Dark Paradise (4 page)

My heart skips.
Don't even think it. Lainey's okay.
“Nah, ignore me. I'm being stupid. It's probably nothing. She's out with that guy she's been sneaking around with but is too scared to bring home.”

“I don't blame her after what happened with her last boyfriend. Did you ever figure out who the new guy is?”

“Why should I care? She should just move in with him so I don't have to worry about her anymore.”

“Living in sin…” Clarice fake gasps, covering her mouth “…making the beast with two backs without the sanctity of marriage. Your daddy would kill her.”

Yeah, she's probably right. I tip my head against the side of the tub and stare at the shimmering golds and reds that fill the sky. The pain in my body starts to fade. The itch returns like a vengeance-packed wallop in the gut, and I sit up. “I should call the Sheriff's Office,” I say.

“Stop stressing out. Gray hair looks distinguished on your dad, but you just turned twenty-one. I'm sure Lainey's fine.”

I growl.

Clarice rolls her calf brown eyes. “Hey, do you want me to distract you?”

“Like you can.”

“Wanna bet?” She scoots closer with a smile that tightens my ab muscles. I scowl at her in suspicion. The last time she gave me a look like this we got suspended for putting a frog in our teacher's desk. She reaches toward me.

I flinch, brushing her hand aside. “I don't trust you.”

“Chicken,” she taunts in the exact same tone she used back then. “It won't hurt. I swear. Cross my heart. Close your eyes.”

You'd think I'd know better, but my early years of being her sidekick keep me docile. Just because she's turned majorly scary since hitting puberty shouldn't be a reason not to trust her. Right. I'm such a fool.

Clarice throws her leg over mine. Water laps between us. I hiss with the pain of her breasts rubbing against my bruised chest. I press back until I'm pinned against the wall of the tub. She can't weigh more than a buck twenty, but she's like a jellyfish. I'm wrapped in her slimy tentacles as if she injected a toxin into my bloodstream. The more she wiggles, the less I want to get away.

Not like I have a girlfriend. Yet.

What are friends with benefits for if not this sort of situation?

Her mouth slams onto mine.

I shove her back and touch a finger to my bleeding lip. “Damn it!”

Clarice gives a wicked laugh, but this isn't funny. “Sorry, I promised that it wouldn't hurt,” she whispers. Her lips nibble the skin beneath my chin. My eyelids flicker. I'm super sensitive to a girl sucking on my neck. “I'm distracting you, right?”

Right.
No. Wrong. Very wrong. I have to stop before this goes any further. I don't want to take advantage of her feelings for me. Rejecting her later will only hurt her worse. And damn, yes, her roving hands feel too good.
I'm only human.

I spin, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her up onto the lip of the hot tub. Her hands lift to wrap around my neck as she struggles to hold on. “That's enough, Clarice.”

Clarice gasps and scrambles backward, like a crab scuttling across the sand. A bit extreme for the situation, but I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She stares, slack-jawed enough to be impressive if I trusted her not to bite. It takes a couple of seconds before I realize I'm not the subject of her awe. She's looking over my shoulder. I follow her gaze and almost shit my pants.

My voice cracks. “W-what are you doing here?”

I
t totally sucks to be short.

Sheriff Keyes's long legs outstrip mine. He disappears down the path, and I try to keep up. Even Bessie passes me. Shouts come from up ahead. I burst into the clearing, gasping for air. Colorful spots dance in front of my eyes. God, I need to work out more. It takes a few seconds before I see George hanging from the branch of a tree with the thrashing body of an alligator directly below him. He drops to land a few inches from the gator's mouth. My heart lurches when the head jerks, its teeth snapping shut.

George shouts, kicking the gator in the snout, and lunges backward. The animal's dead, not stunned, but I can't fault George for being freaked since even in death those teeth almost took a huge chunk out of his calf. The still-twitching creature stretches a good twelve feet from snout to tail. He'll net about fifteen hundred dollars if we get him on ice before the meat goes bad. To hit the quarter-size kill spot at the back of the creature's skull in the dark—well, the word “miraculous” comes to mind.

Sheriff Keyes slaps George on the shoulder. “Damn! Nice shot.”

George staggers. His legs fold, and he slumps to the ground to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest. “Thanks, Sheriff. It came up out of the water so fast…” He pauses and looks around. His eyebrows draw up as if surprised to find he has such a large audience. “One minute, I'm on the ground, and the next, up in the tree. I don't even remember aiming the gun before I pulled the trigger.”

Sheriff Keyes shakes his head. His rotund belly stretches his duty shirt so much when he chuckles that I fear he'll pop a button. “Well, that's quick thinking. It probably saved your life. Training doesn't mean a damn thing in this line of work if you don't have the instinct and good sense to use it.”

George ducks his head. “Sir, I didn't do anything special.”

“You let me be the judge of that, Deputy Dubois.” The sheriff walks toward the body, saying over his shoulder “See there, Mala Jean. You didn't have to worry about George
freaking out
after all.”

I swallow hard, blushing.
God, I hope George didn't catch—

“What did he mean by that?” George looks a little pasty in the faint light. Shock can do funny things to a person.

“It means I shouldn't have left you alone.” I drop down next to him. “You're lucky you didn't get a chunk taken out of your ass. I told you not to stand too close to the water.”

He holds his hands over his face, and his body trembles. He glances over his fingers to meet my eyes. “Shit, Mala, stop yelling. I'm fine.”

Crap, I hadn't even realized I'd lost control. It's just…if anything had happened to him…

Dr. Rathbone crouches beside him. “Are you going to be okay, son? You're not gonna throw up, are you?”

“I've got Georgie, Doc.” I pat George on the back. “Why don't you do what you came out here for and check out that girl's remains? She's not getting any fresher from lying in the mud.”

Dr. Rathbone gives me a hard look but doesn't utter a peep. I've never cared for the man. Elections are held every four years for parish coroner, and he's won for the last twelve without anyone running against him. Rumors float around town about him taking bribes and being selective on whom he chooses to autopsy. Bessie nearly foams at the mouth whenever she has a case that gets kicked out of court for lack of evidence simply 'cause the doc can't be bothered to do his job, but the sheriff sticks by his friend. Good ol' boys.

Dr. Rathbone stalks over to stand next to Sheriff Keyes. They begin whispering and gesturing at the deceased. Then Keyes gives Bessie and the crime scene techs orders to start setting up. Soon the whole area fills with light from their big lanterns.

George swats my hand aside, like it's a pesky mosquito. “I'm fine, Malaise.”

My hand clenches into a fist at my side. “Are you sure about that? You still look a little green.”

“I said I'm fine. You don't need to coddle me.”

Logic tells me that his anger and embarrassment over his loss of control in front of the other officials, especially the sheriff, is directed toward himself, like mine was earlier, but he proceeds to take it out on me the same way I turned my frustration on him.

I take a deep breath, trying to cool my temper. “Just trying to help. No big deal.”

George shoots a glare over his shoulder. “No big deal? If I needed help looking even more incompetent than I already feel, I would've had my mother come out to hold my hand.”

I throw my hands in the air. “Don't be stupid. I don't think you're incompetent.”

“No? Well, everyone else does, thanks to you.” He pushes to his feet and dusts off his pants. “Why don't you go home? Your mama's probably worried sick. If we need help, I'll send someone for you.”

My face flushes. He knows darn well that Mama doesn't care where I've gotten off to. He just wants to share the humiliation.
Stupid, stupid me.
It takes all the strength I can dig up inside me to practically beg “Can't I stay and help work the crime scene?”

“You're not trained for this. Legally you're a liability, and in reality, you'll just get in the way.”

Dawn finds me curled up in the rocking chair on my sagging front porch with a cup of coffee and sleep-deprived eyes. I'd been too wound up over finding Lainey and fuming over Georgie's jerk-move to get any sleep. True to his word, George sends Bessie to the house, rather than showing his face in front of me again. The coward. When she steps out of the trees and heads in my direction, I go inside to warn Mama so she can hide in her bedroom from her least favorite law woman. We don't think Mama has any outstanding warrants for her arrest, but it's better to be safe now than sorry in lockup for thirty days.

I meet Bessie on the porch steps with a steaming cup of coffee. Weariness sits heavy on the detective's broad shoulders. Skin like polished mahogany glistens with perspiration, and she wipes her forehead on a large handkerchief. “Gonna be another scorcher.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry to do this, but I need you to come to the station so I can get your witness statement on tape. Just explain how you came across Lainey while the details are fresh in your mind.”

I stifle a sigh, knowing my job. It's why I studied the body so thoroughly, even though the sight made me want to vomit. “I know. I've been expecting it. Every time I close my eyes, I see Lainey Prince's glazed eyes and smell the stink of her blood.” I take a deep gulp of my coffee, hissing when it burns my tongue.

“Yeah, you look worn out. You did a good thing, dragging her out of the water and all. You could've left her there. Nobody would've been the wiser.”

“I couldn't stomach living with myself if I'd left her there, Bessie,” I say softly. “Her family deserves to have peace of mind. How much longer before you're done out there?”

Bessie takes a sip of her coffee. “We moved the body to the morgue. Andy brought out Rex. I tell you, that dog can sniff out blood from miles away. With the way the girl bled, it shouldn't take long to find where she cut herself before entering the water.”

Saints, I hope she didn't kill herself on our land. We own five acres of prime swamp. The house stands on the highest hill, a fragile peninsula in the middle of all that water, on a cleared half acre. Only our gravel road provides entrance in or off our property, unless you count traveling by airboat through the bayou. Rex will find her car in no time.

Speaking of, only one patrol car remains parked on the side of the driveway bordering the woods. If Andy and his K-9 had driven out, then—“What happened to the other cars?”

“Sheriff Keyes and I rode in together. He and George went to give the death notification to the Prince family. George will come back to pick us up in a couple of hours. If you're feeling up to it after the interview, Maggie said she'll make you lunch.”

Ha! Score.
I'd throw myself in front of a bus for a batch of Maggie's blueberry muffins. I guess seeing my best friend makes up for having to ride to town with George, but unlike him, Bessie trusts my judgment. So does the sheriff. I won't disappoint them by acting like an idiot just because I have to breathe the same air as Deputy Dubois.

I take a long shower that steams up the bathroom. The hot spray beats into the kinked muscles in my back, working loose knots of tension I hadn't realized I had. I lean my head against the tiles and close my eyes. The image of Lainey Prince floating in the water invades my thoughts. Even though I never met her in life, the
whys
of her death haunt me. Why did she kill herself? Why did I find her? From what Georgie said, she had parents who loved her and provided everything she needed: food, clothes, shelter. Maybe she killed herself once she grew up and learned how rough life could be. Still, what could've been so bad?

I shake off my gloomy mood. As I step out of the tub, cold air slides around my body, and goose bumps rise on my arms. Shivering, I wrap the towel around my shoulders. Steam covers the mirror, and I swipe the edge of the towel across it. Eyes of cobalt blue, wide and staring, meet mine.

I scream, jumping back. My foot slips in a puddle, and I fall to my knees.

“Mala?” Mama must have jumped from the bed the second I screamed. She jiggles on the handle. “You okay?”

My heart races. Never in my life have I felt such deep, overwhelming fear. I can't think. The air feels thin. I can barely breathe, and what breath does come out crystallizes in the air. Panicked, I try to stand. My feet slip on
ice
. The top of my head slams into the underside of the sink, and I fall back again. Sparkles flash in front of my eyes as I cry out.

“Mala, answer me!”

Cold seeps down my palms and into my bones. “Mama, help!”

“Unlock the door.”

The chill worms its way up my arms and legs and settles as a heavy weight on my chest. I start to hyperventilate, dragging air into my lungs in short gasps. Tears well up in my eyes, hard frozen shards that ice my eyelashes together.

“Please, please, Malaise.”

“I can't—” I stare at the door, willing Mama to open it. Why doesn't the doorknob turn? The popped button proves it's unlocked.

“Open the door.
Please, baby,
” Mama yells, pounding on the door.

Why can't I move? I squeeze my eyes shut and suck in a deep breath. It catches in my chest. My vision blurs…

…then darkens.