by Elise Noble
“I know this hasn’t been easy,” Rhys said. She loved the way he curved around her, his cock nestled against her ass. The way he stroked her arm and pressed soft kisses against her shoulder. “I wish I could turn back the clock for you.”
“I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if I hadn’t met Hatcher, then I wouldn’t have met you. This new life… It’s better than the old one. Does that sound crazy?”
“Yes, but I… Hmm. If I say that I’m glad you died, I’ll sound like a right arsehole.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll know what you mean.”
“Then I’m glad we’re together, right here, right now.”
“Rhys?”
“Mmm?”
“Did you buy condoms yet?”
She heard his sharp intake of breath, but then his arms tightened.
“Yes.”
“Then I want to feel you. All of you.”
“Now? Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in either of my lives.”
When he finally slid into her, she realised that she’d come home. With Rhys, she was where she belonged. Her body remembered the basics of sex, but her memory was a blank, so she expected the frantic thrusting and grunting she’d seen from Hatcher earlier. But what she got was slow, languid kisses, filthy whispers, and a warmth that spread from her core to every inch of her body. A little sweat, a lot of flutters, and finally a supernova of pleasure that left her boneless on the mattress.
“Holy fuck.”
“No, that was making love. A fuck is something totally different.”
“Good different?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Then I think I’m going to love that too. And you. I love you. So, so much.”
“Same, sweetheart. Everything happens for a reason, and I’m damn glad I was the one to find you in the greenhouse that morning.”
“I still want to know how I got there.”
“And we’ll find out, but let’s take one step at a time. And enjoy each other. Balance the negative with the positive.”
“How many condoms were in that package?”
“Uh, forty?”
“Forty? Wow.”
“It worked out more economical.”
Aw, Rhys was cute when he got defensive.
“I’m not complaining. But you’ll need to buy another forty soon.”
***
Balance the negative with the positive. Good thing they’d gone through three of the condoms last night because the shit hit the next afternoon.
Hatcher had been at home all day. He’d managed to shave, and until his wife left at ten to go shopping with their daughter, he’d held himself together. But after she’d kissed him on the cheek and told him they wouldn’t be back until the evening, he’d poured himself a large glass of Scotch and begun pacing.
“Murderer,” Coco whispered. She always whispered. They’d agreed it sounded creepier.
Hatcher’s reactions were dulled by the alcohol, and his eyes wobbled in odd directions as he looked around for a ghost.
“I didn’t mean to,” he croaked.
They’d wanted an admission, and now they had it. But it didn’t bring the relief that Coco had hoped for, only anger, and nor was it admissible in court.
“You held me under.”
“You were going to ruin everything. You insisted on having a baby I didn’t want.”
“And you killed both of us.”
“My wife would have left me if she’d found out.”
And he’d have fucking deserved it. The man’s whiny voice and self-pity made Coco’s blood run hot.
“I thought you cared.”
Rhys brushed away Coco’s tears and wrapped an arm around her. Damn, this was hard, but it would have been so much harder alone.
“You thought I cared?” Hatcher said. “Then you were naive. Naive or stupid.”
“Well, now I’m angry.”
“What the hell do you want from me?”
“I want you to confess. Tell the world your sins.”
“There you go, acting all unreasonable again. Are you crazy? I’d go to prison.”
“Compared to hell, prison will be a happy place.”
“You bitch,” he shrieked. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”
Bones clicked his mouse, and the lights in Hatcher’s chandelier blinked off.
“What the fuck?” Remi mouthed.
Bones grinned, and that was actually scarier than his… What was the male equivalent of resting bitch face?
“Just a little bonus, boss.”
CHAPTER 38
FOR THREE DAYS, Coco worked around the clock to drive Hatcher crazy. Rhys became chief coffee maker as she spent half the night staring at the monitors set up in the living room of the rental house, watching the asshole toss and turn.
“It’s working, isn’t it?” Coco asked after whispering sweet, murderous nothings to Hatcher as he paced the hallways in the early hours.
Rhys squeezed her shoulders and passed her a chocolate chip cookie.
“Well, he’s started talking to himself, so I’d say we’re headed in the right direction.”
That wasn’t the only change in Hatcher. He began lashing out at his wife as he teetered on the edge of insanity. Coco felt awful for her, but Remi adopted a pragmatic approach.
“Short-term pain for long-term gain. She’ll be better off without him.”
Maybe that was true, but it didn’t make watching the abuse any easier.
“Darling, you haven’t showered for three days. Are you ill?”
“Shut up! Just shut up! I’ve been busy.”
“Why don’t you take a break? We could go out for dinner.”
“Leave me alone.”
Emily Hatcher made herself scarce for the rest of that day, but Coco did no such thing. Exhaustion took a back seat as she mainlined caffeine and whispered into the mic at every possible opportunity. By the weekend, the warring spouses could barely look at each other without bickering.
And then it happened.
“You say you’re fine, but you smell like a sewer. What on earth is wrong with you? And why haven’t you been to work all week?”
“For fuck’s sake, Jocelyn! Stop questioning me!”
Emily Hatcher froze. “Who the hell is Jocelyn?”
“Nobody. She’s nobody.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Believe what you want.” Hatcher threw his tumbler of Scotch at his wife, but thankfully, his aim was off. Amber liquid splattered across the white walls in the living room as the glass smashed into glittering shards. “And get the hell out of my way.”
Not to be deterred, Emily hurled a golf club back at him, but her aim was no better and it lodged in the TV, sparking. Slap a price tag on it, and they could have called it modern art.
“You bitch!”
“Asshole! I’m leaving, and I’m taking my daughter with me.”
“Do whatever you want.”
As Mrs. Hatcher packed enough luggage for a round-the-world cruise, Team Jocelyn held a conference in the kitchen over a nice bottle of red wine with Camembert Remi had no doubt paid an extortionate amount to have couriered in from France.
“At least Emily’s out of there,” Coco said. “I was so worried that he’d hurt her.”
Remi stroked his chin like a Bond villain. “Yes, and that means we can up our game now. Time to break him completely.”
“What about something with water?” Bones suggested.
“That would have an element of poetic justice. Does he have a boat?”
“Hatcher sold his father’s boat after he died and never replaced it.”
“Guess it had served its purpose.”
Could Carl Hatcher really have killed his father? Jocelyn and Rochelle had never known theirs and barely knew their mother by all accounts, but Coco still couldn’t imagine wanting either of them dead. Had Hatcher Senior been a tyrant?
An abuser? What had shaped Carl into the utter bastard he’d become? Or was it genetics that made the man tick? Coco had spent a lot of time thinking about nature versus nurture over the past few weeks, and late in the evening, she’d talked with Remi over glasses of wine. She had to admit that her rebirth made a fascinating science experiment. They knew enough from Rochelle to presume that Coco had gotten Jocelyn’s soul—there were plenty of similarities between them, everything from a shared love of avocados to the way Coco flicked her hair when it got in her face. But there were also differences. Coco looked at some of the things Jocelyn had done and just couldn’t understand why. Joss Bordeaux had acted horribly towards the end.
Actually, maybe she could understand why. As she sat there, surrounded by friends and with Rhys’s arm around her shoulders, she realised there was one big difference between the two of them: love. Coco had known love from all sides, while Joss’s only comfort came from her sister.
Which was why she’d stay as Coco. Now that she knew more about Joss, she didn’t want to become her again.
“Why don’t we flood his house?” Celine asked. “We could turn on all the taps.”
Bones shook his head. “Too difficult. We’d have to block the plumbing, and he’s spending more and more time at home.”
True. They’d thought that with the ghostly goings-on, he might want to get out of the house, but he was in no fit state to work. Instead, he stayed with Jocelyn, spiralling into madness. Or perhaps he thought she’d follow him to the office? Hmm, the office…
“What about the architecture firm? Could we do anything there? The whole place is empty overnight.”
Bones sipped from his glass of ice water, his face impassive. “I’ll take a look.”
***
Two nights later, the sprinkler system at Hatcher, Marquez and Phillips malfunctioned, and by the time the first member of staff arrived the next morning, Hatcher’s glass-walled office was under several inches of water. Model buildings bobbed around, bumping into chairs and tables, and the electrics for the whole building had shorted. Bones hid nearby to watch the action and provided a blow-by-blow account as Hatcher showed up in his pyjamas, unkempt hair flapping in the breeze.
“The staff seem more shocked by his appearance than by the damage. He’s splashing through puddles in his slippers. Someone should send him home. Wait, now he’s yelling at the fire crew. Asshole’s not gonna make himself any new friends there.”
“Did you enjoy your swim?” Coco asked when he got back.
In response, he hurled an expensive-looking vase at the mirror in the hallway. The camera opposite caught the twinkles as both shattered into smithereens. Hatcher needed to sign up for anger management lessons. Was it fury that had led him to kill Joss? Had he snapped after an argument? Or had he planned her death and executed her and their child in cold blood?
On-screen, Hatcher headed for his dwindling liquor supply and grabbed a bottle of what looked like vodka. This time, he didn’t bother with a mixer or even a glass, just poured the liquid down his throat and then coughed. If nothing else, he’d turn into an alcoholic. Or maybe he’d always had a drinking problem? There were so many things they didn’t know about him, but it really didn’t matter. Life behind bars would be more effective than twelve steps anyway, and that was where he should be. Prison.
“We need something more,” Remi said. “Something big. A stunt that makes him believe his life is in danger.”
Bones merely smiled his creepy smile. “Leave it with me, boss.”
***
The next morning, Hatcher ran out into the hallway barefoot, and the air turned blue from his curses. Guess he should have swept up that broken glass. He’d been awoken by the crackle of flames, and when he hobbled to the front window, he was treated to their flickering beauty.
They hadn’t set the house on fire—they weren’t monsters—but his detached double garage was blazing nicely. He’d parked the Porsche inside the same way he did every time he drove it, and as Coco watched from her hiding place, a loud pop came from what was left of the building.
“That was a tyre,” Bones said. “Show yourself now, while he’s still inside.”
Coco slipped out of the bushes and stood in the dancing light just long enough for Hatcher to get a good look, then ran down the driveway and along the street to Rhys’s waiting car. When Hatcher made it outside, still limping and wincing, they were both long gone.
“He’s searching the bushes,” Bones whispered.
“Shit, will he find you?” Rhys asked.
“Nah, I’m in a tree. He walked right past.”
By the time the fire trucks had departed, leaving the blackened remains of Hatcher’s Porsche dripping rivulets of sooty water over the once-white garage floor, Coco was back in the living room at the rental house, sipping a mug of hot chocolate courtesy of Rhys. He’d been her rock through all of this.
“Did you enjoy the show?” Coco asked Hatcher when he walked back into his hideous home.
“I knew it was you!” he yelled. “I knew it! And I told them, I told them, but they just looked at me like I was crazy. They’re the fools, not me.”
According to Bones, the fire crew had been whispering about having Hatcher committed, but a padded cell was too good for him.
“That was just a taster. Next time, I’ll wait until you’re inside.”
The last vestiges of Hatcher’s bluster gave out, and he sank to his knees in the hallway, a dozen distorted versions of his own terror staring back at him from the jagged remains of the mirror.
A broken man.
“Fine. Fine! You win. I give up.” He snatched his phone out of his pyjama pocket—why did men always get pockets?—and began jabbing at the screen. “I knew you were a bitch from the moment I met you, but at least you were a good fuck. You stupid, nasty little whore.”
“Who’s he calling?” Rhys whispered, his arm tightening around Coco.
The police. He was calling the police.
“Come and pick me up. I’m a murderer. Just get me away from her.”
A pause.
“No, I’m not joking. I killed a girl. Jocelyn Bordeaux. I held her and my bastard child under the fucking water until she stopped breathing, and now she’s trying to kill me. For crying out loud, would you come and take me to jail?”
When he hung up, he curled into a ball on the floor, still clutching the phone, and sobbed until the police led him away in handcuffs.
Justice was finally served.
EPILOGUE - RHYS
RHYS LEANED OVER Coco’s shoulder as she read the front page of the Daily Lark, careful not to spill his glass of champagne. Sure, it was only eleven in the morning, but somewhere in the world it was cocktail hour, and they needed to celebrate.
Remi, Celine, and Rochelle crowded around as well. They should have bought extra copies of the newspaper, perhaps even framed one… After all, it was a memorable occasion. The article was short and to the point, and also horrifying.
Shocking news emerged yesterday in Lark’s River as local architect Carl Hatcher telephoned the police and confessed to the murder of his mistress, Jocelyn Bordeaux. Ms. Bordeaux’s death had originally been ruled a suicide, but in light of this new evidence, Sheriff Lawson has confirmed that the case will be reopened. An anonymous source close to the investigation tells us that there are concerns over Mr. Hatcher’s fragile mental state. Could he be planning an insanity defense?
According to our source, Mr. Hatcher hears Ms. Bordeaux speaking to him at night and spends much of his time cowering at the back of his cell. Several times, he’s begged officers to keep her away from him—a spectacular fall from grace for a man once considered one of Nevada’s shining stars.
Following Mr. Hatcher’s arrest, a second girl has come forward to claim that he tried to drown her in a bathtub when she threatened to inform his wife of their affair. The terrified young lady told us that he promised to finish the job if she mentioned his indiscretions to anybody.
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br /> Another unexplained death—that of college girl Ann Farber, who drowned in her parents’ hot tub last year—will also be investigated further after Ms. Farber’s roommate informed police that she’d seen the deceased in the company of Mr. Hatcher shortly before she passed away. And finally, police in Henderson have confirmed they’ll be taking another look at the death of Mr. Hatcher’s father following his drowning eleven years ago. A common theme, maybe?
How many more victims might this man have had?
The families of Mr. Hatcher and Ms. Bordeaux were unavailable for comment, but this reporter will keep you updated as the investigations progress.
“I wasn’t the only one,” Coco whispered.
Rhys squeezed her shoulders. “Because of what you did, he won’t get away with any more murders.”
“What we did. I couldn’t have done it without all of you guys.”
Remi sighed. “Work will seem boring after this adventure.”
“The château will seem boring,” Celine said. “Now that I’ve tasted freedom, how can I stay there forever?”
“You don’t have to, ma chérie. The past month has been a learning experience for everyone. I understand now that I was too harsh on you, that my fears made your life difficult, although that was never my intention. Going on vacation in France is out of the question, but the world is a big place. What do you think of the Caribbean? Perhaps I could buy a villa? A beach?”
Celine flung her arms around him. “I’d love to go to the beach.”
“A flat in Swindon is definitely gonna be boring,” Rhys said. “It’s been one hell of a trip.”
“Swindon?” Celine’s expression morphed from joy to horror. “But I thought you were coming back to Villance?”
“We don’t want to outstay our welcome.”
