Crash Into Me (24 page)

Scrape.
Scrape.

Carly
froze, a new awareness washing over her. A shadow stretched along the floor of
her room, bisecting the moonlight.

The
CD case was cloaked in darkness, no longer visible.

She
jumped from the bed, recognizing the scraping sound for what it was: the slide
of rubber-soled shoes seeking purchase against the stucco wall outside her
bedroom window. And there, in menacing outline, was the silhouette of a man’s
head, his short, dark hair haloed by moonlight, face pressed to the glass.

Every
instinct told her to yell, to run, to move, to search the room for a weapon and
assume a ready stance.

Her
body would not comply.

She
just stared, her pulse racing, at the black figure outside.

“Dad…”
she croaked, placing a hand on her chest, for the cost of making that sound was
searing pain. Her lungs drew enough breath for a good scream, and then—

Tap.
Tap. Tap.

Wait
a second. Did burglars knock? Exhaling in a huff, she opened the window. “You
scared the crap out of me!”

James
heaved himself through the small space. “Sorry,” he panted. “I was hanging in
the wind out there.”

She
glared at him. “What are you doing?”

He
gulped air. “I was afraid you were going to sneak out and look for me again. So
I came by to check in on you. Make sure you were here.”

She
crossed her arms over her chest. “Here I am. Safe and sound, except for the
twenty years you just took off my life.”

He
frowned at her in confusion. “Why are you so mad?”

“Because
I almost screamed bloody murder! What if my dad comes in?”

James
contemplated that possibility with a shrug, quite accustomed to the constant
threat of violence. “Carly, I’m about to drop. Can I sleep here with you?”

She
put her hands around his throat and squeezed. “I’m going to kill you.”

He
covered her hands with his own, rubbing soothingly. “In the morning, if you
don’t mind.”

James
would have sprawled out in a chair, or on the floor, but Carly insisted the bed
was big enough for both of them. He kept his clothes on, and his shoes, just
like he did at Stephen’s, because he never knew when he was going to have to
bolt.

Just
as he was drifting off, she said, “Tell me about the girls you’ve been with.”

His
eyes fluttered open. He felt like he hadn’t slept in a week. “No.”

“Why
not?”

“They
didn’t mean anything,” he mumbled.

“Then
you shouldn’t have any trouble talking about them.”

He
sighed, sliding his palm over the indentation of her waist. There was something
so comforting about her body. Maybe Carly was more girl than woman, but she had
curves in all the right places, and he didn’t mind staying awake to humor her.
“Five questions, short answers,” he conceded.

Pleased
with her victory, she snuggled into him. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Yes,”
he answered, after a pause, glad she couldn’t see his face. When she bristled,
he had to smother a laugh.

“What
was she like?”

“Beautiful.
Spoiled.” He smiled. “Inquisitive.”

He
could feel, as if by sixth sense, her brow furrow in concentration. “All that?
I thought you said none of them meant anything.”

“This
one did,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.

“What
was her name?”

He
lifted his head from the pillow. “I don’t remember any of their
names.
”

Her
right elbow connected with his rib cage.

“Carly,”
he choked. “Her name was Carly.”

She
grew very still. “Do you mean it?”

“Yeah,”
he said, nuzzling the back of her neck. “Now go to sleep. You used up all your
questions.”

“Tell
me again,” she urged.

“I
love you,” he said, without regret, breathing in the scent of her hair,
savoring the feel of her skin.

“Why?”

Of
course she had to know why. She was Carly.

He
moved away from her to lie on his back, needing some space for perspective.
Putting his hands behind his head, he stared up at her bedroom ceiling,
searching for the words to explain it to her. “My whole life, I’ve been like a
stray dog, the kind you see next to a Dumpster. Either you feel sorry for it or
you want to kick it out of the way, because you can’t stand the sight of
suffering. It’s human nature.”

She
turned to face him, her beauty bathed in moonlight.

“I’ve
been half in love with you since junior high, because you were everything I
wasn’t. You’re the kind of person everyone wants to be around.”

“Just
because of my dad,” she countered.

“Maybe
that’s part of it,” he replied, “but you have this glow about you, something
all your own. No one would ever kick you out of the way.”

“Oh,
James,” she said, cupping her palm around his cheek.

He
took her hand away and held it instead. “You’re the only good thing I’ve ever
had.”

She
pressed her face to his chest, sniffling.

“You
make me feel like a man.”

“You’re
not a man,” she whispered.

“That’s
what you keep telling me. Maybe someday I’ll prove you wrong.”

Flexing his hands in frustration, Ben
crossed a dark, deserted Neptune, the street lamp overhead contorting his
shadow into an eerie Nosferatu.

All
he wanted to do was fall into his bed and sleep for a week. He might not even
wake up early to surf tomorrow.

He
was physically exhausted, sexually unsatisfied, and emotionally…well, he wasn’t
sure where he was emotionally. He didn’t want to dig too deep there.

Summer
was driving him insane, running hot one moment, cold the next. Now that he
wanted to hold on to her a little while longer, she kept slipping farther away.
He realized it was part of her appeal. She was elusive, perhaps deliberately
so, and he was infatuated.

If
he wasn’t careful, she’d be leading him around by his cock.

Although
he was dead on his feet, he stopped by Carly’s room to check on her before he
went to bed. She was sound asleep, as sweet and innocent as an angel, warm and
safe in the security of James’ arms.

Rage
and indignation burned through him. Ben couldn’t believe the little son of a bitch
would dare to get horizontal with his daughter in his own house. In her
bedroom, no less, right down the hall from Ben’s. Then he saw that while Carly
was under the covers, James was on top of them, fully dressed. He was sleeping
soundly, his arm across her waist, shoes hanging off the edge of the bed.

It
was time for a man-to-man talk, Ben decided with a grimace, kicking James’
foot.

James
woke with a start, tightening his arm around Carly’s waist protectively.
Noticing Ben’s presence, he narrowed his sleepy eyes. Of course he was
expecting a fight.

With
movements that showed utter exhaustion and a reluctant acceptance of defeat, he
rose to his feet, preparing to do battle.

Or,
at the very least, to be tossed out on his ear.

Downstairs,
on the way to the front door, Ben detained him. “Wait,” he said, putting a hand
on the boy’s shoulder. When the corner of James’ lip curled up in a feral,
visceral response, Ben removed his hand. He’d never known a person more
aversive to touch.

Except
maybe Summer. But they were working the kinks out of that phobia pretty nicely,
he had to admit.

He
gestured toward the living room couch. “You can sleep here if you want. I can’t
have you in Carly’s room.”

James’
expression revealed suspicion. “Why would you let me sleep here?”

Ben
took a pillow and blanket out of the closet. “Kid, you look about to fall over.
I don’t know what you’ve been doing, or why, but I feel sorry for you.”

James
deliberated, looking from the door to the plush space in front of the fire.

“Trouble
at home?” Ben asked.

James
scowled at the question, shuffling his feet instead of answering.

Ben
was fairly certain James had been knocked around at home, and that didn’t sit
well with him. It didn’t bode well for his daughter, either. “I’m concerned for
Carly. Can you understand why?”

“Sure.
You think I’m like my dad. That I’m looking for someone smaller and weaker to
pound on.”

“No,”
Ben said. With Carly, James was like a dog guarding a bone. “I’m worried about
other stuff.”

James
didn’t need to hear more. “We’re not having sex,” he said.

Ben
couldn’t help but feel relieved. But how long would that last? “She’s only
sixteen,” he lamented, for even the most heartfelt intentions of a teenaged boy
were tenuous, at best.

“I
know,” James said, frowning. “I’m not even interested in that.”

“You’re
not?”

“Okay,
I am,” James clarified, “but I’m not going to do anything about it. I know
she’s too good for me.” His blue eyes darkened with anger. “Isn’t that what
you’re trying to tell me? That I’m just some dirty wharf rat with a drunk
asshole for a dad and a mom who didn’t care enough to stick around?” He glanced
down at his hands. They were riddled with scars and calluses, much more like a
man’s than a boy’s. “I know I’m not fit to touch her. These hands are only good
for pulling in nets.” He clenched them into fists. “And fending off blows.”

Ben
wasn’t about to disagree with James’ estimation of himself, even though his
conscience told him he should. “Where’s your mom?”

To
his amazement, tears filled James’ eyes. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “She
left a long time ago. I haven’t heard from her.”

“Okay,”
Ben said, totally uncomfortable handling a boy’s emotions. Carly was often
tearful, and never ashamed to use it to her advantage. This was uncharted
territory.

He
searched for common ground. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,”
James admitted.

Ben
smiled. “Want a sandwich?”

Staff Sergeant Paula DeGrassi was at the
crime scene well before Sonny arrived. She stood on a concrete walkway near the
base of a man-made jetty that skirted Coronado Bay, the security lighting
raining down on her silvery blond hair and gunmetal gray suit.

DeGrassi
didn’t look happy to see her.

According
to Grant, she was a territorial ball-buster who ate FBI agents for breakfast.
Although Sonny was here to supervise the retrieval, not make friends, she
smoothed one hand down the front of her jacket and pasted a cool smile on her
face as she approached.

“Staff
Sergeant DeGrassi? I’m Special Agent Vasquez. We spoke on the phone.”

DeGrassi
accepted her handshake with a grunt of acknowledgment and got down to business.
“We have a young, dark-haired female who appears to have been in the water for
several days,” she said, turning toward a small man in a yellow jacket that
said COUNTY M EDICAL E XAMINER. “I think we all know she wasn’t dumped here, so
let’s not waste any more time trying to preserve the integrity of the scene.”

The
ME nodded his agreement.

“Dr.
Ramashad,” he said, sticking out his hand to greet Sonny. “If we wait much
longer, the tide will take her back out.”

While
Sonny and DeGrassi watched from a distance, the ME and two CSIs performed the
unwieldy task of removing the body from the jagged rocks lining the side of the
jetty. The tide was coming in, making their job more difficult, sloshing
against the rocks and sending up spouts of seawater with each approaching wave.

At
2:00 A.M., the air was still and damp, a moderate 60 degrees. Sonny wasn’t cold
in her jeans and jacket, and even with the lack of wind and excess moisture,
her eyes were bone-dry, unblinking despite her fatigue.

The
night had been the most surreal of her life. She’d met her miserable excuse for
a father and knocked him unconscious. Found out she had two half-brothers she’d
never known about. And almost slept with Ben.

Did
oral sex count? Sonny pictured herself in front of the board at Internal
Affairs, taking the Bill Clinton defense.

Pushing
that thought aside, she tried to focus on the details of the case, considering
the ways this crime scene differed from the others. First and foremost, none of
the previous victims had been submerged. Except Olivia Fortune.

Sonny
had read the police reports and seen the photos. Emergency personnel had found
an unintelligible Ben with his wife’s dead body. Both were soaked to the skin.
He later admitted to removing her from the tub in an attempt to revive her.

Staring
at the jumble of rocks pointing out into the midnight blue Pacific, Sonny
wondered if tossing Lisette’s body in the ocean, or dropping Olivia’s into a
tub of bathwater, were attempts at washing away evidence.