Return to Poughkeepsie (43 page)

Eve didn’t open her eyes when she woke. Instead she focused on her breathing, maintaining a slow, regular rhythm. Her head hung at an uncomfortable angle, but she let it remain.

She used all her other senses to assess: her arms were bound behind her and her ankles fastened to the chair she sat in. Judging from the thin, cutting pain, her restraints were plastic zip ties.

The room was remarkably quiet. She thought she might be alone until she heard a person shift, clothes rustling. She’d marched right in and killed Mary Ellen in her own home. Stupid. A crime of passion. Since when did she have more passion than brains? Maybe for a long time now, actually…

As far as she could tell, nothing had been done to her—yet. She’d have to open her eyes to get a full understanding of the situation. And when she opened her eyes, she’d also open herself to the pain that was surely headed her way. She lifted her head and found a man sitting at a table some distance away. She didn’t make a noise, just matched his gaze.

He did as she’d expected: alerting various people that she’d finally roused. They certainly had ways of waking her, so this was either poorly planned or part of the experience. The room had a single door, two electrical outlets, and one small vent for heat and air. The lack of windows meant it was either custom designed or remodeled to be a prison.

Her chair was fairly comfortable, with some padding, but her hands and feet were totally secured. Her clothes were still on. The door opened and an elderly gentleman she suspected to be Rodolfo Vitullo, along with five other men, came through it.

“Well, I have to commend you,” the geezer in charge said. “After seeing your work at my daughter’s house, my men insisted we bind you. They’re rarely this cautious. You are skilled.” He waved the guard away from the table and took his place, using his cane to balance himself. “Why don’t we start with your name? I’m Rodolfo Vitullo. I’ve been indisposed for a period of months, but I’m sure my reputation precedes me. I understand you and my daughter were quite close.”

Eve said nothing. She catalogued the weapons the men had brought into the room so she’d know what she wanted when she got the opportunity to use them.

“No? Nothing to say? I’m not surprised. I must confess, I’m an old man but you have piqued my interest. And not much peaks anymore, if you know what I mean.” He gave her a knowing look.

“I’m actually trying not to think about your ancient balls, if that’s okay with you.” Eve smiled at him.

“Feisty. Respect would suit you.” Rodolfo began coughing and hacked up something he spit in his employee’s coffee cup.

The man closest to Eve produced a Taser and stepped closer to her. Eve refused to look at him, instead keeping her eyes on Rodolfo.

“No fear? Impressive. Wasted effort, but good. Hmm.” He shifted in the chair, the metal legs screeching on the cement floor. “Don’t use that, Rogers. Go get her the one that plugs in—with the insertable attachments.”

Eve knew then that it was going to be bad, worse than she could imagine, because this guy was old school. “You should have them get a thank-you card for me. Your daughter was a crackpot. She was going to drive your business into the ground. So soon, actually, that you’d probably live to see it.” She tried to shift her hands, and the plastic bit into bone. Whoever put the ties on had used all his strength to close them. The nerves in her wrist were on fire.

“You know I’ll have you cry. You’ll beg for death.” Rodolfo stood and made his way slowly over to her.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Eve returned his steely gaze.

“Tell me your name, precious.”

The man returned with a device that looked as old as the man. He plugged it in and untangled the cord.

Rodolfo propped his cane against his hip and dusted off the device. He twisted a long, pointy cone onto it. The top, like the star on a Christmas tree, was a single, rusty barb.

Jesus.

“The insertable. Where do you think we should put it, boys? It can go anywhere.” Rodolfo grabbed Eve’s chin and handed the device back to the man who’d brought it. “Tell me your name.”

The device made an audible hum, charging and warming when he switched it on. Its very tip began turning red. Eve refused to look directly at it, instead staring into Rodolfo’s cataract-filmed eyes.

“Name?” He wrinkled his nose, and she could see the long hairs in it.

Her voice was strong, but quieter than she’d intended: “Unbreakable.”

33

Painkillers

K
YLE
W
AITED
F
OR
C
OLE
in the hotel room. Rather than wear out their welcome at Blake and Livia’s, Cole had suggested they get a little spot of their own for the next couple days while the police finished up at their house. In a further show of chivalry, he was now buying her dinner downstairs, and she was starving. She looked at her chopped hair in the mirror, thinking back to the moment when she decided to cut it. It had been the hair or her wrists. Had that been just days ago?

So much had happened since. She’d faced the very real possibility of her sister’s murder. She and Cole had been in charge of her niece and nephew while their parents were gone, maybe permanently. And then she’d helped a lady on the lam clothe herself. She snickered remembering that one, but it was a lot. All of it was a lot.

Cole opened the door, juggling their food, and she went to help him. They made small talk:
Was the line long?
Oh, they were out of Coke?
Simple stuff. Easy stuff.

After they ate, Kyle finally decided to ask, because he hadn’t mentioned it. “Is my hair okay?”

Cole regarded her and bit his lip. “I like it.”

“You hate it. I look like boy. You want a divorce.” Kyle stood from the table and sat on the bed.

“No. No. And no.” Cole came and sat next to her. “I think it’s nice.”

“You won’t touch me. I look like a fucking mushroom.” Kyle covered her face.

“I didn’t know touching you was an option.” Cole ran his fingers through her hair, trailing them along the back of her neck. “This part? So sexy. Getting to see it all the time? It’s almost like an obscenity—a delicious obscenity.” He gently licked her skin and spoke against her neck. “You never, ever have to worry that I’m not attracted to you. I would be having sex with you as often as I breathe if you’d let me. I dream about you. When I dream of anything, it’s always you. And sometimes, you even have short hair in those dreams. How lucky am I? You’re my dream girl.”

Kyle turned and buried her face in his chest. He smelled so good. How he could have skin that smelled like perfection, she didn’t know. She pushed him back on the bed and cuddled against him more.

He continued to stroke her hair. “This has been a crazy couple of days. I’ve been praying so much.”

She lifted her head.
Damn it.
She’d done it again: thinking about herself so much that she’d forgotten he was more than just her stable, comforting guy. He had brothers involved, he was worried about her, and he’d lost his baby too. Plus he’d had to figure out how to diaper Kellan. It had all been hard for him.

“So what did Beckett say? Will he be back?” She looked into his eyes. They were a miracle, the color of prayers.

“I don’t know. He was really thrown for a loop, worrying about those two girls in Maryland. I haven’t heard from him since he left.” Cole looked back at her and touched her cheek. “Love you.”

“Back at ya, handsome.” She flopped against his arm and settled in. “So is it like a
Big Love
thing? Eve’s gonna be pissed.”

“I didn’t get that impression. Chery was more just someone he wanted to help. They both were. He said he got a dog too.” Cole rolled onto his side and laid his hand on her stomach. Kyle readjusted it to rest on her left breast.

“The girls have been lonely without you.” She smiled.

“We’re only doing what you’re ready for.” He looked at her tenderly.

“How about kissing and snuggling? Is that too blue-balltastic?” She kissed his lips.

He smiled in between kisses. “It’s perfect.”

They kissed and kissed, and Kyle felt herself relax. She boldly touched her husband everywhere until a cramp reminded her she was healing.

“Wow.” She lay back on the pillows.

“Pain?” He got up and found her purse, getting out two Advil.

She swallowed them with the last of her dinner drink. “It’s like my body has to remind me I suck.”

Cole exhaled. “I think your body needs an attitude adjustment. Seriously. Everything you have to do with that body makes me feel like a chump.”

Kyle raised her eyebrow.

“No, really. All of this is on you. I’m totally wishing I was a seahorse so I could carry a baby. You have periods, bring life into the world, secrete milk…I don’t know. All I can do is open jars and kill spiders.” He reached for her hand. “I wish there was more I could do. I mean, when will it be okay to tell you we
will
laugh again? We’ll never forget our baby, but we have to be on this planet. We owe it to each other, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I’ve got such guilt—about my mom, about how I lived, about stealing you from the church.”

“I’m grateful to your mom every day. Does that make me a bad guy?”

She pulled her hand out of Cole’s grasp. He shook his head and very purposefully took it back.

“Because without her, there would be no you. And why do you have to feel bad about having had some sex along the way? So that’s how you handled sexuality: in excess. That’s who you are. You do stuff big. You love big. Your mistakes can be big. It’s this reckless girl who had the guts to make me fall in love with her at first sight. You willed that into existence. Tell me something.” He pulled her into his arms and tilted her face until she was looking in his eyes. “How does this feel? This. Right here.”

She closed her eyes so she could gather the words. “Right. Soothing. Exciting.” She opened her eyes, and he was nodding.

“As long as this feels right? We’re doing okay. I’m selfish enough to think all those other things happened so we could be right for each other.” He kissed her.

“I like when you’re selfish.” Kyle nodded as the painkillers kicked in, and she relaxed in his arms. She was going to try harder to think positive. She’d force herself if she had to.

The sun was sinking, and Beckett was almost finished driving back to Poughkeepsie. He slurped a Red Bull and did his best to stay awake. Gandhi, however, snored so loud he just about drowned out the music. The damn dog had been so happy to see him, it was hilarious. He’d headed at him like a freshly shot cannon ball and hit him in the nuts at a hundred miles an hour. He’d been tempted to leave the dog with Vere, but damn it if he wasn’t attached to his ugly mug. His phone rang as he merged onto the New York State Throughway. It was a douchebag.

“What?” Beckett put the phone on speaker.

“Boss, I just heard from Shark. You remember him?” This was Harris, kind of a shifty douchebag.

“Barely.” Beckett petted G’s head.

“Yeah, well, he just called and wanted me to get a message to you. It’s not good fucking news.” Harris sounded nervous.

“Waiting.” Beckett’s knuckles went white. Shark was an asshole from back in the day—had his dick in every pot he could to stir it. He’d never liked or trusted him.

“Eve killed Mary Ellen Vitullo.”

“Shit.” Beckett nearly swerved off the road. “Where’s the body?” He hated these kinds of conversations on cell phones, but he needed to know how to cover Eve’s ass.

“That’s the thing. The body’s at Mary Ellen’s house. She just murdered her way into the woman’s room and slashed her throat. The woman’s father, Rodolfo, he’s got Eve now. She just waited there. Shark forwarded the security tape to me. I’ll send it to your phone.” The douchebag paused.

“Rodolfo has her?” Beckett was hoping he’d heard wrong.

“That’s what Shark said. They’re still at the house. If I hadn’t seen the video, I’d never believe she’d get caught like that.”