Hush Little Baby

by Jennifer Rebecca

  I collapse on the old leather sofa that has been all over the place with me and in every apartment I’ve ever lived in on my own. I didn’t have the heart to part with it when I moved into this house and filled it with new furniture, but it was perfect for a small room that opens off the kitchen, where I have a warm rug on the floor, a stone fireplace, and a large television. The only thing this room is missing is a dog, but my schedule barely has enough time for me to keep myself alive, let alone a dog. Maybe I should get a cat. I could be a guy with a cat.

  I pop the lid on the pizza box and pull a big piece out, folding it like a taco and diving in. I pick up the remote with my free hand and flip through the channels while I eat way more pizza than I should. I can’t remember when the last time I ate today was though, so it all balances out.

  I just missed the end of the game, not that my heart was in it anyway, and the local news isn’t going to say anything I want to hear right now. I’ve avoided it as much as I can, and because one of the victims was from outside of GWP, the crime beat anchor has been blowing up my phone line for a couple days now. I know, at this point, it’s only a matter of time.

  I let out a sigh and shut the TV off. I gather up my trash and take it into the kitchen, stuffing it in the trash bag. I tie it up and take it out through the washroom and into the garage where I keep my trashcans.

  When I come back inside, I make sure all the doors are locked, turn off all the lights, and head upstairs to try to get some sleep.

  I pull back the covers on my bed and climb in. I toss and turn for an hour at least, and my last thought before sleep finally claims me is that I really should get a cat. If I had a cat to come home to, maybe I wouldn’t feel so overwhelmingly lonely. Because not once tonight did Emma call me.

  • • •

  I’m running.

  Wes and I were sitting in his office while I was trying to get him to pull his head out of his ass where my sister was concerned, when his phone rang.

  “Yeah,” he said when he picked up and hit the speaker button as soon as he realized something was wrong.

  “Anna’s at the church. She says she knows who the killer is,” Claire panted, her breathing harsh.

  “Lee’s here. We’re on our way,” Wes said to Claire just before he hung up. I was already standing by the time he finished the call, and we were both running out of his office.

  I parked closer, so we jump in my department vehicle and take off.

  Claire is probably the farthest out, with Wes and me closest to the church. As we drive, I pray that I get there in time and so fucking angry that Anna would try to solve this herself. This killer is dangerous. But she is so sure she could show my dumb fucking ass that she’s an equal

  I should have known she would do something like this. I should have made things clearer with her. Told her straight out that I was head-over-heels for Emma and that there was no hope for her and me.

  She couldn’t see that, somewhere along the way, while she was falling in love with me, I was falling for Emma. Or she didn’t want to see it. I don’t know.

  This is just a big fucking mess.

  I pull into the parking lot of the church and barely have the Tahoe in park before I’m running for the church doors with the car door hanging open.

  I spot Claire heading for the church from the other end of the lot. Somehow, she made it here before us. We are all in hot pursuit, but nothing would prepare us for what we’d encounter when we enter the sanctuary.

  I’m running as fast as I can, pushing my body as hard as it will go. From the minute Wes hung up the phone after talking to Claire, I knew Anna was going to do something stupid. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. How could she? The answer is simple—she wants to belong that badly, to be worthy of someone like me, whether I’m in love with her or not.

  As I run up the steps, I pull my sidearm from its holster and steady my arms. I breathe in three times and out one to center my focus. I push open the big double door and enter the sanctuary. I draw my sidearm when I hear Anna’s scream.

  Nothing could prepare me for what I was about to see.

  “What have you done?” I hear the man scream from the side, but I can’t look at him now.

  “Police!” Claire shouts. Emma is right beside her as they barrel into the room. “Don’t move!

  But the man does with a maniacal look on his face. There’s a wildness that sparks behind his eyes. One that I’ve seen before in the men we fought overseas, the fanatics I’ve encountered back home.

  The knife arcs through the air and plunges into Anna’s heart, her body glitters with the blood already spilled from previous stab wounds. Until the day I die, I will never forget the look of panic, of desperation, on her face as it changed into resignation. She knows she’s going to die.

  And then Claire pulls the trigger over and over again. I watch as she empties her magazine into the man’s body until he falls limp to the side. “No!” she screams, but Wes grabs her from behind to stop her from closing the gap between her and the bloody body on the altar of my family church, while I race up the steps to get to Anna.

  I push the man’s body to the side while Emma rushes in from the back, drops to her knees by Anna’s side, and unties her hands. Blood covers them both.

  “Anna! Goddammit, stay with me!” Emma shrieks as she tries to stop the blood flowing so freely from slices and holes places all over her petite body.

  Claire drops to her knees beside me. “What can I do? Tell me what to do!”

  “Just stop the bleeding.”

  “Emma,” Anna rasps. There’s a rattling behind her voice, and everyone in this room knows what that means. A death rattle.

  “Save your energy, babe,” Emma tells her sweetly.

  “I see it now,” she says. “It was wrong of me to want him. He was always yours.”

  “No,” Emma denies as the tears stream down her beautiful face. “Don’t say that.”

  “Love him for me,” she begs, and my breath seizes in my lungs as my own tears burn behind my eyes. After everything we’ve been through, she’s stepping aside in our twisted love triangle, only now there are just the two of us who will be left standing.

  “No. You do it, because I won’t!” Emma sobs.

  “He loves you,” Anna rattles.

  “I don’t care,” Emma lies.

  “He’s going to... to need someone to... to love him.”

  I can see it’s taking all her energy to get her last wishes out, and I hate it. She’s dying, because of me. Because I didn’t love her. Someone should have loved her.

  “No, Anna,” Emma pleads. “Anything but that.”

  “Just… love him.” And then her eyes dip closed, never to open again as the last of her breath wheezes out of her body.

  “Anna!” Emma cries.

  “Emma, honey,” I say as she clings to her.

  “No!” she screams as she pulls away from me. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Emma,” Claire calls out, looking unsure of what to do.

  “No, Lee. This is all your fault.”

  I feel as if she slapped me.

  “Emma, you can’t mean that,” I plead.

  “She wanted so badly to belong to you, to fit into your world, and that pushed her straight to this moment,” Emma accuses with an eerie coldness in her voice.

  “Emma—”

  “Do me a favor, Lee, and just stay the fuck away from me.” And then she storms outside.

  Wes grabs Claire from behind again and pulls her away from Anna, while I just sit there feeling numb. How could everything go to shit in the blink of an eye?

  “Let me go!” she wails. Her voice is harsh and raw.

  I look away from them and back to where Anna’s lifeless body is lying still on the altar steps, but when I do, it’s not Anna’s dark eyes that are open with nothing but emptiness behind them, all the life to live sapped out. It’s the cool blue of Emma’s.

  • • •

  I gasp
as I come awake. Sitting up quickly with my knees bent, I try to catch my breath, but it’s no use. I can’t shake the image of Emma on the altar. I can’t lose her now that I’ve just gotten her.

  The room spins, and with a steady hand out to brace against the wall if I stumble, I race into the bathroom. I don’t bother to flip on the lights. I just drop to my knees and empty the contents of my stomach, wishing I hadn’t overindulged on my favorite comfort food of pizza and beer.

  I flush the toilet and stand up on shaky legs as I make my way to the sink. I splash cool water all over my face and rinse out my mouth before I make my way back to bed and lie down, all the while hoping I can find peace enough to sleep, but the grips of the dream still hold me. All I can do is pray the nightmares don’t find their way to the living, because I know without a doubt I couldn’t survive that.

  TEN

  * * *

  UNCOMFORTABLE

  “Goodnite,” I answer the phone on my desk when it rings. I’ve been sitting here for who knows how long, staring at the case files, and wondering where the connection lies. I just can’t figure it out, and it’s bugging the shit out of me, because I know it’s there.

  After struggling to get back to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, I tossed and turned, tangled in my sheets with sweat coating my body and visions of Emma’s lifeless eyes haunting my thoughts. So when sleep finally came, it wasn’t a deep restfulness. I just fell into a void of nothing. When I woke up again, I felt like shit, and I still do, but when my alarm rang, for the first time in a long time, I felt like something was happening. I hopped in the shower and dressed quickly. I skipped breakfast, knowing I would eat when I had another chance, but I couldn’t ignore the feeling in my gut that something would break loose today.

  I just know it.

  So when I got to the station, I made a quick cup of coffee in the kitchenette off the bullpen before heading to my office. My goal for today was simple—pour over these case notes and pictures until something shakes loose. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait too long, because when my desk phone rang, I picked it up without thought and answered.

  “I figured it out!” Emma says, the excitement in her find ringing clear in her voice.

  “What?” I love the sound of her voice no matter what, but when Emma is on the hunt, there is a confidence in her tone that is sexy as hell. Her mind is brilliant, and I love to watch her puzzle something out.

  “Come down to the lab and see.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty,” I reply. The eagerness bubbles up from my belly. Could this really be the break in the case we need? Fuck, I hope so.

  “See you then,” she says before ending the call.

  I flip through the case photos one more time so they are fresh in my mind. I’m sure there’s something I’m missing, and if I just keep it all fresh, eventually the pieces will fall into place. I tip my mug back and chug what’s left of my now cold coffee, letting the bitter flavor flow over my tongue and give me something to focus on. Sometimes, a quick change of direction will also help my brain find the connections, but still, there’s nothing.

  So I set my mug down on top of my desk and close the file. I leave my office and take the stairs down to Emma’s basement lair so I don’t have to wait for the elevator, but when I get there, I see she’s not alone. I decided to give her a minute to finish up her business with this mystery woman I’ve never seen before in my life, but I can’t help but overhear their uncomfortable exchange.

  “Just… think about my offer.”

  “Yeah,” Emma says, and I don’t like the tone of her voice. Something sounds… I don’t know… off with her, and I don’t like it.

  I peer through the small rectangular window in the heavy utilitarian-gray door at the woman. She’s well dressed, older but not too old, probably in her late-fifties to early-sixties, and maybe a little posh even. Her dark hair is pulled up on top of her head, and she’s wearing an expensive suit; that much I know.

  I can also tell she’s giving the hard sell to Emma. I just don’t know about what yet. Whatever it is, she looks uncomfortable, and I don’t like that at all. So I knock on the small window, startling both women. I wait a beat, letting them get their bearings before I twist the doorknob and push the heavy metal door open.

  Both Emma and the mystery woman turn to me, and I don’t know what it is about her. I can’t say what it is, because I do not know her, but there’s something about Emma’s posture with this woman that bothers me. It sets my teeth on edge.

  “Excuse me,” I say once I’ve fully entered the room, letting the heavy door close behind me. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  One look around the room and we all know my words don’t ring true. And while Emma’s face is wreathed in relief, the other woman’s is covered in annoyance and frustration. I can’t say I’m sorry for either.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse us,” Emma says softly, and I hate that it’s not her usual confident self shining through. Whatever this woman did to strip her of that, I hate, and I hate her for it. “I have to get back to work.”

  “Yes, of course,” the woman says, pasting a fake smile on her face. “But don’t forget what we discussed. Make the right decision, because we both know that’s not you.”

  And with those last words, she flows out of the room. Emma and I stand there and watch her go. My curiosity is piqued by the woman who could ruffle Emma’s hard-won confidence, and not in a good way.

  “Who was that?”

  “Madame Driskill,” she answers like I should know who that is.

  I feel my face pull into a frown, but it’s one more of confusion that anything else. “I don’t understand.”

  “She runs a high-end private adoption agency out of the city,” Emma explains.

  “You’re giving the baby up?” I ask as something dark and heavy slithers into my belly. Even though her baby is not mine, I have spent plenty of time imagining my life with both of them in it. The idea one of them won’t be there hurts.

  “No,” she says with a heavy look of her own. “Of course not.”

  And while I feel a sudden relief at her words, I can’t help but to ask, “Then why was she here?”

  “Jerrod set up the appointment,” she answers, and her distaste in the answer is palpable.

  “Why?” I question softly. I want to reach out to her, to hold her when she looks this distraught, but I also know she would not welcome that right now.

  “He said he wants to be with me, but only if I come without my baby,” she answers. “He’s been pushing the issue lately.”

  I want to punch his freaking face in. What kind of guy wants the girl but not the baby he helped make? This Jerrod guy is an absolute tool.

  “Emma—” I start, but she won’t let me finish.

  “No,” she says, effectively cutting me off. “It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but it is what it is.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Not Jerrod,” she mumbles, and my heart feels lighter than ever, and I decide that, for her, I can change the subject. As much as I want to push her to pick me, I don’t want to push too hard too fast. So I decide to bide my time and wait. And hope she’s ending things with the tool.

  “So you found something?”

  Her face instantly brightens. “Yes!” she says excitedly again. Her whole demeanor changes before my eyes as she brushes off the unfortunate meeting with the adoption lady. “I did. Come on over.”

  I follow Emma deeper into the lab, where she grabs a stack of photos and pins them to the big board in her office. I can see they are zoomed-in pictures of puncture marks on several different bodies.

  “You remember how I showed you the puncture mark on the thigh of Ashley Horner?” she asks me.

  “I do,” I reply. I fold my arms across my chest and settle in, because if Emma says she found a link, she undoubtedly did, and it’s going to be huge.

  “Well, I found puncture marks on every victim.” She smiles broadl
y, and I love watching her revel in her discoveries.

  “That’s great,” I tell her. “Any idea what they were injected with?”

  “Yes! I was lucky and found trace amounts of the substance in the majority of the victims that we can make the leap that that’s what was used to incapacitate them before they were operated on and left for dead.”

  Her excitement is rolling off her in waves, and I can’t help but feel it too. “What is it?”

  “Atropine,” she answers immediately.

  “I don’t know what that is,” I admit.

  “It’s a medication that can be used to treat a host of symptoms, including colds, asthma, intestinal issues, eye problems, and heart conditions. And it is available both over the counter and by prescription in tablets, inhalants, injectables, and eye drops.”

  “And you think the victims were injected with this?” I ask.

  “I don’t think it; I know it,” she answers. Her confidence shines through once again, and I say a silent prayer of thanks.

  “What would happen if they were injected with it? I know you said it’s prescribed that way, so it can’t be too bad.”

  “It’s not if given in the correct amounts. But if overdosed, atropine becomes a poison that takes effect very quickly. They might experience a rise in body temp, dry mouth, sometimes muscle spasms, and then total paralysis with some cognition. But they might also have blurred vision and/or hallucinations, since it’s derived from belladonna.”

  “So they may or may not have been cognizant while they were cut open and then died?” I feel anger rising up inside me at the thought of someone doing that to another person.

  “Let’s just hope they weren’t,” she answers me softly. I clench my fists at my side and feel her touch my arm where the muscles are bunched tight. “We won’t ever know. And honey? You can’t carry that with you.”

  “I know,” I reply, my voice tight, and I need to brush off this heavy blow so I can find the bastard who would bring these women so low.

  “I didn’t bring you down here to upset you,” she says, and she surprises me by wrapping her arms around my middle in a hug. I close my arms around her, holding her to me and accepting the comfort she’s offering.