Nona scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Nona. You two have been together off and on since high school.”
“Yeah, well, now we’re just off, okay?” she said bitterly. “You understand how it is, don’t you? Times change. People move on.” She gave Marly a knowing look. “Kind of like you and Joshua Rush, I guess.”
Marly felt her stomach tighten at the mention of her ex-fiancé. They’d been through for months, but he continued to be a sore subject. She’d never told anyone the details of their breakup, even though people in town were openly curious. They were amazed, Marly suspected, that she’d let a catch like Joshua Rush slip through her fingers. “We were talking about you and Ricky,” she reminded Nona.
The woman shrugged. “Not much to tell. We had a falling out not too long ago. A real knock-down drag-out. Ricky warned me not to come around anymore, and considering how he likes to play around with that damn pistol of his, I was afraid the dumb sumbitch might shoot me if I did.” She took a long drag on her cigarette. “So that’s why I called the cops. Even Ricky’d think twice before plugging the law.”
That was some comfort, Marly supposed. She turned back to the door. “I guess I’d better go in and have a look around.”
“By yourself?” Nona asked uneasily. “Maybe you ought to call for backup or something.”
“It’s a little premature for that. Ricky’s probably just feeling under the weather—”
“But what if he isn’t? What if something bad has happened to him? What if he’s—” Nona broke off and glanced away.
Marly narrowed her gaze. “What if he’s what? You don’t know something you’re not telling me, do you?”
“’Course not.” Nona gnawed on her thumbnail. “But after what happened to those kids and old lady Abbott last week, a body can’t help being a little nervous.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing like that.” Marly prayed it was nothing like that. She knocked on the door again and called out Ricky’s name.
When there was still no answer, she tried the door. It swung open, revealing a dark, cavelike interior. The blinds had been drawn, shutting out what natural light might have come from the overcast sky, and there was a smell. A faint, telltale odor that made Marly’s stomach lurch.
She stepped back from the door and tried not to panic.
“Go back over to your house and call Patty,” she said with far more authority than she actually felt. “Tell her I may need some help out here. See if she can round up Boyd or A.J. or even the chief. Whoever is nearby.”
A look of dread flashed across Nona’s features. “Ricky…he’s not dead in there, is he?”
“Just go make the call, Nona. Hurry up now.”
“But—”
“Go on. This is police business. I know what I’m doing.”
Reluctantly Nona turned, hurried down the steps, then splashed her way across the tiny yard, slipping and sliding on her own wet porch before finally disappearing inside the house a minute or two later.
Marly stepped inside Morales’s house, pausing just across the threshold to get her bearings. The front entrance opened directly into the living room, which was separated from the eat-in kitchen on the right by a bar. A windowless door next to the refrigerator led out to the carport, and to the left, a narrow hallway trailed back to the bathroom and bedrooms.
“Ricky? You in here?” she called nervously.
The house was very quiet. Marly couldn’t even hear the usual household noises—the humming of the refrigerator, the ticking of a clock. Even the sound of the rain was muffled.
No music, either, she noticed. That was almost a relief.
But…there was something strange about the silence. Something…unnatural. It was as if everything inside Ricky’s house had suddenly stopped working.
Resting her hand on her weapon, Marly crossed the room to peer down the murky corridor. “Ricky? It’s Deputy Jessop. You in here?”
Still no answer.
Sweat beaded on Marly’s forehead as she started down the hallway. The door at the far end was slightly ajar, and as she approached it, the smell grew stronger, making her gag.
Pulling her shirt over her nose and mouth, Marly tried to work up her courage. She had a job to do. She was an officer of the law, and it didn’t matter that the most dangerous call she’d been on thus far in her short career with the Mission Creek Police Department was chasing down a pair of ten-year-old shoplifters at the Giant K. All that was about to change, and Marly knew she had to somehow rise to the occasion.
But the smell. She could feel it oozing into her sinuses, into her pores, even into her hair shafts. She’d heard about that smell from some of the veterans who taught at the academy. They’d talked about how it was unmistakable from any other scent, how it was almost impossible to get rid of once it got on you. How you were never able to forget it.
Don’t think about that now, a little voice warned her.
She tried to put herself on autopilot as she used the toe of her shoe to push open the door. The room was even darker than the rest of the house. She got out her flashlight and switched it on, then played the beam inside the room.
She couldn’t say she was surprised by what she found. On some level, she’d been expecting it. Dreading it. Preparing herself for it. But that didn’t make the scene any less horrifying.
Ricky Morales lay slumped on the bed, his face mercifully hidden from Marly’s view. But the gruesome splatter on the wall just above the headboard told her more than she wanted to know.
Chapter Two
Staggering back from the room, Marly clapped a hand to her mouth.
Oh, man. Oh, no.
She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to ward off the nausea. Trying to block out the revulsion.
But it was too late. She was going to be sick. Collapsing against the wall, she tried to fight it.
What am I doing here? she wondered frantically. What had possessed her to enter law enforcement in the first place? She’d never had a burning desire to be a cop. It wasn’t some lifelong dream of hers. She wasn’t remotely suited for the job, and everyone in town knew it. She’d put in for the opening at the police department because after leaving her last position so abruptly, she’d desperately needed a job. Any job.
And then with just eight weeks of training at the Texas Law Enforcement Training Academy in San Antonio under her belt, they’d pinned a badge to her chest, strapped a .38 onto her hips and called her a deputy. But that didn’t mean she was qualified. That didn’t mean, even after nearly a year on the job, she was equipped to deal with the bloody mess inside that bedroom that had once been Ricky Morales’s face—
But she had to deal with it. She had to do something. Call for backup. Secure the scene…
A subtle noise somewhere nearby brought Marly’s head up with a jerk. She couldn’t tell what the sound was or even where it had come from, but the sudden knowledge that she was no longer alone chilled her blood.
She eased herself away from the wall and for the first time in her short law enforcement career, drew her weapon.
Heart pounding, her mouth dry with fear, she peered down the murky hallway toward the living room.
Someone was there. No doubt about it. She could see his silhouette at the end of the corridor. His features were indistinguishable, but he appeared huge as he started toward her.
Marly clutched her weapon with both hands. “Police! Stay right where you are!”
To her immense relief, the man froze. He didn’t so much as move a muscle that Marly could see, but she could feel his gaze on her. Dark. Intense. Cold. Gooseflesh prickled along the back of her neck.
“Hands behind your head,” she barked. “No sudden moves.”
Slowly he lifted his hands and clasped them behind his head.
Still gripping her weapon, Marly inched toward him. “Who are you?”
“Deacon Cage.” His voice was deep and smooth. A little too smooth, Marly decided.
�
�What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I’m looking for Ricky Morales.”
“He a friend of yours?”
“Not exactly. He didn’t show up for work this morning so his boss sent me over here to check up on him.”
“This boss have a name?”
“Skip Manson. He’s a job foreman for Satterfield Construction. They’re building the new gymnasium at the high school.”
By this time, Marly was standing only a couple of feet from the stranger, and what she saw when she glanced up caused her heart to skip a beat. Dark hair. Dark eyes. High cheekbones and a well-shaped mouth. A chiseled jawline and a strong, determined chin.
Not bad, Marly thought. Not bad at all.
The stranger lifted a quizzical brow, as if he could tell exactly what she was thinking.
He couldn’t, of course, but heat washed over Marly’s cheeks just the same. To cover her embarrassment, she gave him a piercing glare. “Do you always enter private residences without an invitation, Mr. Cage?”
“The front door was open. Besides, when I saw the police car out front, I was afraid something might have happened to Morales.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “An accident maybe.”
The way he stared down at her was very unnerving.
It’s like he knows me, Marly thought with a shiver.
Taking a steadying breath, she tried to disregard the icy tingles shooting through her veins. “I’ll need to see some identification.”
She tensed when he started to lower his arms.
“I have to get my wallet from my back pocket,” he explained.
“Just don’t make any sudden moves,” she warned.
He fished out his wallet and slowly handed it to her. He was being very cooperative. Nothing in the least threatening about his attitude. So why did she feel so vulnerable? Marly wondered. So…exposed?
She scrutinized the picture on his California driver’s license, noting his age, address and physical description. To her dismay, her hand trembled as she folded the wallet and gave it back to him. “You’re a long way from home, Mr. Cage.”
“No law against that, is there?”
Marly ignored the question. “I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”
“Why? Has something happened to Morales?”
“Just step outside, Mr. Cage.”
Something flickered in his eyes, a darkness that made Marly realize how alone they were in the house.
You have a gun on him. No way he can hurt you.
But when he made a slight move toward her, Marly jumped back like a nervous cat.
“I wouldn’t try that,” she warned.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Damn straight you’re not.” She clutched the gun.
He backed off, lifting his hands in acquiescence. “Look, I just want to know what happened here—”
A sound from the living room stopped him cold, and he seemed to grow very tense. “We’ve got company,” he said in that hair-raising voice of his.
Thank God, Marly thought. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take being alone with him. He was a very intimidating man although she had no idea why she felt that way. He hadn’t threatened her. Hadn’t so much as said anything out of line to her. And yet her instincts told her he was dangerous. In more ways than she could possibly imagine.
Lifting her chin slightly, she tried to peer around him. “Who’s there?” she called out. “Identify yourself!”
A slight hesitation, then a male voice responded, “Tony Navarro. Jessop, is that you?”
The stranger jerked around at the sound of Navarro’s voice, and he stared down the hall for just a split second before he slowly turned back to face Marly. She caught her breath at the look on his face. If she’d thought him dangerous before, there was no doubt in her mind now. None at all.
What the hell was going on here? she wondered desperately. Who was he? And why was she so afraid of him?
There was something about him, something…not quite of this world. Not with those eyes. That voice…
Marly sucked in a sharp breath as she finally put a name to her fear. He was temptation.
She glanced toward the end of the hallway where Police Chief Tony Navarro had appeared. It might have been Marly’s imagination, but she could have sworn the testosterone level in the immediate area shot to a very perilous level.
Even under such grim circumstances, the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She hadn’t had a date in almost a year, and now all of a sudden she found herself in the company of two tall, dark, dangerously attractive men. The chances of that happening in Mission Creek were slim to none, and just her luck, there was a corpse in the next room.
Chief Navarro was taller than Deacon Cage, but not by much. An inch or two only. His shoulders were a little broader, his hair a little darker, longer, just brushing his collar. He might have had a few years on Cage, too, but in a fair fight, Marly would be hard-pressed to predict a winner. The only sure bet was that both men would battle to the finish.
All this flashed through her mind in the blink of an eye, and in the next instant, when she saw Navarro’s hand ease toward his gun, she rushed to say, “It’s okay, Chief. Everything’s under control here.” Quickly she holstered her own weapon.
“What’s going on?” He pinned the stranger with a piercing gaze. “Who are you?”
“Deacon Cage.” That dark, liquidlike voice sent a fresh tremor through Marly.
She cleared her throat. “Uh, he says he works with Ricky Morales and he came here looking for him—”
“That’s not what I said.” Deacon’s gaze challenged hers. “I said Morales’s boss sent me over here to check up on him.”
Marly frowned. “I just assumed—”
“First rule of policework,” Navarro said slowly, as he started down the hallway toward them. “Never assume anything. You know that as well as I do, Deputy.”
Marly’s face flamed at her blunder, and she wondered if Deacon Cage had deliberately tried to make her look bad in front of Navarro.
Lifting her chin, she tried to rescue her dignity. “I was just asking Mr. Cage to wait outside, Chief.”
Navarro gave the man a curt nod. “Sounds like a good idea. But don’t go too far,” he advised. “We may have some questions for you.”
Deacon Cage hesitated as his gaze traveled from Marly to Navarro and then back to Marly. Lifting a speculative brow, he turned and strode down the hall without a word.
THE FIRST THING DEACON noticed when he stepped outside was that the rain had slackened to a sprinkle. He stood on the porch, listening to the steady drip-drip through the trees as he wondered what was going on inside Ricky Morales’s house. What kind of scene had Deputy Jessop stumbled upon that had left her looking so pale and shaken?
Deacon had a pretty good idea. After all, he was not unfamiliar with the scent of death. He’d smelled it before, more times than he cared to remember. One might even say he had an intimate relationship with the Grim Reaper.
He toyed with the idea of coming clean with the local authorities, telling them who he was and why he was in Mission Creek. But he quickly dismissed the notion as hasty and foolish. No one would believe him anyway. He would have to find that one special person, that one open-minded individual who would be willing to suspend credulity long enough to hear him out. Who would be willing to set aside his or her preconceived notions of reality in order to get at the truth.
Was that someone Deputy Jessop?
On first glance, Deacon would have said no. There was a guardedness about her, a self-preservation that suggested she would not easily be coaxed from the safety of her three-dimensional box. And yet something also told him that of all the people in Mission Creek, she might be the only one who could help him find the killer.
Or was that merely wishful thinking? Deacon mused. She was an attractive woman in a quiet, unassuming way, and he wouldn’t mind
spending time with her, although he knew very well it could go nowhere. His stay here was temporary, and as soon as his mission was over, he’d move on. To the next town. To the next killer.
Besides, he came with too much baggage, lived with too many past sins. Slept with too many demons. Demons that would never be exorcised, no matter what he did or how hard he fought for salvation.
But that didn’t stop him from trying. That didn’t stop him from dreaming about the kind of freedom that was now only a distant memory. A memory he wasn’t even sure he could trust.
So here he was. In Mission Creek, Texas. On the trail of yet another killer. Someone who was very much like him. They were all like him in one way or another. And at one time, he’d been like them.
So, no, a relationship with Deputy Marly Jessop—or anyone else—wasn’t in the cards for Deacon, and he could allow her to become nothing more to him than a means to an end.
“Hey, you a cop?”
Deacon whirled at the sound of the female voice behind him, annoyed that he hadn’t heard her approach. But then he realized it was raining again, and the sound had masked the woman’s arrival.
She hurried up the porch steps, her brittle blue gaze openly curious as she gave him a lengthy inspection. She was probably no more than thirty and had once been, Deacon suspected, very pretty in an in-your-face kind of way. But now she had the hardened features of someone who had already experienced a lifetime of disappointment.
“I’m not a cop,” Deacon told her.
“Didn’t think so. I know all the cops around here, and I’ve never seen you before.” She lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke on a quick breath. “So who are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“My name is Deacon Cage.”
She propped her right elbow in her left hand, letting the cigarette smolder between her fingers. “I’m Nona. I live across the street.” She head-gestured over her shoulder at a little house almost identical to Morales’s. “You a friend of Ricky’s?”
“Not exactly. But we have a mutual acquaintance.”
Silent Storm Page 2
