Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (23 page)

“
Bastard
,”
my mom would say of An
g’
s killer.
 “
H
e’
s some sumbitch, ai
n’
t he
,‘
Lainey?  Out there killing women, biting the shit out o
f‘
e
m‘
til they die
.
”  

“
Sumbitc
h’
s too nice a word
,”
I tell the face in the mirror, my mothe
r’
s face, only several years younger.  No lines.  No wrinkles.  No hagged-out expression from cigarettes and too many drugs and a lifetime of disappointment.
 “
The man who bit Meera and Ang to death is a cold-blooded killer, and I want a piece of him
,”
I say.
 “
I want a piece of him
.
”

Gulping cold air, I toss my paper towel into the garbage can I smashed earlier by kicking it and take a last look  at my face.  Mine,
I’
m saying, Alaina Colb
y’
s. 

College studen
t’
s. 

Exotic dance
r’
s. 

Office manage
r’
s at Verbote Dental. 

Frien
d’
s. 

I want to add another: daughter.  But I ca
n’
t.

“
Oh, God
.
”
 
A sob jerks through me, and I almost lose it again when my brain stops on the ter
m—
frien
d—
but I hold myself together.  Although
I’
m gazing at my face, i
t’
s An
g’
s that keeps staring back. 

Help me
. 

The anguish I imagine in Angi
e’
s face fires a spark in my gut, hollowed from heaving and crying the last half hour.  It flares, igniting my sou
l’
s dry tinder.  I stand like an addict in some far away place, feeling the blue white burn of anger jack my system back to the reality I must walk from this room and face.

“
I will, Ang
,”
I promise.
 “I’
ll find that sumbitch and pay him back
.
”

This is the first time
I’
ve ever enjoyed being who I am, the first time
I’
m glad I carry my Goshen Colby crime gang genes.  Like Meer
a’
s and An
g’
s killer, I can also kill, if my Colby bloo
d’
s any indicator.  I
want
to kill.  I taste the tang of blood on my tongue and see the bitter hate for her murderer burning in my eyes.  I will kill whoever did this to my friend.

“
Get your butt back in that copy room and talk to that LEO
,”
I say, desire for revenge sucking oxygen from my anguish and tightening my anger to a cold compressed rage. 

“
Yeah,
I’
ll do it
,”
I say, jacking my forearm up the same way Berta Colby does, giving the world the proverbial fuckoff gesture.  Berta would be proud.  I simply feel raw.

My cell phone rings. 

I
t’
s Angie!

For a moment, I lose track of reality and forget my friend is dead.  I dig my cell phone from my hoodie pocket.
 “
See you at work tonight
,”
sh
e’
ll say the second I answer.  Sh
e’
ll talk to me with her bubbly voice tha
t’
s always filled with laughter. 
I’
ll hear my friend and
I’
ll know this is all a bad dream.  Then everything will be okay.  I wo
n’
t have to run home and lock myself in the bathroom and cut until
I’
m done.  Until I feel nothing.

Chapter 20

Brightly hopeful, but still feeling like a selfish spoiled child wanting something I know I ca
n’
t have, I answer my cell phone. 

“
Angie
?
”
 
I sound frightened, scared.  Maybe this is all a bad dream. 
I’
ll awaken soon.

“
No, i
t’
s me
.
” 

Clutching my chest, feeling like I can somehow squeeze out the pain
I’
m feeling over An
g’
s murder, I lean against the bathroom wall, grateful at last for the cushy Hyde Park wallpaper, for my brothe
r’
s voice.
 “
Robin
?
”

“
Wha
t’
s wrong
?”
he asks.
 “
Are you crying
?
”

“
No
,”
I say, hating to lie but not wanting to tell him yet wha
t’
s happened to Ang.
 “
Wher
e’
ve you been? 
I’
ve been looking all over for you
.
”

“I’
m twenty, not ten years old
,”
he says.
 “
No need to worry about me
.
”

I
t’
s bad timing, or maybe
I’
m ready to unload on someon
e—
anyone.
 “
Robin, are you freaki
n
’ kidding me! 
I’
m not the meth head, remember?  You are, and
I’
ve been caring for you since the day you were born.  Where
are
you
?
”

I’
ve hurt him.  My attack is unfair, but
I’
m hurting, too.  Still, I ca
n’
t let my pain interfere with my duty.  Ro
b’
s my responsibility and has been since the day he was born, and definitely since the day I graduated high school.  I could
n’
t leave him behind in that Goshen hellhole with Berta, so I took him with me when I left.  I keep telling myself i
t’
s not my fault h
e’
s gotten into meth, but taking a full class load and working two jobs,
I’
ve had zero time to spend with him.  A little voice keeps whispering:
it is your fault.  It is.

Silence.  Ro
b’
s not always cooperative with my big sister act.

Then he does what I hate most.  With his crappy timing, my brother picks now to start the inevitable build that will lead to full blown anger and a shouting match between us if
I’
m not careful. 

“
If w
e’
re talking about caring for each other, then you need to explain what yo
u’
ve been doing with that weird fuck, Stoke Farrel.  I heard he crashed at our place last night
,‘
Laney.  Wha
t’
s up with that
?
”

I take a deep breath, squeeze back tears.  I shoul
d’
ve seen this coming.  Robi
n’
s angry and itching for a fight.  I
t’
s a sure sign h
e’
s using again.
 “
Yeah, he did
,”
I say, wondering how he found out about Stoke.  But Robin and I never lie to each other, although I just held back info on An
g’
s murder, so I just tell him.
 “
He invited himself to spend the night.  I could
n’
t get rid of him, Rob.  I swear h
e’
s just a friend.  He spent the night on the couch
.
”

More of that raucous silence tha
t’
s cropped up between us lately, and then
,“
Keep that Frankenstein midget bastard out of our apartment until I get back, or
I’
ll stomp his face into the dirt
.
”

Robin knows how to push all my hot buttons.
 “
H
e’
s my friend, Rob, and you do
n’
t get to tell me who to have for friends
.
”

“I’
ll kill him.  I swear if he touches you,
I’
ll kill him
.
”

I work to ignore the venom, the threat, in Ro
b’
s voice.  It will give him satisfaction if I tell him
I’
m scared for him.  When he gets like this, he will kill someone.  He goes into these angry builds that always lead to violence.  First he locks onto someone, convinces himself the
y’
re after him, and then he explodes on them.  I
t’
s my big fear.  That, and my concern h
e’
ll go to prison for murder. 

“
Please tell me where you are, Rob
,”
I beg, resigned.  I can fight a lot of things, but
I’
ve learned from Berta Colby: blood will tell.  Robi
n’
s a freaki
n
’ Goshen Colby, so what do I expect, if not a badass attitude and tons of grief from him? 

“
Rob,
I—
I do
n’
t have the heart for this right now.  Angi
e’
s bee
n
—”

“I’
m at Squea
l’
s
,”
he interrupts before I can tell him An
g’
s dead.

“
What
?”
I say.  Before I can stop myself, I lose it and start yelling, hating myself for acting just like Berta Colby.
 “
At
Squeals
?  You have no business there.  When are you coming home?  What about your dental appointment?  What about your meeting with your probation office
r—
? 

“
Rob
?
”

H
e’
s hung up on me.  What does he care that
I’
ve taken time from my schedule to find him a dentist wh
o’
ll take him in and fix his meth-head teeth?  That
I’
ve just learned my best friend has been murdered? 

I punch in his number.  He does
n’
t answer.  I text him.  No response.  

“
Damn you
!
” 

Cursing every male Colby ever born, starting with my brother and going back to our first ancestor, I limp from the bathroom.  Shoul
d’
na kicked the trash can so hard.  Now my good foo
t’
s aching, too.

* * *

“
You okay
?”
Aidan asks, when I come limping back into the copy room feeling like a wounded, pissed off coyote. 

“
Fine
.
”
 
I snarl, shrug his hand from my shoulder, and watch his green eyes wince.  I do
n’
t need or want his sympathy.  Detective Aidan Hawks could never understand how
I’
m feeling.  How could he?  My frien
d’
s been murdered.  Robi
n’
s hanging with Squeal, who deals meth from alleys behind Oma
r’
s, a dump site for Meer
a’
s body and for all I know for An
g’
s, too. 

“I’
m sorry
,”
I say.
 “
I
t’
s . . .
I’
m not feeling so good
.
”

Officer Barbi
e’
s cold blue eyes search my face with the hardened indifference of deep space probes.
 “
Can you take another look at the photos
?
” 

You are the amateur
,
if you think
I’
m talking to you.

I blow her off with a shrug as indifferent as her gaze, but I know from growing up as a Colby, and from my criminology background, that this is just the beginning. 
I’
ll be questioned plenty when Officer Barbie and Aidan Hawks start digging deeper into An
g’
s murder. 

Anxiety over Ang, and now Robi
n’
s phone call, nags me. 
Where has my brother been?  What have he and Squeal been doing
?  I trust Robin, but the meth makes him do crazy things.  And Squea
l’
s the worst kind of low life.
 

Dammit.
 

Cringing, I imagine my brother in priso
n—
for murder.  He asked me to trust him. 
I’
m trying, but what if h
e’
s involved in An
g’
s murder? 

Wha
t’
m I gonna do?

I think back to happier times, times before the drugs got him.  We sat up nights talking.  Rob wanted to become a podiatrist, or if that did
n’
t work, a vet working with race horses.
 “
So I can work on feet
,”
he used to tell me, explaining bones in my foot and how surgery coul
d—
and could no
t—
help my birth defect. 

Wha
t’
s with men and their foot fetishes?  I recall with a deepening chill th
e“
fee
t”
patterns on An
g’
s shoulder, making the connection
I’
ve been struggling not to: my brothe
r’
s addiction to feet, and the fact he dated my now dead friend, Angie Miller.

Worse than any fears I have about Robi
n’
s sexual perversions, I know h
e’
s a meth-head.  And I know he acts a little weird at times.  Bu
t
—

Is my brother a killer?    

Impossibl
e
—

Maybe.

Aidan pulls me gently toward the stack of copy paper boxes.
 “
Alaina, I know this is hard for you, but
I’
ve got questions
I’
ve got to as
k
—”

I refuse to sit.  Bric
k’
s fled to his lab.  Aureli
a’
s been put on notice not to come near me.  Officer Barbi
e’
s stuck like a fly on sticky tape to Aidan.

“
DeeDee
,”
Aidan says, noticing me glaring at her
,“
call Wes and get a ride back to the station. 
I’
m going to finish questioning Alaina and then drive her home.  I think she needs time alone with this. . .
.
”

All the time, h
e’
s looking into my eyes.  I just learned my frien
d’
s been murdered, but I want to kiss him, to bruise his lips, inflict pain.  I
t’
s sick, a rogue thought, but i
t’
s real. 
I’
m hur
t—
hurt ba
d—
but attracted to this cop in ways I ca
n’
t explain.

Maybe i
t’
s the pain of just learning
I’
ve lost Ang.  Or maybe i
t’
s a lifetime of pain, of feeling like I ca
n’
t win no matter what I do because I was born to a poor white-trash heroin addict.  But being completely honest, maybe i
t’
s my issue with self-esteem. 
Am I good enough for Aidan Hawks
?