Then he reached for the handcuffs. “Come on then, we’ll get this taken care of. You’ll be with your folks in no time.”
“No! Wait, please?”
He kept silent. It had to be her idea.
“Could we work something out?” Her voice was still shaking and ruined, but she had a little edge of strength coming back. No, not strength; resolve.
“Work something out? What did you have in mind?” He sounded doubtful himself now. It was important to make sure they thought it up all on their own.
Danielle Hopkins, her pretty face still red from crying, reached out with her hand and stroked the front of his pants. The contact got his attention as quickly as it always did.
“Say it. Tell me what you want to work out.” His voice was still stern, his demeanor as professional as possible when he considered where her fingers were massaging.
“We could . . . you know . . . and you could forget this happened?” Oh, and she sounded so desperately hopeful when she said it.
Brian reached for the front pocket of his shirt, his fingers patting the package of condoms he kept there. He wasn’t stupid enough to get caught in the act. And he wasn’t going to leave around any DNA evidence that could cause him grief later.
“I think maybe we could work something out, Danielle.”
And was that hope he saw in her eyes? Yes, yes it was. Because, really, it had to be better rolling in the back seat of a squad car with him than it would be riding in the back alone and heading for a holding cell.
It worked damned near every time.
Sometimes it was good to be a cop. He let his hand slide under her jacket, under her blouse, to feel one of her full breasts. Her hand started tugging at his zipper as he guided her away from the road and into a small copse of trees.
It was dark, no one would see what they did, but they would both remember for very different reasons.
IV
Benjamin Kirby watched through his window as the sun started to rise. It was his morning ritual. The girl from his Lit class would be coming home any minute, and he wanted to see her. He always wanted to see her, because, of course, she was beautiful.
Mary Margaret Preston; even thinking her name made his insides feel electrified. She’d been stuck in his mind ever since freshman year, when he tutored her in calculus. She’d been funny, intelligent, and friendly. She’d also treated him like a human being, instead of like a door mat. So, naturally, he’d fallen for her in a big way. He’d fallen bad enough that he moved into the same apartment complex as her, just so he could see her from time to time.
Coffee. Coffee was his friend, and one that he abused regularly. He was abusing it right now, actually. Or he would be as soon as he refilled his cup.
He didn’t always wait up to see her. He wasn’t completely obsessed; just mostly.
Ben poured another cup of coffee and set his term paper aside. He turned off the lights in his apartment and waited near the window. He wanted to see the look on her face when she saw the package.
It wasn’t much. Just a poem he knew she liked, done on vellum with his best calligraphy and a few small illustrations that suited the piece.
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow’d to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair’d the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
—Lord Byron
Lord Byron. Ben sighed and waited, and at last was rewarded for his patience. Even after a full night out, she looked like heaven to him. He held his breath as she came into view, afraid to even exhale for fear she would somehow see him in his darkened living room.
Margaret walked over to her door and had it opened before she saw the small rolled paper tube. She looked around; her pretty face set in a puzzled frown and then unrolled the poem.
It was nothing overly elegant. He’d kept it simple in design because, frankly, he didn’t know if she liked the extra scroll work and decorations. Better to err on the side of caution than to give her something she couldn’t use or would have no desire to look at.
He studied her, memorized the minutiae of her features, her dark curls, every aspect of her expression. And he smiled with her when she looked at the poem.
It was stupid to be in love with a woman who probably didn’t even remember his name. He hated himself for it.
But he was in love. He had no doubt of that at all in his mind.
He would do anything for her. Anything.
And one day, he would get up the nerve to tell her that.
But for now, he watched and he savored the few moments a day when he could see her outside of the classroom.
Ben watched Margaret walk through her front door, a tired, happy expression on her face. He left the coffee on the window sill and got ready to take his shower. Classes started all too soon and he had to be ready.
The night was ending in Black Stone Bay. The day to come would be far more eventful than Ben Kirby could ever have imagined. Before it was done, his entire life would be changed radically.
Chapter 2
I
The morning newspaper focused mostly on the disappearance of two college kids. Somehow Matthew William Casey and Louis Harold Blake had managed to vanish without a trace, leaving their cars and everything they owned behind. Several people claimed that the two students were into drugs, and the reporters dug deeply enough to find out that both had been accused of rape by a fellow student before the charges were dropped the year before. Aside from that, little was known.
Maggie knew more. Or at least she thought she did. The pictures of the two of them on the front page of the paper woke her up as surely as a good cup of coffee would have, but without the fun of actually getting her morning caffeine jolt.
All she remembered about that night was running from the two of them and then watching them get devoured by the shadows. She still had to blame Lance Brewster for her faded memories of the near rape she’d survived. This was almost sad, because, really, he hadn’t been a bad client until that night. Now he was on her shit list, and so far his two phone calls had gone unanswered.
She set down the paper and walked over to her trusty Mr. Coffee. It had done exactly what she’d programmed it to do and brewed a nice pot of black ambrosia while she was showering. “My one true love,” she said to herself as she added two sugars and a dollop of heavy cream. She could do without a lot of things in her life, but coffee? She’d sooner have her teeth pulled without benefit of Novocain.
She dressed while she drank, pulling on her school clothes and making sure she looked right for the day ahead. Only two classes today, which was especially good because she had a client to satisfy.
Jason Soulis was paying her very good money, and for a change of pace Tom would have no part of what she earned. She didn’t think of it as stealing from him. He hadn’t worked as her agent in this case; he’d only hooked her up with the man who was acting as her agent.
She looked over the single sheet of paper that Soulis had given her the night before and shook her head, puzzled by his selection of men she was supposed to seduce. Most of them she had never met, but three names in particular stuck out. They were men she had seen regularly for several years, but never in a professional capacity.
She would be done with her classes by noon, and after that she could mark off at least one of the men on the list if she played her cards right.
After she was done dressing, and packing away her outfit for after school, she took the poem someone had sent her and taped it to the wall next to her mirror. She’d always loved that poem.
And then it was a quick breakfast and out the door, smiling to herself as she started the day. Maggie started her car and drove toward the campus, unaware of the crows that watched from the trees that lined her path to Winslow Harper University.
II
The early October air was refreshing. Kelli had a little time for herself and did what she almost always did when she could catch a few spare minutes. It was reading time, and today she was having fun with the latest Janet Evanovich novel. The woman could write circles around most of the writers she’d run across, and Stephanie Plum was her secret hero. She wanted to be just like Stephanie when she grew up. Well, except maybe for the whole bounty hunter thing. She didn’t think most escaped convicts would be terrified by her.
Her Mountain Dew called seductively and she answered, drinking down half the bottle before coming up for air. Across the street from her, the sprawling black mansion caught the light of the sun on its windows and shot blinding flashes at her face. Kelli used her book to deflect the beams, savoring the quiet.
Two minutes later the silence was shattered by the phone ringing.
“Damn it . . .” She carefully set the book down and walked back into the house, lamenting that she was too damned stupid to remember to grab the portable on her way outside.
“Hello?” She snapped the phone out of its cradle before the third ring had finished.
Bill Lister was on the other end. “Kelli? Hi.”
“Hi, Mr. Lister.” She tried to make her heart behave itself. Every time she heard his deep voice, her hormones went apeshit on her. She’d been working for the Listers since she was sixteen, and in the five years since she’d started in their employ, the man of the house had always been a perfect gentleman. Still, part of her kept dreaming that sometime soon he might decide to change his ways. Bad thoughts, but she never acted on the fantasy, so it couldn’t really be a sin, could it?
“Listen, Michelle and I are going to be going out tonight. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. We probably won’t be home until after midnight. I know it’s short notice, but is there any chance you can stay with Teddy tonight?” His words were rushed and apologetic. They always were, at least when he was asking for a favor.
Kelli was supposed to have her weeknights free, the better to handle her homework, but at least half of the time her employers found ways to keep themselves busy. The good news was that Teddy was normally pretty well behaved. The great news was that the Listers almost always gave her a nice tip for taking the extra time.
“Ummm . . . yeah, it’s all right.” She smiled at the wall, imagining what it would be like to go dancing with Bill Lister. A nice, slow dance; nothing too flashy, just a good excuse to be held in his arms.
“You’re a lifesaver, Kelli. Seriously. I forgot all about having a dinner date with one of Michelle’s clients, and there’s just no way we could cancel at this point.”
“Oh, you know I don’t mind. Teddy’s my little sweetie.”
“Well, thank you just the same. You’re the best, Kelli.”
She hung up after she heard the sound of the call disconnecting, her mind on everything she’d have to get done during the day, with an occasional excursion into taboo territory to imagine what it would be like to have Bill Lister as her lover.
Kelli saw motion across the street, over at the Miles house, just as she was settling back down on the porch. The house was hidden from most of the world, but not from where she was sitting. Albert Miles had packed a few bags and beaten a hasty retreat, which was also sort of depressing, because he was normally her number one distraction on long days. The old man played a killer game of chess.
Almost as if the new tenant had timed it, Kelli saw the front door of the house open and a man step out into the early morning sun, his hand blocking the glare from hitting his face.
The stranger had dark hair, pale skin, and a casual stride that still seemed to eat the distance between the front of his driveway and the front door. He didn’t walk in a straight line, but instead moved from tree to tree in the yard, as if he wanted to examine each of them closely. His hands touched each trunk, almost like he needed to feel the texture of the ancient oaks and rare specimens to make sure what he felt was solid and real. He walked like she thought a sleepwalker should.
He walked in shadows whenever possible.
Eventually, and really rather quickly, he made it to the front gate to pick up the newspaper. She almost moved her hand up to wave, then thought better of it.
He turned his head slightly and looked at her from across the street, his face impassive and attractive in a strange way. He was handsome, but alien, with features that were different from the ones she had been raised around.
He smiled. It was a close-mouthed twist of his lips, and his right eyebrow lifted slightly as if preparing to ask a question. The man gave a quick, casual wave of his hand and then, after he had reached for the newspaper at his feet, he bowed in an almost mockingly formal way before turning and heading back the way he had come, once again touching each tree and keeping to the early-morning shade whenever possible.
Kelli watched him go, attracted to the man for no reason she could easily place a finger on. He was handsome, yes, but not overwhelmingly so.
Still, for most of the day before it was time for her to go pick up Teddy from the Sacred Hearts private school, she kept thinking about his little smile and wishing she could remember the color of his eyes.
III
Avery Tripp leaned back in his chair, at ease with his place in the world. The school day was over halfway done and that was a good thing. He hated school work, but he loved the people around him. Avery tended, through no fault of his own, to like people. He also had a strong fondness for anything that could get him into trouble. That was what his mother said, anyway.