“That’s a start.” He reached up and pushed her hair away from her face, then ran a thumb across her lips. She felt her lower body clench involuntarily. “What do you like?”
“I don’t know. I mean . . . I just feel . . . exposed this way.”
“Ah.” He studied her, and she wondered whether he was reconsidering getting involved with a woman so clearly damaged. When he slowly pulled out of her body, she wanted to clutch at him, but she didn’t.
“Flip over, sugar,” he said, his hands settling her where he wanted her. He knelt between her legs and then pulled her back so she rested on her knees and forearms. Talk about feeling exposed! Her face burned and she was fiercely glad he couldn’t see it. But then he nudged his way inside her and all embarrassment fled. This was what she had been missing. Somehow, here in front of him she had control that she didn’t have above or below. His hands were on her hips again, but she didn’t need or want his direction. She set the pace, fast and hard, and he let her, remaining virtually still.
Faster and faster she thrust against his body. Close, release was so close. And then his arm snaked around her waist and his hand dipped down, and his finger found her core and her whole body convulsed and she lost the rhythm, but it didn’t matter because he’d taken over and they were falling together.
• • •
ETHAN THOUGHT HE might be about to have a stroke. He could barely breathe, and sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Who knew sex could be like that? Not that he didn’t enjoy sex, because he did. Hell, even bad sex was good sex, when it came right down to it, but what had just happened went way beyond anything he’d experienced before. He slid out of the bed to dispose of the condom and clean up. When he came back with a warm washcloth for Lucy, he found her curled up on her side, her back facing him, fast asleep.
Each knob of her spine was clearly articulated. The eroticism of the pose brought parts of his exhausted body to abrupt attention, but the vulnerability took his breath away. It spoke of complete trust, which he had done nothing to deserve. He had nothing to offer her.
Ethan couldn’t leave Dobbs Hollow, and Lucy couldn’t stay.
He crept toward the bed, determined to let her sleep, but his plan was thwarted by a sudden thump that faintly shook the walls. He scrambled for the bedside table, cursing when he remembered leaving his gun downstairs. Lucy, who’d shot straight up in bed, echoed his sentiments, then relaxed.
“It’s the compressor. For the air conditioner. The electricity must have come back on.”
“Christ,” Ethan said, lowering himself to the edge of the bed, “that’s a hell of a way to get your adrenaline flowing.”
“No kidding.”
He stood and stepped into his boxers and jeans. “I’m going down to get my gear. Then we need to talk.” And he dreaded it. She’d told him of her bravery; now he would have to admit his own cowardice.
“I guess I should get dressed, then.”
Lights blazed downstairs. Out of habit, he checked the cell in its belt holster to be certain he hadn’t missed anything, but no one had called. Thank God. He was pretty sure he’d reached his limit. His head pounded and his knee ached in a psychosomatic reaction that nonetheless had him desperate for a painkiller.
He decided to grab a glass of water before heading back to Lucy, so he slung the duty belt around his jeans and walked into the kitchen. He’d just filled the glass when a tremendous crash shook the house. Wood splintered and he heard Lucy shout even as he stumbled from the kitchen.
Into complete chaos.
An old, beater pickup truck had crashed through the boarded-over front window of the house. It rocked there, tilted over on one side for interminable seconds, then slammed down onto all four tires. Dust rose in a massive cloud, and Ethan choked. Squinting against the particles hanging in the air, he could see a man slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious or dead. Or faking it.
“Ethan? Are you okay?” He looked up to see Lucy coming down the stairs. Her eyes were fixed on him, and her feet were bare.
“Stay there. I’m fine. You?”
“Fine. What happened?”
A quick, visual once-over told him she was uninjured and that she’d taken his advice to stay upstairs.
“Hell if I know.” He picked his way toward the truck cautiously, gun drawn. When he reached the driver’s side window, he put the gun away. Whatever else the guy might be, he wasn’t faking his injuries. Blood had crusted on the side of his face; he’d been dead before the crash. A branch had been wedged beneath the driver’s seat, forcing the gas pedal to the floor. It had obviously come loose in the crash. Ethan reached through the window, slid the truck into park, touching the gearshift as little as possible, and switched off the ignition.
Silence filled the room. Far away, Ethan heard the sound of a small engine receding. Motorcycle or ATV, he thought, the getaway vehicle for whoever had set this up. A creak jerked his attention to the stairs, but it was just Lucy venturing down once again.
He twisted his head to get a better view of the driver, and recognized him as Richie Mack. And wasn’t that the topper to the evening. Richie, who was on his list of people to talk to about Eric Allenby and snakes and other creepy things, and who was a known associate and long-time friend of Jed Martin, originator of the chores list found near Renee’s body. And a tweaker. A man with loose lips who wouldn’t be missed, except as a source of cash to his meth dealer.
“Do you think he was drunk,” Lucy asked, making her way toward him through the wreckage, “or high?”
“No. He was dead.”
“You mean . . . before?”
“That’s what I mean.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on here.” She was shaking, and Ethan stepped around the rubble, watching where he put his bare feet, to pull her into an embrace.
“We’ll figure it out. We just have to take it one step at a time.” He gestured at the truck. “Do you recognize him?”
Lucy pulled out of his arms and squinted through the passenger side window. “No. He looks vaguely familiar, like I might have seen him around when I was a kid, but I can’t think of his name.”
“Richie Mack. Does that ring a bell?”
“Oh, yeah. He was on the football team. He’s lost a lot of weight since then.”
“Meth.”
“That’ll do it.”
“Yeah. Can you think of anything he might personally have against you? He wasn’t connected in any way to what happened to you in high school?”
“No. That was just Drew and Billy. Billy was friends with Richie, but not the same way he and Drew were. The thing I remember most about Richie was that he and three of his football buddies—Chuck Hemming, Jed Martin, Eric Allenby—tried to cause trouble for my mother one night. It was a few weeks before she died. I don’t know what was said, but I peeked out the window and saw them pull up in Jed’s car. Saw my mother shoo them away, too.”
Yet another connection to both Eric and Jed, who’d raised Ethan’s curiosity already. He had a pretty good idea how that particular conversation had progressed. But could anyone still hold a grudge so long after the fact? No longer teenaged boys with bruised egos, these were grown men.
Of course, that hadn’t been true at the time of Cecile’s murder.
Lucy looked around at the destruction of what had once been her home.
“It’s like the past lives on right here in this house. All I have to do is set foot here, and the ghosts all come back.” She gestured at the enormous hole where the truck had come through the wall. “But I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
Ethan heard the shakiness behind the attempt at humor and drew her attention away from the destruction, back to the case. She would feel safe there, on professional footing. They were alike that way.
“Do you remember seeing them at school the
day your mother died?”
“I thought about it then, and I can’t swear to any of them except Chuck. He was getting an award. But he and Richie were always joined at the hip. Eric is a couple years younger, so he couldn’t always get away when they did, and I never had that much contact with Jed, so it’s hard for me to remember. But they were friends. Why would one of them do . . . this . . . to him?”
“Nothing makes sense to me. Just try to remember what you can from the day your mother died and whether you saw them while I call this in,” Ethan directed.
“Of course.” With a wan grin, she rubbed a hand across his chest. “I suppose I’d better get the rest of your clothes, too.” Despite the situation, Ethan felt an echoing smile tug at his own lips.
“That would probably be a good idea.”
She climbed the stairs and Ethan, forcing his eyes away from the seductive sway of her rear end and back to the task at hand, called the station. Still bootless, he made his way around the front of the cab and read off the truck’s plate to Marge. “Tell Scott to find the RO. Mack doesn’t have a license, so I doubt it’s his. Who else is on tonight?”
“Ed and Dan are in one car, Aaron and Cal are in another. Keith went home. He’d been here forever. TJ and Scott are both in house.”
“Send TJ over here, along with Aaron and Cal. And sorry as I am to have to say it, get Keith over here. You’ll have to call Bobby O, too. I’ve got another body for him.”
“Scott can access the DMV just as easily in route. Why don’t I send him over there?”
Because his brother may be involved in this mess. “Because I need someone coordinating down there, and I trust Scott to get it right. This isn’t a car accident. Richie Mack was dead before the truck started. He may have been killed in the truck, he may not have. Either way, we have a lot of work ahead of us, so you’d better put the coffee on.” He clicked the phone closed and reflexively checked the time. Not even eight. It felt like midnight.
Lucy came down the stairs. She’d dressed in jeans and sneakers and tied her hair into a high ponytail that made her look about fifteen years old. The age she’d been when all this started. The age at which she was attacked by Billy Pike and Drew Dobbs. Looking at her, he was swept by dual waves of possessiveness and fury. She’d had years to overcome her past, but he hadn’t. He and Billy Pike would have a reckoning.
She handed him his clothes, and he sat on the stairs to pull on his socks and boots. He was buttoning his shirt when he heard sirens approaching. He’d meant to tell Marge they weren’t necessary, but he’d forgotten. Richie Mack wasn’t going anywhere, and he preferred the town kept quiet. Sirens attracted attention, and he’d be getting calls about what had happened. Dobbs Hollow didn’t need a newspaper; the grapevine served as the police blotter.
TJ arrived first, as Ethan had expected. He understood the protective instinct better now, having heard their history. The front window was a mangled mess, but the door was still functional, and she chose that entrance, rather than pulling around back as he had. Her blue eyes met his, and he was surprised by the fear he saw there.
“Have you been outside?” she asked.
“No. What’s going on?” He strode toward the door.
“When I pulled in, the headlights caught the bed of the truck. There’s something in it.”
“Shit.”
The sun had finally gone down, so although the rain had almost stopped, the sky was black. He pulled his Maglite from his belt and shone it on the truck’s bed. Watery red fluid dripped from the tailgate. Mindful not to step in any of the pooling liquid, he approached the side of the bed and looked down into it. And almost threw up.
The body—for there was no mistaking the fact that what now lay in the truck’s bed had once been human—had been dismembered. But before that, it had been . . . skinned. Pieces lay piled around the bed of the truck. He could distinguish at least one arm, two legs and the head, all tissue exposed, occasionally cut down to the bone.
“Holy mother of God,” Ethan murmured. He closed his eyes for a minute, then dragged himself back to work. “TJ, call Marge and tell her I want Bobby out here ASAP. This just got a whole lot uglier, and if there is any evidence at all left in that truck after the rain, I don’t want to lose it. Do you have an evidence collection kit in your trunk?”
But he didn’t hear her reply, because a crash sounded inside the house, and Lucy shrieked.
Chapter Fourteen
People say everything looks worse at night. But morning can be equally cruel, pointing out ragged edges misted over by the shadowy light of evening. And while darkness may bring fear of the unknown, daylight can gleam from monsters’ teeth, showing the truth to be more frightening than anything the imagination dreams up.
from A Bad Day to Die by Lucy Sadler Caldwell [DRAFT]
ETHAN BOLTED FOR the house. He scanned the interior, his heart settling only when he spied Lucy at the back of the living room. The table she’d been using as a desk lay overturned at her feet, and she was scrabbling through the objects on the floor. Even from the door, Ethan could hear her breathing, harsh and irregular.
“Lucy?”
She didn’t look up. “I can’t find my cell phone. I don’t have their numbers anywhere else. I need my cell phone.”
“Whose numbers, sugar?” He approached her slowly. She was obviously terrified and he didn’t want to make things worse.
“The boys. I need their numbers. He’s not answering.”
He reached her side and leaned down to urge her to stand and look at him. Her whole body shook and her face was dead white. Shock. What the hell had happened in the few seconds he’d been outside?
“Who’s not answering, sweetheart?”
“Timmy.”
“Why do you need to talk to Tim?”
Rather than replying directly, she reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her disposable cell. Clicking the message button, she turned it over so he could see the screen. A picture of her brother popped up, with the caption “Time to go home.” In the shot, Tim held a basketball and faced another boy, Ethan didn’t recognize the background, but assumed the shot had been taken in Dallas. The blur and pixilation suggested it had been taken with the camera’s phone from several feet away.
“I can’t reach him,” Lucy said, her eyes full of tears.
“Let me make a call,” he said, pulling her close with one arm while flipping open his own cell phone with the other hand. He hadn’t put Artie Buck’s number into his contacts, but it remained in his previous calls list.
“Yeah?” The man was short on formality, but Ethan didn’t care.
“Artie, this is Ethan Donovan in Dobbs Hollow. I need to ask you a favor. It’s for Lucy and Tim.” He outlined the situation as quickly as he could and asked Artie to drive out to the Caldwell house and see what he could find out.
“I’m on my way,” Buck said. “Lucy’s okay, though?”
“She’s right here. We’ll be waiting for your call.” He flipped the phone closed, laid it down on the table, and pulled Lucy tight against him.
“He’ll be fine, sweetheart. Artie will take care of him.”
“He’s all I have, Ethan.”
Even muffled against his shirt, Lucy’s words stung. Taking her by the shoulders, he set her away from him so he could emphasize his words by fixing her eyes with his own.
“We’re going to get him back. We are. But, Lucy, Tim isn’t all you have. Not even close. If nothing else, I would have thought what just happened between us ranked me among those people you felt you could count on.”
Lucy shifted, looked away from him, then looked back. Her eyes were damp, and her lips trembled, but her chin lifted, and even through his frustration he admired her strength.
“Don’t go there. You know it was great. And I’m not discounting it. Not by a long shot. But it’s not
permanent. One day, you’ll be gone.”
“Really? That’s how you see things? One day, you’ll wake up and I will have disappeared?”
“You don’t need me,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“And you’re so sure that’s all that ties people together?” He could hear the frustration bleeding into his words, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. Dammit, he did need her. He didn’t want to, but there it was. And even if he hadn’t, there was more to a relationship than that. “Is that what kept your foster parents together for so long?”
“No. Todd and Karen loved each other. What they had was special. But you’re not telling me that after one night you suddenly love me, are you?”
Was he? Hell, yes. And not after one night. But his feelings weren’t the issue. “Lucy—”
Sirens screamed as the other patrol cars pulled up as close as they could get to the house without destroying the scene, and Lucy fled up the stairs. He almost chased her, but what could he say? Love didn’t solve problems, especially if it was one-sided. Lucy of all people should know that.
The squad car with Aaron Barrett and Cal Wilkes pulled up at the same time as Keith’s Ford Explorer. They parked behind TJ, to keep the scene as clear as possible.
“Oh, shit,” said Keith when he saw the contents of the truck bed. “What the hell is going on around here?”
Both Cal and Aaron looked to be trying to keep from vomiting. Ethan figured this was probably their first murder scene. If they could hold it together, they’d have a good start on anything else the job might throw at them.
“Richie Mack was in the front seat, but he was dead before the crash. You know anything about him that might connect him to a killing like this?”
“Was he . . . ?” Keith gestured to the body in the truck bed. “No. At least as far as I can see, he’s all in one piece. He was even belted behind the wheel, though I suspect whoever did this wanted him upright, and wanted to be certain he didn’t knock loose the branch holding the accelerator down. Everything else was for effect.”
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