Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  Tears stained her cheeks and her breathing calmed. A slow, chilling smile shaped her lips. “I hurt the masked one, got him right in the balls. Now’s my chance, I’ve got to run. I’ve got to...he’s on me. My neck...I...I...” As she kicked her legs, she gasped and clawed at the loose collar of her sweater. “I can’t breathe. I can’t...”

  She suddenly stopped moving. Her breath came in short, shallow puffs as she dropped her arms away from her neck and closed her eyes.

  “Honey, are you with me?”

  “It’s so dark,” she whispered. “No moon tonight. The blackness is good, though. I’m not scared anymore.”

  Gulping, he stared down at her. “Why do you say that?” he asked, even though he already suspected the answer. Celeste was the vessel of a dying woman. As the thought ran through his mind, so did another. Could she go into cardiac arrest? Damn it, he should never have allowed this to happen without a doctor present. Stupid, so stupid.

  “Celeste, wake up. You have to wake up,” he shouted.

  She furrowed her brows, then a serene smile crossed her lips. “So dark. No sound but the mill. It always did help put me to sleep. The humming and drumming...it’s relaxing. I’m going to sleep now.”

  Fear had him grabbing Celeste by her upper arms and shaking her like a rag doll. “Wake up, baby. Please.” He cradled her to his chest. “Wake up, wake up,” he begged over and over, as he tried to jar her from the trance. As he rocked her body against his, a tear escaped and rolled down his cheek.

  She drew in a deep, gasping breath, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Embracing her tight to his chest, he held her and swore he never wanted to let her go. Ever. He wanted to cherish her, love her, keep her safe and secure. Always. They might have only known each other for a short time, but he knew in his gut, in his heart, in his soul, that she was his. He’d tried to deny their connection, tried to deny the chemistry that had confused his logical mind and set his body on fire, but he couldn’t any longer. Watching, witnessing Celeste suffering the death of another woman made him realize how short life truly was, and that life without her would be meaningless.

  He held her tighter. Until Celeste, he’d been running on autopilot. Punishing himself for Renee’s crimes. Tired of living like an unemotional robot, he wanted the warmth, the trust Celeste offered. He also wanted her off the investigation.

  “You’re crushing me,” she half-giggled.

  “Sorry,” he said, and with reluctance, eased back. She’d scared the hell out of him tonight, and he didn’t want to let her go.

  Her smile faltered as she lay her hand against his cheek, wiping the single tear away. “John?” Her eyes had returned to their normal bright blue. She looked confused, disoriented and blessedly alive.

  “What happened? Did I...?” She let her hand fall away and winced. “Was it that bad?”

  He cupped her face then kissed the corner of her mouth. “Worse. You won’t be doing this again. Ever.”

  She stiffened. “Ever?”

  “That’s what I said. It’s for your own good.” There was no way in hell he’d allow her to go through another trance. She might not remember it, but what if in the dark recesses of her mind, the vision showed itself? He didn’t want to take that chance. He didn’t want to risk her remembering the beatings, the rape and sodomy, the death.

  “For my own good,” she echoed.

  “Exactly.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me about the trance.”

  Not in this lifetime. “Now’s not the time. I need...to listen to the recording.” Remembering his cell phone, he quickly shut off the recording device then slipped the phone in his pocket.

  “You promised to let me listen,” she said, her tone firm and laced with accusation.

  “Not tonight,” he spoke louder than he’d meant, the fear, the terror of what he’d witnessed ran strong. He’d break every damned promise to protect her. If she heard herself being...

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then when?”

  Never. He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Just let me listen to it again and then maybe—”

  “Forget it.” Her eyes hardened into blue shards of ice. “It’s time for you to go.”

  “Celeste, no.” He laid his hands on her shoulders to keep her from storming away from him. He hadn’t meant to hurt her or betray her. He only wanted to protect her.

  “Then at least tell me what I said.”

  He looked to the ceiling before meeting her gaze. “I can’t. Not tonight. I need—”

  “To go,” she said, knocking his hands from her shoulders.

  Panicking, he snagged her hand before she stalked off, then turned her to face him. “I can’t leave you alone.”

  “I’m a big girl. Besides, I’m used to being alone.”

  “You don’t have to be,” he said softly. “After what you said during the trance, I can’t leave you here by yourself.”

  She frowned and shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know how you’d said that during the second vision you’d felt as if you were being pulled in two different directions? That’s because there were two men attacking the victim in your vision.”

  Her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. “Was one of them Winston?”

  “Could be, but I’m not sure.”

  “And the other? Did I describe him?”

  “I’m not going into details until I’ve listened to the recording again. Please believe me. It’s for your own good.”

  Shaking her hand free of his, she stomped toward the foyer. “Stop saying that. I’m not a child.”

  “Then quit acting like one,” he countered.

  “Really?” She laid the sarcasm on thick.

  “Okay, I didn’t mean that, but you have to trust me on this. Look, in all likelihood, there’s another killer out there. If he knows about you, you could be a threat to him.”

  “Give me a break.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think a killer is going to look at me as a threat? Hell, half of this town thinks I’m a crackpot. I highly doubt—”

  “Why are you being so stubborn about this? Damn it, Celeste, you didn’t see the woman from the bog. He sliced her face, cut her stomach wide open. I’m not about to discount anything where you’re concerned. But if you don’t want me here, then I’m calling Roy. He can find someone else to babysit you then until this investigation is over.”

  As he reached for his cell phone, she gripped his arm. “I do not need a babysitter.”

  “The hell you don’t.”

  A knock at the door had them both pausing. She quickly released his arm, then moved to the door. After peering through the peep hole, she released a sigh. “Hey, Will,” she said as she let her brother into the foyer.

  Will glanced between the two of them, then settled his gaze on Celeste. “Everything okay?”

  “Just fine,” she said, “John was just leaving.”

  “Celeste,” he began, then stopped when she raised a hand.

  “Will you stay here tonight?” she asked her brother.

  “Sure. Mind if I do some laundry?”

  “Not at all,” she said, and kept her gaze on his rather than Will’s.

  “Cool, I’ll just run to the apartment and get my things. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  After Will left, John moved toward her. “Look, I know you’re upset, but before you kick me out, let me just say this.” He cupped her cheeks, then sifted a hand through her soft curls and held her head. “I believe in you. Can you give me the same? Can you just hang tight for tonight and let me sort out what happened during the trace? I want to talk to Roy about it, and see what Carl finds during the autopsy on the girl from the bog.”

  The kitchen door banged shut. “It’s just me,” her brother shouted, but thankfully didn’t enter the living room.

  “Please, Celeste.” He stroked her cheek. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

  “You know where I
work,” she said, and looked away.

  He resisted rubbing his thumb along her pouting lips. “I was hoping for something more private.”

  She met his gaze then, and stared at him as if he were a stranger. As if they’d never met or shared a deep, unexplainable intimacy.

  “Let me sleep on it.”

  “I think you need to understand something.” He held his ground, not wanting to leave things the way they were. She had no clue what she’d put him through and she had to understand his motives. He wasn’t trying to boss her around or throw her off the investigation. He was trying to protect her.

  “Good night, John.” She ushered him to the door, then closed it in his face without an ounce of hesitation.

  As he stalked to his car, he tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong. He looked around the yard and caught a few accusing glances.

  “Goddamn gnomes,” he muttered to himself. What the hell did they know?

  * * *

  More loose ends.

  Rage settled deep in his gut as he watched John Kain leave the psychic’s house. Had they been discussing his little Deb from the bog? He’d been so careful with his sweet Deb, gutting her enough so that her body would sink into the lake, rather than bloat and float.

  Fucking cranberry farmers. They’d harvested two weeks earlier than last year. If they hadn’t, her body would have likely moved with the gentle current. It would have either ended up at one of the adjoining lakes, or traveled down to the river. If that had happened and she’d washed up on shore in another county, no one would have tried to connect the Deb to the women Garrett had dumped. And he knew they were trying to make a connection.

  He crouched low, the evergreen he’d been hiding behind giving him cover as Kain backed out of the driveway, then sped down the street. Five dead bodies discovered in less than twenty-four hours. That kind of shit didn’t happen in this county, which hadn’t seen a murder in decades. The odds against two killers could likely have them furthering their investigation against Garrett.

  Another loose end.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. The rage remained, but now mingled with painful shards of regret. He couldn’t, wouldn’t dispose of Garrett.

  So far, Garrett had done as they’d planned if he was ever caught—he’d confessed—but his brother was arrogant, impatient, and vengeful. It would be days before he could free Garrett. Days he couldn’t afford. The risk of the sheriff and that know-it-all prick, Kain, furthering their investigation scared the shit out of him. What if they discovered what Garrett had done in Florida or Alabama before they’d made their first kill together? Wisconsin no longer carried the death penalty, but those states did. What if Garrett talked? What if he spilled what he knew about him for a lesser sentence?

  Garrett had seen his safe house and the alternate identities he’d stashed there. Passports, driver’s licenses, credit cards. Garrett also knew where he planned to run once he’d tied up all of his loose ends.

  With his stomach twisting, and the thought of killing Garrett leaving him hollow, he brushed the ground with his gloved hands. Once he’d made sure he hadn’t left any evidence behind, he edged away from the evergreen, then stopped short when a dog barked. Crouching low once again, he waited and listened, but his thoughts drifted.

  Could he survive without seeing Garrett’s face again? Hearing his voice? The sexual release when they shared the bitches they’d killed together?

  They’d raped and killed dozens of filthy whores over the past twelve years. As those memories flashed through his mind, each whore, each kill, each sexual gratification...none of them had compared to his Deb. She’d been different. Soft and demure. Sweet and sexy. Unlike the prostitutes they’d taken in the past, his Deb had been special. Clean, pretty, and so unlike the filth Garrett had brought to him. Although his Deb was the daughter of a minister, she wasn’t a virgin, which hadn’t bothered him. Her ass had been virginal enough. If only he’d had the time to fulfill his ultimate fantasy with her, she would have been the absolute perfect kill.

  The more he thought about his Deb, the more he realized he could find the satisfaction he needed without Garrett. He’d taken his Deb alone, and the pleasure of the act had been more fulfilling than he’d ever imagined. For the first time, he had been able to walk away from a kill without remorse. While he hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt over the junkie whores they’d murdered together, he’d hated himself for the immoral, impure thoughts he’d had while fucking those pieces of trash. He’d always hated the need to look into his brother’s eyes and imagine...

  He blocked the depraved thought as bile rose in his throat. He wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t allow himself to fantasize about something that could and would never, ever happen again. Stumbling back, he landed on his rear and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

  Our time was about to become a thing of the past. He no longer wanted another of Garrett’s pieces of shit, used up whores to fuck and kill. He wanted another like his Deb. He wanted them clean, pretty. Not used, abused, hard and diseased. Damn it, he wanted to cleanse his soul of the immorality he’d been living with since that night when he’d realized his love for his brother wasn’t brotherly.

  The fucking dog finally stopped its yapping. As he rose from his hiding place again, he caught the psychic drawing the blinds in her front window. Too bad her brother had shown. He needed a way to release the violence coursing through him. While he’d always known that eventually his own depravity would lead to Garrett’s death, he hadn’t been prepared for it to happen this soon. They were forcing him to take action, to react and retaliate. Garrett had become a liability that now must be dealt with, and so did Celeste.

  While he didn’t necessarily believe in her psychic bullshit, a smart man always kept his bases covered. And he was smarter than the sheriff, Kain, and hell, even Garrett, combined.

  He knew she’d been having visions, but he hadn’t had a chance or opportunity to read the notes she’d made for Roy. Was that why Kain was with her tonight? To discuss the murders? Or maybe he was banging the little hottie. Nope, he decided. He’d known her for years. Celeste rarely dated, and he doubted she’d spread her legs for some guy passing through on a murder investigation.

  Once her blinds were closed, and the street had grown quiet, he checked his hiding spot for evidence again, then made his move. He’d parked his pick-up three streets north behind an abandoned mechanic’s garage. As he jogged, he couldn’t stop thinking about Celeste. What if her psychic shit was for real? What if she knew about the others he and Garrett had killed?

  He relaxed into a slow, steady jog. If those women were discovered, they’d pin those victims on Garrett. The MO had been the same. Raped and strangled. Still, what if she gave them information that could somehow lead to him?

  Another loose end.

  A loose end he would enjoy killing.

  He cracked a smile. Killing Celeste would not only fuck up everyone who loved her, but everyone who had taken Garrett, his forbidden love, away from him.

  Fuck. So many loose ends.

  Killing Garrett would hurt. He was his brother, his partner. Although with his death came resurrection. A purification of a sort from the immorality Garrett had driven him to with his husky voice and sensual smile. But Celeste?

  His pulse raced. On many levels she reminded him of his Deb. Sweet and innocent, Celeste was a pretty woman. He’d enjoy silencing her and taking her out of the investigation. Hell, maybe he’d use her to fulfill the fantasy he hadn’t been able to complete with his Deb. Ramming his hunting knife into her gut, slicing the blade up to those perky tits she was always showing off in her tight t-shirts, while he fucked her curvy ass.

  By the time he reached his truck, his dick had grown painfully hard just thinking about what he could do to Celeste. Yet as much as he’d love to fulfill that fantasy, he had a few other things to take care of first.

  Garrett ranked at the top of that list.

  Chapter 12

&
nbsp; “GOOD MORNING,” JOHN said to Bev as he entered the Sheriff’s Department. He’d tried for a chipper tone, but with his current mood, the words fell flat.

  “Mornin’. Roy’s expecting you if you want to head back.”

  After thanking her, he moved out of the reception area, then into the corridor that would lead to the sheriff’s office. As he approached, he slowed his steps. Male voices, spiked with anger drifted down the hallway. Realizing Roy wasn’t alone, he hovered just outside the opened office door. Lloyd, Jesse, and Dan all had their backs to the door. The deputies surrounded the sheriff like a pack of wolves.

  “C’mon, Roy. This is a bunch of bullshit,” the Viking bitched, and slammed his hand on the desk. “We don’t need outside help, at least not from him.”

  “I agree with Lloyd,” Jesse said. “Five dead bodies? We need DCI or FBI, not some private investigator from...where’s he from anyway?”

  “Does he even have experience?” Dan asked.

  John leaned against the door frame, wondering why he’d bothered to leave his lumpy motel bed. Last night had sucked. His argument with Celeste, after her god-awful trance, had kept him up most of the night.

  This morning hadn’t been any better. He’d tried contacting Ian again, but his call had rolled straight into voice mail. After leaving a message that had bordered on insubordinate, he’d huffed out of his room in search of caffeine. Unfortunately, all he’d found waiting for him at the Chippewa Inn’s front foyer was a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee grounds and thick sludge.

  Now, he had to deal with the sheriff’s deputies and their bullshit. Considering he already had a pissed off psychic, five dead bodies, and not just one, but probably two serial killers to contend with, they were the least of his concerns. Still, if he was going to make any headway with this investigation, he’d need Roy’s men on his side.

  The sheriff chose that moment to make eye contact with him. His mustache twitched above a sly smile as he shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”