Graveyard Games (22 page)

She lifted them carefully out of the drawer
and found what she was looking for. She pulled it up and looked at
it—Nick's gun, a .45 automatic. It was the first real gun, aside
from a rifle, she’d ever fired. The irony that she had to use her
brother’s gun, instead of her own, didn’t escape her.

Dusty picked up the box of ammunition he
kept with it and put it in her pocket. She really only needed one
bullet and the thought startled her. She hefted the gun in her
hand, feeling something flutter inside of her. The heavy way it sat
there made her stomach tighten.

For Nick, she reminded herself, looking at
the smiling face in the picture frame. And Suzanne and Tommy. But
she knew, most of all, it was for herself. Beyond everything that
had happened and regardless of what might happen to anyone else in
Larkspur, she was doing it for herself.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror,
seeing the talisman hanging around her neck. Taking it off, she set
it on his dresser, knowing that after today, there wouldn’t be any
more bad dreams.

When she left, the door stayed open.

* * * *

"So, what do you think?" Shane opened his
arms wide. "It's not much, but I call it home." He shut the door
behind them. Dusty looked around, setting her purse on his dresser.
It was dark, the only light coming from the full moon shining
through the window, and she made out the shapes of a bed, a
dresser, the window. That was all.

"It's a little dark to tell." Dusty turned
to him. "Want to turn on a light?"

"Can’t." He gave a short laugh, moving in
front of her. "Dad didn't pay the bill. They tend to frown on
that."

"We have to talk," she said suddenly.

Shane grew quiet, looking at her. "Okay…so
talk."

Dusty folded her arms over her chest,
cupping her elbows. She didn’t know how to start and didn’t know if
she could.

"What is it?" Shane prompted, moving in
close, slowly running his hands down her upper arms. "Is it
Suzanne?"

"No." She sighed and shook her head. "Yes.
It's Suzanne and Nick and Tommy. It's everything."

She didn’t look at him. She could see his
outline in the dimness and that was all she wanted to see. She
didn’t want to have to meet his eyes, see his concern. As much as
she thought she understood him, she still didn’t trust him. She
didn’t think she was capable of trusting him or anyone anymore.

He touched her cheek, rubbing the backs of
his fingers there. "I know."

"Yeah." She jerked away
from him and sat on the bed. "Yeah, you
do
know, don't you?"

He sat beside her, close. "I think I know
how you feel."

Did he? Did he really?

"Do you still think I hate you?" Dusty
looked at him in the dimness. She could only see one side of his
face, the other in shadow—light and dark, Jekyll and Hyde.

"I..." He hesitated and then reached out for
her. Dusty felt herself go weak against him, unable to fight it,
and not really wanting to.

He held her for a minute, and she heard his
heart thudding against his shirt. "I think you believe you still
hate me."

"Then why am I here?" Dusty asked him…and
herself.

"I don't know." His breath was warm on her
throat. "You tell me."

"I..." She paused and Shane nuzzled her
neck, his mouth doing strange things to her insides. "I don't know,
either."

"Yes, you do." He held her at arm’s length.
Again, she saw the dichotomy on his face in the moonlight. "You
just won't admit it."

"Admit what?"

"You want me.” He pulled her back to him,
roughly. “You want me just as much as I want you. You always
have.”

She didn’t deny it as his mouth covered
hers. Instead, she put her arms around him and gave in to herself,
in spite of herself.

His hands were large and rough, eager,
roaming over her body through her clothes. She felt what he had
been holding back, everything they’d both been covering up. There
were no words, but they weren’t necessary. She knew it all in the
way he tugged at her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse, the way she
ran her hands up under his t-shirt, slipping it over his head, the
way she fumbled with his jeans and made him moan against her throat
when she touched him through the denim.

There was no time for tender exploration.
They were all eager, greedy mouths and hands, aching to find their
way together at last. The rest of their clothes found their way to
the floor and they tumbled together on the bed, the heat of their
bodies both a shock and an urgent reminder of their need.

She couldn’t get enough of him, her hands
rough, gripping his hair as her mouth slanted over his, raking her
nails down his back as he rocked against her, pressing his hardness
against the softness of her belly as they rolled. The steel heat of
it made her dizzy with wanting him.

She couldn’t deny it anymore. Her body
responded like it never had before.

He said her name, close to her ear, and she
kissed the side of his throat as a reply. His hand moved low over
her belly, reaching her in the darkness, finding her flesh soft and
open to his touch.

“
Oh no, no,” she
whispered, wanting to deny him, deny the sensation, her feeling,
but she couldn’t.

“
Stop,” she gasped,
pulling his head back, hearing him groan.

“
You want it,” Shane
murmured, his fingers finding her, making her gasp and shift on the
bed.

“
No,” she whispered,
shaking her head as he moved between her thighs, pinning her with
his weight.

“
Yes.” He kissed her,
hard. “Yes,” he said again as she reached for him, guiding him in
spite of herself. “Yes.” He moved slowly forward, and Dusty gasped,
breathless, as their bodies connected for the first
time.

“
No,” she moaned, and felt
like crying as she pressed her face against his neck with a
whimper.

“
Oh god, Dusty,” he
murmured, buried in her now, his breath hot against her cheek. “Oh
my god, yes, yes, say yes…”

“
No,” she insisted,
clutching at him anyway with her arms, her thighs.

“
Tell me.” He waited,
poised above her. She could feel his pulse between her thighs. “Say
yes.”

She groaned, sliding her hand down between
them, finding the place where their flesh joined, searching in the
wetness with her fingers. He grabbed her hands in his and pressed
them above her head, his full weight on her then, his mouth
murmuring against hers.

“
Say yes, Dusty. Say
yes.”

“
Oh no,” she breathed as
he moved, just slightly, inside of her, a shift of his weight.
“Shane…”

“
Yes!” He kissed her. She
whimpered and squeezed him tight, her hips moving in spite of
herself.

He raked his teeth along her jaw, bit at her
ear, making her squeal and twist against him. “You want it. Tell
me.”

“
Oh god,” she murmured,
closing her eyes against the admission. “Oh yes… oh yes, yes.
Shane, yes!”

He gave a low growl, pulling back and
thrusting deep. She couldn’t get enough as they rocked together in
the darkness, and they tore at each other, clawing, biting, driving
each other deeper. When he rolled, pulling her on top of him, she
didn’t miss a beat, rolling her hips on him until he begged her for
release.

“
Dusty,” he whispered her
name, holding tight to her hips.

“
Yes,” she murmured,
seeing his face in light and shadow as he shifted and moved inside
of her, and when she reached out to touch his cheek, he turned and
kissed her palm. “Shane… Shane…”

And then he was on top of her again in one
swift movement, driving her into the bed. She slid her hands down
the hard, ropey muscles in his arms as he held himself above
her.

“
Shane, please,” she
whispered, feeling that sweet ride upward reaching a sudden peak.
It felt as if her mind exploded, her body filling with a hot,
bright light, moving through her like quicksilver. She gasped,
clutching him blindly, hearing his ragged breath in her ear. He
whispered her name, moving roughly against her, his body shuddering
under her hands, and then he was still.

She held him there when he went to move,
feeling him against her, slippery with sweat. She stroked his
dampened hair, her eyes closed, and she tasted tears in the back of
her throat.

I love him, she thought suddenly, feeling
his heart beating in rhythm against her own.

I love
him
.

She cried silently.

* * * *

I have to find Nick. I know he’s here.

She ran through the cemetery in the snow in
her bare feet, but she didn’t feel the cold at all. She saw her
breath, though, and felt a stitch in her side as if she had been
running a long time.

Glimpsing him slipping behind one of the
mausoleums, she set off again, holding her side against the ache
there as she ran. It was dark, but there was a full moon to see by,
and the sky was littered with stars.

Nick!
She saw him, running away from her, and she called to him,
but he didn’t turn. She came around a tree, knowing he would be
there, but he wasn’t. It was Shane, kneeling next to Nick’s grave,
yellow rose petals scattered across the snow.

Shane?
Kneeling, she touched his shoulder and felt it shaking with
his sobs. She felt tears coming, too, and knelt to hold him. He
turned to her and she saw blood on his hands, and when she turned
her face up to his—

It was Sam, wrapping his arms around her and
holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She tried to scream,
but she had no voice. Struggling, she pushing against him, twisting
in his arms. He called to her as she began to run, finding her way
through the cemetery, looking for a way out.

Pretty girl.

Dusty screamed, stepping away from the
figure coming toward her. It was the talisman from her dream come
to life, wild white hair and silver eyes in the moonlight, a mouth
full of razor sharp teeth.

The wild white-haired man
chased her, croaking:
Pretty girl. Here,
pretty girl.

* * * *

Snow fell, the first snow of the year,
blanketing Larkspur in white. Dusty sat on the window ledge,
watching the streetlights flicker. The gun sat next to her on the
ledge, glinted dully in the streetlight's glow. Her purse, its
temporary carrying case, sat next to her on the floor.

Dusty looked back at Shane. He snores, she
thought with a small smile. He clasped the pillow beneath his head,
covers kicked off, wearing only a pair of boxer-briefs. Dusty,
looking at him and then at the gun, felt her stomach tighten. It
was coming full circle now.

Except she hadn’t planned on a lot of
things. Like Tommy. Or Suzanne. Or Shane, for that matter. Things
like falling in love with him. Oh, no, falling in love had been the
last thing on her mind in the beginning. That wasn’t part of the
plan at all.

She’d been sitting there for hours, after
her horrible nightmare, watching Shane sleep.

What if I’m wrong? What if he doesn't know,
what if Nick lied to me about where he was going,
whatifwhatif...

Now, with the gun in her hand and the
threats forming on the tip of her tongue, she felt afraid—afraid he
would call her bluff and, if he did, anything might happen.

She felt trapped. She’d set out to trap him,
and it had been easy, using his desire for her. What else did she
have to hold him now, to get him to tell her, except the piece of
metal in her hand? And now she loved him. She knew she could never
pull the trigger, as she once believed she could. Swallowing hard,
watching him stir, she knew she was going to have to give the
performance of her life.

"Dusty?" Shane sat up. Her heart fluttered
in her chest as he stood and stretched. "Whatcha doing?"

"It's snowing." She touched the gun and
looked out the window.

"You're wearing my t-shirt," he said,
sounding amused. It came to mid-thigh on her.

"I was cold."

He put his hands on her shoulders and bent
to look out the window. "I hope it doesn't storm," he said and
sighed.

"Shane." Dusty picked up the gun. He hadn’t
seen it yet and it was now or never. He moved away from the window
so he could see her face. "Who killed Nick?"

"What?" He took another startled step
back.

She turned and leveled the gun at him. "I
know you know."

Shane stared, jaw dropped, eyes wide.

"Who killed him?" She couldn’t back down
now. It was too late for that. “If you don't tell me, I swear to
god, I'm going to kill you."

"He was my best friend." His voice never
wavered but his eyes remained fixed on the gun. " I didn't kill
him."

"You know something." Dusty paused. "And
you're going to tell me."

“
Listen, Princess.” He
took a step toward her. “You don't have to be so dramatic.
Questions don't have to be asked at gunpoint in order to get an
answer. Come on…put it down and we'll—”

"
Stop!
" It was the voice she used
with a perp, forceful and commanding. He hesitated. "If you move
one more inch I'm going to blow your head right off your
shoulders."

He was still, so still.
Only his eyes moved, from the gun, to her, and back. Dusty thought
of the bright, summer day they’d met, thought of the Doberman and
the times she’d wished it would have killed him. This was better—so
much better. The power was heavy in her hands and it was
good
.