Flying in Shadows (The Black Creek Series, Book 2)

by R. T. Wolfe

  He lifted a corner of his mouth. "That's history. And no, no place."

  She looked into the deep, dark brown of his eyes. No condolences were needed about the break up, she could see that. "History?"

  "Yes. Her paintings are finished. I've moved out and on. Do you care for something to drink while we finish the small talk?"

  Sighing at his predictable abruptness, she smiled and nodded. He motioned to the waitress waiting at the end of the bar then leaned a hand toward Rose as she approached.

  "Bud. Bottle, please."

  "Bud Light?"

  Rose shook her head. "Budweiser. Bottle. No glass. Thanks."

  She looked down at the points of black flames peeking out from beneath Duncan's left sleeve. She tapped the tattoo, questioning.

  He shrugged.

  "What will your mother say?"

  "Brie's not my mother."

  "Bullshit." She smiled wide now.

  "Well, now that we seem to be past the chitchat portion of our visit, I'll answer by saying that I believe I am past the age where I ask my mother for approval before giving myself a tattoo."

  She felt her eyes grow large, then they must have changed to a look of eew because that was exactly what she was thinking. "You mean you did that to yourself?"

  "I wouldn't trust anyone else with drawing on my body. It is permanent, you know?" he said sarcastically.

  She winced. "So, what did you want to see me about?"

  "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Brie mentioned that recently you and Andy have been spending time together."

  Her wince turned to a purposefully flat stare. "She's wrong."

  He lifted a brow. "Really?"

  If this was why he'd asked her out here... "He's working for me... for the center. Donating some time and material, nothing more."

  Duncan leaned back and rested an arm on the back of the booth. "Is that why your face has turned such an interesting shade?"

  She began to get up, but he grabbed her arm. "I had no idea you still had such a temper. I apologize. Please. Sit down. I want to share something with you. Please."

  She relaxed slightly as her beer arrived. Bud Light. Shit. She watched as he reached inside his discarded black leather jacket and pulled out a small roll of yellowed papers. He turned them to face her. Then, unfolded and pushed them across the table.

  A hurricane of emotions blew through her as she looked down at the pile. There was no need to touch them. She knew what they were. "How did you get these?" She didn't look up to him.

  "I found them eight years ago on the floor of Andy's old Mustang. Beautiful machine." Duncan took her hand gingerly now. "I picked him up from the end of this very bar. He'd been spilling tears into shots of whiskey. I drove him to the city that night and found these on the floor on my way back."

  She sat speechless, thoughts racing. Images. Memories. She tried to piece it together. He was here? Drinking? Duncan drove him? The papers. The timeline that night. She shut her eyes as they began to burn. That night.

  When she opened them, he was there. Andy stood in the same doorway she had entered. Years of stuffing these feelings, any feelings, under her metaphorical rug felt like a hornet's nest that had just been kicked. This was too much to take. To understand. She was over him, over this.

  Duncan must have noticed the direction and context of her glare, because he patted the top of her hand, then picked up his coat. "I'll leave you two alone." Reciprocally, he kissed her on the cheek as he tossed some money on the table.

  Andy flexed his jaws as panic set in. His eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. It was a familiar panic from years past and it crept back as if it had never been tucked neatly away. He walked slowly, trying to run possible scenarios through his head as to why Duncan had asked him there that night just to find him with her. With her. He walked cautiously to the booth and sat eagerly, working to assess Rose's face.

  Spotting the papers, he wanted nothing more than to get his hands on his brother. The silence could have broken him in two.

  Her arms were lying listless at her sides. He could see her chest rise and fall quickly as she looked at him through half-opened lids. She spoke just two words, "You knew."

  Chapter 18

  Andy looked into the ice blue and thought the color matched the tone. "Yes." He reached and brushed the backs of his fingers lightly down her arm.

  She pulled back as if he'd burned her. "I know that move." Her voice was uncharacteristically and unsettling soft. "You knew and you didn't tell me."

  "I couldn't."

  "You couldn't?" Her voice cracked. "Or wouldn't?"

  "Both, I suppose. I didn't want to hurt you. Don't want to hurt you."

  "You told me you didn't want me anymore. No explanation, just left me there, but you didn't want to hurt me?" She spoke through her teeth now. "You broke my heart."

  "Where would you be today if I hadn't? What would you be if I hadn't?"

  "I can't do this again." She left her untouched beer and ran out the side door.

  He threw his own bill on the table before going after her.

  She rounded on him before he'd made it all the way out to the parking lot. "You didn't even talk to me. You just made that kind of decision without even talking to me?"

  "You'd already made plenty of decisions without me. I didn't know what to do. What would have happened if I did it any other way?"

  "And all these years?" She raised her voice now. "There was never a time when you could have said something? Anything?"

  "You... you were happy. And you hated me. Hate me," he corrected. "And you were always... engaged."

  Shoulders dropping, she nodded. Stuck her hands in her back pockets and looked him square in the eyes. "Andrew, I can't do this again. Finish the enclosure. It's what's best for the bird. Then, don't come around anymore. Love isn't everything. You taught me that."

  He watched as she walked carefully to her pickup.

  * * *

  Andy wasted no time in finding Duncan. Knocking loudly on their uncle's guesthouse door, he concentrated on the rise and fall of his chest as he waited for him to answer the damned, frigging door. Duncan took his time on purpose, he knew. Rattling the locked knob, he filled his lungs, ready to give his brother an earful when the door opened. Duncan stood, squared on both feet. So Duncan. Andy jutted out a quick jab to his face. "Mind your own fucking business." It felt good. So, he went for another.

  His brother made no attempt to block the first one, but apparently wasn't going to take another without a fight. He dodged and pushed him out to the grass and straight on his ass. Andy spun around like a cat falling from a rooftop, then sprung.

  They charged each other like bulls, rolling in the thick grass, throwing punches and gut jabs. He had forgotten how tough Duncan could be when provoked and sucked air when he took one to his solar plexus. They broke free and stood, Andy with his hands on his knees waiting for an opening. Both panted as they stared.

  Duncan dabbed the back of his hand to his mouth and looked down at blood. "Feel better?"

  Andy lifted from his legs. "No, mother fucker. Stay out of my life." He started back toward his car, but his brother took his arm. Duncan kept his head back, like he was ready for a fist.

  Andy looked down, then up to his eyes. "You really want to touch me right now?"

  "Come on. I want to show you something."

  Reluctantly, Andy allowed him in his Maserati. They rode in silence as Andy let the fumes die down. The tussle actually helped. Some.

  Trees started to thicken as they drove to just out of town. Duncan motioned for him to turn the car down a gravel road he would have missed. They drove slowly. "Not exactly a road for a sports car, bro."

  "It's just at the top of the hill. If you drive any slower we might not get there before dawn."

  The road simply stopped. Andy cut the engine.

  The hill was the highest spot as far as the eye could see, but not by much, and the eye couldn't se
e all that far through the thicket of old-growth trees. The smell was a soothing mix of leaves—dead and alive—grass and earth.

  Not really up for riddles, Andy followed him out of the car. "What are we doing here, Duncan?"

  "I bought it."

  "You bought what? There's nothing out here."

  "I bought the land. Forty acres. There's a creek down that way, a clearing the other." He turned in a slow and meaningful circle. "I'm standing in the library I think."

  Andy lowered his brows. "You're staying?"

  Duncan shook his head. "No. I've got an order in L.A. waiting. Chloe Lace, but I can't keep staying in the guesthouse. I need a builder."

  "Chloe Lace? You sure can pick 'em, man."

  "They pick me, mostly. She's wants three. I believe she said four-by-eight for over her fireplace in her great room or something or other." Duncan carelessly waved his hand and turned.

  Andy smiled now. "Four-by-eight feet?"

  Duncan grinned back. "Mmm. So, what do you think? Will you do it?"

  "Of course I'll do it. How much is she paying you?"

  Lifting a brow, Duncan peered over his shoulder. "More than I'll be paying you."

  * * *

  Even over both the noise of Charcoal barking from inside and from the garage door closing, Amanda still heard the quiet press of soft shoes ducking underneath the large door before it lowered completely. She paused only for a second, then reached inside her apron. Even though she knew it was coming, the feeling of her head slamming against the steel door that led into her kitchen blackened her vision.

  As Michael put his hand around her throat, he whispered in her ear from behind, "Miss me, baby?"

  It was strange how the fear of him discovering Rose's existence almost completely erased her fear of him. She looked through eyes with purpose and vision. The smell of him churned her stomach, but she kept her resolve. "How long has it been, Michael?"

  "Over a year, baby. Where is it?" He tightened his grip. She knew he would be able to judge just when to stop in order to give her enough air to answer.

  She croaked, "No, I mean how many years have we done this now?"

  He turned her, keeping his hand around her throat. He looked at her, from one eye to the other with only inches between their faces. "How the fuck would I know?" The tips of his fingers dug into her neck.

  Her throat began to throb. "You dyed your hair black." She choked out. "And your eyes. Contacts?"

  "No more questions. Where's my money?"

  Closing her eyes, she braced for the blow, then asked slowly, "Your money?"

  He hit her, closed fisted, in her right temple. The blow sent her along the top of her garage workspace, clearing off gardening tools and fertilizers. She landed on her stomach on the cold, concrete floor in front of her car.

  She could feel her eye instantly swelling but made herself lift to her hands and knees.

  Michael pulled her up using a handful of her hair. He dragged her back to the steel door as Charcoal scratched and barked madly on the other side. He pressed his forearm against her throat and reached toward his ankle.

  She turned her face away from the feel of sharp metal pressing against her neck. Her eyes began to water from the pain, leaking from the corners of her eyes, stinging the swelling that was growing. "Is that the knife you used to kill my grandfather?"

  He brushed the deep lines of wrinkles from his cheek against hers and whispered in her ear, "Oh, yes, it's a classic, and you're next if you don't come up with my money. You have thirty seconds."

  She forced herself to turn into his stale cigarette breath and look in his lifeless eyes. She had plenty of experience with ways that would get him to talk. She reminded herself that he hadn't killed her in their sixteen years of doing this dance and that he needed her. She braced and croaked, "No."

  His hand shook so hard, the blade made shallow cuts along her throat. Tiny red lines formed in the whites of his eyes. "Whore!" he screamed.

  The door shook against her back as the dog threw himself into it.

  Michael unbuttoned his pants with his free hand, pulled his zipper as she scrambled with her hands while trying not to move her neck. The dog barked behind her and Michael grunted in front of her. She yelled as loud as she could, "How many women? Where are they?"

  He pinched, bruising her nipple through her apron. As she bellowed in pain he answered, "As many as I want. All over the country." He pulled at her shorts.

  He was too close. She couldn't maneuver her arm with his body pushed up against hers. Pressing himself to her, she could feel he was hard. Panic began to creep back into her mind like an old recurring nightmare. She'd always kept him from going this far. But, she had never pushed him like this. Trembling, she worked her hand inside the pocket of her apron.

  She refused to let any more tears fall and instead looked up at eyes that were half mad as he groped between her legs. "Then, here's for each of us all over the country, you fucking bastard." And through the fabric of her apron, she tasered him in the balls.

  He fell into a heap with his pants around his ankles, convulsing rapidly.

  She looked down with huge eyes at her shaking hands. Flying into automatic pilot, she ran around him on the floor, punched the garage door button and opened the back door for her dog. Charcoal snarled and bit, clamping on Michael's neck as he lay twitching on the floor.

  "No, Charcoal. In the car!"

  The door opened, and the Lab obeyed but continued to snarl and bark through the window. She scrambled for her keys and noticed Michael fumbling to pull himself up. She started the engine, rammed the gear into reverse and sped out of her drive without looking back.

  Chapter 19

  Rose stood in the warm, late afternoon sun, preparing for her last presentation of the day. She aimed the base of Gracie's four-foot, wooden perch to the spot on the ground where the galvanized steel extension would sink into the premade hole. The scent of hot, dry July pines soothed her. She loved upstate New York.

  Tucked nicely in her back pocket was her favorite pair of leather gloves. A spare pair for her assistant hung from a hook along the side of the podium that she never felt comfortable using.

  A few spectators had already arrived and were browsing around the perimeter of the main building. If they were lucky, they would catch one of the smaller rehab animals sunning itself in the outer portion of their habitats.

  An hour. She shook her head. There was just over an hour before she had to be on, as she thought of it. She wanted her alone time more than ever these days. She'd worked for years keeping her mind focused on the job. It meant less time to daydream, to think.

  Unfortunately, the work was so second nature to her she couldn't completely block out ideas—ideas like Andy might have had a point. They had both been young, not just herself. He was stupid, she reminded herself, but so was she. Regardless, it took everything she had back then to turn away from the nightmares and from the endless despair, and pull herself together enough to make it to NYU. And she did it. Even with the few scholarships she never got back. And she was happy, damn it.

  To hell with Duncan for butting in. If he didn't mind his own business so much of the time, the moments when he decided not to wouldn't be so potent. She should have known the moment he called that Duncan would have been up to no good. Or maybe it was some good. Shit. She shook her head quickly and noticed a middle-aged blond woman approaching. Trying to look busy, Rose used a mallet to secure the wooden perch into the hole.

  "Hello. Dr. Piper? Hello?"

  Rose smiled, but knew it didn't reach her eyes. "Good afternoon, ma'am. We have another sixty minutes before we start."

  "Oh, yes. I just wanted to know if I could ask a few questions beforehand."

  "Of course." It was for the animals, she chanted in her head. "What can I do for you?

  * * *

  Dave and his assistant worked separately for the day. Leg work, mostly. Tips on a man found shot near Seneca Falls had led to one dead e
nd after another. Half the county seemed to have motive to shoot the poor bastard. The only positive he could come up with for the damned day was they were able to shorten their list of potential suspects. As he listened to his assistant's summary of solid alibis, he sat at his metal desk marking charts. He thought of how glorified his position tended to be when, in reality, it was mostly a lot of Ps—paperwork and pounding the pavement. The intercom buzzed and when he saw it was the lieutenant's extension, he held up a finger silencing his assistant.

  "Detective Nolan."

  "Tanner here, Dave. You alone?"

  "Nick's here. What can I do for you, sir?"

  Lieutenant Tanner paused, then continued, "Your ex is on the way up. Uh, pretty beaten up. Do you want me to stop her?"

  Closing his eyes, Dave let his chin drop. Damnit. He thought she'd cleaned up for good this time. Damnit. "No, sir. I'll take care of it."

  "Should I leave?" his assistant asked. "We can do this in the morning. I'd like to make a stop at a suspect's place on my way home. I missed him this morning. Maybe I can catch him at this time of night."

  Dave said nothing, just nodded in succession.

  He didn't stand up when Amanda walked in. She was obviously shook up. His gut reaction ranged from an intense need to pull her into his arms to a reddening anger that she'd let herself fall off the wagon.

  She looked around at first without speaking. Her eyes paused at the framed picture of her on the corner of his desk. As if she was cold, she hugged her purse close to her chest and, without asking, sat in the wooden chair across from him.

  "Look at you," he judged. "We agreed it was best if you didn't come here anymore." It pained him to see her like this. Always pained him that she chose this over him.

  "Yes, Dave. Look at me. You know I'm not using. Look in my eyes."

  She was right, he realized. Average-sized pupils, even though he could only see one of them. The other was completely swollen shut. Good color in her skin. He also noticed that the blow to her face was still bruising. The cuts on her neck were fresh. Although taken with concern, he remained guarded. "What happened?"