Shiver

by Suzanne Wright

  I blindly probed the ground with my hand. Found a rock. With a feral grin, I reared up and smashed it into his head. Or I would have done if he hadn’t been yanked out of the way by Reed, who tossed him aside.

  Reed snarled at him. “You really are a stupid fuck.” He rounded on me. “What the hell did you think running would achieve? Huh? You don’t think I have better shit to do than chase you through a damn cemetery? I try to help you. I share my secrets with you. And what do you do? Run. Ricky was right; you just told me what I wanted to hear.”

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t make a run for it, Reed? I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be anyone’s prisoner. I want to go home.”

  “Oh, you’ll go home. You’ll go to your new home. Or you’ll die in that church, right on my altar, and then you’ll be with me forever. Either way, you’re staying with me.” He held up my pendant-slash-knife. “Found this on the ground. Clever. You never told me this was self-defense jewelry,” he griped, as if I’d betrayed him as a friend. “Now get up.”

  “Can’t. Twisted my ankle.” Not really, but it would be better if he thought I couldn’t run anymore.

  At that moment, Ricky stood upright, glaring. Not at me. At Reed, who was oblivious to it. Wicked fast, Ricky dived at him, wrestled the knife out of his hand, and stabbed him in the eye. Well, fuck.

  Reed staggered back with a wild cry. Before I could even try to stand, Ricky was on me again, knife poised to strike. I grabbed his wrist and pushed hard, trying to keep him at bay. But the bastard put his weight behind the strike and the knife lowered toward my throat inch by inch. If my other hand hadn’t been absolutely useless, I could have struck him, scratched him, something. Instead, I had to watch the knife get closer and closer and—

  “Police! Drop your weapon!”

  Both Ricky and I froze. I knew that voice. It had yelled at me enough times over the years while giving me grief.

  “Drop it now!” Joshua ordered.

  “You, freeze!” commanded another voice. Bartley. I wondered if he was talking to Reed, who was still groaning in pain.

  Above me, Ricky shook his head in what looked like denial. “No,” he wheezed. “Can’t be happening. No.”

  “Drop. Your. Weapon!” Joshua again ordered.

  “If you don’t fucking shoot the son of a bitch, I will!”

  I almost closed my eyes in relief at the sound of Blake’s voice. He was here. He’d come.

  “Okay,” wheezed Ricky. “I’ll drop it.” Straightening, he ever so slowly raised the knife. His hand inched to the side, as if he’d lower the blade to the ground. But then an ugly smirk curved his mouth, and I knew what he’d do.

  I twisted my body out of the way and—

  A sharp crack split the air.

  I stayed very still until I heard the knife tinkle to the ground near my head. I realized I was right and he’d meant to ram it into the side of my neck. Dismayed, he looked at the wound in his shoulder as I scuttled backward on my elbows. Behind him, Reed was on his knees, fingers linked behind his head, eyes—or one eye—on the ground. Still, I didn’t feel safe; didn’t feel far enough away from them. Not until a familiar set of arms carefully lifted me.

  I burrowed into Blake, clutching his shirt with a trembling hand. I drew in a deep breath through my nose, inhaling his scent and letting it sink in that he was here.

  He looked down at me, taking in my injuries, and his face set into a mask of torment. “Ah, baby, fuck.”

  “Most of it happened in the crash.” Throat thick, I bit my lip, afraid I was going to cry like a girl. “I wasn’t sure you’d get here in time.”

  He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “If they hadn’t brought you out here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, we’d have reached you a lot sooner.”

  “Take her away from here,” Joshua told him. “We’ve got this.”

  “I want my five minutes with those fuckers when this is over,” said Blake.

  I looked at Joshua and warned, “Brace yourself before you go in the church. What you’ll see in there ain’t pretty.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Damn, these painkillers were awesome. Every bit of tension had left my body. Just left. Gone. Poof. My muscles were slack, my limbs were deliciously loose, and I felt totally weightless. Like I was floating.

  There was no pain. No discomfort. No anxiety. The drugs had lulled me into a stress-free place. Not even the cast on my arm or the irritating hospital smells of ammonia, iodine, and hand sanitizer could pierce my fabulous daze. My mother? Well …

  For at least the tenth time, Clear plumped the pillows on my bed. “Lie down, sweetie, you’ll feel better for it.”

  “Don’t wanna.” I wanted to stay exactly where I was—sitting on the edge of the bed with Blake standing between my legs, resting my head on his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart. He had one arm curled around my waist while his free hand palmed the back of my head. Pliant, I was lazing against him, as relaxed and content as a cat basking in the sun. It didn’t seem to bother Blake at all, thankfully.

  Behind the retractable curtain, voices muttered or moaned, rubber-soled shoes squeaked along the floor, and doors whooshed open and closed. In my slice of the semi-private room, things were quieter despite that—to the nurse’s complete annoyance—Clear, Sarah, Sherry, Dodger, and Cade were all gathered here. Damn if the poor woman had been able to shift them.

  Unlike me, they were edgy and worried. Clear constantly twisted her wedding band, Sarah was worrying her lip, Dodger kept rubbing the back of his neck, Sherry kept shifting in her seat, and Cade was sitting beside her while drumming his foot on the floor. Only Blake was calm and in control, but I suspected that he’d be just as worked up if he weren’t concerned that his tension would rub off on me.

  Thankfully, Rossi wasn’t terribly injured. He’d banged his knees bad on the glovebox during the accident. But he said his feet hurt more than anything else, since he’d had to stagger all the way to the gas station to use the payphone and call Blake, who received my SOS only moments later.

  “Blake, she’s been in a car accident and was then kidnapped and later chased through a cemetery,” said Clear, brow wrinkled. “She needs to lay flat and rest.”

  His arm ever so slightly flexed around me. “I don’t need the reminder about what she’s been through. She doesn’t want to lie flat.”

  “She’s probably worried that if she falls asleep, she’ll wake up to find that you’re gone,” hedged Cade, sending a teasing smile my way. “Clingy.”

  I weakly flipped him the finger.

  Blake kissed my hair. “No, she knows I won’t leave her side.”

  I did know that. I wasn’t slouched against him because I worried he’d leave, I just needed the physical contact. He hadn’t stopped touching me since the moment he carried me out of the cemetery, so maybe he needed it as much as I did.

  “Come sit down, Clear,” Sherry urged. She signaled for Cade to vacate his chair, who did so with a long-suffering sigh.

  My mother nervously rubbed her hands together. “It just worries me that she’s so … mellow, Sherry. I mean, she’s been through hell. I’d hate it if she was sobbing, but at least that would be a normal response.”

  Blake sighed. “Clear, this is a normal response for someone with so many drugs in her system. She had so much adrenaline pumping through her, it was a struggle for the doctors to steady her heartbeat. Now it’s calm and stable. Do not fuck with that.”

  And then I heard her sniffling. “Mom, quit crying. You’re messing with my buzz.”

  “You shouldn’t have a buzz,” she said. “You could have been killed today.”

  “Take some of these wondrous drugs and then tell me I shouldn’t have a buzz.”

  “I’ll try them.” Sarah’s smile was strained. “I don’t mind admitting that my nerves are shot. Considering how bad the crash was, you’re lucky you don’t have more injuries.”

  “Thank the G80.” Damn, I lo
ved that car. It had stood up well against the crash. My old Nissan would have been nothing but a lump of twisted metal. “I’m going to miss it.”

  Blake’s mouth curved a little against my hair. “I’ll get you a new one.”

  I could buy my own car, actually, but … “I’m feeling too mellow to argue with you.”

  “I know. I’m taking advantage of that.”

  Clear rubbed my shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to lie down, sweetie?”

  “As you pointed out, Kensey’s been through hell today,” said Blake. I could tell his patience was paper-thin at this point. “If she wants to sit up, she can sit up. If she wants to lean on me, she can lean on me. If she wants to fucking tap dance, she can tap dance—I don’t fucking care as long as she’s calm.”

  Sherry chuckled. “I don’t think she’s in any condition to tap dance, but she’ll appreciate the sentiment.”

  Clear’s mouth thinned. “Fine. But I still think the doctor shouldn’t have agreed to discharge her.”

  Were we really back to this again? Honestly?

  “She doesn’t want to stay here,” Blake reminded her for, like, the twelfth time.

  “But she’s hurt.” Clear appealed to him with a look. “This is the best place for her.”

  No, it was far from it. Of course, Clear wouldn’t understand that. She liked to be babied when she was ill or hurt; it made her feel better. It made me feel smothered, which never failed to make me crazy.

  Blake ground his teeth. “She’s got the cast, she’s had stitches and every bit of treatment she needs. As soon as the doc is done with the paperwork and officially discharges her, I’m taking her home. Deal with it.”

  “But—”

  “Leave it be, Clear,” Sherry intervened, firm. “She said she’s fine.”

  Clear turned to her. “I don’t want her bottling things up. She’ll feel worse for it later.”

  Sherry patted the chair beside her. “I don’t think she’s bottling up anything. Except maybe the urge to hurt you for faffing around her.”

  “I don’t faff,” said Clear as she took the seat. “Dodger, do I faff?”

  Dodger sighed. “Yeah.”

  Sarah squeezed Clear’s shoulder. “Kensey’s tough. You know that. And you also know that this isn’t somewhere she can properly relax. She doesn’t like crowded places. She likes space, quiet, and privacy. You don’t get that in a hospital. But she’ll get it at home.”

  With a resigned sigh, Clear folded her arms. “I called your dad, Kensey. He’s devastated that you were hurt and that he can’t be here for you. He’s also blaming himself. They wouldn’t have had any interest in you if Michael wasn’t your dad.”

  “Nobody should be blaming themselves,” I said. “But I know Sherry and Dodger are feeling responsible because they hired Reed and had him working beside me, day after day. I know Sarah and Cade are feeling bad because they never saw Reed for what he is. I know Blake’s feeling bad for not getting to me sooner or locating Ricky, just as Rossi’s feeling bad for passing out during the accident. And I know you feel that you should have somehow protected me, Mom. It’s all stupid. Ricky and Reed are to blame—no one else. None of us saw that cruelty in Reed. People like him are good at hiding what they are; they have to be.”

  Silence descended. Ah, blessed, blessed silence. It didn’t last long.

  “You’re right of course,” said Clear. “Blake, thank you for finding her. I honestly don’t think I’d survive if something happened to her.”

  There was a metallic ting as the curtain was pulled along its rod. Bastien then entered, bringing with him the smells of cologne and coffee. “Hey, Lyons, how are you doing?”

  I gave him a slow smile, even as I thought, ‘Uh-oh, Sarah’s gonna freak if he stays long.’ “Fine, thanks.”

  He tilted his head. “You look surprisingly chilled out.”

  “Seriously, Bastien, these painkillers are the shit.”

  He chuckled. “I’m glad you’re okay. You had us all worried.” He gave Blake a nod of greeting. “I expected to find you pacing and half out of your mind.” Turning, he locked his gaze on Sarah. A gaze that went all soft … and then hardened to stone. “Where’s the choker?”

  “I put it on Mom’s cat,” said Sarah. “Looks good on her.”

  I smiled, betting that the jewelry was safe in Sarah’s purse.

  “If you two are going to argue, do it elsewhere,” said Blake. “Kensey doesn’t need the drama.”

  “We’re not going to argue. We’re going to talk.” Bastien held his hand out to Sarah, who sniffed at it like he’d offered her a plastic bracelet he found in a Christmas cracker.

  “I don’t think my sister wants to talk to you.” Cade glared at him. “Which suits me just fine, since I don’t want her to talk to you. I’ve no idea what happened between you two, but you almost made her cry. Sarah’s eyes actually welled up. Do you know how rare it is that my hard-hearted sister ever cries?”

  Sarah gaped at him. “Hey! I do not have a hard heart!”

  “Well you don’t have a soft one.”

  Sherry rolled her eyes. “Children, children, enough.”

  From behind the curtain, someone loudly cleared their throat. “Miss Lyons, it’s Officer Bartley. My partner and I were hoping to speak to you. We have some questions.”

  Blake shot them a glare they couldn’t see. “And you have to ask those questions right now?”

  “It would be best to do so while everything is fresh in Miss Lyons’s mind,” replied Bartley. “We won’t take long.”

  Tipping my head back, I said to Blake, “I’d rather get it over with. But I need a minute alone with you before I talk to them.”

  Sherry pushed out of her chair. “All right, everyone. Time to go. I’ll tell the cops you’ll call them in when you’re ready, Kensey.”

  “Thanks, Sherry.” With brief goodbyes, each of the visitors filed out, though my mother lingered a little. Once they were gone, I turned back to Blake. “I didn’t tell you this before now because I thought it might be better to tell you when we at home alone. I didn’t count on the police turning up here.” I should have done.

  “Okay, what is it?”

  I licked my lips. “I told you there were bodies in the church and that Reed had killed them. Well, one of them was Liza Montgomery. She was the type of victim he went for. A female child abuser.

  Blake went completely rigid. I rubbed his arm, knowing he wouldn’t want to be grateful to Reed for anything but was likely still glad that she was dead.

  “Do you think he was telling the truth?” asked Blake.

  “I don’t see why he would have lied about it, but I guess we won’t know anything for sure until after the police finish their investigation. I just wanted to give you a heads-up before I spoke to them.”

  Blake gave me a brief nod. “Let’s get this over with.” He called out, “You can come in now.”

  I rested my head on Blake’s chest once again as Bartley and Joshua came inside.

  “You look a little better than you did before,” said Joshua. “Thanks for the warning about the church. We weren’t expecting bodies.”

  “You still have Reed and Ricky in custody?” I asked.

  Bartley nodded. “Yes. Be assured that they won’t be getting near you again. I can see that you’re tired, Miss Lyons, but we really need to ask you some questions,” he said, surprisingly sounding apologetic.

  “Okay,” I told him. “But I’m not moving even an inch from where I am.”

  Joshua looked like he was fighting a smile. “That’s fine.”

  They didn’t take long questioning me, though that might have been because Blake kept gifting them with impatient sighs and asking them if they were done yet.

  “I’d like the angel-wing knife back,” I said, having already told them about it.

  “At the moment, it’s classed as evidence,” said Bartley. “We’ll get it back to you eventually.”

  “If that’s
all …” Blake flicked a glance at the curtain.

  Taking the hint, Bartley gave me a nod and then left.

  Joshua looked at me for a long moment. “Now we’re even.” With that, he followed Bartley out of the cubicle.

  I understood what Joshua meant. He’d spent years making my life hell, and today he’d saved it.

  “You’re nowhere near even,” said Blake. “He owes you ten times over.”

  I let my head fall back and used my finger to smooth away the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “He did shoot Ricky, though.”

  “Shame he didn’t aim for the heart.” Blake caught my face between his hands. “When I saw the state of the G80 … Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  My brows drew together. “What did I do?”

  “Scared me. Really scared me. I should have told you to meet me at Emma’s. If I had, Ricky might not have taken you.”

  “I’m pretty sure that if you get a mechanic to take a look at Rossi’s car, they’ll confirm that it was tampered with. Ricky wanted him to break down. Wanted me to be alone.”

  “Yeah, but if you’d been heading in the direction of Emma’s house, you would have driven down busy roads. It probably would have made Ricky hesitate to act. And if it hadn’t, someone would have seen what happened. They might have intervened. At the very least, they’d have called the police. And if they’d also helped Rossi, he could have contacted me a lot fucking sooner.”

  I put a finger to his mouth. “Don’t think like that. You’ll make yourself crazy. I’m here. I’m okay. Speaking of Emma’s house, what happened with Linton?”

  Blake snapped his teeth at my finger, smiling when I lowered it with a frown. “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Give me the short version while we wait for the doctor.” That would hopefully get Blake’s mind off how badly things could have gone.

  “He admitted he’d used Laurel to get info on you. Laurel beat him with her purse before I even got the chance to throw a punch. Linton very reluctantly got his laptop out of his trunk and then deleted the book he’d been writing on Michael, you, and your mother. I told him that if he had a copy somewhere and ever released it or even something similar, I’d … well, you don’t need to hear that part. Anyway, he agreed not to publish anything on Michael. Then I punched him.”