Love you to Death (2 page)

Maybe it already had.

Elise had to get in her house and find out.

The front porch was littered with springtime lawn ornaments and pots of flowers—both fake and dead. A dozen wind chimes hung in stillness, though Elise wished for a wind to kick them up and cover any noise she was making. A blown-glass globe sat in a wrought-iron stand right next to the door. The base of it was mosaic tile depicting a stylized peacock—Ashley’s design, no doubt.

Elise tipped the stand, shined her flashlight under it and took a look, praying she’d find a key. No luck. She searched under all the flowerpots, sculpted frogs, lawn gnomes, and even the doormat with no success. Her flashlight beam bobbed over the porch, glinting off the wind chimes.

Frustration and a growing sense of panic gripped Elise hard. A cold sweat formed along her spine, making her shiver in the cool May air.

She was going to have to break a window. There was no help for it. She couldn’t stand around out here in the dark when the key to her sister’s disappearance might be right inside that door.

Elise clamped the slim flashlight in her mouth to hold it while she took off her jacket. She could use the fabric to mute the sound of breaking glass and hope the neighbors were all heavy sleepers.

She tipped her head back a bit when she slid the jacket off, and the silhouette of a key appeared on the porch ceiling. Elise followed the beam of light to the small wind chime dangling near the door. It was made from a variety of household bits, including a tarnished knife, a can opener, chunks of broken colored glass, and wire. Everything was painted in lazy swirls of color that Elise instantly recognized as Ashley’s work. Even the key was painted.

Surely, Ashley wouldn’t be foolish enough to dangle the key to her front door in plain sight? It had to be an old key.

Then again, this was Ashley. If the key was at hand when she went into that creative zone, she wouldn’t have thought twice about using it.

Being careful not to make a racket, Elise gripped the wind chime in her hand to keep everything quiet and eased it from the suspended hook. She separated the key from the rest of the piece, then slid it into the lock. It went in easily and turned without effort.

Ashley’s front door swung open and Elise stood there, dreading that first step. If she failed to find her sister now, it was completely her fault. She couldn’t blame it on a locked door.

Part of her was terrified she wouldn’t be able to find Ashley. The rest of her was terrified that she would, and that it would be too late.

Pretend you’re not afraid.
That’s what she always did whenever the story she was covering got dangerous. She’d straighten her spine, pretend she wasn’t queasy and shaking, and move on. As a freelance reporter, she had no choice but to move on or go hungry, so she moved. But the stakes were higher this time. Her sweet, too-trusting sister needed her, and she couldn’t fail.

Elise stepped inside.

Trent Brady’s flighty neighbor was out of town again, but someone was creeping around her house all the same. At three in the morning.

Cop instincts he’d tried for two years to kill came roaring back to life, making him reach for his gun. Of course, there was no weapon strapped to his hip, nor would there ever be again, but it was a reflex he hadn’t been able to stifle.

Trent set the sleeping pill he’d been about to swallow aside. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. They never did.

Through his kitchen window, he watched the intruder’s flashlight beam dart around clumsily. Whoever he was, this guy was a novice. Judging from what Trent could see of his build, he was young, too—just the right age to learn a lesson.

A slow smile pulled at Trent’s mouth. It had been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of educating a youngster. He’d almost forgotten how much he missed it. Almost.

It took him only a few seconds to slide on a pair of jeans and shove his feet into grass-stained sneakers. He was out the door before he realized he hadn’t called the police. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten that it was no longer his duty to deal with this. No longer his right.

Trent turned around, made a quick call to his buddy on the Haven police force, but refused to wait for him to show up. Little Ashley McBride was a sweet kid, even if she couldn’t remember what day of the week it was. He wasn’t going to let some punk trash her place when he was able to stop it.

The fact that said punk might have a gun, when Trent didn’t, didn’t even slow him down. Maybe an action like that deserved some careful thought, but he’d do that later. Much, much later. His life was bad enough without adding a bunch of psychobabble crap on top of it.

He hurried across the street and slipped silently onto the porch. The front door was closed again, but a slow turn of the knob told him it wasn’t locked.

Amateur.

Trent eased inside, listening for which way the intruder had gone. Ashley’s house was an artistic mess, with canvases stacked everywhere. Every horizontal surface was covered with clothes, paints, brushes, or papers. There was more furniture in her living room than there was in his entire house, leaving only a narrow walkway open for him to navigate.

This whole neighborhood had been built in the housing boom after World War II, and Ashley’s house was an exact copy of his own, so he had the advantage of knowing the layout, even in the dark.

A low scraping sound came from the back bedroom, like someone was rummaging around in there.

Trent’s body flooded with adrenaline and he slid into that comfortable space where each heartbeat stretched out for an eternity. The rush of strength and clarity nearly made him giddy, and he realized it had been way too long since the adrenaline junkie in him had gotten his fix.

The streetlights outside shone through the front window, outlining the entrance to the hallway. His eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that he could see vague shapes, but little else. He crept toward the bedroom where he’d heard the sound.

A thud followed by a muffled hiss of pain came from the back room. Trent eased through the doorway just as the intruder stood up from a crouch.

He was only three feet in front of Trent, and a sudden rush of instinct took over Trent’s body as he moved. He grabbed the kid and shoved him hard against the door. He used his body to pin the kid there while he took control of the intruder’s hands and any weapon he might hold.

The kid let out a high shriek of fear that was cut off too soon, like he’d run out of air. He struggled, fighting Trent’s hold, but wasn’t strong enough for it to do any good. Those struggles did, however, press the intruder’s breasts against Trent’s bare ribs.

Breasts?
For a brief second, shock rolled through him, freezing him in place. The intruder was a woman, not a kid. Not that it mattered. She was still breaking the law.

She used his moment of surprise to wrench one hand free of his grip and slammed her fist into the side of his head. The blow rattled his cage, but it didn’t slow him down. He recaptured her hand and leaned his weight into her harder, crushing her ribs.

Her knee came up toward his groin, but they were too close for the blow to have any force behind it. She kind of grazed his thigh, but it was enough to make him want to prevent it from happening again, just in case she got a lucky shot.

He spun her around, twisting her arms behind her, and leaned his weight against her. She tried to head-butt him, but the top of her head only came up to his chin, so all she hit was his collarbone. Her pale hair was tucked into a bun, which cushioned the blow. Trent doubted he’d even have a bruise.

He had to give her an A for effort, though. She was completely outclassed, apparently weaponless and alone, and yet she kept fighting.

Her foot slammed down hard on his toes, and pain screamed up his leg.

“Bad move,” he told her as he wrenched her arms higher, putting enough force on her shoulders to make a grown man cry.

She let out a willowy gasp of pain that was so feminine it made Trent feel like an ass for hurting her. Not that she would have thought twice about hurting him, given the chance.

He let up, releasing some of the pressure, which only proved how soft he’d gotten over the past two years. Soft and useless.

“Let me go,” she ordered. The fact that her words came out as a breathless whisper robbed them of some authority.

“Not gonna happen. Who are you, and why are you here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you in my sister’s house?”

“Sister?” Oh, crap. Not good.

Trent turned her around, a lot more gently this time, and looked at her face. It was hard to see in the dim light, but the flashlight she’d dropped created enough of an ambient glow that he could make out the basics. Her mouth wasn’t quite as full and pouty as Ashley’s, but she had the same dainty chin and nose, the same pale eyes and hair.

“What’s your name?” he asked her, just to be sure.

“Elise McBride.”

Trent knew that name. He’d heard Ashley talk about the revered Elise often enough he remembered it. He let go of her like she’d sprouted quills. “I’m so sorry,” he rushed to tell her. “I’m Ashley’s neighbor and I thought you were breaking into her house. Did I hurt you?”

She rubbed one shoulder, sagging against the door, breathing too fast. “I’m fine. Heck of a neighborhood watch you have here.”

Well, hell. He’d gone and fucked up good this time. And the sirens in the distance told him that in a few minutes his humiliation would be complete.

Elise couldn’t stop shaking. For a moment there, she was sure that she was about to witness what had happened to her sister, up close and personal. She’d thought she was going to die, that the man who had complete control over her body was going to kill her.

And there hadn’t been a thing she could do to stop him.

Suddenly, Ashley’s disappearance became even more sinister. In that one brief moment of helplessness, Elise had gone from hoping to find her sister safe and sound to knowing that she was fooling herself indulging in that kind of fantasy.

Bad things happened. That nagging itch in her gut told her that Ashley had been a victim of one of them.

Her whole body trembled, and it was still a little hard to breathe. Her lungs felt flat, heavy. The surge of adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her sagging and queasy in its wake.

Sirens outside grew louder, but she couldn’t bring herself to face the police just yet. She had to get a grip and regain her composure. She didn’t want to look like a wilting flower when she demanded that they help her find Ashley.

Elise straightened her shoulders, which ached almost as much as the back of her head. Whatever the hell this guy was made of, it was tough stuff. She’d nearly imploded her skull trying to bash him with it.

Not the smartest thing she’d ever done.

“Sit down a minute,” he said, urging her toward Ashley’s bed. “You look a little shaky.”

Elise sat down, grateful to have the solid surface supporting her trembling legs. “Who are you?” she asked him.

“Trent Brady. I live across the street.”

The name was familiar, and it took her only a second to place him. “Ah. So you’re Ashley’s ‘Hot Lawn Guy.’” She’d talked about him so often that Elise was beginning to wonder if Ashley was making him up. No guy was as helpful as the Hot Lawn Guy without wanting something in return.

“Uh. I mow her lawn, yeah.”

“And fix her car, and get rid of wasp’s nests, and repair broken garbage disposals. She talks about you all the time.”

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, as if she’d embarrassed him. “Ashley likes to talk.”

Elise couldn’t make out much in the dark, but she’d felt enough of Trent’s body pressed against hers to know the guy was in great shape. He was helpful, and apparently modest about it.

It was a wonder Ashley hadn’t fallen in love with him at least three times by now, but she’d always said he wasn’t her type. Maybe he was gay.

He reached over to flip on the light.

“Don’t bother. I already tried. The fuse must be blown.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “As soon as the police get here and I sort things out.”

Elise heaved out a weary sigh, dreading the job she had to do now. “They were on my list of people to talk to anyway. I guess now is as good a time as any.”

Suspicion tightened his voice. “Talk to about what?”

“About my missing sister and what they’re doing to find her.”

E
lise met the officer at the door to her sister’s home. He was in his fifties, she guessed, with short salt-and-pepper hair and a matching mustache. Although he wasn’t wearing his uniform, his car bore the emblem of the Haven Police Department.

He looked her up and down briefly, then his gaze went over her shoulder to the man standing just behind her. “Morning, Trent,” he said. “Wanna tell me what’s going on here?”

“Sorry, Bob. False alarm. I thought she was a kid out for a little B and E.”

Officer Bob’s mouth turned down at the corners as he looked at her. “Did you break in?”