by Jen Blood
“What about Ashley Gendreau?” I persisted. My chest was tightening in a not-terribly-healthy way. I ignored it. “Why did Hank think he saw my father there?”
Juarez shook his head. “I’m not sure about that, either—there’s no mention in Max’s notes of Adam being there. The whole thing was Max’s idea, though: he had Bonnie give Hank the acid that day, then planned on framing him with the express purpose of representing him, getting close enough to pull the strings on a whole new level. Will was hunting her that day, but Bonnie killed her, apparently. Max considered it a triumph: the first time she’d responded to a human being suffering.”
“A mercy killing,” I said. I closed my eyes.
He stroked my forehead with his thumb, his hand resting in my hair. He kissed my cheek. “You should sleep, Erin.”
“I know. I will. Just… Why did Bonnie kill herself? If she was part of it all that time, what was the trigger?”
“Based on his notes, I think Bonnie blocked out a lot of what she did.You mentioned she had dreams where she saw this J., right? I think she may have done a lot of this in a sort of hypnotic state. But she started to remember.”
I opened my eyes again. Sat up. That tightness in my chest wasn’t easing any. “Because I came to see her,” I said. “I triggered her memories of Erin Lincoln?”
He looked at me intently. “This wasn’t your fault, Erin. None of this was your fault.”
I knew he was waiting for me to break; he’d been waiting for it since they found me. Waiting for me to burst into tears so he’d have some idea how to fix things. Hold me close, let me cry it out of my system.
“I know that,” I said. My eyes had never been drier.
“Whoever killed Max and Rainier…” he began.
“I don’t know who it was,” I lied. “It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? They’re dead. Whoever killed them is long gone, and—let’s face it—he did the world a favor, anyway.”
“So it wasn’t your father, then?”
I looked at him. “No, it wasn’t my father. Why would you think that? My father’s long gone. On the run, who knows where.”
He didn’t say anything to that. It looked like he wanted to, though.
“Jack—”
Before I could pursue the subject, there was a knock on the door. A pretty blonde woman walked in with a duffle bag over one shoulder, leading a giant white pit bull. Juarez got up with unmistakable relief, greeting the woman with a smile. And a hug.
Huh.
“Erin, this is Jamie Flint. She was the one who headed up the team looking for you that night.”
“Just the dogs,” she corrected him. “I just head up the dogs. I’m useless with people. Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Juarez said. “Come in. I was just telling Erin how things were going. What we’d found.”
Jamie looked at me. She wrinkled her nose. “Well, then I’m glad I came. Nobody needs to hear all that shit after what you’ve already been through. I brought Casper here by to meet you—I heard you like dogs.”
Casper trotted my way. I sat up and greeted her happily, roughing her ears while her thin tail whipped hither and yon.
“She’s a rescue dog? As in sniff-and-rescue?” She put her front paws up on the bed and licked my face, her whole body wriggling now. “I didn’t know bullies were made for that kind of work.”
“Depends on the bully,” Jamie said. “All my dogs are rescues—I travel around, looking for the right ones to work with. Shelters call when they have somebody they think fits the bill. I met Casper; she just seemed to have the nose for it. And she definitely has the spirit.”
I nodded. Something in me that hadn’t been right for days gradually slid back into place. While I was bonding with the dog, Jamie produced one very grimy backpack and a writing bag from her duffle.
“I also wanted to give you this,” she said. “We found them in the search. A lot of the stuff in there has had it, but there was an old journal that I thought you’d probably want back.”
I kept my attention focused on the dog, thinking again of Erin Lincoln. It took a minute before I trusted my voice. “Thank you,” I said.
Jamie took her dog and left shortly thereafter. I closed my eyes, exhausted all over again. Juarez smoothed the hair back from my forehead. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m just going over to talk to Diggs for a few minutes.” He hesitated. “Have you seen him yet?”
I kept my eyes closed. Shook my head. For the first time since I’d been rescued, I felt tears well somewhere down deep. I stuffed them back down.
“I’ll visit soon,” I said.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Juarez said. “I’m sure he’s anxious to talk to you.”
◊◊◊◊◊
I finally worked up the nerve to see Diggs that night. The hospital was quiet. I wore my favorite pajamas, but decided against bringing his backpack to him. Not yet. My stomach was tight, and the feeling of being exposed after I’d been safely shut in my hospital room for two days was unnervingly visceral.
Andie was just leaving Diggs’ hospital room when I rounded the corner; Andie of the bodacious curves, her pretty brunette head in the clouds. I waited until she’d gone before I went to his room and knocked on the door. He told me to come in.
I did.
He was all bruises and cuts and bandages. I was too, I knew, but I didn’t have to look at me. I fought the urge to turn away. He smiled at me when I came in—a real, full Diggs smile, despite all the war wounds. He propped himself up more easily than I would have expected.
“Hey. I wondered when I’d see you again.”
“I was just giving it some time. In case you wanted to kill me, you know. Figured I’d let that fester a little.”
“Let it go, Sol. We’re alive. We bested a crazed serial killer and his minions.” He looked at me. “Or someone bested them, anyway. Your hooded knight to the rescue, huh?”
“I don’t think he qualifies as a knight.”
“No,” he said. “No, I guess he doesn’t.” I sat on the edge of the bed. Diggs took my hand. “How are you? Kat filled me in on the wrist, but…other things. The death and mayhem. Torture and crazed mind games...”
“I think that takes a little longer,” I agreed. I pictured the gun pressed to his temple. Thought of his body against mine. Sleeping beside him. Running for our lives, my hand in his.
“I thought we should talk about you and me, too,” he said. He couldn’t look at me when he said it, focused instead on our intertwined fingers. “About everything that happened…and what happens now.”
“You almost died,” I said. My voice was rough, but I managed to keep it under control.
He looked up, surprised. “So did you.”
“I know. But with you…” My voice faded. There were people out there watching me. Watching Kat, watching my father. Now watching Diggs. I couldn’t keep my parents safe, but the least I could do was make sure I never put Diggs in that kind of danger again. I wet my lips, and tried to find that molten core within that would keep me strong. I looked him in the eye. Stood.
“I think maybe we should get some distance,” I said. “Just for a while.Everything we went through out there was too intense to just skate through, you know? You should go back to Littlehope. Go back to the paper, and Andie. Get back to your real life.”
He tipped his head to the right, taking me in. Seeing through me the way he always had. “I’m okay, Sol. You don’t need to protect me from anything. Anyone. I don’t care what your phantom said when he had that gun pointed at my head. I can take care of myself.”
I shook my head. Kept my eyes focused on his. And lied through my teeth. “That’s not what this is,” I said. “I just…I don’t think it would work—You and me. There’s too much history. Maybe it’s better if we just don’t see each other for a while.”
“That’s what you want?” he asked.
I nodded, never looking away. My heart ached in a way I’d never even known it co
uld—like some vital piece was being torn away. “Yeah,” I said. “I think that’s what’s best right now.”
“Okay,” he said. He still had my hand. He squeezed it, his gaze finally leaving mine. “You know if you need anything, you can come to me. Anytime. Whatever it is.”
“I know.” I thought of his voice in my ear that night: I’ll never let go, Sol. I backed away from him. “It’s the same for you, you know. If you need anything at all…”
“I know.”
I turned my back on him. By the time I got to the door, I couldn’t see through my tears. I didn’t turn around when he called after me.
“I’ll see you around, Sol.”
I nodded blindly, but I couldn’t answer. I slid out the door and closed it behind me. I managed to get down the too-bright hallway to my too-white room and climb back into my too-small hospital bed. Then, I curled up with my face buried in the pillow, and quietly fell to pieces.
Epilogue
A strong, lean forearm tightened against my jugular. I fought the familiar panic I’d been feeling like a shadow these past few months. I rode through the fear. A hand clasped my arm, holding me still. I willed myself to quiet. Steeled my body, forcing myself to a kind of fluid ease that didn’t come naturally. I put my hand on my assailant’s arm. Backed up, shifting my center of gravity while I used my shoulder and my momentum to flip him to the ground.
I followed him down an instant later, straddling his very toned stomach.
Juarez grinned up at me.
“And that’s how it’s done. Very nice.” He started to get up. I tightened my knees at his sides.
“Hang on, now. I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Oh, no?”
He rolled us both. The balance of power shifted. Einstein whimpered from the corner, where his doggy day bed was safely out of the way of the equipment I’d set up in my mother’s basement. There was a heavy bag and a speed bag, an elliptical, a set of free weights, and a bar for pull ups I still hadn’t quite mastered. I really liked watching Juarez do them, though. There was a Gazelle-type-thingy I’d nearly killed myself on twice now, but otherwise I was doing surprisingly well at this new, empowered leaf I’d turned.
Except that I couldn’t sleep without the lights on, of course. And I wouldn’t have full strength in my right hand without at least one more surgery, and would likely always feel some pain. Except Juarez had installed a deluxe security system in the house and I’d gotten a little OCD about making sure it was armed at all times. Except I hadn’t spoken to Diggs in six months, and couldn’t stop dreaming of him.
Otherwise, I was fine.
Juarez was watching me in that way everyone who knew about the ‘incident’ in the northern Maine woods watched me now: waiting to see if I was really all right. He leaned down and kissed me, then rolled us so I was on top again.
“You’re getting good at this,” he said.
“Because I’m part Jedi, part vampire slayer.”
“Right,” he agreed. “Because of that.”
I kissed him again, harder this time. Einstein got up and trotted over, giving a couple of sloppy laps to Juarez’s cheek.
“He only does that with you, you know. It’s because you don’t like dogs,” I said. “He can sense it.”
“I never said I don’t like dogs.”
“You said you like cats better. That’s worse than not liking dogs.”
Jack leaned up and kissed me again. I signaled for Einstein to take a hike, my body warming when I felt Juarez’s begin to respond beneath me.
“You want to take this upstairs?” he whispered in my ear.
I pressed my hips against his. “Do I ever say no to that?”
I got up, then gave him a hand getting off the mat.
“We should eat something at some point this weekend,” he said. “I’ll raid the fridge, see what I can cook up.”
We walked toward the basement stairs. Einstein scooted out in front, no doubt grateful to leave the dungeon. He wasn’t a huge fan of the whole sparring thing. My cell phone rang just as Juarez hit the first step. I checked the number.
“I’m just going to take this. I’ll be right up.”
I didn’t recognize the number, but the exchange was from Littlehope. I waited until Juarez had closed the door before I answered, my heart suddenly running off-rhythm entirely.
“Solomon,” I answered.
There was a pause on the line.
“Hello?”
Whoever was there cleared her throat. “Hi. Yeah, it’s Andie Reynolds—I was dating Diggs for a while. In Littlehope. I work at the paper.”
“Yeah, of course,” I said. “What is it? Is he all right?”
“That’s why I’m calling, actually,” she said. “I don’t know. He quit the paper about a month ago—did he tell you?”
“No, he didn’t mention it.” Because we don’t speak anymore. I left that part out. “You said you were dating for a while. You’re not together anymore?”
“No. And I went by his place today to pick up some of my stuff, but he’s not there. I still have a key, though, so I figured I’d just go in and get what I needed.”
“And…?”
“Well, he’s been gone for a while—which I knew. He went surfing somewhere. But I checked his voicemail, because I still get some messages there sometimes.”
Sure she did. Juarez poked his head back down. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be right up.” I waited until he was gone before I continued probing. “What did you find?”
“A friend of his is missing, down in Kentucky. I didn’t even know he spent any time in Kentucky. But this friend…”
“Who?” I asked immediately.
“Wyatt Durham,” she said. “You know him?”
I hadn’t heard the name in years. “Yeah,” I said. “He used to be in a band with Diggs back when they were in college. Was it Mae who called?”
Andie sighed. “See, I knew you’d know. It was. She said she was hoping she could talk to Diggs. She thinks Wyatt’s in trouble. I don’t know, something about a cross. But as far as I can tell, Diggs isn’t checking his messages anymore. I thought maybe you could find him. Let him know. This woman seemed to think it was important.”
Wyatt and Mae were the only happily married couple I’d ever met. He wasn’t the kind of man who just up and disappeared. Not like Diggs, I thought silently.
“Erin?” Andie prompted.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I hung up the phone. Juarez appeared at the top of the stairs.
“You’re officially out of food. I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner,” he said. “Maybe catch a movie in town.”
I didn’t say anything. He met me halfway down the stairs, studying me intently.
“No movie?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Probably not.”
SOUTHERN CROSS
The Erin Solomon Mystery Series
Book 3
Jen Blood
Part I: Justice First
Prologue
“Repent,” a voice whispered in the darkness.
Wyatt Durham was on his hands and knees. Pebbles from the dusty ground dug into his palms. He lowered his head like a bull just hit with a cattle prod, trying to get his wits back. Someone stood beside him, a heavy hand between his shoulder blades to keep him down. Wyatt tried to speak, but his voice didn’t work.
Nothing worked.
“Repent,” the voice said again, lower this time.
There was dried blood under Wyatt’s fingernails. The smell of something sweet and cloying in the air, like a jar of wet pennies: more blood.
“The goat,” he whispered. He’d come for the goat. Mae was home waiting for him. The kids were gone for the night. Put the poor thing down and come on home, darlin’, she’d said to him before he left.
The man beside him knelt, his mouth close to Wyatt’s ear. “One more chance,
Doc. The end’s already nigh. Make your peace.”
Wyatt closed his eyes, his body getting heavier. His elbows buckled. A hand came at him from behind, pushing him gently to the ground, tender as Mae on those sweet nights when they lay together. It was all familiar—nearly forgotten but still there, somewhere at the back of his mind, from days gone by and a life best left behind.
Repent.
Chapter One - Diggs
Every summer from twelve on up, I abandoned the ocean breezes and cool nights of coastal Maine for the wet swelter of western Kentucky, where the Durham family provided refuge from my stormy New England home. When I was fifteen, Wyatt Durham and I were playing baseball one overcooked July day when I said something he saw as over the line about his little sister. He didn’t waste his breath explaining his views on the subject, though. Instead, he belted me in the stomach with a Louisville Slugger. It brought me to my knees, tears in my eyes, and for two days afterward every lungful of air burned going down.
That’s the closest I can come to an analogy for what I felt when Wyatt’s wife Mae called me twenty-five years later, and told me my oldest friend was dead.
I landed in Louisville at eight a.m. on a Tuesday in March, after sixteen hours traveling by boat, bike, bus, and plane to get there. Mae had tracked me down in the middle of a two-month trek in Costa Rica, where I was doing an in-depth piece on the surf scene at Guiones. I still wasn’t sure how she’d found me since I’d left no forwarding address and told no one where I was headed, but I had a feeling Erin Solomon had something to do with it.
I’ve known Solomon since I mentored her at a Maine rag called the Downeast Daily Tribune when she was fifteen. Despite the fact that I was in my mid-twenties at the time, we struck up a close and possibly ill-advised friendship. In the seventeen years since, that friendship has morphed into something far more difficult to define. If anyone could find me, it was Solomon.
