Games of Zeus 02- Silent Echoes (2 page)

Damn woman.

“Dude …” Dressed in jeans and an NYU T-shirt, Michael Sands looked every bit the undergrad, despite the fact his next diploma—in another four years—would include the letters M.D. “You gotta relax, bro. I’ve been here a whole three hours, and you haven’t sat once.”

Despite his brother’s insistence, Ian paced to the window, where his reflection mirrored back at him. Beyond the glass, the city moved by at its normal pace—fast. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

The woman.

Her.

Something, he didn’t know what, clawed at him. Had for months—since the first time they’d talked on the phone.

“You’re sounding southern, too.” Channels changed one after the other on the flat screen. “That means way too much time in slowville.” Michael switched the station yet again. “Maybe your body’s trying to regulate itself—like jetlag … only we’ll call this … mindlag.” He grabbed a handful of chips, waving them in the air. “We need a night on the town. Few beers. Some women.”

Ian traipsed back to the couch and plopped down. “Distraction.”
Drunkenness will take away all thoughts.
“That’s exactly what I need.” He grabbed the snack bag and pulled it toward him. “Don’t know about the women, though. They do nothing but complicate life.”

“Not mine.” Michael crossed his ankles, dropping his bare feet on Ian’s coffee table, but continued his direct-from-the-bag snacking. “Not Tripp’s.”

Ian eyed his brother. “Celibacy does not make you an expert on relationships. And, Tripp fell right into Lexi’s hands the night they met. She’s been a total pain in his ass since.”

A crispy tortilla pinged Ian in the cheek.

He brushed it off and glared at his brother.

Michael chuckled. “And yet, he married her. Maybe you’re a little jealous. You know, like he got himself a woman, and you’ve been oddly womanless for a while.”

Ian headed toward the kitchen. “I don’t need a woman.”

“Hypocrite.” Michael coughed through the word.

“What?” An eyebrow winged up on Ian’s face. “
You
might need one. I don’t need one. I need beer, tortilla chips and some salsa.”

A smirk crossed Michael’s face. “Uh-huh. Tripp took my advice once. Maybe you should, too.” Crumbs landed on his shirt as he leaned back again.

Ian dropped down and rolled his eyes. “You haven’t given me any brotherly
advice
.”

Michael shrugged. “Last girl you had an interest in.”

“What’s that got to do with any of this?” Ian grabbed a handful of snacks for himself.

“Just answer me.”

“You didn’t ask a
question
.”

Michael’s evil eye speared Ian.

“Taylor Marsh.” His voice cracked on her name.
Son of a bitch!

“That was four months ago!” Michael’s resounding laugh burst out. “I knew it! One girl in four months?” A ‘whooeee’ whistled from him. “Hot, blonde chick was at the wedding and giving you the vibes, bro. Why didn’t you tap her?”

“She was not,” Ian shot back. He dug through the bag. “And, that’s just plain rude, Michael. I may have had my fair share of lovely ladies, but I would never just
tap
one.”

“Dude … she was playing for you.”

“You don’t—”

Michael sat up straight. “How else would I remember her after so long? She twisted her hair. She leaned toward you as you talked. Her hip swayed out. Her head fell back when she laugh—”

“Those are all just normal people things.”
That I saw every bit of.

Michael shook his head. “No, they aren’t. Well, yes, they are, but—” He circled a hand in the air.

Ian pressed two fingers to his eyes.

“It was a come hither move.” Michael jutted his hips up. “I am a student of the people.”

“Sick people, Michael.” Ian pinched his arm. “See? Still alive, healthy and …” He rubbed at the spot. “Not in need of your head shrinking or body healing services.”

“You had the same body language, you know. I was just waiting for you to touch each other as close as you were. God, the vibes were rolling off you two.” With a deep head shake, Michael faced Ian. “What stopped you from taking her?”

“I—” What had stopped him? Beautiful—no—gorgeous woman. She’d met every criterion he had, yet after their conversation at the wedding, the drinks and chatting, they’d parted ways and not looked back.

Michael shifted to the edge of the couch, turning toward Ian, and motioned stabbing into his heart. “You’re my role model. How can I go out into this world and expect to get some—”

Ian’s fist made contact with Michael’s shoulder, though he pulled the punch.

“Ow.” Michael rubbed at it. “You’re the worst big brother ever.”

“And you’re full of—”

Michael’s snort of laughter preceded the, “Yeah. I am. But you are ‘the man’ when it comes to women. Blondie got you by the short hairs? You do something—”

“Hell, no.” With a capital H. He’d wanted to. Every urge within him said ‘take’, yet he hadn’t. He’d walked away.

“Is it ‘cause she’s white?”

“No.”

Michael huffed air. “That’s wrong on so many levels since Mom and Dad have been married for forty years.”

“I said no.” Ian gave Michael a measured glare. “Of course it’s not that.” Ian draped a hand over his forehead. Race had no bearing on the women he’d sought. Never had. Never would.

“Then what? ‘Cause bro, if a drink and a pretty smile didn’t send you to the priesthood, what did it?”

A deep, long, extended sigh left Ian’s lips. “Her roots are in North Carolina. Mine are here. That’s not going to work.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Sarcasm dripped from Michael. “Your roots are wherever Tripp is, and he’s in North Cakalacky. Give me the real answer.”

“It’s not that simple.” Ian stood again and meandered to the window.
It’s just not that simple.
His green eyes reflected back at him under the darkening sky.
I just don’t know. She’s different. I want her like nobody’s business.
Ian held up his hands. “Enough sappy shit. What bar you want to hit?”

“Rocky’s down on fifth has unlimited nachos on Thursdays.”

“Give me a sec to change.”
It’s time to get Taylor Marsh out of my head for good.

2

Yellow caution tape ran from Taylor’s garden to barn, to rear fence post, and back around to her house. Blue lights spun in a dizzying array as she sat on her front porch under the watchful eye of Sergeant Dale, a Rune police officer. The fire trucks and ambulance had come and gone, replaced by a couple extra official-looking vehicles.

“Ms. Marsh—”

She tilted up, raising an eyebrow. “Riley Dale, do not talk to me like you don’t know me.”

Riley, in his grey and blue uniform, with his smooth cheeks and deep, dark blue eyes, chuckled. “C’mon, Tay. I’m a Sergeant. I can’t be informal on a crime scene investigation.” He tapped her toe with his, pointing out toward a set of spotlights that hummed and warmed up as the light of day faded.

“We’re practically siblings, Riley. Been neighbors since we were twelve.”

Riley shifted his weight and returned to his earpiece. His half-smile fell into a full frown, his shoulders drooping while he alternated between touching his earpiece and glancing in her direction.

“Spill it, Dale.”

His lips curved but stopped at smirk level. “Can’t just yet.”

“Why are all these people here? What do they think the bones are?”

More gravel crunched while, at the same time, a unit of jumper-clad people stepped from another SBI van, which had taken the last non-yard spot. If anyone else showed up, he’d have to park on her near-pristine lawn. At a quick glance, seven cars filled her drive and yard while a dozen-and-a-half suited worker bees milled about in various stages of doing ‘stuff’.

Riley’s lips firmed. “They’re human, Tay.”

She leaned back on the porch. “I know that part. That’s why I called you.”
After I woke up with my face in the dirt.
“But, why is the SBI here?”

“The State Bureau of Investigation comes when they are called.” His gaze strayed toward the mess of people. “Now hush. I really can’t talk to you about this.”

“Rile—”

“Shh.”

A man in a suit and tie pointed toward the site of Taylor’s find before he made his way toward where she sat.

“Rile—”

Riley held up a hand. “Say nothing, Taylor. Nothing, got that?” He turned as the suit joined them.

Taylor stood, crossing her arms over her chest and spreading her feet wide enough to keep her balance. She intended to create a bit of perceived stubborn confidence, despite the nerves tingling throughout her body.

“Ms. Marsh?” the suit asked.

“Yes?” She kept her tone firm but kind.

“I’m Jeremy Faine … with the SBI Crime lab.” He held out his hand.

Taylor shook once and let go. “I’d say nice to meet you, but I think that would be inappropriate given the circumstances.”

Jeremy gave her a short nod. “Right.” He faced Riley. Nodded. He turned to the site. Nodded.

How robotic is this guy?
The head gestures added to her curiosity, but at the same time, they brought the hairs on her arms to a stand.

“Anything I can—” Taylor’s words earned a glare from Riley.

Jeremy swiveled back to her, his hand slipping into his jacket. He pulled out a paper, opened it and held it up, but Taylor couldn’t read it in the darkening night. Jeremy gave yet another nod to Riley.

Riley’s eyes hardened. “Taylor—”

Cuffs appeared from within Jeremy’s suit coat. Riley bumped him out of the way.

A shiver ran the length of her body. “What’s going on?” She spun out of Riley’s way as he reached for her.

His lips went to a thin line as the cuffs came closer. “Don’t freak out. You’re not under arrest.” Through gritted teeth, he added, “And keep your damn mouth shut.”

Wide-eyed, Taylor stopped moving as Riley took her arms and drew them behind her back. The action brought with it a familiar muscle constriction to her entire upper torso. Her throat seized. Her eyes watered. “Can’t—”

“Just stay calm. Breathe through it.” The click of handcuffs registered before the pressure on her wrists took hold. “I’m right here with you. Right here.”

Her mouth opened and closed, but air failed to go in or out. Taylor’s eyes burned. She stared hard at Jeremy, willing him to hear her unsaid plea.
I need air! Why does this happen to me?

“Breathe, Taylor,” Riley said from behind her. “It’s just a formality.”

Tortured, her lungs screamed for air, and her legs wobbled.

Jeremy grabbed her as she pitched forward. “Ms. Marsh?”

She opened and closed her mouth again.

Riley jumped around to Taylor’s front, taking Jeremy’s place. He laid his palms against her cheeks. “Look at me, Taylor. Here. Look at me.”

Her eyes failed her.
Arms … need … untie.
A watery view of Riley’s face came into focus right before Taylor’s body slumped against him.
Bound. Again.

Her eyes rolled back until even her thoughts went silent.

• • •

Rocky’s couldn’t have been louder and still met the noise ordinance for New York’s night crowd. Michael and Ian had walked in, headed straight for the bar and both ordered beers. Around them, the place reeked of sweat, secondhand smoke from those bringing it in with them from outside and spilled alcohol.

A DJ pumped music through the room while at least two dozen televisions displayed a variety of stations, none of which interested Ian.

He downed the contents of his beer and tapped the bar for a second.

“Might want to pace yourself there, bro,” Michael said.

Ian shook his head. “Better to just get drunk. Then all the thoughts go away.”

Michael snorted. “Temporarily. Until you puke all night.”

“I don’t get sick. I know my limit.”

A waitress with her blonde hair tied in a ponytail sidled up to them, her tray, pad and pencil in hand. “You boys care for some hors d’oeuvres? Or a meal?” She leaned over the counter, dropping a small piece of paper onto a stack, which a second bartender picked up. Her breasts piled up as she pressed into the walnut countertop, her blue eyes daring Ian to take in his fill.

“I’ll take a burger,” Michael said as Ian said, “You’re not my type.”

The slap to Ian’s shoulder accompanied the waitress’s pout.

“What the hell?” Ian asked.

“When has blonde and blue eyed not been your type?” Michael asked.

Never.
“Tonight.” He drank deep from the beer and signaled for a third.

“We came here to get your mind off her. To get you back in the saddle.” Michael jutted his hips out as if that would entice Ian to jump on a horse he didn’t want to ride.

“I know. I’m just not …”

“You need the right motivation.” With beer in hand, Michael pointed toward a group of women who eyed Ian over their shoulders every few minutes. One, with straight black hair, licked her painted red lips. Another, with red hair to her butt, crooked her finger at him. “They’re motivated.”

“Then, by all means, go get them.”

Michael nudged Ian’s shoulder. “No, you go. You have to get out of this funk.”

“They’re too young for me.”

“Dude, they’re over twenty-one, and that’s close enough to half plus seven.”

Ian snorted a laugh. “Who told you that was the rule?”

“Grandma.”

They both laughed again.

“Go, man. Let tonight be the get-back-on-the-horse night.” He clinked his beer against Ian’s. “Or, you be the horse and let her ride.” With another bump to Ian’s shoulder, Michael stood. “I’m going after the group in the back right.”

By the largest of the TVs, a group of barely-over-twenties stood together.

Michael gave Ian a nod and sauntered away.

Two of the women in the group eyeing Ian stretched and curled fingers his way. With a deep sigh and a third beer to begin the dulling of the senses phase of the night, Ian began his walk toward them.

• • •

A hum filled Taylor’s mind, ran up through her legs and into her arms. She blinked tired eyes, working to focus on her surroundings of black and metal, flashing red and blue, and the humidity of southern springtime.