by Jami Alden
“Here we are.”
Megan lifted her head from where it rested against the cool glass of the window as Nate walked around to open her door. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
Megan nodded. After brushing off her effusive thanks and dishing out a couple of “what were you thinkings,” Nate was mercifully silent, seeming to appreciate that after nearly three hours of nonstop questioning, Megan wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk.
Especially not about what was really bothering her. Yeah, the arrest was traumatic, and the thought that a record would prevent her from continuing her volunteer work was devastating, but it was nothing compared to what she’d done to Cole.
She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t erase the memory of him as he confronted her in the interrogation room. Anger, betrayal, self-recrimination at his own stupidity in trusting her. She had very likely ruined his career.
She tried to tell herself that any collateral damage was justified if it helped Sean, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like something scraped off someone’s shoe.
Somehow she’d make it up to him, but hell if she knew how. At the very least she’d let him in on her Club One lead. Who knew, maybe if he was able to unearth new information relevant to the investigation, they’d let him back on the task force.
That assumes he hasn’t been suspended, or worse, fired. Another twist of guilt.
She walked up the creaky wooden stairs to her apartment and tried to tell herself that she was only disappointed because if he was thrown off the case, she would lose her source of information.
Deep down, she knew that wasn’t true. If one thing had become clear in the past couple of days, it was that no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that everything she’d ever felt for Cole had mutated into hatred, on some level she still cared about him.
Deeply.
Like a genetic defect that had been injected into her DNA, Cole was part of her now, and damned if she knew how to get him out.
She pulled out her key as she reached the top step, fumbling a little in the dark. She made a mental note to replace the bulb in the motion-sensitive light above her door, which had burned out over a month ago. It hadn’t really bothered her up until now, but with everything that had happened in the last few days, the dark had taken on an added hint of danger.
She shivered a little, glad to have Nate’s large bulk behind her. Her gratitude gave way to a gasp of fear as a tall figure emerged from the shadows. Nate shoved her behind him just as the man called out Megan’s name.
“Megan, it’s cool! It’s just me, Jimmy!”
“Jimmy?” Megan unlocked the door and flipped on the outside light from the inside. Sure enough, there was Jimmy Caparulo, his dark hair clipped close to his skull. Though his face had the same intensity as the last time she’d seen him, at first glance he looked sober. His dark eyes were focused, and there was no scent of booze clinging to him. His face had filled out a little, too, his bold Italian features still sharp but not gaunt like the last time she’d seen him. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I know you don’t want to talk to me, but it’s important.”
“This isn’t a good time,” Megan said, and started to step around him.
Jimmy reached for her, and Megan shrank away, flashing back to that night at Sean’s, remembering how awful it had felt to be pinned against the wall, terrified someone she’d always trusted was about to hurt her. But tonight Jimmy took the hint and backed off. As Megan’s shock faded, she realized Jimmy’s presence was a stroke of luck. She loaded Bianca’s image on her phone screen. “I’m actually glad you’re here.” She held the phone out to Jimmy. “Do you recognize this girl? Do you ever remember seeing her at Club One?” It was a long shot, she knew. Jimmy had quit his job at the club after Evangeline’s murder, and it wasn’t likely Bianca was hanging out at the club three years ago.
A muscled arm hooked Jimmy around the neck.
“Get the fuck away from her,” Nate said in a tone so menacing it sent shivers up Megan’s spine.
Jimmy grunted and landed an elbow in Nate’s gut, hard enough that Nate loosened his hold. Jimmy spun around and tried to tackle him, but Nate shoved him off and swung a right hook to Jimmy’s face. Jimmy blocked the blow and countered with a left to Nate’s jaw. Megan could barely understand Jimmy over her own shouts for them to stop, but she caught the words “Leave her alone” and “Sean would kill you for touching her.”
They were well matched, both trained in hand-to-hand combat. Jimmy had gotten himself back into shape, and though he wasn’t as thickly muscled as Nate, he moved with a speed and fluidity that had Nate dodging and blocking to keep from getting his face pounded to a pulp.
Oblivious to her screams to stop, Jimmy swept Nate’s feet out from under him and knocked him to the ground. As he launched himself on top of Nate, Megan dove onto Jimmy’s back. “Stop it!” she shouted in his ear. “Jimmy, stop right now.”
Her voice in his ear seemed to bring him out of his rage and Jimmy froze. Nate shoved him to the side, then helped Megan to her feet.
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said grimly. “But you shouldn’t be around him.” He took a step forward, then froze as Megan shrank back against Nate. Jimmy held up his hands. “You need to listen to me. You can’t be around him—”
“No, I want you to go,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice. “I don’t want you here right now. Either you leave, or I’m calling the police.”
Jimmy shot a look at Nate over her head. “I’m watching you,” he said before he turned to go.
Megan felt a pinch of sadness through her unease and wondered how out of control Jimmy had gotten that he was seeing enemies at every turn. Even in the face of a man who had once been a close friend.
“I’m sorry about that,” Megan said when she turned to face Nate. “He’s been trying to get in touch with me, and I just don’t want to deal with him.”
“It’s okay,” Nate said, carefully probing his jaw as he worked it open and shut.
“I didn’t realize you two had a falling-out as well,” Megan said.
Nate flashed her a wry smile. “I didn’t either. I haven’t seen him in almost three years. Not since…” His eyelashes cast dark shadows on his cheekbones as he averted his gaze.
Right, she didn’t need him to say the milestone out loud. As she started to walk through her door, she spotted something on the ground and picked it up. “Jimmy must have dropped his phone.”
Nate held out his hand. “I’ll make sure he gets it. Probably better for you to keep your distance.”
Megan agreed. “Let me get you some ice.” She ushered him into the apartment, went to the kitchen, and filled a baggie full of ice cubes.
She flopped next to Nate on the couch and dug her fingers into her scalp. She could feel the fatigue manifesting in a headache that shot tendrils of pain from the back of her neck up into her eyeballs.
“It’s like the perfect shitstorm. First I’m arrested, then Devany acts out, and then Jimmy shows up and goes berserk.”
Nate shook his head. “Devany seems like a real handful.”
“She’s had a tough couple of weeks. She’s the one who found the latest Slasher victim.”
“That’s terrible.”
Megan nodded. “She’s been completely messed up about that, not sleeping, nightmares, everything. And now they’re afraid her mother’s going to somehow use that as leverage to get custody. Claim Kathy’s trailer doesn’t provide a safe environment or something.”
“Maybe I can help,” Nate said, lowering the ice pack as he slung his arm along the back of the couch and turned to more fully face her. “I’ve done business with a lot of people all over the city. I could pull a couple of strings.”
Megan shook her head. “That’s so nice of you, and you’ve been so great helping me with everything, but I think I’ve taken enough advantage of you for the time being.” The acknowledgment made her uneasy.
Nate waved
her off with a smile. “You’re not taking advantage. I’m happy to help you however I can.”
Her lips curved into a feeble smile. “Thanks.”
He was perfectly still for a moment, and she felt as much as saw his gaze shift to her mouth. His hand slid closer to her shoulder along the back of the sofa, and she knew he was going to kiss her before he dipped his head.
She tilted her head up to meet him, her lips soft and slightly parted in invitation. His kiss was perfect. Not too dry, not too moist. His full lips applied the perfect level of pressure to make her lean in for more. His hand curled around the nape of her neck, big and warm and solid.
Megan laid a tentative hand against his neck and leaned closer. She closed her eyes tighter, focusing on the firm pressure of his mouth, the clean soapy scent of his skin.
Tried desperately to feel something more than a mild, pleasant warmth.
Frustrated, she parted her lips, inviting his tongue to venture inside. He did so, slowly, skillfully. No lip smashing or shoving his tongue down her throat—it was possibly the most technically proficient kiss she’d ever experienced.
And yet.
And yet.
There is seriously something wrong with you when you can’t even get a mild heart flutter for a man who’s practically perfect, but Cole can throw you around the living room, lay you on the couch, and kiss you so senseless you’re stripped down to your panties before you even realize it.
She pulled away with a sigh and let her hand fall from Nate’s cheek. “I hate to do this but it’s been a really long day.”
“Right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you after everything you’ve been through.”
And after he’d saved her ass, a kiss was the least she could do for him, but try as she might, she couldn’t muster up reciprocal attraction. If things were different, if she hadn’t that very day been starkly reminded of the combustible chemistry she still shared with Cole, she might have pushed it, convinced herself that if she told herself she was attracted to Nate, eventually she would be.
But Nate deserved better than to be with a woman who couldn’t stop remembering, couldn’t stop feeling, couldn’t stop aching for the touch of another man.
“It’s okay,” she said, grasping for the words to let him down easy. “You’re great, but right now things are really complicated… with Sean.” Her grief, never far from the surface, pushed to the forefront.
“Of course,” Nate said, all warmth and understanding. “It’s a very emotional time, and I don’t expect you to jump into something.”
She shook her head and sniffed back tears. “What are you, like, an Oprah addict? How do you know exactly what to say?”
“I don’t know about that. All I’m saying is I can be patient. I’ll be here when you need me, as a friend for now, until you’re ready for it to be something more.”
As he huggood-bye, Megan struggled not to dwell on how hurt he’d be when he finally figured out that “something more” was never going to happen.
It was only after she closed the door behind him that she realized that in the midst of all the drama, Jimmy had never answered her question about Bianca Delagrossa.
She retrieved her laptop and clicked on her e-mail. Any worries about Nate fled as she typed an address into the “to” field. She really didn’t want to open up communication with Jimmy, especially after what happened tonight. But any fallout would be worth it if it gained her any more information that connected Bianca’s murder to Evangeline. She attached the picture of Bianca, typed a quick note asking Jimmy to take a second, closer look to see if he recognized her, and hit SEND before she had a chance to think too hard about it.
She clicked open a browser window and typed in the Web address that had been above Bianca’s picture.
Megan wasn’t sure what she thought she was going to find, but that didn’t stop anticipation from flooding her as the page loaded. It was just a Web site, she reminded herself. But maybe this clue to Bianca’s life would provide the link Megan had been searching for.
The page was blank except for a message across the top: Welcome. Please enter your username and individual access code.
She was no computer expert, but depending on the site’s security, there might be a way to get in. Megan frowned and typed gibberish into both fields and pressed ENTER.
For a split second, another page came into view, and Megan barely registered the images of several young women before her screen went blue and filled with rows of white text.
Crap.
Stomach sinking, she restarted the computer, praying the site hadn’t permanently hosed the machine. To her surprise and relief, everything restarted okay. But when she pulled up her browser and tried to reload the site, she received a page not found message. Even more odd, her browser had been wiped clean of history, bookmarks, everything. As though the Web site had entirely reset the program.
Her search for the URL came up empty. Somehow the Internet had been wiped clean of all evidence of the mysterious Web site, as though it had never existed.
Chapter 11
Hurry, Sarah, you have to hide!”
He could hear the car coming down the drive, the rumble of the muffler vibrating in his belly, twisting his guts until he nearly doubled over with pain.
Eleven-year-old Sarah ignored him, her dark head bent over the log cabin she was carefully constructing from sticks she’d gathered from the scrubby trees surrounding their dusty yard. “I’m busy.”
“But he’s coming. You have to get out ofhere.” Despite the searing heat of the summer afternoon, goose bumps prickled his arms and legs. The rumbling was getting closer, and he could see the dust kicked up by the truck tires, a faded yellow cloud rising up to the almost painfully blue summer sky. Sweat beaded at his hairline and trickled down his neck, yet he shivered in the late-afternoon heat.
Sarah flipped a glossy brown braid down her back and shot him an exasperated look over her shoulder. “He’s here to see Mom. He never pays attention to us.”
But Sarah was wrong—mostly anyway. Yeah, Scott was here to see Mom, but the bitch had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, and now, half a box of wine in, she was already passed out on the couch. He knew what that meant. Without Mom to fuck and knock around, Scott would be looking for something else to entertain him.
It was easier during the school year. He’d been able to sign himself and Sarah up for all kinds of extracurricular activities or send Sarah home with another kid to play. By the time they got home, Mom would be passed out for the evening and Scott would have left for his job working the night shift, packing and loading produce from all the local farms.
Now it was summer and it was tougher to get away. Without school, they had little refuge. Their few friends were gone, visiting relatives or at camps his mother couldn’t afford. He tried so hard to keep Sarah out of the house when Scott came around, but he could only keep her at the community pool for so long before she started complaining. And today she’d flat out refused. She was sick of the pool and wanted to stay home and play with her own stuff.
He’d nervously checked the front window, listened for the truck. Scott usually showed up sometime after lunch, after he’d slept for a few hours after getting off work. He and Mom would watch TV, her with her box of white zinfandel, him with his twelve-pack of beer. Inevitably she’d piss him off, say something stupid or spill his beer, and he’d catch her with a backhand or a punch upside the head. Then the crying would start, the I’m-sorry-I-didn’t-mean-its….
The bedroom door would slam and he’d hear his mother’s pleas, hear Scott’s demands for her to show him exactly how sorry she was.
Scott wasn’t the first bad seed Mom had brought into the house, allowing him to use her body in exchange for a few dollars toward rent and food in the fridge. Allowing him to yell at her kids and occasionally knock them around because she needed someone to keep her company; she was so very lonely.
But Scott was different, and he’d re
alized it way too late. If he’d known, he never would have let Scott catch him outside the bedroom door, never would have glared at him, all disgust in his thirteen-year-old heart plain on his face.
Call him a coward. But if he’d known, he would have run.
But Scott had seen him. Scott had emerged from his mother’s room, his shirt unbuttoned, his pants half unzipped, a look of satisfaction on his sweaty, piggy face. “What are you looking at, you little shit?”
He’d just stared for a minute, his lip curling in disgust, like he smelled a pile of rotting trash. “Nothing.”
For a chubby guy who was usually more than halfway to drunk, Scott moved like a striking snake. He didn’t see the blow coming; all he knew was pain exploding in his nasal cavity, up through his eye sockets. The second blow caught him on the cheekbone, hard enough to stun him to his knees.
“Who do you think you are, you little shit, turning your nose up at me? You little fuckin’ punk. I knew punks like you when I was in the joint. You want to know how I handle punks like you? How I show them who’s in charge?”
Scott pushed him into the bedroom he and Sarah shared. Thank God Sarah was at a friend’s house working on a school project. He fell to the floor, Scott’s heavy weight pressed against his back, shoving his face into the floor. He focused on the rough nap of the worn carpet against his face. The sound of a neighbor’s dog barking in the distance. Anything but on what was happening. His pants and underwear ripped away. Rough hands grabbed his hips.
Unimaginable pain and humiliation.
“Teach you to fuck with me,” Scott muttered, smug satisfaction ringing in his voice as he pushed off him and left him there, crumpled on the floor. He didn’t move for a long time. By the time he limped out, Sarah was home, eating a bowl of Cheerios at their kitchen table. His mom had roused herself from bed and sat, nursing another goblet of pink wine in front of the television.
“What happened to your face?” Sarah asked, spoon halfway to her mouth.
