by AJ Lange
“Four one two, Simon’s Place. Cute little white house on the corner.” Micah chuckled. “Oh, and Gavin. If I see one more tagalong, I’ll slit your mother’s throat and leave you to swim in her blood.” The line went dead.
Gavin swore. “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” He resisted the urge to throw his phone against the dash.
He dialed Dom again, not caring if Micah was watching from one of the parked vehicles. It went straight to voicemail; they must be in the woods by now. Gavin hoped they were pulling Gina to safety as he spoke. “Dom. She’s not here. I have to go in alone, so give me a head start before you send the new location to Burke, okay?” He rattled off the house number and street. He hesitated, dread pooling in his stomach.
“And take care of Matt for me.”
It was the closest Gavin would allow himself to admitting the danger he was walking into. But Dom would understand the meaning behind the words.
The little white bungalow on the corner was sweet, a relic from the post-war American housing boom. The quiet neighborhood surrounding it had no idea the sleepy dwelling was a veritable house of horrors. Gavin parked right out front; it wasn’t like Micah didn’t know he was coming. He clicked the safety off his gun and removed it from his holster, the weight steady and warm in his palm as he approached the house.
He crossed the porch in slow strides, ears attuned to every sound; crickets were beginning to sing in the darkening evening and the wide planks of the porch creaked under his feet.
The front door was open a crack.
He nudged it with his boot, sweeping inside, gun drawn. Antonia was seated in a chair in the middle of the empty room, her arms tied to her sides, mouth gagged. She was twisting her head frantically, eyes wild.
“Mom,” Gavin whispered, eyes not yet adjusted to the dim interior, scanning the room for movement. He crossed quickly to her, struggling first to remove the tightly knotted gag.
“Gavin!”
She was too late; the barbs of the taser struck his back, hot jolts of electric current stunning his limbs, immobilizing him as he fell to the hardwood floor.
Six Days Ago
Leanne poured a cup of coffee for her guest. They had chatted comfortably as she put away dinner preparations; she found Drew charming and easy to talk to. Since he had shown up on her doorstep this afternoon, he had been sharing childhood stories about Matt, making her laugh easily, easing her fears about the decision to search for him. She still struggled to calm her nerves over Matt’s reaction when he got home and realized what she had done, however.
“You seem nervous,” Drew said, sipping from his mug.
“I’m sorry,” Leanne said, sighing. “I am. I have to confess something.” She wrung her hands together, sitting down across from him at the kitchen table.
“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” Drew soothed.
She smiled weakly. “It might be, I’m afraid. You see, Matt has no idea I’ve been looking for you.”
Drew’s eyebrows arched delicately. “I see.” He set his mug aside. “Would you prefer I leave and come again after you’ve had a chance to talk to him?”
“No,” Leanne urged, reaching across the table to clasp his hand. “No. I’m thrilled that you’re here and I’m sure Matt will be too.”
“Matt,” Drew murmured. “I haven’t seen him in so long. Not since he was with Gavin.”
Leanne’s eyes dropped to the creamy oak finish of the table. She rubbed at a nonexistent spot.
“I’m sorry,” Drew said. “That was very gauche of me.”
“No, it wasn’t,” she smiled, eyes shining with tears when she looked back up. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s a part of me that wishes you were Gavin DeLuca.”
Drew’s laugh was boisterous and it bounced off the small kitchen’s walls. “Now that’s something I never in my life thought I’d hear.”
Leanne laughed with him, relaxing. “Matt and I aren’t,” she paused, searching for the right words. “We don’t live as man and wife.”
Drew seemed stunned. “Well. You have surprised me again.”
“We’re friends. He helped me through the death of my mother, and frankly, without his financial support, I would be much worse than I am.”
“Worse?” Drew cocked his head. “Are you ill?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “And after watching my mother waste away, I can’t bear the thought of Matt being left alone when I’m gone. I’m basically his only friend,” she laughed, but her voice broke. “And you’re all the family he has left now. It’s only right that you patch up old grudges.”
“Old grudges,” Drew murmured, sipping his coffee again. “It’s a lovely thought. Thank you, Leanne. I’m sure Matt will see the sincerity of your gesture.” He winked. “Even if he’s pissed as hell at you for making it.”
She was still smiling when the phone rang. “Excuse me.”
She lifted the receiver from the hook, answering casually. When the caller identified himself as Drew Laurel, she glanced at the man seated at the table. “Who is this,” she asked sharply.
“Drew Laurel, and I’m asking you to call off your PI. For your own safety.” The voice was far away; it reminded Leanne of the international calls from her sorority sister during winter break in college.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, if this is some kind of sick joke, but I don’t appreciate it. Drew Laurel is sitting in my kitchen right this minute.” She fretted to herself; what if the private investigator she had hired had not been as discreet as she’d hoped? What if some crazed fan of Matt’s books had gotten hold of their exchanges?
At the kitchen table, Drew’s smile faltered, his dark eyes suddenly glittering and hard.
“Get out,” the voice on the other end of the line urged. “That man is not me, and you are in grave danger.”
Leanne felt a trickle of fear as she looked to the man at her table again. She tried to cover, mind scrambling frantically for a blithe retort, but he was onto her. He calmly stood and she saw the glint of stainless steel in his hand.
Leanne dropped the phone and ran.
The tree cover made the darkness thicker, denser, but even so Matt quickly spotted the newly turned earth. The location mimicked the small valley where Melanie Bodine’s body had been laid to rest.
“Over here!”
Flashlights bobbed across the field and woods as the rescuers ran to meet him. Dom was the first with a shovel, plunging it into the soft dirt, frantically turning it in large scooping swaths. Matt moved aside, useless with his one good arm, as more arrived to help. He flinched when a shovel hit wood.
Dom fell to the ground. “Gina? Baby can you hear me? Hold on!”
The officers cleared enough earth that Dom could drop into the hole, passing his shovel to Matt, whose eyes met his with the same grim determination. A second officer jumped in beside Dom and together they pried the wooden lid from the coffin-shaped box.
The forest and field was silent save the creaking groan of the wood as it gave way, and the hard breaths of the officers who had raced to find it.
When they lifted the wide, heavy plank, Gina’s beautiful blue eyes blinked rapidly at the sudden influx of light from the flashlights trained in the hole, and a cheer rent the night air.
Matt sat down hard on the ground, legs suddenly boneless. The officer closest to him squeezed his shoulder tight.
“Good job, man.”
Matt could only nod, and he scraped at his damp eyes. Thank God.
Then they were passing Gina out of the grave, Dom right behind her, untying the knot that held her gag in place. He wrapped his arms around her, all six feet three inches of him quaking.
“Gavin,” Gina gasped, pushing Dom back, fighting to draw a clean breath, the stench of damp, rotting earth still cloyingly present on her skin, in her lungs. “He wants Gavin.”
Matt’s head jerked up. He struggled to his feet. “Gina.”
Her eyes flicked to his face, widening in shock. “
Matt,” she whispered, shaking her head. “He’s going to cut out his heart. For you.”
Chapter 16
Five Years Earlier
Matt unlocked the apartment door with nervous fingers. Gavin should be at work for hours yet, but he had always had something of a sixth sense when it came to Matt. It wouldn’t surprise him to walk in and find Gavin waiting.
He was only here to pick up clothes. He had been driving for two days, aimlessly. He had thought if he drove long enough, far enough, maybe he could get the image of Nikki and Gavin in bed together out of his head. If he could, if he could just get there, then maybe then he would be able to get past it.
It hadn’t happened yet. So, he was going to stay with a friend, ironically the girl who had been the catalyst that shoved he and Gavin into a serious relationship in the first place. Gavin wasn’t going to like it, but right now Matt didn’t really give a fuck what Gavin thought.
That’s a lie, he thought miserably, closing the apartment door behind him.
It was quiet, empty.
He walked quickly to his bedroom, stopping in shock when he found his bed unmade, obviously slept in. He stood over it, the mussed, messy, sheet-tangled left side, Gavin’s side, indented with the shape of a familiar body. Jesus.
He shoved clean underwear, jeans and a few t-shirts into a duffle bag and left the room. He was going to hyperventilate, or worse, give in to the primal need to lie down in that Gavin-shaped indention until the real thing got home from work. When he passed through the living room, he stopped at the bar, intending to leave his apartment key behind. It was pathetic, really, but he wanted to hurt Gavin, stab him in the gut with something as raw and painful as he had been made to suffer.
The key would have to do.
He rolled it between his fingers, face flushing hot with anger when he couldn’t set it down. He was turning to go, shoving the key in his pocket, when he saw it: a plain brown envelope with his name scrawled on the front in familiar handwriting.
His stomach quivered, fingers shaking when they reached for it. There was no return address, but none was needed; he had watched his brothers make these in the past, mementos to taunt those left behind, and he had a sinking feeling he knew what he would find inside.
He slit the flap with an unwashed knife from the sink and tapped the open end on the countertop.
The uppermost photo fell face up, a cold, cruel snapshot of a moment in agony. Her face was caught mid-scream, her pale, creamy cheeks streaked with black trails of mascara and tears.
Her bright red hair clung to her face and neck with sweat. It matched the small tendril taped to the side.
Matt touched the curl, sliding the top picture away.
Cold, dead eyes stared at him from the second and final pose.
It didn’t feel the way he thought it would feel, seeing the evidence of his sister’s murder. Instead of despair and heavy, overwhelming guilt, he felt heat, coiling tight in his stomach. It began to spread the longer stared at Nikki’s face, snaking through his limbs, an electric buzz, until it forced a clarity of mind and heart he had scarcely felt before.
He slid the photos into his pocket alongside the apartment key and threw the strap of the duffle bag over his shoulder.
It was time he went home.
Isaiah spat, blood congealing on his chin where Matt’s fist had split his lip. He chuckled, the sound gurgling loosely in his chest.
“I knew you were my son,” he whispered gleefully, head bobbing, left eye swollen shut.
He cackled as Matt poured gasoline in a neat circle around the chair where he sat, legs and arms lashed to the spindly wood frame with bloodied nylon rope. “She was a dirty, filthy whore, Matt,” he sang. “She deserved it, just like they all deserve it.”
“Shut up,” Matt growled, tossing the container into the corner. The pungent fumes were overpowering and his eyes watered. He fumbled in his pocket for the lighter.
“I’m so proud of you,” Isaiah said, sickeningly genuine.
“You’re done,” Matt said quietly, spinning the flint, blue-gold flame springing to life. “And I’m free.”
“You’ll never be free of me, Matt,” Isaiah laughed again. “Nikki is dead because you persisted in your godless way of life. Your sister sacrificed everything to save you, to bring you back into the fold.” He smiled broadly, teeth bloodied and pink, a horror movie madman come to life. “And you came, you did.”
“I will never be like you,” Matt spat at him, but his hand began to tremble, making Isaiah shake with mirth.
“You already are, little lamb. Look deep, deep inside.” He inclined his head toward the door, the yard, the house across the woods. “Do you think your Gavin will continue to love you, knowing what you’ve become? The things you’ve done? You can’t escape me Matt. Even in death, the stench of what you do today will cling to your very soul. Until one day it will be lost,” he lowered his voice, closed his eyes, expression serene. “And on that day, you will be me.”
Matt tossed the lighter to the floor.
He was halfway across the yard when Isaiah began to scream.
Gavin ran; the house was in flames, he could see the first floor lit orange through the trees. He broke free of the woods, drawing up short at a figure on the edge of the yard.
“Matt!” He spun him around, running his fingers up and down Matt’s cold arms. “My God, are you all right? Are you hurt?”
Matt’s eyes were dull, lifeless as he stared blankly at him. He blinked. “Gavin? What are you doing here?”
Gavin dug frantically for his cell phone, hands shaking as he tried to dial nine-one-one. “Nikki,” he said, swallowing the name, wishing he didn’t have to utter it, not to Matt, not now. “She called, begged me for help.”
Matt knocked the phone from his hand, shoving his face close to Gavin’s. “Bullshit!” Flecks of saliva hit Gavin’s cheek and he held Matt steady, he had never seen him so feral.
“Matt—”
“She’s dead. Dead!” Matt fell to his knees, head in his hands.
“Matt,” Gavin said in shock, dropping to the damp ground beside him, pulling him close. “Matt, no, she called me,” Gavin hesitated. “Micah locked her upstairs.” There was a loud crash from inside the house, followed by a mini-explosion and Gavin threw Matt to the ground, covering his body with his.
Matt struggled beneath him. “Nikki?” He shoved Gavin aside, scrambling to his feet. “Nikki!”
Gavin tackled him before he made it to the porch. The heat was intense, cracking his skin as the century-old house incinerated, a dozen wood-framed rooms no more than seasoned tinder now.
“Let go,” Matt moaned. “I can save her.”
“She’s gone, Matt,” Gavin pleaded, dragging him back from the two-story Victorian furnace now lighting the night sky with an eery orange glow. A siren sounded in the distance.
“Matt, Matt we have to go.” Gavin pulled on his arms, his hands. Matt reeked of gasoline, face and clothing covered in soot and smoke, and Gavin knew. He knew. “Baby, please, you can’t be here when the trucks come.”
Gavin dragged him back through the woods, the narrow path they had so often traipsed as children now grown over. He shoved him into the Jeep, thanking God he had parked behind his parents’ house without going in first to say hello.
He had worried Nikki might have been trying to seduce him again.
He had hoped he could convince her to admit what she’d done, confess to Matt; it was the only reason he had come. Thank God that he had. Though for months afterward, Gavin would wake in a cold sweat, the stark image of Matt’s face as he rushed the burning house, intent on saving Nikki, haunting him.
Matt never spoke on the ride to the apartment, nor when Gavin led him gently into the bathroom, stripped him naked and showered all evidence of the fire from his skin.
His lips had found Gavin’s, hungry, desperate, the moment they hit their bed and Gavin, weak with sadness and worry, let him love him. It was too franti
c, too fast, and Gavin’s heart ached more afterward than before. But he held Matt tightly until he couldn’t fight sleep any longer, his last conscious thought a prayer the morning would provide answers and a fresh start.
Instead, Gavin would discover, the morning had revealed an empty apartment and a new life, alone.
Present
Dom tossed his phone to Matt who immediately tried to dial Gavin. “Fuck,” he swore. His eyes met Dom’s and he shook his head. “No service.”
He took off across the dark wooded floor of the tiny glen, heading for the open field. He winced when he jarred his shoulder, and wished desperately that he wasn’t wearing the sling, that he could pump his arms hard and fast, get across the knee-deep grass and into one of the cars. Get to Gavin.
He could hear Dom calling orders behind him, answering shouts surrounding him as the news was relayed via radio.
“Ian’s dialing Burke now, he’s back at the car.” The officer, a boy really, no more than twenty-two, was jogging alongside Matt, trying to keep up with his quick strides. “Ambulance is almost here.”
Matt nodded terse. He chanced a glance at the phone in his hand again; one bar. He thanked Dom silently for putting Gavin on speed dial. Number two; Gina was one.
You have reached Gavin DeLuca. If you’re that mangy asshole I’ve been tracking, I’m hot on your tail, motherfucker. If this is Antonia, sorry mom. If this is Dom, how long does it take to get a damn cheeseburger?
The call cut out, losing service again, before Matt could leave a message. His fist burned with the need to punch someone or something. There was an officer waiting at the gate when they finally reached the highway. Matt was out of breath, side aching.
“Did you get him?”
“Burke said Gavin never made it, or he left. He’s not there. And he’s not picking up.”
“Goddammit,” Matt slammed his fist against the hood of the patrol car. He spun away at the sound of Dom calling his name. His tall form was easily detected among those crisscrossing the field, one arm slung around Gina’s shoulder. The ambulance was close; Matt could hear it’s distinctive peal echoing through the night air.
