Games of Zeus 02- Silent Echoes (3 page)

“Taylor …” Riley’s voice penetrated the fog.

A cop car. Riley’s cop car.

The engine hummed, sending vibrations through the vehicle. As her mind whirred, she jerked her arms and found them attached one to the other.

Riley leaned over the open door and reached in, offering her shoulder a light squeeze. “I’m sorry, Tay. I didn’t think the panic attack would come on so strong. I really didn’t.”

He’d cuffed her. He’d pulled her arms behind her and made her into a common criminal. Hurt and disappointment filled her. Not at Riley, but herself. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. She hadn’t reacted so strongly to her phobia in ages—ten years, in fact.

“Tay?”

She focused on her breathing, anxiety ebbing like the ocean’s tide. “I’m okay.”

“I should have told you before I did that. It was Faine—” Riley shook his head. “No, totally my fault. No excuses. I knew and didn’t—”

“It’s okay. I’m …”
Wigging out.
“Okay.”

“You were right. I’m really,
really
sorry. I should have been your friend. Not a Sergeant. I won’t let that happen again.”

While she couldn’t believe how strong her reaction had been—blindsiding her with paralyzing fear—she believed his apology and that he meant it. Beyond the car, people continued to work, lights buzzing as they illuminated her yard, and in the center, her pile of wood sat just where she’d found the bones.

“You’re not under arrest. They just wanted you secured for questioning because of the … nature of the situation. God, I’d swear that Faine has something against you, and he doesn’t even know you. Showed up outta nowhere like he owns the crime scene.”

Crime scene?

“But, I told them I’m staying with you right here until they do whatever or take official action.”

“I’ll be okay, Riley. Really. I will. What happens next?”

“Ms. Marsh?”

So focused on the activity beyond the car, Taylor hadn’t noticed anyone else join them.

“I’m Lieutenant King.” His deep voice rumbled over the hum of engines and lights.

“Dale.” Faine’s voice chased after them, pulling Riley from the car.

“Would you be willing to answer a few questions tonight?” King asked.

She tracked Riley and Faine’s path away from the car as she answered, “Sure.”

“When did you purchase your house?”

“Ten years ago.”
The day I returned from Alabama.

“And you’re a native of this area?” He scratched something on his pad.

She didn’t need to think for that one. “Yes.”

“You own Marsh Construction?” King barely looked up when he asked or wrote anything.

“Yes.” She squished up her nose, shooting a glance at Riley, whose arms flailed while Faine wagged a finger in Riley’s direction.

“Why did you call the police today, Ms. Marsh?”

She wanted to roll her eyes. They knew very well. “Because, in the demolition of a shed on my property, a set of bones turned up underneath.” The image of the face, its jaw wide as if in a scream, forced Taylor to close her eyes. She inhaled, focusing on happy thoughts of her house unencumbered by yellow caution tape, and calmed.

“Can you tell us what happened in Alabama ten years ago?” the lieutenant asked.

“No.”

“Ma’am?” The lieutenant’s tone turned irritated. “You cannot give us any clarity?”

She raised her lids and stared straight at the officer. “What happened in Alabama isn’t relevant to today in any way, shape or form, and I wish to leave the past … in the past.” That they knew about her time there surprised her. Their bringing it up made her blood boil.

Faine stepped into Taylor’s view again. “Is there a problem here?”

“No,” King said, eyes narrowed.

“Have you—” Riley received a glare from both the other men—superiors if Taylor understood their gestures.

They all faced her again.

“It would be in your best interests—” King started.

“If ya’ll want to ask me about stuff that happened ten years ago, that wasn’t my fault, that was all a setup, you go on ahead, but do so during part of the day where I’m not exhausted and wondering if my roses are going to be trampled on.”

“Our investigation—”

She stared hard at King and moved to Faine as he threw up his hands. “Your investigation is about a set of bones on my land. Now, what would you like to know about that?”

“We’d like to know who you murdered and why,” Faine said in as monotone a manner as possible.

Taylor jerked back. She hadn’t expected anyone to say murder. She expected to hear she’d unearthed a cemetery plot, and they’d have to bring in an excavation team, archaeologists or historians.

When her gaze landed on Riley, he hung his head.

Uh-oh.
“You know what? I think, if you’re going to ask me any other questions, I might just want to have my attorney present.”

Faine puffed up his chest. “Something to hide already?”

Taylor wanted to clock the attitude right off the man.

“No, sir. But I like to cover my ass, and I do believe it’s best to do so right up front.”

“If that’s the way you’d like to play this game—” Faine started as King withdrew a paper, his own expression sour. “Taylor Marsh, you’re under arrest.”

Not again.

3

Pitiful whines, muffled sniffles and cries of ‘I didn’t do it!’ pierced Taylor’s ears as the Corrections Officer, Breck—by her name tag—led Taylor down a grey-walled hallway toward booking.

The warrant King held had, in fact, been an arrest warrant, executed by the newest judge on the bench and delivered under orders per one Jeremy Faine. ‘No point fightin’ it’, Riley had said. ‘It’ll only make it worse. Just get through it, and I’ll come by in the morning’.

He could only escort her as far as the outer walls of the female wing, but he’d convinced Breck to keep the cuffs in front and sent her off with his signature smile and a promise to call her attorney for her.

Taylor kept her head up, banking the sigh wanting to escape. She wouldn’t fight it, didn’t even have the first-timer nerves about her, since she already knew the drill. Once had been enough of a lesson.

’Least this time, I have help from the get-go.

“Have a seat.” Breck pointed to the row of orange, plastic chairs and held on to Taylor’s arm as she dropped into one. “Someone will come get you in a second.” The officer disappeared around a corner.

Taylor fell back as exhaustion weighed heavy on her. Her mind spun to Riley, her home and the bones. With deliberation, she closed her eyes and remembered what had stared back at her. The blank eyes. The smoothness of the features that had barely been covered in any dirt.

The familiarity bugged the living daylights out of her, but she couldn’t figure out what gave her the impression she’d seen the bones before.

“Taylor Marsh?”

Her body jolted back to reality, and Taylor held up a hand to the new woman who’d called her.

“Come on, honey. It’s after two on this fine—” The woman spun her watch around. “—Well, I’ll be damned, it’s Earth Day. It’s no wonder I’m ready for summer and my dinner break.” A sweet smile graced her face. “I’m Officer Hough.”

At the wave of Hough’s hand, Taylor stood and walked toward her and another jail hallway.

Hough directed Taylor through photographing, took her fingerprints, and swabbed the inside of her cheek. She led her to a room with a flat, steel desk, a locked, metal cabinet, a chair, a table and a female officer with a shotgun in her hands.

Taylor’s calm dissolved as her wrists flexed within the cuffs digging into her skin. A cramp knotted her foot as heat flushed through her body.

“Now. It’s just us girls in here, and if you cooperate, we’ll have this over in a jiffy.” As Hough talked, she set her clipboard on the desk, slid on a pair of rubber gloves and took Taylor’s wrist with the gentleness of a kitten. “I’m going to secure one hand to the bar, and the other you can use to undress. Murder charges get the full work-up, but I’m inclined to make this fast. Got a Lean Cuisine waiting for me.”

A small laugh bubbled up inside Taylor along with resignation to her fate.

“Shoes first, please.”

Taylor toed her work boots off since they hadn’t been fully laced after leaving the hospital. She nudged them toward Hough.

“Thank ya, ma’am.” Hough jotted stuff down on the paper, the gaze of the other officer never leaving Taylor. “You’ll get all these articles back. I’m just cataloging them.”

Taylor offered a slight nod.
I remember.

“Britches next, please. Eye color?”

“Blue.” She pushed herself up against the wall to undo the buttons and let her jeans fall to the ground. She wanted to scream at the injustice, to yell and ask why she’d be put through a full body strip search experience a second time. Who had it out for her so bad that she couldn’t live in peace?

“Height?”

“Five-seven.”

“Weight?” The pants went into a bag.

“One-forty.” Her underwear and socks disappeared.

“Any diseases, drug use or alcohol use?”

“No.” Removing Taylor’s shirt would require Hough’s assistance due to the cuffs. Same for her bra.
She banked the embarrassment.

“Let me help you with those.” Throughout it all, Hough hummed a calming lullaby that contradicted the situation, especially the fact Taylor stood, naked, attached by a metal ring to a wall. Hough grasped her hand, slid a key into the lock and led her to the table where she dropped a plastic bag she’d pulled from the cabinet. The cuffs were reconnected to yet another metal bar.

Hough plopped onto her chair. “Go on ahead and suit up. I’ll need that ring, too.”

The plastic ripped without effort, and a jumpsuit fell to the ground. Taylor slid her grandfather’s ring from her finger. She rubbed around the knuckle, feeling more naked for having removed it than any of her clothes.

“Got a man in your life?” Hough kept on writing as she asked.

Ian’s face jumped to the front of her thoughts, bringing both a tremor and desire to Taylor. “No.” She slid her legs into the awful jail attire, trying to force him out of her mind. She turned to Riley, his lifelong friendship and smile, but Ian’s image replaced it.

“Pretty girl like you?” Hough chuckled.

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Honey, they ain’t no reason not to be nice to people. Just ‘cause you screwed up—” she held up her hands “—or didn’t screw up, don’t mean you aren’t a human and deserving respect. You give it to me; I give it to you.”

Taylor blew a breath. “You should give that advice to the folks in Alabama.”

Hough narrowed her eyes. “Am I wrong about you, hun?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I got a track record says I know when someone is guilty, and you ain’t.”

A light chuckle escaped along with a quirk of Taylor’s lips. “How do you know—”

“It’s the ‘mean’ in someone’s eye. Look for it, and you’ll know if they’re telling the truth. Works ever’ time. What happened in Alabama?”

Taylor stared into Hough’s sweet, chocolate irises, wishing she could spill her entire history. “Let’s just say, it wasn’t quite so pleasant in their jail, and the woman there didn’t believe in ‘innocent until proven guilty’. And … she let me know it every step of the way.”

Hough stuck a hand on her hip and jutted out the other one. “Naw, girl. You ain’t nothing but someone stuck in the wrong place, maybe even wrong time. Probably even been with the wrong man one too many times, too.” She motioned with the clipboard toward the other officer who hadn’t said a word through the entire experience. “Ask Nell over there. Tell her, Nell. Ain’t I right about people?”

Nell’s answer came in the form of a nod.

• • •

“You’ve got gorgeous eyes,” the redhead said as Ian stood just outside their circle.

The group of four all turned toward him.

“What nationality are you?” The second lovely to speak had thin legs up to her breasts and breasts up to her shoulders. “I mean, what with the green eyes and the milk chocolate skin. The simple cheekbone structure says European, but the tones say African.”

“I’m American, born and bred, like, I presume, all of you beautiful women are.”

They giggled, clearly having had too much to drink already—or just too young to care if they acted silly. “So, are you here with anyone special?” Raven-haired girl asked.

Ian shook his head, not wanting to mention Michael.

“We’re here for Kimmie’s twenty-first birthday.” Two of them pointed to the blonde with blue eyes—a girl who looked nothing like Taylor yet rivaled the others in the room.

Knowing they were Kimmie’s friends meant none of them would meet Michael’s age calculation.

Fuck it. This is about getting my groove back.
“Twenty-one, huh? How about I buy you ladies a round of drinks?”

They whooped and brought Ian into their fold, surrounding him with their bodies, touching and rubbing as they asked questions and he answered, about where he lived, who he’d come with and finally reached the ultimate. “So, what do you do? For work, I mean,” Red asked.

Ian had decided not to learn their names—except for Kimmie. He figured the less he knew, the better. “I’m a treasure hunter.”

“Ooh, is that like a bounty hunter?” Raven asked.

Holding back the eye roll, Ian said, “Yes.”
And yet nothing like it at all.
He’d get nowhere if he acted his age.

The women giggled and downed a Tequila shot—their drink of choice, according to Red.

The more Blondie stared into Ian’s eyes, the more Taylor’s face appeared in his mind. He shook his head, trying to get the image to go away. “How about another round?”
Or ten.

The women whooped again and spun, picking a whiskey shot and beer chaser for their next venture. As they waited to be served, Ian chatted up each one of them.

All in one sorority.

All having just turned twenty-one that year.

All looking for someone to help them after they ensured Kimmie reached her fully drunk state.

Red sauntered up, ran a finger down Ian’s cheek and to his chest, where his button down had somehow been unfastened further. “There’s something else our friend wants to do for her twenty-first.”