Just Evil (29 page)

The killers wore gloves and dark clothing. She could see
that clearly now as she watched one of them pick up a knife, exchange words
with her cohort before moving out of the scene while the other one stayed back,
started shoving bullets into a handgun.

But then the scene shifted to the bedroom. She tried to
warn the people what was about to happen. She shouted at them to wake up, to
move, to get out of the house before it was too late.

But soon the shadow fell across the bed. And no matter
how loud she screamed, the sleeping couple didn’t wake up, didn’t move.

She heard a string of obscenities, shouting, and an ugly
argument. There was something familiar about that, too, as she listened, and
she knew the commotion would wake up the woman.

She tried to scream they were coming, to get out but they
didn’t hear her.

Sure enough, when the gunman saw the woman start to sit
up, the gunman took aim and fired, hitting the woman solidly in the chest. She
watched as the gunman fired again, this time hitting the man in the middle of
his tanned, weathered forehead, just like before.

The couple was dead, nothing changed, and nothing would
ever change.

Kit woke clutching her throat, trying to breathe. She had to
fight for every breath, had to have air. She tried to scream.

Her squirming woke Jake, who only saw that Kit was having
difficulty catching her breath. He quickly tried to calm her down by rubbing
her back and shoulders, trying to get her to relax her muscles long enough to
slow down her need for air. As he did so, he caught the time on the digital
clock beside the bed. Three minutes after three. “I’ll be damned.” When he met
Kit’s eyes, he said simply, “You had another dream.”

Jake cradled her in his arms, gently rocked her, and started
rhythmically rubbing her chest, talking to her. “Relax, just relax; there you
go. Calm down. Catch your breath, nice and easy. Nice and easy; breathe,
calmer, calmer; come on, breathe out. Breathe in, slowly.”

He started massaging her neck and shoulders. When her
breathing returned to normal, he helped her sit up. But she was still shaking
as if cold. The room felt warm to Jake, not chilly enough for a blanket, but
Kit acted as if it were twenty degrees below and colder than a night in Alaska.
He got up and grabbed a blanket from inside the box at the foot of the bed. He
threw the blanket around her, wrapping her up in his arms. Her body shook with
little spasms, and she made little hiccupping noises in her throat.

“How about some water?” he asked.

She shook her head and squeaked out, “Don’t. Leave. Me.
Alone.”

He climbed back in bed, crawling over her legs and Pepper.
She rested her head on his shoulder, and they both leaned back against the
headboard. They stayed like that until Kit closed her eyes, and he laid her
back down on her pillow.

Jake finally drifted off.

But Kit never really got back into a sound sleep. Even with
Jake there, she tossed and turned. Her mind raced with a dozen questions.
That
couple...who were they?
It had happened a long time ago. But now, she knew
without doubt why the killers seemed so familiar.

And how did she feel about the fact that both her parents
had lied to her, lied about a fake marriage, a fake divorce. Why would they do
that? What had brought the two of them together in the first place? She
wondered if Gloria might be able to offer up any clue as to why.

After some time, she looked at the clock on the nightstand;
it was four-fifteen. She might as well get up and do the baking. But when she
turned over, Jake was sleeping on his back. Her breath caught in her throat
just realizing she had him in her bed.

The longing hit her.

She weighed her options. She could crawl out of bed, start
her day, let him sleep in peace, or she could play. For a woman used to
sleeping alone, Kit decided to take advantage of the situation.

With the tips of her fingers she followed the outline of his
mouth. He didn’t so much as stir. She put her lips to his and gave him a
tugging kiss. Other than moving his lips in and out in a kind of sucking
motion, he kept right on sleeping. She nuzzled his neck, placed tender little
kisses in strategic places on his chest, and then moved down to his belly
hoping he’d wake up enough to take her in his arms. But all he did was utter a
half-hearted little moan. She lightly traced around his lips with her tongue,
slowly working her way into his mouth little by little.

Suddenly, he reversed their positions. More awake, he
covered her mouth. “You’re killing me, woman. You know that, don’t you?”

She wrapped her arms around his body. “Killing you is
counterproductive. Let me show you what I had in mind.”

As it got lighter outside, Kit stayed curled up next to him
with her rear end snuggled up against his stomach. They’d had one incredible
night after one incredible afternoon, and he still wanted more. He wouldn’t
mind waking up like this for the rest of his life.

Beside him, Kit stirred. Strands of hair fell across her
face. With his fingertips, he pushed them back before running a hand down the
length of her body, coming full circle to rest his hand on her breast, rubbing
a thumb against her nipple. 

Without turning over to face him, Kit responded to his touch
by nestling into his body. “Why do you suppose they call it sleeping together
when that’s the last thing you get to do?”

“We spent the night together.”

“There you go.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining at four o’clock.”

She shook her head. “No; as I recall, that was you.”

“I came through, didn’t I?”

“But I did all the work.”

“It was your turn to do all the work.”

“Really? We take turns?” She asked, as she burrowed her
bottom into his stomach, still facing the opposite way.

“Oh yeah, we take turns. That must mean...” As he drew back
her hair to nuzzle her neck, Jake noticed a small rounded scar on the upper
portion of her left shoulder where the shoulder ends, just before the arm
begins. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he’d been exploring more
interesting aspects of her body. The moment he touched the indentation, he felt
her tense. It was smaller than the size of a dime, but he could feel the mark
it had left on her otherwise perfect skin. He gently rubbed the surrounding
area, feeling the round groove with the tips of his fingers and wanted to know,
“Where’d you get this scar on your shoulder?”

She could lie to him, make something up about falling out of
a tree when she was little, or say that she’d had some kind of nasty accident.
But she hated the idea of outright lying. And what if Gloria had already told
him? But then if he already knew, why would he have to ask?

To Jake, the scar looked like a punched-out, exit wound from
a bullet. Then to satisfy his curiosity, he turned her slightly to see if there
was a matching one on the front. Sure enough, there was a much smaller indented
mark on her upper arm. “I don’t know much about bullet wounds, Kit, but I’d say
if I didn’t know better this looks like a gunshot wound. How’d you get that?”

Without explanation, she broke from his arms, flopped over
on her stomach, rolled her pillow up in a ball, and hid her hands underneath.
“It’s just a scar from a long time ago. It isn’t important.”

Rolling almost on top of her, he draped his arm over her
back, rubbed it before stroking her hair. Her reaction told him there was more
to it. He gently prodded, “Tell me about the scar, Kit. How’d you get it?”

She didn’t answer right away. With her eyes closed, she
pretended to drift back to sleep. But then barely audible, she said into her
pillow in a soft voice, “It’s a bullet wound.”

Stunned, he felt his own body tense, felt his anger rise, so
much so that he was grateful she wasn’t looking at him. Why had he asked if he
hadn’t been prepared for the answer?

“Honey, who shot you?” But even as he asked, he felt the raw
knowledge close up around him.

He moved her hair out of the way, looked at the scar again,
and felt the damage. From its size, he guessed it came from a small handgun,
maybe a .22 caliber.

“Alana. It happened when I was twelve. She paid a doctor to
come to the house to treat me so that she wouldn’t have to take me to the
hospital. Hospitals ask questions about gunshot wounds, especially when you
bring in your twelve-year-old daughter. I thought Gloria might have mentioned
it.”
Push the memory away
.
Don’t let it ruin this perfect morning
after such a great night.

Jake swore. Gloria knew? Of course she did. Mention it? Once
again anger rose within him. No, Gloria had conveniently left out the fact that
Alana had shot her own twelve-year-old daughter. There had been no mention of it;
even that day in his office when he had pointblank asked Gloria about Kit’s
abuse. Why hadn’t she come clean about it then?

With his fingers, he pulled back strands of hair from her
face. He got her to turn over and took her into his arms, cradling her to his
chest. “Come here honey; let me hold you. Just let me hold you. I can’t believe
she hurt you like that.” He leaned his back up against the headboard and held
her in his arms, as much for himself as for her.

His mind raced with questions, but for the moment he kept
them to himself. He tried to imagine what sort of circumstance might produce
that kind of violent outburst even from Alana. He knew firsthand the woman had
a vicious temper, had seen it in action on more than one occasion, but how
could a mother shoot her own twelve-year-old child?

She’d been left in that environment too long. Knowing what
she must have endured tore something apart inside him. What else had she gone
through? And the sudden thought that there might’ve been more, broke his heart
as he remembered that she’d wanted his attention as a kid, that he’d done
everything he could to ignore her on every level. Suddenly, it hit him that
Gloria and Morty’s move from Maine had come soon after the shooting.

No wonder Kit hadn’t cried at the woman’s funeral; why would
she? Remembering how the two detectives had used that to their advantage, and might
still use it, burned him.

It felt so good to have Jake’s arms wrapped around her,
holding her, keeping the memory at bay. She felt at peace. But she noticed he’d
grown silent. The silence was more than she could take. Finally, she said
flatly, “Jake, don’t pity me. It isn’t necessary to feel sorry for me. That’s
the last thing I want. It was a long time ago and I’ve put it behind me.” Even
though it wasn’t completely true, she wanted him to believe she’d done just that.

“Was it an accident?”

Kit shook her head, but stayed quiet.

“You aren’t going to tell me what happened, are you?”

“I just can’t talk about it, okay? I don’t want to go over
the morbid details. I’ve tried to put that night out of my mind. And this is
nice. The last thing I want to talk about right now is that night. I don’t want
to ruin this.”

He stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “Okay. I’ll leave
it for now. But I’m not going anywhere; when you want to talk about it, tell me
what happened, I’ll be right here. And just so you know, I don’t pity you,
honey. I care about you. I want to help. How can I make it better?”

All he could do now was hold her or listen to her when she
wanted or needed to talk. He stared into her eyes and saw that distant sad look
form there in the liquid pools. How would he ever get that sad look out of
those beautiful green eyes? 

He bent his head down, moved her hair out of the way, kissed
the scar and promised, “I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again...ever.”

What was he saying? Didn’t he want to bolt, run the opposite
way, and get as far away from her as he could? What would he do when he found
out all of it?

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She pushed the memories to the back of her brain. “That it
was a great night last night.”

“And the morning will be even better.”

To prove it, he started working his way down her body with
his mouth.

Several hours later, Ginger knocked on the door of the
conference room in the middle of Jake’s Friday morning staff meeting, telling
him, “I’ve got a Baylee Scott on the phone; she says it’s urgent, insists that
I tell you it’s about Kit.” Jake was up out of the chair in a burst of
movement, surprising everyone sitting around the conference table, except maybe
Dylan.

Dylan watched Jake head out the door like a shot, heard him
tell Ginger that he’d take the call in his office, and wondered just how deep
his friend’s feelings for Kit Griffin ran. After their heated exchange the
other day, it was apparent he couldn’t talk any sense into him.

Dylan didn’t want to see his friend suffer again at the
hands of another greedy viper. So he’d keep an eye out for his friend. No woman
was going to get her hooks in Jake for his money again if he could help it.

In his office, Jake picked up the phone, noting Baylee
didn’t mince words. “Couple of minutes ago Kit headed out of here after getting
a call from Connor Boyd. It seems someone broke into Alana’s house, messed it
up pretty badly, from what I gather, and Boyd convinced her she should go in
and check the place out. Even got the all-clear from Holloway to go back inside
and look around.”

Baylee took a deep breath. “Before you say anything, I tried
to talk her out of going. When I couldn’t, I offered to go with her if she’d
just wait until Sarah woke up. But she decided to go alone. I didn’t speak to
Connor myself, but whatever he said convinced her to head over there by
herself. I know she told you about her childhood, but I don’t think you
know—everything about her past. I just don’t... I...don’t think she should go
back in there alone. God, I’m not even sure she can, Jake. But she told me it
was time she faced her demons. And I guess, she’s trying to do that by going
back. I think it’s a mistake. I’m not sure she’s strong enough to face that
house, let alone face her demons.”