Guilty Secrets (Campus Love and Murder Sorority Eyes Romance Book 1) (25 page)

He stopped as a fireball consumed Harry's SUV. I leapt from the car, but Brad grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back.

"Harry, no!"

"There's nothing you can do, Robyn. Harry's dead."

CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT

I couldn't feel the winter rain beating down on Harry's funeral service. I couldn't feel much of anything. Accept a burning desire for revenge.

To find the killer Shard. It was the only thing keeping me going.

The mist off Lake Kimberley crawled through the campus graveyard. It seemed to whisper my name in Harry's voice. Tormenting me with the pathetic hope that he was still alive.

But I had remained at the scene of the explosion throughout the recovery operation by the Emergency Services. A burned and charred body had been pulled from the wreckage of Harry's SUV.

Unrecognizable as the man I loved.

Throughout the service, Mai and Brad stayed at my side. Mai squeezed my hand throughout.

She kept trying to dab my face with a tissue. But each time she was surprised to see no tears. I told her there was nothing of me left to shed tears. I had died in that explosion along with Harry.

Everyone from Harry's police department were in attendance. A twenty one gun salute followed the priest’s final words.

Hemingway attended on behalf of the Kimberley Times. It paid a glowing tribute to a lost hero taken before his time.

Harry had no family. I was his family.

I watched a kingfisher diving into the misty surface of the lake leaving hardly a ripple. It reappeared in the low golden sunshine like a phoenix rising from the ashes with a squirming salmon between its beaks.

I tried to imagine my future life with Harry. The prospect of marriage. Of a family together. All of it like the kingfisher's ripples of a vanishing dream. Nothing remaining to prove that Harry and I ever existed.

Special Agent-in-charge Jackson accompanied Ben and together they paid their respects to Harry.

"It wasn't meant to end like this, Robyn."

"Thank you, Ben."

Brad offered to drive me back to Mai's apartment.

I looked out across the lakeside shoreline towards Harry's cottage.

"I'd like to walk first. I'll be along later."

Ben offered to pick me up from the cottage and drive me back to Mai's once I was ready. I nodded.

Alone, I walked the mile or so to Harry's cottage. I went inside and aimlessly looked around.

A part of me was obsessed with wanting to know what was so important that he had to come back to his cottage before revealing his mysterious lead.

I couldn't tell if anything was out of place.

I ended up at the door to Harry's bedroom. A knot in my stomach tightened. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The luxurious soft Egyptian cotton sheets were torn off the bed. The thick mattress had been slit down the middle and the stuffing strewn around the room.

Had they found what they were looking for? In the corner of my eye a shadow moved.

I spun around on the balls of my feet.

Ben stood in the doorway. His bottom lip pouted and I knew I needed him.

And I despised myself for it. "Well, Ben, you got what you wanted."

"What are you saying?"

"Don't deny you wanted Harry out of the picture. Now you get to fuck me like you always wanted to."

He shook his head.

"Robyn, how could you think that of me? I only ever wanted you to be happy."

My chest felt ready to explode.

"Make this pain go away."

Silently as a ghost, Ben stepped into the room and wrapped his arms around me. I buried my face into his taunt chest. His arms cradled me. I felt his pecks and biceps twitch with the tension between us.

I felt his gentle caressing fingers on my neck. He lifted my face to his. My entire body yearned for his lips on mine.

Our kisses ravenously explored our open mouths. My hands ran across his chest, ripping at his shirt. Ben's hands pushed the hem of my black dress over my stockings tops as he gripped my hips and lifted me up on onto the mattress.

I unzipped his pants and reached in for his hard cock. I desperately needed Ben inside me and spread my legs as his thick manhood pushed aside my thong and entered me.

I didn't want romantic love making. I didn’t want to be reminded of Harry. Or the betrayal of his promise to return to me.

I needed to forget Harry and the pain he left me with. If only for a few lustful moments. I needed a mindless, hot and passionate fuck to help me forget reason I felt hollow.

"Hard and fast, Ben."

I tore away his jacket and shirt and sank my teeth into his shoulders. Ben cried out and began thrusting with pure lust. He leaned forward and forcefully teased my nipples between his lips.

Over and over as Ben thrust in and out of me, I shuddered with the raw excitement of being filled with a man's insatiable lust. My fingernails dug deep into the athletic muscles of his quivering back. I couldn't get enough of him.

His hungry lips circling on my breasts and his expertly caressing hands moving frantically back and forth across my stockings tops and between my legs. Sending a rolling wave of anticipation crashing through me.

With one hand he ran his fingers up the back of neck and through my hair. Gripping tight the hair on the back of my head and pulling my lips to his. Our searching tongues merged into one groaning urgency of lust.

Until at last I felt a Tsunami of ecstasy crashing up through my body. It hurled me backwards and I bucked and arced my back as Ben cradled me. I gripped his bulging biceps and scraped my fingernails down his thrusting hard buttocks.

Desperate for the waves of frenzied passion to roll on forever. I pulled my face from Ben's so I could gasp out with a whimpering sob, "Don't stop. Please, don't stop, please."

That's when I saw the eyes watching me. Angry and full of sadness. Those eyes possessed my soul.

On the other side of the French doors those blue piercing eyes I'd recognize anywhere. Even from beyond the grave.

I cried out, "Harry?"

Ben turned to see what I was looking at. I pushed Ben off me and ran to the French doors. The eyes vanished into the mist.

I flung the doors open and ran out.

"Harry! Harry!"

I heard Ben calling after me. "For God's sake, Robyn."

Footsteps hurried behind me.

I spun around, but only saw Ben. I turned away from him and stared out at the golden setting sun on the lake.

All the energy of lust evaporated from with me. I felt exhausted and slumped onto my knees and into the wet grass.

I felt Ben's arms lift me from the grass and didn't resist as he carried me inside.

He gently placed me on the mattress and I curled my knees up to my chest. Ben stroked the wet hair out of my eyes.

"You going to be OK? You should rest."

I was seeing ghosts; that was his implication. I knew then, the only way to lay Harry's ghost to rest was to seek vengeance on his killer.

I knew I'd never rest. There was too much to do. "Take me back."

CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE

Back at the apartment I took a long hot shower. Mai came into my bedroom as I was opening up my laptop.

"A new assignment for the Times?"

"I need to keep busy."

I logged onto Campus Love. I had several dozen messages.

Mai stroked my hair. "Isn't it a little soon to be looking?"

"Depends what you mean by looking."

The first dozen or so messages were guys with profiles on Campus Love sending me photos of their anatomy.

Mai whistled in appreciation. "It's like viewing a snake house in a zoo."

"I was thinking more like a sausage factory."

"Only Chipolata sausage on the menu today."

We laughed.

Mai sighed. "Are you still looking for your parents' killer?"

"I think their killer may also be responsible for Harry's death."

Mai quickly grew bored of pictures of tent poles in various states of elevation and left. "Brad's coming over later. But I can tell him no, if you just want to make it the two of us?"

"No, that's fine."

I ran a filter search and sent a generic Hello message to the remaining few profiles that vaguely resembled the obsessive nature of the assassin Shard. None were online and I was about to give up for now when an instant message came through.

The message was from a new profile. There was no picture of the guy, but the profile details seemed promising.

The subject, Ryan, was twenty eight years old. Tall. Rated themselves athletic, very good looking and listed their personality as other.

So far so loser. But then I browsed their interests:

Self-confessed blues music aficionado seeks similar. Ear plugs or hearing problem also acceptable.

Despite myself I laughed.

Ryan was online. I quickly viewed his message:

To the newspaper girl, sorry for your loss. Just remember:

If you read this line, remember not

The hand that writ it; for I love you so

That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot

If thinking on me then should make you woe.

My hand flew to my mouth. I recognized it as the exact same quote from a Shakespeare sonnet that I saw on the wall of Harry's bedroom.

I hit reply and typed:

Who is this? Harry?

I hit send.

An instant message popped up from Ryan:

Who's Harry?

I typed:
Forget it! But thank you for the sweet words.

Ryan replied:
No problem. Recognized you from your article in the Kimberley Times. Figured you weren't in the mood for dick pictures.

I typed:
Very perceptive of you. But you have an advantage over me. Married?

Ryan typed:
There was once a girl, but things got a little crazy and I had to go away.

I typed:
She got bored of your sonnets?

Ryan replied:
Fate didn't give us a chance to become bored of each other.

I typed:
I know what you mean. Ended badly?

Ryan replied:
You could say that. But I like to think of endings as new beginnings. She's the most beautiful, vulnerable soul I've ever had the honor of knowing. Sorry, but I had better go for now.

I quickly typed:
Please, stay a while... it's been so long since I could talk like this.

There was a long pause during which I checked his online status. It had grayed out.

I was about to close the laptop, when a message from Ryan popped up.

It read:
Remember it is darkest before the dawn.

I should have felt comforted by the kind stranger, but instead I felt angry that I'd connected and poured out my vulnerability, only to be rejected. I also knew I wasn't thinking straight.

My cell phone rang and I jolted off the bed.

It was Hemingway calling.

I picked up.

"Hey Robyn, I'm lost in a dating desert of dick-less morons and thinking of drowning my sorrows in wine and whiskey. Two's company. My place?"

I snorted back a tear. I didn't want to spend the evening feeling jealous over what Mai and Brad had together. Especially when they'd been so kind.

"I'll come right over. Text me your address."

CHAPTER EIGHTY

Hemingway lived in the same brownstone as Davina Cole. It was a far more modest first floor apartment. Tastefully decorated and lit in low, intimate lighting.

The floor was a beautiful rosewood. So clean I could eat off it. I glanced around and surprisingly found not a book in sight.

"My book collection is now digital. Needed the space for my old record collection."

Hemingway opened a bottle of white wine and poured two glasses.

"What kind of music?"

She shrugged and indicated a room with double doors.

"Little bit of everything worth listening to."

The smell of baking wafted into the living room.

"Smells delicious."

She pulled a worried expression. "Smells like burning. I'm not very domesticated, I'm afraid. In the event of disaster we may need to order in pizza."

"Can I help?"

"No need. Make yourself at home, Robyn. I'll just be a moment."

I waited for Hemingway to disappear into the kitchen. I turned to the double doors and felt my stomach clench. I stepped towards the doors as a floorboard creaked. I hesitated and hearing Hemingway busy banging pots in the kitchen, I tried the handle.

It turned softly and seemed to open in my mind a crack. A sliver of light, illuminating a view I hadn't considered before.

The doors swung open and revealed a room where each of the four walls were lined with shelves full of twelve inch vinyl record sleeves.

I stepped in. The air felt chilled and dry. I moved to the far wall. It was stacked entirely with old blues records.

I felt a knot constricting in the back of my head.

The doors slammed behind me and I jolted. I spun on the balls of my feet and faced Hemingway.

She held a hand gun with a screw barrel muffler and aimed it at my head.

"Hemingway, what are you doing?"

"Helping you, Robyn."

"Helping me how?"

"Your considerable efforts to find your parents' killer have amused me."

"Why?"

"Because, Robyn, all this time, it's me you've been looking for."

I felt bile rise to my throat and burn. "Shard?"

She nodded.

"But Shard's a man. You're a woman."

"In body, yes, I'm a woman, but in spirit I'm more a man than most men."

"You killed Harry?"

She shook her head. "That was a rash error on the part of my other guest."

There was a knocking sound from the far side of the double doors.

Without moving, Hemingway shouted, "Come."

The doors opened to the silhouette of a man. He stepped into the low light of the music room. His eyes of brown and blue glinted in the low light.

"Good evening, Robyn."

"Kublai?"

"You seem surprised."

"I thought you'd be out of the country by now?"

"I had a few loose ends to tidy. But you are the last."