Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  Liam’s eyebrows rose. “So, he just… kicked you out?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Mostly, he felt relieved.

  Cara’s cheeks flamed. “Not really,” she mumbled. “It’s just for one night.”

  One night? Right. That’s how it always started. It’s how it started with his mother and Jim. It was one night this week. Maybe next week it would be two. Pretty soon... “And, what does he expect you to do for that one night?” Liam asked, a split second before the answer struck home. Him. Gregg expected her to do him. Something else she tried to tell him earlier. And, in return, he was expected to let her share his bed. Fuck.

  His mouth had dropped open, and it took him a moment to get it closed again. “There must be someplace else you could go?” he managed at last.

  Cara snorted and looked away. “Yeah. Sure. About a half dozen places, if I were interested. You’re not the only guy here with a bed, you know.”

  At that, Liam saw red. He was out of his chair, and around the table in an instant. Cara glanced up at him, startled, as he pulled her chair around to face him, and then dropped into a crouch in front of her. “Listen to me, you want to be Tinkerbell? Well, here’s your chance. You don’t have to take this kind of shit from people, Cara. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And you definitely do not have to screw guys just for a place to sleep!” He looked at her searchingly for a moment, and then added, softly, “You can’t keep doing stuff like that.”

  Cara’s eyes flashed. She crossed her arms once again, and stuck out her chin. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  Liam held up one hand. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m just–” But, oh, hell, maybe he was, at that. In fact, if she was really planning to have sex with anyone tonight – anyone, at all – then he definitely was telling her what to do. Or, rather, what not to do. He sighed. “Look, if you needed a place to sleep, you should have just said something about it earlier. You can have my bed.”

  “What?” She looked at him suspiciously. “I thought you weren’t interested? What’s changed your mind all of a sudden?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing’s changed. I’ll take the floor.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with another shake of his head. “It’s fine. It won’t be the first time, and– What’s wrong now?” he asked, as she covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  He took hold of her wrists to gently pull them away from her face and was startled again by the gasp that broke from her lips. Tears streaked down her face as she shook free of the hand that held her right arm and attempted to pry his fingers from around the other wrist. “Oh, God, stop that. Stop! You’re hurting me.”

  Hurting her? Suddenly suspicious, and knowing exactly what he’d find, Liam pushed up her sleeve. Just as he thought, her arm was once again bandaged. He felt his jaw clench. “What did you do to yourself this time?”

  She shoved him away and clutched her wrist to her chest. “Nothing. It’s not what you think.”

  He met her gaze squarely. “Let me see.”

  Cara shook her head. “No. Y-you can’t. I-I don’t want you to.” Her eyes darted nervously around the room, as if seeking asylum.

  “Don’t be stubborn.” He reached for her wrist, but she held him off.

  “Wait! I forgot. You had a message.”

  “I don’t care about that,” he said, reaching for her once more. “Just let me–”

  “Well, you should care.” She twisted away from him and grabbed her notebook from the table. “Because it’s important. Some guy named Nick called you. Said he had some news.”

  “Nick?” Liam froze. What the fuck was up with that? Greco knew better than to call him here. Unless– Could he have gotten word about Jim? Already? “What kind of news?”

  “He didn’t say.” Cara tore a page from the notebook and shoved it into his hand. “Why don’t you give him a call?”

  Liam stared at the paper he’d been handed. Important!!! News U want 2 hear about mutual friend. Call Nick – ASAP. “Shit,” he muttered as he stood and headed for the phone.

  * * *

  Cara watched as Liam grabbed the phone from the wall and started punching numbers. She pulled her sleeve back over the bandage on her wrist, hoping that by the time he got off the phone, he’d forget he’d even seen it.

  That wasn’t too much to hope for, was it? Her wrist was a complication and, as far as she could tell, complications were something most guys were happy to forget.

  She didn’t want him looking at her wrist. She didn’t want him seeing her scars. Because then he’d know – and he couldn’t ever know.

  If only she hadn’t made such a fuss when he squeezed her wrist, but she couldn’t help herself. It hurt, damn it. And that made the second time tonight that he’d grabbed her there, too. She felt her face flush when she remembered the first time.

  In his room.

  While he kissed her.

  Just thinking about it now was enough to make her ache for him. He’d felt so good, tasted so right. She hadn’t wanted him to stop – not ever. But he had. With just one kiss, he’d shown her what he could do to her, if he wanted to. How ready his body was to please her. How good he could make her feel…

  Next thing she knew, he was cutting her loose and shoving her out the door.

  Cara pressed her injured arm against the pain in her chest. She cupped her other hand around it, and rocked slowly back and forth in her chair, willing herself not to cry when she remembered the disdain in his eyes, the sneer on his lips, as he closed the door in her face.

  Tell him thanks, but no thanks...

  Right, asshole. Good idea. I’ll just do that. And now he was fixing her sandwiches and giving her his bed, thinking that was gonna make things better? I don’t think so. She wasn’t sure what kind of game Liam thought he was playing with her, but it needed to stop.

  If you needed a place to sleep, you should have just said something, earlier.

  Well, she had said something, hadn’t she? So, maybe he just hadn’t wanted to listen? And that was fine with her. Because there were a whole lot of things she didn’t want right now, too.

  She didn’t want his bed, for one thing. And she didn’t want his pity, for another. And, for a third, she absolutely did not want that look he was too fond of giving her. The one that made her feel like a slut.

  You don’t have to screw guys just for a place to sleep! You can’t keep doing things like that…

  Maybe that was true, and maybe it wasn’t. But this was her life, not his. If Gregg said she that’s what she had to do, then she guessed she’d better do it, whether she wanted to, or not. Either way, it wasn’t Liam’s call to make. Not anymore, it wasn’t. If that’s what he wanted, he’d had his chance. He’d blown it.

  The slamming of the phone recalled her attention. She looked up, startled, as Liam crossed the room, headed toward her, looking grim.

  “I need to get out of here,” he said.

  Cara felt her mouth drop open. “Now? Y- you can’t.”

  “I have to,” he repeated, crouching in front of her once again, taking her hands and holding them trapped between his own. “Cara, please. You have to help me. You have to let me out. I have to see a friend about something. It’s important.”

  Important. Sure. There’s that word, again.

  “Liam, you’re crazy. Gregg will bust a rod if he finds out.”

  Liam shrugged. “So, don’t tell him. Just go upstairs, get into my bed and get some sleep. But first, help me get out of here, and tell me what I have to do to sneak back in.”

  “You can’t sneak in. Unless I leave the gate open, it’ll lock automatically. And I can’t do that!”

  “Well, there must be another way, then?”

  “No.” Cara shook her head. “There isn’t.” But there was, and she knew it.

  And from the look in his eyes, he knew it, too. “Cara, please.”

  She felt
her heart sink. Oh, God. “Don’t do this, Liam,” she whispered, blinking back tears. She could feel the noose drawing tighter, not just around his neck, but around her own as well. “Please, don’t do this. If you care at all–” But, obviously, he didn’t.

  “I have to,” he insisted again. “I have to.”

  Cara closed her eyes and sighed; she knew she was going to regret this. When had being nice ever paid off for her? But how could she say no to that look in his eyes? “There’s a remote in my glove compartment. If you take that, you can over-ride the main control.”

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Liam said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. He hugged her swiftly, and for just a moment, she felt cared for and safe. But the moment was gone too fast.

  “Now, go upstairs and get some sleep,” Liam ordered over his shoulder, already on his way to the door. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come in.”

  * * *

  Adam’s day had been bad to begin with. The intolerable distance between he and Sinead only seemed to stretch wider with each passing hour. But now, the day had hit a new low; and for that, he had Nick to thank.

  Not that thanking the thoughtless son of a bitch was what he had a mind to do; one good punch, right square in Nick’s over-inflated ego, was a damn sight closer to the mark. But, at the moment, faced with Scout’s unhappy, doomed expression, the anguish in her eyes, Adam would be happy to forego the violence, happy to just lay eyes on the bastard again.

  Too bad no one seemed to know where he’d gone.

  It was Nick’s daughter, Kate, who’d first noticed her father was missing. Adam had been seated beside Scout, neither of them saying much, when Kate came into the living room. Phone in hand, she glanced around anxiously, and then focused on Scout. “Where’s Dad?” the girl asked. “Did he go somewhere? There’s a call for him, but his car’s gone. I can’t find him anywhere.”

  Adam watched in surprise as the blood drained from Scout’s face. “Let me have that,” she said sharply, as she sprang to her feet and reached a shaking hand out for the phone.

  “Watch out!” Marsha called in warning, before Scout had taken more than a single step forward.

  The warning was unnecessary. Adam had already seen her sway, he grabbed his sister just as she started to pitch forward in a dead faint.

  “Who is this?” he heard Lucy inquire into the phone as he laid Scout down on the couch. “Well, Liam, you’ll have to call back. Nick’s not here. No, I don’t know where he is. I think he’s gone out.”

  “Nick.” Scout’s eyelids fluttered open again. Eyes wide and filled with grief, she gazed directly at Adam. “He’s gone,” she whispered brokenly. “Gone.”

  Why Nick would choose to skip out on his own party, without a word to anyone, was a mystery Adam didn’t have time to solve. He stroked Scout’s hair and smiled encouragingly. “It’s okay, Jen,” he said, hoping the childhood name would soothe her. “Don’t worry. He probably went to the store. You probably ran out of some key ingredient he needs for dessert. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

  But, tears sparked in her eyes as she shook her head, and whispered once again. “No. Something’s happened. Something’s gone wrong. He– he’s gone.”

  * * *

  Nick paid no attention to the heavy fog that obscured his vision as he sped toward the Gilchrist mansion, toward Lauren, toward who-knew-what disaster. He’d driven the dark roads that twisted through the Totawka foothills for years – for his whole life, really. But rarely like this; with murder raging in his blood, with his heart hammering in his chest, with a stale cigarette – from a half-empty pack he found stashed in his glove compartment – clenched between his lips.

  A cold wind whipped through the windows to tangle in his hair and sting his eyes. A sweet-scented wind, it carried the fragrance of the wild cherry blossoms, blooming pink and white, on the trees that lined the road. He loved the scent of cherries, but, at the moment, it barely even registered. At the moment, he was fully occupied, frantically replaying his conversation with Lauren, each word, each pause, each hitch in her voice; as if, by repetition, he could wring some extra meaning from the call... or any meaning, at all.

  Don’t call anyone. And, don’t come here. I can get away.

  What the hell had Lauren been trying to tell him? If she could get away, why bother calling? Why not just leave? Why ask for his help, and then beg him to stay away?

  If only he’d thought to grab his cell phone, he chastised himself, for what had to be the hundredth time. Because, no matter what she’d said, he knew he should be calling someone. The station. Or Scout. He should have let somebody know what was happening, where he was going, and why.

  But the fear in Lauren’s voice had been genuine. And that, combined with the bad feeling he’d had all day, had pushed him over the edge; beyond reason, beyond common sense. Hell, beyond any kind of sense at all.

  A memory tugged at the back of his mind. Vague, and likely irrelevant, riding a nagging sense of familiarity; as though he’d seen, or done something just like this, sometime before. But when?

  I won’t be here. I don’t want to stay. Just meet me outside. On the road...

  The road? “Why, damn it?” he wondered, speeding angrily around another curve. “What the hell’s happening?”

  Given everything he knew about Gregg and his sick predilections, Nick could imagine too many possibilities. None of them good. But a few hard facts, no matter how unpleasant, would have been something worth having, at the moment.

  Forewarned is forearmed – hadn’t he already told himself that? It was always better to know ahead of time what kind of mess you were in for. Always better not to go rushing into something blindly – like a hotheaded fool.

  Never explain, never apologize. Nick had no idea who originally coined the phrase, but, as mottoes went, it fit his ex-wife to a T. Lauren could never be bothered explaining anything. If truth be told, he’d found that trait appealing once.

  But the novelty had worn off soon enough. And, as far as apologies went, well, he figured the two of them were probably even there. There were some things he could have apologized to her for, as well, come to think of it. And maybe he would, too, when this was over. Assuming he got the chance.

  But, damn it, he would not start thinking like that. Of course he’d get the chance. He had to.

  Nick shifted through his gears, following the road as it wound through the darkness, while his thoughts took a similar tour through the tortured by-ways of his brain; both arriving at their respective destinations with impeccably lousy timing.

  With less than a quarter of a mile to go, Nick finally realized why it was that this whole scene seemed so familiar – as though he’d seen it before. He had. In the movies.

  The Godfather. Sonny. Oh, shit.

  An instant later his headlights illuminated an object sprawled in the road. Nick gasped and nearly swallowed his cigarette as recognition hit. Not an object, his brain corrected automatically, even as he choked and gagged and spit the butt from his mouth; even as he hit the brakes and the clutch, trying to shift gears with one hand while, with the other, he spun the wheel hard to the left.

  Not an object, damn it. A person. A woman, wearing a filmy purple negligée.

  Lauren?

  Familiar honey-blond hair obscured her face, and he couldn’t be sure. But, shit, why even wonder? Who else could it be?

  He had no time to ponder, and barely any to react, as his car planed across the road, left the pavement, hit the dew-slicked grass of the embankment, and went airborne; heading straight for the trees with their sweet, pink blossoms, and their dark, deadly trunks.

  He always said she’d be the death of him.

  * * *

  Damn, I’m good, Gregg thought gleefully as he scrambled down the wet, grassy embankment toward the crashed car. Not that there was any real reason to hurry; he was pretty sure he had all the time he needed to accomplish his task. But, unlike the idiot who’d just plowed his car into the tr
ees, Gregg liked to think he knew how to plan for a few of life’s unexpected surprises.

  Which is why he’d taken a moment to remove the blow up doll from its place in the road, and to toss it out of sight, into the weeds on the road’s other shoulder, before proceeding down here.

  It was also why he’d taken the time earlier, while he was waiting, to locate a suitable rock. It felt good in his hand now, even through the thin leather of his glove. It felt solid. Comfortable. And just heavy enough to be useful.

  It also provided a nice counterweight to the gas can that hung from his other hand.

  The gas can was an integral part of Gregg’s plan. The rock was merely an added precaution; not strictly necessary, since the car, as he’d hoped, had gathered a fair sized collection of similar stones, on its way down the slope. They clustered around it, scarring the grass; almost causing him to stumble in the darkness. But it was a precaution Gregg was glad for, just the same.

  The hiss of steam sounded loud in the now still air as Gregg arrived at his destination. But other than that, and the giggling creek, and the faint, far off barking of several dogs, there was nothing to be heard. No sirens. No alarms. Even the tree frogs had been startled into silence. Perfect.

  Cherry blossoms littered the ground around his feet and danced in the air like confetti. The green smell of freshly killed wood hung over the car, along with the dismembered tree under which it was mostly buried. As Gregg shoved the branches out of his way and wrenched open the door, the driver was just starting to stir; he hung limp in his seatbelt above the now deflated airbag, surrounded by a shower of pale, green glass.

  Several branches had staked the windshield and the sweet smell of cherries filled the car, along with a whiff of tobacco and burnt cloth.

  “Oh, excellent.” Gregg couldn’t help smiling as he spied the glowing stub of a cigarette, nestled between the driver’s thighs. “You’ve really fucked yourself up, haven’t you?” he inquired of the unconscious man. “Drinking, driving, dropping cigarettes in your lap. Burning your nuts. Blowing your car up. Is this anyway for a cop to behave? Shit, motherfuck, no wonder you crashed; you fuckin’ deserved what happened to you. You brought this all on yourself, didn’t you?”