Dark Paradise (23 page)

Landry pushes my head against his chest. “What was that all about?” His heart races beneath my ear. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. He doesn't like me much. But you can't choose family, right?” I pull free of his arms, avoiding meeting his gaze. “Course, if you'd kept your big mouth shut about Lainey coming to Mama for a hoodoo spell, he wouldn't have been trying to scare me.”

His face blanches. “What?”

“Acker thinks Mama and I had something to do with Lainey getting murdered.” I squint up at him and snort. “Ridiculous, huh? About as crazy as George thinking you're guilty.”

“George thinks
I
murdered Lainey? Why?”

“Why not? Obviously, you're insane!” I yell at him. “You stalk me. Threaten and reject me. Blab to everyone and their mother that I'm a witch. Yet I still trust you. Even when George said you did it, I defended you. I must be as insane as you are. Not only are you totally ruining my life, you're gonna get me killed.”

Landry stiffens and steps back. “So that's how you want to play this?”

“This isn't a game. I'm telling the truth. One of us is going to go down for murder if we don't figure out who really killed Lainey.”

“Fine, we'll solve her murder. Happy?” He stabs a finger in my direction. “Now, are you ready to talk about what's really bothering you?”

The apology he must think I owe him for sulking off looms between us, much like Mr. Acker's rifle. Pride keeps my lips sealed. “George said yesterday that Lainey kept a room at the Super Delight Motel where she met her boyfriend. He got a search warrant but they didn't find anything. Maybe
we
will.”

L
andry left after dropping me off at home. I really didn't expect him to return tonight, but he's keeping his promise to help me search Lainey's motel room, despite still being pissed off. So here we are, pulling into the parking lot of the Super Delight Motel. I've never seen a more rundown hole. I've driven past the motel many times, but it's been years since I've visited the place where Mama whores herself four out of seven nights. I find it embarrassing, but Mama enjoys her job and takes pride in the fact she's never been on welfare. Independence comes at a high price in my opinion.

Daylight keeps the criminal element inside; maybe sunlight turns them to dust. Tonight feels different. Red doors stand out from graffiti-covered, canary yellow walls. Broken bottles, needles, and used condoms are scattered through the parking lot, adding to the seedy ambiance not even bright paint can dispel. One of these doors opens into Lainey's room. Her boyfriend was smart enough to clear it out before the deputies searched the room. He's staying one step ahead and doing everything in his power to hide his identity. His actions don't make him guilty of murder, but he definitely has something to hide.

Landry parks in front of the motel office by the pool. The silence in the truck has weight and texture. It vibrates with tension. I've let my anger cool with the setting of the sun. I welcome the night, knowing it's easier to let down my defenses in the darkness. Even if my emotions are painted across my face, Landry won't be able to see them. He'll only know what I want him to know. Maybe I'm naive to want to protect myself while being so willing to forgive him at the same time. I wish I could hold a grudge for longer than a minute, except this time, I think I'm the one at fault.

I turn until I can study Landry's shadowed face. My heart hammers in my chest. I'm scared to ask this question, but I should've before I made out with him.

I clear my throat. “Uh, can I ask something?”

“Oh wow, I exist in Mala's world again?” Landry drawls, not bothering to glance in my direction as he turns off the truck, and once again he sets my blood boiling.

Fine, let him play the martyr if it makes him feel better. “I'm serious. It's important to me. Please.”

If possible, the tension thickens. He glances at me. I can't see because it's too dark outside, but I imagine the hurricane swirling in his storm-cloud eyes. “You're the one who thinks we'll find some clue in Lainey's room as to why our lives are falling apart. Let's go.”

I grab his arm before he can open the door. “First, tell me why you're really here.”

He frowns.

“I don't mean here”—I wave my hand—“I mean why you came this morning and why you stayed after you found out I couldn't talk to Lainey. When you stormed off this afternoon, I didn't expect to see you again. But you came back for me. I don't get it. Why are you even with me, Landry?”

He's quiet for so long that I don't think he'll answer. Then he sighs and shrugs, saying “What else was I supposed to do? Torture myself like I did last night?”

“What do you mean?”

Landry turns to face me. “I was lying in bed listening to my mother crying through the walls, and my dad working on his eulogy, and I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

I scowl in disbelief.

He gives me a shadowed smile. “That wasn't too surprising since I think about you all the time. So I did what I usually do—tried to focus on something else. Football, supersexy Victoria's Secret models—that worked for about five minutes since you're way hotter.”

“Oh sure,
way
hotter.” I unbuckle my seat belt and slide across the seat. “Is that why you practically ran from me?”

“I wasn't the one who ran off.” His voice softens. “I was worried about you. Hearing that gunshot…I don't know…”

He really does care about me, doesn't he?

My mouth on his stops the rest of his words. His tongue flicks against the roof of my mouth, and I melt. I press against him until there's not even an inch of space between our upper bodies. My legs shake. I want to lie back on the seat and pull him on top of me. But I hold back. Tingles race across my skin where he traces my arms with the tips of his fingers. Light caresses that drive me crazy with the desire to feel those fluttery shivers in areas protected by clothing. Why do I lose control only with him? How can a single, innocent kiss get me so hot?

Crap, I'm molesting him again.

I break the kiss with a sigh before he can. He presses his forehead against mine, breathing hard. I lay a hand on his chest and feel the rapid patter of his heart against my palm. My lips feel swollen, and my cheeks sting from his stubble. The scent of his skin mingles with mine. He's marked me. The whole time he massages my neck with his fingers, and the faint headache I really hadn't noticed starts to fade.

“Landry, I'm sorry. For some reason I can't keep my hands off of you.” I rub my cheek against his shoulder.

“You're not the only one with control issues,” he says softly, and I nod, acknowledging the truth. The attraction goes both ways.

“Yeah, but I handled it all wrong at the pond. I-I'm sorry I ran off. Being rejected hurt. I don't know why 'cause I should be used to it by now. Maybe because I actually care what you think of me.” I shudder, knowing I should move from his arms but am unable to. “I don't know. It's silly, but I thought a clean exit would be better. Now you're confusing me again. I can't handle this back-and-forth drama.”

“That's why I pulled away. The reason you kissed me was because Lainey almost killed you, and you needed comfort. If I'd let it go further, you'd end up hating me. I respect you too much to let that happen.”

Respect, huh?
“So we're back to being friends.”

“With PG-13 benefits? Because now that I've gotten a taste of your minty-sweet kisses, I don't think I can go cold turkey.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I laugh. I can't go without kissing him either. It feels too good, but now I know he won't take advantage of my willingness to go all buck wild on him. He likes to flirt. So do I. And I won't feel guilty anymore about showing my affection to someone I care about.

On the other hand. Time and place. I would've regretted having my first sexual experience come from terror over my shaken sense of mortality rather than love—in the dirt instead of a cushy bed with unscented candles and chocolate. At the time, I thought it was okay to give in 'cause I didn't want to die without ever feeling loved, but Landry has reminded me that important things shouldn't be compromised.

I throw Landry a quick grin. “Now that we've hashed out our relationship issues, I guess we'd better come up with a plan to get into Lainey's room.” I wiggle my fingers. “My lock-picking skills are nonexistent. But I'm pretty good at fast talking.”

Landry leans back, crossing his arms. “Don't tell me you're quoting skills based on your online gaming profile?”

“Hey, I'm a seventh-level thief. Don't knock my imaginary skills. It's not my fault that up until this week I've never needed to resort to breaking and entering in real life. And I'm not too thrilled about it now. Maybe you can dig into your wallet instead, rich boy? We can probably bribe the owner into letting us into Lainey's room.”

“Or we can use the key.” Landry dangles what appears to be a motel room key in front of my eyes, then makes it vanish back into his fist when I try to grab it.

“No fair. Where did you find that?”

“This key is the reason why I went home after our fight, not because I was running away. A couple of days ago, I tossed Lainey's bedroom at home for clues. This key was stuffed inside her shoe, but I didn't know what it opened until you mentioned the motel. Her diary is missing, which sucks because the name of her murderer is probably written in it. Maybe she hid it in her motel room, and the cops missed it when they searched.” He shrugs. “But my bet's on this being another dead end. Come on, let's finish this so we can go eat.”

Landry presses a quick kiss to my forehead, then jumps from the truck. A warm glow starts to burn in my belly and spreads throughout my body. Happiness. It's such a rare feeling that I sink back into the seat and squeeze my hands together. I peek at him through the front windshield. He faces away from the truck. The lines of his body have gone from relaxed to tense in the space of a few seconds. His head cocks to the side as if he's listening to something in the distance. He throws a quick, wide-eyed glance at me, then runs.

A surge of panic races through me. I throw open my door and jump to the ground. “Landry, wait!”

He's moving fast, faster than I can catch. Nothing more than a dark blur speeding down the sidewalk between the motel and manager's office/recreation room. He turns left, disappearing around the corner heading toward the pool. Raised voices come from that area.

Landry yells, “Call 9-1-1.” Then I hear a splash.

My mouth opens to call for him when a shadow tears around the corner. He wears all black, like a crook or a wannabe ninja assassin, and carries an object tucked in his arms like a football. I'm trapped in the narrow space between the two buildings about the width of my open arms. The guy doesn't slow when he sees me but charges forward, ready to bowl me over. I only have a split second to decide: black clothes, running away from the screaming.

Yeah, he totally looks suspicious. A real cop wouldn't have time to second-guess herself. If this guy has done something wrong, I'm taking him down. If he's innocent, well, I guess saying sorry is easier than asking for permission.

I squeeze back against the wall, but when he charges past, I lunge. A handful of his black shirt ends up in my fist. Not my brightest idea. His forward motion practically yanks my arms out of their sockets. I trip, and he ends up dragging me for a few steps before he twists, elbowing my shoulder and breaking my hold on his shirt. I don't fall flat on my face, but my elbows get skinned catching my fall. The guy makes a break for it while I stagger to my feet, weaving a little from the throbbing radiating up my shoulder and into my jaw.

Now he's gone and made it personal.

With each step, my anger grows. The pain fades beneath a black tidal wave of fury. Either he's slowing down or my rage increases my speed. We hit the parking lot in a flat-out run. He heads toward the main road. If he crosses it and gets into the woods on the other side, I'll lose him. The trees border a large residential area where he'll have plenty of places to hide.

My anger pulses, hotter, darker, more thinly focused than when Magnolia attacked me. I thought I could launch her through a wall. She taught me a more subtle form of expressing my disdain. I stab outstretched fingers toward his retreating back. I picture the tips of my fingers slicing through flesh, fat, and muscles, splaying the layers open the way Lainey had been dissected on the autopsy table. With his innards exposed to my mind's eye, I clench my fist like Magnolia did. I imagine squeezing this jerk's guts into a ball like chitlins stuffed in a bucket.

The guy cries out. He stumbles but doesn't fall. The bundle he's carrying drops to the ground and slides under a parked car. He staggers forward, not bothering to pick it up.

“Stop,” I yell, diving forward into a tackle that would've given Landry shivers of pride. I grab my suspect around the back of his knees. He hits the ground, but I don't give him the chance to catch his breath. Or me either, for that matter. I climb up his back, straddling him like he's a rodeo pony. He bucks, and I'm thrown backward. My upper back hits the fender of the car parked next to us. What little breath I'd managed to hold onto bursts from my lungs.

I struggle to sit up, but I can't do much of anything except struggle not to pass out. I stare at the swirling stars in the velvet black sky and listen to his footsteps fade in the distance. I'm still sprawled out when the ambulance passes by with blaring sirens. I must've blacked out because the ambulance is heading toward the main road, not coming in. I turn my head. I'm hidden, wedged between two parked cars. If I want anyone to notice me, I have to crawl into the parking lot and pass out in the middle of the driveway. Sure, I might get run over, but at least someone will find my body.

A face, like an overinflated balloon, floats over my head. I blink a few times to bring him into focus. “Landry.” I gasp, tilting my head. “
'S'up?
”

“Shit, Mala.” He squats beside me. “I've been looking everywhere for you. Why are you lying on the ground? Are you okay?”

The loopy, swimmy mess in my head begins to fade. I look around, finally aware of my surroundings. The motel is lit up like a Christmas tree with red and blue lights. Then I take in Landry's appearance and gasp. “What the hell happened to you?” I touch his wet T-shirt. “You're soaked.”

He glances down at himself with a scattered frown. “Huh? Yeah, I've used my lifeguarding skills more today than I have in the last two years.”

“Did someone fall in the pool? Is that why you ran off?” I straighten myself by degrees. A groan rips through me without permission. It doesn't feel like I've broken any bones, but I'm going to be black, blue, and sore all over come morning. “If the police came then it wasn't an accident, I assume. That guy…”

“Yeah…yeah, there was this guy. He tried to drown a…a woman in the pool.” He runs his fingers through his hair. His gaze darts toward the flashing lights. “Shit! George is here. He'll want to talk to you.”

Landry tugs on my arm, trying to encourage me to rise, but I can't. My eyes close against the throbbing in my head. “Stop yanking on me, Landry. Can't you see I'm injured?”

The shocked light in his eyes narrows and focuses on me like a laser pointer. I've finally gotten his full attention, and I kind of regret it. “How? I left you in the truck.”