The Dark Age_A Marlowe Gentry Thriller

by Dallas Mullican

  Her expression broke his heart. So wounded, she longed for any sign things might turn for her and Paige…for her and him.

  “We’ve been drifting apart for a while now. You know that. I was afraid our circumstances pulled us together and once those disappeared, so would our closeness. You saw me through a horrible period with Michael. I couldn’t have endured much more. But he’s in jail now, and not coming back; the threat’s gone. You saved me from poor Max and dealt with the Seraphim. Everything connecting us was born of tragedy and pain.” Tears leaked from her eyes. She loathed weakness in herself and roughly wiped her face with the back of a hand.

  “I don’t believe that. I can’t. There’s more and you know it.” The words came unbidden with a need to protect her—a need that drew him to her in the first place. If he stopped to question whether the desire lay in guilt or love, he might find the answer elusive.

  She shook her head. “No, no I don’t. I needed a white knight, and you yearned for a second chance. A chance to save me the way you couldn’t Katy.”

  True enough, but spoken aloud, the statement hit him in the gut and twisted in his heart. He withdrew his hand, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that,” said Becca.

  Marlowe shook it away. “Can’t we give it a little more time?”

  “I don’t think it will matter.” Her eyes, cool with restrained sentiment, locked onto his.

  “I-I…” Marlowe fumbled for the right words to say.

  The latch on the front door clicked, and a second later, Mable entered carrying a Walmart sack in each hand. A horn blared from outside.

  Marlowe sighed, squeezed Becca’s hand, and stood. He met Mable, took a bag from her, and craned his head, trying to get a glimpse of the disturbance.

  “What’s that all about?” he asked.

  “Don’t know. Some fool doing ten miles per hour down the road. Mr. Hinderman’s behind ‘em and pissed off at the slowpoke.” The plump nanny waddled across the living room floor, her floral dress swishing back and forth.

  Marlowe shifted the sack to his left hand and stepped around Mable to the doorway. The bumper of Mr. Hinderman’s old Ford F150 tailed inches from the car’s rear end. He laid down on the horn again. The black Mercedes’ driver’s side window lowered a fraction, and a hand extended past the glass to flick a cigarette into the yard. Though he stood a good two hundred yards away, Marlowe understood the gesture. The window closed and a roar rose from the car as it shot forward, disappearing behind the neighboring tree line. Mr. Hinderman glanced Marlowe’s way and flipped his hands in anger at the now absent car. Marlowe nodded and shrugged.

  He dashed back into the house, his eyes darting around the room. “Becca, I need Paige and Mable to stay with you for a few days.”

  “Marlowe, we just talked about this.” She stared at him as though he had lost his mind.

  “Dammit, Becca, I need your help.” He spun toward her, his eyes wide with worry.

  The urgency in his voice, and the concern on his face, brought her to her feet. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Probably nothing, but I’m not taking any chances. I want Paige somewhere safe.”

  Becca shook her head and moved toward him. “I don’t know, Marlowe. I want her safe too, but if you’re in danger…I don’t think I can be a cop’s wif—significant other again. I can’t be afraid all the time. Can’t your buddies on the force do something?”

  “Metro? No. We’re out of Metro’s jurisdiction. And I can’t call County, there’s nothing to act on. No real threat yet. I couldn’t even get a restraining order.”

  “I don’t know.” She tugged at the front of her t-shirt.

  Marlowe took her by the shoulders, gentle but firm. “I need you, Becca. Please, do this for me.”

  She stared into his eyes a moment, and their anxious plea seemed to persuade her. Becca nodded. Marlowe marched into the kitchen.

  “Mable, pack a suitcase. Enough for a couple of days, and help Paige gather clothes and anything she’ll need. If necessary, I’ll come back for more.”

  “Why, Marlowe? What’s going on?” Mable placed cans of ravioli on the shelf and turned to face him.

  “No time to explain. Nothing to worry about, only a precaution. Please, just do it. And hurry.”

  Mable left the remainder of the groceries on the counter and rushed to her room. Marlowe returned to the living room, retrieved his jacket, and rifled through the pockets.

  “Where’s my goddamn phone?”

  “What are you doing?” asked Becca.

  Marlowe drew his phone from the jacket and scanned the directory of numbers. “Calling in a favor.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  Marlowe hefted two suitcases from the Explorer’s rear, closed the hatch, and trudged up the drive. Becca’s home on Emerald Lane sat at the top of a single street running in a U-shape through the community. The scenic suburb, with the close proximity of neighbors, should provide a greater deterrent to any would be assailants than his secluded rural residence. He dropped the luggage in the foyer and made a pass around the exterior of the home. A forest of dense trees butted the property roughly a hundred yards from the back patio, and thirty to forty yards separated the house from those on each side, high fences in between. Satisfied no threat lurked in the shadows, Marlowe entered the house and checked to make certain every door and window was locked.

  “I know you don’t like this, but thank you.” Marlowe found Becca in the kitchen where she busied herself washing dishes in the sink, a subtle jab not lost on him. “I feel better with Paige here.”

  When he filled her in on the situation, Becca’s eyes had popped wide before narrowing to slits, and her jaw clenched with grinding teeth. She alternated from fear to anger, changing her mind a dozen times but finally relenting, and in the end, still appeared none too pleased with the idea.

  “You’re right, I don’t like it. I thought with Michael out of my life, the danger was gone too. I wouldn’t have to deal with wackos anymore.” Her voice carried more than a little strain, but she shook her head and softened. “It’s okay, I’m stressed out. I don’t want anything to happen to Paige either, so if you think staying here is safer, you guys are welcome for as long as you want. Mi casa, es su casa.” She attempted a smile, but managed only a subtle upward curve of her lips.

  Marlowe wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. She stiffened under his touch, and his heart sank. Pulling her into this predicament was unfair, and he felt like a heel for doing so. Still recovering from last year’s terrifying ordeal, she had only recently stopped jumping at shadows. She’d gone through so much with Michael, her abusive prick of a now ex-husband, then was attacked by the Seraphim Killer, and finally held hostage by a dying man crazed out of his mind; putting her in harm’s way again reeked of selfishness, but he didn’t see another option. Although he was keeping it to himself for the moment, Marlowe did have a plan, or at the least a defense strategy. He wished it would hurry up and arrive.

  Marlowe went upstairs where Paige sulked in a bedroom, refusing to come down. Set aside for guests, it lacked any hint of frequent use. Furnished with the necessities—bed, dresser, nightstand, walls adorned with framed prints of landscapes—the room felt stuffy, like a quaint bed and breakfast trying too hard to feel homey. Forced from her toys and the comfort of familiar surroundings, Paige stood disgruntled in the center of the room, twisting the nappy red hair on one of her dolls. The pout of her full lips and the scrunch of her nose would have been cute if not for the tantrum bubbling behind her eyes.

  “I don’t like it here. I want to go home.” Petulant, she glared at the plaid bedcover—a far cry from the Little Mermaid who swam on her comforter at home.

  “Honey, don’t make this difficult. Please. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. I need you to be a big girl for me, okay?” Marlowe took her under the arms and hoisted her onto the bed.

 
“’Cause you’re afraid of a bad man?” She looked up at him with equal parts inquisition and judgment. “I’m not afraid. You should stay here and let me and Mable go home.”

  Marlowe mustered a grin. “You’re braver than me. I need you to protect me.”

  Paige sucked on her bottom lip, considering the notion. “I guess I could stay and guard you. If you’re really scared.”

  “Would you? I’d feel much better with you here watching over me.” He tousled her long blonde hair and finally received a terse smile. “Okay, kiddo, let’s get some z’s. Can’t catch bad guys if you’re a sleepy head.”

  Paige laughed, but pushed off the bed. “Can we practice first?”

  “Oh, Sweetie, we will tomorrow. Right now you need to get some rest.”

  Paige gave him a playful shove. “If you want me to protect you, I need to practice.” She placed her hands defiantly on her hips and stared up at him.

  Marlowe snickered and stumbled back, his arms raised in surrender. “Okay, okay. But just once, then off to bed. Deal?”

  “Deal,” said Paige with a leap and a clap. She spun her back to him.

  Marlowe stepped behind her and wrapped one arm around her waist, the other lightly over her neck. “Ready?”

  Paige nodded and shouted, “Hi-yah!”

  In the next instant, she stomped down on his foot with her heel. She may have been ready, but Marlowe wasn’t. He yowled, just managing to retain his hold and nestle her against his thighs while she giggled.

  “What cha gonna do now, li’l Missy?”

  She bit down on the wrist at her neck, not too hard, but enough to let him feel it. Marlowe jerked his arm away and bellowed in faux agony.

  After a moment, he smiled. “What do you do next?”

  “I kick ‘em in the nuts!” Paige lunged forward and mimicked a kick to his crotch.

  Marlowe guarded himself and doubled over laughing. “Where did you hear that? Mable?”

  Paige innocently fluttered her eyelashes and raked a foot along the carpet.

  “I would prefer groin, if you don’t mind.” He hugged her to him, lifted her into his arms, and returned her to the bed. “No kicks to the groin. You run as fast as those little legs will carry you. Find the first person you can and ask for help. Got it?” Marlowe goosed her knee, and Paige squealed.

  He tucked her into bed, and after two stories, she clutched Teddy to her chest and lay back. “Night, Daddy. I love you.”

  “Night, Sweetheart. I love you too. Sleep tight.” Marlowe kissed her on the forehead and moved to the door. He paused in the doorway and flicked off the room light.

  “Daddy,” said Paige, her voice timid.

  “Yes, Baby?”

  “My night-light.” She pointed to a clown face plugged into an outlet near the bed.

  “Sorry.”

  As Marlowe leaned over and clicked on the night-light, a flicker caught his eye out of the bedroom window. A blue-white radiance bobbed in the treeline for a moment and disappeared. He stared hard at the forest, scanning for the spot. There. A definite glow. It moved to his left and came to stop directly behind the house.

  Shit.

  Marlowe closed the door while fighting to keep his heart rate under control and maintain a steady manner so as not to alarm Paige. Once safely a few steps into the hallway, he picked up speed and darted down the stairs, taking two at a time. He retrieved his gun and flashlight from atop a bookshelf, out of Paige’s reach, and flew into the living room where Becca sat watching an old episode of Cheers. Her head snapped up at the sound of books knocked to the floor.

  “Lock the door behind me and stay inside ‘til I get back. If I’m not back soon, call 911.”

  “Wha—” Becca pivoted on the sofa, perplexed, and opened her mouth to speak, but Marlowe spun away and disappeared from her view.

  “What’s going on?” She followed him into the foyer, her eyes wide as he checked a magazine and shoved it into the Glock.

  “Just stay inside.” Marlowe halted and looked back, pointing to the door. “Lock it.”

  He waited for her to nod agreement, stepped outside, and stood on the porch until he heard the deadbolt click into place.

  Marlowe ran for the woods, aiming for a spot a safe distance to the left of where he had seen the light. Once amongst the trees, he crept forward, keeping the house’s floodlights in sight. The beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness up ahead, flickering like a swarm of fireflies through the brush and leafy limbs. He switched off his own, ducked down, and eased forward, cringing at the snap of twigs and acorns under foot. Whispered voices, at least two, carried back to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Marlowe slipped from tree to tree, trying to get close enough to get a good look at the intruders. Two silhouettes, outlined in the dim glow of rays reflected off the forest, stood in a small clearing. Even from the near distance, Marlowe could not make them out clearly. Oh well, he had the drop on them. He crept closer, keeping low, and maintaining a line of sight. Once hidden behind a wide oak, he peeked through a fork in the trunk at head height. The figures huddled a few feet away.

  Here goes nothing.

  “Stay right where you are. Hands where I can see them.” Marlowe moved into the open, gun trained on the two intruders.

  They rose from kneeling positions and fidgeted with something out of view, which sent Marlowe’s alarm bells ringing. With nervous pressure on the trigger, he targeted the one on the left who was now on his feet. The other straightened beside him, both with arms raised. Once standing, without preamble or hesitation, they darted off in the opposite direction.

  Goddammit.

  Marlowe rushed after them. Willowy branches slapped him in the face as he ran. Thorny bushes tore at his pants and scratched his arms and ankles. Twice he tripped over a branch or a gopher hole and sprawled onto the ground. The second tumble landed him eye to eye with an angry possum that hissed in his face and waddled away. Dirt smeared his cheeks, burrs and tiny briars pricked at his skin, as he shoved onto his feet and continued the pursuit.

  I’m going to break my fucking neck.

  He kept the flashlight’s frantic bob in sight, his own light useless in the mad dash to maintain pace with the fleeing men. They were having no better time navigating the forest in the dark—a crash, and the area ahead went dark. A wail of pain and a sharp, “Come on, get up,” clued him one was injured and not too far ahead. He lost sight of them, but their voices sounded close. Marlowe stooped and listened.

  “Where’s the fucking flashlight?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s just get outta here.”

  Footsteps continued through the leaves and grass, but at a slower ambling gait. He followed, gaining, and allowed himself a sly grin, which a head-over-heels somersault down a steep embankment promptly wiped away. A crack made him wince. He rubbed his arm, a stabbing pain shooting along its full length. Marlowe feared he had broken the damn thing, but no, the crack came from a limb he’d landed on, one jagged end poking into his side, but failing to break the skin.

  Thank sweet baby Jesus.

  He vaulted erect and continued the chase. A half-moon floated out from behind the clouds and illuminated the two shapes hobbling along less than twenty yards away. One had an arm around the other’s shoulder as they both stumbled through a near solid barrier of gangly saplings. Marlowe could see their hands now—no guns visible. He moved in closer.

  “Let’s try this again. On your knees. I’m tired and you’ve pissed me off with this chase. My arm hurts, and I have a hundred scratches all over. One wrong move and I’ll gladly put a bullet in the back of your goddamned heads.”

  They dropped to their knees and raised their arms high. Their visible shaking contradicted the posture of hardened criminals, but Marlowe was taking no chances. He slid forward with his gun propped atop his opposite wrist, the flashlight’s beam leveled on the two.

  “Please, don’t shoot us,” said one.

  “I broke my fucking ankle,” said the ot
her.

  Marlowe edged in front of them to find not two steely-eyed killers, but scared teenaged boys. One, with shaggy brown hair and a face pocked with acne, had his shirt on wrong side out. His buddy’s belt, and the button on his jeans, were undone. No great mystery what Marlowe had interrupted. He shook his head with an exasperated sigh.

  “You two nearly got yourselves killed.” Marlowe glowered at them while rubbing his sore arm.

  “Shit, Mister. We’re sorry. We didn’t know we weren’t supposed to be here,” said one.

  “Yeah, honest. We didn’t mean to trespass,” said Shaggy.

  “Go on. Get home. And stay out of these woods for a while.” He waved a hand while tucking his gun into his waistband with the other.

  The two boys looked at him, slack-jawed and surprised they were going to live through this night. Shaggy stood and helped his friend to his feet.

  “Yes sir,” they said in unison, before staggering toward the highway beyond the trees.

  A twenty-minute wild run through the forest required a forty-minute hike back. By the time Marlowe stepped into Becca’s backyard, thoughts of turning around, finding those two kids, and beating the shit out of them played through his mind. Tired, frustrated, and aching, Marlowe stomped around the side of the house and headed to the front door. A flash of movement in his periphery and a moment later the muzzle of a very large pistol stuck into his ribs.

  This gets better and better. Spence, you were right. I’ll learn to keep ‘never’ out of my vocabulary.

  “You picked the wrong house, asshole.” A firm hand on his back shoved him forward. “Move.”

  His escort marched him to the front lawn where a handful of men gathered around a black SUV. One, presumably the head honcho, sauntered over to meet them. He had shaved his head, grown a long black goatee, and put on a good bit of muscle since Marlowe last saw him.