(Blood and Bone, #2) Sin and Swoon (13 page)

Each room is the same. When I reach the room with the girl whose life I took, Jane, I drop to my knees. Her name isn’t Jane in the real world. I pretended I was her in Ashley’s mind, making Ashley see this brave young woman as me so she would trust me even more. The girl is cold as ice and her skin is gray, and I can tell she’s been dead for days. The rigor is gone.

I cup her hand in mine, and for a moment I feel like we might have been sisters, even if it was just for a second.

“They’re all dead, and it’s clear,” Rory says blankly.

“He left them, just like he knew we would find them,” I mutter. “He didn’t even dispose of them—bury them.”

Rory places a hand on my shoulder. “I gotta go back up. I can’t do this. You were right.”

I would have smiled had it been any normal case, maybe even made fun of him for his weak stomach. But this time I understand. It’s the fucking sickest thing we have yet to encounter. The other perps we have come across murdered after they tortured or raped, but these girls have been years in the process of slow and painful destruction. To find each one dead is a blow I wasn’t prepared for. We never released any information about finding the girl on the shores of the river. He shouldn’t have known she survived.

I don’t get a chance to digest what we have found. Forensics and the local uniforms arrive, and my instincts kick in, take over.

We catalogue, we ID, we photograph everything, and we spend twenty-four straight hours living in their world. It isn’t even scratching the surface, but it is getting rid of the bodies, bagging and tagging so the morgue can start their work.

At the end of it all I am standing in the kitchen, admiring the view as the sun begins to set, just as I did when Ashley was here. I remember the view, but I had seen it from her eyes.

“You all right?”

I look at Rory as he walks into the house, and shake my head.

“I wish we’d found even one alive. I can’t believe he poisoned them all.”

“Apart from the one with the stab wounds in her back. She definitely didn’t get poisoned, right?”

That makes me lower my gaze. “No. She died a few days before the others. She was the reason our girl got out. Ashley escaped because that girl saved her.”

His right eye twitches. “I can’t talk about this in here, Jane. I don’t mean to flake on you, but this place—it’s freaking me out. Can we talk about it away from here where it’ll be more of a file and less of a reality? Those girls, their life here—I can’t.” He shakes his head and turns, waving a hand. “I’ll take spies and terrorism and hostages any day of the week over this shit. Let’s get the hell out of here. They have an address on the owner. We’re going to Seattle to check him out.”

I walk behind him, feeling the same vibe he is. I just want to be away from this.

12. Little Orphan Janey

 T
he ring on my finger feels like it weighs a ton.

“Hey, did you talk to Rory today?”

I shake my head at Dash, not really into the conversation. There’s a pit in the bottom of my stomach. I stare out the window, finding horses in the clouds. I can’t help but wonder what Ashley or Bethany found in the clouds.

“I did. He says the address turned out to be another fiasco. The owner of the Granger Mountain home died in a tragic car accident two years ago. The mountain getaway and his place in the city are under contest, with several relatives warring over it all. It belonged to him and his wife. She died of cancer five years ago. They had a son and daughter and an adopted daughter.” Dash wrinkles his nose, tapping his fingers along the steering wheel. “Anyway, the biological son and daughter tried to screw the adopted daughter out of everything. Got the dad to sign everything over to them and leave the adopted girl out completely.” He shakes his head. “She was adopted when she was three years old. She’s been their little sister for thirty-something years, and they still tried to screw her over. I can’t even imagine people like that existing.” His voice fades off as he drives into a suburb that I’m starting to get scared his parents live in. Perfect homes for perfect families made of perfect people.

I twist the ring on my finger and nod, half listening.

“I guess we all know worse people exist, don’t we?” He gives me a look when we pause at a stop sign. “You okay?”

I look behind us, checking for other cars since he’s sitting at the sign. We have hardly seen any cars since we got into the suburbs. “I will be when we solve it. You know how I like to mull over details until we get it right? Are you going to go?” I ask.

“Not until you tell me you’re going to be with it and not obsessed with the case.”

I lean in, feeling myself stuck in the mind ride and the facts and the missing information. This distracted zombie act is one reason he hates that I do this job. I place the softest of kisses on his lips, resting there for a breath. “I can forget about it for the Thanksgiving weekend of doom you have planned for me. So long as you tell me you don’t live in this bullshit neighborhood with the perfect families everywhere?”

He winces. “I don’t live here.” He’s been acting funny too, and with him I know it’s not the case. He kisses back, smiling against my lips. “Stop being scared to meet my mother. She’s way less frightening than any of the files you’ve worked. She’s easy—bring her a drink and compliment her hair and jewelry, she’ll love you forever.”

I smile back, loving that he thinks his mom is scaring me, instead of my brain being stuck on a file that’s unsolved. He pulls back, stroking my cheek with his finger and staring into my eyes. For the first time I’m actually glad I didn’t take him with me to that place. I’m glad he completely screwed up and made Rory the bad guy. If I only see Rory a couple of times a year, no biggie. But seeing Dash every day might get hard if I imagine him doing those things to Ashley.

He leans in, kissing my forehead. “Thank you for doing this. You have no idea how excited she’ll be—they’ll be.” I smile wide, loving the funny look on his face. He’s as worried about his family as I am, but he’s lying to himself about it. Bringing home an orphan to Virginia is a bad idea; ’round here people need family to prove who they are. He’s lucky I love him. Who am I kidding? I’m lucky he loves me. Being with him smooths over the rough edges and plugs the holes and softens the gaps. I am an actual person with him.

My whole body fills with a warm glow until he winces as he pulls away from the stop sign finally and says, “But there are a couple of things we need to discuss, about my family.”

I cock an eyebrow. “We are almost there, aren’t we? You saved telling me stuff until we got here?”

He takes a deep breath, making a turn onto another street. “It’s not so bad, just little things like they are richer than I might have mentioned, and we have to sleep in separate rooms. Or she’ll think you’re easy.”

“I am easy,” I mutter through bared teeth.

He laughs like he doesn’t believe it, but I don’t have the same regard for sex many other girls do. I don’t see the rules and boundaries they do. His other words flit about my brain. “Richer than you might have mentioned?” I can’t believe this is happening.

“Right.” He laughs again, weakly and sort of like a girl might. A nervous girl. A nervous schoolgirl. “Just a bit. Like the top of the food chain in a country-club family.”

“So they are crazy rich and we have to sleep apart? But we’re engaged.” I lift the huge ring weighing my finger down. Of course it’s huge; he’s probably used a fucking trust fund to pay for the fucking thing. Fuck. I need to stop cussing so much! Shit!

“But we are not
married
. There would be a scandal for my poor mother if anyone ever knew that we shared a bed. There would be talk of the vengeful slut from the North who befouled my poor mother’s house. And of course she would have to let them slander you, out of respect for me. Trust me, this is not where you draw attention to the fact you’re a Yankee.”

“You just said befouled? You’re getting weird. And you Southerners do realize we’re all American, right?” Friggin’ Southerners with their War of Northern Aggression bullshit. I am suddenly terrified of this woman.

“You’re licking your nose again.” He smiles, nodding at me like this whole thing is nothing. “Stop being nervous. This is why I never warned you; you’d be half mad by now if I had. You’ll be fine, just try not to flash your Gene Simmons tongue at my parents. Licking one’s nose is a bit circus freak for them, especially with the eyes being different colored. All you need is to flutter them the way you do and lick your nose, and my mother will pass out.”

“I’ll remember that.” I sigh. I want to say he’s a circus freak, but I don’t. I know what I am and what he is. At least I thought I knew what he was.

He reaches for me, holding my hand. “We just can’t share a bed. It’s no big deal. And you should know they have some quirks, just not licking noses or different-colored eyes. I can’t even explain it, you just have to see it.”

Quirks?
Licking my nose is a quirk? It’s a nervous habit. I sit back in my seat and send a quick text to one of the secretaries Rory and I use to ensure we have everything we need.

He turns out of the snooty-looking area, making my breathing easier as he heads along a long and winding road. I start to relax until I realize he has driven to an area with estates and houses so big I can’t breathe again. They look like the White House.

“Do they own a hotel?” I ask, actually scared of the answer. His laugh does nothing to soothe me.

My insides tighten, and I send a text to Angie demanding to know why she didn’t warn me of this.

How could you send me to the South and not tell me his parents are ESTATE RICH? You suck!

Her reply appears quickly.

You know I love you, but there was no warning you. It’s big, like hotel big. Expect a huge group of people to greet you too, like forty. Use your best manners and act like a demure orphan, the sweet and demure orphan I know is in there!

I choke. Demure? Shit!

“You okay?” He sounds worried.

I nod and shrug in a jerky movement and look out the side window until my phone buzzes again.

Forget them, remember you’re a killer with uncanny instincts and ex-military and exceptionally badass! Just keep looking around the room, figuring out ways to kill them.

That text makes me smile, so I look like an idiot when we drive up to a gate with boys peeping over the ledge. Not real boys, mind you, but cast-iron boys, naked cast-iron boys. The weird smile stays on my face, frozen, as I try to understand the naked peeping boys.

As the gates open, my heart starts to skip beats, like it’s seizing.

The long drive up to the house is ridiculous—old-movie-that-Angie-has-made-me-watch ridiculous. Hedges are carved like we are at a children’s zoo or some crap. They aren’t the weirdest part either. No, a hedge shaped like an animal is crazy, but the massive fountain is worse. It has three naked boys frolicking in the water, like they’re splashing, only they’re made of cast iron like the other boys.

The pool, oddly enough, is out front and long and thin; not what you’d expect for a house of such grandeur. At the very end of the long driveway is another cast-iron sculpture of two boys, naked boys, playing leapfrog. I cough a little to avoid the questions threatening to leave my lips about his parents’ obsession with naked boys. It’s something I have seen only in Europe and usually at overly fancy places with stodgy and annoying people who think too much of their own opinions and self-worth.

At the end of the weird and pervy driveway is a house that puts all houses, and most Italian castles, to shame. It’s Elizabethan in style if I’m not mistaken, which I know only because I have actually taken the tours, and it has turrets, real ones.

No, the house I cannot prepare for.

It looks like it might still have slaves and a cotton plantation out back, but it’s the castle edition of plantation house tours.

The front steps form a half oval with staircases on either side, in case you prefer to leave from the left instead of the right. The kind you would imagine a woman in one of those huge old-fashioned dresses going down, like
Cinderella
, the Disney cartoon.

I immediately start sweating. He reaches over. “See, I knew you’d like it.” The stupid smile is still plastered in shock to my face from the cheeky spy comment, so he thinks I love it.

When he parks, a man comes out to the car. Dash jumps out, offering the man a hug. He’s older, clearly Dash’s father, with gray hair and a white mustache. He’s in a suit, which makes me uncomfortable, but if I lived here I would wear a suit every day too. Why not?

“Jane, this is Nichols, our driver and valet.”

I don’t understand what that means. I have seen thirty-two countries and fought in a war, and I still don’t know what a valet does. I assume he means valet parking, as in he has a man who is paid a salary to park cars. How did I not know this was a job possibility?

The man bows to me, making me sweat more. “Miss Jane, it is lovely to finally meet you.”

He’s English, of course. Why wouldn’t he be?

“Jane.” Dash mutters my name. It means I’m not doing the right thing. He and Angie always say,
Jane, the correct response is to blah blah blah
, when I am not making the right choice or action or saying the right thing.