you trust me?” she asked.
• • •
ETHAN WATCHED HER carefully. Now they were getting to it. Everything inside him told him she’d finally begun to take down the wall he’d been trying to scale since the day they’d met. “Haven’t we gotten beyond that? Of course I trust you.”
She let her gaze slide deliberately to the cuffs clipped to the belt and linger there. Her meaning was clear, but her breathing was shallow and a bit ragged.
If she didn’t relax, she might break, so he went for a little humor. “I wouldn’t have figured you for the type.”
A blush burned into her cheeks. “I’m not talking about sex.”
“Naturally.” He winked at her to take the sting from the word. “But you do want me to let you hook me up.” It wasn’t a question, but she nodded nonetheless. “Why?”
“Because I have a story to tell you, and I don’t want you to storm out in the middle. You need to hear all of it. All the way through to the end.”
“And my word’s not good enough? Now who has trust issues?”
“I don’t think it’s fair to ask you to give your word blindly.” She couldn’t look him in the eye, and she was practically hyperventilating. Whatever this was, she needed to deal with it.
“Okay, then.” He unclipped the cuffs. “What were you planning to shackle me to?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far.” Lucy looked around, examining the dimly lit outlines of the furniture. The sofa had thickly upholstered arms, as did the armchairs.
“Maybe we should go with the tried and true,” Ethan suggested. “Surely there’s a way to hook me up to your bed? If not, we can go to my place—my bed has a plain steel frame that would do nicely.”
“Mine will work.” Slowly, and with obvious reluctance, she rose from the couch.
Ethan followed her up the stairs, cuffs in hand. “You look as if you’re going to the gallows,” he said as she paused in the doorway to her bedroom. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, we do.” She gestured toward the bed.
Ethan took his time. Whatever Lucy felt compelled to tell him, he suspected he wanted to hear it almost as little as she wanted to say it. He settled on the edge of the bed, then leaned down and pulled off his boots. Lucy, meanwhile, sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, watching him with wide, shadowed eyes.
When he had laid his boots next to each other beneath her nightstand, he patted the coverlet next to him. She shook her head.
“Uh-uh, honey,” he said. “We can do part of this your way, but not all. You did say you weren’t afraid of me, remember?”
He saw the memory flare even in the dusk-dark room and allowed himself a frisson of satisfaction. The sensation grew when she scooted up next to him. He slid a hand behind her neck and drew her closer still, ignoring her faint resistance. Her palms rested against his chest, but she did not push him away. He held her gaze with his own as he lowered his head.
At the last second, when he could taste her breath, she pulled back. Not far, but just enough for him to see the conflict twisting her features.
“We should wait.”
“I won’t listen nearly as well if we do,” he teased. Christ, but the woman drove him crazy. She was practically vibrating with tension. A physical release would be good for both of them and, though a simple kiss wouldn’t do the trick for him by a long shot, it was a good start.
“Once you hear what I have to say, you may not be so eager.”
“If you studied regular men as closely as you do crim
inals, you’d realize how truly unlikely that was. I’ve wanted you since the moment you stalked into my office, accused me of being one of Dobbs’s lackeys, and announced your plan to do my job for me.”
“That’s not what I said!”
“No?”
Her full lips twisted into a rueful grin. “Okay, I can see how it might have sounded. In which case, you must have very peculiar taste in women.”
“I guess I must.” But the moment was gone, so he snapped one of the cuffs to a rail in the headboard and the other to his left wrist, propped himself up against the pillows, and readied himself for whatever Lucy might have to tell him.
Chapter Thirteen
My memories of that day are painted in shades of red from a deep, almost black burgundy to a bright and reflective vermilion. And no matter the shade, no matter the hue, the tints all taste of copper.
from A Bad Day to Die by Lucy Sadler Caldwell [DRAFT]
“I’VE NEVER TOLD this story,” Lucy began, crossing her legs Indian-style on the bed and carefully avoiding Ethan’s all-too-penetrating gaze. “I hoped I’d never have to. But there are people who know it. TJ. Drew Dobbs. Billy Pike. Maybe more. And sooner or later, if you’re right about this coming to a trial, I may have to tell it to your lawyer friend, because it absolutely gives me motive in Drew’s murder.” She was babbling, she knew, but it was so hard to admit her own stupidity, her cowardice, her guilt, especially to a man who probably had no experience with such weaknesses.
“When I was fifteen, I had a terrible crush on a boy two years older than me. Pete O’Connell. He was a quiet kid, kind of a nerd. I thought I hid my feelings pretty well, so I was shocked when I opened my locker one morning before school and found a note from him. I couldn’t help wondering whether anyone had seen him pushing it through the slats and thinking about how my status might change if they had. Pretty pathetic, really, considering Pete wasn’t much further up on the food chain, socially speaking, than I was.”
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