Hidden Shadows (The Shadow Series Book 1) (21 page)

Maybe she’d call and cancel. He’d understand.

Freed from his seat, Dawson leapt down and followed Jacy running out of the garage.

Jenna stuck her head out, yelled, “Where are you going?”

“To feed Perry,” Jacy yelled back.

“To feed Perry,” Dawson echoed.

Watching them round into the back yard, Jenna circled back to the car to close doors, gather school supplies.

Jacy’s shrill scream pierced the air.

Dawson’s high-pitched whine followed.

Jenna set off at a dead run, feeling for the second time in one afternoon that she might vomit.

SIXTEEN

Sprinting through the dying autumn grass, Jenna made it to the backyard in seconds. And saw no madman snatching her children, neither had fallen nor were injured, all looked to be in place—except for the crying and screaming.

“Peerrryy,” Jacy sobbed, standing just inside the screened-in porch, her little body leaning against the open door as she cried.

Dawson slouched beside her, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes.

Jenna moved to the porch, soothing as she crossed to the corner where she’d strategically placed Perry that morning so he’d have shade throughout the day. And saw the mess. The colorful, bloody mess.

In a heap, at the bottom of the pretty white cage, was Perry. Squashed. As if a hammer had come down directly on his small body. The beautiful feathers that once adorned the bird were now in clumps, matted together by pools of blood.

A lump formed in her throat and hot tears stung the corners of her eyes.

“Mommy,” Dawson quivered behind her, “what’s wrong with Perry?”

She turned, shielding the cage as best she could with her body. “He went to heaven, baby. But we’re thankful he was ours for a while, aren’t we?"

Dawson nodded, swiped his arm across his nose.

Jenna spotted the soccer ball in the yard, pointed it out. “While I take care of Perry, why don’t you see if you can kick the ball from one side of the yard to the other three whole times?

Dawson’s eyes widened. “Three.”

Jenna nodded enthusiastically.

He skipped out, still knuckling at his watery eyes. She’d talk to him more later, but now, she needed to deal with the tender heart of her daughter.

And the mutilated bird.

She went to Jacy who cried softly now, gathered her child in her arms. “What happened to him, Mom? He’s dead, isn’t he?"

Jenna patted the small back, squeezed. “Yes, baby, he’s dead.”

Jacy’s breath hitched, brought new tears. She pulled back from Jenna, wet trails staining delicate cheeks, snot gathering under the petite nose.

Jenna felt sadness, heartache for the pain her child was in, for any pain the sweet bird might’ve felt. But boiling to the surface, quick and hot, was rage.

She may have convinced herself this madman didn’t want to harm her, only wanted to intimidate, to threaten (thought she still couldn’t figure out to what end), but things had moved far beyond that now. This was murder, plain and simple. And it hurt her children in the process.

She wouldn’t stand for that.

She may cower, not confront her own demons, but she would never back down when it came to her children. Never.

“Mommy, did we do something wrong? What happened to him?”

Jenna shook her head quickly. “No, no, Jacy. Not at all. This wasn’t your fault or Dawson’s or mine."

Jacy nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and Jenna watched her, impressed, inspired, as her girl took several deep breaths and the tears began to decrease, the distress calm.

“He was my friend. I was just teaching him to step up. I’m going to miss him.” Her eyes slid over Jenna's shoulder, back to where the cage rested.

Jenna shifted, rose, putting an arm around Jacy and routing her to the back door.

“We’ll all miss him, honey. But he was happy while he was with us. You took such good care of him. I’m so proud of you."

Keeping her eye on Dawson, she called, “Hey buddy, let’s go in, grab a drink and a snack, okay?”

“But I’m only on my second time.”

“It’s all right, we’ll finish later.”

Jenna waved him in and he came bounding back, gratefully neglecting to look in poor Perry’s direction as he hopped inside.

Quickly settling them at the table with leftover kale chips and juice, Jenna snuck off to her room, called Cooley. When his voicemail answered again, she left a clear, firm message.

“Officer Cooley, this is Jenna Gregor. My kids and I just got home and our bird, a pet parakeet, is dead. Someone killed it, no doubt. I want someone out here immediately. If I don’t hear back from you in ten minutes, I'm calling the station.”

Stilling her shaky hands, she made her way back to the living room, checked on the kids at the table, and as a guise to let her mind think without interruption, she began to tidy up.

Wandering the living room, straightening pillows, folding blankets, she analyzed, theorized, concocted scenarios, ideas, tried to put that gut feeling in her brain so she could put the pieces together, figure out who could be doing this.

Who, who, WHO?
Her mind screamed at her to be smart, to answer that burning question.

She moved to the entryway, fear mounting as questions and dread sprouted in her mind.

What if they’d come home moments earlier? Would they have caught the person killing Perry? Scared them, made them turn their violence on Jenna, on the kids?

Maybe the note was a distraction, a scapegoat to make them late, give the killer time to get to Perry.

And how did they know about the bird? Did they intentionally do this to harm the kids? Or were they aware that by harming children you harmed the parent by default?

She walked to the long windows flanking the front door, scanned neighbor’s yards, looking for anything suspicious or unfamiliar.

An Aston Landscaping truck sat across the street.

Was Ben there today with his team? If so, why did he call Molly to inquire about Jenna’s status and whereabouts? If he’d been across the street he would’ve known she didn’t get to leave work early as intended.

He’d been working in and around the area so often lately, it’d been easy to keep tabs on her. You’d think he'd just walk over, like he did most every other day, and barge on in.

Honestly, Ben had done quite a bit of barging since entering her life. Everything had been running smooth until he came along. But smoothness had now turned to rocky ground, to sharp, jagged edges and piercing points of being following, threatened, with hurt children and dead animals as collateral damage.

What did she know about Bennett Aston anyway? He just appeared one day and she, like a typical swooning woman, had fallen right into his arms . . . or his trap.

Come to think of it, where was Ben the night she was followed? He’d left Erik and Robin’s at least an hour before her and the kids.

Sure, they were together the night of the vandalism, the day the photo was taped to her door, but that could’ve been to throw her off, take suspicion away from him. People had friends didn’t they? Accomplices?

Did she do this? Did she bring this man, this madness into her life, her children’s lives?

He may have manipulated some, used his charm and affable aggression to sway her, lure her, but she’d allowed it.

At the moment, she couldn’t think of a motive or any reason in the world why he’d have a hand in what was going on. But that didn’t mean he was innocent. Wasn’t he the one who said crazy couldn’t be explained?

She snapped up from her idle cleaning, marched back to the kitchen and somehow miraculously smiled and small-talked with the kids before heading to her room and closing the door.

Sensible or not, motive or not, from where she was standing, Ben Aston seemed to be the only definite change, and most recent addition, to her little corner of the world since it had begun to combust.

And part of that was her fault.

So the solution was easy. She’d fix the damage she’d allowed to infiltrate her family and her world.

By deleting it from her life.

****

Ben stirred the bubbling ravioli sauce, savoring its flavorful scent. It was one of the few meals he’d taught himself how to throw together, and though it wasn’t a Dawson peanut butter favorite, he was counting on the dish being a hit with adults and kids alike.

Heidi waddled by—her belly exponentially large in these last months, though he was wise enough to never mention it—and raised on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Smells great, Bennie.”

“She’s right, honey.” Annette smiled from her seat at the pine planked table. “We’re so glad you asked us over. I’m lookin’ forward to meeting your woman.”

“Mom, she’s not my woman.”

“You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes, he loves her,” Heidi piped up, grabbing pepper from the counter, tossing some in the sauce.

“Yes, Mom,” Ben glared at Heidi, moved away the pepper, “I love her. Very much actually. Her kids, too. They're a handful, but, man, are they somethin’.”

His mother beamed. “That’s important, Ben. To like her children, I mean.”

He removed the spoon, tapped it to the pot, put a lid on the sauce. “I know. That’s why I’m glad it isn't forced. It’s just come pretty naturally for me. You know how you just feel proud of something, someone? That’s how I feel about the kids. When I see them succeeding, playing, doing something they enjoy, it makes me happy.” He moved across the small kitchen, joined his mother at the table.

“A couple weeks ago, the little girl—Jacy—had this dance recital, right? She invites me to come watch. She's the star of the show, and, boy, did she shine. Looked like a little princess. But on that stage, she was dead serious. All business.” Ben smiled, remembering how excited she was after the show, how she’d blushed and beamed when he set the bundle of roses he’d brought in her arms. “Her father wasn’t there, and that just gnaws at me. I don't get why he wouldn’t want to see that, wouldn’t be there for his daughter’s accomplishments. Heck, I felt proud of her and she’s not even mine.”

Annette patted his hand, a twinkle in her bright hazel eyes.

“And the boy. Aw, Mom, wait ‘til you see him. Dawson’s his name and he’s as rowdy as they come. But funny . . . And smart, you wouldn’t believe how smart.”

“Sounds like you’ve fallen for the whole family.”

Ben shrugged, nodded.

Heidi strolled by carting two large cans of peaches. “I told him before he picks a ring to check with me.”

Annette raised her honey brown brows at Ben while he shot Heidi an annoyed glare.

“Anyway,” he turned deliberately back to his mother, “she’s not my woman until she lets herself be. Until she loves me back.”

Annette clucked a bit, patted his hand again. “Oh honey, I’m sure she does.”

Heidi turned on the blender, yelled over the churning, “She does!”

Ben didn’t even make the effort to look at her this time, just scowled at his mother. She grinned, winked with humor.

“I think she does care about me, Mom. Well, I know she does. Her ex just jerked her around. Plus with the kids . . . she’s gotta be careful, look out for herself.”

“No one better to look after her than you,” Bruce said, his big frame and personality filling the cozy kitchen as he strolled in, sat at the table with his wife and son.

“Thanks, Pops.” Ben gave his father’s shoulder a pat. “I know that. Let’s just hope she gets the memo. Speaking of,” he said, glancing at his phone as it began to ring.

Bruce leaned toward Annette, whispered none to quietly, “She’s a silly woman if she doesn’t take a hold of our boy."

Ben chuckled, shook his head at his effervescent parents as he walked a few paces into the open living room and answered.

He watched as Heidi breezed out of the kitchen, flour scattered on her belly and in her hair, went to the table to say something to his parents that made them both grin from ear to ear. She gestured at Ben, took her fingers and formed them into a smile that went from the corners of her lips all the way up her cheeks, and his parents laughed.

“I’m sorry, Jenna,” he said as she paused, “what was that? I was finishing up dealing with a nuisance.” He gave Heidi a warning look, to which she smiled brightly, and turned his back, walking further out of earshot.

“I asked where you have been today.” Her tone was hard, unusually demanding.

“Well, I, ah, worked out at a job, came home, showered, started dinner. You?”

“Where did you work today?” Again, very demanding, very cold.

“In your neighborhood, actually. I almost came by . . . looking for a nice lunch break—” He tried to sound suave, inviting, hoping to cool the anger and tension he heard in her voice.

“Now’s not the time, Ben.”

“All right. I was just going to say I remembered you’d be at work,” he finished, returning a hint of her forcefulness.