So little stood in the way.
But then they were on the steps. And there was a gun.
Now he was running—
The gas pedal seemed to go down on its own.
The man looked up—who was he? His face was unknown. For a moment, their eyes met through the windshield.
There was a heavy thud.
Clay shrieked when he went down. It wasn’t enough, though.
Reverse. Back up. Do it again. He must die.
An eye for an eye.
He was trying to get up, pushing up on his hands, although his legs didn’t want to work.
In the distance, there were sirens.
Now. I must do it now.
His eyes swung toward the truck. And he knew. As the truck lurched forward, he opened his mouth to scream.
A moment later, there was a dull, sickly crunch under the wheels.
Don’t look back. It’s time to leave.
There were police cars coming. Calm. Be calm.
The calm mask was in place. But it was just a mask.
* * *
“What do you mean, nobody can find him?” Jensen fought the urge to snarl and spit the words out. The uniform who’d just given her an update looked like she wanted to turn tail and run. Taking a deep breath, Jensen took another look at the woman’s name. “Officer Peyton. It’s been two hours. We’ve got Brumley’s truck. He’s not at home or at work. Nobody reports seeing him? There’s nothing?”
“No, ma’am.” The officer shifted on her feet and then licked her lips. “He’s probably found a place to hide or had somebody waiting to pick him up, something.”
“We won’t speculate.” Sighing, Jensen nodded and then waved a hand. “There are probably some witness statements we haven’t collected. See if you can help.”
There were two witnesses who hadn’t been processed yet. Of course, one of them should have his ass in the ED, but David Sutter hadn’t seen fit to go there. He’d taken one long look at the stretcher and then told the paramedic to fuck off.
Jensen hoped the bullet had just grazed David, because if it was inside him they were going to have problems. She had a feeling the man would let himself get sick before he’d willingly go to the doctor.
As she strode down the hall, she wasn’t surprised when Chief Sorenson joined her. “Things sure as hell were a lot less interesting around here a few months ago, weren’t they?” he asked easily.
“Yep.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “All this needs to come out and be dealt with. I want every last monster locked up. Preferably forever. But I’ll be damned glad when it’s over and done.”
“You and me both.”
They paused outside the room where David waited. Hank was in the other room, although he had been edgy about going in there, with the door shut. Jensen had ended up putting Thorpe on the door, because there wasn’t a cop there she trusted more. Well, other than herself and Sorenson.
Hank seemed to be happy with that, but she doubted it would last for long.
She paused briefly by the new detective, eyeing him. “You talked to them any?”
“Just to make sure they were okay. Sutter still refuses medical treatment. He did finally let one of the EMTs bandage him up, but that’s it.” Thorpe paused and then added, “It just grazed his shoulder, an inch or so away from the neck. But it could have been bad.”
Jensen processed that and then nodded. “Yeah. Any idea why they were here?” She suspected she already knew, though. That gun hadn’t been pointed at David.
“Hank came in to speak with you.” Thorpe glanced back over his shoulder to the room where the man in question waited. “Sutter just came with him.”
“Moral support? I don’t see David being big on that.” But then again, if Hank was here for the reasons she thought maybe David had decided to make an exception. Good thing he had, too. “I’m going to poke my head in with David, then go talk to Hank. Stay on the door.”
Thorpe just nodded like he had absolutely no plans to go anywhere else.
She slid inside and David was slumped in the chair. His dark head was bent; his lashes lay against his cheeks like shadows. He looked relaxed, but she didn’t buy it for a minute.
“Any idea when you’re going to let me out of this box, Bell?” he asked a split second later. He hadn’t even looked up, hadn’t so much as lifted his lids to look in her direction. But he’d known who’d come into the room. Sooner or later he’d stop being so damn spooky, but she didn’t know when that would be.
“I need to get statements from you both.” Hooking one hand in her pocket, she left the other to hang free at her side. “I’d rather get that done and see what in the hell is going on before I let the two of you out.”
He lifted his lids now, pinning those penetrating blue eyes on her. “You find Clay Brumley?”
“Not yet.”
He sighed and lifted his head, staring at the door. “That’s a damn shame, Detective Bell. It would be a good idea if you found him before I did.”
“David, do yourself a favor and don’t say anything to incriminate yourself, okay? As fucked-up as everything is, I honestly believe you don’t have anything to do with the murders in town—and that’s off-the-record—but if you go spouting stupid shit, you’ll tie my hands.”
Crossing the floor, she stood in front of the table and leaned against it, planting her hands on the table as he finally focused his gaze on her. There was something in his eyes, his expression pensive, as though he wanted to ask her something. In the end, though, he just shook his head. “Just what do you want to ask me, Detective? I can’t tell you much. Hank’s the man you need to speak with.”
“I’ll get to Hank.” She rubbed her hands over her face and then pulled out her recorder. “I’m putting this on-record.”
She paused to give David a chance to say something, but he just stared at her. After a few seconds, she said, “You can have somebody with you. Do you want an attorney?”
“I don’t need one.”
Those blue eyes were peaceful, calm. He looked like he’d slept like a baby every night of his life and planned to do the same once he got out of here. He sure as hell didn’t look like somebody who’d just been shot. He didn’t look like a man who’d spent much of his early life in hell.
But she knew otherwise.
After a few more seconds, she reiterated she was recording their conversation, covering her ass on all fronts, before she braced her elbows on the table and leaned in. “So why did Clay Brumley try to shoot you?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Clay didn’t try to shoot me. I just happened to be in the way.”
“You mean you put yourself in the way.” She arched a brow.
He shrugged. “Adds up to the same. Hank wasn’t hit. I was. Nobody died.”
“Anybody ever tell you that you talk too much?”
“Daily.” He said it without batting an eyelash.
Despite herself, she laughed. “David, I really hope you’re not tied into this. Because I think I could find myself liking you.” Even if you are a scary-ass son of a bitch.
She went at him again, from other angles, pushing at him and trying to pull more details out of him. But the man was a rock—he just didn’t yield.
Since she had other ways to beat her head against a stone, she shut off the recorder and pocketed it. “Okay. I’m not done with you. I’ll have one of the uniforms come in and get your statement. Can I trust you to stay put?”
He cocked his head, pondering that. Then he shrugged. “Yes.”
Again, her gut said she could trust him.
Stifling a curse, she headed to the door. Once there, she paused. “Have you called Sybil yet?”
His eyes went shuttered, the first real reaction Jensen had seen from him since walking into the room. Although she knew it was her imagination, it seemed the temperature in the room dropped a good ten degrees. Tension wrapped around him like a shroud and the intensity of his eyes seemed to suck the
air from the room.
Then he looked away. “No. No reason to.” He shrugged, and if the movement caused him any pain from his injured shoulder he didn’t show it.
Let it go, she advised herself.
But Jensen was something of a bulldog and she knew it. “No reason?” she echoed, resting a hand on the wall. “The way you two were the other day and you don’t think she’d want to know you were shot?”
His arctic gaze came back to Jensen’s face. “No. We know each other and sometimes, we fucked. That’s not exactly a declaration of undying love.” His mouth curled in a bitter smile. “I’m not the guy for that anyway.”
His voice went dull on those words. Jensen wondered if he realized it. Softly she asked him, “You really believe in burning your bridges in spectacular style, don’t you?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The truck was tucked away.
There had been blood on it. Blood and gore and other … things.
Don’t think on it. It had been necessary.
Sometimes it was necessary to do hard things.
Hard? It was a sly whisper.
“The devil. Ignore him.”
That wasn’t a hard thing, the voice crooned. It was … evil.
“No.” Denial was a living, breathing thing. “Not evil. Necessary.”
Oh. But it was. Evil. And you loved it. Just as you loved it then.
Because it was too hard to silence that voice when still, the one who watched left the silence and moved out into the cool, open air, breathing it in.
“A walk.” That was a good idea. “A walk will clear my head.”
A walk. No thinking about what had been done.
“No reason.” Now there was a smile. “What’s done is done.”
But as clothes were changed, hair brushed and dealt with, hands shook.
Evil, the voice continued to insist. Evil.
“Necessary.”
Grass crunched under solid, sturdy soles. Birds called in the distance. The voice went silent. For a moment.
But then it returned, even more gleeful. Perhaps, it acknowledged, it was necessary. But also, evil. You are evil. Because you enjoyed it. Twisted, evil thing.
A sob.
“No.” It was a strangled, muted whisper.
Yes.
* * *
“How is David?”
The sound of his name was like salt being rubbed into a wound. “Ah…” Sybil fumbled for words as she met Taneisha’s gaze. Everything had changed in the span of a few days. How could so much have changed? Sybil hadn’t outright told Taneisha how she felt about David, but her friend knew. “We’re not really talking right now. I guess he’s okay. Was Drew good? He’s spending a lot of time with you lately.”
For a second, Taneisha just stared at her, and then she looked at the two boys still jabbering together in the living room. She reached over and caught Sybil’s hand. “Porch. Now.”
Sybil gaped at her and looked down at her robe, hastily pulled on over the thigh-length T-shirt she’d pulled on. “Hey, gimme a minute—”
When Taneisha didn’t give her that minute—or even thirty seconds—Sybil clutched her robe closed. “What’s the problem? Was Drew—”
The door shut behind them and Taneisha paced away.
“Drew was fine. This isn’t about him, so be quiet.” Taneisha turned around, her face set in grim lines. “You didn’t hear.”
Sybil’s heart fluttered and then stopped. For a few seconds it just stopped and it took everything she had to stay upright. As her legs tried to melt underneath her, she sagged back against the wall. “Didn’t hear what?” she asked, forcing the words out through a throat gone tight.
“He was shot.” Taneisha’s words were soft. Gentle.
But they cut through Sybil like a blade. Clapping a hand over her throat, she stifled the cry before it could escape. Drew. Can’t scare—
“Hey. Hey,” Taneisha said, her voice firm. Then she caught Sybil’s face in her hands. Taneisha’s dark face loomed, wavered in and out of focus. “Look at me, girl. You look at me. He’s okay.”
Shot. David was shot. Horror spiraled through her, and her heart was already lying in pieces on the floor.
“Damn it, Sybil. Listen to me!”
Taneisha shook her and the shock of that finally cut through the fog she’d fallen into. “He is okay,” Taneisha said again, carefully enunciating each word. “He was shot, but he is okay. He didn’t even have to go to the hospital.”
“Fuck.” Sybil sagged to the floor then. Tremors grabbed her, wracking her body so violently, she thought she might be sick. Shot. David had been shot. But he’s okay.
He hadn’t even called.…
Her heart sank slowly to her feet, and she swallowed around the bruising knot that had settled in her throat. Blinking back the tears, she looked up at Taneisha. “So, he’s okay.”
“Yeah.” Taneisha sank down in front of her, folding her legs gracefully beneath her. “He didn’t call you. At all.”
Sybil closed her eyes as the tears started to burn. “Like I said,” she whispered thickly. “We’re kinda not talking right now.”
The silence was thick and heavy. After a minute, she opened her eyes to look at Taneisha and she found the other woman watching her with hot, angry eyes. “That son of a bitch.”
“Neisha,” she said, her voice rough.
“No.” The other woman shook her head with a fury that had her curls bouncing around her pretty face. She shoved upright and started to pace. “I get that he’s had a shitty life and I want to punch people around town who are treating him like a leper. I feel bad for him, but that doesn’t give him the right to treat you like that.”
“We…” Sybil fumbled for the words. Broke up? It wasn’t like they’d ever committed. We aren’t sleeping together? Finally, she settled on the truth. “He doesn’t love me. Ten years, Neisha. That’s what we had, and in the end it doesn’t matter enough to him.”
Just saying it brought a knot to her throat and smashed her heart into pieces all over again. “He doesn’t love me,” she whispered, forcing herself upright. She met Taneisha’s eyes, surprised to realize her own were dry. It had been … what, three? No, four days since he’d walked away. Part of her had kept hoping something would change. That he’d realize this wasn’t any way of solving anything. But she’d been an idiot. “Somewhere inside me, I was holding on, thinking maybe he’d start to miss me. Start to realize he’s just being…” She laughed sourly. “A man. An idiot. Whatever. But this drives it home.”
He’d been shot and hadn’t even bothered to call her. She’d never heard. The past few days had been slow—she’d had a rehearsal dinner to shoot in Jeffersonville on Thursday night and the wedding on Friday and she’d worked from home on Saturday. The honest truth was that she’d been hiding, tucked up inside her house so she didn’t have to worry about seeing him, but what did it matter, really?
Numb, aching cold spread through her. “When did it happen?” she asked softly.
“Friday.”
Her lashes swept down and she rested her head against the porch railing behind her head. “Yesterday. And he doesn’t bother to let me know. Yeah, I’d say this drives it home, all right. David really doesn’t love me.”
“Honey.” Taneisha reached for her.
“No.” Sybil held up a hand. “Don’t. If you hug me now, I’ll start bawling. Okay? I’d rather do it later. Once I’m alone and in the tub, with a glass of wine.”
“You—” Taneisha stopped, blew out a breath. “I can take Drew with us. You can go have that bath now.”
“No.” She rubbed her hands down her arms. “I haven’t seen him enough as it is with that wedding in Jeff. I’ll be fine.” She went to open the door and the sound of the boys geeking out on the video game she’d picked up made her smile, just a little, despite the misery that spread through her like some insidious disease. “Besides, listening to him is the best medicine.”
Maybe she s
houldn’t have said that, Sybil realized thirty minutes later. She now had two boys in her living room while Taneisha was out doing her “running” or whatever she had to do.
The boys were yelling up a storm, too, and after another ear-shattering screech Sybil decided she couldn’t handle any more. Grabbing some clothes, she locked herself in her shower. Five minutes of privacy and then they’d go down to the diner for some lunch.
No, she didn’t want to be alone with herself, because if she were—
He’d been shot.
She stumbled against the shower wall. Shoving a fist against her mouth, she muffled the sob as it ripped out of her. The tears followed soon after.
You son of a bitch.
Sinking to the floor, she curled her legs against her chest and pressed her face to her knees as the misery tore and dug into her, like a rabid beast.
The pain, she thought, it just might kill her.
You son of a bitch.
Then softly she whispered, “Why do I have to love you, even now?”
* * *
“She loves you, you know that?”
The voice cut through the air, shattering the silence. David closed his eyes for a second and then opened them, focused on the work, on the pain in his shoulder.
“You hear me, you overgrown son of a bitch?”
David hefted another bag of mulch out of the back of the truck and threw it on the ground before looking down at the woman standing at the foot of his truck.
His shoulder was screaming at him, but he refused to see a doctor for it.
He’d spent the morning working on Mary’s flowerbeds and he’d kept his ears peeled for the noise in town. He could hear the cars, the occasional shout. If there were sirens, he’d hear those, too. Sooner or later, Clay Brumley would show his sorry ass. It had been almost twenty-four hours. How could a man hide in a town the size of Madison?
That thought infuriated David, though. Because he knew better than most just how easy it was to hide. He’d done it, for twenty years. But Clay’s truck was still here. Nothing missing from his home. He’d taken off down the sidewalk and—bam. Just gone.
“You going to stand up there like Paul Bunyan and act like you don’t hear me talking to you?”
Darker Than Desire Page 19
