by Virna DePaul
A uniformed cop grabbed at his arm, but he jerked away and dodged around him.
Relief washed over him when he saw her. She was sitting on the front stoop, her eyes dull and vacant, her body painfully frail under an oversize long-sleeved shirt and sweats. “Lily!”
She didn’t look up at his call, but the cop standing next to her did. He rushed forward and planted himself on the sidewalk, blocking John’s view of Lily.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “but you need to leave.”
John craned his neck and caught sight of Lily’s father standing just inside the doorway. Their eyes locked and John instinctively flinched. Fear. Grief. Anguish. There were no words to describe the other man’s torment. Blood stained the foyer’s white walls.
“Lily!” He tried to push past the cop standing in his way only to be shoved back.
“Knock it off, or I’m going to have to take you in.”
Mindless with worry, John tried to dodge to the left, grunting when the cop got him in a choke hold. “Lily,” he gasped, needing to know. “Is she hurt?”
The cop shook John’s head like a maraca. “She’s not hurt. But she’s in shock. Now ease up, man. You are going to back off. Do we understand each other?”
John’s panic subsided just a hair. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Okay.”
Slowly, the cop loosened his grip. “What’s your name?”
“My name is John Tyler. We’re—we’re friends.”
Before the cop could respond, an EMT jostled by them and guided Lily to her feet. He led her down the walkway toward the ambulance, passing within two feet of John.
Lily walked slowly, almost robotically. She stared straight ahead. Didn’t acknowledge him in any way.
All John could think about was her declaration of love and the way he’d thrown it back at her earlier that evening. “Lily,” he murmured.
She stopped.
John held his breath, waiting for her to speak. Scream. Cry. Anything.
Tentatively, he reached out and touched her face, surprised when the cop didn’t stop him.
“Lily. It’s John. Are you okay?”
He saw a flare of recognition in her eyes just before she reached out and slapped him. Staggering back, John felt someone grab his arm to steady him.
Grief flashed in Lily’s eyes. And then there was nothing.
The EMT walked her to the ambulance and helped her in. Her father quickly followed. John watched the ambulance drive away, then collapsed to his knees. In his peripheral vision, he once more saw blood. Then he threw up.
* * *
“John!”
John’s head snapped back at the sound of Murdoch’s raised voice.
“Dude, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and not explain. You were there when Tina Cantrell was killed? And her daughter slapped you? Why?”
It was the last thing John wanted to talk about—hell, he’d just mentally relived it and his heart was aching—but Murdoch was working the investigation, too, and he had a right to know.
“Lily, Tina Cantrell’s daughter, and my sister, Carmen, were best friends growing up. The night of the murder was my last night in town. My ex-girlfriend planned a going-away party for me so I canceled dinner plans I’d made with Lily and Carmen weeks before. It hurt Lily. A lot.”
“And she slugged you.”
Yes, but not because of the canceled dinner. Because she’d defied her mother to come to him and he’d pushed her away.
And because she had blamed him.
Some part of her had blamed him for her mother’s death, just like she blamed herself.
“Did Thorn know—”
“He knows my family and Lily’s family were neighbors. That our parents were friends. As to the fact Lily slapped me that night...” John shrugged. “It was in the police report, which Thorn has. But I never told him myself.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it wasn’t relevant.” He’d thought about it a lot. It was a gray issue, but not a true conflict. Lily, after all, wasn’t a suspect in the case. “Chris Hardesty has already been convicted for Tina’s murder. To the extent he’s challenging that conviction, it’s just a last-ditch effort to stop the execution. I’m only looking into the case to eliminate the notion that someone else killed Tina and is now killing these girls.”
“But what if Hardesty’s exonerated? What if the investigation begins to focus on Lily’s father? Or Lily herself?”
Laughing, John shook his head. “You can’t be serious. The father, maybe. Even though he was a cop, he and Tina were estranged, so he’s still a P.O.I. in my opinion. Lily? Ridiculous. If you saw her, you’d see what I mean. And even if some evidence turns up to implicate her, we weren’t lovers. She was a kid who had a crush on me. Thorn would handle questioning her, not me.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” But Murdoch, his disapproval self-evident, still didn’t leave.
Scowling, John growled, “You got something to say to me, Murdoch?”
“It just seems like you’re working really hard to justify working on this case.”
“Justify? I’ve been working The Razor murders for almost a year. I’m not letting him get away from me now.”
“I can take over—”
“Don’t piss me off, Murdoch. I have a job to do, and I’ll do it. I want this guy. I want him bad. And I’m gonna get him. There’s no evidence The Razor killed Tina. But if I find something indicating otherwise, I won’t ignore it.”
“You’re a good cop. I’m not saying otherwise. But—”
“Look, I’ve got to call Thorn. Keep me posted, okay?” He looked down at the file, deliberately dismissing the other man.
After a second, Murdoch stiffly said, “Sure,” then left.
John looked at the phone and thought about calling Thorn, but he wanted to talk to Lily before he did. He also wanted to follow up with some witnesses. The cops who’d reported to the murder scene. And the man who’d been dating Lily’s mother fifteen years ago, the man Lily had often referred to as “the gym rat.” Park, he reminded himself.
The guy’s name had been Mason Park.
He wouldn’t want to mess up and call him “gym rat” to his face, even if Lily could appreciate it.
Remembering Murdoch’s concerns about a conflict, John snorted. There was no chance in hell Lily had anything to do with her mother’s death. Anyone who said otherwise was just plain stupid.
Chapter 3
Lily was running.
Running from her mother, who’d slapped her.
Running from John, who’d hurt her.
Running but going nowhere.
Suddenly, she stopped. She saw two figures wrestling, each trying to gain control over the other but neither succeeding. The dance continued for minutes. Hours. Days. The entire time, she watched, unable to move, unable to scream. Although she couldn’t distinguish one from the other, couldn’t see more than shadows, she knew who the figures were. A dark-haired woman, dressed in blue silk and heels. And a grizzled dirty man with tangled white hair and vacant blue eyes. The homeless man she’d talked with at the park.
Her mother and Hardesty. Dancing. Yelling. Fighting.
She saw a sharp steel blade, already stained red, sink into flesh, then make a wet, sucking sound as it retracted. Again and again the motion repeated itself, the sucking sounds becoming shrill screams that ended each time the knife withdrew and began once more when it hit its mark.
Then things quieted. The knife and the blood disappeared. Two figures became three. Then four. Then five.
She clearly saw her mother, huddled on the ground. A tall shadow of a man—somehow she knew it was a man—lifted her mother into his arms and carried her away. Her mother reached out to her, pleading with her. “You don’t know, Lily. You don’t understand. He’s not the man you think he is.”
Light flashed and Lily tried to run, but her feet were glued to the ground with blood. Her stomach
heaved and she fought the urge to throw up.
A man grabbed her arm on each side.
The first was Hardesty.
The second was her father.
“You’ll be rewarded for your kindness,” Hardesty said. “You’ll be rewarded.”
“It’s all your fault, Lily,” her father moaned. “Remember. It’s all your fault.”
Lily jerked awake, stifling the scream climbing her throat. Sweat drenched her clothes, chilling her. She immediately raised her hand to her face. It was flushed but dry. She turned onto her side and curled back into a ball.
Even in sleep she couldn’t cry. Couldn’t let out the grief inside her. Like a malignant growth that had become a part of its host, excising it would bring death as surely as the disease itself. She needed to hold on to the grief to survive. To keep her from making the same mistakes.
Only why were her dreams back, worse than before? What did Hardesty’s words mean? And was her father’s presence alongside Hardesty a twisted form of self-punishment or a hint of something else? Some repressed memory?
But that was ridiculous.
Seeing John was playing with her head, that was all. How could it not? The guy was threatening the closure she and her family needed. The closure her mother deserved. And as powerful as her attraction had been to him in the past, she couldn’t ignore the way her body had responded to his closeness. When he’d caged her in and towered over her, every nerve in her body had gone ballistic.
It was some kind of chemical reaction, and she wasn’t a young girl to be carried away by hormones. Not anymore. Hardesty was guilty and she’d fight John and the D.A. and the governor himself if they tried arguing otherwise.
Forcing herself to her feet, Lily walked to the kitchen and filled a glass of water from the sink. She drank in desperate swallows, even as she caught sight of the blinking red light on her answering machine. Needing to compose herself, she’d turned the ringer off after John had left. Slowly, she walked over to it, and pushed the Play button.
Her brother-in-law’s voice came on and she sighed with relief that the message wasn’t from John or one of Hardesty’s attorneys.
“Hey, Lily, this is Aaron. Damn. I was hoping you’d be home. Listen, Ivy and Ashley have been fighting like crazy and I’m getting frustrated.”
Frowning, Lily put down her glass. Aaron sounded frantic even though Lily’s sister, Ivy, had always tended to butt heads with her daughter, fourteen-year-old Ashley. Even Lily’s father and stepmother, Barb, had stepped in, spending more time with the girl in an effort to give her and Ivy breathing room.
“I know you two—I mean, I know you’re busy, but I thought you could come over for dinner tomorrow night? Ashley’s going to a dance and I’m driving her, so you’d have time to talk alone. Ivy could really use someone right now and I know you’d want to help her. You have such a big heart, Lily.”
You’ll be rewarded for your kindness, Hardesty’s voice whispered in her mind.
Lily instinctively covered her ears. She bit her lip but heard her panicked whimper anyway. Slowly, she lowered her hands.
“—can call me at work. The number’s—”
Lily lunged and pressed the Stop button. She knew the number and she wasn’t a fool. Aaron’s message had to be some kind of sign. Despite how her sister had pulled away from her after their mother’s death, Ivy needed her. And Lily needed her, too.
Seeing John had shaken her to the depths of her soul, and not simply because of the investigation.
She was too afraid of the memories.
Too afraid of the panic coming out of nowhere.
Too afraid of suffocating in the darkness when she lay in bed, trying to hold off sleep but knowing eventually the dreams would claim her.
Most of all, she was afraid of how John had made her feel. He’d shattered the control she’d fought so long to achieve. Made her feel things she hadn’t felt for years.
Lust. Longing. Recklessness.
Those feelings scared her most of all.
Even though it wasn’t quite 7 a.m., Lily knew Aaron would already be at his law office. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.
“Aaron Bancroft.”
“Hi,” she said, feeling more grounded just hearing Aaron’s voice. “It’s Lily.”
“Hey, Lily! You got my message?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And it’s perfect timing. I’d love to come to dinner. Have you already asked Ivy—”
“That’s awesome, Lily!”
Lily chewed her lip. “But are you sure it’s going to be all right with Ivy?”
Aaron gave a strained laugh. “Come on, Lily. You’re family. You know you’re welcome to come over any time. Ivy’ll welcome the company.”
If she felt better, she might have called him on his blatant lie. “Still, I’ll call her. After work—”
Once again, he interrupted her, an impatient edge to his voice. “Don’t piss me off, Lily. Please.”
She felt her brows lift. She’d known Aaron since before her parents split up. He’d never used that grim voice with her before. “But—” She hesitated, remembering his atypical request for help. Even if Ivy didn’t welcome her with open arms, Aaron and Ashley would. “Okay. Thank you. And—well—my father and Barb, they won’t be there, will they?” Despite how she’d threatened John with going to her father, she didn’t think she could handle seeing her dad. Not when she was already feeling so shaky from seeing John.
“No. But he misses you, Lily. You might want to give him a call.”
Hearing the slight reproach in Aaron’s voice, Lily didn’t bother to respond. She knew it was unfair, but she couldn’t change how she felt—she’d never forgiven her father for leaving them for another woman. Or for failing to save her mother.
And she’d never forgiven herself.
Wearily, Lily sat on her couch. She smoothed her finger over the binding of one chenille pillow. She forced her voice to sound cheery. “See you tomorrow night.” She pulled the phone away from her ear just as Aaron spoke again.
“Ivy feels helpless—like she’s losing her daughter. You being here will help.”
There was nothing Lily could say. She was the last person to give parenting advice, but she’d try almost anything to feel close to her family again.
Don’t hope too much, Lily. Don’t let yourself be hurt again. A pleasant dinner wasn’t going to erase fifteen years of tension and distance.
Lily showered and dressed for work, but didn’t bother with breakfast. She’d grab something on the way. At the door, she studied the picture hanging on the wall. It was of the four of them—her father and mother, her sister and herself. Arms around each other. Smiling. Happy. Reaching out, Lily traced the shape of her mother’s face.
She remembered the gruesome dream, how sharp the knife had looked, how loud the screams had been, how she could almost feel the gush of blood escape from her mother’s body and onto her clothes and the floor.
It was her greatest heartache. She couldn’t think of her mother, couldn’t look at her picture, without imagining her being hurt. Without feeling guilt for hurting her, as well.
The same thing happened whenever she saw or thought of John.
Resolutely, she straightened her shoulders and did what she always did when leaving the house. She kissed her fingertips, touched them to her mother’s image, then said, “Be back soon,” before heading outside.
Chapter 4
The large room at the Mercy Rehabilitation Clinic was meant for serious activity. The red-and-yellow checkered vinyl floor and cheery yellow walls had been sealed to withstand spilled paint, markers, clay, glue and plaster of Paris. Aside from Lily and Fiona, however, the room was deserted and quiet. Lily smiled at the little girl, who’d been dropped off for her weekly appointment by her new foster parents. Fiona looked positively radiant, even if she still hadn’t said a word. No surprise since she hadn’t talked since the accident.
“I’m making another exception for you, Lily. But I can’t make it a habit. Please understand that.”
Lily brought her attention back to the woman on the phone. “I know, Dr. Tyler. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t so important.”
“Our prior agreement still stands. I can’t talk to you about John or Carmen. I’m not even sure I—”
Before Dr. Tyler could change her mind about meeting her, Lily said, “Thank you, Dr. Tyler. I’ll see you soon.” Lily hung up the phone and stared at it.
She couldn’t believe she’d actually called John’s mother for a therapy appointment, but she had no one else to go to. The dreams were getting worse and she needed to talk to someone—a professional—about what they might mean. And John’s mother was a licensed therapist, one who’d helped her after her mother’s murder, so she already knew all the relevant facts about her history and her mother’s case.
“Someone’s here to see you.”
Lily’s body jerked and she let out a frightened scream. One of the on-duty nurses frowned at her.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”
Lily forced a laugh and raised a hand to cover her racing heart. “I’m fine,” she said. She glanced at Fiona again. “We were just concentrating, weren’t we, Fiona?”
The little girl smiled but didn’t answer. She went back to her drawing, her little tongue poking out of her mouth.
Lily shifted her gaze to the boy standing in the hallway. Albert Sanchez quickly looked away, feigning interest in the worn linoleum floor. Conflicting emotions momentarily held her paralyzed.
Albert had been discharged from the hospital less than three weeks ago, five months after he’d staggered into the emergency room with complaints of “intense headaches.” Turned out he’d had a bullet in his skull. Although it hadn’t taken his life, the bullet had damaged his speech and his coordination. Lily had worked with him for months, surprised by his unwavering enthusiasm for anything artistic. She’d developed a genuine affection for the boy and he’d seemed to get increasingly comfortable with her. But once he’d been discharged, he hadn’t returned.
