Ultimate Fear (Book 2 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  “No, it’s true,” she lied. “The necklace was my grandma’s. Please, Spencer. It’ll only take a few minutes to drive back to the alley and—”

  He shoved her toward the other two men, then opened the apartment door. Loud laughter came from within, while a hazy fog of cigarette smoke, along with weed, floated into the hallway. A bottle crashed, and more laughter followed.

  Terrified of being alone with a group of men, drunk and drugged, she jerked away from the men holding her. “Let go,” she shouted. “Let go or I’ll—”

  Spencer gripped her face with one hand, and squeezed. “Scream? Go ahead and see how many of my neighbors come to your rescue. My name isn’t on the deed, but I own this fucking building.”

  When he removed his hand, she screamed anyway. She’d take her chances and hope to God someone called the police. Spencer backhanded her in the face, silencing her. “That was fucking stupid.” He nodded to the men holding her. “Get her inside.”

  “No. Wait,” she pleaded, and dug her heels into the chipped linoleum floor. Aside from Spencer and his two friends, she’d counted four others sitting in the small living room. Fear caused her stomach to contract and tighten. The baby moved, and she touched her belly out of instinct. “Please. It doesn’t have to be this way. You know what I’m about, what I get paid for. I don’t have a problem doing a few freebies. I just don’t like the rough stuff. “

  He slammed the door behind him, then locked it. “Cooperate, and no one has to get rough.”

  “My baby,” she reminded him, throwing out the pregnancy card and hoping he’d rethink what she suspected he and his friends would do to her.

  “You didn’t seem too concerned about it when you were chasing the dragon with me this morning,” he said, shoving her into the living room. “Somebody gag the bitch and boot her up with smack. It’s time to start this party.”

  Multiple hands grabbed her and pulled her to her knees. Suffocating fear closed her throat. Tears stung her eyes. She might be a used up whore, but this—

  She winced when the needle pricked her skin. “No,” she cried, just before another man gagged her. She didn’t want the drug. Not now. They were going to rape her and she wanted to remember their faces. She wanted them to pay for what they were going to do to her. But as the heroin rushed through her veins, and the men tore off her drenched clothes, she let go of the fear and tried to find her happy place.

  Only this evening, there wouldn’t be any rainbows and sunshine.

  *

  Wayne walked into their apartment. The spicy scent of spaghetti and garlic, along with something buttery and likely baked, had his mouth watering. After setting his keys on the little table in the hallway, he followed the smells into the kitchen. Dimples was there, buzzing around the tiny kitchen, clanking plates while the water ran in the kitchen sink. When she saw him, she shut off the water and smiled.

  “Hey, honey,” she said, drying her hands on a dish towel and moving toward him. “You’re a little late. How was your day?”

  He took off his rain-soaked ball cap and set it on the counter. “Good. Traffic held me up some.”

  She reached up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. That quick kiss, along with the ones she’d given him every morning before he’d left for work and when he’d arrived home, was the most affection he’d allowed since the afternoon he found her in the dog breeder’s kitchen, wrist-deep inside the woman’s stomach. He fought from cringing, and from the urge to hold his wife again and kiss her properly.

  He loved Dimples. He still desired her in his bed and couldn’t imagine life without her. But he couldn’t move past the memories and shake the images of her wielding a knife and carving into a pregnant woman’s body. The blood…so much blood, coating her gloved hands and dripping to the floor. She’d killed a woman for her baby. She’d taken a life only to discover the one that had been growing inside the dog breeder was already dead.

  The anger and disappointment he’d been harboring toward her since that day made his chest ache. How could she? How could his sweet Dimples, this God fearing, Christian, kill? In all the years he’d known her, he never once considered the possibility. Yes, she’d been the one to come up with the idea of how and when to rid them of the Eltons, but she’d never been able to kill them. She was too delicate, too loving and nurturing to lay a finger on those boys. Instead, she’d given him that job.

  But he couldn’t harm a child, either. For that matter, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt anyone. Even when his father had beaten him with either his fists or his belt, or whatever was within reach, he’d never considered killing the man. Never once had it occurred to him that he could retaliate, maybe suffocate the man while he’d slept off a half a bottle of whiskey. Not out of love, and certainly not out of respect, but because killing was wrong.

  What Dimples had done was so wrong. And he blamed himself. He should have never gone along with taking those baby boys. The moment she’d first suggested they abduct an infant, he should have taken her straight to the doctor’s. Because he hadn’t, four boys, four families had lost a couple of years together. Since no harm had ever come to those boys, and since he’d learned from the news that each boy wound up back with their family, his conscience had almost been clean. Kids were resilient, and with the ages of the boys he’d returned safely, they’d never remember him or Dimples, and he doubted they’d have any emotional or mental issues from having been separated from their families. Plus, those boys had made his Dimples happy. When there was a baby in the house, Dimples was on cloud nine, and he wanted his wife happy.

  Happy wife, happy life.

  Only his life wasn’t so happy right now. She was a murderer. Even though he’d had no knowledge of her ultimate plan to kill the dog breeder for her baby, by shoving her in the truck and driving her far away from the scene of the crime, he’d become an accomplice to murder. A prosecutor could argue that he could have stopped her, turned her in to the police the moment he’d walked into that kitchen. If he’d done that though, the authorities might not slap murder onto his long list of crimes, but they would prosecute him for kidnapping and child endangerment.

  Now he was stuck with his Dimples—for better or for worse. Right now, he couldn’t see how things between them could become better. He couldn’t even look at her without seeing the dog breeder’s blood smeared on her face.

  He was married to a woman who needed help, but he couldn’t give her that help without putting them in prison.

  No matter how he sliced it, he was screwed.

  “Why don’t you wash up and take a seat?” she suggested, and pulled the Pillsbury Crescent Rolls he loved from the oven. “Dinner is just about ready.”

  Surprised he had an appetite, he went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. After toweling off, he took a seat at the table and eyed his wife with suspicion. Over the past week, she’d been down, and he’d rarely seen her smile or the dimples he loved. Today, she fluttered around the kitchen like a butterfly, humming, smiling, her steps light. Knowing Dimples, knowing the signs, dread wrapped around his throat and squeezed.

  She’d found another baby.

  That had to be the explanation. Why else was she in a good mood? Unless—

  “How’s the job hunt going?” he asked.

  “I applied to a few more places today. One seems promising. The assistant manager even gave me a quick, informal interview. I’m hoping the manager calls me back to meet with him.”

  “What about all the others you applied to?” He’d seen the job applications on the kitchen table. There had been over a dozen and, while he couldn’t erase what she’d done to the dog breeder, he’d been pleased that she hadn’t gone back on her promises to him. Before arriving in Chicago, she’d vowed to find a job and let her search for a baby go. He hadn’t believed her, but he’d wanted to. He wanted his wife back. Not the Dimples who needed to have a baby every couple of years, but the Dimples before the coma. Back then, she’d been normal, her dre
ams and goals for them somewhat naïve, yet realistic. After the coma though, there had been nothing realistic about her dreams and goals. Instead of discussing the future, the house they’d buy, saving for retirement, traveling to the places they’d both fantasized about, her only focus had been on finding a way to have a baby in their home.

  She set his plate, piled high with spaghetti and meatballs, in front of him. “I’m still waiting to hear from some of those places. The rest let me know the positions were filled.” She flashed him a smile and set two salad bowls on the table. “I’m not worried. God will help me find something soon.”

  Wayne shook his head, and placed his napkin in his lap. “Will He now?”

  “Oh, honey,” she said, setting the basket of rolls between their plates. “I understand why you might hate me, but don’t hate God for what I’ve done.”

  “I don’t hate you or God, I hate myself.” Right now, he despised himself and what he’d become. A kidnapper. An accomplice to murder.

  She quickly crouched in front of him and placed both hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. “You’re a good man, Wayne Cooke. You didn’t do anything wrong. I did, and I’m gonna make it up to you. I promise.”

  Her eyes were imploring and filled with love and respect. He’d been looking into those trusting blue eyes of hers for almost his entire life. Despite what she’d done, he never wanted there to come a day when he couldn’t see them or her pretty smile. He loved her. She and her mama had saved him from his father and had given him a reason to live. She’d shown him there was kindness in the world, and he was worth something. Her love had been the driving force behind him, pushing him to be a better man, to prove that he could be better than his father. Still, she’d killed a woman, and that was something he couldn’t shake.

  “Finding a job won’t make up for what you did.”

  She let her hands fall away and stood. “I know that, and I’ve told you how sorry I am for what happened to Missy.”

  Dozens of times. But sorry wouldn’t resurrect the woman or wipe away the blood staining Dimples’s soul.

  “Once I have a job, though, and we start bringing more money in, we can build up our savings.”

  “We have plenty of money saved.” After the sale of Dimples’s car, they had close to thirty grand locked in their little safe and hidden in their bedroom. “We don’t need to be in Chicago or this shitty apartment. We could move—”

  “Please don’t cuss around me. I understand how that might happen when you’re with other men on job sites, and I understand that you’re mad at me, but men shouldn’t swear in front of women.”

  He refused to apologize for cursing. At the rate he was going, he’d likely burn in hell for much worse. “Anyway,” he began, “I think we should leave.”

  “We have a six-month lease.”

  Shrugging, he dug into the spaghetti. “So we break it.”

  “But we could lose our deposit.”

  At this point, they could afford to lose the six hundred dollars they’d put down on the apartment. Right now, he wanted to distance himself as far away from Montour, Iowa, as possible. He wanted to move to a small town, maybe in Ohio or Pennsylvania, find a place with property and pretend the past thirteen years hadn’t happened. “I don’t care,” he said. “I want to leave. City life isn’t working for me.” At that moment, the L, whose tracks were practically outside their apartment window, sped by. The roar of the train momentarily silenced him and shook the cups, bowls and plates on the kitchen table. When the L finally made its way past their building, he shook his head. “And I hate this apartment.”

  “But you’re making really good money,” she countered, while buttering her roll. “I think we should at least stay through the six-month lease.”

  “No. I’m not budging on this. I want out.”

  Although she smiled, he caught the worry in her eyes. “What if I like it here?”

  He’d been following her around like a good dog for thirteen years. Never once during that time had she taken into consideration what he liked. “If I recall, I said I liked living in St. Joseph, and that didn’t matter to you.”

  “You know we had no choice.”

  “No, you made sure we had no choice when you told me to get rid of our son.”

  She dropped her butter knife and, folding her arms across her chest, leaned back in her chair. “How could you throw our precious Elton in my face like that? I’ve grieved for that child and—”

  “Grieved?” He shook his head. “No. You discarded him just like the others, because they no longer made you happy.”

  She looked away. “You’re being very hurtful. I almost prefer the silent treatment you’ve been giving me all week to the way you’re talking to me now.”

  “And again, I would have preferred to stay in St. Joseph with our precious Elton.” His appetite gone, he tossed his napkin on his plate and pushed the chair away from the table. “I want out of Chicago. I’ll work one more week. Once I get my paycheck next Friday, we’re leaving.”

  “But what if I get a job?”

  “Look for another one once we’re settled somewhere else.”

  “Please, Wayne, let’s give Chicago a chance. I’ve always dreamed of living in a big city like this and I—”

  Her ringing cell phone silenced her. She stood, grabbed it off the charger on the kitchen counter and smiled when she looked at the screen. “I think this is the store I applied to today,” she said, then answered her phone.

  He didn’t care. The more he considered their options, leaving Chicago was the right move for them. They needed a clean start, and he needed for Dimples to live in a smaller community where there was less of a chance that she’d go on another baby hunt. His wife might be obsessed and passionate about having a baby, but she wasn’t that naïve. Both of them had grown up in a small town, and understood the lifestyle of a rural community. Gossip had always been a constant factor in Wauchula, Florida. She wouldn’t place herself in a position that would risk gossip, let alone their freedom.

  Dimples ended the call and flashed him a big smile. “That was the manager I was hoping would call. He says he’s looking for an assistant manager for the evening shift and wants to meet with me tomorrow morning.” Still smiling, she let out a gusty sigh. “The job pays sixteen dollars an hour. I know it’s not ideal for me to work evenings and some weekends, but imagine the money we could save if we did stay in Chicago for six months. Plus, an assistant manager’s job would look great on my resume. When we move again, it might make it easier for me to get another job.” With excitement brightening her eyes, she pulled out a pen and sheet of paper from the kitchen drawer and began writing. “After taxes, that’s over an extra ten thousand dollars in our pocket.” She turned to him. “Think about that. Between what you’re making and what I could bring in, we’d have a lot of money to put down on a house, maybe even one with some acreage.”

  She had a valid point, and he did want acres of land. The L chose that moment to practically run through their living room. Could he suffer through six months of living in the shitty apartment, of living in Chicago? He knew he could, and besides, with Dimples busy working, her mind would be on her job, not another baby. Plus, with her working evenings and him days, the next six months could serve as a cooling off period and give them both time to heal and mend their marriage.

  “Okay,” he finally said, and stood.

  “Really? You’re willing to stay?”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. He looked toward the window. Rain hit the glass and the sky grew dark, threatening. “As long as you get the job. If you somehow end up losing it, though, we’re leaving.”

  She rushed to his side and hugged him. “Thank you, honey. I really think this is going to be good for us.” Still holding him, she leaned back. “Aren’t you going to hug me?”

  Guilt ate at him. She looked so damned sweet and happy and…hurt. “I—” He set her away from him, just as it thundered again. “I need more tim
e.”

  “That couch can’t be comfortable,” she said, reaching for his belt buckle. “I miss having you in our bed.”

  He stilled her hand. He’d missed sleeping with her, too. But he wasn’t ready to forgive her for what she’d done, not only to the woman, but to them. “I need to shower. I’ve got to be on a job site first thing tomorrow morning. We should both get to bed early. What time’s your interview?”

  “Nine.”

  Tempted to shower, then take his wife to bed and make love to her, he forced the thought of her ample body pressed against his from his mind and redirected it to tomorrow. The construction company he now worked for had him scheduled to work a job just outside the city. He had to be at the company warehouse by seven to pick up supplies and a coworker, then out in Oak Park by eight. “I’m going to be doing some roofing tomorrow. Have you seen my safety harness? The roof anchor and tether are missing, too.”

  She turned her back and began cleaning the kitchen. “I didn’t touch any of your tools when I was packing up for the move. You know that. Maybe you misplaced it, or left it on a job site in Missouri.”

  It had been a while since he’d needed to use the harness, and he hoped that he hadn’t left it behind. The kit had cost him almost two hundred dollars and he’d rather not have to replace it. Tired and not in the mood to look for it now, he’d use the company’s kit tomorrow and look through a few unopened boxes stored in the spare room when he came home in the evening.

  In the meantime, he needed that shower, and maybe afterward, he’d have a beer and relax on the couch before falling asleep. The thought of spending another night on the couch didn’t appeal to him. The direction his marriage had taken wasn’t working for him, either.

  Time. That’s all he needed. A little more time to overcome what Dimples had done. So long as she had a good job and no longer talked about finding herself another baby, he honestly believed they could go back to the way things were.