Killing Bliss

by EC Sheedy

  Addy loosened her grip on the chair, her brain worked to place the cliff he was talking about. Sixty, eighty-foot drop? Mentally tracing the roads leading to Star Lake, she blinked.

  She shouldn't have.

  Grover finished the last of his hamburger, his second one, and wiped the drippings from his mouth. He folded the dirty napkin, crushed the empty paper cup that held his cola, and put everything back in the serving bag.

  He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a flashlight, which he'd been smart enough to get new batteries for at the last gas station. He got out of his Honda, pulled his raincoat over his head, and walked through the wet grass and low bush to the Lexus, where he let the air out of all four tires.

  He trained the flashlight on his handiwork and stood back to admire it. Instead, he found himself admiring the car, allowing the focus of light to play over the silver grill, the brilliant red hood.

  Red. The color of power. The color of blood.

  He plodded back to his car, got in, and wriggled himself out of his damp coat. When he'd reclined the seat as far as it would go, he rested his head back.

  No need to hurry.

  He'd give Bliss enough time to either kill or be killed, then he'd go in and clean up whoever was left.

  He closed his eyes. It was good to be in charge, good to have a plan.

  * * *

  About the time Cade figured Vanelleto was never going to speak again, Gus said, "This grandmother. Why did she let the state take her grandson?"

  "She didn't know they had." Cade ran through Susan's story quickly, no embellishment, ending with, "By the time they found her, put two and two together, Belle Bliss had been dead for two weeks, and the boy was gone. She's been looking for him ever since."

  "Enter ex-cop Harding to save the day," he said flatly. "And maybe pick up a few bucks along the way."

  "Ex-cop—and family, Vanelleto. A nonprofit enterprise."

  He didn't reply. As smart as he was cautious, Vanelleto obviously intended to stay one step ahead of the conversation. Hell, Cade knew less about him now than he had when he walked into this room a half hour ago.

  "You know I'm the one they say killed Belle," Vanelleto went on.

  "So I'm told. Did you?" Cade asked.

  "I thought you said you weren't interested in the murder, that your only concern was the missing kid."

  "It started out that way, but... things changed." I met Addy. He looked toward the cabin's night-darkened window, heard the rain running off the cedar-roofed porch, and rubbed his chin. His feelings for Addy weren't up for discussion, nor was showing vulnerability to a man like Vanelleto. "Turns out one is pretty much linked to the other."

  "Which puts you and me in a real interesting place, doesn't it? You, the bloodhound all primed to sniff out a murderer. Me, by all accounts, the guilty party." He lifted his brows, looked faintly amused. "Complicated."

  "Only if you are guilty."

  Vanelleto eyed him for a long time. "And if I'm not?"

  Cade took the few steps to the counter, flattened both hands on it "If you're not, you've been spending a lot of years running from something you didn't do and wasting a hell of a lot of time pretending to be somebody you're not." He stopped, added, "If you're not, I'd like to help you, Addy, and Beauty set the record straight." Cade was certain Vanelleto knew more about that night than he was letting on. He'd also noticed he talked easier about the murder than he did the missing boy, so he went there. "You may not know anything about the boy, but I think you know who killed Belle Bliss."

  Silence.

  Cade fired his last salvo. "And I know you've come here to kill her son." He smiled at him for the first time. "A pretty bad plan, by the way."

  Vanelleto's head came up, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Our little chat has been swell, Harding." With the barest shift of his chin, he gestured toward the door. "You know the way out."

  Cade stared at the hard-edged man in front of him. Talking to him was like whispering into a black vortex that sucked everything in and gave nothing back. Pushing any harder—right now—was nothing but a waste of Cade's time.

  He headed for the door, opened it a crack. A slice of wet night air sliced into the cold cabin. "I'll tell Addy you're here." He shot a glance over his shoulder. "We'll be talking again, Vanelleto. If not about Belle, about the boy." Opening the door fully, he looked out at the black, mist-shrouded night His eyes immediately shifted their focus to the light in Addy's window.

  His blood pooled in his veins.

  "Jesus. No." He took off in a full-out run.

  Chapter 24

  "What was that?" Susan shot to an upright position in bed, looked blearily at the bedside clock. A little after three.

  "Hm-m." Stan frowned in his sleep, but didn't open his eyes.

  "I heard a shout, I'm sure of it." Susan got out of bed and padded toward the window, but other than blackness and driving rain, she saw nothing.

  Awake now, she was reluctant to return to the bed, even though the cabin was refrigerator-cold, the last of the fire having died out hours ago. She rubbed her shivery upper arms, wrapped them tight around herself, and continued to stare out the window into the bleakness.

  The last few days had been unsettling, and more than ever her lost grandson haunted her. For unfathomable reasons, she felt closer to him than ever—and it frightened her, made her afraid that if she found him, she wouldn't be what he needed, that he'd find her wanting. Perhaps even hate her for not being there for him—or his mother.

  "Mariah," she whispered. "I'll find him. I promise." And I'll never, never let him down, like I did you.

  "My darling," Stan stood behind her, tall as an oak and equally as comforting. "It's cold. You should be under the covers."

  "I'm all right," she said, resting her head back against his chest. She was a lucky woman, finding this kind of love in the latter part of her life, and she celebrated it every day as a blessing she didn't deserve. "I was thinking about Josh."

  "I know." He held her close.

  "We have to find him, Stan... for Mariah."

  "And for you." He kissed the top of her head.

  "Yes, and for me." She closed her eyes against the useless tears. So little, and so very, very late. Tears wouldn't bring back her daughter, and they wouldn't wash away her failure to be the mother she should have been. Nothing would do that, but when she found Josh—and she would find him—she hoped her daughter's sad and troubled soul would rest easier. Mariah's choices had ruined her, left her sick and addicted—and desolate—until finally they killed her. But Susan knew to the depths of her soul that Mariah would have loved her son, hopelessly and helplessly, as she had loved Mariah.

  "Come to bed, love," Stan said. "It's cold as a winter creek in here."

  "I should have tried harder with Mariah. Maybe if I'd—"

  Stan turned her to face him. "Don't." He shook his big head. "All the maybes and should-haves on planet Earth won't change the way things turned out. You know that. And whatever happens here at Star Lake, you'll have done all you can for your daughter and her son."

  "But I—"

  He put a finger on her lips. "Shush now." He led her back to the bed and settled her in. "If your thoughts must go bump in the night, love, tilt them toward the wishes and dreams department, and away from the trouble and woe." He got into bed beside her, and pulled her close. "It helps."

  "You help," she said, cuddling closer. "I should have found you years ago."

  She felt his smile in the dark. "Now there you go with the should-haves again. We're together now. That's all that matters."

  "Yes... that's what matters." That and finding my grandson.

  * * *

  Cade, his heart pounding, slammed his way through Addy's door. Right behind him was Gus Vanelleto. Cade's senses went into overload.

  Words registered darkly, soured his brain.

  "I said back off, Bliss."

  "Gonna fuck you good, Wart..."


  A scene played out, a second, a lifetime.

  Addy had her back against the far wall, her face was bloodied, and her shirt was torn half off her body, exposing a shoulder and one bare breast. She was wielding a tiny pair of scissors as if they were a machete, the slim blades her only defense against a muscular blond man who loomed over her, his face a boil of rage... and enjoyment.

  The explosion in Cade's mind was violent, fierce and red.

  He dimly heard Vanelleto spit out the words, "Son of a bitch. Bliss." before he lunged.

  Vanelleto was fast, but Cade was faster.

  Neither of them was fast enough.

  Bliss spun to face them, his face flat with shock, a gun raised but wobbling in a shaking hand.

  Addy screamed, "Stop, Cade. Don't. He'll kill you."

  Jesus, don't what? Kill the bastard?

  "If you're smart, you'll listen to the bitch." Bliss steadied the gun, now shifted it smoothly between him and Vanelleto.

  Cade took another step, bloodlust overriding rationality. Vanelleto gripped his arm. "Ease up, Harding," he said, his tone diamond hard, calm as glass. "You won't do the Wart any good if you're dead."

  A big, buffoonish grin split Bliss's face, and he shifted the gun an inch or two in Vanelleto's direction. It was a missile in his grip now, stabilized and dead straight. "Hey, Gus, old man. It's been a while."

  "Not long enough," the still, dark Vanelleto said.

  Bliss laughed and his gaze shot to Cade, did a quick assessment. "This your main man, Wart?" he said, turning his head, but not his gaze, briefly toward Addy who was slightly behind and to his side.

  Addy, with Bliss's attention on Gus, had sidled a step or two away. To keep it that way, Cade answered for her. "I'm the man telling you to back off, Bliss." From the corner of his eye, he saw Addy garner another few inches of safety. "Let her go."

  He took a step forward to get Bliss's full attention and keep the gun trained on him. Addy froze where she stood.

  "Harding, right? I heard about you," Bliss said. "You're looking for the kid for that old lady."

  How the hell did he know that? "I said let her go."

  Bliss's expression chilled. "I'm not much for taking orders, Harding, so I'll be doing whatever the hell I feel like doing." He lowered the gun, aimed it at Cade's kneecap. "But you? You move again, and you'll need a set of rollers. You got that?"

  Cade's blood still coursed wildly along his veins, his heart still hammered in his chest, but his brain had kicked in, telling him there was a better than even chance he and Vanelleto could take Bliss, given the opportunity. By his estimate, they were less than six feet away. Addy started to move again.

  A few more inches...

  "I see you're the same piece of scum you always were, Bliss. Waving guns, beating up women... killing others." Vanelleto spoke softly, his gaze lethally cold, his words clipped and direct. "That last woman in Pittsburgh? You really did a number on her, didn't you? Must be proud of that. Kept her for five days, they said." He scratched his jaw, idly, slowly. "Seven years wasn't long enough. Should have stuck a needle in you, finished you off for good." He paused. "The Smithfield pen, wasn't it?"

  Bliss transferred his full attention to Vanelleto, and a look of unadulterated loathing tore between the two men. The room writhed with it, a soul-deep hatred only a death could cure. "You keeping track of me?" Bliss hissed.

  "Always," Vanelleto said.

  His curt response seemed to make Bliss nervous. "If I were you, Vanelleto, I'd shut the fuck up." He jerked the gun. "I'm the one in charge now."

  "I don't think so." Vanelleto ignored the gun, took a step toward him. "I think a half-million dollars is in charge. A half-million you'll never see if you fire that piece."

  Bliss narrowed his gaze, his brutish mind distracted by his own greed, embroiled in murky reasoning and self-interest.

  It was enough.

  Addy shot to Cade's side. Bliss—alarmed—refocused; he swung the gun wildly in her direction. Cade enveloped her, spun her away, and dropped them both to the floor—giving his back to Bliss.

  He fired.

  * * *

  In Cabin Seven, Stan and Susan shot to wakefulness.

  "What was that?" Susan said, her hand flying to her chest.

  Stan flicked on the bedside light, and already had his legs in his pants, when he said, "That was a gunshot." He grabbed his shirt. "And my guess is it came from up the office way."

  Susan's eyes widened. "Oh, no. The girl." She threw the covers back, got out of bed, and made for the door.

  "Susan, get back here. I'll see to it."

  She turned on him. "Don't even think about that 'little woman' bit."

  He sighed. "Damn. Better you with me than running around on your own. Get your coat then, and put something on your feet," he instructed. "And you don't even think of barging in there until I take a look around. You hear me?"

  His tone didn't leave room for argument, so she nodded. "I wish I hadn't given Cade my gun."

  "Dear God, all we need is you roaring around with a pistol." He took her hand. "Come with me, then, and stay close."

  * * *

  The bullet tore along the back of Cade's shoulder, a white hot sear of pain that took his breath away. Only Addy's scream hurt him more.

  He faded out...

  He didn't see the knife that appeared like smoke in Vanelleto's hand, coming from somewhere at the back of his neck.

  He didn't see its lethal edge pierce Bliss's muscled arm, cut through sinew to bone, as if it had been shot from a precision bow.

  And he didn't see Bliss sink to his knees, or Vanelleto lean over him and slowly pull the blade out.

  Addy slid out from under Cade, desperate to hear a moan, an intake of breath.

  "Cade, Cade." She moved her hands over him, weak with fear, barely able to see for the blood caking her eyelids. Terrified to touch him, terrified not to, she said his name again and again. His soft irritated moan was a gift. He was alive.

  He rolled over, winced in pain. "You okay?" he asked.

  "I'm okay." She touched his shoulder. "Can't say the same for you. God, he almost killed you."

  "He's all right," Vanelleto interrupted, sounding irritated. "The bullet didn't hit anything major. Get some towels before the man ruins your carpet."

  Addy helped Cade to his feet, her heart still thrumming from Bliss's attack, the bullet's near miss.

  She ran to her bathroom, grabbed some towels, and quickly replaced her torn shirt.

  Handing a towel to Cade, she did an inventory. Gus was right. Addy was no nurse, but from where she sat, the bullet—the bullet meant for her—had grazed his upper back and torn a two-inch strip of flesh from the top of his shoulder.

  Thank God, he'd be okay.

  Unfortunately, so would Bliss, the trash slumped against the sofa. Blood oozed from a wound in the soft flesh where arm joined shoulder. Too high to have hit an artery, but either shock or anger had dazed him to a state of semiconsciousness.

  Cade slanted a gaze toward Gus, who was sliding the knife into a sheath hidden down the back of his shirt. "You didn't kill him," he said, seeming surprised.

  His answer was a shrug.

  Addy studied her friend, then slowly shook her head as understanding dawned. She spoke to Cade, but her eyes were on Gus. "He didn't kill him because Bliss is the only one who knows what really happened that night. It would be dumb to kill him. Arid Gus isn't dumb. Am I right?"

  "Close enough."

  Aching with relief, she walked over to Vanelleto and wrapped her arms around him. "I should have thought of that sooner. I'm sorry, Gus. Sorry to have dragged you into this mess. Me and my stupid plan."

  She hugged him fiercely and, without relaxing a muscle into her embrace, he let her hold him a moment before he pushed her away and kissed her on the forehead. "Good to see you, Wart."

  "You won't think so when I tell you—" She didn't know how to say it aloud, afraid the spoken word would make it real.
"I think Bliss hurt Beauty, Gus." The words shot out of her, and she gave the bleeding man a look of pure loathing.

  Gus went stone still. "Hurt? What do you mean 'hurt'? "

  She couldn't tell him everything Bliss said. Even Gus's self-control had a breaking point. "He told me he pushed her off a cliff on the way here. And there's only one place it could be." She stopped. "He left her for dead, Gus. Like she was nothing."

  "Show me," he ordered. "Now."

  Addy looked at Cade, hesitated, unable to ignore the blood running down his arm, knew the pain he was in. "First we call a doctor," she said, trying not to think of all the questions a doctor would ask before calling the police. She headed for the phone.

  "No." With his good arm, Cade pulled a gun from his pocket. "Forget the doctor. That'll mean I have to explain asshole over there"—he gestured with the gun at Bliss—"and use time we don't have."

  "Get me some rope, twine, something," Vanelleto said to Addy.

  "I've got fishing line, will that work?"

  "You're dead meat, Vanelleto. Big mistake leaving me alive." Bliss spit on the carpet, grimaced. "You'll be watching your back the rest of your fuckin' life."

  "Get the line, Wart, and some duct tape," Gus ordered, not bothering to acknowledge Bliss's threat.

  While Vanelleto trussed up the now conscious and growingly belligerent Bliss and taped his mouth, Addy splashed cold water over her face in the kitchen sink. Her face would be one giant bruise for days, but at least she could open her eyes.

  Cade handed her a towel. "On your way, stop at Cabin Seven," he said. "Tell Stan Brenton I sent you. You'll need another pair of hands, and he won't ask questions—"

  "For now." Stan stepped into the room, followed by Susan. "We'll take your truck," he said. "Better suited. We'll need flashlights, some rope—"

  "I've got rope," Addy said, staring at Stan, then Cade. "You know these people?" she asked, thoroughly confused.

  Cade ignored her. "There's a couple of flashlights in the truck. If you need more, you'd better get them," he said. "And you'd better move fast."