Dark Sacrifice (10 page)

I
prop my elbows on the edge of the sofa and stare down at the side of Landry's sleeping face. He's lying on his stomach with one leg and arm trailing on the floor. The blanket's twisted around his hips. I don't know how he managed to tangle himself up. My fingers twitch with the temptation to straighten it and get him all tucked in again, but I might wake him. My daring last night still shocks me. He looked so peaceful that I couldn't stop myself from kissing him.

My lips tingled for most of the night. I tossed and turned for hours before finally crashing. I didn't wake up once, and usually I do a couple of times in the night, especially since Mama…anyway, I slept like a log.

If I hurry, I can get breakfast ready before he wakes up.

I enter the kitchen, and the smile flickering on my lips fades. The pot I used for the gumbo is sitting upside down in my drying rack. There had been half a pot left when I went to bed. I know guys eat a lot, but damn. I need to hit the store and stock up on supplies pretty soon or we'll starve to death. Which leads to another problem—where am I gonna get money? I have a few thousand in savings at the bank, but the money won't last long without Mama's income to help with the bills. I've already lost my clerical position at Bertrand Parish Sheriff's Office, but I should be good at Munchies Diner & Ice Cream Parlor. My new aunt wouldn't fire me, I hope. I'm screwed if she does.

I feed the remaining chickens and gather eggs, then go inside to cook breakfast. I don't know what Landry likes, but I figure I can't go wrong with bacon and scrambled eggs. I was surprised to find the package of bacon in the fridge yesterday. It isn't something I buy for myself, or any of the other weird items stocked in the pantry, since they're so expensive. I guess this kind of food is what I get when Tommy and Maggie go shopping for me: bacon, baloney, processed cheese, and Tater Tots.

Good grief, who eats Tater Tots outside of school cafeterias?

Landry stumbles into the kitchen as I set his plate on the table. His face has a puffy, unhealthy cast to it. The bruise on his cheek looks darker today than it did yesterday, and he hobbles like an arthritic old man. He crumples into the seat and rests his head in his hands.

“How are you feeling today, Frog Prince?” I fight the welling sympathy urging me to kiss him again and plunk a glass of orange juice on the table. He grunts.

“That good, huh?” I dish up my own plate and sit down across from him. The first bite of bacon rolls my eyes up in the back of my head.
So good.

“I've got something to tell you,” Landry says, looking up. “Last night I—”

“Ate all my gumbo, I know. Saints, boy. Do you know how many hours it took to make that? You'll have to find a job if you want to stay here. I can't afford to support you if you're gonna be eating me out of hearth and home.”

“Huh? No. That's not—”

“It's what I'm talking about,” I interrupt, giving him the stink-eye. “M-O-N-E-Y. Don't think you get to live off me like I'm some sugar daddy.”

“You're a girl, no daddy plumbing involved.”

“Eww, don't make me throw up my bacon.” I stuff the last strip in my mouth and lick my greasy lips.

His eye focuses on my mouth, and my breath catches.
Crap, I'm thinking about kissing him again.
If he leans across the table…
No, no, Mala Jean. It's too soon.
It's just that I missed him. And I can't believe he's within touching distance, and still staring…
Oh God!
I stick a strip of bacon in his open mouth. “Eat up, you need to regain your strength.”

He pulls it out with a scowl and drops it onto the plate. “Don't you feel any sympathy for my bruised brain? Stop distracting me.”

I'm distracting him?
Laughter erupts from deep within me. It takes a bit to regain control because he wears such a disgruntled expression.
Poor guy.
“You're the one who keeps interrupting. This is why I'm glad you're living here. Really. I didn't know how stressed out I was until you came. I slept great last night, knowing you were in the other room. I didn't tell you yesterday, but someone squatted in my house while I was in the hospital. Goldilocks took off after I came home, but part of me worried he'd come back. I'm not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I'm just not.”
Duh, why do you think? I trust you to keep me safe.
I smile, but he continues to stare at me. He seems so different from before the fire. The vibe he gives off is like he carries a deep grief inside him and the results have turned him colder and more reserved. I noticed it last night. He joked and laughed, teased me as we watched TV, but the smile didn't touch his eye.

And in some ways, the distance seems even greater today.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“I'm trying to figure out how I'll protect you.”

I laugh his declaration off. “Protect me from what? Rogue raccoons? Don't worry. The guy's long gone.”

“Maybe.” He frowns. “Maybe not.”

If I'd known he'd be so worried, I never would've mentioned the squatter. The doorbell rings and I get up, but Landry rushes past me. He practically runs to the front door, and I scramble to stay just a few steps behind. When I try to pass him to open the door, he pushes me behind him and holds his finger to his lips.

“Who is it?” he asks.

“Who the hell…” George sounds pissed.

I gulp and hip-bump Landry aside to open the door.

Sunlight hits the top of George's red-gold hair, making him sparkle. Not like a glittery vampire, more like a fallen angel. The uniform lends him an air of authority, and I try not to cringe beneath his glare. His hand rests on the butt of his gun, and his star winks at me on his chest. My hands get sweaty, and I wipe my palms on my jeans.

Landry stands directly behind me, breathing down the back of my neck, and I wish I could wave a magic wand and vanish. “What do you want?” I ask, not even trying to be polite.

“I came to check on you.” He glances at Landry, who hovers over my shoulder. “What's he doing here?”

I stiffen my back, reminded I don't answer to George. Not like we're together. He dumped me in the middle of the road and drove off without sparing me a backward glance. What if my squatter hadn't moved on? I could've been killed. Plus, he's a liar.
No guilt.

I tip up my chin. “Landry's my roommate.”

“He's what?”

“My roommate. Paying rent.” I shrug. “I didn't want to stay out here alone.”

George gives Landry a heated glance. “
You're
paying rent.”

“Yeah,” Landry says, and I cringe at the angry burr in his tone. He goes over to flop down on the sofa like he owns the place and picks up the remote. “I'm watching TV. If you're gonna talk, take it outside.”

I grimace in Landry's direction but step out onto the porch. I don't close the door. I don't trust myself with George. I'm pissed, and he has a way of making me lose my head. Besides, I'm not ready to forgive him for being such a jerk. “I'm fine. Now go away.”

“Bullshit. You're crazy to let Landry stay here. Did you quit taking your psych meds?”

Low blow. Jackass.
I swallow the curse. “Did you talk to your dad?”

George scowls. “
Your
father, remember. He's your bio father and my adoptive.”

“Whatever.”

“Not whatever, Mala. It means there's no blood relationship between us.”

“So? If that mattered, you wouldn't have freaked out. The only reason I can figure for you being so mean is that you've obviously got a problem with this whole sharing-a-daddy situation.”

“I have a problem with him cheating on my mother with the town whore.”

The word drips off his tongue with ease. He doesn't notice me stiffen. Or my hands balling into fists at my sides. Sure he's angry, but the
whore
is my dead mama he's talking shit about.

The rocking chair tips backward, and I gulp back my startled scream. Mama materializes and gives me a devilish grin. “Oh, girl. You and Georgie Porgie found out about Senior being your daddy?”

“Yes,” I hiss, not caring that George's eyes widen in surprise. “Yes, George. Mama, the town prostitute, had an affair with your stepfather and got pregnant with me.”

“Hey, I wasn't whorin' around when I got pregnant with you. Senior and Georgie's mama were separated. He only married her for her money. Not like they loved each other. She was still hung up on her other husband, but he ran off and left her alone and pregnant.”

I ignore her. “What if your father loved my mama? Would that make you feel better about the situation?”

Mama laughs. “He wasn't in love with me any more than I was in love with him. We had a one-night stand, and the condom broke. Gosh, you're so naive.”

“Doesn't matter if he loved her or not, Mala,” George says. “Wrong is wrong. I can't understand why you aren't angry about this.”

“She
is
angry,” Landry says, coming outside. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but you're not keeping your voices down, and I can't hear my show over the yelling.”

George steps forward. “Mind your own business, Landry.”

Landry shrugs. “It's just sad. You're throwing away your chance with Mala 'cause you're butt-hurt about her father having a one-night stand twenty-one years ago while your parents were separated.”

George turns to me. “How does he know about this?”

Before I get a chance to respond, Landry jumps in feet first.

“How many times do I gotta tell you that Mala and I are friends? Let's get off this topic and move to something more important. Why Caleb King tried to murder me.”

George rocks back onto his heels. “We'll finish our conversation later, Mala. In private.”

Not if I can avoid being alone with him.

I think he reads the answer in my eyes because his lips tighten. He turns his attention to Landry. “We interrogated King, but he's not talking without a lawyer present. My guess is you pissed him off. You have a way of getting under a person's skin.”

“My theory is someone hired him,” I say. “Check his bank records, Georgie. I bet he's come into a fat inheritance in the last week.”

Landry runs a finger over the edge of his eye patch. “I agree with Mala. One of the prisoners warned me that someone had been asking for takers. That a hit had been put out on me.”

“Did he say why?” I ask.

“Dad and Rathbone are on the run. I wish I believed Dad wouldn't have me killed so I won't testify against him, but I don't know anything anymore. Mom let Lainey die…”

Silence falls over the three of us. The quiet emphasizes the noises around us: the squawk of chickens, the hoot of an owl, the shifting of feet from something large hiding in the yard. I glance in the direction the sound comes from, but I don't see anyone.

Landry takes my hand, squeezing my fingers.

George's green eyes flicker with jealousy, but he doesn't Hulk out. “Who do you think it is?”

“I think there's a fourth guy,” Landry says.

My mouth goes dry. “Wh-ut?”

Landry squeezes my hand. “The night your mama died, I wasn't in any condition to drive. It was the night after Lainey's funeral…” He clears his throat. “I caught a ride with a friend who dropped me off at the end of the driveway so I walked in. I remember seeing three men dressed in black. One chased after Mala when she ran off. The other two carried me. I don't know how long it took before my dad's truck pulled up the driveway. I-it was confusing, but that means four. Dad, Mr. Acker, Doc Rathbone, and someone else.”

George steps forward. “Who?”

“If I knew, I would've told you.” Landry looks at me. “I never saw the other guy. After I was injured, Dad put me in his truck. Rathbone and the mystery guy drove off after taking care of your mom.”

By taking care of, he meant making sure they disposed of her burned remains. It would've been the perfect murder if they'd gotten both of us too. Instead, they have two potential witnesses in me and Landry. Only as far as I can remember, I never saw the guy.

George rocks back on his heels. “So, this fourth doesn't know you can't identify him. He puts out a hit on you to be sure you don't tell. It's obvious it must be someone who was close to your father.”

“What about Acker? Did you ever find him?” Landry asks.

I want to wave Landry into silence. The memory of Mr. Acker's death painfully comes to mind. I never told. At first I didn't remember. Now I don't know how to admit I let him die. What would Dena say? How would she feel knowing her father murdered Mama, and then I let him die? Our relationship would be ruined. I'd never be able to look her in the eyes again.

“Oh, hell no!” Mama yells, shoving her chair back. “Speak of the devil and he arrives.”

Landry and I jump a second before the rocking chair crashes to the floor. George steps back from both of us, hand going to his gun again. His instincts are too honed for him not to figure out something weird is going on. He can probably sense the angry spirit crossing the yard. Mama tries to move between Acker and me, but the spirit is strong. He runs past her, reaches the steps, and bounces off an invisible barrier.

The salt I'd sprinkled around the house to keep Lainey out. Even with all the rain, it provided protection. Mr. Acker howls in fury. A mini-tornado of sticks and rocks launch through the air. I scream and cover my head. Landry grabs me and turns his back to the yard.

Georgie watches us like we've lost our minds, then ducks with a shout when debris pelts his back. A rock hits the side of his head, and he drops to his knees. Blood runs down his face. He searches the yard but doesn't see the ghost, only the dust devil Acker's presence causes to the visible world around him.