Darker Than Desire (18 page)

Stay calm. Just think.

The only ones who had to die were the ones who mattered.

The ones who could get in the way.

They were the concern.

Once they were gone, things would go back to how they should be.

*   *   *

“Who would do this?”

Standing over the lifeless, frail body of Max Shepherd, Jensen blinked, once, hard, before she looked up at her boss. “Sorry,” she said, swallowing. “This one is hitting me hard. I loved the old grouch.”

“A lot of people did.” He nodded and glanced up at the county coroner. “Doc.”

Dr. Liz Pittenger blew out a breath, shadows visible on her face, despite the light makeup. Her lightly greying hair was pulled back into an elegant coif and her gaze was sad. “I can honestly tell you this—I never once thought I'd have to do this. Judge Max, murdered. The man is so damn mean, you'd think people around here would be too scared to touch him. He'll be slapping that gavel down when they meet up with him before God, I'll tell you that.”

“You're certain it's murder.” Sorenson didn't touch on the fact that the pillow had been shoved down on the old man's face. He was here for facts, nothing else.

“I can't conclusively say
yes
until I do the autopsy, but if I had to make a call here and now? Yes. It was murder.” Pittenger started at the head. “His eyes, for example.”

They had already seen the broken blood vessels, but always playing devil's advocate, Sorenson said, “No way he could have pulled the pillow over his face, maybe to block out the light, and just … smothered?”

Pittenger gave Sorenson a look that made him feel like he'd fallen off the back of the turnip truck. “No. Those pillows, even a couple of them, wouldn't have had the weight to keep him from breathing. Somebody held them down, with force. I imagine when I—” She stopped, looking away for a moment. She took a deep breath and then looked back at them. “This is hard. I've known Max for more than thirty years. It's never easy in a town this small, but we … were friends. I had to perform the autopsy on Mary. Now on him. I'm sorry.”

“I understand.” And he did. He couldn't imagine being a big-city cop, not knowing the names, the faces, the people who owned the businesses you'd sworn to protect. He'd protect, no matter where he was—serve and protect, that's what he did. But he belonged here, in Small Town, U.S.A. It came with costs, though, and this was one of them.

“Once I perform the autopsy, I may well see other signs. His lungs may be swollen.” She moved to Sorenson's side and closed a gloved hand around Max's lifeless one. Normally, she'd do this once she'd started the exam, but this was Max. Judge Max. Champion for the children in this town. Max. Her friend. Lifting his bagged hand, she studied it through the clear plastic, turned it upward to study his bloodied nails. “He fought. There's blood. We'll find skin.”

As she looked at Sorenson, he nodded. “We'll find skin. Blood. Maybe luck will be with us and we'll get a DNA match.”

“Luck hasn't exactly been our friend lately,” Jensen said grimly.

“All the more reason that it's time for it to change.”

*   *   *

“I can't believe people are going to link
Max
to those monsters,” Jensen growled under her breath as they left the hospital. Upon leaving Max's room, she'd heard the first of the whispers, but they were just the first. When she'd all but cut a person in two with her glare the whispers went abruptly silent, but only until she was gone.

And still, people watched.

She wanted to look around, see who it was staring at her. The angry bitch inside her wanted to shriek,
Got a problem? Huh? Huh?

Under most circumstances, she'd be irritated, but she'd deal.

Under
this
circumstance, it pissed her off in ways she couldn't begin to list.

“People very often only see what's on the surface.” Sorenson shrugged, but his eyes were grim, just as flat as her own. “The best thing we can do—and will do—for Max is find out who did kill him and why.”

Sorenson stopped then and turned to look at her. “You're a good cop, Bell. Now go out there and help me figure this out.”

Then he turned and walked off.

Scowling at his back, she resisted the urge to stick out her tongue.
Figure this out
. She planned to do just that.
Thanks.

She turned and crashed straight in the hard chest of the one man who managed to make everything in her world better, just by existing.

“Dean.”

Maybe it was because she'd just stood over the dead body of the man who'd helped her focus all the anger and grief she'd felt as a child, but she did something she rarely did when she was working. She moved up against Dean and wrapped her arms around him.

He did the same, one strong hand sliding up her back to cup her nape. His breath tickled her skin as he murmured into her hair, “You've had a rough day already.”

“The worst.” Blinking back the sting of tears, she said, “Judge Max was the one who helped me figure out how to fight all the … anger. The grief. Everything. I was a mess after Mom died. Tate was just … angry. But he had his art. Even then, he could lose himself for a little while by grabbing a sketchbook. Even reading helped him. Chris would go outside and yank up weeds, plant roses. Every house near us had free gardening service for the next couple of years. It was how she coped. I just … existed. I was angry, got into a couple fights in school, and that was how I ended up meeting Max. I knew him, yeah, but … that's not the same thing.”

Tipping her head back, she said softly, “I became a cop because of my mom. But he's the one who made me realize that was what I needed. And now somebody took him away.”

Dean's dark, velvety eyes stared into hers. Everything around them slowed down, and although the ache in her heart was massive, in that moment she felt like she could breathe. “So it's certain?” he murmured, stroking his thumb across her skin. “It's murder?”

“Suffocation.” She nodded. “It sounds like they were watching for the opportunity. Max still had cops, some guys with military experience, volunteering to watch his door since we don't know who shot him. Today it was Braxton, works with county, newer guy, just trying to help out. There was a problem with some visitors, a
physical altercation
.” She curled her lip as she said it, the words bitter on her tongue. “He got involved. Whoever did this, he went in while Braxton was distracted, shoved a pillow over Max's face and in those few minutes killed him. Slid out just as quiet as you please and left. It's like a ghost did it. Nobody noticed anything, saw anything.”

Dean was quiet a moment. “It's somebody who is used to being seen there, in town. Invisible.”

Ice spread through her and she nodded. There were a lot of people in town who could move around without being noticed. But just
who
could slip unnoticed into a hospital?

A doctor?

A nurse?

A preacher?

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The day of Max's funeral dawned cold, hard and bright. The sun shone harshly done from a sky so blue it hurt to look at it. David thought the day suited the man they were burying. It was a hard-edged day but still somehow beautiful, the sun shining through the fiery maple leaves, the air heavy with the scents of fall. Wind whipped through those trees, sending the leaves swirling around in little storms as the mourners gathered.

David stood at the back.

Noah had briefly left Trinity's side to urge him to the front, and there was a look in his eyes that made David suspect that Noah knew something.

But David didn't want to be around others.

The only thing that brought him here was the fact that he'd loved Max.

Yeah. He'd loved him. An emotion he'd never wanted to claim. In the weeks since Abraham's death, the wall David had kept around him had gotten weaker and now it was so full of holes, it was a miracle that wall even remained.

Now, as he struggled to rebuild the wall around himself, emotions stormed inside him. Too many emotions, all of them unwanted, unfamiliar,
unwelcome.
He couldn't shut them down. The pain was a monster in his gut. He'd grieve over Max every day for the rest of his life.

“Why, David … I didn't expect to see you here.”

Slowly, he lifted his head.

Something spasmed in his jaw and he had to fight the urge to snarl. Respect for the man in the casket kept him silent and he just stared as Louisa made her way over to him.

She held out a hand and he flicked it with a dismissive gaze before looking back up at her.

She gave a nervous laugh before looking around again. “Well. Max did make some unusual friends, didn't he?”

Go away,
he thought. The black suit she wore was fussy with lace and beads that reflected the light and she wore too much perfume. Under the perfume, he could smell the coffee from the coffee shop, like she'd just thrown the suit on in her office and doused herself with the cloying scent to cover the smell from the shop.

The effect was nauseating.

“Well. I guess you're not much for talking, are you?” Something glinted in her eyes and she lowered her voice; although her tone remained sweet with sympathy, he saw the vulture that lurked in her gaze. “I guess I can imagine why. People are talking … well, I mean, we
all
know by now. After everything you went through, poor boy, it's hard for you to talk—”

“Don't touch me,” he warned, catching the hand she'd been reaching up with. “Not ever.”

She squeaked in shock, although he kept his grip easy. Her skin was almost papery under his hand and everything in him screamed,
Back away! Back away!
He wanted to wash his hands, wanted to get the stink of too much perfume and coffee off him, but people were staring and Louisa was babbling and the funeral was about to start.

“Why, I
never
—”

“David.”

He let her hand go at the familiar voice, backing away one step, then another, before turning his head to look at Noah.

Dressed in a solemn suit of black, Noah looked between him and Louisa and then back. “There's a seat up front,” he said quietly.

Louisa perked up. “Why, thank—”

“I'm sorry,” Noah said gently, moving to cut her off. “Those seats are reserved for family and close friends. We held it for David.”

Louisa's mouth fell open, and for a moment she was stunned into speechlessness. Although he didn't expect that to last, David took advantage of it to turn and walk away. He didn't want to sit up front where people could gawk at him, try to talk to him—or worse.

But if he had to even look at that viper another moment, he thought he'd lose it.

“Are you okay?” Noah asked.

David didn't answer.

There was no point.

Okay?

When had he ever been okay?

He didn't remember sinking onto the open seat next to Trinity. She gave him a small smile and then looked back up front. Noah was already up there, a fact that didn't surprise David. He'd been the one to speak at Miss Mary's funeral as well. Knowing the old man, he'd probably arranged it all.

Had to control just about everything—

David cut the thoughts off. Thinking about him hurt. Thinking about
anything
hurt. This had done it, David realized. The ice that he'd wrapped himself in was gone, smashed by the old man's death, and he was drowning now, drowning in a storm of emotion that was more he could handle. Drowning in loss, misery, despair, rage. Even the emotions he was used to feeling—rage and disgust—were spiraling higher and tighter than normal.

Just don't think
. Closing his eyes, he kept that mantra up, ignoring everything else.

If he could manage that, for however long this took, he could get the hell out of here. Get in his truck. Drive for however long it took him to get away from here, and then he could …

Do what?

What was it going to take to exhaust the eruption he could feel building inside?

There was a movement next to him and he tensed as somebody sank onto the sole remaining seat. A hand slid over his.

And just like that, some of the chaos in him eased.

The pain was still there. It would probably always be.

But Sybil was there.

He didn't even have to look. He knew her touch. He could be lost in an unending dark hell and he'd know her touch, her scent, the brush of her skin against his own. Even in death, he'd know her.

After a few more seconds, he opened his eyes and looked over at her.

She was staring straight ahead.

The music came to a close and he forced himself to look back as Noah started to speak.

*   *   *

It was all a blur, almost everything Noah said.

A few times, David managed to drag his thoughts to the here and now when Noah would tell a story about the old man or mention something that Judge Max had been known to say.

One in particular jabbed a dull, rusty knife into David's heart. Noah, his gaze roaming over the crowd, said, “I remember once, when my father was dying, how Judge Max came to me:
In the end, son, we all look back. Some of us will look back with regret and quite a few probably do. The lucky ones look back with pleasure at a life well lived. I imagine that's your dad.
” Noah paused and David tensed as his eyes lingered on him. And it wasn't his imagination the way that penetrating stare cut through him.

The man knew.

Somehow, Noah knew.

“I'd imagine Judge Max could look back on a life well lived.”

Blood started to roar in David's ears.