She stopped, uncertain where to go from there.
* * *
Guilt was an old friend of his, but just then it was taking a bigger chunk out of his ass than Adam was used to. Brushing her hair back from her pale face, Adam cupped her chin. “You don’t remember.”
“No.”
She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her. As he searched her grey eyes, that guilt twisted inside him, tighter and tighter.
All this time, he’d waited for her to reach out, to somehow let him know.
But she didn’t even remember.
Head injury, shock, fear. He didn’t know. And all the anger he’d been struggling with, it was useless. Misplaced, maybe. He should be pissed at the people responsible—Diane, who was probably dead, the evil fuckers of Cronus—and he was ready to kill all of them anyway, but now he had another reason.
Dragging his thumb down the smooth surface of her skin, he sighed, the sound ragged and broken in the silence of the room. “You sounded scared,” he said, still watching her. “When you called. You were terrified. I hadn’t ever heard you sound like that. I was about ready to call the cops, your dad. Then, barely a minute later, you called me back. Told me to forget you’d called, told me to lie if anybody asked about you. And you don’t even remember.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “No.” Under the thin material of her red shirt, her shoulders slumped. “No. I’d hit my head pretty hard—probably should have been in a hospital, but…” She shrugged. Her pulse beat a wild tattoo at the base of her neck. “I had a concussion—I’ve had them since, and once you have them you can’t mistake that feeling. The headaches were awful, and I lost a lot of that night. Memories that won’t come back, nausea. It was a couple of days before I could think clearly. By that time, I had to…” she stopped and blew out a sigh. “Had to leave.”
“Had to leave,” he said slowly.
Lana winced, nodded. “I was in the area for a few days, and then…” She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck while a headache pounded. Those headaches always came back when she tried to think about that night, tried to pull it more clearly into focus. “I’d been … hell. Hiding. I couldn’t hide forever, not here, and everybody was saying the worst, right? So I had to bail.”
Lies … why are you lying to him?
She wasn’t lying, exactly. She just wasn’t sure what to tell him yet. Until she knew what she was doing, what she could do, it was best that she not drag anybody else into this mess. And she couldn’t tell him who all had been involved. Yeah, he knew about David, but she couldn’t complicate it any more than it already was.
“You had to bail,” Adam said, echoing her words yet again.
She grimaced, knowing how awful that sounded. “You think I don’t regret what happened?” she murmured, turning to look at him. “You don’t think I don’t look back at those days, at that night and wonder if there was a better way I could have handled it? I was a stupid, idiot kid. My dad always told me I could change the world … I … just wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help.”
“I’m not pissed about the fact that you were always out trying to change the world. I’m not pissed about the fact that you were always out there biting biting off more than you could chew … and I’m sure as hell not pissed off that you tried to help a kid in trouble,” Adam said, his voice stark and cold. “I’m pissed about the fact that you called me, asked me to lie … and then left me to worry and wonder for twenty years.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat. “I don’t remember calling you. I…”
She’d called him. Reached out to him. Oddly, now that she thought about it, it didn’t surprise her, not really. What bothered her was the fact that she had done something that had left him wondering, full of unanswered questions, for twenty years. She knew what that was like. The pounding in the back of her head increased and she thought she might be sick. Aware of the weight of his gaze, she looked up, met his eyes. “I don’t remember, Adam. If I’d known you were…” She stopped and blew out a breath. She knew what it was like to lie awake at night, wondering. She’d done it to herself. She’d done it to Noah, to her father. And apparently to Adam. “I’m sorry. I can’t undo it. I can’t take it back. I’m sorry.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as he studied her face. When he did move, it was to turn away. He stared out the window, his shoulders a rigid line.
“Why did you even go there?” he demanded.
“Because that’s where it all started,” she murmured. “That’s where they tormented him, where he thinks they hurt the others. It was his idea—he needed to see it, one more time. Face it, I guess. We talked about burning it down, you know. A nice, fitting statement. But we wanted to make sure he had a chance to get away before anybody realized what was up—that was what mattered. He had to get out, find a way to get people to listen, so he could make it stop.”
She laughed bitterly, the sound a hollow echo in the brightly lit kitchen. Too dark and too grim for the hot summer morning. “But it didn’t.… It was all for nothing,” she said softly. “We didn’t realize it, but it was only getting started. I killed her, you know.”
Adam tensed as she turned her head to look at him.
“I killed Diane Sutter.”
He just waited, uncertain what to say, what to do.
“I don’t know how, or why.… I don’t know what happened. But when I left that house, Diane was dead and I had her blood all over me. I had two choices. I could either stay … and try to fight, try to convince people that I didn’t just kill her … and nobody was going to believe Diane would ever do anything wrong. Or I could run, and give David a chance to get away, find a chance to start over. Because if I went down, everybody would believe he was involved, too.”
A bitter smirk twisted her lips. “She made sure of that. People in town still talk about it. Even now.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gary Quimby was not a nervous man by nature.
He had no sons, much to his displeasure. He’d looked forward to the time when he could pass that tradition on in the club, but Sandy had never been able to conceive and a few years ago he’d had to bury his sweet wife.
Gary Quimby was a private man. His visits to the club were discreet. He preferred to watch, and when he did participate he tended to be a shadow initiator, wearing a hood and mask, teaching the boys to submit to authority and letting them know how it would be when it was their turn to be in charge.
Gary Quimby was a cautious man. He understood that many would twist the beauty of the club, find something wrong with it, and he wanted to protect his … interests.
His need for privacy and caution had served to protect him, and many of the newer members hadn’t even known he was involved. It had been nearly ten years since he’d attended one of the meetings, and he didn’t even miss them. It had been going downhill ever since Pete’s death, but when Abel Blue had that heart attack and died so suddenly, that was when the situation had really began to deteriorate fast.
Jeb and Glenn had tried to do too many different things, change too many things. The videos, the webcams, all the photos. None of that was needed and all of it was risky.
No, Gary wasn’t a nervous man.
Not many people would know that he was a member of Cronus, save for his brothers, the older members of the club.
Most of them knew better than to talk.
It just wasn’t done.
Now, though … well, it was only a matter of time before the men started to talk. He doubted it would be Glenn. His father had trained him too well. But the others … Discipline had been slipping over the years.
It was only a matter of time before the cops found somebody who would rather break than honor his word to his brothers.
It would probably be Sam, because that son of a bitch was a weak one and always had been.
Jeb Sims was dead.
Harlan Troyer
had been murdered.
Yeah, there were looking dismal as far as Gary was concerned. He needed to figure out just how to proceed from here, because although he’d been cautious, there were still those who knew his name.
Lately he’d been thinking it might be the ideal time to retire … out of the country. It was something he’d researched before, but more and more it was looking like just the thing to do.
The door to his small accounting firm opened and he managed to paste a smile on his face.
When he saw who it was, he relaxed.
Every time it wasn’t a cop, he relaxed.
“Well, hello there.” He managed, barely, not to sneer. He never had liked the son of a bitch who’d just come to a stop in front of him, but he was very good at hiding that sort of thing. Bastard thought he was better than most folks, Gary included.
“How are you doing today, Gary?” He nodded at Gary, his blue eyes studying the posters on the walls, advice for IRAs and all the bullshit the government suggested. Gary didn’t see the point. There wasn’t anybody who’d been able to retire these days. If you weren’t a rich SOB, you’d work right up to your grave, and that’s all there was to it. Gary wasn’t a rich SOB, but he had taken out an insurance policy on his wife—if and when he decided to leave Madison, he’d be using that money.
“Oh, I’m doing well enough, well enough.” He smiled and nodded back. Had to play the little chat game. Being a small-town business owner meant you had to do that bullshit even if you hated it, even if you hated the person you were talking to.
“I need a new accountant.” He blew out a sigh and said, “I’ve been using Maisy Keaten up on on the hill and I just don’t like some of the stuff she was doing with my accounts. All of those suggestions for write-offs and some of the information she needed…” He looked around and then asked, “Would you mind getting me a cup of coffee? I need to wet my whistle.”
If it was almost anybody else, Gary would have just lied and said, Fresh out.
The problem was as much as he disliked this fuck, he was good for local business. He did business with a lot of other business owners, and it was good to play this game.
So Gary just gritted his teeth and said, “Sure. Give me a minute.”
And then he went to the little kitchenette in the back of his office, grumbling silently under his breath.
Once he came back out, a minuscule cup of the cheap shit he saved for clients, he put it on the edge of the desk and sat back down.
“Black … just the way I like it.” He took a sip and sighed, then put it down on the desk. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of M&M’S, popped a few in his mouth. Then he stood up and put a file down on Gary’s desk. “See this? It’s last year’s return. Will you look it over, see if you think you could do any better?”
I think some of you idiots need to understand the fact that the IRS is going to have its cut and you just need to deal with it. But he pulled out his glasses and bent over the file, careful to stay away from the bag of candy. “Try to keep that away from me.… Remember my allergies.” He said it with a smile but was tempted to tell the jackass to throw the bag away. Just about every damn person in town knew how bad Gary’s allergies to shit like chocolate and nuts was. He flipped through pages, scowling at the faint gritty feel.
Gary lifted his hand and rubbed his fingers together, frowning at the dusty sort of feel on his hands. “Are you remodeling or something? It feels like there’s dust all over this.”
“Oh, I’m always doing something,” he said, smiling, an odd light in his eyes as he munched on the candy.
Gary grunted and flipped the page. The itching started almost right away and the coughing fit hit next—manners had him covering his mouth, and that was where he really messed up.
“Son, you look like you need a drink now.”
He needed his fucking EpiPen. Where the hell—
His throat felt like it was closing up on him and he gasped, sucking the air in. When the glass of water was put in front of him, he grabbed at it and took a drink, tried to say, “Get my ’Pen—”
But then he saw it.
The son of a bitch stood a few feet away.
And he held Gary’s EpiPen.
He also held Gary’s phone.
And gloves … he wore gloves on his hands. Flesh-colored gloves, hard to see unless you were looking, but he was looking now, because the son of a bitch held the cure for the anaphylactic reaction that was killing Gary.
Gary could all but feel the fear busting through him, making his heart race.
He lunged for the bastard but tripped over the briefcase he’d never gotten around to putting away. He hit his head on the metal filing cabinet.
Darkness swarmed around him, and dimly he heard a voice.
“I wasn’t sure if this was going to work, you know,” the man said tiredly. “You were going to be one of the hardest and I knew it. You don’t like me.… Now, now, you can pretend otherwise, but we know it’s true. And I can safely say I don’t care for you, either and it didn’t even have anything to do with Cronus.”
Gary felt hands on him, strong hands, rolling him onto his back.
Something was shoved into his mouth. Caught between bliss and terror, he realized it was chocolate.
Lots and lots of chocolate … A hand clamped over his mouth and he clawed at it, tried to keep from swallowing, but it was so hard to breathe, so hard. While blood roared in his ears, he stared at the man who killing him.
Why?
“You didn’t really think you could get by what you did to those boys, did you?”
The last thing he heard was, “Go on now. God and the devil can deal with you.”
* * *
It wasn’t hard, cleaning up. He looked at the office with a jaded eye, making sure to pick up the bag of M&M’S. He’d opened them at home, kept the bag carefully sealed in his pocket.
He kept the gloves tucked away as well.
Gary had no other appointments today. He knew because he’d called.
Gary’s wife had died a couple of years ago and nobody would think to look for him until tomorrow.
The door was locked. He’d taken care of that detail when the man went to get his coffee. He checked it again, the one worry in his mind that maybe somebody had seen him come in here wearing a glove on his hand. It was a possibility, he knew. But the glove had been flesh colored. Even Gary hadn’t noticed.
The risk was a small one, but one he’d have to take.
Gary’s office wasn’t on a busier street, tucked off Second, and he’d made sure to park several blocks away.
Now he just had to let himself out the back door and head away.
After, of course, he left the note.
People had to know.
These men weren’t being targeted in vain and they weren’t being killed for fun.
There was a reason for each of them.
And they’d all die for what they’d done.
He left the note on Gary’s chest after he’d waited a few more minutes. Just to be sure.
The man’s eyes were wide and fixed and his pulse was gone.
He was dead, sure enough.
The note read:
This one raped Glenn Blue. Glenn might tell you the truth; he might not.
Quimby also raped countless others. He’s not the last, either.
Sybil Chalmers was pissed.
She didn’t have time for this.
She’d spent half the morning dealing with Layla’s mouth and still had to figure out how to handle the money she owed the IRS. Why in the hell did they want so much when you were self-employed? They made you pay for providing a job for yourself. That was some messed-up shit there.
And if Quimby wasn’t here for her appointment, she’d damn sure be switching her business up to that new accountant. Maisy something or other. Sybil couldn’t remember the last name, but she wasn’t putting up with this bullshit.
Pounding a fist on Gary Quimby’
s door, she shouted, “Come on, Gary. I know you’re there. I saw your car around back. If you’d answer e-mail, I wouldn’t have to come by.”
It was hotter than hell and she’d walked here rather than drive the two blocks from her house to Quimby’s office, but just then she was regretting that call.
Especially since she might have to go back home.
Pulling her phone from her pocket, she found the number and called.
Through the window, she listened for the ring of the phone.
It wasn’t there.
Frowning, she moved over and peered through the curtains. She didn’t see him at his desk—
Wait.
Was that—
Oh, shit.
Without even thinking, she looked around and when her gaze landed on one of the decorative rocks in the flower bed, she picked it up and moved back to the door. The glass caught in the blinds behind the little window in the door and she used her purse to knock the rest of the glass out of the way before reaching inside and feeling around for the lock. “Gary? Gary, I’m coming inside, okay? Are you all right?”
No answer.
Had he another one of those weird allergy attacks? He didn’t go anywhere without that adrenaline thing—
Something crunched under her foot. She glanced down, saw the white tubular device, and dread curled in her heart.
Moving around the desk to where she’d seen his prone body, she found him lying there.
And she saw the answer to her question. Gary was most definitely not all right.
He was dead, and if the look of him was anything to go by he’d been dead for quite a while.
Numb, she reached for her phone and dialed 911.
It was as she was speaking to Dispatch that she saw the note.
For a moment, it didn’t make any sense at all.
And then rage exploded through her and she wished she hadn’t even bothered to try to helping the monster.
He raped Glenn Blue—
“He’s one of them,” she whispered.
“Syb?”
Swallowing, she turned away from Gary’s corpse. “Send whoever you need to,” she said woodenly. “But whoever killed him, I’m buying him a bottle of champagne. Gary was one of those fucking rapists.”
Sweeter Than Sin Page 16