Darker Than Desire

by Shiloh Walker

  David’s hand tangled in her hair. “What do you mean?”

  “Both of us were desperate. I love you. She’s clearly obsessed. But I’d die before I’d force you to be with me if you didn’t want me. She’d kill before giving you a chance to choose otherwise.”

  Something shifted in his heart.

  He’d felt a wrenching inside him when he saw the gun aimed at Sybil’s face. He’d seen the women fighting and fierce pride had surged through him.

  Now, as things slid back into place, he realized some of the jagged edges weren’t so jagged.

  They fit together. Really fit.

  Even the broken bits and pieces that seemed to make up the entirety of his being were no longer quite so jagged. The raw pieces weren’t quite so raw. And maybe, if he’d let himself really look, he would have realized it sooner.

  Lowering his head, he pressed his brow to hers. “I think that talk might not be a bad idea.”

  Sybil’s eyes widened.

  He opened his mouth to tell her.

  He’d held it trapped inside, hidden even from him, for so long.

  But then the door banged open.

  A skinny form lunged at them and David automatically found himself hugging a scared, nervous boy. It wasn’t even awkward.

  “Aunt Sybil!”

  Without even thinking about it, David hauled the boy up. He was too big at nine to be held like this, maybe. But just then, maybe they all needed it.

  * * *

  “None of it will serve as a confession,” Sorenson said grimly, staring through the window at the woman who’d gone still and quiet after they’d shut the squad car door shut, with her locked inside.

  Their suspect had been identified by David Sutter.

  Her name was Sarah Yoder and she was forty-one years old.

  As yet, she hadn’t spoken a single word. She’d been sitting on the same seat for more than two hours and she hadn’t taken a sip of water, hadn’t accepted a single offer to use the restroom and had refused the offer of a phone call.

  She moved like an automaton when they brought her inside, and after they’d guided her into the interview room she’d sat down, folded her hands neatly in her lap and then just stared.

  At absolutely nothing.

  The look in her eyes said, The lights are on, but nobody’s home.

  Jensen sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I don’t think it matters if we get a confession or not, Chief. That woman is insane.”

  “Insane as in planning to plead that way, or insane as in bat-shit crazy?” Sorenson asked, although he already had his own suspicions.

  Jensen folded her arms across her middle. “Beyond bat-shit crazy.”

  “If that’s not a medical term, it should be.” Thorpe stood a little farther away, sipping from a cup of coffee that could double as motor oil.

  “There is some good news in all of this,” Sorenson said as they continued to watch Sarah sitting there, quiet as could be, hands folded and gaze locked on the wall. The simple dress she wore fell in neat folds around her, and the white bonnet covered much of her hair.

  She looked so completely out of place in there.

  “What’s the good news?” Jensen asked softly.

  “Two more men turned themselves in. They were older members, too. One of them gave me a very, and I mean very, comprehensive list of men who’d been involved with Cronus over the years. Of that list, the majority of them are either dead—passed away dead, not murdered—or already on our list. They’re done, Jensen. We’ve only got a few more to bring in, and we’ve got enough evidence to lock them in a dark, deep hole.”

  A breath gusted out of her. “Done. As in…” She turned her head to look at him.

  “Done.” He smiled tiredly. “Done as in done. They are broken. Your lawyer—”

  She flushed at the reference to her boyfriend, Dean, the district attorney.

  Sorenson’s grin didn’t look so tired and an amused glint appeared in his eyes. “Your lawyer has been fielding a lot of phone calls lately, from those who are defending these scum buckets. I’d say half are already looking to make a deal.”

  “A deal.” She narrowed her eyes. “No way.”

  “They aren’t going to walk. Not over this. They’ll all do time. That’s already been made clear. It just goes to show how far they’ve fallen. They are at the end of the rope and they know it.”

  Jensen closed her eyes. “The men who hurt Caleb. And Glenn Blue’s son. They’ll do serious time, right?” Dirk Sims—Jeb’s brother. He’d raped his own son, allowed others to do the same. And Glenn—a cop. Just like Jeb had been. Bile churned inside her and she turned to look at the chief. “Tell me we’re not going to let them plead to some small minor little thing and they get out in a year.”

  A thin, mean smile settled on the chief’s face and he looked at her, his eyes going hard. “No. We’ve got the evidence from Caleb; we’ve got others willing to testify. People will burn for this. It’s done. You did it, Jensen.”

  Done. She blew out a shaky breath, thinking of the broken boy who’d sat in a hospital bed months ago. It didn’t feel like enough. They hadn’t stopped those kids from being hurt.

  But maybe, now, they could start to heal. “We can find out who else they hurt. Make sure they get help. So this doesn’t start again.”

  “Yes.” Sorenson nodded.

  It wasn’t enough. But it was all they had.

  Moments passed by, and then, slowly, she shifted her attention on the woman waiting just beyond the window. So quiet. So still. If it weren’t for the occasional blink of her eyes, Jensen would almost think she weren’t even alive, weren’t even real.

  “We need to talk to her,” Jensen said flatly. Dread crept through her at the thought. There was something broken inside that woman. Very, very broken. “So. Who wants to do it?”

  Sorenson snorted. Jensen slid her attention to her young, handsome partner; then, mustering up her best smile, she said, “Thorpe, I think you should do the honors.”

  Both Sorenson and Thorpe gave her looks with varying degrees of doubt. She didn’t let her smile waver. “Didn’t you hear her ranting? That’s not a woman who cares much for other females.” Jensen shifted her gaze to the chief and nodded. “She might open up to you. I suspect older men would yield more respect. But Thorpe…” Jensen eyed the younger man with his open, innocent face and those all-American, handsome features. “Let’s face it. If he puts his mean on and tries, he can be intimidating. Otherwise, people look at him and half-expect him to be a grown-up version of Opie.”

  Thorpe’s mouth flattened. “Gee. Thanks.”

  “Hey, know your weaknesses and strengths. People look at me and think fluffy, silly girl wearing a badge more often than not. I let them think that and then sucker punch them when they aren’t expecting it. It’s thrown more than a few people off-balance.”

  Sorenson pondered it for a minute, his hangdog expression going pensive. Then he nodded, stroking his chin absently. “Play it up, Thorpe. Sorry, Miss Yoder. Can I get you water, Miss Yoder? Should I call your family?… all that shit. Nobody else has gotten her to talk. See if you can.”

  * * *

  It took Thorpe roughly twenty minutes.

  His tone was soothing, his expression gentle, and his eyes, big, dark and brown, stayed on Sarah Yoder’s face like he thought she just might break.

  And she did, but not in the way one might think with those gentle features.

  Her eyes were hard, brittle as glass, when she finally turned her head and looked at him.

  “No.”

  That was all she said.

  Thorpe angled his head and his voice was puzzled as he asked, “No?”

  “I don’t want my family. None of them will understand. They never did. Call Caine.”

  Thorpe didn’t glance toward the window, but Jensen and Sorenson saw the confusion and frustration dance through his eyes. Now what? They could practically see it dancing on his tongue.

 
; “Mr. Sutter can’t come see you just yet.”

  A fist slammed into the table.

  Thorpe was still.

  Jensen was impressed. She’d flinched at the violence of the action, her heart lurching in her chest.

  “That’s not his name,” Sarah said, her voice flat. “His name is Caine. Caine Yoder. And I want to speak with him.”

  Thorpe just inclined his head. “Very well. I’ll call him Caine, then. But regardless of what you want me to call him, it’s against procedure for you to speak with him.”

  “Procedure.” She spat the word. “Ask him. He should decide. Not you and your laws.”

  Outside in the hallways, Jensen whistled. “Wow. She’s … something else.”

  “Detective Bell. Chief.”

  Turning her head, she saw one of the uniforms standing there. Lifting a brow, she waited. He came forward, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “You aren’t going to believe this.”

  “Try me.” She had an Amish woman in the interview room, likely guilty of four, or was it five murders? Jensen doubted she’d be surprised by anything.

  “We just finished running the weapon.” He shoved the paperwork at her. “You aren’t going to believe who it’s registered to.”

  Her eyes went flat.

  * * *

  The door swung open.

  The woman who came in was familiar. Sarah had seen her around, had even seen her talking to Caine, but she’d understood. This woman, like the man at the table, was with the police. The police had failed Caine before, but these were different people and they seemed to try harder this time around.

  Except the man was coming between them now.

  As the woman—her name … What was her name? Something pretty, Sarah thought. Bell. That was it. She was Detective Bell. As Detective Bell put something in front of Detective Thorpe, she slid Sarah a look. That look was sharper than steel and something cold danced down Sarah’s spine. For a moment. Just a moment.

  Caine. His face danced through her mind and just that was enough to give her strength.

  “Where is Caine?” she asked politely, keeping her hands folded in her lap.

  “Oh, we’ll get to him later,” Detective Bell promised breezily.

  “I’ll see him soon?” Sarah asked, excitement pulsing through her blood. She’d get to talk to him. Without that other woman. She could finally make him understand. Maybe he already did. Was that why he wasn’t here? Maybe he was getting ready. It wouldn’t be unusual. Maybe he felt like there were people he needed to say good-bye to. She didn’t think it was wise, but if he was coming home that was what mattered.

  Hands twisted in her lap, she pasted a smile on her face. Be patient. Be graceful. It will be over soon. Meeting the detective’s steady gaze, Sarah inclined her head. “When may I leave?”

  “Oh, there are questions yet to be asked.” Detective Bell lifted a brow and moved to the table. Without her speaking a word, the male detective rose, his gaze smooth, blank as a mirror.

  Sarah continued to stare at him, though, even when she could feel Detective Bell’s gaze drilling into her. “I’d rather talk with him,” Sarah said softly.

  “Yeah, well, here’s a sad fact, Sarah. We don’t always get what we want in life.”

  From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw the detective put a slim yellow file on the table in front of her. “I’m really curious about something. I’m hoping you can shed some light on the subject.” She paused and then asked, “You sure you don’t want a lawyer?”

  Sarah didn’t look at her. She wouldn’t. There was no reason. She focused on the door instead, waiting. Caine would be there. Sooner or later. She’d waited her entire life for him, and she’d always known that sooner or later he’d be there.

  Now wasn’t the time to give up on that hope.

  “Here’s what I’m really curious about.”

  A piece of paper was slid in front of her. Despite her vow not to look, her gaze slid toward it. And her blood went cold at the image on it. A shiver raced up her spine.

  “Do you know him?”

  Blood roared in her ears. The bitter taste of fear climbing up the back of her throat almost made her ill. She curled her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms. But she was pleased when she managed a polite, calm response. “I have little reason to know people in town.”

  “Really.” The detective’s voice was dry, almost derisive. “That only leaves me with more questions, then. And that means we’ll just be at this so much longer.”

  Sarah’s heart thudded in her chest, knocking against her ribs, heavy and slow. Longer…? “You can’t keep me from leaving here.”

  “Oh, we could have a long discussion about that. I guess you’re not overly familiar with laws and stuff. We can go into detail about that later. But for now, this question. Very important. If you don’t know him, then how do you explain this?”

  The next piece of paper didn’t make much sense to Sarah. Puzzled, she continued to read it, licking her lips.

  “What…”

  “It’s the registration information for the gun you attempted to use on Sybil Chalmers.” Detective Bell smiled easily. “You know, the one you wanted to kill her with?”

  Sybil. Fury lit inside Sarah’s heart, a fury that burned hot and bright and hard. “She was in the way,” Sarah said, her voice harder, sharper. “She doesn’t understand Caine, our ways. He doesn’t belong here. He needs to come home.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So you keep saying. Just explain this to me, okay? Make me understand. Just why do you have Peter Sutter’s gun? The man’s been missing for more than twenty years.”

  Peter.

  The beast.

  Slowly, she lifted her head and stared at Bell. A smile spread across Sarah’s face before she could stop it. She opened her mouth, but even as the words started to form, the door opened.

  A tall man, his skin dark and smooth, stood in the doorway. “Detective Bell, in the hall, if you would.”

  “Not now, Dean. Answer the question, Miss Yoder.”

  “Do not answer that question.” The man came forward, scooped up the papers. “A public defender has been called. He’ll be in to speak with you shortly.”

  * * *

  “Dean, what the fuck?”

  He spun around on Jensen, his eyes flashing. “Don’t.”

  “I’m going to fucking kick your ass over this,” she growled, storming over to him and shoving her face into his.

  “Save the kinky stuff for bed, darlin’.” A muscle pulsed in his cheek, his dark eyes glittering. “Do you have any idea what we’re dealing with here? Any idea?”

  “Yes!” She practically shouted it. “And you just stopped me from getting a confession.”

  “If you’d gone forward, I could have gotten that case thrown out.” Dean said it in a flat, level tone. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the desk, glad everybody else had decided to vacate the small conference room. “Now I’m good—I’m damn good—and frankly, Jefferson County doesn’t have any PDs as good as I am, and anything they throw up at this point I can handle. But if you’d kept going, we could have had problems.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it. A few seconds later, she said, her voice soft and lethal, “I know how to fucking do my job.”

  “When was the last time you had to investigate an Amish woman of questionable sanity for multiple murders, baby?” he asked. Shoving off the desk, he came closer. He reached up.

  She caught her breath, almost pulled away, but in the end she held still as he curved his hand over her neck. “Everybody’s tempers are running high. There are men people liked, respected, in jail or out on bond, getting ready to go to trial for the systematic sexual abuse of boys that has gone back for generations. We’re now looking at a woman who murdered her own father, two women and a man half this town adored and the other half feared … all because she couldn’t get the man she loved to love her back. We’re all on-edge. You were getting ready t
o push, too hard. And if you think it through, you’ll see that.”

  Jensen rose up on her toes. His lids drooped as he lowered his mouth to meet hers.

  Then he yelped as she bit him.

  “I don’t like how often you’re right,” she said, turning away.

  “You’re a brat,” Dean said, gingerly touching his tongue to his throbbing lower lip.

  “Damn straight.” Then she blew out a frustrated breath. Opening the door, she stared down the hall to the brightly lit window. On the other side sat Sarah Yoder.

  “Do you think she killed Peter Sutter?”

  Dean rested a hand on Jensen’s shoulder, keeping a polite distance between them now that they were out of the privacy of a closed room. “I don’t know. But that woman has dead eyes. I suspect she’s capable of almost anything.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Twilight slid slowly across Madison.

  A taut, hushed air had clung to the town most of the day, almost like they waited.

  Now, as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, a gentle, chilly breeze swept in off the river, almost like a sigh. One of relief.

  Adam stood behind the counter at Shakers, taking drink orders in one after the other, so fast they all blurred together in his mind. Lana sat at the far end of the bar, earbuds in, gaze locked on the iPad in front of her. Every so often, she’d look up and find him. She’d smile and he’d feel a warmth spread through him.

  Noah and Trinity were at a table, tucked in at the back. They’d been there for over an hour, and although they’d long since finished the burgers and fries, they didn’t look like they were in any hurry to move.

  Adam glanced up and saw Noah looking at him. He nodded shortly and went back to work on the next batch of orders—a pitcher of beer, a sweet and sour, a Manhattan, a rum and Coke.

  It was a nice realization to know he didn’t crave a one of them and hadn’t for a while. Not even now, after he’d spent most of the day waiting.

  A lull came and he moved to stand at the bar.

  Lana brushed her fingers across the back of his hand. Because she was there, because he could, he leaned over and kissed her. It had taken her twenty years to come back, but it was twenty years he’d wait all over again as long as she came back. And she was his now.