Skin Heat (32 page)

She laid the table, talking about her day at work. They ate. So normal. So unlikely. He tuned her out, listening to the old man’s whispers. But when she mentioned his mother, she gained his full attention.

“I still haven’t met her,” she said, frowning. “I know you said she hates the idea of us being together, but it’s been so long. Does she really dislike me that much, without ever meeting me?”

Anger lashed its dragon tail inside him. “We’ve been over this before. You can’t meet her. She’s never going to give her blessing. I . . . I don’t have a normal family like you. If you want to be with me, you have to accept that.”

“But . . . we talked about getting married. You want to do that without giving me a chance to win your mother over? She’ll like me, I promise. Everyone does.”

“I said
no
,” he snarled, and the old man’s voice came out.

Her fear rose up like a ghost in her face, shadowing the way his mother had always looked. Always. Always. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see it, but the old man was still looking. Smiling. Women only understood one way: the belt or the boot. He’d teach her respect.

No.
But he’d swung around the other side of the one-way door with a mirror in it. He could watch, but he couldn’t do more than pound his fists and scream while his body moved. Her eyes went wide when his fist balled up. Blood stained her pretty mouth. She tried to flee, scrambling away on hands and knees.

As he had always done, when things were darkest, he closed his eyes and began to sing.
Don’t you laugh when the hearse goes by ... cause you might be the next to die. They’ll wrap you up in a clean white sheet . . . and put you down about six feet deep. They put you into a wooden box . . . and cover you over with earth and rocks.

He did not hear what happened next.

It had taken longer than Zeke had expected. It was almost Christmas now, but when he heard the vehicle coming down the road a few miles distant, Zeke froze. He remembered the sound of it, and for an instant, he considered running. They’d never find him in the wild, but if he did that, then he said good-bye to his humanity. Out there, he would lose himself faster.

It might happen anyway. He’d noticed without Neva around, he cared less how he appeared to others, and instinct fought with logic constantly. Little by little, he was forgetting what it meant to be human. So maybe this was for the best. Maybe he’d been wrong to think he could live a normal life, after what had been done to him, and he belonged in a cell, now. Even if he hadn’t done this, he might do something worse down the line. He remembered the deer and his bloody mouth and a shudder rolled through him.

Going out on the porch, he watched for those who would lock him up. When the car rounded the final curve to his house, he saw Hebert behind the wheel. Zeke felt remarkably unmoved. He did wake up in places he shouldn’t be. Even he couldn’t swear on a Bible he hadn’t done this, so he couldn’t feign surprise as the agent eased out of his car and climbed the steps to join him on the porch.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” Though the guy kept his tone friendly enough, Zeke knew if he said no, they’d go downtown and make it official.

So he turned and opened the front door. “Sure. Come on in.”

He didn’t bother making a tray of coffee like Neva, what seemed so long ago now. There was no altering the purpose of this visit. He dropped down into the armchair and propped his ankle on his knee, waiting for the accusations to start.

Hebert showed more interest in the house this time around, too. The agent moved around, examining the picture books on his coffee table. That would be fun to explain. He’d bought them trying to see if he could puzzle out simple words, if they were set apart from others and written in big letters. But he could tell the agent found children’s books in the home of a single man more than mildly creepy.

Eventually he sat down on the edge of the sofa and clasped his hands between his knees. Sitting so, he could reach his weapon fairly easily, so Zeke read readiness in case he tried to make a move. At that, he almost smiled. If he wanted to kill the guy, he’d never see it coming. Good thing for Hebert he didn’t.

“We know you made the anonymous call,” he said quietly. “When I asked the clerk about it, she remembered your truck because it was loud and old. She puts you there at the time the call was made from the payphone outside.”

Even he knew if they had a case, he wouldn’t be chatting with Hebert in his living room. He didn’t like the breach of his territory, but he would like being confined even less. Remembered horror rolled through him. “And?”

“That means you’re the one who found the girl.”

He nodded. “So?”

“Why didn’t you come forward in a more forthright fashion?”

“Didn’t want to get involved.”

“Or maybe you wanted to make sure people found and admired your work. She was the prettiest one yet, wasn’t she?”

“Didn’t do that to her,” he said, though by the flicker of Hebert’s expression he found the denial unlikely. “Knew after the first girl, you’d see me finding the second as more than bad luck.”

“Explain it to me then. How did you come to find them both?”

That would take a case of beer and eight solid hours of talking. It wasn’t like he could just go get a coyote for Agent Hebert, either, and even if he did, the man wouldn’t take it as proof of anything. Unlike Neva, he had no reason to trust Zeke and every reason to want to lock him up and throw away the key.

“Can’t.”

“I see. Mind if I take a look around?”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

There wasn’t a secret killing room on the premises. The agent could dig around to his heart’s content, and the only thing he’d find would be the bottle of shampoo Neva had left behind. Zeke didn’t have the heart to throw it away; sometimes he popped the top and breathed it in, missing her until his hands shook.

Hebert took him at his word and poked around for a good fifteen minutes. Zeke heard him rifling through drawers, though he’d tried to be quiet about it. If movies could be believed, he expected to find souvenirs like pictures, shoes, locks of hair, or chunks of polished bone. If the guy thought him guilty, it was a wonder he was brave enough to stay out here alone, having spoken of his suspicions. Maybe he had a death wish.

The agent smelled angry by the time he came back to the parlor, angry and frustrated. Those scents were sharp and spicy, like jalapeño peppers and thyme. “Thanks for your cooperation.”

Maybe it wasn’t smart but he couldn’t resist asking, “Find anything good?”

Hebert responded with a soft, cruel laugh. “By the way, I think I’ve discovered the connection between victims. We already knew they all had brown eyes and brown hair. But it seems they all wore a uniform, too. We have a beautician, a dental hygienist, a registered nurse, and a cafeteria worker. Who else do you know that fits that profile?” He paused, visibly enjoying Zeke’s distress. “But you probably already knew, didn’t you? I mean you tried to snatch her already. After she left you.”

And the chill of that fear sank straight into his bones. Zeke scrambled for his keys. It didn’t matter that she hated him and she wanted nothing to do with him. He had to keep her safe. Maybe Hebert had planted that seed just to see what he would do. Maybe the guy had been lying, or this was a trap. But he couldn’t take chances with her safety.

This meant he’d have to brave Harper Court again—and her parents, as well as that smug son of a bitch who’d put his hands all over her. The anger rose up, and the beast part of him roared in outrage. He flattened it, and the creature responded to his dominance as it never had before. It quieted, acknowledging him as master. Though it was a part of him, he ruled it, and not the other way around.

The truck took three tries before it started. Probably wouldn’t run much longer. But as long as it got him where he needed to go this time—and faster than he could run—he’d be grateful to the thing forever. No matter how much he hated driving. The old fear kicked in as soon as the engine caught.

Sweat beaded his brow but he ignored that, as he ignored the beast whimpering in his head. Zeke stomped on the gas, spitting gravel behind his rear wheels.
She’s probably safe,
he told himself.
Hebert was fucking with you. Pushing your buttons. He was just mad he didn’t find anything. He’s hoping you’ll lead him somewhere. Your killing field.

But he couldn’t quiet the animal terror swamping him in waves. It didn’t come from the unnatural speed at which he hurtled down the rough, country road. Twilight now. The trees were spindly skeletons reaching for the car. Too fast. He shouldn’t be moving this fast. It made him sick especially with his own hands on the wheel.

He’d find her safe and sound at Harper Court, eating her dinner and angry to see him turn up unexpectedly. Maybe she’d yell at him some more for being a coward, and that would be fine, too.
Just, please, let her be there. Keep her safe.

So pale it glowed against the night sky, the house was so beautiful it shook him, with its manicured lawn and graceful columns.
This
was where she came from. He’d known that all along, and yet he’d dared put his hands on her. How crazy.

It took all his courage to climb out of the truck with its awful rusted side panels and the engine that kept knocking until he pounded with both fists on the front door. Long moments passed—and he died repeatedly in his head—until the housekeeper tugged the door open. She regarded him with frosty disapproval.

“All maintenance work is done through the back door,” she scolded, “and we have no repairs scheduled today. It’s nearly supper time!”

“Neva home? She all right?” The beast whined, cowering from the images in his head. Their woman dead in the woods, eternally cold and pale . . . strangled by some monster’s hands.

“Young man, I demand you leave at once! You are hardly the sort of person Ms. Harper would—”

“What’s all the fuss?” a familiar voice asked.

Zeke recognized the sound of Lillian Harper’s voice and the smell of her perfume long before she came into sight. He pushed past the startled housekeeper and strode into the foyer, his breath coming in ragged gulps. How he wanted to see Neva following behind her mother, but she wasn’t there. Confusion and ire scented the room, black pepper mixed with lime.

“Neva?” He spun in a slow circle as if they could produce her from thin air.

“She said she wasn’t coming straight home from work tonight,” Lillian said slowly. “I believe she meant to help decorate Julie’s place for the Christmas party.”

He was finding it hard to form words. The beast wanted to run and to fight, preferably both. It wanted an enemy to maul for making it feel this way. So did he.

“Call. Please.”

“Trudy, you may go. I’ll attend to Mr. Noble.”

The housekeeper stomped off, muttering about men with the manners of wild pigs. He ignored her as Mrs. Harper led the way to a formal study and picked up a cordless phone. She dialed, her scent wafting in layers of muted alarm mixed with expensive perfume. The phone rang for a very long time; he listened to each one, and then Neva’s voice mail kicked in. He heard each word as if she whispered in his ear.

Can’t.
Why did that word sound so terrifying?

“I’ll try Julie’s place.”

But he already knew it was pointless. Her mother got the answering machine and now her alarm ripened into fright. Her hands clenched around the handset.

“What should we do?” Mrs. Harper asked him. “I trust you have reason to fear for her. What do we
do
?”

He shrugged. The beast surged again and this time he let it lead.

“I have to call my husband. He . . . he’ll know what to do. No, not again. Not like this. Not Geneva.” Mrs. Harper trembled on the edge of a complete breakdown.

They were such small signs of something out of place, and it was too soon for such a reaction. The police might say they had to wait twenty-four hours before she officially became missing. And most times, those twenty-fours would make the difference between life and death. Then again, Sheriff Raleigh answered to the Harpers for his election money, so he might mount a search right this minute. That was their business.

If he didn’t act now, he would lose her for good. No second chances. No, maybe-someday-when-I-get-my-shit-together.
Forever
. He couldn’t face that—life without her would be unbearable. If he had to face an endless death march of days, knowing she was dead and rotten in the ground, then he’d take his mother’s road.