Unzipping a black leather jacket, I watch Sienna tip her head back and rinse shampoo from her hair in bubbly rivers. She’s so fucking beautiful, I have to adjust the boner in my jeans to a more comfortable position. Movement off to the right tugs at my attention, sending a streak of panic slashing through me. Sinking into the pine tree, soft needles tickle my cheeks as I watch a dark figure emerge from the shadows collecting around the back of the fence. Though my pulse skyrockets, I calmly pull Jack’s nine-millimeter from the holster in the small of my back. I’ve never shot anyone before and don’t intend to start tonight. But if this gun doesn’t scare tall, dark, and creepy into submission, I’ll shoot him in the leg if I have to and that’s as far as this shit will go. Despite the pure adrenaline fueling my pounding heart, I stay calm and remind myself to breathe. I’ve shot enough guns over the years to know that improper breathing will give the perp sneaking across the grass the upper hand.
Whoever it is, they are quiet and dressed in black to blend with the night. As predicted, the shadowy figure pushes through the burning bushes and stops outside the bathroom window. Light steals across a man’s face and I know he can see Sienna naked. I know he’s studying her slippery breasts and the chocolate strip running down below. Quietly slipping out from the pine tree’s soft embrace, I sneak closer with the gun wrapped in one hand and a darkened LED flashlight in the other. Bravely, or foolishly, the intruder lights a cigarette and I stop a few yards behind him. He’s not jerking off or shooting video. He’s just standing there watching Sienna shower while taking long drags off the cigarette. Using my thumb, I click the hammer back and he freezes mid-drag. Swallowing dryly, I didn’t expect him to be so fucking tall. His suit coat and bowler hat of some kind are black as night and creepy as shit. When he slowly turns to face me, my heart drops but my aim doesn’t. Clicking the flashlight on, I feel a frown slide down my face. The guy’s way too old to be one of Jack’s students. Hell, he’s older than Jack! Not to mention, the dark hair curling from beneath his round hat doesn’t match a blond in the least.
“You’re getting predictable,” I say through clenched teeth, tightening my grip on the weapon.
Dropping the cigarette to the ground, the man barely raises a pair of long, bony hands into the air, staring down at me like I’m a frightened child. Slowly, he grinds the toe of a black wingtip into the burning smoke, crushing it into the grass. “Now, please take it easy, sir. I’m just out looking for my dog. Okay?”
“She’s not your dog,” I growl, tightening my lips. I could shoot him right here, on Sienna’s property, and Stand Your Ground would cover my ass. I want to. This sonofabitch has crazy eyes and I know that if I don’t kill him, he’ll come back. There is no fucking doubt in my mind. But I’m no killer so I hold off…for now. “Sienna!” I call through the window, making the man flinch. The shower stops and the man and I continue a silent stare off. A dog starts barking three doors down, punctuating the quiet night with its incessant warning.
“Get your hands up higher,” I command, watching him obey.
The bathroom window darkens with Sienna’s silhouette. “What is it?” she whispers, wrapping a towel around her.
“I got him.” The window clears, giving way to the light inside, and I gesture with the gun. “Over to the patio.” The tall man bows slightly before lumbering stilt-like legs across the yard with his hands raised halfway to the moon. “Sit.”
He drops onto the couch I took Sienna on earlier this afternoon, pulling his suitcoat out from beneath him. “Listen, I can explain,” he says.
“Shut up,” I snap, keeping both the light and gun trained on him.
Grudgingly, he closes his mouth and leans back into the couch, squinting against the glow. He crosses his long legs and moonlight glistens off the shiny wingtip swinging through the air. The dog stops barking and the ensuing quiet hums in my ears. Exhaling, the tall man examines his fingernails as if he’s waiting to see the dentist, sparking my irritation. When Sienna comes out dressed in tight yoga pants, a Madonna cut-off, and bare feet, my heart swells with something I’ve never felt before. Moonlight winks off the butcher’s knife wrapped in her hand, tugging at my heartstrings. She’s so beautiful and innocent, I hate to see this fear in her eyes. She’s suffered enough for one lifetime and I make a silent promise to never let anyone hurt her again. Not Jack and certainly not this bag of bones. Cautiously, she comes around the couch, and I can tell by the wrinkles jutting from the corners of her eyes that the man’s age is registering in her mind. That she’s putting him somewhere between fifty-five and sixty, and has never seen his gaunt face before in her life.
“Take off the hat,” I say, gesturing with the handgun.
Staring confusedly at me for a second or two, the home invader removes the bowler, exposing dark curls leading to a receding hairline. Setting the hat on the cushion next to him, high cheekbones stretch his face. Dark circles pull on his sad eyes and, like his suit, his skin hangs from his bones.
“Who-Who the hell are you?” Sienna stammers, keeping her distance with one hand holding in her heart, and one clutching the knife.
Lifting his chin, he straightens the knot on a golden necktie. “Surely, you remember, Mrs. McConnel.”
Frowning, I jerk my gaze to Sienna, searching for understanding.
“No, I…” Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she wags the knife at him. “The hospital,” she barely whispers, blood turning cold in her veins. “Down in the morgue.”
An Adam’s apple bobs along his slender neck. “That is correct.”
“What’re you doing here?” She swaps a puzzled look with me I don’t like.
“I think you know,” the man simply responds, smiling tightly with his hands folded neatly in his lap.
“Sienna!” My eyes flick between them. “What’s he talking about?”
“I…” She takes a small step backwards. “I don’t know.”
The man uncrosses his legs and leans forward, painting a concerned expression across his face. “Oh, but that’s not quite true, is it? I think you have a very good idea what I’m talking about.”
“Get out,” Sienna says through her teeth, pointing the knife at the gate hiding around the side of the house. Even in the dark, I can see the red rising in her cheeks and I don’t like that either.
“Sienna!” I shout. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Are you going to tell him?” The man spreads a toothy grin. “Or shall I?”
Chapter Sixteen
Getting Stronger
My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I can’t breathe, leaving me dizzy on my feet. This can’t be happening. It just can’t. This man cannot be the one who’s been messing with me. I’d rather have the blond-haired dude back but that kid is long gone. Moved onto the next big thing. This guy is now, the coroner who examined Jack’s broken body. It all comes together in my head so fast, there’s a light pop that leaves a far-off ringing in my ears.
I know.
“Sienna!” Lincoln shouts, making me jump. “What is going on here?”
“Are you going to tell him?” The man asks me, smiling widely. “Or shall I?”
I swallow dryly. The water dripping from my hair feels like spiders running down the middle of my back. I’m painted into a corner, reduced to tiny movements. “He’s obviously insane,” I pant. “Call the police.”
He shoots a bony finger into the air. “If you call the police, I’m afraid I’ll have to tell them about the amendment to my report.”
Lincoln gives him a doubletake, still pointing the gun at him. “What report?”
“The one detailing the cause of death on your brother’s death certificate. You see, Lincoln, my name is Ronald Bennington and I am Chief Medical Examiner at Mercy.” Deliberately moving very slowly, he fishes a pack of Camels from an outside coat pocket and holds them up for Lincoln to see it’s not a weapon. “Apparently, I missed something the first time around.”
“Like what?”
Lincoln sneers.
Ronald looks my way and raises his bushy, black eyebrows. When I don’t jump at the chance to cut in, he lights up, casting a golden glow over his sallow cheeks. “Like an unusual dosage of sleeping aids found in Jack’s bloodstream,” he replies, smoke cloaking his words. “So much so, it would make cleaning the gutters quite the feat.” He stares dully at me, quietly studying my flabbergasted response with smoke curling from his nose.
“What do you mean?” I hear Lincoln ask from down a long, dark well.
“I mean, Jack was drugged before he was pushed down a flight of stairs.” Ronald tips his head down and peers at me over an imaginary pair of bifocals. “The difference between a fall from a ladder and a tumble down the stairs is quite noticeable. The jagged bone breaks from stairs are much more severe.”
I can feel Lincoln looking at me, but I can’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever. “You’re lying,” I breathe out, hands balling into fists of rage.
“Mrs. McConnel,” Ronald says, pinning that pleasant fucking smile back to his skinny-ass face. “I completely understand your reasons for killing Jack. I really do. You see,” he says, pausing for another drag, “my daughter dated Jack before you did. Hannah, however, was smart enough to leave him after the first black eye.”
Blood pumps thickly in my ears, like a washing machine set to cycle. The yard spins around me in oblong loops, pulling harder on one side of my body than the other. Lincoln’s flashlight turns on me, trapping my vision within its prison of light.
“The fuck is he talking about?” he yells.
Using my hand to block the beam, I decide to make the only move I have left. There is no use pretending anymore. It’s too heavy a charade to keep up, so I let go and it feels amazing. “I drugged Jack before asking him for a divorce because I knew what would happen if I didn’t.” I stare dully at Ronald. “I knew what he was capable of.” Ronald nods his understanding and I cross my arms to ward off a shiver. “But before the pills started to work, we got into an argument upstairs and…”
“And you pushed him down the stairs,” Ronald finishes for me. “Didn’t you?”
My eyes sharpen into razorblades. “He was trying to attack me!”
Shifting on the couch, gravity grabs onto Ronald’s jaw. “Now, that’s not quite true either, is it? You see, Jack suffered a skull injury just inside his brow line, consistent with someone falling face first down the stairs. As if he were…pushed from behind.”
Shit. It’s over. “That’s not true,” I faintly lie, fighting back tears.
“Sienna,” Lincoln growls, coming closer. “Tell me what he’s talking about.”
“I’m talking about murder, Lincoln.” Ronald presses his lips into a tight line. “Plain and simple. Now, if I amend my report, I am – by law – required to notify the authorities.” His dark, saggy eyes return to me and I shudder as if someone just walked over my grave. “But I don’t want to involve the police. Like I said, Sienna, I understand your motives crystal clear. You don’t have to sell me. Jack was an abuser and this world is better off without him. For my daughter’s sake, for your sake, and for anyone who came after you. Jack was a women hater and you did us all a favor, so I did you one by indicating a heart attack as cause of death on my final report.” Bringing the cigarette to his lips, he makes the cherry glow. Smoke seeps from his nose and mouth, joining together into a rising stream. “I helped bolster your flimsy ladder story.”
“Bullshit,” Lincoln spits back.
Ronald’s eyebrows go up. “Actually, heart attacks on ladders happen more often than you think. It’s just a simple case of bad timing, but nothing too out of the ordinary.”
“What do you want?” I ask gravely, trying to quell the tremble in my lower lip.
“Now, that is a worthy question!” Dropping the smoke to the patio tiles and grinding a heel into it, Ronald puts his bowler cap back on and straightens his suit coat. “I want something for my daughter’s pain and suffering, and I want something for my generous error in Jack’s report. After all, I am taking some risk here as well. We are talking about a medical pedigree built upon a small fortune of classrooms and labs. Not to mention, the many years of career experience that got me to where I am today. I sympathize with your plight, I do, but I won’t lose my career. Not for you or anyone else.”
“Tell me what you want?” I repeat in a slower voice.
Leaning back, he examines his fingernails in the flashlight’s glow. “Eighty-thousand sounds fair.”
Lincoln’s jaw drops. “Dollars?”
“That should about cover it.”
Taking my elbow, Lincoln spins me around to face him. “Is he telling the truth?” he asks, chest undulating beneath his leather jacket. “Did you kill Jack?”
My eyes water, blurring him into three or four pissed off Lincolns. I want to vanish in a puff of smoke but I’m not a witch. I’m a murderer with nowhere to hide. Rooted to the ground, the patio tiles sow cold roots into my feet. My brain turns to mush and the thought of losing Lincoln frightens me more than the idea of going to prison. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Staring aghast, Lincoln slowly lowers the flashlight and gun. “Jesus Christ, Sienna.”
The disgust in his voice sparks my wrath. “Jack was a sonofabitch and karma is a cruel mistress! He would’ve killed me if I hadn’t drugged him. I’ve done it before.” Relaxing the anger tightening my eyes, I soften my tone. “I just needed his signature, but he wouldn’t let me go.”
“And stop recording,” Ronald says, tapping at his cellphone. “Now, that I have that nasty little admission on record, let’s get back to the tiny matter of my…”
Lincoln swings the gun around to him. “If you don’t shut up, I will shoot you in the face.”
“I’ll sign over Jack’s 1957 Corvette. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Ronald slowly turns to face me, eyes widening with surprise. He thumbs behind him. “The one parked out front?” He laughs and Lincoln steps closer with the gun clenched in his outstretched hand. Sobering dramatically, the coroner clears his throat and changes his tune. “Deal.”
“I’ll get the title and keys,” I say, padding my bare feet back inside the house and rounding up what I need. My mind jumps from one thought to the next as I sign over the title with a shaky hand and wet hair hanging in my face. What if I go back outside and Lincoln is gone? What if I never see him again? And what happens when Ronald sells the car and spends all of the money? History repeats itself, that’s what happens. No, there has to be a window of opportunity for him to strike before Jack’s paperwork gets buried by countless others. It would look suspicious if say, a year or two down the road, Ronald just so happened to realize his mistake. Because why would he even be thinking about it? City hospitals are busy, revolving doors of sickness and death. No, this is his window. Right now. Even if he does come sniffing around again, I’ll be long gone. Jack’s life insurance payout will deposit next month and then there’s this big ass house to sell. Ronald will never find me again. He can have the fucking car. Jack loved it more than me anyway.
Storming back outside, the panic loosens in my chest when I see Lincoln still standing there. He hasn’t left yet, but it’s only a matter of time. “Here,” I blurt, thrusting the title and keys out. “If I ever see you around here again…”
The heavy click of a gun hammer cuts me off. Lincoln stares down the barrel at Ronald, a cold gleam in his eyes. “You’ll be the one lying on a metal slab.”
Holding his hands up, Ronald cautiously accepts the title and keys. “Understood and understandable.” He rises, claiming at least six-feet eight inches of skyscraper height. “I believe our work here is finished,” he says, gesturing with the title and walking away. Suddenly stopping, he stares into the bathroom window for a moment as if recalling something special. Then he turns to face me. “You really do have a beautiful…” His eyes travel up and down my body. “Home.”
“Get out.” Lincoln jerks the gun up to his face.<
br />
Raising his hands, Ronald gives a faint bow and walks away.
Standing side by side, Lincoln and I watch him slip into the shadows around the side of the house. The gate opens and clicks shut. Blowing out a steamy breath, Lincoln finally lowers the gun. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
The Corvette starts up out front, a smooth rumble laced with raw power and simple elegance. Then it’s backing down the driveway and speeding up the street. We listen to it fade into the night without talking. Without knowing what to say next. A firefly paints a green streak between us. The patio tiles are freezing and all the cards are laid on the table. I murdered my husband and it wasn’t in self-defense. Not by a long shot. But I also know it could just as easily be me lying buried in Founder’s Cemetery on the outskirts of town, left to rot with the joggers and geese, and I don’t regret it. That asshole deserved it. Sooner or later, I would’ve become one of those poor girls you see on the news. The one who tried to get away. The one who filed for divorce three months before her psycho ex came over and shot her to death in her new apartment. I don’t regret it and that scares me.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Just the sound of Lincoln’s voice makes me tremble. I’m terrified to reply or look at him so I don’t. Instead, I watch the moonlight glimmer off the pool. A sudden breeze sends a leaf skittering across the surface like a tiny, wooden ship and maybe Lincoln won’t hate me if I explain. Maybe he won’t call the police and turn me in if I tell him everything. And I mean the gritty stuff I never told a soul. The stuff I keep buried under a pile of rocks in the back of my mind. Like the time Jack got so drunk, he tied me to the bed and filmed himself raping me. Or the time he wanted to watch his golfing buddy, Brandon, fuck my brains out. I wish I had the courage to leave Jackson long before we got to this point, but I didn’t and don’t know why. I like to think of myself as a strong woman, physically and emotionally. I don’t make snotty comments online and I like to hold doors for people but I’m also no pushover. At least, that’s what I tell myself to keep from seeing the truth. And the truth is I’m weak. Broken. Branded by shame.
White Widow Page 11
