The Art of Fear (The Little Things That Kill Series Book 1)

by Pamela Crane

  I grunted. “No kidding. The three-year-old in 2B could probably wiggle the damn thing open, and he’s dumb as a sack of bricks. Caught him yesterday running headfirst into parked cars.”

  Not that my landlord cared if I was raped and pillaged at night, as long as the thief didn’t steal his fixtures—which would come out of my security deposit, for sure.

  “You think this break-in has to do with my attacker?” Tina chimed in.

  “There’s not enough to say one way or another, but we’ll keep our eyes open. If he comes back, we’ll be ready.”

  Ready for what?

  Empty promises.

  “Oh, and one other thing.” He turned to Tina, who sat in an easy chair with her knees pulled up to her chest. “We went through your hospital footage again. We saw your brother leaving before the attack, at 8:32. We spoke with him and we have several witnesses corroborating his story that he left the building. Based on the severity of the wound and how much you had bled out, the stabbing had to have happened a little after 9:00, no more than ten minutes before the nurse found you, which was at around 9:10. She may have even passed the attacker on her way to your room.”

  He had slipped right between our fingers.

  That took Killian off the hook … or not.

  Unless he had circled back wearing the cap.

  “Anything found from under my nails?” I heard the hope rise in Tina’s voice.

  “Unfortunately our DNA swab turned nothing up. Just keep an eye out in case the attacker comes back. Plus, I’m going to have a uniform do a drive-by and check on you a couple times a day, at least until things calm down, okay?”

  That sounded more like cops stalking me. Hell no. That platter was off the table.

  “With all due respect, sir, no way, no how do I want cops following me. Got it?”

  “Even if yours and Tina’s safety is at stake?” he urged. “I might have to insist on this. Tina was nearly killed—the killer may return. We need to take precautions.”

  “I don’t give a flying rat’s ass, officer, about your definition of precautions. She was in a damn hospital room with people all around, and she still got stabbed. A friggin’ cop circling the block isn’t going to keep her safe. And I’ve heard about the corruption in law enforcement. How do I know your beat cop hasn’t been hired to hurt her?”

  The Undertaker took a step forward. I took one back. He pretty much had one expression, pissed, and now it was turned up to eleven. I braced myself for a verbal smackdown.

  “You watch too much television,” he said with a sigh.

  That was it? This guy was a pussycat. I was emboldened. “I can protect her better than some man in blue too busy stuffing his face with donuts and coffee to give a shit about her. I’ll watch her 24-7, okay?”

  I knew he was trying to protect and serve and all that shit, but blue uniforms made me feel anything but protected and served. More like guarded and scrutinized.

  The Undertaker threw up his python arms. “As long as Tina is okay with that, fine. I’m not going to argue over it.”

  We both glanced over at Tina to make the call, who shrunk back into the cushions of her chair. When she finally found her voice, she said with shaky confidence, “I trust Ari with my life. I’ll let you know, sir, if I change my mind.”

  “See? We feel safer on our own, thank you very much.”

  As I prodded him toward the exit, I opened the door to find Tristan mid-knock. And his face pink with alarm.

  “Hey, Cox,” Undertaker greeted him. “Were you called in on this? I didn’t ask for backup.”

  “No, uh, Buchanan, I’m here on a personal matter.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, see you at the precinct.”

  “Later.”

  The two men shook hands before Undertaker headed out the door.

  What. The. God. Damn. Hell.

  “So.” Arms folded, I waited for Tristan to explain himself, blocking him in the doorway, inwardly fuming.

  “So.”

  “You’re a cop.”

  The writing on the wall looked bleak from where I stood. He was a cop. The one profession that left an acrid taste in my mouth. The same people who named me “criminal” and sent me to a home akin to kid’s jail. The same people who yelled at me and shoved me when I walked too slow through the lifeless gray halls. The same people who found me nearly dead and didn’t show an ounce of emotion for a weeping, emotionally battered child. Shuffle me off, get rid of me, that was their motto.

  Of all the damn jobs, my dream guy picked this one. Just my luck.

  “Yep, a cop. But a good one, I promise.” Tristan rocked back on his heels, hands tucked in his pockets like a cocksure little boy. “I wanted to tell you, but …”

  “You know I can’t stand cops.”

  “Right, hence me not telling you.”

  Why the hell did I have to fall so hard for him already? I could cut him loose right now, move on. But … but he was so damn cute.

  No.

  I moved to slam the door in his face, but he blocked it from closing with the toe of his boot.

  “Ari, wait!” he pleaded.

  I knew the slop-fest I was about to witness. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for breaking your trust. I’m sorry for lying. Ha! I wasn’t that girl—the one who fell for fake apologies. And I certainly wasn’t that girl who would take him back so easily—or at all. One strike and you’re out was how I played the game … or maybe a couple strikes when it came to Tristan. But no more.

  “Save it. And I hope the door hits your ass on the way out.” I aimed my palm at his chest and pushed, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “Please hear me out. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I did.”

  I held up my hand to spare him the trouble, but he blustered forward.

  “I work undercover, so it’s not something I’m used to disclosing in introductory conversations. Hey, I’m Tristan. I’m an undercover cop. Shoot me, please. It’s not exactly easy to be forthright with someone when you lie about who you are for a living.”

  “Exactly, you lied. You lied to me. What the hell else aren’t you telling me? Why should I believe a damn thing you say?”

  “I didn’t want to lie. I wanted to tell you the truth, but the closer we got, the more afraid I was of losing you over this. And then too much time had passed, and I didn’t know how to anymore.”

  “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “I’m the same guy you knew yesterday. The same guy who was over here at three in the morning, helping you through a hard time. The same guy who will let you drive despite having spent two hours getting my back adjusted. The same guy who will get in the car with you without a set of earplugs. I’m the same guy, damn it, that likes a girl … the best girl I know.”

  The best girl he knew? Laughable, but sweet. Either he didn’t know me at all, or maybe he liked what he saw, flaws and all. My resolve wavered. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. But he had lied from the start. It wasn’t so simple to just shrug off. “I just don’t know. I need time to think about this. I think you need to leave.”

  “Think about this.”

  They say few kisses can match up to that first one, but this one definitely gave it a run for its money. Unlike before where it was tender and unsure, this was driving with passion and desperation, raw emotion. At first I resisted, a cursory attempt with little conviction, more out of requirement to my ire, but as his arm wound around my waist, pulling me closer, and his lips increased their pressure against mine, I yielded completely to him. My resistance spent, my body melded to his, making the spaces in between nearly indiscernible. When we finally separated, chests heaving, loins aching, his profession was the last thing on my mind.

  Damn, he was good.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you what. Maybe we can see how things go, and if I can’t get over your cop-hood, or if you annoy me too much, I’ll just break your heart. Okay?”

  “You got a deal.”

  He playfully nuzzled my n
eck.

  “Hang on! You’re not out of the dog house yet, bub,” I chided, gently shoving him away.

  His eyes glanced upward behind me, then widened. For the first time since he showed up he took in the scene around him, noticing the mess behind me, then stepped around me to get the full view. He whistled lowly, then muttered something undecipherable as Tina emerged from her bathroom sanctuary, sensing the private and awkward moment had passed.

  “Ransacked—and a damn good job of it too. Anything taken?”

  “Not so far as I can tell.”

  “Ari, next time something like this happens, you need to call me immediately.”

  “Next time? There won’t be a next time for this douche bag,” I spat.

  “I’m serious, Ari. I’m working a string of murders, and if this has anything to do with me and my investigation, I need to protect you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know, everything doesn’t always revolve around you men.” I heaved as I wondered how long this would take to clean up. “I really don’t feel like dealing with this right now. Can we go out somewhere, anywhere?”

  Slapping his legs, Tristan said, “How about I take you ladies out to dinner and I’ll help you clean up when we get back?”

  No argument from me.

  “Let’s go! Maybe you can tell me more about this murder spree you’re working on.”

  Tristan placed his hands on my shoulders and aimed me for the door. “We’ll see.”

  “Oh, and drinks come with dinner, right, Tristan? I know I sure as hell could use one—or ten.”

  Chapter 30

  Ari

  Four days until dead

  Benny’s last suggestion to me was to talk to my parents. And that’s exactly what I was here to do.

  No forwarding address? No problem.

  The Internet was a wonderful resource.

  Thank God for the Freedom of Information Act.

  The shock on Mom and Dad’s faces when I showed up at their front door was priceless. The repugnance in my mother’s eyes as I pushed past them through the semi-closed door, hauling Tina along behind me—there was no way I was leaving her alone except when I was working—I found hilarious.

  Yes, Mother Dearest, here I am! Your discarded daughter, home at last. You can’t get rid of me that easily.

  “Hey, parents! Surprised to see me?” I bulldozed my way through the house with Tina lingering in the entry and my parents trailing me like hounds chasing a fox.

  “Ari … what are you doing here? How did you even find us?” my father said between exasperated breaths as I continued my exploration through the dining room, kitchen, living room, then circling back into the entry.

  Not a speck of dust.

  Not a knickknack out of place.

  Nice and neat, just like the lies they lived.

  I abruptly stopped at where the entryway opened into the living room, and Dad nearly bumped into me.

  “Find you? So you were hiding from me all these years? Didn’t want to be found by your only kin?”

  “I didn’t mean it that—” Dad blustered.

  “Save it,” I spat. “A little stalking can work wonders in turning up information—like a home address.”

  “What? You’re stalking us—?” Dad stuttered.

  “I’m kidding, Dad. It’s not that damn hard to find an address online these days.”

  “Oh.” His face scrunched up as if calculating a long math equation. “What prompted this visit, darling?”

  I could hear the smooth edges of his voice, trying to fake nurture, but he was merely attempting to calm the storm. No actual love hung in those words.

  I examined his face, a face I could barely remember any other day, but right now the memories pummeled their way into my head. The creases around his bright eyes, his perfect teeth I didn’t inherit, the wiggle of his mustache when he talked. But the mustache was gone, revealing laugh lines etched around his mouth. I wondered how often he actually laughed these days.

  “Got rid of the caterpillar, huh?” A pet name I called it as a little girl perched on his knee.

  “Yep, wanted a change. I miss it though.” He stroked the vacant skin above his upper lip. “So? What brings you here?”

  “Just thought I’d say hi. And bring my friend Tina along. Tina,” I turned to her, “meet my parents. Parents,” I directed at them, “meet Tina.”

  Mom folded her arms in defiance while Dad nodded a solemn hello.

  “So you and your friend are just popping by, huh?”

  I tossed my hands up in the air and blew toward a nearby sofa. “You got me! I’m here to talk. And I’m not leaving until I get what the hell I came for.”

  “Language, Ari,” Dad warned.

  “Language, my ass,” I shot back.

  Dad rolled his eyes.

  I fell into the fancy microfiber cushions and patted the empty space next to me. “So what’s it gonna be?”

  With cautious steps Dad chose the loveseat cattycorner me, while Mom hung back in the entryway in a silent standoff with Tina.

  “Oh, Mater, dear!” I yelled whimsically to her. “Come in the living room. We’re gonna chitchat.”

  Her heels tap tap tapped across their professionally cleaned ceramic floor. Even the white baseboards were pristine. It’s the little details, I could hear my mother’s edgy voice echoing from a faraway time and place in history when she set Carli and I about our weekly chores.

  “Get to the bottom of why you’re here, then you and your guest need to leave.” The stern vexation of Mom’s voice hadn’t changed in all those absentee years.

  Tina eventually snuck in and picked a faraway chair away from the cluster where I faced off with my parents.

  “What, no cookies or tea, Mom? How rude.”

  “Ari—” Mom warned.

  “Wow, you guys are stiff. I won’t bother with updating you on my life, since you clearly don’t give a shit. And I would ask about yours, but you want me out of here as fast as possible. So that leaves us with getting straight to the point. I’m here to talk about Carli—the night before the accident.”

  “Wha—you seriously came all the way here to drag out ancient history, tormenting your mother and I with the past?” When one described a father’s voice as booming, my father set the standard by which all others were measured. His body shook, the floor vibrated, and anyone within earshot trembled at the sound of his boom.

  Even scarier was when he rose from his seat upon doing so, towering over you.

  That was what happened at that moment. And I admit, I was scared—at first. But the salt-and-pepper hair with only remnants of its former brown aged him. The stooping shoulders, the quivering thin lips—he wasn’t the man I used to fear.

  Glancing at my mother, her vibrant red hair was dull and lifeless now, a shade of auburn with gray flecks I didn’t remember. She had the first signs of a turkey neck, crow’s-feet around her eyes, and her hands were frail, veiny, alien-looking things ending in knobby fingers that she flexed ceaselessly from nervous tension. Her fingernails looked youthful, though, and capable of inflicting damage.

  They could no longer make me back down. Not now. Not ever again. I stood face-to-shoulder with Dad, daring him to shut me up.

  “You’re damn right. I came all the way here to do this. You owe me. You both do. For lying all these years to me, to the cops, to yourselves. All the shit you put me through. I didn’t push Carli, and you know it. That car intentionally swerved to hit her, and you know who did it.”

  “What? That’s nonsense.” Mom turned away, raising her chin in avoidance.

  “I have proof. So tell me the truth and maybe I’ll let it go and move on. And leave you two to your happily ever after without me.”

  “Proof? What proof?” Dad’s challenge couldn’t faze me, though.

  “A witness who saw you getting beat up the night before. Certainly it would raise suspicion if that information was given to the cops, don’t you think?”

 
; The pink vehemence in his face drained into sickly white-gray. He crumbled into a humble heap on the sofa.

  “You know about that?”

  “Yes, I know about that.”

  “Who allegedly saw this?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with that. Concern yourself with telling me what you got into a fight about, and with whom. I know it’s related to Carli’s death. I guess that means that you killed her, doesn’t it?” I turned the words against him, attacking him with the bite of accusation. The charge of him being responsible for his own daughter’s death.

  I never saw it, only felt it. Mom, the pouncing lioness, her clawing fingernails leaving scratches across my cheek in the wake of her stinging slap. I cupped the tingling flesh, keeping my tears at bay.

  “What the hell?”

  “You don’t speak to your father like that!” I cowered at her shriek.

  “You want to defend him? Why? And why didn’t you defend me?” I screamed at her.

  “I wanted to, Ari, but I simply couldn’t anymore. You wouldn’t understand.” Her voice grew softer at the end … as if she’d exhausted every emotion.

  “Understand what?” I was tired of all the cryptic bullshit they kept tossing at me. Years of lies. Years of cover-ups. Years of pushing me away. For what? I couldn’t handle being on the outside anymore. I needed answers. I deserved them.

  By now the waterworks had burst and streams trickled down my face. Yet my parents remained robotically stoic, watching me crumble. Probably enjoying it, too.

  “Ari, it’s better for us all if you just stay away from all this,” Mom pleaded. “Let Carli rest in peace, go live your life and make the most of it. You’re better off without us in it. I’m telling you—it’s for your own good.”

  “Is someone threatening you? Is this all about protecting me from the person who killed Carli?” It sounded ludicrous even as I spoke the words—that my parents actually cared that much about me to lose me in order to save me—but once upon a time they did love me, didn’t they? Could all of that love have vanished without a trace after Carli’s death?

  “Stop with the questions,” Dad interjected. “We’re done.”