“Stop talking,” she says. “Just enjoy this night.”
I follow her advice, slide my hand an inch higher on her thigh, and push harder on the gas pedal.
On the front step of her house, she fiddles with the keys at the lock. The keys hit the concrete step with a rattle.
“Crap on a cracker.” Bending over to retrieve the keys, she provides me with a nice view of her bottom, the back of her dress riding high.
“I really like that dress,” I say suggestively.
She stands and faces me with the keys in her hand. “You just want to take it off me.” There’s a question in her eyes.
I kiss her fully in answer, then take the keys from her hand. The key slides in easily, and I turn the lock and open the door.
We leave the lights turned off inside the house. Our lips find each other as our hands pull off coats and we kick off shoes. I’ve lied to myself for a long time about my feelings for Gabby. Tonight I will show her the truth, nothing else matters.
Through my haze of desire, I hear the meow of a cat. Gabby laughs suddenly against my mouth.
“Chester, you’re interrupting,” she says pulling away from me to pick up the cat. “Let me put him in the bathroom so he doesn’t bother us.”
I watch her walk down the short hall in the dark, enjoying every curve of her body in the dim light. I run a hand over my hair and take a deep breath to steady myself.
After shutting the door on the cat, she reaches her hand for me, “Where were we?” she asks suggestively. I take her gloved hand in mine and let her lead me down the hall to her room.
I pull off my suit jacket and tie and drop them on a chair already piled high with clothes. Desire and nerves pound through my blood as I draw close to where she stands in the moonlight.
I take one of her hands in mine and pull the glove off. “You won’t need these tonight.” I remove the other glove and toss them both towards the chair of clothes.
She reaches tentative hands to my face, then smoothes my cheeks. “Nothing,” she murmurs. “Just your skin.” Free to touch with her bare hands, she explores all the skin she can find, even slipping her hands into my shirt and down my chest.
Her fingertips drive me wild and I struggle to contain my reaction. Make it last, make it last.
I grab the hem of her dress and pull it slowly over her head. She wriggles her hips to help me remove the dress, further driving me wild.
Her body dressed only in bra and panties is beyond beautiful in the moonlight. I stand back to get a full view of her skin. Blood pounds through my body at the sight, my chest aches from the glory of her.
I kiss her neck and she groans. My lips trail down her shoulder, my hands slide down her arms. I lift her arm and place a kiss on her tattoo.
She stiffens.
Shocked, I pull back. “What’s wrong?”
She pulls her arm from my grasp and covers her chest. “I need to tell you something before we do this.”
The desire that nearly consumed me a moment ago fizzles away. We need to talk, can never be good. Fighting an edge of panic at whatever can be so important that she chose now to tell me, I sit on the bed. She sits next to me, pulling a blanket around her shoulders.
“Earlier tonight, that man asked about my tattoo?”
“Right.” I try to be patient.
“Your dad asked if it signified something.”
I’m beginning to lose patience at the conversation. “I was there, I remember.”
“This is more than a tattoo. Yes, I love God and I’m proud to show it, but there’s more to it.”
She pauses to gather her thoughts. I wait for her to continue.
“I get messages from God from my tattoo,” she says quickly. “Tonight at dinner when I left so fast to go to the bathroom? My tattoo was tingling and I kept hearing ‘bathroom’ in my head. When I went I found a woman who was upset and I talked to her.” Her words practically fall on top of each other in her hurry to get them out. “Things like that happen all the time. My tattoo will burn or tingle and I hear commands in my head. I always obey them. I need to help people or find something or whatever God needs me to do. I always do what God needs me to do, even if I look foolish or rude like tonight.”
She looks at me in the moonlight, her eyes pleading for me to understand.
“Why do you need to tell me this now?”
“I need you to understand who I am, all of who I am, before….” She motions to the bed.
“Were you afraid I’d run away scared of you or something?” I touch her bare hand next to mine to show her I’m teasing.
“Something like that,” she hedges. “It’s happened before.”
I'd always wondered why she and Preston broke up so abruptly, but never asked. "He's an idiot," I say.
"So you're not freaked out?" The hope and longing in her face is endearing.
I take her face in both my hands, lock my eyes with hers. “Nothing you’ve ever done has freaked me out. It’s a little strange, but it’s just who you are. And I love you for it.”
We both flinch. I hadn’t intended to tell her I loved her. The romantic part of our relationship is so new, I hadn’t even thought about it.
“You love me?” she asks quietly.
I don’t hesitate. “I love you, Gabby. I think I’ve always loved you.”
“Show me,” she says, her fingers tugging at the buttons on my shirt.
The desire I felt for this woman a few minutes ago is pale compared to what I feel for her now. We tear at our clothes and toss them on the floor. Fully exposed and laying on the bed, her beauty consumes me. “I love you, Gabby,” I say again.
“I love you too, Lucas.” Her words melt any vestige of control I had. She pulls me to her and my body covers hers.
Nothing in my life compares to this moment.
Nothing in my life will be the same after.
Chapter 23
Gabby
Languid, luxurious, liquid, and sweet. Innumerable descriptions for the night I just spent with Lucas. I roll over in bed and slip my arm over his bare chest. His skin, hot from sleeping, presses against mine.
One word describes this moment.
Precious.
I trail my hand across his chest hair and he moans softly.
Absolutely precious.
I watch him sleep as the morning sun transforms the room from shadow to brightness. I feel similarly transformed. I opened my self to this man and he accepted me completely.
He rolls towards me and wraps his arms around me. I wriggle into a more comfortable position, forming my body to his. My mind drifts to all the reasons I am blessed. All the things I have to be thankful for.
“Thank you, Lord, for this man,” I whisper as I drift back to sleep.
When I wake again, Lucas isn't in the bed with me. For a panicked moment, I think maybe the previous night had been a dream.
I smell coffee and hear the TV from down the hall and the panic disappears.
After pulling on soft pants and an old sweater, I use the restroom and wash my face. My current reflection is a far cry from last night’s fancy attire. I hope Lucas doesn’t mind.
I find him on the couch watching the morning news. He's wearing his dress pants and undershirt, one foot propped up on the coffee table.
“You looked so precious sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you,” he says. He said ‘precious’ and I love him even more for it.
“Guess you wore me out,” I tease.
“There’s coffee. I hope it’s okay I helped myself.”
I pour myself a cup and catch myself before I drink it too soon and burn my tongue. "Help yourself to whatever you need," I say, joining him on the couch, sitting so close our legs touch. Chester sits next to me, begging for attention.
The morning is perfect until Lacey Aniston fills the TV with a story. She explains how Lucy's death has been ruled a homicide and adds a veiled accusation about Lucy and Crystal being connected and how I am involved in bo
th cases.
Irritated with what once again Lacey pretends is news, I change the channel.
Anger radiates off of Lucas.
“Don’t worry about her. She just hates me,” I try to soothe.
“You didn’t tell me Lucy was murdered or that it was connected to Crystal.” The anger I thought was directed at Lacey is actually at me.
“I didn’t want to ruin last night,” I say meekly.
“You should have told me.” He moves a little away on the couch, far enough so our legs no longer touch.
“You’re right. I should have told you. I was going to tell you this morning.” I sit my coffee on the table. “I wasn’t hiding it from you. There’s lots of things I need to talk to you about.”
His body is still stiff, but he says, “I’m listening.”
“Grandma Dot was doing Lucy’s hair to prepare for her funeral,” I begin. As I tell him everything that happened and everything I learned, his body slowly relaxes. The anger melts into curiosity. I finish my story with what Haley told me about the man in Spain with similar stolen coins.
“I didn’t want to bring it up last night. I had other things on my mind.” I hope my flirty tease will break the final tension between us.
Lucas considers all I said and finally agrees with me. “Better things,” he says and slides back across the couch so we are touching again.
Relief floods me. I certainly didn’t want to fight with him so soon after what we shared.
“Does Dustin know about all this?” Lucas asks, absently trailing a finger up and down my arm.
“Not all of it. Haley just told me last night.”
“Write down everything she said.” He stands up and takes his cup to the kitchen. “I’ll take it to the station and share it with Dustin and see what else we can find out.”
“I thought you weren’t allowed to work on the case.”
“I’d like to see him try and stop me. If my sister was murdered because of some stolen coins, I will find out.”
Crossing the living room, I reach up for a quick kiss, “You’re sexy when you’re determined.”
“You’re sexy all the time,” he replies. “Write that stuff down, okay?”
Lucas goes to retrieve his clothes and I find a pad and paper. I’d rather spend a relaxing morning with him. “Better get used to being with a cop,” I tell Chester.
As I finish writing what Haley told me, Lucas returns to the kitchen. His tie and jacket thrown over his arm and his half-buttoned dress shirt giving me a nice view of his chest. He slips into his shoes, his mind already out the door and on the case.
“You’re not mad I have to go?” he asks as he slides into his coat.
“Not at all,” I say honestly. “I have a few clients today anyway.”
The relief on his face is endearing. He drops a quick kiss on my lips. I want to cling to him, but let him go.
“I picked up an extra patrol shift tonight, but can I come by after?” His eyes sparkle with naughty mischief.
“You better,” I tease back.
The front door barely shuts behind him when he yells for me. "Gabby, come out here." The anger and fear in his voice bring me running into the cold.
He stands in the driveway, pointing at my crooked garage door.
MURDERER is scrawled across the peeling paint in stark block letters.
“Holy crap, not again.” I shudder against the cold and the hatred in the writing.
Lucas boils with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. “Again?”
“I get vandalized a lot.” I swallow to keep my voice steady.
Don’t let it shake you. That’s what they want.
He paces in front of the vulgar word, runs his hand through his hair again and again. “I was right inside. I could have caught them.”
His anger surprises me. “It’s nothing. Really, I’m used to it.”
He spins on his heel and barks, “You shouldn’t have to get used to it. How could someone think you had anything to do with Lucy and Crystal?” His sister’s name comes out in a strange strangled sound.
“Lacey basically said as much on her news report,” I point out.
“I’m going to…”
I cut him off. “You’re going to go to work and catch the actual killer. I’m going to clean off this paint and go to meet my clients. These jerks just want to upset me. I don’t let them.” My hands shake with anger, but I don't tell him that.
He turns his back on the garage door and blows air in exasperation. “You’re shivering,” he says suddenly and rubs his hands up and down my arms. "Go inside. I'll try to come by later and paint over it."
“I have paint remover,” I protest.
“I want to do this for you. Please, let me.”
The offer is so sweet, I agree and wave to him as he drives away.
Alone in the freezing driveway, I look at the awful word. My bare feet burn from the cold concrete and the wind whips through my thin sweater. I begin to shake all over.
After all the good I’ve done in this town, many still believe the worst of me. I told Lucas it was no big deal, but it’s a personal slap in the face.
I grab a rock and scratch furiously at the letters. Deep gauges mar the door, remnants of past vandals show faintly despite the many times I've used the paint remover. Desperate to remove the stains, I scratch until an emptiness replaces the hurt anger.
Panting, with scuffed knuckles, I throw the rock at the door. It leaves a dent then rolls to the side of the driveway.
I can still read the word, but it’s lost the ability to hurt me.
Chapter 24
Dustin
A full day of following up on the information Gabby gave us this morning hasn’t provided many useful leads. I'd love to talk to Ferdinand Gomez in Spain and find out how he acquired the stolen coins found in his home. Even if a small-town cop from Indiana was able to question him, I'd be out of luck.
Ferdinand Gomez was killed in prison not long after he was arrested. I found that little nugget today. It fills me with a petty sense of victory over Gabby’s amateur hacker. One point to me.
I shift in the driver’s seat of my cruiser, ashamed of myself. Solving a case is not a competition. But man, it feels good to win one for a change.
The only lead I have left to check out is the connection between Lane and Vee Markle to both Crystal and Lucy. Childhood friends of the victims is a flimsy connection, but it’s all I have to go on at the moment. Maybe they’ll remember something about Crystal’s disappearance.
Acres of vineyard stretch alongside Kingston Road, the spindly vines sad in the moonlight as they wait for spring to perk them back into life. As the vineyards continue, I’m amazed at the amount of land the Markles own. Lane and Vee were a few years younger than me in school, but I remember them as the burn out type. Their social lives were a far cry from my structured sports practices and Friday night basketball games. They’ve overcome their slow start in life to amass such land as this.
Their mysterious rise to wealth as well as Lucy’s sets my gut quaking. There might be more of a connection than just childhood friends. I have no idea what it could be, but I’m anxious to find out.
Lane and Vee’s house sits nestled among the acres of withered vines. A large processing plant squats dark nearby. The Kingston Winery and Catering sign illuminated by a floodlight. The lighted sign is the only bright spot on the property. Every window on the plant and the house is dark.
I radio in to give my location. “Looks like no one’s home, but I’m going to knock anyway,” I tell dispatch. My breathe puffs in small clouds against the cold as I walk up the sidewalk. I'm alone on the property, but my senses are on high alert just the same. Suddenly wishing I'd brought Lucas or someone else with me, I stop on the walk. I listen to the night, sniff the air, scan the far corners of the property.
My senses tell me nothing, but I feel it. There’s something wrong here.
I turn on my body-cam and unsnap my hols
ter. The windows of the house stare blankly at me, the curtains perfectly still.
Go back, get out.
I listen to my gut and take one step towards my cruiser. “Wonder if this is how Gabby gets messages,” flitters through my mind.
A gunshot echoes through the darkness.
I brace for the pain, but it doesn’t come. The shot came from inside the house, not directed to me.
“Shots fired,” I bark into my radio. “Kingston Winery. Shots fired.”
I’m halfway up the front stairs before I finish the radio transmission, my gun in hand.
The front door is closed, but the handle turns easily. The door swings inward, a dark gaping hole into more darkness. With my back to the door jamb, I listen for any sounds inside the house.
Over the pounding of blood in my ears, I hear a woman pleading from the second story, “Please, please. We didn’t tell anyone. I swear we didn’t. We wouldn’t.”
“You should have stuck to our agreement.” The voice is eerily calm, and eerily familiar.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked for more. Please don’t.”
Her begging is cut short by another gunshot from upstairs.
I flinch at the sound, sick to be so close but not fast enough to save Vee Markle.
Adrenaline pumps through my body, every inch of me tight with anticipation. I flex and release my muscles to loosen them, steady my breathing to calm my swirling mind.
With gun drawn and ready, I slide around the door jamb.
The scent of gun powder hangs heavy in the house. I shuffle through the dark in the direction I hope leads to the stairs. The shooter will have to come down them and I intend to be ready. A hall stretches from the front door to a glass patio door at the back of the house. The moonlight from the door outlines what looks like the bottom of a banister.
Sliding my heavy boots along the tile floor to silence my footsteps, I slink down the hall to the stairs, the weight of my gun in my hand reassuring.
The outline of a man merges with the banister, then stands silhouetted in the moonlight from the sliding door.
“Police,” I shout as I turn on my flashlight.
Message in the Grave Page 13