CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger

by Kristine Mason

  “Kain,” Ian snapped, as Celeste covered a hand over her mouth and turned her back on him. “Walk it off. When you’ve cooled down, and have that logical, rational head of yours on straight, come talk to her. Don’t say something you’ll regret. Regret’s an ugly thing. Trust me on that.”

  “I already regret,” John shouted at him, letting the pain and anger free. “I regret coming to this shitty town, dealing with this shitty investigation and falling in love with a woman who...”

  She whirled on him, her eyes narrowed, her cheeks flushed and wet with tears. “Who what?” she asked, her tone low, seething.

  Was she actually mad at him? He hadn’t done a damned thing wrong. She had. If she’d only had enough trust and faith in him, none of this would have been a big deal. He could give a shit if her dad was Charles Manson, and certainly could care less that Ian was her biological father. None of it would have made a difference to him, but her silence had. Without trust in a relationship, there was no relationship at all.

  Ignoring her, he headed for the door. As he passed Ian he said, “You’re right. I do need to walk away.”

  “No, I said walk it off,” Ian corrected.

  “Whatever.”

  “What about the investigation? Are you really going to walk away from that, too?”

  John stopped and stared at his reflection in the glass. He could make out Celeste’s and Ian’s, too. Like father, like daughter, they both glared at his back.

  He didn’t want to quit the investigation. They’d come so far, and he knew they were close to catching Tobias Haney. He wanted to see this case through to the end. He wanted to see Haney dead or behind bars before he killed again. He also wanted to make sure they didn’t miss anything that might allow Winston to serve a lesser sentence because of some bullshit technicality.

  Winston.

  Better watch out for her. My brother’s got a thing for knives.

  The crybaby killer’s threat haunted him. He gazed at Celeste’s reflection. He might be angry. He might not want anything else to do with her. But he didn’t want to see anything happen to her, either.

  A woman you’d die for, or die without.

  He would die for her. He loved her. Despite what had happened tonight, a part of him would probably always love her. Although he could walk away from her, he couldn’t allow himself to walk away from the investigation, knowing she could possibly become one of Haney’s victims.

  “No,” he finally answered Ian. “You’re right. I’ve never quit during a case. I’ll finish this one out.” He glanced over his shoulder. “But afterwards, expect my resignation.”

  “And Celeste?”

  “Don’t, Ian,” Celeste yelled from across the room. “If he wants to walk away from me because he’s too pigheaded to see past his black and white little world, let him. And don’t you dare breathe a word of what happened tonight to Roy. I don’t want either of you giving John attitude on my account. Let him finish what he’s started so he could go back to his pitiful life in Chicago. Alone.”

  “Pitiful,” John shouted back, as he swiveled. “Look who’s talking. You’ve spent the past three years hiding in Hicksville avoiding your grief and your guilt.”

  “You’re no better. How long has Renee been dead? Two years?”

  He looked away. “I’m over that.”

  “Really? I don’t think so. That bitch warped your trust, and two years later, she’s still doing it. Only you don’t see it that way,” she said as she moved toward him. “You’ve taken a simple misunderstanding and blown it completely out of proportion. But you go ahead, finish this case then run back to your pathetic life where everything is nice and tidy.”

  “You’re damn right I will. And by the way, look who’s talking. From what I’ve seen, your best friend is a fifty-year-old man, and your idea of a good time is baking up a storm in your basement. Instead of living your own life, you’ve been living through everyone else. Don’t talk to me about pathetic.” He reached for the door handle, the acid reflux burning bad enough he wouldn’t be surprised if smoke rose from his chest. “And you know what else?”

  She folded her arms across her chest and cocked a brow. “Do tell.”

  “I hate your fucking gnomes.”

  “Enough,” Ian shouted. “Kain, get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m gone,” he said as he turned his back on them and pulled open the door. Rain and wind whipped against him as he stalked to his car. Once inside the rental, he slammed the door shut, then sped away from The Sugar Shack.

  From Celeste. From the only woman he’d ever loved.

  *

  Celeste locked the front door, then turned and leaned against the glass. Her heart breaking as the taillights from John’s car disappeared into the night. How could he have just walked away from her, from them? And over a stupid misunderstanding?

  A misunderstanding she could have prevented.

  Through her tears she caught Ian’s reflection in the glass as he moved toward her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is my fault. If I’d known he would react this way...”

  Cradling her upset stomach, she turned away from the door. “This isn’t just your fault. I could have told John yesterday. I had plenty of opportunity.” She shook her head. “It’s probably best things happened the way they did. I’d rather find out now that we aren’t compatible than when I’m moved into his condo.”

  “Do you really believe you’re not compatible?”

  “Yes. No.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. They were more than compatible. John was her soul mate. The only man she’d ever given her heart to. And damn him, he’d trampled it, along with the hopes and dreams of the future they’d share.

  “It doesn’t matter at this point. We’d both said some regrettable things that can’t be taken back.” Anger began to filter past the overwhelming sadness dampening her soul. “I mean, who is he to call me pathetic?” she asked, unable to stop her voice from rising as her temper continued to flare. “And he hates my gnomes? What is he, five going on thirty-five?”

  Ian chuckled, and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Most men are, I’m afraid. I know I’ve done some stupid, childish things.”

  “Like asking me to keep this whole father-daughter thing secret?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. None of this would have happened if Ian hadn’t waltzed into her life. Then again, none of this would have happened if she’d been upfront with John yesterday.

  Ian gripped her shoulders. The anguish and misery in his eyes lessoning the resentment, the blame she wanted to lay at Ian’s feet. “I’m sorry, honey. I was thinking more about myself than about you. But thank you for keeping your word. Roy said you were a loyal person. It humbles me that you’d remain loyal to me, even though you knew it might cause a problem between you and John.”

  “Well,” she began with guilt niggling at her. “I was going to tell him after you left, so maybe I’m not as loyal as you think.”

  He laughed and hugged her to his side as they walked toward the counter. “What I think is that you might have some of me after all, because that’s something I would have done. Don’t worry. John’s stubborn, but he’ll come around once he has time to think.”

  “I don’t know,” she said as a sliver of hope pushed past the anger, the hurt. Then she squashed it. “Even if he does apologize, I’m not sure if I want to take another chance on him. I don’t want a man who will walk out every time things don’t go his way, or who isn’t willing to set aside his pride and talk over a problem.”

  “Dump the jackass,” the short order cook, Rick, said as he rounded the corner and took off his greasy apron.

  Karen came around the other end of the counter. “Don’t you listen to Rick, Celeste. Men say stupid things all the time. It’s part of their nature.” She looked at Ian. “No offense.”

  Ian grinned. “None taken.”

  “Well, I’m deeply offended,” Rick said with a smile. “But I’ll still give
you a lift home. Unless you need anything else, Celeste.”

  “No thanks.” She mustered a smile even though her heart and stomach ached. “You two head on out.”

  After they’d left, Ian tugged at her hand. “Come on, let me take you home.”

  During the short drive to her house, her thoughts remained on John. The anger had dissipated, leaving her miserable. For what could have been and for what would never be. And as Ian pulled into her driveway, a deep sadness swept through her as she stared at her empty home. John should have been here with her. Holding her, loving her. Now she’d walk into a quiet house, and crawl into bed with only her grief and her sorrow for company.

  Realizing she didn’t want to be alone, she turned to Ian. “Want to come in?” While she could have asked Will to keep her company, she didn’t want him to know what had happened between her and John yet. Will would likely grab Lloyd and head to the Chippewa Inn prepared to kick John’s ass for hurting her. She didn’t want that. She wanted John to finish the investigation and leave. And after he was gone, she’d have to make some major decisions regarding her future. One thing John had proven to her, she’d been wasting her life in Wissota Falls and it was time for her to live for herself. Not everyone else.

  “Really?” Ian asked. “I thought after…”

  “We both screwed up,” she said with a tired shrug. “And besides, I’ve got a left over pie that needs to be eaten before it becomes a science experiment.”

  He climbed out of the car, then opened the passenger door for her. “I love moldy pie.”

  She grinned. “It’s not moldy yet.” Then her smile fell when she stared at her gnomes and remembered John’s parting remark.

  Resting a hand on her shoulder, Ian pointed to the gnome bent over, with its pants down, mooning any critter or passerby. “You should let me drop that one off at John’s motel room. Sort of a kiss my ass gesture.”

  “That wouldn’t be too childish,” she said with a half-smile, while tears filled her eyes again.

  He put his arm around her and walked her to the door. “Don’t worry, tomorrow will be a better day. Just wait and see.”

  Well, she thought, with a heavy heart, it couldn’t be any worse than today.

  *

  Dr. Alex Trumane woke on the sofa with a jerk, dumping an open water bottle in his lap. He jumped and righted the bottle, then went into the bedroom to change. When he glanced at the clock and realized it was already after five in the morning, he decided to shower instead.

  Although the water wakeup call had him alert and wide awake, he needed to clear the cobwebs from his head. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn he was hung over. His head pounded, his body ached, and the odor emanating from his mouth reeked enough to disintegrate his nostril hair.

  But he hadn’t had a drink. He’d stared at the computer screen for too many hours during the night, had pushed his body too hard during his run, and had eaten too many slices of lousy sausage and onion pizza, with way too much garlic in the sauce.

  After brushing his teeth, he stepped into the hot, steamy shower. As the water pulsed against his head, he tried to come up with another way to find Miranda Gates. While he still hadn’t reviewed any obituaries, after the daunting, and fruitless task of reviewing hundreds of death records, he didn’t look forward to another long day of dead ends.

  Maybe he should hire a PI.

  Paper trails.

  No.

  He rinsed the soap from his body. He didn’t have to work today or tomorrow. He’d review the obituaries. The PI would be a last resort, one he hoped he wouldn’t have to use. If Miranda had died of suspicious causes, he didn’t want a PI butting into his business or threatening to tell the authorities. If anyone would go to the cops, it would be him. He’d created this mess, he’d own up to it.

  Showered and dressed, yet exhausted after little sleep, he rubbed his eyes and headed into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. His knee cracked. Damn he was growing old. He should probably start wearing a brace when he ran. The shin splints had been bad enough, but blowing out a knee—

  Alex dropped the empty mug into the sink and raced back into the living room. “Nee. I can’t believe I didn’t think...” He sat in front of his computer. With renewed determination, he began to search through the Mississippi obituary’s from five years ago. Miranda had been alive then, otherwise she wouldn’t have been listed in her grandmother’s will.

  As he viewed one obituary after another, he grew restless and increasingly despondent. The words on the screen were beginning to blur together. Then finally he found her. He moved the arrow on the screen over Anna Lynn Gates’s name, then hit enter.

  “Come on, come on,” he coaxed the computer as he waited for the website to produce her obituary. After a few more seconds, and enough toe tapping that if he had neighbors below him, they’d have thought he’d just taken up tap dancing, the screen went blank.

  “What the...?” He checked the cord leading to his laptop, then quickly plugged it into the wall socket. He rebooted the computer, and sighed with relief when the screen instantly opened with Anna’s obituary.

  “Okay,” he said, then began to read out loud. “Anna Lynn Gates, nee Hamilton, age 83. Beloved wife of Thomas J. Gates, deceased. Loving mother of Robert, deceased. Devoted grandmother of...Miranda Malvern, nee Gates. Husband...Daniel.”

  Dan Malvern.

  “Oh my God.” He swiped a hand down his face. “She married a monster.”

  Chapter 27

  The next morning, tired and in need of more caffeine after talking with Ian until nearly midnight, Celeste slowed her car and pulled into the Malvern’s long, gravel driveway.

  Decked out in his beige uniform, gun belt and all, Dan stepped onto the front stoop. “Mornin’.” He gave her a big grin, his red mustache twitching over his upper lip as he walked toward her car. “Thanks for coming out and keeping an eye on Randa for me. I really appreciate it.”

  “I’m glad I can help,” she said as she stepped out of the car carrying a fresh batch of kalachkis.

  “Here, let me.” He took the box, then led her into the house.

  The moment she walked through the front door, the odor of bleach and antiseptics permeated her senses. The stale smell reminded her of sickness and death, of the hospital room they’d tried to force her mom to stay in when she’d been dying. The scent brought back painful memories, but she ignored them as she followed him into the living room.

  Noon.

  The hospice nurse would arrive by then, and she’d be free to leave. She could handle staying there, and keeping an eye on Miranda. Besides, if she couldn’t be part of the actual search, at least she’d be helping in some capacity.

  “Randa’s asleep now.” He placed the bakery box on the coffee table. “I told her you were coming over before she dozed off.”

  “Anything I need to know?”

  “Well,” he began. “She had a bad night again, but seemed to be okay this morning. Rest is what she needs.” He blew out a breath, hitched his hips, then placed his hands on his gun belt. “I’m worried. I don’t know how much more her body can take.”

  She didn’t know what to say. His situation was too familiar, too close to her heart. She’d watched her own mother go from strong and healthy, to weak and sickly, and it hurt. It still hurt.

  You’ve spent the past three years hiding in Hicksville avoiding your grief and your guilt.

  John’s words had stung, especially because she knew he was right. She had been hiding, using her grief and guilt as an excuse to not move on with her life. Too bad it had taken a heated argument with the man she loved to make her realize it.

  “I know this is a difficult time for you.” She did know, and wouldn’t wish the pain and suffering on her worst enemy.

  “Thanks.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to get going. Let me show you her room before I leave.”

  She followed him down a short hallway. The carpet screamed circa 1975, yet was
immaculate and clean, along with the stark white walls.

  “Here we are,” he said, and pushed open the door.

  As he moved around the bed, she held back a gasp. She hadn’t seen Miranda in nearly two years, and her physical condition shocked her. Her pale blond hair had thinned, likely from the medications. Her face was ashen, her cheeks hollow. She’d lost so much weight she appeared skeletal.

  “Not how you remember her, huh?” Dan asked as he stroked Miranda’s hair.

  “No,” she whispered as she fought back the tears. It pained her to see the results of this horrible disease, how it had robbed a vibrant woman of her life.

  He placed a kiss on his wife’s forehead, then moved toward her. “I’ve already given Miranda her morning medication. It has a sedative in it.” He stopped in front of her. “So she should sleep.” He glanced over his shoulder at the bed, then shrugged. “Oh...forever.”

  She blinked and shook her head. Sure she’d misunderstood, even as her skin prickled with unease. “What are you—?”

  His fist slammed into her jaw, knocking her back into the door, which bounced against the wall, pushing her into him. Seeing stars, she tried to right herself, but fell forward. He caught her, gripped her shoulder, then punched her again.

  She dropped to the floor, her face hitting the carpet. She shook her head and spat blood as she pushed with all of her might to scramble away from him.

  He caught her legs. She kicked out and made contact with his chin. As he toppled backward, deep satisfaction mixed with the fear seizing her chest and coating her skin in sweat. Taking advantage she twisted and lunged to her feet.

  “Shouldn’t have done that,” he growled, and grabbed her legs again, then flipped her on her back and pounded his fist into her stomach.

  Crying out, she cradled herself, but he flung her arms away and straddled her. Panic she’d never known ripped through her. Why was he doing this? “Why?” she whispered.