Dark Paradise

by Angie Sandro

  Landry turns to face me. “I was lying in bed listening to my mother crying through the walls, and my dad working on his eulogy, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  I scowl in disbelief.

  He gives me a shadowed smile. “That wasn’t too surprising since I think about you all the time. So I did what I usually do—tried to focus on something else. Football, supersexy Victoria’s Secret models—that worked for about five minutes since you’re way hotter.”

  “Oh sure, way hotter.” I unbuckle my seat belt and slide across the seat. “Is that why you practically ran from me?”

  “I wasn’t the one who ran off.” His voice softens. “I was worried about you. Hearing that gunshot…I don’t know…”

  He really does care about me, doesn’t he?

  My mouth on his stops the rest of his words. His tongue flicks against the roof of my mouth, and I melt. I press against him until there’s not even an inch of space between our upper bodies. My legs shake. I want to lie back on the seat and pull him on top of me. But I hold back. Tingles race across my skin where he traces my arms with the tips of his fingers. Light caresses that drive me crazy with the desire to feel those fluttery shivers in areas protected by clothing. Why do I lose control only with him? How can a single, innocent kiss get me so hot?

  Crap, I’m molesting him again.

  I break the kiss with a sigh before he can. He presses his forehead against mine, breathing hard. I lay a hand on his chest and feel the rapid patter of his heart against my palm. My lips feel swollen, and my cheeks sting from his stubble. The scent of his skin mingles with mine. He’s marked me. The whole time he massages my neck with his fingers, and the faint headache I really hadn’t noticed starts to fade.

  “Landry, I’m sorry. For some reason I can’t keep my hands off of you.” I rub my cheek against his shoulder.

  “You’re not the only one with control issues,” he says softly, and I nod, acknowledging the truth. The attraction goes both ways.

  “Yeah, but I handled it all wrong at the pond. I-I’m sorry I ran off. Being rejected hurt. I don’t know why ’cause I should be used to it by now. Maybe because I actually care what you think of me.” I shudder, knowing I should move from his arms but am unable to. “I don’t know. It’s silly, but I thought a clean exit would be better. Now you’re confusing me again. I can’t handle this back-and-forth drama.”

  “That’s why I pulled away. The reason you kissed me was because Lainey almost killed you, and you needed comfort. If I’d let it go further, you’d end up hating me. I respect you too much to let that happen.”

  Respect, huh? “So we’re back to being friends.”

  “With PG-13 benefits? Because now that I’ve gotten a taste of your minty-sweet kisses, I don’t think I can go cold turkey.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I laugh. I can’t go without kissing him either. It feels too good, but now I know he won’t take advantage of my willingness to go all buck wild on him. He likes to flirt. So do I. And I won’t feel guilty anymore about showing my affection to someone I care about.

  On the other hand. Time and place. I would’ve regretted having my first sexual experience come from terror over my shaken sense of mortality rather than love—in the dirt instead of a cushy bed with unscented candles and chocolate. At the time, I thought it was okay to give in ’cause I didn’t want to die without ever feeling loved, but Landry has reminded me that important things shouldn’t be compromised.

  I throw Landry a quick grin. “Now that we’ve hashed out our relationship issues, I guess we’d better come up with a plan to get into Lainey’s room.” I wiggle my fingers. “My lock-picking skills are nonexistent. But I’m pretty good at fast talking.”

  Landry leans back, crossing his arms. “Don’t tell me you’re quoting skills based on your online gaming profile?”

  “Hey, I’m a seventh-level thief. Don’t knock my imaginary skills. It’s not my fault that up until this week I’ve never needed to resort to breaking and entering in real life. And I’m not too thrilled about it now. Maybe you can dig into your wallet instead, rich boy? We can probably bribe the owner into letting us into Lainey’s room.”

  “Or we can use the key.” Landry dangles what appears to be a motel room key in front of my eyes, then makes it vanish back into his fist when I try to grab it.

  “No fair. Where did you find that?”

  “This key is the reason why I went home after our fight, not because I was running away. A couple of days ago, I tossed Lainey’s bedroom at home for clues. This key was stuffed inside her shoe, but I didn’t know what it opened until you mentioned the motel. Her diary is missing, which sucks because the name of her murderer is probably written in it. Maybe she hid it in her motel room, and the cops missed it when they searched.” He shrugs. “But my bet’s on this being another dead end. Come on, let’s finish this so we can go eat.”

  Landry presses a quick kiss to my forehead, then jumps from the truck. A warm glow starts to burn in my belly and spreads throughout my body. Happiness. It’s such a rare feeling that I sink back into the seat and squeeze my hands together. I peek at him through the front windshield. He faces away from the truck. The lines of his body have gone from relaxed to tense in the space of a few seconds. His head cocks to the side as if he’s listening to something in the distance. He throws a quick, wide-eyed glance at me, then runs.

  A surge of panic races through me. I throw open my door and jump to the ground. “Landry, wait!”

  He’s moving fast, faster than I can catch. Nothing more than a dark blur speeding down the sidewalk between the motel and manager’s office/recreation room. He turns left, disappearing around the corner heading toward the pool. Raised voices come from that area.

  Landry yells, “Call 9-1-1.” Then I hear a splash.

  My mouth opens to call for him when a shadow tears around the corner. He wears all black, like a crook or a wannabe ninja assassin, and carries an object tucked in his arms like a football. I’m trapped in the narrow space between the two buildings about the width of my open arms. The guy doesn’t slow when he sees me but charges forward, ready to bowl me over. I only have a split second to decide: black clothes, running away from the screaming.

  Yeah, he totally looks suspicious. A real cop wouldn’t have time to second-guess herself. If this guy has done something wrong, I’m taking him down. If he’s innocent, well, I guess saying sorry is easier than asking for permission.

  I squeeze back against the wall, but when he charges past, I lunge. A handful of his black shirt ends up in my fist. Not my brightest idea. His forward motion practically yanks my arms out of their sockets. I trip, and he ends up dragging me for a few steps before he twists, elbowing my shoulder and breaking my hold on his shirt. I don’t fall flat on my face, but my elbows get skinned catching my fall. The guy makes a break for it while I stagger to my feet, weaving a little from the throbbing radiating up my shoulder and into my jaw.

  Now he’s gone and made it personal.

  With each step, my anger grows. The pain fades beneath a black tidal wave of fury. Either he’s slowing down or my rage increases my speed. We hit the parking lot in a flat-out run. He heads toward the main road. If he crosses it and gets into the woods on the other side, I’ll lose him. The trees border a large residential area where he’ll have plenty of places to hide.

  My anger pulses, hotter, darker, more thinly focused than when Magnolia attacked me. I thought I could launch her through a wall. She taught me a more subtle form of expressing my disdain. I stab outstretched fingers toward his retreating back. I picture the tips of my fingers slicing through flesh, fat, and muscles, splaying the layers open the way Lainey had been dissected on the autopsy table. With his innards exposed to my mind’s eye, I clench my fist like Magnolia did. I imagine squeezing this jerk’s guts into a ball like chitlins stuffed in a bucket.

  The guy cries out. He stumbles but doesn’t fall. The bundle he’s carrying drops to the ground and slides under a p
arked car. He staggers forward, not bothering to pick it up.

  “Stop,” I yell, diving forward into a tackle that would’ve given Landry shivers of pride. I grab my suspect around the back of his knees. He hits the ground, but I don’t give him the chance to catch his breath. Or me either, for that matter. I climb up his back, straddling him like he’s a rodeo pony. He bucks, and I’m thrown backward. My upper back hits the fender of the car parked next to us. What little breath I’d managed to hold onto bursts from my lungs.

  I struggle to sit up, but I can’t do much of anything except struggle not to pass out. I stare at the swirling stars in the velvet black sky and listen to his footsteps fade in the distance. I’m still sprawled out when the ambulance passes by with blaring sirens. I must’ve blacked out because the ambulance is heading toward the main road, not coming in. I turn my head. I’m hidden, wedged between two parked cars. If I want anyone to notice me, I have to crawl into the parking lot and pass out in the middle of the driveway. Sure, I might get run over, but at least someone will find my body.

  A face, like an overinflated balloon, floats over my head. I blink a few times to bring him into focus. “Landry.” I gasp, tilting my head. “’S’up?”

  “Shit, Mala.” He squats beside me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why are you lying on the ground? Are you okay?”

  The loopy, swimmy mess in my head begins to fade. I look around, finally aware of my surroundings. The motel is lit up like a Christmas tree with red and blue lights. Then I take in Landry’s appearance and gasp. “What the hell happened to you?” I touch his wet T-shirt. “You’re soaked.”

  He glances down at himself with a scattered frown. “Huh? Yeah, I’ve used my lifeguarding skills more today than I have in the last two years.”

  “Did someone fall in the pool? Is that why you ran off?” I straighten myself by degrees. A groan rips through me without permission. It doesn’t feel like I’ve broken any bones, but I’m going to be black, blue, and sore all over come morning. “If the police came then it wasn’t an accident, I assume. That guy…”

  “Yeah…yeah, there was this guy. He tried to drown a…a woman in the pool.” He runs his fingers through his hair. His gaze darts toward the flashing lights. “Shit! George is here. He’ll want to talk to you.”

  Landry tugs on my arm, trying to encourage me to rise, but I can’t. My eyes close against the throbbing in my head. “Stop yanking on me, Landry. Can’t you see I’m injured?”

  The shocked light in his eyes narrows and focuses on me like a laser pointer. I’ve finally gotten his full attention, and I kind of regret it. “How? I left you in the truck.”

  “I followed, of course. I saw this guy running toward me. He was dressed all in black and wore a mask, which seemed suspicious so I, uh, chased after him.” I finish the justification for my stupidity in a rush. “An innocent guy wouldn’t try to elbow someone in the face, right?”

  “Let me get this straight. You chased after a masked man who’s running away from the scene.” Landry threads his arm around my back. The pain of his touch makes me wince as he helps me stand. His voice grows louder with each word. “He’s the reason why you got hurt? Seriously?”

  I nod, unable to speak. I wrap my arms around him and press my face to his soggy T-shirt.

  His body vibrates, which makes mine crackle in response. He runs his hands up and down my arms and back, searching for injuries, then hugs me against his muscular chest. Air bursts from my lungs, and I gasp, trying to break his hold so I can breathe. “My God, Mala, he could’ve killed you…” Each word comes with a slight hitch in his breathing. Choked and raw. His fingers fist in my hair, yanking my head back. “I could’ve lost you.”

  “No, I—” His mouth slams onto mine in a rough, deep, tongue-thrusting kiss that makes my body sag, boneless. All of his fear and anxiety flows out of him and into me until we’re connected. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back hard enough to remind him I’m alive.

  When he finally pulls back, I say, “I’m sorry.”

  He’s right. I could’ve been hurt worse than I am. Chasing after that guy really was all kinds of stupid. I just wanted to capture the bad guy. Play the hero in my own little drama. I don’t deserve to be a cop.

  Landry blows out a breath. “Okay, okay, I…”

  “No, you’re right. I didn’t think. I’m sorry I scared you.” I lean heavily on his arm as we walk toward the patrol cars parked in front of the pool. The parking lot is full of gawkers milling around: druggies, prostitutes, even a couple of truckers who thought the Super Delight would be a nice pit stop in their travels. It’s loud. The excitement has people talking over each other as they speculate about what’s happening.

  George stands beside his patrol car with a clipboard. He’s talking to the motel owner, Mr. Khan, who looks shaken up. Andy notices us before George does and nudges him in the shoulder. When George sees me, his eyes widen. I must look a mess. Then I see the shadowed flicker of his lashes, the solemn lines in his face, and a chill of premonition fills me.

  I glance up to meet Landry’s worried gaze. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

  The trembling in his arm intensifies.

  Landry leads me through the crowd. Each step toward George feels like walking through molasses. Dread presses heavier and heavier upon my chest. By the time we reach his side, my legs quiver with the weight of remaining upright. “You said a woman got attacked. It’s Mama, isn’t it?”

  George glances at Landry. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “I couldn’t,” Landry says, voice breaking. He kisses the tip of my nose. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I nod, tears burning my eyes when he walks off, leaving me alone with George and the news I don’t want to hear but have to know. Time freezes. A million scenarios of what could’ve happened to her and the possible outcomes race through my mind, but I’m afraid to ask the next question. Is she dead?

  George takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “She’s alive, Mala. We need to head to the hospital.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “I’m not sure of the details, but she’s hurt pretty bad. If Mr. Khan hadn’t heard her scream and run out, and if Landry hadn’t shown up when he did, it might’ve been a different story.”

  “What about Landry?” Andy has him and Mr. Khan corralled by his K-9 car. If either of them try to get away, he’ll probably sic Rex on them.

  George tugs on my hand, leading me toward the door. “He can go after Andy gets his statement. Come on. You’re wasting time.”

  “Wait, I need to—”

  “Bessie and Maggie will meet us at the hospital,” George says.

  Each word takes me a little closer to the edge. By the time George helps me into his patrol car, I’ve fallen into an abyss. I have no idea how badly Mama has been hurt, but I can tell that it’s bad by how little of the details George shares. I want Landry. I’m so scared. I need his strength to preserve my sanity, because despite George’s promise that Mama still lives, I still pray that whole drive to the hospital that her death vision won’t come true tonight.

  Chapter 24

  Mala

  Spirit Attack

  I walk through the sliding doors into the hospital emergency room, instantly feeling claustrophobic when I see the sterile white walls, green-tiled floor, and fake plants. The pungent odor of antiseptic barely masks the scent of blood. Whispers, barely audible, tickle my ears, making me strain to hear them. Shadows flicker in the corners—oh, merciful heavens. People are dying—I have to get out of here!

  “I can’t stay!” I spin on my heel.

  Maggie blocks my path with outstretched arms. I’m seriously gonna punch her if she doesn’t move. I don’t care that she’s my friend or that she tore herself from a date night with Tommy to meet me here. It would be better for both of us if she leaves me alone.

  I try to dodge around her. She grabs onto my arm, spinning me around. It’s
the same arm the attacker almost pulled out of its socket, and I crumple with the pain.

  George’s grip on my other arm tightens painfully as he yanks me from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve got to get out of here.” I twist on my arms, trying to break their grips. “You don’t understand. This is a bad place.”

  My hands tingle, and my chest tightens. The room spins and grows fuzzy. “I-I can’t breathe.”

  “Nurse, a little help!” George yells. He wraps my arm around his shoulder and grabs onto my waist, half carrying me over to a plastic chair. “Lean forward and put your head between your knees.” He brushes sweaty hair from my eyes. “Focus on breathing. It’ll be okay. You’re having a panic attack.”

  I shake my head. “I’m dying.”

  “No, you’re not. Everything’s going to be fine.” He turns to Maggie. “Bessie said she’d meet us here. Have you seen her?”

  “No, we came separately.”

  “Do you know what’s wrong with Mala? She lost her ever-lovin’ mind the minute we walked through the door.”

  Maggie pats me on the back. “She hates hospitals. She had a bad experience when she was little. Said people kept sneaking into her room, and it scared her something fierce.”

  Concentrate. Air in. Air out. Don’t think. Everything will be okay. I’ll be fine. They won’t get me. Not this time. But it’s a lie. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the spirits run fingers across my skin. A shiver shakes me so hard that I grip the armrests so I won’t fall off the chair. A hand touches my shoulder. I shriek, flailing out with my arms.

  “Stop her,” Maggie yells, grabbing my waist.

  George wraps his arms around mine.

  I kick my legs, trying to break free. “Let go!”

  “Cut it out, Mala.”

  A nurse in navy hospital scrubs stoops down beside me. She pulls an oxygen mask over my mouth, and I take a deep breath. I can’t hear what she is saying over the pulse beating in my head. Black spots dance in front of my eyes. Maggie has a death grip on my hand, and I squeeze back, trying to let her know I’ll be all right. My breathing slows.