Cody clamped his chin to his chest as he hurried across the sidewalk and through the yard. A quick look around showed very few lights on at neighboring homes. Happy hour for the rich and important. Wind gusted behind him, prodding him on. He leapt the four steps, two at a time, and rang the bell.
When the door opened, the man immediately frowned at Cody. “Yeah?” Clad in gray workout clothes, sweat rolled off his face. Two dark, wet circles formed underneath his arms, his chest a dark, damp butterfly.
“Got a package for you.”
The man narrowed his eyes into slits of distrust. “I didn’t order anything. What’s the name on the package?”
Cody stammered then leaned back to read the angled numbers beside the door. “Look, this is…67209 West Lindsor, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I was told to deliver this package to you, yo.” Cody wagged his head good-naturedly. He tucked the box underneath his left arm, freeing up his right hand. “I’m just doin’ what they told me.”
“And I’m telling you, I didn’t order anything.”
“Look, maybe it’s something about your job. I don’t know.” Cody knew he had him. These assholes eat, sleep, breathe, and damn near screw their work.
A click of the lips, a dart of the tongue as the man considered. He swung the door open. “Fine.”
Cody patted down his pockets, feigning a search for a pen. “You gotta’ sign for it. I don’t got my pen on me. Sorry.”
The man sighed while shutting the door in Cody’s face. As soon as he heard plodding footsteps retreating (newer homes’ acoustics always being crap), Cody opened the door and stepped in.
The man reentered the foyer, and then abruptly stopped. His hand shot up brandishing the pen as if it was a knife. “What the hell?”
Cody dropped the box with a sharp crack. He whipped out his gun and pulled the trigger. Phut. Straight to the chest. The man staggered back, the dart sticking out between his splayed fingers. Didn’t stop him from charging like a rhino. Cody cocked the trigger for a second round, but he didn’t need it. The man’s legs gave out. White foam bubbled at his mouth as he grasped his throat. His eyes bulged widely, comically, like ping pong balls. He fell, his body thrashing.
Cody watched, wondering if men take longer to die than women. Not so much as it turned out. Cody nudged him with his foot. Kicking a man when he’s down, he thought, chuckling at his own joke.
As Cody searched the house, he disqualified rooms, shutting their lights off. He found what he needed in the basement. Fully remodeled and made over into the ultimate bachelor’s pad complete with bar and wide-screen plasma. Perfect. Probably soundproofed as well for late night parties. Or killing.
Cody dragged the heavy body down the stairs, the corpse’s head thumping against each step. Didn’t matter. The dude couldn’t feel anything anyway.
Then he set to work.
When he finished, he studied the carnage. Simply beautiful. The man’s head sat upright next to his body, a bug-eyed trophy ready for wall mounting. Splatters of blood dotted the walls. The tan carpeting had now taken on a darker, richer color. “Blood Red” is what Royale Paint would name it, no doubt.
Cody had been wrong earlier. He enjoyed this a lot. Still, it just didn’t feel the same. The work had no heart, no emotional connection. And the Denver Decapitator would remain un-credited for this particular art piece. No worries, though. This was about connecting Garber to the kill. No more Garber, no more cops breathing down his back, Wyngarden could chill out. A bitchin’, brilliant plan.
A muffled sound startled him. Far away, yet close enough to send his heart racing into his throat. A quiet sound, little more than a whimper.
A kid! Jesus Christ, there’s a kid in the house!
He held his breath, afraid to move. And he listened. As he forced himself up the stairs, the noise grew.
The kitchen, the kid’s hiding in the kitchen.
He tiptoed across the floor, the linoleum creaking underfoot. The whimpering grew louder, almost desperate. When he placed his ear to a kitchen door, he felt a cold draft. The garage. He opened the door a crack. A clang of metal, followed by rattling paper. A motion sensor tripped the light bulb overhead.
A Labrador mix lay stuffed inside a small cage. Shivering from the cold, the dog still managed to wag its’ tail, banging it against the cage’s sides. Ribs protruded, barely contained within a thin sheath of skin and fur. Feces dotted the dog’s coat. It yipped, pleaded. Yet the tail didn’t stop, bounding back and forth with blind trust.
Cody dropped down onto the wooden entry steps. He clamped his eyes shut. A roar of outrage built within his chest, and he unleashed it into the garage. Pounding his temples with his knuckles, he growled through gritted teeth.
Bastard mistreated the poor animal. Douche-bag deserved to die.
Cody searched the garage. He found a worn leash hanging on a nail, probably never used judging by its appearance. He unhooked the cage door, knelt and gestured for the dog to come out. “You’re coming with me, boy.” The dog flopped out and licked at Cody’s blood-spattered face. “I’ll take you to a better place, boy.”
* * *
Leon dreaded it, had no idea what to expect, but Rachel had to be told.
When the outside light clicked on, bright needles of pain penetrated his swollen eye.
Rachel opened the door. Her expectant smile swam away along with Leon’s hope for little drama. “Owen—”
Leon turned to hide his face and more than a little of his dignity. “I need to talk to you.”
“What’s wrong? Owen, my God! What happened to you?”
“I’ve…done something very stupid. Can I come in?”
She stepped back, inviting him in with a reluctant wave, and said, “Sit down.” She vanished into the kitchen, soon returning with a washcloth wrapped around ice. “For your eye. Now, tell me.”
“I thought I could help—”
“What did you do?” She sat next to him, tense and ready to explode. “Did you see Travis? Did he do this to you?”
“I’m sorry. I tried to talk to him. Reason with him, but—”
“You…idiot! So he beat you up?”
“More or less. I asked him to leave you alone.”
“So stupid! What did you think you were doing? I told you I’d take care of him myself.” She glowered at him, fury scorching her green eyes.
“I’m sorry, Rachel. Really, truly…I’m sorry.”
“That asshole. Are you going to press charges?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, you should. Travis thinks he can get away with beating up anyone. Something needs to be done about him!”
“Have you heard from him tonight? Or seen him?”
Rachel blinked her eyes, her anger giving way to uncertainty. “No, I haven’t. And it’s unlike him. This is the sort of thing that would’ve…would’ve…”
“You’re right. Something does need to be done about Travis. Maybe you should push up the timetable on the restraining—”
“Oh, no. You do not get to come in here—especially after what you did—and start harking on me about the restraining order. Men!”
“We’re not all animals.”
She smirked at him, obviously weighing the statement. Finally, she said, “You know…I don’t know whether to be pissed off at you…or throw my arms around you and kiss you.”
“Well, I would prefer the latter option, but please be careful with the throwing of the arms.”
“Really, Owen, what you did was pretty stupid. Are you okay? Anything broken? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks, though.”
Rachel scooted across the couch and gently massaged Leon’s back. “My hero.”
Leon tossed the ice pack onto a coffee table. Placing his hand alongside her face, he caressed it, following the contours of her pronounced cheekbones. Pulling her closer, he kissed her. Rachel drew her legs beside her, dropping
her shoes to the carpet with the softest of clumps. She leaned back, her eyes offering invitation. Excitement—anticipation—rushed through him, his injuries all but forgotten.
“Stop,” she whispered.
Leon pulled away, surprised he’d misread her. “I’m sorry—”
She placed her fingertip on his lips. “No, don’t be sorry. Just…not here.” She stood up, her hand extended, beckoning. “Come with me.”
She led Leon to the bedroom. Smiling, she lit a candle by the bed. As she turned out the lights, her gaze never left Leon. Shadows skittered across her svelte form as her dress slid to the floor. Leon sat on the bed, quietly undressing, worried any sound might disrupt her seductive dance. Rachel dangled her bra in one hand and let it drop. Her small, firm breasts glowed in stark white contrast to her dark skin. Swaying back and forth, she unloosened her panties over the curvature of her hips. She circled the bed, dropping pillows to the floor. Leon never wanted the moment to end, yet couldn’t wait, either. She slid underneath the silk sheets, her warmth pressed up against him.
When he entered her, she grew rigid. A small, weightless gasp escaped her lips, perched at the cusp of sexual ecstasy. She relaxed, welcoming him. Their rhythm aligned, their bodies reacting as one.
When they finished, they lay in one another’s arms, quiet as death. Soon she fell asleep. Leon studied her beneath the flickering candlelight, watching her chest rise and fall with life. Even though awake, he felt in the midst of a dream. The first good dream he’d had in too many years to count.
“Rachel,” he whispered.
* * *
The dog could barely walk. For every few steps it managed, its back legs gave out as if walking on ice. Still, the dog looked at Cody with trust in its eyes, a wag in its tail, and dumb hope filling its head.
Cody had to make two trips—the first to put away his equipment, the second for the dog. The dog wore the blanket like a hoodie, poking its head out to watch Cody in the van. While changing out of his bloody coveralls, Cody talked to the dog.
As he looked at the dog, his anger reignited. Why do bastards like him even have dogs? The dickhead had been home for a couple hours and never even took the dog out of its cage.
Cody wrenched the van into the all-night animal hospital parking lot. Pulling his hoodie tight, he raced through the automatic sliding doors. A woman looked up briefly to watch the commotion, the cat in her lap yowling like a laryngitic man. No other customers, no other witnesses.
The young girl behind the counter paid him no attention until she spotted the bundled-up dog. “What’s the matter with you, poochie?” she said.
“This dog! I found him, yo. He’s starving, cold. I think he’s been beaten and crap.” Anxiety rose in Cody’s voice, urgency pressing him on. Honestly, he didn’t think the dog had very long to live. “He needs to be looked at now. Please!”
“All right, settle down. Dr. Jorgens will take a look at him soon. In the meantime, I need to get some information from you. Name? And may I see some form of identification?”
Frustrated, Cody barreled through the swinging doors into what he presumed to be the medical rooms. He found a white-coated, middle-aged man sitting in a folding chair, his hands entwined in his lap, staring at the floor. His bushy eyebrows lifted when he saw Cody. “Um, can I help you?”
“Please, Doc! You gotta’ help this dog. I don’t think he’s doing so good, yo!” When Cody set the dog onto the table, the dog’s paws scrabbled across the metal top. Flumph. The dog went down. It stupidly waved its tail, too damn dumb to notice the severity of the situation. “Please.”
The doctor nodded, briefly pulling out of his late-night apathy, and turned his attention toward the Labrador. “Okay. What brings…a lab mix, I’m guessing…into my wonderful offices this time of night?” He rubbed behind the dog’s ears.
“I found him…wandering in the street. He was covered in shit and everything, freezing his ass off! I think he’s been beaten, and I bet he hasn’t eaten for days.”
“Yep, looks like you’ve been through the mill, doesn’t it, boy?” The doctor turned his tone down when speaking to Cody, no longer friendly. “Where’d you find him?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere out south! Don’t matter!”
“And what’d you say your name was, son?”
“Uh, Bob…Jones.”
Cody wanted to knock the smarmy smile off the vet’s face, but the dog needed him. “I see…Mr. Jones.” He continued his examination while Cody paced the floor. “Are you planning on keeping the dog?”
“I can’t, Doc. Apartment complex don’t allow pets.”
“Uh-huh. Well, you’re right. It looks like he’s been abused, or he’s lived a pretty tough existence on the streets. Did it have a collar? Tags?”
“No.” The dog actually did, which is why Cody threw the tags into the street on his way to the hospital. Didn’t need the cops tying him to the dog.
“And you’re sure the dog doesn’t belong to you?”
“Wait…what? You think I’d do that to a dog? Fuck no, it’s not my dog. I don’t mistreat animals!”
“Okay, okay. I have to ask these questions. Calm down, please. Tell me, son, what do you expect from me…with the dog, I mean?”
“Well…make him better.”
“I’ll try. A few days of vitamins, good food, some shots. He should check out okay. But then—”
“Then what?”
“Unless someone comes forward to claim the animal, I’m afraid I’ll have to turn him over to the shelter.” The doctor grimaced, apparently anticipating Cody’s fall-out.
“What? Look, he just needs a good home.”
“I can’t take him in here, son. This isn’t an orphanage.”
Cody leapt across the room and grabbed the doctor’s lapels. “You listen to me, Doc. You will find him a nice home. You will!”
The doctor waved his hands and turned away. “Settle down, son.”
“I’ll settle down when you promise me.” Cody gave him a few final shakes to emphasize his point. The left lapel tore off in his hand, sending the doctor back against the table. The dog tried to get up but failed. It lay there in happy resignation, its tail swooshing over the tabletop.
“Okay. Okay. I promise you!” The doctor’s voice reached a high-pitched note, throttled with fear.
“Say it!”
“I promise I’ll find him a nice home.”
Cody released him. The veterinarian stumbled then backed up, putting distance between them.
Cody took one last look at the dog. Scratching the Lab’s head, he leaned down and whispered, “Live a good life, boy.”
Cody stormed through the waiting room, eyes straight ahead.
“Sir? Sir?” called the receptionist.
Cody roared into the street. He waited until one full block away before turning on his headlights.
Pretty damned risky, maybe even stupid what he did for the dog. He had no other choice.
Chapter Thirteen
Leon woke up alarmed, uncertain of his surroundings. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the body next to him. For one terror stricken moment, he thought he’d fallen asleep next to one of his projects. Then he remembered. Moonlight sifted in through the blinds and highlighted the familiar lines of Rachel’s body. With one arm slung over her head, her hair splayed across the pillow like dark streams of blood. He leaned in, listening for signs of life, the way he imagined new parents did to their children. Spending time with a warm breathing body was something he didn’t do often.
Leon swung his legs out of bed, trying not to wake Rachel.
The bed sheets rustled, soft as a whisper. “Owen?” She patted the mattress, found it vacated. “What time is it?”
“It’s about four-thirty. Shhhh. Go back to sleep.” Leon went to her. Sitting, he stroked her hair, recalling how it tickled his chest while she sat astride him.
“Why are you up?”
“Not sleepy.” The time seemed rig
ht for what he had to tell her. Something he’d been deliberating since their first kiss. Time to let her into his world. Part of it, at least. Before he changed his mind. “Rachel, remember how I told you I’d been abused?” She nodded and pulled her hair back behind her ear. “In my childhood…my father beat me. Often. Then…he killed my mother.”
Rachel gasped, an expected reaction. “Oh my God, Owen…”
“It’s okay now, though. Really.” But it wasn’t. It had completely changed his life. How far he couldn’t quite share with Rachel yet. Baby steps. “I became stronger for it.”
She reached up, bringing him into her arms. “I’m so sorry…here I’ve been crying about Travis and you…”
“Shh.” Leon held her tight, his bridge to humanity. He knew he had to tell her. If they were about to embark upon a relationship, he didn’t want it built on lies. And it felt good thinking about a relationship. Falling in love. Their embrace lasted for minutes. Leon welcomed her warmth, both inside and out.
Finally, she said, “Come back to bed. And it’s not sleep I have in mind.”
Leon kissed her forehead. “As enticing as your offer sounds, I really can’t. I need to get home, shower, and get ready for another wondrous workday with Mr. Capshaw.”
“You’d rather spend time with Capshaw than me?”
“Yes. He’s much prettier than you. Rain check?”
“I suppose.” She scooted up in bed, leaning back against the pillows. “Owen, I hope this won’t make things…weird between us.”
“Why would it make things weird? Last night was truly…one of the best nights of my life.” He kissed her, nearly giving into her demands. “I’d like to have many more great nights.”
“Well, we’ll just see what happens. But next time, don’t leave a lady wanting for more. Bring your toothbrush.”
“I will.”
She wrapped a sheet around her lower body, her chest exposed like an angelic Venus de Milo. “Owen?”
“Hmm?”
“Be careful out there. You heard about the head found in the Missouri River, didn’t you?”
Secret Society Page 15
