by Webb, Debra
“Like you did nine years ago.”
Adeline pushed the SUV door closed and headed for the office. She wasn’t going to discuss nine years ago with him. Not tonight. Not ever.
Wyatt didn’t drive away until Adeline had gotten her room key and gone inside room number 10. She watched from the window as he pulled out of the parking lot. When his taillights had disappeared, she closed her eyes and let go a weary, disgusted breath.
She was not going to let him get to her.
How the hell could she still be susceptible to him on any level after all this time? It didn’t make sense.
Nothing about this situation did.
She tossed her bag onto the bed and surveyed her digs. Definitely the lowest of low rent. Same wallpaper with the big gold flowers that had been here when she was a crazy teenager and had partied with friends in this dump. At the time, they hadn’t cared. Privacy away from the parents was all they had been looking for. A whole group of friends would rent a room to party. At the time there had been a different manager but he’d had the same attitude—as long as the law didn’t show up he didn’t care what happened.
The thinning green and blue shag carpet needed a serious shot of Rogaine. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see the bathroom. One peek past the door and she confirmed her worst fears.
“There should be a biohazard warning.” But for a few nights it would do.
She plopped down on the bed and dug the file Wyatt had given her from her bag. Twenty-six interviews had been conducted with friends, family, and colleagues. Adeline read each one. The shared themes were “no problems” and “loved by everyone who knew her.”
Adeline picked up a candid shot of Cherry Prescott with her family. “Someone didn’t love you, Cherry. Who was it?” The husband? A lover? What had brought her to the Moss Point area? No one seemed to have a clue why she was down this way.
According to her colleagues, Prescott hadn’t been working on a case that might have lured her to the area. No known friends or family lived here.
But there had to be a reason for her visit.
A reason someone wasn’t happy about.
The husband and closest friends didn’t have a clue why she had received the princess letter. Unlike Adeline, her birthday was months away. No known enemies. Nothing.
Adeline’s cell vibrated. She pulled it from her pocket and flipped it open. “Cooper.”
“Addy, you were supposed to call me when you got here.”
“Hey, Mom. Sorry. I got distracted.” The idea that Adeline’s baby was sitting in some garage awaiting new tires pissed her off all over again. Telling her mom about the incident was out of the question.
“I hope you’re being careful,” Irene fussed. “I’m very worried about your being here.”
“I’m fine.” How many times did she have to say that? “I carry a big-ass gun, Mom. No one’s going to mess with me.” Not and live through it anyway.
“It’s Clay that concerns me.”
“I warned Cyrus to keep his offspring off my back.”
“You talked to Cyrus?”
There was something in her mother’s voice. “Yes, I did.” Adeline turned over the inflection she’d heard . . . fear, maybe? “He told me about the cancer.” And you didn’t, she thought but didn’t say.
“You and I never talk about him. In the past when I’ve brought up anyone or anything around here you didn’t want to hear about it.”
That was true. Adeline could scarcely blame her for not mentioning Cyrus’s health issues.
“If I have time we’ll have lunch tomorrow, okay?” The last thing she wanted was her mom fretting over every step she took.
“You could come here,” her mother ventured.
Adeline considered the idea for a moment. She hadn’t set foot in her childhood home in more than nine years. Staying there was out of the question, but dropping by for lunch . . . maybe. It would make her mom happy. “We’ll see,” she hedged.
“Please be careful, Addy. Your father . . . worried so about you being in law enforcement. I worry about you.”
“I’m always careful, Mom.” Not exactly true but her mother did not need to know that.
After another minute or two of awkward conversation, they said good night.
Adeline stared at her phone a long moment after the call ended. She was home. And it felt acutely weird. She’d gone to school a few miles from here. Her father was buried in a cemetery just down the road.
And the man she had loved with her whole heart still lived here. He didn’t wear a wedding ring. Hadn’t really changed that much.
Adeline pushed up from the bed and walked over to the mirror on the back of the closet door. She hadn’t changed, either, not really. Still thin. Her hair was exactly the same. Long. Wild and thick. Drove her crazy most days.
What did he see when he looked at her?
The same crazy girl who’d loved him so madly?
Or this older, jaded woman who knew him for what he was?
A man fully capable of betrayal.
The man who had betrayed her.
Chapter Seven
11:05 P.M.
She was here.
He’d known she would come. Watching her as often as possible during the past few weeks had confirmed his conclusion. She took her work very seriously. Seriously enough to defy the long-standing threat to her safety.
If ending her life had been his only goal, he could have killed her numerous times before now. While she slept or showered. Even one as vigilant as she let her guard down from time to time. But luring her here was essential to the finale he had planned.
A smile tugged at his lips.
It was fate . . . just as it had been centuries ago. He closed his eyes and let the death chant whisper through his mind. He’d planned every moment. Not a single step could be skipped. Each step, no matter how small, served a purpose too important to bypass or to ignore.
Especially now. He opened his eyes, his jaw tightening with fury. The police had taken his son. And the bitch who’d ruined everything was still alive. He’d intended to see that she was good and dead as he had the last bitch who’d attempted to destroy him. But his son had still been awake. By the time the boy had gotten to sleep trouble had shown up. The bitch had called 911 behind his back. He’d had no choice but to leave. The unexpected adjustments were a nuisance but he had a plan in place for those, too. It would all come together in the end, just like a finely orchestrated battle.
Until the enemy had been silenced once and for all.
It would finally be finished.
Rage ignited deep inside him, churning and building like an inferno. The past had to be set to rights first before his future could be protected.
Before his son would be protected.
He had been wrong to believe that the past could be ignored . . . disregarded. The signs had all pointed to this. He had to be strong and fulfill his destiny.
Movement in the window drew his attention back to the woman in the motel room. He sat in the darkness of his car and watched. Occasionally he saw her shadow through the drapes.
Of all the princesses, she would present the greatest challenge.
But he was prepared for that challenge.
He would not fail.
He would not be free—his son would not be safe—until the last princess was silenced forever.
Chapter Eight
Saturday, December 24, 4:00 A.M.
She held her breath.
Adeline struggled to escape. Flung her arms outward to knock free the restraint keeping her beneath the water.
She couldn’t hold her breath much longer! Why didn’t somebody help her?
Help!
Her lungs burned.
She couldn’t resist any longer. Her lips parted and water rushed into her throat.
Adeline bolted upright.
She gasped. Coughed. Fought to catch her breath.
Her skin was damp . . . her T-shirt soaked.
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She peered through the darkness. Struggled to regain her bearings.
“Fuck.”
She rested her face in her hands and waited for the calm to replace the fear.
The dream.
The stupid fucking dream. Same one she had suffered her whole life.
She was under the water. It was too murky to see what was holding her down. Something strong . . . heavy . . . sat on her chest, making it impossible to rise up or to get away.
“Damn it.” She flung the covers back and got out of bed. Her body shivered as the cool air in the room rushed over her sweaty skin.
The digital clock on the table next to the bed mocked her: 4:01. It wouldn’t be daylight for another couple of hours. No one she needed to talk to would be out and about yet.
“Shit.” She turned on the bedside lamp, then rummaged through her bag for clothes.
A shower to wash away the lingering funk that held on after those damned dreams would be good. Back when she was a kid she used to climb into bed with her mom to chase away the icky feeling of dying. Later she had . . .
Stop. She didn’t want to think about that.
The bathroom looked just as crappy this morning as it had last night. Maybe worse. Dark spots on the wall behind the toilet warned that something related to a long-term water leak was flourishing. The wallpaper had curled and drooped around the ceiling. But the fixtures looked clean enough. The fake stone linoleum floor had seen way better days.
“What the hell.” She grabbed a white towel that looked and smelled clean and slung it over the shower curtain rod. After adjusting the spray of water, she stripped off her T-shirt and panties, then stepped beneath the welcoming heat and dragged the dingy curtain into place.
Memories of showering with Wyatt barged their way into her head. She opened her eyes and forced the images away.
“What’s the deal here?” She gave herself a mental shake.
For most of the nine years she had been gone from this godforsaken place she’d done a damned good job of not thinking about him. It had been hard at first, but then her career had gained momentum and she’d started to date other men and eventually it had become a lot easier. Adeline had finally succeeded in tucking him into the farthest reaches of gray matter—where he’d obediently stayed. She actually hadn’t thought about him in ages.
How could seeing him after all this time make such a totally screwed-up impact on her willpower? Have her reliving the past so fucking vividly?
Maybe it was that whole closure thing.
They hadn’t talked since that last day. He’d called and left messages that she had erased without listening to. He’d spoken to her mother and attempted to pass along more urgent messages.
Ignore. Ignore.
How could something that happened a decade ago still matter? At all? “Stupid.” She swiped the water from her face. “Just fucking stupid.”
She rinsed her hair and skin, then shut off the water. What difference did it make if she forgave him or not? They had been over like . . . forever. She had moved on. If some rogue brain cell was still clinging to the idea of closure, then that cell needed to fuck off.
Adeline didn’t need closure or anything else from Wyatt Henderson. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She needed him to do his job and to find the facts related to this investigation. And to stay out of her way.
As she dried off she studied her face in the mirror. She still looked young. Turning thirty last year hadn’t been the end of the world. She kind of liked being in her thirties. She felt stronger and more confident. Her twenties had been too full of turmoil and making a new life. As a cop and a woman she’d always felt secure . . . it was the whole relationship thing where she had fallen below the mark. Some would say her life was pretty damned dysfunctional on a personal level. Her father had died within weeks of her twenty-first birthday. Her mother refused to leave “Cooperville” except for rare visits to Huntsville. No one Adeline had grown up with or gone to school with remembered her fondly.
Why the hell should she care what those people thought of her?
She didn’t.
She didn’t need this place or these people. Nothing about being back here was going to make her feel uncertain about who she was and what she did. “No way.”
She dried her hair, took forever with the worn-out dryer provided by the motel. She wiggled into her panties, said to hell with the bra, then pulled on her jeans, blouse, and sweatshirt. Who needed a bra under all this? She’d never been blessed with big tits. Would never have made it as a Hooters girl. Unlike Deputy Sullenger. The woman’s cup size was likely the only reason she’d gotten the job.
There you go again . . . what’s up with the jealousy thing?
Socks, sneakers. Adeline was good to go.
It was 5:12 A.M.
Damn. Still too early to accomplish anything useful.
She strapped on her utility belt, tucked her cell and weapon into place, and grabbed her jacket. There was a pancake house a couple of blocks over on Watts Avenue. She could have coffee and wait for daylight.
Grabbing her creds on the way out, she made sure the door locked and headed across the parking lot.
The town was dead. Like rigor mortis dead.
She could never live here again. Maybe there had been a time when she had fit in, but no more.
No way.
No how.
She hated the way the refinery and chemical corporation had horned in on the natural way of life here. Pascagoula was about dredging the seas for its bounty while protecting the environment. That simpler way of life had been overtaken by progress and accessibility. The port and various waterways had long ago lured lucrative import/export business to the area, but the accessibility had also brought drug trafficking.
Funny, Hurricane Katrina had devastated many homes and too many businesses to count, though you could scarcely tell it now, but it hadn’t done a damned thing to slow down the flow of drugs. Adeline had been keeping tabs on the area since her mother refused to leave. Otherwise she would never have looked back.
The December air was crisp, the pavement damp. She hadn’t realized it had rained. Maybe the rain had triggered the dream. Rainstorms in particular had done it in the past.
The one shrink she’d made the mistake of spilling her guts to had insisted her dreams were related to childhood trauma. Adeline hadn’t bothered telling him that as childhoods went, hers had been as close to idyllic as was possible. Things had been just great until she’d hit eighteen and she’d learned the truth about what and who her uncle was. Life hadn’t been the same since. Unlike her father, she hadn’t been able to just pretend it didn’t matter and move on with her life.
She’d fought the wrong as if she’d been born to that one crusade.
Problem was, she hadn’t been able to fight it alone.
Eight cars were jammed into the small parking lot of the River City Pancake House. Not a chain joint, just a rinky-dink independent mom-and-pop operation that had been in the same spot and run by the same family for about fifty years. A large snowman and smaller snowflake clings adorned the plate-glass window. Colored lights forming the words happy holidays flashed and flickered in time with the jolly Christmas music wafting from inside.
The bell jingled over the door as she entered. The waitresses along with the dozen or so patrons stopped chatting and turned to check out the latest arrival.
Adeline walked to the far end of the serving counter to ensure a view of the door and mounted a stool. A good cop never sat with her back to the door. “Coffee,” she said to the waitress who lifted an eyebrow in her direction.
The hum of conversation resumed as did the shoveling of grits and bacon into hungry mouths.
Coffeepot in one hand, the waitress strolled over and plopped a stoneware mug on the counter. “You here about the Prescott case?”
Everyone knew everyone in a town this size. A strange face would automatically be connected to the latest gossip or news event.
Adeline had been gone plenty long enough for the average citizen to forget what she looked like or that she’d ever even lived here. If she were lucky, it would stay that way until this was done.
“I am.” Adeline sipped the warm brew. It had a definite kick but tasted as smooth as any she’d picked up at Starbucks back in Huntsville.
“Anything else I can get you?”
“This’ll do it.” Adeline glanced at her nametag. “You new around here, Leslie?”
Leslie waved the half-empty coffeepot. “Moved to Pascagoula . . .”—she pursed her lips and thought about it a moment—“about three and a half years ago.” Then she harrumphed. “Been working right here since day one.”
Adeline nodded and savored more of her coffee.
“You working with Sheriff Henderson?” The glint in Leslie’s eyes when she asked the question was unmistakable.
Ah. Another fan. “That’s right.”
“Whatever happened to that lady”—Leslie leaned across the counter and spoke for Adeline’s ears only—“the sheriff will find her. He never lets the folks around here down. He’s a damned fine man.”
“Good to know.” Adeline wasn’t surprised to hear the adoration. Wyatt had always been good at his job. Being a cop defined him. It was on a more personal level where the flaw lay . . . hidden beneath all that fine Southern-boy charm. A too familiar bitterness churned in her gut.
Don’t even go there.
“He comes by here about six for coffee.” Leslie straightened and patted her meticulously arranged bundle of platinum curls. “Black coffee and a cheese danish. Every single morning.”
Wyatt had always been a cheese danish man. The jingling of the bell over the door drew Adeline’s attention there. Even without the weathered leather jacket and the cowboy boots, she would have recognized the man immediately. Tension wired her nerves.
Clayton Cooper. First cousin and first-rate jerk.
He’d been a kid when she left, almost fifteen. Despite his youth at the time, his heartlessness and bullying tendencies had manifested themselves in all that he did. He was expelled from high school twice as a freshman. Got his girlfriend pregnant that same year. A real piece of work.
