Darker Than Desire

by Shiloh Walker

  “Did Troyer abuse you?” Sorenson asked, keeping a close watch on the man’s face. Every last line.

  David’s flinch was so minute, if Sorenson hadn’t been watching for it he wouldn’t have seen it. Then, finally, David looked away. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  David’s eyes slanted his way, glittering like frozen bits of ice under an arctic sun. “Unsure of the meaning, Chief? Let me break this down for you and I’ll be clear, because it’s the only time I’ll speak of it. Ever. I only knew a few names, and the men I did know you can’t do shit about because they died during a span of five years, starting with the hunting accident Chief Keith Andrews had. Abel Blue was the next to die—he had a heart attack. Luis and Garth Sims both died within a month of each other. Those are the names of the men I knew about, in addition to my father. Other than that?” David shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “If you did?”

  David leaned forward, his eyes vivid, lethal. “If I knew, there would be more blood spilled in this town than you could handle.”

  “You realize that’s not exactly a wise thing to say to a cop.”

  “Maybe I’m not a smart man.” David showed no emotion as he said it.

  “Did you have anything to do with the deaths of Harlan Troyer, Willie T. Merchant or Gary Quimby?” Sorenson asked, well aware he might not get another chance to ask that question.

  A sneer twisted David’s mouth. “No. I didn’t know they were involved, but if I had known? I would have killed them, but they would have died a far bloodier, more painful death than you can imagine. Spiked whiskey and M & M’s aren’t the weapons I’d choose. The only one who suffered at all, from what the papers are saying, was Willie T.” He lifted a brow, paused a moment. “Gut shot, right?”

  “Yes. He had a bullet wound that perforated his large intestine. Without immediate emergency surgery, he had no chance.”

  David’s smile widened. “I wouldn’t have used a gun. It wouldn’t make him hurt enough. I never even bothered to learn how to shoot, because if I’m going to kill somebody, I’ll do it with my bare hands. If I ever killed one of them, I’d want the man to look me in the eyes … and know who I was, and why he was dying.”

  “You really think anything you’ve just said has put my mind at ease, son?” Sorenson asked softly.

  “You aren’t going to be at ease around me anyway.” David shrugged, his lack of concern obvious. “I can tell by looking in your eyes. You already suspect I could, and would, kill if it came down to it. What you want to know is if I killed any of the men who’ve died here in town.” He stood up, towering over Sorenson now. “I didn’t kill them. I can’t tell you who did. Now unless I’m under arrest, I’m going to leave.”

  * * *

  He stood in the hall for five minutes, waiting for the anger to fade, trying to ease the ugly, slimy feel of shame that once more saturated every thread of his being.

  It wasn’t possible, but he had to be able to walk out there and look at Sybil.

  Had to find a way to get himself level before he looked at her.

  This was a fuck of a time to realize just how much, how desperately, he needed her with him. He’d always known he needed her. From the very time he’d touched her and felt the way the noise and chaos inside him seemed to calm.

  And now, more than ever, she needed to be away from him.

  Some of him had hoped that if he just kept his mouth shut the cops would realize he had nothing to tell them and they’d let it go. They knew it was Diane Sutter who had been found.

  But they didn’t know what had happened to Peter. David didn’t know, and he didn’t care. But they had an unsolved disappearance, they had numerous murders, all things that tied back to him.

  He was a fool for thinking he could keep this from spilling out onto her. Onto Drew.

  But he wasn’t going to stay a fool.

  It was time to bring this all to an end.

  Tonight, while he still had this ugliness of the past few hours harsh in his head. They’d brought her in, questioned her. Louisa never would have confronted him if it weren’t for the ugliness in his past and he wouldn’t have been questioned over her death. All of this was because of him.

  Hearing a soft, tired sigh out in the lobby area, he lifted his head.

  He had absolutely no fucking idea how he was going to walk away from her.

  It was the most painful thing he’d done in twenty years. Maybe ever.

  He had been on the receiving end of pain more times than he knew, but once he’d found it in him to leave he’d wrapped that shell of ice around him, letting next to nobody in, and it had been safe. Leaving without knowing what was going on with Lana, that had hurt, but he’d been half out of it with pain. Realizing that his mother had been waiting for them and he’d put Lana in danger, that had hurt, but the shock of it all had dulled everything but the fear.

  This time, though, there was no danger to dull anything.

  No jagged wound in his side spilling out his blood to cloud his thinking.

  No fear for his life, or somebody else’s, to push him on.

  Just the knowledge that he had to do this. He had to go out there, look at Sybil, take her out of here. He had to get her home. Had to find a way to look her in the eye and tell her it was done.

  And then he had to walk away.

  For the first time in decades, he wanted to go to his knees and pray for some other way.

  But there wasn’t anybody up there to answer anyway.

  So he didn’t bother.

  Sometimes the only way was the painful one. This was the best thing for Sybil. And for Drew.

  * * *

  “You don’t need to wait,” Jensen said softly as she gave Sybil a cup of coffee. Sybil’s statement had been brief.

  David, though, he’d been back there for more than three hours.

  Rotating her head to eye Jensen narrowly, she let the silence draw out before she finally said, “I’m betting you’d just run off and leave your guy here alone, right?”

  Jensen looked away without response.

  “That’s what I thought.” Closing her eyes, she went back to brooding.

  Louisa was dead.

  Mean, backstabbing gossip.

  Oh, there were other gossips in town. Meg Hampton cut Sybil’s hair, and you couldn’t trust that woman with a secret to save a life. But she didn’t have any mean in her. Louisa was—no. Louisa had little room for anything but mean. Mean and petty.

  And somebody had killed her.

  Then the cops came to the door looking for David.

  Hasn’t he had enough trouble in his life? Sybil asked silently, shifting her gaze to stare upward.

  There wasn’t an answer, though. Sybil hadn’t really expected one.

  “You’ve got Drew to think about,” Jensen said.

  “Drew is with a friend.” Until noon. She’d have to leave before that. Leave, think of something to say. Think of some way to explain this to the kid. Especially if they didn’t let David leave.

  A quiet sigh drifted toward her. “Look, Syb—”

  “Don’t,” she said, her voice low and angry. Rising from the seat, she started to pace while a hundred angry words crowded in her head. She stopped halfway across the room and whirled around to glare at Jensen. “I don’t care what you or any fucking cop here thinks. Never mind the fact that he was with me, all day long. If we weren’t at the funeral then he was either under me or on top of me, and yes, I can paint you a picture if you need it. But forget that. That man wouldn’t kill a helpless woman and that’s what Louisa was. She was no threat to him.”

  “She made him angry earlier,” Jensen said, her voice level.

  Sybil snorted. “If anger alone was all it took to make him kill, half the people in this town would be dead. I would be dead, because I can guarantee that I’ve pissed him off. David isn’t going to go kill somebody just because he’s pissed off.”

  “So why
would he kill?”

  A soft sound caught her attention, but even if she hadn’t looked up, hadn’t seen David standing there, she wouldn’t have answered that. His blue eyes, blank as a doll’s, stared into hers for a long moment and then he glanced at Jensen.

  Slowly, Sybil turned her head and looked at the other woman, quirked a brow. “I don’t know. Why would you kill, Jensen?”

  “This isn’t about me.” Jensen rose, staring at them both.

  “Well, it’s not about us then, either. Because neither of us killed her.” Sybil shrugged and turned, heading toward David. He just stood there as she rested a hand on his arm. Something in her heart cracked a little when he didn’t look down at her, didn’t take her hand. Too much had happened, she told herself.

  That was all.

  Too much had happened.

  * * *

  She kept right on telling herself that, even as he followed her into the house. He’d gotten his truck to take her home.

  Normally, that would have filled her with pleasure—and heat.

  But once the door shut and she caught sight of the look on his face, she knew she wasn’t going to like how this went. A hollow ache spread through her chest.

  If you play with fire …

  She wondered if the same could be said of ice.

  David had heat in him, although it only came out on rare occasions. She’d played with him to try to crack that icy sarcophagus he’d buried himself inside and oh, man, the heat that had come whipping out to tease her.

  The ice was back, though, and thicker than ever, swathing him like a cocoon that left her shivering even though she hadn’t touched him.

  Settling down on one of the lounge pillows she kept piled in front of her gas fireplace, she used the remote to turn it on. Staring into the flames, she wrapped her arms around her knees.

  He still stood by the door. She could see his reflection in the protective glass and her heart bled one slow, bitter tear. Clearing her throat, she managed to say, “Well, today was memorable.”

  His boots echoed on the floor as he moved to stand next to her, staring down, not at the fire, but at her.

  She felt the way his gaze traced over her and it only added to the ache inside. It was like he was memorizing every last thing about her. And in the very bottom of her soul, she knew he was doing just that. Right before he told her good-bye.

  “Memorable is one word,” he finally said, his voice gruff.

  Slowly, he sank down, keeping a good two feet between them as he looked into the flames.

  Firelight danced off his skin and the sight of it hit her in the heart. The artist in her wanted to grab her camera, tell him not to move. It would be a beautiful shot, a way to keep him frozen like this forever.

  And it was a memory she couldn’t bear to memorialize.

  Unable to sit there another minute, she rose to her feet and headed to the kitchen door. Pausing by the counter, she pulled her skirt up to her knees so she could unzip her boots. Feeling his eyes on her, she suppressed a shiver and continued to remove the boots, leaving them to fall where they were as she reached into the fridge for a bottle of the Mill Street White she’d opened a few days ago. She could use a whole damn bottle, but there was only a glass or so left. She found the biggest wineglass she had and poured out every last drop.

  “I’m assuming since you didn’t jump me the minute we got inside, you have something else on the mind other than sex,” she said after she’d taken one deep drink. Over the rim of the glass, she stared at him. “So why don’t you say whatever you need to say? I’m tired.”

  Scared. Sad. Missing you already. But suddenly, despite her threats to fight him if he walked, despite her determination to do just that, she was … tired.

  And she hurt. Realizing that he’d just walk, now, hurt like he’d just ripped her heart out.

  Maybe he had.

  She’d chased him all these years. If he didn’t want to be with her, then she couldn’t change that.

  His blue eyes bored into hers.

  Sybil lifted a brow. “What? Cat got your tongue, David? Or did you decide you wanted a quickie before you left? You’ll have to be quick. I’m tired.”

  When there was no response, she tossed back the wine and put the glass down, went to go around him. He caught her arm and whirled her around. She barely managed to stop herself from crashing into his chest and then she brought up her hand, balled into a fist, punching him.

  His head snapped back and she jerked away.

  Blue eyes flew to her face as he wiped the blood away from the corner of his mouth. “You going to give me some clue what that was about?” he asked calmly.

  “If you’re going to dump me, just get on with it,” she said, furious. Misery and fury swamped her, and her entire body trembled. “Don’t think I can’t see it. You’ve been dancing around this for weeks and I told you that I’d fight you, but…” She trailed off, the words dying.

  “Sybil—”

  She slashed a hand through the air. “I don’t want to hear the excuses and the reasons and the lies. The bottom line is you don’t want me enough. So fine. It’s over.”

  He grabbed her and hauled her against him. “You think I don’t want you?” The words were rasped against her lips and she tasted his blood, but she didn’t care.

  His tongue pushed between her teeth as she gasped. All the rage he felt, and the pain he always covered, was poured into that kiss. She didn’t hold any of hers back, either. Because this was the last time, she realized. The very last time.

  Curling her hand into the front of his shirt, she sagged between him and the wall as his tongue slid along hers, tasting her everywhere. And it was like the way he’d stared at her earlier—as though he was memorizing everything about the kiss, the way she tasted, the way she felt against him, the curves and hollows inside her mouth, as well as the curves of her body as he slid his hand down her back and grasped her hip to pull her closer.

  They couldn’t be any closer unless they each dissolved into the other. She felt his erection grinding into her belly, his chest crushing against her breasts as she twined her arms around his neck.

  And then …

  Nothing.

  Her legs wobbled with the speed with which he put her down.

  He was three feet away and standing in the middle of the floor, staring out the back window.

  “You think this is because I don’t want you.” His voice was flat, level even. She’d heard him talk to a cop, his adopted father, Abraham, and total strangers in that same tone of voice. But when he turned his head to finally meet her eyes, that blue gaze was vivid, all but burning. “Is that what you think?”

  “You seem to make a habit of trying to walk away.” She wished she could sound as uninvolved. But her legs were shaking, her heart pounding, and just staying upright—without crying—took all of her energy.

  He turned to face her. “The key word there is trying. I’ve been trying to walk away for years. I always knew things from my past would come back to bite me on the ass and I wanted you out of the way before it happened. It’s not because I don’t want you, Sybil. I want you too much. And I won’t let everything I am stain what you are.”

  “Everything you are…” she echoed, shaking her head. As the words spun around and around inside her head, she found the strength—and the fury—she needed to shove off the wall. Glaring at him, she strode across the floor. There was still a smear of blood on his face and Sybil was tempted to hit him again. Her hand was starting to throb, but that didn’t much matter at this point. She was going to feel like a walking, bleeding wound here in a bit anyway.

  “Everything you are.” She lifted a hand and covered his chest, staring at her widespread fingers. “What’s in here determines who you are.” She moved her hand up, pushed it into his hair so that her fingers now spread over his skull. “And what’s in here. The monsters in your past didn’t define you. They tried to break you and they failed. They tried to make you into a mon
ster, but you made yourself into a man. You’ve defined yourself, not the past, as awful as it was. Not the monsters, not your evil father and not that bitch who whelped you. You did it, from the time you took the first step to leave right up until now, and you’ll keep on defining it.”

  She moved back. “Are you really going to choose the past over me? Over us?”

  * * *

  Her eyes, so big and beautiful, cut into him. Every emotion she felt was right there. Anger, misery, resignation, hunger and pain. It was all right there and it laid him open. He’d take just about anything over this, including that fucking whip again.

  “I wouldn’t choose anything over you.” Curling his hands into fists, he focused on some point past her face, because if he looked at her too much he’d lose his resolve. “It’s because of you, how much you matter, that I have to do this. I can’t let all of this spill over onto you. I won’t let it.”

  “Believe it or not, David, I’m a big girl. I can handle it and you’re not the only one who’s been ready for shit to hit the fan. I’ve been expecting this for years.”

  The rough sound of her voice stroked over him, inflamed him, tormented him, but he didn’t let himself look. “And what about Drew? You ready for this to hit him? Hasn’t he had enough just having Layla toy with him?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The words flew from her like stones, crashing into him. “You’re reaching now. How can you hurt Drew?”

  Slowly, he lowered his gaze and stared at her. “People are going to look at him, and wonder. They’ll wonder if I’m carrying on what my father did.”

  “Then people are fucked-up. You think I’m teaching Drew a good lesson in life to tuck tail and run because of what people might say?” Color flooded her face now and her eyes danced, snapping with the force of her fury. “You arrogant son of a bitch. That boy is my concern and has been almost from day one. Layla sure as hell doesn’t care. You don’t get to make decisions that affect him. Not unless you decide you want to be in his life—in mine.”

  “You’re right.” He nodded. “But this decision affects my life, too. And I won’t let any of my troubles spill onto either of you. I—” He stopped, uncertain of even what he’d been going to say.