Ashes - Book 2 (New Adult Romantic Suspense) (7 page)

The crowd cheers. I look up and notice all the news trucks, their cameras aimed and poised to report additional tragedy. I somehow manage not to flip them off and put all my focus back on the people in front of us.

The moment the top is off, Octavio gives the car a little test push to double check stability and he and Ed lean in for their first full visual of their patients.

Shit.

The woman’s wearing a wedding dress that used to be white. The guy’s wearing a tux. Just married. The knife in all of our guts just twisted.

Ed calls for the AED, apparently the groom has no pulse. And we still have a major problem – the dash has both victims pinned. All life-saving efforts have to be done in the confines of that mashed metal until we can cut off the front.

I lose count of the times the guys call clear while we essentially disassemble the car. I lose count of the number of minutes they compress and bag and fight to save the bride and groom. We all want them to live.

They can’t.

Their injuries were too great.

We can’t save them.

Finally, Octavio calls it and everyone grows quiet.

To shield the victims from the watchers, we cover them with yellow tarps, giving them some measure of privacy. A fuck of a way to spend their wedding night.

Chapter 10 — Beth

Five hours and a thousand tears later, we pull back into the driveway at the house. I stopped and picked up Chinese because there was no way Steph or I could possibly muster enough energy to cook.

Onyx is going to be fine. Well, not
fine
fine, but better than we could have expected after she’d been hit by a car. She was taken into surgery and had her leg set and pinned in two places and is now sporting a bright pink cast. She has to spend the night at the vet’s, but we can go get her tomorrow. Looks like we’ll have a mascot at HEAL for a while.

The entire time we were gone, I couldn’t stop dwelling on the man she chased or why he’d been by the pool. Had he been watching me? Or was he someone lost and Onyx had scared him? Should I call the police?

I just don’t know.

I don’t want to come off as a crazy girl with paranoid delusions, but I also don’t want to ignore something serious. I called the man who’d hit Onyx and reassured him she’d be okay. And I asked him more about the man he’d seen. The description was so vague. Black pants. Black short sleeved shirt. Longish, dark hair. Maybe five-feet-eight or so. Not much to go on even if we did call the police.

Putting the Jeep in park, Steph and I just sit there, both too tired to open the doors and get out.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Stephanie says for at least the thirteenth time.

“I know. It’s crazy.”

“I’m so glad she’s okay.”

I smile. She’s said that at least a hundred times. I reach over and grasp her hand.

“Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Grabbing our food, I head to the back door and the closer I get, the more uneasy I become. The hair stands up on the back of my neck and my breath comes in little shallow gasps.

“Are you okay?”

I try to shake it off, but can’t stop myself from glancing around, suddenly sure someone is sneaking up on us. I feel them. Someone is watching. Waiting. I can feel their eyes on me.

My fear transfers to Stephanie, and her eyes grow wide and her chin quivers as she looks around as well. Does she feel what I feel, or is she just picking up my vibes? Before I can ask, she grabs my arm and hustles me to the back door. Soon, we’re in and have re-set the alarm.

“Do I need to call the police? Or Ken? Gage?”

“No!” I say the word too fast, too loud. She looks at me, still worried, unconvinced. I soften. “I’m sorry. I’m just so wound—“

I nearly poop my bikini bottoms when my phone vibrates in my hand. Stephanie squeals in response to my squeal and I sink to the floor, my heart pounding so hard my vision pulses with each beat.

“Hello,” I say as naturally as I can into my phone, rolling my eyes at Steph who is still holding a hand over her heart.

“Beth Richards?”

I look at the caller ID again. “Yes, this is Beth.” I shake my head at Steph.
No, I don’t know who it is
, that shake says.

Stephanie tosses our dinner on the counter and grabs her phone before sitting on the floor beside me. I know what she’s doing. She’s going to record my call with her phone. I tap the speaker button so she can record the entire conversation.

“Miss Richards, this is Agent Ellen Grimes, I believe we’ve met before.”

I glance up at Steph. “Yes, Agent Grimes. I remember. What can I do for you?”

“I understand that you were with Gage Larson last night at Red Rock. Is that correct?”

I swallow. “Yes, that’s right.”

“If you don’t mind, Agent Ramsen and I have a few questions regarding the discovery last night. Do you mind if we stop by later this evening?”

I sag. “Sure. Do you need my new address?” I rattle it off when she says yes. A moment later, she hangs up.

Looking up at Steph, she doesn’t look as haunted as I imagined she would. She’s gotten so much stronger over the past year. Ghost has appeared and is butting her head against Stephanie’s leg, wanting a good scratching. Steph picks him up and holds him to her face.

After a few minutes, Steph stands and holds her hand out. I take it and she drags me up. “You go shower and I’ll get the food ready.”

“Are you okay?” I ask her, really worried that she might be having some type of post traumatic experience from all that happened last year. She’d been put through hell. Exposed. Tortured mentally and physically.

She swallows and then pastes a bright smile on her face. “Yes. And you’re fine too.”

I nod and she takes me in her arms for long, comforting hug. Who needs a man when you have a best friend?

Chapter 11 — Gage

“You missed a spot,” I tell Ken, pointing out the mud above the back wheel well.

He shoots me a look. “First punctual, now anal? What’s getting into you?”

“You. Your old-man-ness is rubbing off on me, I guess.” He’s only a year older than me, but I love giving him hell.

Every man in the station is working his ass off right now. Rigs are being washed, floors scrubbed. Anything to work the—

Smack.

I look over and see Jeff, the rookie, give the punching bag another shot. Smack. Smack. His jaw is set. His eyes hard. Smack. Smack. He keeps punching the bag. I know from experience he’ll keep punching until he can no longer lift his arms.

I keep polishing a rim. Every man here has to let off steam somehow. The newly married couple will take a while to get over. The memory of how they’d died holding hands is physically painful to recall.

Ken’s phone beeps and he stands up, stretches out his back and pulls the cell from his pocket. He looks relieved, then his thumbs move over the screen.

“Onyx is out of surgery and the girls are going home,” he tells me and I feel his relief too … the mutt really grows on a man.

“Glad to hear it. Any idea how she got out of the fence?”

He picks up the sponge again and gets back to work. “Not yet. Steph was too upset to talk about it earlier.” He glances at his watch. “I’ll be off in a few hours. I’ll get the details then.”

We wash and polish and work in silence for a while. His phone beeps and he straightens. Reads. Thumbs go to work. “Girls are going out Tuesday night,” he says. “I might pull together a poker match. Want to come over?”

Tuesday. Shit. I shake my head. “Sorry. Got a date. Meeting up with Amber at some new club that’s supposed to have some crazy good DJ visiting from New York or New Jersey Tuesday night.” I don’t tell him that I only texted Amber just a half hour ago or that I set up the date because I need to get Beth out of my head.

He frowns at me, but says nothing. Just keeps washing, the slow circles easing the speed of my thoughts. After a few minutes, Ken says, “I can finish this up if you need to go finish reading the pre-plan for the new casino.”

“No, that’s okay, I’ve got all night. There’s something meditative about washing the rigs. After the accident earlier, it feels like washing away the bad. I’ve seen lots of death, but seeing that couple’s lives cut off before they even…”

Ken clenches his jaw and spits out, “Fucking drunk. As usual, he walks away. What really pisses me off is that his daddy’s Armani suit wearing dirt bag lawyer will probably get him off with a fine or probation.”

I completely agree. “Yep. Been there seen that.”

Ken tilts his head. “When was that?”

I throw the sponge into the bucket and feel the familiar rage run through me as I remember that time. “I was a witness at an accident. This dude plowed into the off-ramp guard rail; pretty much split his car in two. He had a girl in the front seat. No seatbelt and she basically got wedged under the glove compartment. She looked like she was curled into a ball. Dead instantly. The fucking dickhead driving was wandering around outside the car yelling that someone cut him off and now his car was destroyed.”

Ken shrugs, a deep scowl wrinkling his forehead. “It always seems that way, doesn’t it? Everybody’s fault but theirs.”

“Well, this time, it turned out to be
my
fault.”

Ken’s head shoots up and he gives me a classic ‘what the hell?’ look.

“While I was checking out the girl, I didn’t notice the dude split the scene. It wasn’t until the highway patrol showed up and the officer asked me if I was the driver that I realized the driver was gone. At first, I thought he may have been in shock and wandered off somewhere. The cop didn’t believe me since I was the only other person on the scene.”

“No shit.”

I shake my head. “No shit. Man, I was pissed. He even tried to fucking sobriety test me and was pulling out the handcuffs and the taser because I refused when another cop found the guy walking down the street. He had airbag burns on his arms and you could smell the alcohol on his entire body.”

“Bet the patrolman really felt like an ass then.”

I laugh. “Oh yeah. Super apologetic. We ended up laughing. When I calmed down, I could see his side of things. But, anyway, I needed to take a piss like no other and he laughed and told me to write quick because I wasn’t leaving until it was done.”

Ken laughs and throws a towel. “Don’t you know you should always carry an empty bottle in the car for that? I guess walking to the front of the car and letting it fly wouldn’t have been cool. He would have tas’d your dick.”

I grab my crotch, the very thought sending me into protective mode. “Well, the cop was laughing and doing little things that kept me from being able to leave. At one point, I was basically crossing my legs like a chick and bouncing up and down in bladder agony.”

Ken’s bent over, his hands on his knees. “Please don’t tell me you pissed your pants.”

I grin at him. “Well, I—“

“Gage!”

I whip around and see Captain Frank waving me over. I lift a hand and he turns around, heading back to his office.

I look back at Ken and the fucker has grabbed his crotch and is bouncing up and down. I flip him off and take off after Cap.

“I just got a call from Agent Grimes,” he says before my ass even hits the chair. “They’re on their way now.” Captain Frank grabs his coffee cup and tosses me a bottle of water when I decline caffeine.

“You look worried.”

Cap takes a long drink of his coffee, then sits back and looks me dead in the eye. “I am. From what I’m hearing, everyone is concerned. This might be bigger than a serial killer.”

Shit.

“How so?”

“This is just a theory at this point, but Captain Vander told me about a cult, Santa something or other they call themselves. They’re squatting in the desert. They’ve heard rumors and have been keeping an eye on them, but haven’t caught them red handed yet.”

“Santa, you said? You’ve got to be kidding.” Christmas will never be the same.

“Seems they have something to do with the drug cartels from Mexico or Central America. They haven’t been able to pin anything on them, but this may be the link they need.”

I stare at the wall behind the captain’s head, trying to make all this make sense. It doesn’t. “Mexican cartels don’t do stuff like that, do they? They just put the bodies in acid or cut their heads off and leave them in the street.”

“Who the hell knows what cults do,” the captain says and takes another sip of coffee. “All I know for sure is two things. One: the feds think it might possibly be related. Two: they’re on their way to talk to you. So sit tight and we’ll find out what they have to say.”

Not even a minute has passed until there’s a knock on the door. The captain waves them in and I stand as two familiar faces walk into the room.

“Larson, it seems you can’t keep out of trouble.” Special Agent Ellen Grimes sticks out her hand, giving me the flash of a grin. These are the two agents who worked Stephanie’s case last year. It was fascinating to watch how their minds worked, how they tried so hard to catch Jerome and the fuckers who’d been selling women like cattle.

“You remember my partner, Bill Ramsen?” she continues and I shake both of their hands again.

“Yes ma’am. Nice to see you again Agent Ramsen.” I motion for him to enter.