Deeper Than Need: A Secrets & Shadows Novel

by Shiloh Walker

He refused to let himself.

  The memory of her face, not quite like the body they’d found—worse somehow—danced through his mind and he couldn’t stop it.

  Slowly, he shoved upright and stared at his reflection.

  Hollow-eyed, pale and grim-faced, he looked like a man who’d crawled out of the gutter.

  He looked like the older version of the messed-up waste he’d been years ago, before he finally dragged himself out of the bottle.

  “We’re not doing this,” he said.

  Turning away from the man in the mirror, he stripped out of his clothes and headed for the shower. He couldn’t wash away the remnants of the dream, but he could clear the fog from his head. Then he could drink a gallon of coffee. If none of that worked, he’d go for a run and then hit the bag in his shop for a while. He could beat the dream out of his head if he had to.

  Sooner or later, Trinity would show up. Once he saw her, everything would be smoothed out.

  Crazy, but that was all it would take to ease the ragged edges left by that awful dream.

  * * *

  Hank could still see the blood.

  He had a hangover.

  He had a headache.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a repeat of what had happened last night—Lee, shooting a look at him over his shoulder right before he darted out into Main Street, and then …

  The arcing spray of blood felt like it had been burned on the inside of Hank’s lids. He closed his eyes and he saw it, again and again.

  Now, standing twenty feet away from where Lee’s body had come to rest, Hank could still see the blood. It wasn’t his imagination—he could see the blood. Turning away from the grisly scene, he stared up Main Street and tried to tell himself he needed to get to work. Maybe if he made himself work, he could forget.

  For a little while.

  But he just didn’t know.

  Taking a few uneasy steps away from the curb, he thought about maybe just going home. Or to Shakers. It was early yet, but if he got drunk … He shuffled in that direction, tripped and looked down, cursing as he tangled with one of the potted plants Louisa liked to put in front of her coffee shop. It fell over and soil spilled everywhere. Although he tried to right it, the damn bunch of leaves looked mangled even to his bleary eyes.

  “Stupid plant,” he muttered. She’d raise ten kinds of hell over it, too. Screw it. He took a step, kicked something and swore again as he looked down.

  It was a phone.

  He knelt down and scooped it up, eying the familiar case. It was a blow, to his gut, to his heart. “Aw, hell. Lee. You stupid ass,” Hank said, as a fist grabbed his throat again.

  He knew that phone, knew it as well as he knew his own name—how many times had he yelled at Lee to put the damn thing away when he was working?

  A hundred.

  A thousand.

  The case, emblazoned with H A LO 3 on the back, was scuffed, scraped. Hank pushed the button, watched as the phone came on. Something that might have been tears clogged his throat. The wallpaper was a picture of Lee, with the girl he’d been dating … he’d told a couple of the guys they were serious, too.

  Slipping the phone into his pocket, he headed down the street and tried not to think about that spot as he passed it. That spot where Lee had died.

  * * *

  It was one of those days.

  Trinity knew it wasn’t fair to think like that because, really, her day was going a lot better than it was for some; at least she was alive for her day to suck, right?

  She kept seeing that guy’s face—Lee. His name had been Lee, and for some reason he’d broken into her home.

  Her computer—what if he’d gotten ahold of her computer?

  She had to get out there and check on things, but—

  “Mama.”

  Distracted, she looked up.

  Micah stood in front of her, hair spiking out in wild tufts all over his head, dirt streaking his face and a woebegone look in his eyes.

  “Hey, handsome.”

  He just stared at her.

  “What’s wrong, Micah?”

  “I’m bored.” He slumped against the desk and his elbow caught the coffee cup she’d meant to dump out.

  Now she really, really wished she hadn’t forgotten it. Jumping up, she snagged a handful of tissues. “Micah, damn it, would you—”

  The sound of his sniffling stopped her before she could say anything else.

  Clamping her mouth shut around the rest of the words building in her throat, she used more tissues to sop up the coffee as it continued to spread. With her free hand she moved papers and files out of the way. “I’m sorry,” she said, keeping her tone level. “It’s not your fault I didn’t dump the coffee like I meant to, is it?”

  “Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice small.

  “No.” She sighed and gathered up the wet wad of tissues. “I’m mad at myself. Mad at the day.”

  “Why are you mad at the day?”

  “Because it’s a lousy one.”

  Micah swiped at his nose.

  “Please use a tissue,” she said. She would have handed him one, but her hands were still full of coffee-laden mess. Dumping the clump of tissues she held into the trash, she moved around the desk and headed into the small bathroom. It wasn’t much bigger than a closet, but it had a small shower, a toilet and a sink. Tucked under the sink was a stash of cleaning supplies—a pathetic stash, but as long as she could get the coffee up, that was all she cared about.

  “Is Mr. Noah gonna be mad at us for spilling coffee on his desk?”

  As she came out of the bathroom, she saw Micah still standing in front of the desk. “No, baby. He isn’t going to be mad.”

  “Daddy would be.”

  Yeah, well, Daddy is a class-act jerk. She didn’t say that out loud, though. Instead, she lied through her teeth. “Of course he wouldn’t be. Your father knows that accidents happen.”

  “He yelled at me when I dropped my cup once.”

  Trinity stopped in her tracks.

  Micah hadn’t seen his father in, well, almost two years—not since before the trial had started—and hadn’t been alone with Anton in even longer. What was Micah talking about?

  “When did he yell at you, sweetheart?” she asked softly, moving to stand before him.

  He leaned against her, tucking his face against her belly. “We were at his house. I don’t know where you were. But I had my cup. It was my Spider-Man cup. I dropped it. He yelled at me and threw it away.”

  Kneeling down, she eased Micah back and studied his face. The look in his eyes was enough to break her heart. “I remember that cup,” she said, smiling at him, hoping he’d smile back. “It was one of your favorites—Grandpa bought it. I thought we lost it.”

  “Daddy threw it away. Said I had to be more careful.”

  Anger burned inside her, but she shoved it down, hid it. Some small part of her wondered just what had happened, when this had happened … and yes, how much of it Micah truly remembered. It had been so long since Micah had spent any time alone with his father.

  In the end, though, what mattered was simply that something had happened and it had upset her son. Anton had already hurt the boy enough. With cold indifference and neglect.

  Brushing Micah’s hair back, she said, “I think we need to find you a new Spider-Man cup. A dozen of them. Maybe I’ll even buy me one.”

  “You can’t drink out of a Spider-Man cup.” He stared at her solemnly.

  “Why not?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you tell me it’s because I’m a girl, we’ll box, big guy.”

  “You’re a grown-up. Those cups are for kids.”

  “Well, there’s no law saying that grown-ups can’t drink out of a kid’s cup.” She pursed her lips and pretended to mull it over. “Although the Spider-Man cup you had was a sippy cup. Maybe what we need to do is buy you new Spider-Man cups, but big-kid cups. Or grown-up cups even. That way, both of us can use them.”

>   He went to wipe his nose and then stopped, grabbed a tissue and wiped at it messily. “Maybe we can buy one for Mr. Noah, too.”

  Her heart knotted. “Maybe.” Leaning in, she pressed her lips to Micah’s forehead. “Would that make you feel better?”

  “I just don’t want him yelling at you. I spilled it.”

  “Oh, baby. I can absolutely promise you that Mr. Noah isn’t going to yell over some coffee being spilled.”

  She settled back on her heels and smiled at Micah. “How about we go out for lunch? I know we made sandwiches, but I’m having a bad morning and you look like you could use a pick-me-up, too.”

  A few minutes later, they were out of the office, locking it up behind them. She left a note on the monitor in case Noah dropped by to look for her, although she doubted he would.

  The warm summer sunshine beat down on her shoulders and she smiled as Micah all but pulled her down the sidewalk. “Maybe we can go home today,” he said, swinging their hands back and forth. “You think we can go back home yet, Mama?”

  “I don’t think so, baby. Not yet. We still need to get the floor fixed.” They rounded the corner and started down Main Street.

  Micah’s gaze locked on the pizzeria and she grimaced. “I think we need to pass on pizza today, man. I’ll look like a blimp if we keep eating pizza as much as you seem to want it.”

  “What’s a blimp?”

  “A giant balloon.” She puffed out her cheeks and watched as he giggled. “Let’s try the diner instead, okay?”

  “Hot dogs!”

  Like that was so much better than pizza.

  They passed by the pizzeria, and as they came to a stop at the intersection her gaze landed on a bench a few yards up. There was a man sitting there. She started to look away, but instead, she found herself just staring.

  Staring … thinking.

  Hank.

  That was Hank.

  Hank Redding saw the whole thing.

  Considering the way he was sitting there, Trinity suspected he was still seeing it.

  Sympathy moved through her.

  “Mama! The light’s changed.”

  Giving Micah a distracted smile, she pulled her phone out. “Just hold on a minute, baby, okay?”

  * * *

  Some days were roller coasters and this one definitely counted. After that dream, it had taken a blistering shower and four cups of coffee before he felt human. He’d spent a little bit of time with his Bible, because that had settled his mind—it usually did. Then seeing Trinity had taken away the raw edges left by the dream.

  But it wasn’t long before he dropped down low again—Louisa had been on a tangent, railing about some fool who’d vandalized her plants. From what Noah could see, only one of them was messed up, and to him it looked like it had just been knocked over. Some new soil and a stake to support it for a while might take care of it. Then he had to deal with more questions about Trinity’s house and why were people still asking him anyway?

  There was only one word to describe this day and it wasn’t the kind of word he’d let himself think.

  The phone rang, “The Imperial March” coming from his belt loop, and he pulled it off.

  Just like that … the day took a turn for the better. Seeing Trinity’s number on his cell pulled him out of his dark mood, although he knew it wouldn’t take much to send him crashing. Days like this made it hard for him to level.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Memories of the dream—before it went to hell—swamped him. His blood started to hum through his veins and need beat along with it, a hungry tattoo that was going to drive him insane. The heat settled down low in his groin. Hunger and need tangled inside him, a heady mix that he just didn’t want to fight. Not at all.

  “Hi back,” he said, tugging off his gloves and signaling to Thomas Yoder.

  They headed up a group of Amish builders out of Switzerland County. Thom was Caine’s second-in-charge. With a friendly smile Thom turned away and went to let his men know it was time for lunch. Noah took that time to slide out of the room.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, trying not to think about how pretty she’d looked that morning. How elegant and cool … and sexy. He’d looked at her and remembered how she’d looked in his dream, wearing nothing but a work shirt awfully similar to the kind he wore.

  He wanted to muss her up. Taste her—

  “Oh … fine,” she said, cutting through the fantasies that were stirring inside him.

  Fine. Her voice didn’t sound fine. He might have let it slide, if it was anybody but Trinity.

  “Huh. For some reason, I’m not quite buying that. Jeb didn’t come back around and start bugging you again, did he? He can be a bulldog.”

  She laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in the sound. Still, it was enough to tug that knot of want harder, tangle it up even tighter. The need Noah had for her was a red cloud, one that surrounded him, entrapped him, and he wanted to get lost in it—in her.

  It was getting harder and harder to ignore it. He didn’t even want to ignore it

  “No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just been one of those days. Spilled coffee; I turn on the computer to do filing and can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing. A dozen hang-up calls, and count them … three paper cuts. Petty stuff, all of that. I can’t stop thinking about that guy.”

  “Lee,” Noah said softly. Yeah, he was having a hard time not thinking about that, too.

  “Yeah. Anyway, listen, the detective this morning. He said something about your friend Hank. That he saw it, right?”

  “Yes.” Noah slid out the back door. “He’s taking the day off. I was about to go check up on his crew—”

  “He’s here.”

  Noah stopped. “At the office?”

  “No. I took Micah out for lunch and he’s sitting on a bench on Main Street. Just sitting there. Noah, he looks terrible.”

  Turning his head, he stared up the alley. There was no reason to check on the crew. They’d gathered in the courtyard in the back, most of them already halfway through their lunch. A few of them fell silent as he walked by. He lifted a hand in greeting but didn’t stop as he headed up the narrow path that cut between the coffee shop and Shakers. The door to Shakers opened and he saw Adam come through, but even when Adam went to say something, Noah just shook his head.

  Even before he left the alley, he saw her.

  The bright banner of her hair was still pulled up and back, restrained in a neat little twist. Earlier, he’d wanted to figure out how to take it down, see all that gold fall down around her shoulders; then he wanted to fist his hands in it and take her mouth, see what she’d do just before he kissed her … something he was starting to think he’d really have to do before much longer.

  It was a thought he had no business thinking just then, he knew, not when a guy he’d known most of his life lay dead, not when a man he called one of his friends sat just across the street, staring out at the world like he had absolutely no idea where he was, who he was.

  Trinity had no idea Noah was there, still gripping the phone. He stood there, mesmerized, unable to look away.

  “Noah, are you there?” she asked, her voice soft. Soft and steady, but it broke the spell.

  Tearing his eyes away, he shifted his attention and looked around until he found Hank. “I’m here. I’m just across the street. I’ll be there in a minute. Go ahead and hang up, angel.”

  It slipped out of him without him realizing it until he’d already disconnected. But there was no taking it back. Her head turned, and across the street their gazes locked and connected.

  It was the sort of connection that just went all the way through him, too, and he could tell just by looking at her that she felt it, too. He felt it echo through him, from his head down to the soles of his feet, and every inch in between, centering square in his chest … and a little lower as the blood settled low in his groin and started to pulse, hot and heavy.

  The air in his lungs
felt superheated. The air around him felt charged.

  All from a look.

  What would happen if he went to her then? he wondered. If he touched her then. If he … what … what would he do? It had been twenty years since he’d even wanted to feel some sort of connection, and back then it had been easy.

  Everything with Lana had been easy. He’d been young and stupid and naïve … and in love. Life had been simple then, and now it was anything but. Then, he hadn’t had any idea what it was to hurt.

  Things with Trinity would be anything but easy. He was older, more tired, and even though the feelings he had for her were spiraling far out of control, and fast, life was not even close to simple and he’d spent too much time knowing nothing but hurt. Loneliness.

  But he still couldn’t cut her out of his mind. Somehow, she’d worked herself into the very fabric of his soul.

  Figure it out after you take care of Hank, Noah told himself. At least he’d acknowledged it. He had stepped out of the shadows of his past, even if they still dogged him. Everything else could be figured out.

  After Hank.

  Slanting his gaze toward the other man, Noah felt a chill settle around his heart, one that was enough to cool any lingering rush of heat.

  It was almost enough to turn his blood to ice, really.

  Hank looked like a corpse sitting there, skin waxen, eyes sunken and hollow. Just yesterday, he and Noah had been talking and the man had looked fine.

  Now …

  Trinity stood a few yards away. She smiled at Noah and Micah saw him, his eyes lighting up. Before the boy could come barreling toward Noah, she caught up and swooped Micah up in her arms, strong and steady, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Come on, big guy. I think Mr. Noah has somebody he needs to talk to. Maybe we’ll see him later, okay?”

  “But…”

  Noah didn’t hear any of the argument as Trinity carried Micah away down the street. Settling on the bench next to Hank, Noah rested his elbows on his knees and stared out over the street. Cars drove by, darting into parking spaces, idling at the lights, creeping ever closer as they waited for the lights to shift to green.

  Life, he thought. Somehow, no matter how bad things got, no matter what horrors or tragedies happened, it just always carried on.