Jaxson's Song (3 page)

Jake unfolded his length
from the decrepit Buick and stood in the driveway, hands on his
hips as he gave Jaxson a slow once-over, lingering on the pink
taffeta flounces in the full skirted dress. Jake’s lips twitched
and Jaxson glared, a look that clearly said “I dare you to say
anything.”

Jake hooted with laughter,
and Jaxson realized the glower was lost on the salt-and-pepper
haired cop who had seen much worse. Well, that and Jaxson wasn’t
exactly the picture of intimidation in his pastel finery.
Hell. I’m in hell.

“
I give up, who are you supposed to be? Marilyn
Monroe?”

“
Shut up, Jake.”

“
Well, whoever you’re supposed to be, you look like a real
class act.” Jake grinned and used one hand to close the drivers’
side door. With a shrill creak, it snapped shut.

“
Uh-uh,” Jaxson said. “If you came here to mock me, then
forget it. I’m late and I’m not in the mood.” He didn’t tell Jake
that it was vintage night at the club. Which, in Jaxson’s opinion,
was even worse than the usual pulsing techno music, bump-and-grind
atmosphere of the place. It wasn’t as bad as the pink frilly hell
that was ladies’ night, though, and that was something. Not that
he’d ever admit as much to Jake, or anyone else, for that
matter.

He’d cut out his own damn
tongue before he’d supply his already over-curious uncle Jake with
any of the gory details of how he spent his nights. It wasn’t that
he didn’t understand the concept of rubber-necking; he’d stare at
himself too, dressed in this ridiculous getup. But it didn’t mean
he had to share his misery with the people around him, which lately
consisted of drag queens and Jake.

Jaxson stepped over the
broken flower pot, kicking the thick coral-colored pieces into the
overgrown grass beside the porch.

“
As a matter of fact, I didn’t come here to give you shit,
boy.” Jake strolled across the lawn, grinning when his nephew
scowled even harder. “Melanie sent me. Your aunt’s worried about
you,” he said, sobering a little as he wiped a hand across his
forehead. “But I’ll be happy to be able to report that other than
this heat and that dress, you seem to be doing just
fine.”

“
Yeah. Fine.” Jaxson snorted and shoved his way past his
uncle, the man who was responsible for his current predicament. No,
that wasn’t fair. Jake hadn’t known about the gambling. His uncle
hadn’t known a thing about that until after Jaxson had been
arrested. But he damn sure had a hand in arranging this twisted
little set-up.

Jake’s hand shot out,
latching onto Jaxson’s satin-covered bicep and blocking him from
getting to the Voyager. “You could be in prison right now, boy.
That judge was looking to make an example of you. It wouldn’t have
been a slap on the wrist this time. You’d be sitting hard time. And
it could still happen.” His voice lowered so only his nephew could
hear the deep timbre, not that there was anyone around to
eavesdrop. “Your sentence is only suspended, and it all depends on
your cooperation. So, if you’ve got some fool idea of skipping
out…”

Jaxson threw off his
uncle’s grasp and snapped, “I’m not.”

“
You’re welcome, you know, for saving your worthless ass from
doing five to ten in Rikers Island,” Jake said without
malice.

“
You actually think this is better than prison?” Jaxson
hissed. His eyes darted first to one side, then the other before
zeroing in on his uncle again. “Dangling like goddamn bait on a
hook for some sick, twisted pervert?”

“
You’re performing a valuable service for your fellow
citizens.”

“
I’m wearing a fucking dress!” Jaxson exploded.

“
Yeah, that you are, boy. That you are.” Jake chuckled,
shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and rocking
back on his heels.

“
I’m going to…work.” He growled the last word, slammed the
door, and gunned the engine. The Voyager coughed and sputtered down
the block, the wig itched like a son-of-a-bitch, and Jake’s
laughter rang in Jaxson’s ears as he headed to the club for another
night in pink satin hell.

* * *

It was late when Kate
returned home from her first shift at the hospital. Home. She
heaved a sigh and rotated her shoulders and a neck that felt stiff
and awkward from a night hunched over small print font in bad
lighting. There hadn’t been much else to do but catch up on
paperwork, and clean. The activity proved to be a poor time filler,
though, since the morgue was already in immaculate
condition.

The morgue. Hell. She was
working in the morgue. Kate cringed as the grim reality sank even
further beneath her skin, the reminder of her creepy new job
description chilling her in the balmy night air.

If she were more alert,
Kate would have been damn angry. After all, she hadn’t spent the
last two years in nursing school so she could spend her nights
babysitting corpses in the basement of a hospital. Her situation
was made bearable only by the fact that the arrangement was
temporary. It was a good thing, too, since she was pretty sure
she’d go stir crazy if she had to spend too many more nights in
that chill, cavernous space, the chemical odor of astringent
filling her nostrils until her stomach churned.

Well, Kate sighed, it was
a job, and she was getting paid LPN wages. She gripped the edge of
the Toyota’s door, fingers pressing into the black rubber seal that
rimmed the orange metal as she hauled herself out of the car. For
one long moment, she stood in the middle of the driveway and stared
in silence at her house.

Her
house
. The words had only a slightly
more natural feel than “the morgue,” and Kate was hard-pressed to
say which place felt more foreign and strange. Probably the house,
she finally decided, bumping the car door shut and then flinching
at the sound. God, she hated even the thought of walking into that
dark, empty space. But who knew Lilly would run into Alexandra this
afternoon? Then again, why had she told Lilly she didn’t mind
staying at the house by herself? She knew her sister would have
come home, had she asked her to. But that would have meant
explaining why she was loathe to stay alone in the rambling old
house, and Lilly was too young to have clear memories of that time
in their lives, to remember…

“
Shit.” Kate closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she left a lamp
burning? A porch light, anything. The creepy old house—which, in
full light did not look at all charming—was flat out menacing in
the dark.

Sharp-peaked turrets
stretched and blurred with the black sky, and shadows danced in the
windows with the reflection of a line of cars that passed down her
street. A grinning teenage boy leaned halfway out the window of the
middle car and shouted a greeting to Kate. Radios blared, then
faded as the cars turned the corner. The street was once again
quiet, deserted.

A gust of wind kicked up a
pile of dead leaves on the sidewalk near the porch. The breeze
propelled storm clouds in from the beach far beyond the house,
bringing with it a salty air that fairly crackled with static
electricity. At the end of her driveway, the street lamp flickered
ominously a split second before it went dead. Thick, dark swaths of
cloud scudded across the moon. The world went black, and Kate was
lost in its shadows.

She gasped, finally
spurred to action. The outside no longer felt any safer than the
house’s interior and the fine hairs at the back of her neck became
cold and shivery, lifted by the breeze that whipped around her as
she hurried up the walkway. Sagging wooden steps creaked beneath
her weight as she took them two at a time, stumbling onto the porch
and skidding to a stop before the ornately carved and beveled front
door. She took a deep breath and grasped her key in one hand,
clutched the knob firmly in the other. Her heart began to thud
painfully in her ears as she attempted to insert the key into the
lock. The door swung inward at the slightest pressure. It was
already open.

Chapter Three

Boy Meets Girl

T
here
was someone in her house. It
took Kate all of ten seconds to figure this out, to know beyond the
shadow of a doubt that she wasn’t alone. The creak sounded like a
shot in the dark, echoing through the pitch black foyer and robbing
Kate of breath as she trembled in the open doorway.

Earlier, when she’d left
for work, the door had been locked. Olivia had mentioned in passing
that the door had a tendency to stick unless the handle was wiggled
just-so, and Kate distinctly recalled twisting the key in the lock,
then jiggling and testing said lock on her way out the door. And
since she hadn’t yet given Lilly a key of her own, that only left
one possible explanation. Someone had broken into her house
tonight. Her eyes bore into the gaping darkness of the foyer,
unable to discern so much as the outline of the entryway
furniture.

The intruder could still
be in the house. Ice washed over Kate, and she told herself to
move, to run—but she couldn’t. Oh, God, she couldn’t move. It was
just like those dreams she used to have. Nightmares where she was
surrounded by the dark, running through deserted, fog-shrouded
streets and she knew that someone was chasing her, that she needed
to run like hell, but…couldn’t. Her muscles coiled now, ready to
spring, and still she remained glued to the porch, a fine cold
chill working its way over her skin. This was no dream; this was
reality. A twig snapped, somewhere to her left, on the other side
of the wrap around porch.

No
! Kate sprang into action,
turning her back on the open doorway, whirling away from the
scuffling sound at the other end of the porch, closer now. She
stumbled down the steps, tripped over her own feet on the last one,
righted herself, and sprinted across the yard. Her gaze darted to
the house next door. The windows were all dark; oh Lord, what if
there was no one home? What if her neighbor was sound asleep and
the intruder grabbed Kate before anyone even answered the door?
What would Lilly do without her?

Was the man still behind
her? She didn’t know. She couldn’t hear anything over the rush of
her own pulse, a steady thrum, thrum, whoosh that filled her ears
and blocked out all other sound. She felt like she was running in
slow motion—she wasn’t going to make it to her neighbor’s porch.
There was no way.

Scream
, she commanded herself,
sprinting up the wide set of steps and pounding on the front door,
hard and frantic, until the sides of her hands ached. She only
hoped her neighbor could hear the noise; each time her fists
connected with the solid wooden door, it felt slowed-down, muffled.
She didn’t dare turn around, expecting at any moment to be snatched
roughly from behind.

Suddenly, above the blood
rushing through her veins, Kate heard movement on the other side of
the door. A loud thump, then a crash and a curse, could be heard
from within the house. In the next instant, the door opened a crack
and someone peered at her through the narrow opening. The faint
glow of a lamp illuminated the man’s face, and relief flooded
through Kate in a welcome tidal wave. Only then did she risk
throwing a glance over her shoulder. She didn’t see anyone, thank
God.

“
Can I help you?” The man opened the door a little wider now,
glancing right and then left before his gaze settled onto Kate’s
face.

“
Yes,” she gasped, gulping lungful after lungful of humid,
salty air. “Please help me, someone—” Kate’s gaze swung away from
her own yard and back to the man in front of her. She froze. He was
wearing makeup. And not just some black liner, either, but a
full-out, Tammy Faye deal. “—broke into my house,” she finished,
eyes wide and fixed to his face.

“
Yeah?” he glowered at her. “Go call a cop.”

“
But—” She recoiled when he turned on his high-heeled shoes,
stalked back into his house, and slammed the door in her
face.

* * *

He didn’t need this shit.
Jaxson leaned over to untie the ankle straps on his shoes, then
shoved them off, feeling a small measure of satisfaction when his
kick sent the strappy heels flying across the kitchen. They hit the
cabinet with a sharp thud, and he glowered. The woman’s outline was
faintly visible through the sheer peach curtain that covered the
heavy block glass window pane in the front door. She hadn’t
left.

Jaxson was unaccustomed to
the surge of guilt that tightened his chest when he replayed the
way he’d just spoken to the woman, but he didn’t particularly
regret his sharp tongue. He was tired, his goddamn feet hurt from
walking around in those goddamn heels all night, and he’d had his
ass pinched by an eighty-five-year-old man tonight. A strange woman
interrupting him, and then gawking at his makeup job, when he’d
been
this close
to putting an end to this wretched day and calling it a
night, had been the last straw. It was added bullshit that he
didn’t need. Like it wasn’t bad enough he was here as the DA’s
bitch. Jax had enough problems of his own; the woman outside could
damn well take care of
her
own.