Sweeter Than Sin

by Shiloh Walker

  She’d ruined Noah’s life. It looked like he was just now finding something that might make him happy.

  She thought of the Bell family, how many years they’d wandered, waited, spent nights with no answers.

  She thought about David and the hell he’d gone through. Even now, he was still out there, somewhere. No justice for him, no justice for so many other kids.

  People mourned his parents. Those monsters. People mourned them.

  So many other things wrong in this town. But there he sat, rocking on his porch.

  Yeah, that pretty much sucked.

  … It’s best if you don’t come back.…

  She started toward him, those words echoing through her head. Yeah? Well, guess what? She came back.

  She saw it when he realized he wasn’t alone, a fine tension racing through him, and slowly his head lifted. He turned, looking toward her, and sharp, watchful eyes narrowed on her face.

  She felt the impact of that gaze right down to her toes, but she wouldn’t let herself look away.

  She’d given up twenty years of her life.

  She wasn’t giving up anything else.

  As she mounted the steps, he sighed and started to fold the paper he’d been reading. It rattled, the noise grating on her ears. He tucked it under his coffee cup before looking over at her. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

  “You were always the intelligent sort.”

  He looked away from her, staring out into the distance. Then he nodded to the empty space next to him. “You might as well sit. I suppose you didn’t come by for nothing.”

  “No.”

  She sat in the seat and crossed her legs while her mind spun with hazy memories of the last time she’d seen him.

  Those memories were too fragile to be trusted—whether it was the head injury, the trauma, the fear, she didn’t know, but the first few weeks were a blur and she barely remembered anything but the first few minutes when he’d stood over her.

  Come on, Lana. You have to get up. You have to move.

  A rush of panic, fear … and then again his hands gentle and kind, his voice soft and reassuring. Everything is going to be okay.

  Except it hadn’t been okay.

  Nothing had ever been okay again.

  Minutes ticked away and neither of them spoke. The wind kicked up, blowing her hair back from her face. Despite herself, despite the heaviness in her heart, she had to smile. She’d missed this place. This town. Home. She’d always dreamed about leaving … for a while. Just to see the world. Then she wanted to come back. Marry Noah. Have a family. And do things that mattered.

  That was all she’d wanted.

  She’d managed to do one of those things. She saw the world.

  That was about it.

  Feeling the weight of his gaze, she turned her head and meet his familiar blue eyes. The steadiness of that gaze had been one of her clearest memories for a very long time. When everything else was a daze of blood and fear and pain, she remembered those eyes.

  And the promise.

  A broken one.

  Coolly she said, “You’re a damned liar.”

  “Am I now?”

  “I was half out of my head—sick from the pain, the way my head hurt. But I remember you standing over me, telling me everything was going to be okay.” Her lip curled as she looked away. “How in the hell can you call this okay?”

  His quiet sigh drifted to her. “Well now. That is a question. I was an arrogant fool. I thought I could handle it on my own. I had the names, you know. David gave them to me. I took care of them, each one of them. On my own.”

  Startled, she swung her head around to look at him.

  “You…” She blinked and rubbed a hand over her mouth. “You took care of them? There was a heart attack. A car crash.”

  “Easy enough to make it appear that way. If you know how.” He shrugged. “I knew how.”

  Stunned, she stared at him, processing what he’d said. “You … wait.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples as all of that settled into place. It didn’t want to fit and it left her head pounding. You killed them. All of them? She chanced another look at him. His face was serene. And she realized she didn’t doubt a word he’d said.

  But it wasn’t good enough. Surging to her feet, she started to pace. “It’s not enough, damn it. It’s still happening. How can it still be happening?”

  She was just as angry with herself as she was with him, but it was easier to throw this out, to force the anger on somebody else.

  And he let her.

  “If I had the answer to that, I’d give it to you, Lana,” he said quietly, staring out over the river. “I thought it was over.”

  “You thought?” She threw the words out between them like a challenge. “Something that fucking ugly and you thought? Everything I left behind? Everything we did and tried to do and you thought? Everything we went through and you thought? All these boys that have been suffering and you thought? That’s not good enough. It’s not—”

  “You’re right,” he said gently, his quiet, level voice cutting through her fury like a bucket of cold water. “I killed the men that David told me about, but I never looked any deeper, never thought to look. And I’ll carry that regret to my grave. If I can find each of those boys and apologize, I will gladly do so. But I had the names of the men David knew, besides his father. I thought it was done.”

  Staring at his back, she curled her hands over the railing and then looked away, trying to figure out what to say next, what to do. She’d come back for a reason, and this time, no matter what it took, she’d see this through. “I’m not leaving again.”

  “Of all the times for you to come back, girl. You had to pick now.” He shook his head, his sigh drifting away on the wind. He slanted a glance at her, a thick brow rising. Those insightful eyes probed her, seemed to see straight through her. “I take it you heard about the body. You know they found her.”

  “I…” She gulped, spit drying in her mouth and turning her heart to lead. As it sank like a stone to settle in the pit of her belly, she forced herself to speak. “I know. It doesn’t matter. I heard about the arrests. I know it’s still going on. Nothing else matters. I have to see it through, make sure it stops this time. No matter what.”

  “No matter what.” He tugged off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, staring down at the floorboards, studying the toes of dusty worn-out boots. “And when you’re connected to what happened all those years ago, girl? What are you going to do when they start pushing for answers? Plenty of people tried to connect you to their disappearances. You aware of that? Have you thought it through that far?”

  “No.” The word came out faint, weak, and she had to clear her throat before she could say anything else. “No. I haven’t through it through. But I can’t just sit back and turn a blind eye when I know what’s going on here. If I’d stayed…”

  “If you’d stayed…” He paused, his words trailing off as he stared off into nothing. “A lot of ifs. Twenty years gone, no way to know what could have happened. They’ll have questions for you. A lot of them. And you’ll have to be the one to answer some of them.”

  He turned, leaned against the railing. “If it comes to that, so will I.”

  Guilt lodged in her throat, weighed down on her like a stone. “I don’t have to tell about you.”

  “Horseshit. I’m involved. Same as you.” Those shrewd eyes lingered on her face and she had to fight not to squirm. “What can you tell them about that night?”

  The pounding in her head increased, that ache that always got worse every time she tried to figure out an answer. She just shook her head. “Next to nothing. Most of it is a jumble. A few bits and pieces of you. There was David, before she showed up. And then her … once she showed up, everything moves too fast and there was the gunshot. Pain. Then it’s all a mess and I don’t have anything clear until…”

  She stopped, looked away. If she kept talking s
he’d start to rage at him, and that wouldn’t accomplish anything. She wanted to yell, wanted to demand answers. Why had he shoved her away like that?

  Why hadn’t he …

  Something of what she felt must have shown on her face. She saw the change come over his face, saw it as he prepared to say something. Before he could, the door to the house opened. Lana froze and ducked her head, staring at the floor as a woman’s soft, questioning voice drifted to them.

  Feeling the weight of the woman’s curious stare, Lana turned around, staring back over the river as the man and woman talked.

  Then Lana turned away, giving them her back.

  A moment passed and the door shut.

  Swallowing the knot in her throat, she glanced over at him while a war waged inside.

  Now what?

  She wasn’t sure what she’d hoped to accomplish here, but she’d come hoping he’d have answers. Insight.

  Something.

  But there was nothing here, she realized.

  Whatever she was going to do, she’d be doing it alone.

  “You don’t need to go stirring things from the past up,” he said gently. “All those people are going to pay for what they did. It’s all coming to light now. You don’t need to be involved in it.”

  “Involved…” Bitterly, she smiled. “I’ve been involved from the get-go. There’s only one other person more involved than in this than I am.” She turned and gave him a hard look. “And I guess he’s not wanting to do jack shit about it.”

  There were a hundred questions she should ask—so much of that night was a fog, and so many of her memories were muddled.

  She could ask those questions. She would try to get answers. But the rage inside her was clawing to get free and one thing she had learned—she knew better than to do anything unless she was completely in control.

  Since she was veering into that area where she just might lose control, she pushed off the railing and left.

  He stayed behind, watching and waiting.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  He felt like he was moving through a fog.

  Death did weird things to people, and he wasn’t talking about the deceased. All fucking day, Adam had been forced to deal with nosy questions, false sympathy and, even worse … awkward, real sympathy from people who weren’t really sure what to say. Rita had a lot of friends, but not many of them had been close.

  She’d been a lot like him.

  A loner.

  In a few weeks, other than her mom, he might be the only one who even thought about Rita much.

  It hurt. A lot. She should be remembered, somehow.

  Moving down the street, he stopped in front of her house and leaned against the fence while his mind struggled to work.

  It didn’t add up. None of it added up; none of it made sense.

  I want this to make sense.

  But there wasn’t any sense to make of it. How could he make sense of her death, though?

  The past few weeks had been miserable, but why had she killed herself over something her father had done?

  Had she slid that far down into that pit of depression again and he just hadn’t seen it? She’d fought those demons before, but he could usually see it coming on.

  This … this mess with her father had been different. Had it come on that fast, that hard, and he just hadn’t seen it? Yeah, she’d asked him over, and there’d been a shadow in her eyes, but it wasn’t that look. He knew that look. That darkness, that desperation.

  If he’d seen that there, he would have gone home with her. Would have been there.

  But it had been there anyway, and he hadn’t been.

  She’d been alone, completely alone, and she’d killed herself.

  “Fuck,” he snarled, driving the heels of his hands against his eyes in a desperate attempt to blot out the image of her, her pale form sprawled against the carpet, her eyes sightless, the bottle of Jack a few inches from her hand and the empty bottle of pills just a few more inches away.

  That memory spun around in his mind like a deranged child’s toy and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t wash it away. If he kept standing there, he was going to find a way to wash it away. Preferably with his own bottle of Jack.

  Because the call was damn strong, he turned away and started up the road, heading toward home.

  It wasn’t a long walk, but each step was dogged with guilt and grief. Hands jammed into his pockets, he refused to look toward Shakers as he crossed Main and headed west. His house was just a few more blocks away, and once he hit his street, he breathed a little easier.

  He hadn’t given in, hadn’t succumbed.

  One more night.

  He’d made it through one more night.

  At the sidewalk, he paused, staring up at the house, so dark and quiet.

  And empty.

  Completely empty.

  Son of a bitch.

  Lana wasn’t there.

  One hand curled into a fist, tight, useless, impotent, as it hung at his side.

  She wasn’t here.

  Somewhere deep inside, he realized he’d been holding on to some halfhearted hope that she’d be here when he came home. That he wouldn’t have to come home alone.

  And she wasn’t here.

  The windows were dark, staring out at him like dead eyes as he stood at the foot of the walk. What little strength he had left all but drained out of him and he almost went to his knees.

  Abruptly the desire for that bottle of Jack returned, with a vengeance. Why the hell not…?

  He’d done it for his folks, but they were long gone and they’d never know if he lost himself in a bottle again. The one person he really did need was never going to be his. She’d probably leave again anyway, so what did it matter?

  What the hell did it matter if he fell inside the bottle and never crawled back out?

  Because you owe it to yourself.

  At this point, though, that wasn’t much of an anchor.

  * * *

  Lana stared out the window of the room Adam had given her.

  He looked … lost.

  He looked empty.

  And as awful as it sounded, she wanted to go down there, wrap herself around him and just lose herself in him.

  She understood the need for seeking comfort in physical contact. She’d done that a lot when she’d first hit the ground running. Although maybe comfort wasn’t exactly the right word. She’d just been looking for something. Looking to find herself. Looking to lose herself. Looking for something to hold on to so she didn’t just … fade away. Just looking.

  She’d never found what she was looking for, although she’d come close with Deatrick.

  Now, though … she wasn’t just aimlessly yearning.

  Looking at Adam, she actually wanted.

  It was the first time she’d actually wanted somebody since … hell. Since Noah.

  She didn’t just want the physical contact and she wasn’t just looking to scratch an itch. She wanted to strip those battered jeans away, that faded black T-shirt. She wanted to learn the hard muscles under the clothes, with her hands and then with her mouth. She’d already spent far too much time learning him with her eyes, but she’d damn well like to see how he looked when he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.

  Preferably when he was crouched over her, his hands fisted in her hair as he came inside her.

  A pulse of hunger hit her square in the middle and rippled through her entire body. Loose, liquid warmth spread through her, turning her limbs to putty, pulsing through her core, while her nipples drew to near-painful points. Just from thinking about him. No. Not him. Them. Together.

  This was insane.

  Lana didn’t care. She wanted to grab it, grab him, and ride that insanity all the way to the end.

  One day.

  She’d only been back one day and the crazy need was threatening to eat her alive.

  But then again, some part of her had always belonged to Adam.

  He’d b
een her first crush.

  He’d been her confidant.

  He’d been her closest friend, for the longest time.

  And when she’d seen him running along the river, some part of her had felt … safe.

  She didn’t want safety now, though. She wanted to stroke away the misery she sensed inside him and she wanted to wrap her arms around him, guide his head to her breasts and promise him that it was going to be okay.

  Even if it was a lie.

  She wanted to make it okay. Not just for her, but for him, as he stood down there, looking like his entire world was falling apart. Then she wanted to do something completely selfish and make him focus on something other than his grief. She wanted him to focus on her.

  “You are a selfish little tramp,” she muttered.

  Look away, she told herself. If he was grieving over Rita, she should leave him to it. She should curl back up in the bed and get back to trying to piece through the notes she’d been making, articles she’d been researching online, bits and pieces of what she remembered from years ago.

  She’d spent most of the afternoon on it, not that she’d learned anything. David hadn’t been able to really give her many names. The men were careful about how the boys were brought in, but he’d mentioned, once, that he thought he knew who a few others were. One of them had been Glenn. Glenn Blue. And that son of bitch had become one of them. Now he had a son of his own.

  They had tried to break it and then that bastard had just up and remade it. There had to be more. Other connections, other ties that she needed to see, but she couldn’t drag her eyes away from Adam.

  All she could think about was him. She wanted to tell him she was sorry. For so many things. For his friend. For the hurt she’d caused him.

  Lifting a hand to the window, she watched, wondered, worried. And as she watched, he lifted his hands to his face. Broad shoulders rose and fell in a ragged rhythm.

  The sight of it made her ache and the tears he didn’t seem willing to shed rose inside her.

  “Adam…” she whispered, lifting a hand to the window.

  And it was like he heard her.

  * * *

  Adam didn’t know what drove him.