Killing Bliss

by EC Sheedy

  "Let me go, Bliss."

  "Sit down." His voice was low and easy, a mockery of affable. "I'll buy you dinner."

  She glared at him, ignored the tremors in her stomach, and said, "I don't think so. Sitting with you, there's always the chance I'll upchuck on the table—make a scene." She tugged her wrist again, but he only tightened his grasp.

  "I said sit." He waved his other hand to encompass the busy dining room. "I figure we'll both be safe enough. Me from that fancy piece you're carrying and you from my—what is it women call them—unwanted advances." He snorted. "Like any woman isn't panting for it all the time."

  Beauty considered making the scene she threatened him with but decided against it. Too risky. Chances were they'd both end up in jail. She wouldn't see Gus. She slid into the padded booth.

  "We made our arrangement, Bliss," she said. "So what the hell do you want from me?"

  Before he answered, a server came and filled her water glass, handed her a menu. She muttered her thanks.

  "You mean other than to hump you?"

  She picked up the water, drank to drown the nausea. "Other than that."

  "I've been thinking—"

  "I'm sorry, it must be hard for you." She laced her fingers together on the tabletop; her palms were fear-damp.

  "Funny." He didn't laugh. "I've been thinking about the night dear old Mom... passed over, as they say."

  "Ah, a trip down memory lane, how sweet. You always were such a doting son."

  Bliss leaned over and filled her wineglass. "Shut the fuck up and listen, will you?" He growled. "Be a little friendly. I've got some questions. That's all. So relax."

  She eyed the red wine he'd poured. She really shouldn't drink, not with Bliss. She'd sip. Just sip. It would calm her nerves. She picked it up, looked at him over its rim. "That sub-Neanderthal brain of yours must have nothing but questions." She took another sip, already feeling better.

  He gave her a filthy look, then said. "The question is about the kid."

  "What kid?" Cold washed over her, a faint damp rain of it.

  "I don't know his damn name. The boy that Grover brought in the day Mom bought the farm."

  She took another drink, this one more than a sip. "What about him?"

  "Do you know where Vanelleto dumped him after you—"

  She started to get up, and his hand shot across the table with the speed and agility of a striking cobra, forced her down. Her body was on fire as if pinned by a thousand needles. "I don't know anything about that kid."

  "I think you do, Beauty."

  "Well, you're wrong—as usual."

  "I'm not wrong about there being some serious cash to be made if someone knows the whereabouts of that kid's body."

  "There's no body." As usual, she sounded surer than she felt.

  "Yeah? If there's no goddamn body, then there's a living, breathin' kid around somewhere, which I seriously doubt." He fixed his gaze on her, his mouth a hard seam. "But I'll buy into it, babe, if you tell me where that kid might be."

  She said nothing, because she had nothing to say. First Addy had asked her about the boy, and now this piece of filth. She had no answer for either of them, because she didn't know, had never known. And she'd lived with the curse of not knowing every day of her life ever since that night.

  Everything happened so fast. Huddled, sick and hurting, in that bedroom, terrified the shrieking boy would attract Belle's attention, bring her and Frank into the room, she'd picked up the crying boy. He'd been left in the room for hours without being changed; his head was white hot, and he smelled like pee and vomit. She remembered thinking he must be really sick.

  But all she'd wanted to do was make him stop screaming, screaming, screaming...

  She trembled, drank some wine. The images of that night in black and white like a batch of photographs fanned so fast they became a jumble.

  There'd been the... pillow thing, Gus's shocked curse, "Jesus, Beauty. What are you doing?"

  Him yanking the bod—baby from her arms, his eyes cool and hot at the same time, his voice ragged. "Don't worry," he'd said. "I'll take care of it. Just get the hell out of this house. Wait for me by the shed. I'll find you."

  He never did. It was the last time she ever saw him.

  Bliss snapped his fingers in front of her face. "You with me, sweetheart?"

  She blinked at him.

  "I asked you if you knew where that kid ended up."

  "No."

  He eyed her coldly. "Maybe you don't get it, but that kid is worth some real change—dead or alive. That old lady's been looking for him for—what?—fifteen years, willing to pay big-time."

  "What old lady?"

  "The kid's grandma, a rich bitch on a mission, that's for sure."

  The baby had a grandma... family.

  Feeling as though she were going to be sick, Beauty downed the last of her wine, and to avoid his revolting touch, kept her hands under the table as she finally escaped the booth. "Thanks for the wine, asshole." She didn't give him a chance to answer. Turning from his handsome face, she walked quickly to the elevator.

  Back in her room, she leaned against the door and panted like a dog on a hot afternoon. She used the rigid length of the door to straighten her own back, then slid to the floor and hugged her knees.

  "Dear God, Addy, call me, please. Tell me Gus is here—that he'll make Bliss go away. Tell me everything is going to be all right."

  After a few minutes, and a wild crying jag, she got to her feet and went to the phone.

  Beauty wasn't a woman to cry in her beer, but an expensive merlot? Definitely.

  She brushed the dampness from her cheeks, called room service, and though certain she wouldn't eat, ordered dinner and enough wine to swim in. Her watery gaze shifted to the security locks on her door.

  Bliss. Across the hall.

  She shuddered, knew she wouldn't leave this room until she'd heard from Addy and knew for sure Gus was in Seattle.

  She wished she could make things right, shout to the world that neither Gus nor Addy had killed anyone.

  Too bad she wasn't so sure about herself.

  * * *

  "I want to talk to her," Susan said—again. "I don't care what you say, Cade. I think talking one woman to another—especially when it concerns the well-being of a child—makes perfect sense. All this plotting and planning is a waste of time. Besides, do we even know for sure if the other two will show up?" She was agitated and it showed.

  Stan looked at Cade, raised a brow. "She's got a point. It could work."

  Cade dragged up the last of his patience. They'd been circling Susan's argument for half an hour. Time was running short, and the one thing he didn't want was for Addy to find them huddled together like some goddamn secret society. Hell, bad enough he'd brought Stan and Susan here without telling her. He intended it to be the last of his deceits.

  "She does not have a point, Stan." Cade argued, then turned to Susan. "And Bliss and Beauty will show up. Bliss for the cash he expects to be paid, and Beauty because—according to Addy—she'd walk over hot coals to see Vanelleto again. You go barging up there, start asking questions, and not only will she bolt, there's no doubt she'll get in touch with the others. Plus—as I've told you, Susan-—Addy says she does not know what happened to Josh. On that point, she's as much in the dark as all of us."

  "And you believe her?"

  "She asked for my help, remember? Trusted me enough to tell me about her friends, what's about to happen at Star Lake." Cade said. "So, yes, I believe her. Even if I didn't, at this point I wouldn't risk calling her a liar."

  "She also said she and her 'friends' didn't kill Belle Bliss," Stan interjected, calmly. "A witness says otherwise."

  "A witness with a history of violence, distorting the truth, and a thirst for revenge. Not to mention a very strong desire to cover up his own actions on that day, which included the rape of Dianna Lintz."

  Stan shrugged. "That may be, but it will be interesting to
hear his side of it firsthand."

  Cade jumped on that. "Which we won't, if you"—he nodded at Susan, sitting on the bed with her arms crossed—"follow through with the woman-to-woman thing. Do that and Addy's long gone, taking Bliss, Vanelleto, and Beauty with her."

  "You're damn sure of yourself, Cade," she grumbled.

  "I'm sure of Addy, her sense of loyalty"—however misguided. "She asked for my help to prevent a murder, not hang her friends out to dry for a killing she says they had no part in."

  "Now I'd take that to mean she thinks they're capable of killing at least," Stan said.

  "We're all capable of killing, Stan, if we're pushed far enough. You've been around long enough to know that capability and culpability don't share DNA. The thing is, she'll do anything to protect them from the law and from themselves, which right now means stopping them from killing Bliss. Those three went through hell together. She won't forget that."

  Stan looked at Susan. "Now he's got a point."

  She glared at him, got up, and walked to the window overlooking the lake, leaving her back to them.

  Stan's gaze followed her, then swung back to Cade. "What do you propose?"

  "That we let as much of Addy's plan play out as possible. She's convinced she can talk her friends down. Whether she can or can't, the smart thing is to sit tight until everyone is here," he said. "Vanelleto is slated to arrive first, then Beauty and Bliss—"

  "Beauty and Bliss." Susan muttered from the window. "Fancy names for a prostitute and a criminal."

  Cade ignored her, clung to the edges of his patience. "When Vanelleto arrives"—he took a breath—"I let Addy do her thing, talk to him." He paused, hating what was to come. "Then, regardless of the results of that conversation and before the others arrive, I tell her the truth, about you, about me, and why we're here." He stopped, his mind already reacting to the hurt and anger he'd see in her eyes. "And we confront Vanelleto, try to get some answers about Belle Bliss's murder and about Josh."

  "And if we don't get the answers we want? If he refuses to cooperate?" Susan asked.

  "We take him in."

  "So far, so good," Stan said, nodding. "And Bliss, what about him?"

  "We keep Bliss away from Vanelleto for the duration. Then we make sure he gets a one-way ticket back to where he belongs, the Smithfield prison, for parole violation." None of which would be easy. "The way I see it, our best chance of getting solid information on Josh rests with Gus or Beauty."

  Cade walked to where Susan still stood by the window and rested his hands on her shoulders. "But you've got to be prepared, Susan. What we're told or not told might not be what you want to hear. If Josh is dead and either Vanelleto, Beauty, or"—God forbid.—"Addy had anything to do with it, the chances any of them come clean is nonexistent. You might be right back where you started."

  Susan turned to look up at him, her jaw set with determination. "Josh is alive, Cade. I'm closer to him now than I've ever been. I can feel it."

  Cade nodded, kissed her forehead. "Okay, we'll hold that thought."

  "And Belle Bliss's murder? What about that?" Stan said. "We're pretty busy ignoring the fact that those kids—and that includes Addilene and Beauty—are wanted for murder." He leaned forward in the chair and met Cade's gaze straight on. "We can't let that go, Harding"—he paused, looked momentarily reluctant to go on—"no matter what your feelings are for that pretty little girl up there." He gestured with his head in the general direction of the office.

  Cade went still; Brenton's words hit his dilemma dead on. Addy's name on an outstanding murder warrant and his on a criminology degree did not make for a bed of roses, ethically speaking. Add in the feelings he had for her—not yet defined, but strong enough to rattle his normally logical mind—and a man had serious trouble on his hands. But no real choice.

  Stan didn't take his eyes off him, and Susan, half-sitting on the windowsill, looked at him in surprise. When he didn't immediately answer, she asked, "Is that true, Cade? You care for the girl?"

  "Yes," he said, his curt answer more of an admission than he'd yet fully processed for himself. He rubbed the tension building in his neck. "But regardless of my feelings, Stan's right. We can't ignore the fact that Addy and the others are wanted by the police."

  "But if we bring the police in too soon..." Susan chewed her lower lip. "God, this is complicated."

  "It needn't be, if we go slowly." Ever since Susan drummed him into this action, Cade had worked to separate Josh's disappearance from Belle's murder, not wanting to get more involved than he already was. Stupid thinking then, even stupider now.

  Meeting Addy changed everything. But if they were to have a chance for more, she had to stop running and face those charges. And he'd have to make sure she did.

  "And by 'go slowly' you mean what?" Susan asked.

  Stan rose to tower over him. "What I think he means, my love, is that we play out our hand, make sure nobody kills our boy Bliss, and take it from there."

  "That's about it." With Bliss dead, his damning eyewitness statement, now in the files of the Seattle PD, might as well be etched on a stone tablet.

  Stan nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets. "If we believe your Addy—"

  "She's not my anything yet, Brenton." Never would be if this idea of his didn't pan out. Ethics or no, turning a woman over to the cops wasn't the most seductive trick in the book, which was why Cade intended she be well in the clear before the boys in blue set foot in the door. Nothing less. And if he had things figured right, Bliss was the one to do it.

  "Maybe not, but I'm guessing you'd like her to be, which puts a lot at stake. You know..." Stan shot Cade a wily glance, went on. "If we believe her, that Gus and Beauty were downstairs when Belle Bliss met up with those bullets, there's a chance Frank isn't the only one who saw something. We get everyone together..." He shrugged. "We could have ourselves some real interesting dialogue."

  Cade nodded. "We'll have a couple of hours at most. After that?" He lifted a hand. "It's game over."

  * * *

  The next morning, a tall, dark-haired man walked out the sliding airport doors into a light rain and half the heat of the Miami he'd left that afternoon.

  Seattle, just as he remembered it, green, misty, and cool.

  He took a couple of deep breaths, eased the tension from his neck and shoulders, and glanced around the crowded arrivals' walkway, keeping his expression casual.

  Airports, with their heightened security, weren't his favorite places these days, especially when he walked through them under a false name. But considering his current name and occupation were well past the ten-year mark, he felt reasonably safe taking the chance. From what the Wart told him, he sure as hell didn't have time for a leisurely cross-country drive.

  His scanning eyes caught an interested look from a security guard having a smoke near the limo stand. The look didn't come close to scrutiny, only the usual double-take at first sight of his scar. He was careful not to look away first, nodding politely before he moved along the lineup of cabs waiting for passengers along the inside arrivals lane. He tossed his duffel onto the seat of the first one available, got in and draped his arm over the seat back.

  "Where to?" the cabby asked, pushing a button to start the meter.

  "You tell me. What's a good hotel in Seattle these days? It's been a while since I was here." He kept his tone even, cab-passenger friendly. Forgettable.

  The cabby turned, scanned his well-worn leather jacket and jeans. "You a five-star man?"

  "Hardly."

  "The Hotel Philip then. Old, but the prices are good right now because of the renovations."

  "Sounds good."

  Gus Vanelleto, aka August Hammond, settled back in the cab, stared out the window, and went over his plan. First up, he needed a gun, and he needed it ASAP, which meant finding a local supplier. You had to have a death wish to carry a gun on a plane these days, and while Gus had death on his mind, it wasn't his own.

  Contrary to p
opular opinion, a guy, an unconnected guy, didn't walk down the nearest seedy alley and buy himself an unregistered handgun unless he wanted to risk buying from an undercover cop. Not that he was worried. If he knew how to do anything it was be cautious—and he had a reference. Gus didn't do alleys, not anymore.

  When he was set up, he'd give the Wart a call, have her get in touch with Beauty—make sure she didn't get to Star Lake before he did. No way was he letting that piece of shit have the advantage of getting there first. No, he'd be waiting for Bliss, that was a given.

  Then he'd do what he'd come here to do.

  Then he was gone.

  He looked out the window, only dimly aware of the sights and sounds of Seattle's fifteen years' worth of growth and change—and the place where his life had blown apart in the first place. He was all kinds of fool, coming back, risking everything he'd built over the past ten years for a girl he hadn't breathed in, talked to, or touched since he was seventeen years old. Hadn't done much touching back then either, if his memories sat right. He rubbed his mouth to hide a rare smile, at once rueful and ironic. Beauty never made it easy.

  So far in his life, she was the only woman who hadn't—not that he aimed high in the female department. No point.

  Addy said she called herself Fallon now. Fallon West. Maybe so, but she'd always be Beauty to him.

  He rested his head back, looked at the cab's scruffy roof liner. He closed his eyes and brought back the scent of her, the girl/woman who was always taking those lemony scented baths—whenever a bath was available.

  She'd taken one that day...

  The cabby hit the brakes, mumbled, "Asshole."

  The shock pulled him from his thoughts. Thoughts he didn't have time for. He was here to do a job and get out. Back to his life. He sure as hell wasn't here to waste his time on a woman, any woman. Even Beauty. He'd been alone this long and he intended to keep it that way.

  It was safer that way. For one thing, the less either Beauty or Wart knew about what happened to the boy, the better off they were. Being wanted for Belle's murder was enough. They didn't need to know the rest.

  Gus's plan was simple—do what he had to do to ensure Bliss didn't trouble any of them ever again.