Brown and de Luca Collection, Volume 1

by Maggie Shayne

  We worked until almost ten, and I was shocked when I saw the time on my cell phone, then added “Clocks” to the list.

  “I’m starved,” Jeremy said.

  “You’re always starved,” Mason replied.

  “I’m starved, too. We totally worked through dinner.” I sank onto the new sofa, green and colonial-style, which made it look both out of date and a perfect fit for the house. “How about we finish off the leftovers?”

  “And watch a movie?” Mason asked. He and Jeremy had managed to anchor a flat-screen TV to the wall, making it the most modern-looking thing in the entire house, though there was no cable hooked up yet—if it was even available this far out of town, which I doubted.

  “How are we going to watch a movie?” I didn’t see a DVD player, just a game system I assumed was for the boys’ entertainment.

  “We’ll stream one through the Xbox,” Mason said.

  I lifted my brows, impressed. “I had no idea those things could do anything more than play games.”

  “You’ve got so much to learn,” Mason said, then he crooked a brow at me. “Have you ever even played a video game?”

  I pointed at my eyes. “Blind for twenty years, remember?”

  He smiled slowly, as if he was up to something. “Screw the movie, then. Did you guys see which box had the games?”

  Jeremy crossed the living room, picked up a backpack, brought it to the coffee table and dumped it. “No, but Josh brought every game we own. I kept telling him we were only staying overnight.”

  “I wanted us to have a wide selection,” Joshua said, sounding important.

  “Pick an easy one, okay? I don’t want to look like too much of an idiot.”

  They grinned at me, probably knowing that wasn’t possible. But Joshua fished out an innocuous-looking copy of Super Mario Bros., and it was on.

  I don’t think I ever laughed so hard in my entire life.

  And then everything stopped. Everything.

  I dropped my controller, because I couldn’t see the TV screen anymore. Everything went dark, and for a horrifying instant, I thought my eyesight had blinked out. Turned off. Like a light. But then I realized the volume of the noise around me had turned itself down, too. It was there, but muffled, dull. Maybe Mason was saying my name. I’m not sure. But I was seeing…something. Bushes. Branches. Trees. Brush. All blocking my vision. And then my hand—no, not my hand. That’s not my hand at all—came up. Black glove. Big hand, male hand. And it moved some of the branches aside. And there was a house.

  My house.

  The killer is in the brush watching my house.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Rachel, hey, come on.” Mason took her by the shoulders, shook her a little. She’d gone weird all of a sudden, dropping her controller and just sitting there staring straight ahead, seeing God only knew what. Not the here and now, that was for sure.

  Another vision?

  “Rachel?” he said again.

  Suddenly Joshua threw a glass of water into her face—just grabbed his glass and splashed it on her. Just like that.

  She blinked and scrunched up her face, turning away in reaction. Then she wiped her cheeks with one hand.

  “Joshua, what the hell?” Jeremy asked.

  Joshua shrugged. “It’s what they always do on TV.”

  “TV isn’t real life, dork.”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Josh yanked a couple of paper towels from the roll they’d been using in lieu of napkins and handed them to her. “You okay now, Rachel?” he asked, all innocence.

  She blinked a few times and wiped her face with the towels. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, Josh.”

  “Anytime,” he said. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” But she sent Mason a look that said she did.

  Mason said, “Why don’t you guys play a round without us? We need to clean up this mess, and then we all need to hit the hay. It’s after midnight.”

  “Okay, Uncle Mason.” Josh picked up the controller that Rachel had dropped, her lapse forgotten. Jeremy wasn’t so easy to brush aside. He was looking at her oddly and, Mason figured, trying to guess what had just happened. He wasn’t going to guess right.

  “It’s all right, Jer. Go ahead, finish up the level and don’t forget to save our game so we can pick up where we left off next time.”

  “You sure I can’t help?”

  “I’m good, Jeremy,” Rachel said. “But you’re a great guy to offer. Thanks.”

  Jeremy shrugged and returned to his game. But Mason knew that wasn’t the end of it. There was never an end to anything where Jeremy was concerned. He observed everything, remembered everything and was curious about everything.

  Rachel got to her feet, seemed to take a second to make sure she was steady, then picked up the empty pizza box and wing container, all but overflowing with saucy bones. She headed for the kitchen. Mason grabbed the paper plates, empty glasses and wadded-up napkins, and followed.

  When they were out of earshot, he looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak. She shoved the refuse into the wastebasket, folding the pizza box in half to make it fit. Then she turned to face him, leaned back against the counter, crossed her arms over her chest and said, “He’s at my house.”

  It hit him like a mallet between the eyes. “What?”

  “The killer is at my house. He’s standing in the bushes, right near where we threw…what we threw. He’s watching the place.”

  Mason didn’t know if he believed her or not, but he didn’t see the need to waste any time. He pulled his cell phone out and started to text Rosie.

  Rachel moved closer and put a hand over his. “You can’t do that.”

  He lifted his head, met her eyes.

  “What will they think if you call them and tell them to go out there and look in the brushy woods near the edge of my driveway, and then, when they do, they find…the hammer?” She barely whispered the final two words. “That’s gonna look suspicious as hell, Mason.”

  “If he’s there, they can catch him.”

  “And how are you going to say you knew?”

  “Rosie’s on surveillance tonight. I trust my partner,” Mason said. “He won’t sell me out without asking me how I knew first, and he’ll come up with an explanation. I promise.” He finished the text. Make excuse to check woods near edge of drive, opposite garage. He clicked Send.

  Seconds ticked past before the reply came. One letter. K.

  Then nothing. Minutes ticked past, and still only silence.

  Finally his phone rang. He looked at Rosie’s face on the screen, then grabbed Rachel’s arm and moved them out to the front porch before putting the call on speaker. “I’m here, Rosie. What did you find?”

  Rachel was pale, as nervous as he’d ever seen her. As nervous as she had ever let him see her, he amended. He was pretty sure she, like any sane person, was terrified over everything that had been going on, but unlike most people, she didn’t like showing vulnerability. Weakness. She had a tough shell, but inside she was afraid. Shaken to the core.

  “How did you know, buddy?” Rosie asked.

  “What did you find?”

  “Someone was out there. Not long ago, either. Footprints were fresh. And I repeat, how did you know?”

  “Anonymous tip. I can’t tell you more than that. Can you cover for me?”

  Rosie hesitated, then, “Yeah. I’ll say I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I called for backup, and they’re close. If he was on foot, we’ll get him.”

  “They won’t get him,” Rachel whispered. “He’s long gone.”

  “Let me know what you find, okay, pal?”

  “Will do.”

  Mason disconnected, and looked at Rachel. She shook
her head at him. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t look at me like I’m some broken fragile flower in need of saving. I’m not that.”

  “No, not a fragile flower. More a milk thistle. Pretty purple flower that stings like hell.” He drew a breath. “Look, I don’t think you need saving. I do think you’d be an idiot to go home tonight. I’m a cop, and I’m armed, and I wouldn’t want to spend the night there with this maniac on the loose.”

  Her forehead puckered in thought. “Yeah, that would be stupid, wouldn’t it? I wonder if he plans to kill me.”

  “That’s what he does.”

  “Not women, though.”

  “But he knows that you’re…inside his head somehow.” He rolled his eyes. “Listen to me. What the hell am I saying? Inside his head?”

  “I am inside his head. You fucking know I am, and you fucking know why. Don’t you think we’re beyond denying it any longer, Mason? I’m in his head because I have a piece of your warped brother in me, and he has a piece in him, and that connects us somehow. Just like it connected me with Terry Skullbones.”

  He drew a breath, then let it out slowly. “Okay, okay, I admit it looks like it might be true.”

  “Might be?” It was her turn to roll her eyes, and then she turned away.

  “I don’t know how, but…but, Rachel, doesn’t that make it even more important for you to stay alive? You might be the only person who can help me catch this guy.”

  As he said the words, he realized they were true and turned her to look at him. “If he’s figured that out, then you really aren’t safe.”

  Not a single sarcastic reply emerged. She just lowered her head, so her hair fell down over one eye. “Thanks for believing me. Finally.”

  “You’re welcome. Please don’t go home tonight.”

  She looked him in the eyes then and pushed her hair behind her ear. “I’ll go back to my sister’s.”

  “It’s almost one. Just stay here. It’ll be morning before we know it, anyway.” When she didn’t seem to jump on the idea, he said, “We’ve got chaperones, Rachel. You’ll be perfectly safe. I promise not to try to seduce you.”

  “You think I’m worried?”

  “Come on, soothe my pride, act worried.”

  She smiled. It was an unwilling smile, but in a second it was full-blown and he had to return it. “You know you could charm the socks off a centipede, right?” she asked.

  “I’ve been told as much, though never in quite those words.” And he’d never expected to hear it from her. “Spend the night with me, Rachel.”

  She met his eyes for a moment, then turned and walked back inside. “Okay.”

  * * *

  So Myrtle and I spent the night in Mason’s bed. He slept on the new sofa, and his nephews were in one of the other bedrooms on the bunk beds we’d put together earlier.

  I didn’t sleep well, partly because I was in a strange bed, but mostly because a serial killer was stalking me. Okay, and maybe a little bit because I was spending the night so close to Mason, a guy I wanted to bang in the worst way, even though my gut said it would be a bad idea.

  I hadn’t contemplated why overly much. But since I had time on my hands, I let my thoughts go there. I’d been blind through my teens and my entire adult life. I hadn’t dated. I hadn’t flirted. I hadn’t had any steady relationships, nothing beyond a couple of poorly-thought-out one-night stands that meant nothing. Now I was a sighted adult for the first time in my life. I needed to figure out what that meant, who the sighted Rachel was, before I brought another person into my life. And there was part of me that knew sleeping with Mason would mean just that—bringing him into my life. It wouldn’t be a meaningless roll in the hay. Not with him.

  So there couldn’t be any roll in the hay at all. Period.

  I tossed and turned, dozed and started awake a dozen times over, and by six-thirty was up and taking a shower in the adjoining bathroom, where the only supplies were strictly male. Mason was apparently a man’s man. He had one single product in his shower, a combination body wash, shampoo, conditioner that I hadn’t even known existed. It smelled rough and woodsy. Familiar, too. It smelled like him, I realized, as I sudsed up and rinsed off again. The stuff wasn’t bad, though I imagined my hair would look like hell all day.

  Look at me, being all girlie-girl and worrying about my hair. Since when, Rache?

  I shrugged off the voice of my inner bitch, then wrapped myself up in a towel and walked back into the bedroom just as the door opened and Mason walked in.

  He stopped dead and stood there looking me up and down. I stopped, too, holding on to my towel and starting to shiver. He didn’t retreat and I wasn’t about to, so I said, “My eyes are up here, Mason,” while pointing at them for him.

  His gaze rose and I said, “That’s better. Did you want something?”

  “Yeah.”

  I tipped my head to one side. He looked completely flustered and I felt a little flattered by it. “Well?”

  “Um…”

  And then someone walked in behind him, a tiny curvy big-haired blonde with cleavage up to her chin. She spotted me in my towel and her jaw literally dropped.

  “Who is this, Mason?” she asked in a squeaky voice that made me want to pull out her tonsils, preferably through her nose.

  That was completely unjustified.

  Not it wasn’t. Look at her, she’s everything I hate in a woman.

  Yeah. She is. You’re right.

  My inner self agreed with me for a change. Imagine that.

  “Mason, who is this?” she demanded again.

  “This,” I replied, “is someone who wishes you would get the fuck out of her bedroom and let her get dressed.” I held up an arm, forefinger extended, though the middle one was itching to take its place. “Out. Now.”

  “Come on, Patty, I’ll explain in the hallway.” Mason took the bimbo’s arm and turned her around, and I told myself I was being unfair. I had nothing to base the term on except her low-cut blouse, overdone eyeliner and big hair. Okay, yeah, that was plenty. Bimbo.

  “Sorry, Rache,” he said as he hustled her out and closed the door.

  I turned to look at Myrtle. She was lying on her back under the covers, head on the pillow, “arms” sticking out, jowls flopped backward to reveal enough teeth and gums to make her resemble a horror movie monster, and snoring.

  “A lot of help you are.”

  By the time I got dressed, combed my hair and went downstairs, the bimbo was nowhere to be found. The boys were apparently still sleeping, and Mason was pouring coffee that smelled like heaven.

  “Where’s your, um…friend?”

  “Honest to God, Rachel, I completely forgot I’d invited her. She left in a huff after finding a half-naked author in my bedroom.”

  “Somehow I don’t think it was the author part that bothered her.” I slid into a chair at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry if I messed things up for you. She your girlfriend?”

  “No. And don’t be sorry. I really was hoping I could get what I wanted from her without having to date her.”

  “And by date you mean bang.”

  “Yeah, to be crude about it.”

  “To be honest about it, you mean.”

  He set a cup of coffee in front of me and my mouth watered. I added cream and sugar a little too eagerly, stirred and sipped. Ahhh. Like a the prick of a needle to a heroin addict. Nice.

  “So do you regularly lure women here hoping to get something from them without having to bang them? I’d think it would usually be the other way around.”

  “You have a mean streak, you know that?”

  “You should be flattered. I don’t reveal it to just anyone.”

  He smiled. “I kinda figured that out all b
y myself. You’re nothing like your books.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll take that as a compliment. So, what’s the story on the blonde?”

  “I met Patty while I was arranging for Eric’s—I met her because of Eric. I needed a favor from her, so she came by to help out.”

  I shrugged. “She was certainly…buxom.”

  “That she was. And helpful.” He laid a sheet of paper in front of me—no, it was three sheets, stapled together. With a long list of hospitals, complete with their addresses. “What is this?”

  “It’s a list of the hospitals where Eric’s organs and tissues were sent for transplant.”

  My eyes widened and I lifted my head. “The bimbo got you this?”

  “She’s not a bimbo. She’s a nurse. And yes, she got me this.”

  “Just in hopes you’d screw her?” I blinked and shook my head. “Are you that good?”

  He leaned closer. “You’ll never know.”

  “Hell, Mason, I could bang you right now if I wanted to.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “You’re a guy. I’m female and breathing. Any further questions?”

  “Okay, I concede the point.” He snatched the sheets of paper back. “We need to start checking out the hospitals on this list, see if we can find surgical admissions around the date of Eric’s death, try to generate a list of suspects.”

  “There must be a hundred hospitals here, and for all we know, maybe more than one donation went to some of them.”

  “Yeah. Hard to believe one organ donor can impact that many lives.”

  “Hell, this particular donor impacted a lot more lives than that.”

  He looked wounded. I bit my lip. “That was cruel. I’m sorry. So we rule them out as suspects one by one.”

  “A lot of them probably live in other states, way beyond driving distance. I think we should start with the locals.”

  I liked how he kept saying we. Like we were a team. He really thought I could help solve this thing. It was about freaking time he took what was happening to me seriously.

  “I think we should work from somewhere else, though,” he went on. “Somewhere safe, somewhere the killer doesn’t even know about. He could find out about this place too easily, since it’s a matter of public record that I’m on the case.”