The Dead List (32 page)

Breaking contact long enough to pull back, I grabbed his shirt, and he lifted his arms, helping me pull it off. My gaze traveled over the golden skin of his shoulders, across his chest, and the ridges of his stomach.

Wow. Me likie.

When I dragged my eyes back up, he grinned at me.

I pressed against him, practically climbing inside him. His skin was so much warmer than mine, tighter. I reached a hand up, threading my fingers through his hair. Heat swept through my veins, and if I could stay here with him, like this, I could almost believe that we were two normal teenagers facing everyday stuff and that was all.

This kiss deepened, his lips parted, and I could taste him. A deep, sexy sound rumbled up from his chest, and his other hand wrapped around the back of my head.

“Ella.” His voice was soft against my lips.

“Don’t,” I whispered as I shifted my hips closer to his.

His hand tightened on the back of my head and then he rolled. I was on my back in a second, and the feel of his body pressing against mine was a shock to my system.

My stomach dipped in a pleasant way, but then he started to pull back. An almost desperate edge rode me. I gripped his arms, holding him close, wanting to get lost in the feelings.

Our eyes locked. His eyes were like the ocean in the morning, glittering under the sunlight. A breath caught in my throat. The intensity in his stare… it almost undid me. Jensen’s mouth crashed into mine, his kiss sweeping me up into that place I wanted to be, where there was only us. Our legs tangled together. His hands skimmed over my body and we kissed like we’d never done it before, kissing like it might be our last, and my breath caught again. I trailed my hand down his chest, the tips of my fingers traveling over the dips and planes of his stomach. I reached the button on his jeans and went for it.

He caught my wrist. “Ella…”

“What?” I tried again, but he pulled my hand away. Rolling his weight onto one arm that trembled, he pressed my hand against the center of his chest. His heart pounded under my palm. “Jensen?”

“Not like this,” he said, lifting himself.

He was speaking a different language. “What?”

Jensen closed his eyes. “We can’t do this.”

Damn if we couldn’t. “Why?”

He groaned. “I’m going to be asking myself that over and over again I’m sure.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “So?”

“So…” He made another deep sound as he let go of my hand. I kept it there because I liked feeling the steady pound. He smoothed his thumb along my jaw. “It’s really simple.”

“It doesn’t seem simple. I want this, but you—”

“Oh, I totally want this. I’ve wanted this for a while. And I want it more than anything else. God, I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He shook his head. “But this isn’t right. Not like this, because you’re the first girl I ever fell in love with, Ella, and you’ll be the last girl I ever love.”

I tried to take a breath, but it got stuck in the ball of emotion that suddenly formed in my throat. My hand curled against his chest as I stared into his eyes. “You… you love me?”

He rested his forehead against mine, dragging in a deep breath. “Yeah, and then some.”

Tears rushed to my eyes, and I tilted my head, kissing him with everything that was in me. “I love you, too. I don’t think I ever stopped. I’m
in
love with you.”

Jensen shuddered. “Hearing that…” His voice was gruff, raw. “There’re no words—hey, why are you crying?”

“I’m sorry.” I laughed, feeling stupid. “They’re not unhappy tears. I promise.”

He caught the tears with his lips, and then he rolled onto his side, gathering me close. I snuggled up, closing my eyes. My cheeks felt warm, so did the rest of me. I smiled as he dropped little kisses across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose. We stayed like that for a while, talking about college, about what classes we wanted, and how we planned to make sure we shared enough.

We planned.

We kissed.

We explored one another slowly. He traced the curve of my stomach, the strap of my bra, and the indent of my navel. I did the same, fascinated by how his skin could be so soft and hard at the same time.

We didn’t go any farther than that and it was exactly what I—what we—needed. The promise of tomorrow, the belief that it would be there, and we would have time to go farther.

“We need to get heading over to your dad’s,” he said, finally.

Sitting up, I handed over his shirt, and he helped me into mine, which took oddly longer than if I was just putting it on myself. But, I wasn’t complaining.

We walked downstairs, hand and hand, stopping at the front door for a quick kiss that caught me by surprise. When he pulled away, I wanted to hold onto him. The idea of him coming back here, where I wouldn’t know if he was okay or not, was going to drive me insane.

Between worrying about him, about Heidi and my mom, and Gavin, and Linds’ I was going to develop a stomach ulcer on steroids.

Jensen flipped on the porch light, and we stepped outside. The night had grown chilly and the breeze cut through my thin shirt. I went down the porch steps, and the feeling came out of nowhere once more. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I looked around, sucking in a gasp as my gaze fell on the black walnut tree.

A swift curse from behind alerted me to the fact that Jensen had seen what I saw. Hanging from the tree was another damn dummy—clown mask and wig. It was too dark to tell the color of the wig.

“This is…” I shook my head. All the happiness of the moments spent entwined vanished like a smack in a face.

Jensen edged around me, going down a step. “It wasn’t there when we came in.”

Anger rose in me, hot and bright. It swelled alongside the fear and confusion. And I was tired of being afraid. I didn’t care if he was hiding somewhere, watching, and getting off on this. I pushed past Jensen and stalked up to the dummy.

“Ella!”

Wind whipped my hair around my face as I reached up, grasping the edge of the clown mask. The plastic was cool under my fingertips. Slipping my fingers into the gap of the wide smile, I pulled as hard as I could. The mask didn’t give for a moment, and then the strap holding it in place snapped.

“Holy shit!” shouted Jensen as I stumbled back. Suddenly he was behind me, his hands on my shoulders, yanking me backward.

The mask slipped from my fingers. “Oh God,” I whispered.

What hung from the tree wasn’t a prop or a dummy. It wasn’t fake.

The glassy dark eyes were real. The slack jaw familiar. It was Brock.

Brock’s body swayed back and forth, and I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing, that it was truly him hanging up there, and the clown mask on the ground, among the damp grass and dirt.

I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth, swallowing hard. I told myself to look away, but I couldn’t.

“We need to call the police,” Jensen said, and his voice sounded so far away.

I murmured something along the lines of agreeing, but both of our phones were in his truck. My feet were rooted to the ground.

“Come with me,” Jensen urged, and when I didn’t move, he took my hand. He didn’t ask if I was okay because who would be after seeing that.

My body felt numb as we hurried to his truck. Jensen grabbed his cell out of the glove box. I turned to his yard. With the thick hedges and trees, you couldn’t see… Brock’s body from the sidewalk or the road, but how had someone gotten it there without being seen? It was dark outside, but wouldn’t that have been obvious?

Unless Brock had walked himself into the yard and done it himself.

That was possible, especially if he was the one behind it. I didn’t know what to think as I stared at the hedges, my fingers twitching.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, glancing around the street, his gaze extra sharp. As we headed back into the yard, Jensen maneuvered me so I wasn’t walking closest to the tree.

I forced myself not to look.

Jensen called 911 as he unlocked the door again. I barely heard what he said to them as I drifted into the living room. A few moments passed, and Jensen followed me. “They’ll be here soon. Told us to stay inside. Lock the doors.”

Running my hands over my face, I nodded. “Oh God, I…”

Jensen placed his hands on my shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. This is—”

Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked. Not the normal sound of a house settling, but a slow deliberate measure of footsteps. The air halted in my throat.

“Jensen,” I whispered.

He placed a finger over his lips as he stood so still I wondered if he was breathing. I strained to not move, to listen.

The sound came again. Wood groaning.

“I don’t know where it’s coming from,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to mine while my eyes rose to the ceiling. “I want you to go outside. Okay? I want you to go right to my truck and—”

“No,” I hissed, grabbing his arm. “I am not leaving you in here. If I’m going outside, you’re coming with me. It’s as simple as that. You are not—”

The footsteps came again, sending spheres of ice through my stomach.

Jensen wrapped his hand around mine. He pulled me along behind him, stepping around the couch. We crept down the narrow hall, turned to enter the kitchen—

Jensen drew up short and I plowed into his back. He cursed, and I saw it—saw the thing standing in front of the kitchen table, clown mask in place, head tilted to the side. Frizzy red wig in place.

It made that God awful tsking sound. 

The next couple of moments were a terrifying blur. Jensen twisted at the waist and pushed me hard enough that I stumbled back several steps and lost my balance. I went down on my knees and immediately raised my head, peering up through a sheet of hair.

Jensen was in the kitchen with the killer.  He went right after him, balls to the wall. No fear. But terror swelled inside me as he swung at him, and the killer easily avoided a punch that would’ve knocked him out into next week.

Too easily.

I pushed to my feet, screaming as Jensen landed a punch in the stomach. The attacker doubled over as he staggered a step to the side and then straightened. They circled one another in some kind of macabre dance.

Spinning around, I searched for a weapon. Remembering the heavy iron candlestick holders in the living room, I spared Jensen one last look. His back was to the kitchen doorway.

“You’re not getting out of this house,” Jensen warned.

The thing made a sound, something inhuman, but much like a laugh. It was deep and low and animalistic. It sent a chill right to my marrow.

I raced into the living room, heading for the hutch near the foyer entryway. Tossing the white candlestick out, I grabbed the heavy holder. Dimly, I could hear the sound of grunts, of flesh connecting with flesh, and off in the distance, the sound of sirens grew steadily closer. I darted back down the hall.

Jensen twisted to the side, breaking free from the grip around his neck. The quick movement threw him off balance, and the thing in the mask slammed his hands into his chest, shoving him back.

A scream built in my throat.

Jensen grabbed the back of the chair to catch himself, but the thing swung his arm out. Something was in his hand—a wrought iron pan, heavy, and capable of a lot of damage. He swung hard, and the crack as it connected with the side of Jensen’s head caused the scream to erupt from me. Horror seized me as Jensen crumbled like a paper sack.

He went down.

And he didn’t move.

No. No. No. No.

I wasn’t thinking as I raced toward where Jensen lie sprawled on the kitchen floor. I dropped to my knees, clutching the candleholder as I cried out. My gaze darted up to where the attacker had been standing. The spot was empty. The backdoor was open.

The candleholder slipped from my fingers as I grasped Jensen’s shoulder. “Jensen? Oh God, please open your eyes. Please!”

His eyes were sealed shut. A trickle of blood ran from his temple, over his ear. I carefully touched his head, and my hand came back wet and red.

“Oh, my God, no.” Tears blurred my eyes. I shuddered. “No. No. No.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall behind me, close, very close. I grabbed the candleholder and spun at the waist, ready to knock out anyone who was coming near Jensen.

Gavin stood in the hall, his eyes wide. His chest was rising and falling hard. “What’s going on?”

My thoughts raced. How did he get in here? Why was he here? Where was the killer? I stood, breathing heavy.

He stepped into the kitchen. “What—?”

“Don’t come any closer.” I held up the candlestick.

His gaze darted back to me, and he started to turn at the sound of high pitched sirens arriving out front. My gaze quickly moved over his face. Along the left corner of his mouth, the skin was pink—the tone an angry shade of pink, like he he’d been a recent fight. Too recent.

Horror exploded in my stomach as I stared at Gavin. Too many coincidences. My brain clicked off, and instinct roared to life—to protect Jensen, to protect myself. He started to take another step toward us and I swung. The base of the candleholder caught him in the side of the head. A look of surprise flashed across his face as he crumbled into the side of the fridge. Down for the count.

Gavin?
Something in my chest broke. The candleholder slipped from my fingers, clanging off the floor. Turning, I dropped next to Jensen. Through the tears, I could see that the rivet of blood along the side of his head had increased.

I didn’t know what to do, how to help him.

I smoothed my hand along his cheek, whispering his name, telling him that I loved him, over and over again.

The front door burst open, and officers piled into the kitchen within seconds. I looked up, my hands shaking. “Help him. Please.”

“Christ.” A younger officer knelt down on the other side of Jensen as he glanced to where Gavin lie. He hit a button on his shoulder radio as he checked for a pulse. I couldn’t bring myself to do that. “What’s the status on a bus?” he asked.

The static reply made no sense to me.  “Is he alive?”

“I’ve got a pulse.” He looked over my shoulder. “What about the other one?”