by Lainey Reese
He lowered his window down all the way and breathed beep as he let the road lead him into the distance; tension bled out, peace rolled in, and Derek thought absently that maybe he should cut the boys some slack. It was a small community, and Abe’s beliefs were stringent on top of that. As sheriff, Derek hated leaving any loose ends regardless of its significance, but if he started pushing at them boys, was he going to out them? It would mean exile for Abram. This particular branch of their religion left no wiggle room for homosexuality.
“Aw, shit.” Derek braced his elbow on his windowsill and tried to look beyond those two, wondering if his detail-obsessed ass could let this one slip by. As even the thought of it made him itchy, he just kept driving and let his mind plow over the facts of the case the way that tractor plowed the field.
Melvin Turner, better known as Old Man Turner, was in his element. He loved farming. Born and raised on this very land he was working now. The trusty old combine creaked and moaned as much as his bones did, but both were still plugging along just fine. Mel whistled tunelessly atop his throne—as he liked to think of the driver’s seat. This combine was the biggest machinery he owned, and riding high in it, he loved how he could look over all he tended and grown. Yup, harvesting had to be his favorite time of year.
The grain bowed before the behemoth tractor. Its churning blades cut the stalk, shucked the heads, and chewed up the excess for burning after. Mel always thought barley looked like an ocean during this time, the way the stalks folded as gracefully as a sandy wave before the greedy machine made them no more.
Something caught Mel’s eye, and his tone-deaf whistle faded off like a tea kettle taken from the fire. There was something in his grain. He squinted; his eyes weren’t what they used to be. Was that… blood? The blades were churning closer. Mel’s breath got choppy with an anxious kinda fear. That’s definitely blood, he thought, and lots of it. “Damn deer,” he grumbled, thinking, hoping, that’s what it was. Some damn deer had gotten into the field somehow, and a cougar must’ve caught him. There was so much blood though, too much. Red splashed in a grotesque spray over the golden stalks. A stark and foreboding contrast.
Mel stopped the harvester, his skin clammy with dread, and fumbled for his cell. He couldn’t get down from his seat. His legs wouldn’t move. There, not ten feet from the blades, was a scene straight out of a movie. Blood soaked the ground in a three-foot radius. At the center of that was a girl. A ruined, lifeless girl. And Mel—who hadn’t shed a tear since the birth of his last grandchild—felt them well now.
Pity mixed with impotent fury. He was horrified that violence of this magnitude had happened on his land. Defiled it. Emotions—rage, grief, horror, revulsion, and dismay—swirled through his brain like a tornado, and it felt as if every bone he had rattled within his skin. Black spots danced in his vision, and as he held the phone to his ear, he didn’t even notice the violent shaking had him beating it against the side of his face.
“Hello? Hello!” Why was no one answering? He looked down at his phone, cursing long and foul when he saw he had no bars. Mel looked back at the dead girl and felt the rage and pity swell afresh. He was an old man, he told himself; he’d seen death plenty of times on a farm. Caused it, even. Mel took two deep, bracing breaths. This wasn’t a chicken for dinner though, and he knew himself enough to know this had rattled him to his core, and climbing down there to go for help was going to cost him a part of himself. For a man who thought he’d seen and done it all, he felt as innocent and helpless as a suckling, baby-faced with the scene before him. He did it though. Melvin took a series of rapid breaths like he would before jumping into an icy river then forced himself to open the door and climb down.
Mel didn’t let himself look closer at the carnage mere feet in front of him now that he was on the ground. He couldn’t. For the first time in his life, when his feet landed on his family’s soil, he drew no peace from it. Only fear, death, and sorrow. That’s all he felt now as he lumbered away as fast as his arthritis would allow. It wasn’t like the movies, where panic and adrenalin set in so you don’t feel the pain of pushing your body beyond its limits. Mel felt pain, all right. His body was alive with it, the herniated discs in his back screaming out warnings and sending painful zaps of electricity zinging along his arms and legs. Gout-swollen calves and feet barely obeyed his commands to keep going. Numb hands fumbled as he tried to use the barley to help drag him forward. His breathing grew more labored with each grueling step, and his chest started to pound. Its furious tempo was so fierce Mel swore he could feel it expanding and contracting with each violent pump.
A voice in his head cautioned him to slow down; it reasoned the poor child was beyond any help that needed rushing, but his soul wouldn’t heed the warning. He only pushed himself faster. Mel had to find help, and he wasn’t going to stop until he did.
Up ahead, the fields rustled and swayed. Derek slowed his cruiser, thinking a deer was on the run from Old Man Turner’s combine. What barreled out of the barley though was no deer. Brakes squealed as he slammed on them; he had the car in park and was out like a shot with the smoke of burned rubber still floating in the air when he rushed to catch the old man before he fell.
“Mr. Turner! Melvin?” Fear propelled him into a sprint when the old man turned to him with his hound dog face looking white as a ghost. The man managed three shaky steps before collapsing to his knees.
“What happened? Jesus, Melvin, try to slow your breathing. Stop waving your arms. You look like you’re having a heart attack. Dammit, hold still!” Derek tried to get the man to lie down, even as he searched frantically for a pulse with the insane idea that if he knew how fast it was beating, that knowledge would somehow make a difference. But the stubborn old goat wouldn’t hold still. Or shut up. He was wheezing and huffing so profusely though that nothing he said made any sense.
“Stop—cough—fussing—pant, pant—and shut—cough—up.” His desperation was contagious, and Derek did as suggested. One of them needed to remain calm. “In the—pant, cough—field.” Tears, real fucking tears, poured from Mel’s eyes, and dread settled in Derek’s gut like a sinking rock. “Dead girl—huffing sob. P-p-poor thing—cough, cough—back there—pant—by the com-com—cough—bine.” One feeble and shaking arm pointed in the direction he’d come. Then, as if he’d used up everything he had and hung on just long enough to pass this terrible burden along, Mel dropped to the pavement like all his bones had disappeared.
“Mel!” Frantic now, because he knew—he knew—what was waiting for him in that crop, goddammit all to hell. But she’d be beyond help, and Mel wasn’t. Derek fumbled shaking fingers around until he managed to locate a pulse. It was fast and felt way too strong to Derek’s way of thinking. It made him worry the guy was about to blow a vessel or something. He kept one hand on that beating sign of life and used his radio to call for backup with his other. “Rachel? Yeah, this is Derek. I need you to get me an ambulance out here to Old Man Turner’s field. We’re on the north side, ‘bout midway between Rural Route 3 and Crawford.” He paused for breath before adding in a solemn voice, “I also need you to get ahold of the coroner’s office and tell them to send in a crew.”
“Oh no, Sheriff.” Rachel gasped. “Is it Brandi?”
“I’m afraid so, but no way of knowing yet. So keep this quiet. Alert the rest of the team. All hands on deck.”
“I’ll get right on it, Sheriff.” Derek heard the tears in her voice and felt the sting of his own before gamely fighting them back. He had a fucking job to do. He could cry for the sweet child he’d watched grow up after her killer was behind bars. As for right now, he stared into the barley, kept a reassuring hand on Mel, and braced himself for what was to come.
Chapter 14
Andie was in that dreamy space caught between sleep and awake. She was aware enough to feel the light and warmth of the sun shining through her window. The air felt laden with the scent of growing things all around her, from the ripening fruit on her trees and the
vegetables in her garden to the life growing within her.
Something fluttered. Andie’s eyes popped open, and all vestiges of sleep disappeared in an instant. There it was again. Like a fish, a tiny wriggling fish, that flutter. Tears of wonder sprang to her eyes even as her hands went to her belly. She had felt similar twinges in the last week or so, but they hadn’t been as strong, and she’d been left wondering if maybe it could have been gas or something more. This was definitely something more. “Is that you?” she whispered in a voice tinged with wonder. As if in answer, there it went again, and her gasp was pure amazement. “Hi, baby. Hi.” Her arms were aching to hold her child, but she had to settle for spreading her hands over her belly instead. Then her second miracle of the day happened right on the heels of the first.
Andie had always had a bit of a tummy. Softly rounded and malleable. It shifted to the side when she did and flattened away whenever she was on her back. Today, however, as Andie lay flat, the soft belly she’d always known was replaced with a hard, not so little mound. Looking down, Andie cried silently and freely as her hands gently pressed and explored this amazing new change. This tangible proof that a new life was ripening inside her as surely as the fruit on her trees.
Obviously, she’d known she was pregnant for almost five—felt like fifty—long months now, but aside from the nausea, vomiting, and fatigue, there’d been no other signs. Until now.
Andie had read that with first pregnancies—especially for women with a few extra pounds on them—it could be all the way into the third trimester before classic pregnancy signs like these showed. “Well, at least you didn’t take that long to show yourself,” she whispered to that tiny, amazing flutter. “You took long enough though, didn’t you? I was beginning to think everything about pregnancy sucked.” She smiled through the still gently streaming tears as she continued to rub this wondrous and exciting change to her body. As she marveled at the miracle of it.
“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead. If you don’t get up soon, you’ll be up all night, hey? You okay?” Kiki was on the bed beside her in two bounding leaps, her hands reaching out to cover Andie’s.
“No, I’m fine. I’m fine. Look!” Andie slipped her hands out from under Kiki’s and pressed those delicate artists fingers to her new belly mound. “I felt it. A kick or a something, and—”
“Holy shit!” Kiki’s already huge green eyes swallowed up her whole face. “Look at you. Oh my God, Ands, you have a bump!” Andie was ridiculously happy to see answering tears in her bestie’s eyes. “Dude, there’s a real baby in there.” She bent double and kissed Andie’s bump as her curious artist’s hands continued to explore the change that seemed as astonishing to her as it did to Andie.
Kiki leaned in to lay another kiss on her belly as she continued to pet and coo to it. Andie reached one hand to brush a lock of her friend’s hair behind her ear, and that’s when Luke walked in. And froze at the sight of them. The moment was too magical, too drenched in discovery for silliness or giggles at what they must look like to him. Andie merely smiled tenderly through her tears and beaconed him forward with one hand.
“The baby moved, Luke.” And he approached the bed like it was an altar. In quiet awe—God, were his hands actually shaking?—one giant paw hovered over her as if he wasn’t quite sure where to put it. “Here.” Andie put his hand where she’d last felt the strongest kick. When he all but let it hover, she gave a small chuckle. “You’re not going to be able to feel anything like that.” She set her own over his and pushed.
“Whoa, there.” Luke looked at her with alarm and tried to ease back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Could the man be any cuter? she thought.
“You won’t. Promise.” And pressed harder. Meanwhile, Kiki—who had stationed herself on the other side of her belly—started singing a lullaby. All three of them startled at the force of the next kick, and the joy that bubbled forth from the trio was so pure and the moment so life-affirming and perfect that Andie knew she was going to remember it for the rest of her days.
In town, Derek removed his hat as he walked into the diner, weariness and despair in every atom of his body. Every life in this town, he considered his to protect and serve. He tried to do his duty by them and knew he was pretty damn good at it. The last forty-eight hours had been hell though. He was human as well as Sheriff however, and this girl had been more than a member of his community. Brandi had been a member of his life.
“Evenin’, Sheriff.” Jessica, part-time waitress and local caterer, met him at the booth with a menu and the orange-handled coffeepot. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy in her blotched face, and it was clear as day she’d been crying. Her small fingers trembled as she turned his cup upright in order to fill it for him. Derek felt tears of his own threaten. “Aw shit.” He pushed up from his seat and wrapped her in close for a big hug. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m gonna catch this bastard, okay?” At her sniffle and nod, he added, “Until I do, I need you to promise me you’re going to be extra careful.” At her second nod, he took her frail shoulders in his hands and stooped to look her in the eye. “Not good enough. I need your promise. No going off with strangers, and no going off at night alone. Even if you’re driving. That beater of yours breaks down way too much. If you have to drive alone at all, take your momma’s car, okay?” Another sniffle and nod. “Okay then.” He kissed her on top of the head the same way he’d been doin’ since she was in his Sunday school class. “Just bring me whatever she’s got back there that she needs to use up. I don’t care.”
“M’kay.” Jessica sniffled, wiped her eyes with both hands, and turned toward the kitchen, her small shoulders trembling under the weight of her grief.
Nine hours he’d spent in that field with the daughter of his high school sweetheart. A child who had been just as rebellious and outrageous and full of life as her mother had been at that age. The carnage that was wrought on her small frame had been almost more than he could bear. Keeping his professionalism in place, for the sake of his crew as much as his sanity, had been one of the hardest moments he’d ever faced in his career. He was a small-town sheriff in an idyllic community. Born and raised here, he’d grown up always knowing what he was going to be, and he loved everything about his job. Though he’d never admit it out loud, his hero had been Sheriff Andy from Mayberry. Up until recently, he’d done a pretty good job of attaining that dream. His arrests were always handled with his practiced and calming approach, and he hardly ever had any trouble. A few underage drinkers on the weekends, drunk and disorderlys around the holidays and summer months, a few domestic disturbances, and stupid Cooter Jones who kept trying to grow weed on his daddy’s back forty. Derek considered himself wise enough to know when he was in over his head, so when FBI Agent Max Shimmer slid into the booth across from him, it was relief he felt when he met the man’s eyes. What he saw in the agent facing him was strength and capability, and in his foreboding expression he also saw a confidence earned through blood and grit.
“Hey, Sheriff.” His grip was strong and sure in Derek’s as they shook hands over the distance between them. “Max Shimmer. Sorry to be meeting under these circumstances. Thanks for calling us in.”
“Hey.” Weariness continued to leech the energy from his bones like air from a punctured tire, but Derek straightened his shoulders and plunged in, absurdly grateful to pass on this particular torch. “I know who you are. I researched your background back when you got appointed to our region.”
When Max lifted a brow at that, Derek added, “I’ve researched who held your position as long as I’ve been in office here. I like to know who and what is going to have my back when the shit goes down.”
Both brows shot up this time, and the other man nodded in approval. “Smart. Can’t say I wouldn’t be doing the same in your position. Nice change from the territorial bulldogs I’m used to facing.”
“I’m not going to roll over and play dead if that’s what you were hoping for,” Derek told him with steel in his to
ne. “These people entrust me with their safety. If providing that means I gotta call in the big guns, well shit, I’m callin’. I know how to recognize when I’m in over my head, and I’d rather accept that I need a life preserver than drown tryin’ to pretend I can swim.” He faced the agent without flinching and trusted he’d receive the same respect he was giving. Everything he read about Max Shimmer had instilled confidence, and from what he saw in front of him, the guy looked up to the hype.
“God, it’s refreshing to hear that.” Those strong shoulders didn’t relax so much as adjusted, as if he were shrugging on the mantle of trust he’d just been handed and was getting comfortable with it. “I’m sure you know, historically, your boys and mine don’t usually play so well together.”
“And how does that work out for them?” Derek took a swig of his decaf, hated the emptiness of it without that caffeine jolt, but it warmed his frozen gut, so he took another swallow before continuing. “Way I see it, having a pissing contest over brutalized girls wasn’t going to do anything but slow us down.” He sat back so Jessica could set a heaping bowl of stew in front of him along with a basket of buttermilk biscuits. “Thanks, Jessica. This looks better than I’d hoped for.” He looked toward Max. “You want to order? Food’s great here if you like country-style home cooking.”
“It looks great. Yeah, I’ll have the same,” Max said and nodded at Jessica with a soft expression that Derek appreciated. It was clear he recognized her sorrow, and the fact that he did only underlined the faith Derek placed in him. “I’ll have some sweet tea instead of coffee, please.” She nodded solemnly and turned away without another word. They both watched her go before Max asked, “She was close to the last victim?”