Everywhere She Turns (41 page)

His head came up. “Yeah?”

“I can’t sleep.”

He sat up straighter. “Do you want the television on? That usually puts me to sleep.”

She sat up. “Can we just talk?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

To his surprise, she climbed out of the bed and came over to sit on the footstool in front of him. The nightshirt hit midthigh, but when she sat down, it slid higher. His throat went bone dry.

“If I have to go back to Baltimore before this case is completely wrapped up”—she stared straight into his eyes—“will you promise me that you won’t give up until you finish it?”

“You have my word.” The thought of her going back to Baltimore sat like a stone in his gut. He’d known, of course, that she would be going back. It shouldn’t matter. But somehow it did. “When are you going back?”

“I have about two more weeks. Then I won’t have any choice without creating major complications.” She sighed. “I wanted to make sure Shelley’s killer was brought to justice. But it seems like the more bodies that pile up, the less evidence we have. Unless this thing with Nash pans out, we’re basically back at square one.”

“Like I said before, even the most brilliant killers make mistakes,” he reminded her. “We just have to find the one he’s made. It’s there . . . we just don’t see it yet.”

She met his eyes again. “Will you hold me?”

“Definitely.” He opened his arms as she climbed into his lap, then closed them around her. It felt natural holding her this way. Touched him deeply that she trusted him so completely. That had been a long time coming.

“I just need . . . you to hold me.”

She snuggled against his chest, and something inside him shifted. He wanted to keep her safe, to hold her this way until he took his last breath.

Eventually she lifted her face to his in invitation.

He lowered his head, let his lips rest against hers. She took charge from there. The kiss was soft, sweet, and incredibly innocent for a woman who’d seen and endured all that she had.

The kiss went on and on, but he knew it would never be enough. Just like last night. Touching her, kissing her, wasn’t
nearly enough. But after what she’d been through, he didn’t want to push. When her warm fingers started to unbutton his shirt, he knew she wanted more, too.

He held her tight against his chest, pushed out of the chair, and moved to the bed. When he’d laid her gently in the center of the tousled sheets, he toed off his shoes and climbed in next to her.

CJ peeled his shirt off his shoulders; he assisted by pulling his arms free. The shirt landed on the floor. Her fingers busied with the task of releasing his belt and the fly of his trousers. He lifted his hips as she tugged the trousers down and off. His boxers followed the same route. She sat on her knees and regarded him a moment.

He was hard as a rock.

She pulled the nightshirt up and off, tossed it to the floor. His attention settled on her breasts, then lowered to her slim waist and lower still to the tuft of blond hair between her thighs.

God, she was so beautiful. He could have her every night and it would never be enough.

She crawled up his body on all fours. Settled her bottom on his waist. “You make me want to do things,” she murmured as she traced a line down his chest with trembling fingers, “I’ve never wanted to do before.”

CJ’s breath caught when he wrapped his arms around her and rolled, putting her beneath him. He kissed her lips, slowly, slowly, slowly. She melted. Then he gave the rest of her body the same treatment. She shivered and sighed. Made those soft sounds to let him know he was doing something so very right.

Finally he nestled between her thighs and slowly, inch by inch, thrust inside. Still a little sore from last night, she bit her lip, clawed his back as he settled in, pelvis to pelvis.

She wrapped her legs around his and rocked her hips ever so slightly. He started that rhythm that quickly sent them both to the edge.

The quiet sounds of their lovemaking filled the air. Quick breaths, soft sighs, urgent moans, and the raw, primal glide of
their bodies connecting in the most organic behavior of their species.

CJ lay in his arms afterward, the sweet scent of their love-making enfolding them. Her body felt right snuggled against his that way. He reached up and turned off the bedside lamp, cloaking them in the darkness. It felt good. Felt right.

She slowly drifted to sleep.

Something brushed against her senses, dragged her from that warm place.

Her eyes snapped open.

The room was dark.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Braddock’s body was still nestled against hers. He slept soundly, his respiration slow and steady.

A dream must have awakened her.

She was safe with Braddock.

Nothing could touch her in his arms.

801 Governor’s Bend, 9:15
AM

Carter Cost had lived in a mansion on a hill. He’d driven a BMW, the high-end model that cost more than most folks made in three years.

He’d died the way he lived . . . in excess.

The ME hadn’t arrived yet. Evidence techs were doing their thing. Cooper was interviewing neighbors. Braddock studied the staging of the victim.

Seated in a recliner in front of the massive flat-panel television in his living room, Cost’s body was nude. One of hundreds of homemade porn videos showcased his lack of skill with a video camera on the widescreen hanging on the wall. One would think he’d simply sat down to relax and watch his cinematography were it not for the empty Vicodin prescription bottle glued into his left hand and the way his right hand was similarly glued to his penis.

His throat had been slit, and blood had leaked down his torso to pool in his lap. The lack of arterial spray indicated that final travesty had taken place during the last moments of his life, after his heart rate had slowed to a near stop.

E. Noon
was written in blood across his forehead.

The cops sitting in the cruiser out front hadn’t heard or seen a thing. The house, and Cost, had been quiet all night.

Braddock moved his head side to side. They were turning Huntsville upside down in an attempt to find Nash. Not surprisingly, he’d disappeared. Four victims, not counting Celeste Martin, whose body hadn’t been staged like the others, and not a single fucking piece of evidence to go on.

This one would be just like the rest. There would be no fingerprints other than those of the victim and his guests and family. No trace evidence. No witness accounts of seeing anyone arrive or depart from the residence. Braddock didn’t have to hear the confirmation from Cooper’s interviews with the neighbors.

He knew.

This killer was not just good, he was brilliant.

Tyrone Nash wasn’t that fucking smart.

At that moment the reality of the situation crystallized for Braddock.

This was not about Nash . . . not about the village or Shelley Patterson.

This was about CJ. Somehow those murders were about
her
.

Cooper burst into the room. “The chief’s here. And he doesn’t look happy.” She jerked her head toward the body. “The father’s here, too.”

Carter Cost’s family was one of the most prominent in Huntsville.

This was going to get ugly.

3021 Appleton Street, 11:15
AM

CJ stared at what used to be her childhood home. Mostly it was a pile of charred remains now. The smells of smoke and damp charred wood filled her nostrils. Yellow tape surrounded the house as a warning that it was an official crime scene.

The fire marshal’s investigation had discovered an accelerant. The fire had been started in the kitchen.

How was that possible?

She’d been in the frigging shower, for Christ’s sake.

Edward had been in the living room tidying up. He’d stated that someone had come into the house. He’d heard a sound and was attacked before he could turn around.

The house was a total loss.

Everything inside was gone.

All the photos of her and Shelley as children. The boxes in the attic that contained relics from their past. That tattered old sofa.

Everything representing CJ’s life . . . gone.

Her sister was gone.

Ricky was dead. Juanita and Carter were dead. It was hard as hell for CJ to feel sorry for Ricky and Carter. But she did somewhat understand Juanita’s motives, her bitterness.

They were all dead—murdered.

There was no one left to blame except Tyrone.

He was the only person who had motives for every single murder committed. Including Celeste’s.

How could it not be him?

CJ had tried to call him a dozen times since yesterday. He wasn’t taking or returning her calls.

Did that mean he was scared? Or just didn’t trust her to go through with the exchange now?

What did he have to offer?

Whom could he possibly name as Shelley’s killer? Anyone who could have wanted her dead was dead.

“I’ve contacted a service,” Edward said as he moved to her side, “to go through the rubble. Perhaps they will find some mementos salvageable.”

Did it really matter? “Thank you.” Was there really anything about her childhood worth salvaging?

Just the few photos of her and Shelley that hadn’t been stolen. And none of those likely survived. But she appreciated the thought. As always, Edward came through for her.

Misery settled heavily onto her shoulders.

Where would she hold Shelley’s memorial service now? There was a church on Triana that most of the older village residents attended. She supposed that would be okay.

“CJ.”

She blinked, looked up at Edward. He nodded toward the south end of the street. “Do you know those people?”

CJ turned to see whom he meant. Eight . . . no, nine young women, miniskirts or short shorts showcasing their long thin legs, marched in their direction. As they neared, CJ recognized a couple from the clinic.

Tyrone’s foot soldiers.

“Yes,” she said to Edward. “They live around here.”

The leader of the pack was one of the women she’d treated at the clinic. For the life of her, CJ couldn’t remember her name. She only remembered the miniskirt she’d been wearing. Today she wore pink short shorts.

Pink Shorts Girl walked up to CJ. “We heard about your house.” She jerked her head toward the remnants left by the
fire. “We wanted you to know that we sorry as hell about everything. Shelley . . . the house.”

CJ swallowed back the emotion that crowded into her throat. Hearing those words from these women meant more than anyone else could possibly understand. “Thank you.”

“You being a fancy doctor and all,” the woman said, “we figure you prob’ly don’t need no help from us. Don’t think you’d want to wear none of our clothes.”

CJ smiled. “It’s the thought that counts.” Keeping the tears from brimming past her lashes wasn’t easy. “I appreciate it so much.”

“Yeah. Well,” the woman went on, “we wanted to tell you that we’re holding a little something for Shelley and Celeste tonight. You white folks prob’ly call it a wake or something, we call it a party. Anyways, you come on by twenty-eight-oh-five Dubose Street about nine, Doc.” She glanced at Edward. “Bring your friends. We got plenty a room in the yard. We’ll throw back a few beers and talk about the good times with them two.”

CJ smiled, feeling a kinship she hadn’t felt for anyone in this village for a long time. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

Pink Shorts Girl shrugged. “Shelley’d like it. She liked music and dancing. Like the rest of us.”

CJ nodded. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

Each of the women made eye contact with CJ before turning and marching away.

There were a lot of things CJ had been wrong about in her life, but at that moment she realized for the first time that she truly had been wrong to some degree about life in this village.

Yes, it was hard. Yes, it was not always nice. The people here stuck their heads in the ground too often . . . but they were a family of sorts. They were there for each other to the best of their ability.

“Are you sure coming here at night is a good idea?”

CJ turned to Edward. Of course he would be terrified and more than a little mortified on her behalf. Her safety and happiness were always paramount to him. She was very lucky to have someone who cared so much. The way Braddock had made love to her last night filtered through her senses. He cared about her,
too. What they’d shared had been far more than a physical coupling. There was something there . . . something more than just good sex.

“It’s more than a good idea, Edward.” She turned and watched the women disappear from sight. “It’s the right thing to do.”