Skin Heat (9 page)

“I expect you back at work on Monday. You’ll spend the first week on the desk, getting back into the groove. Once you’re sure you’re good, I’ll have the others shuffle some cases your way. I know they’re buried.”

With Rina . . . gone and him out on sick leave, it wasn’t surprising. The workload must be staggering. “I’m ready to get back to it.”

“Not today. Go home, Hebert. Take one more weekend. This is probably the last peaceful Friday you’ll see for a while.”

He couldn’t argue, though he wanted to. Quiet wasn’t the same as peaceful. In his silent apartment, he had no choice but to turn things over in his mind. Weigh what he could’ve done differently and wonder whether it would’ve mattered. If there was any confluence of events in which he could save her.

Because she hadn’t
just
been his best friend. Though he’d never told her—and Rina had been happily married for fifteen years—he’d loved her. Desperate, unspoken, and hopeless, it had always been. He’d known that, and would never have acted on it. She’d adored her husband and their two children.

Hebert didn’t like thinking of Preston, who had the real right to fall into a dark hole over her. Instead, he seemed to be coping better than Emil, maybe because of the kids. He didn’t have the luxury of falling apart; he had to keep it together for them. When he’d first gotten out of the hospital, he’d paid his respects to their family.

He wouldn’t be doing it again. Envy ate him up inside because Preston had had fifteen years with her, partner in every way. He’d been the one she was eager to get home to, and it hurt him to see mementoes of their life—the life
he’d
wanted with her—all over that house.

Once he left the ABI, he didn’t go home. Only emptiness and a hidden bottle of booze waited for him. Instead he stopped by a flower shop and bought a mixed bouquet of roses.
Yellow for friendship. Red for love.
He knew such things because he’d once been a romantic, before the army ground it out of him.

They’d told him where she rested so he found Rina’s grave without trouble. It had a vase built in, and he removed the dead flowers, adding his roses instead. She was buried in a new plot with a twin plot reserved for Preston, and it was lovely, laid beneath a beautiful oak tree. The man had bought a double headstone carved with angels, his side still blank. Hers read:

Preston had also included a copper plaque, imprinted with her favorite loss-related poem.
Do not stand at my grave and weep . . .
Damn the man, he did everything right. He had been a good husband, and he was still a good father. And even now he wasn’t alone.

Hebert hated him.

 

He had been
watching her for weeks, learning her patterns. She wasn’t the one; he wasn’t crazy. He
knew
that. She was merely a stand-in, and he harbored no particular animosity toward her. But she fit, and he needed the practice.

One did not start at the top, after all. It took time to work up to such goals. He must ensure that when the time came, he was ready, and everything would be perfect. He had spent years picturing how he would make everything right.

She was pretty with her long chestnut hair and her big dark eyes. And she was young. So his work would prove no hardship. Since his needs were specific and precise, it had taken him a while to find her. He’d watched countless women before choosing her as the first of his girls.

Now that he had, he would never let her go.

Every morning, she went to work at the hair salon. She wore impractical shoes for standing all day, but from the way the other stylists dressed, high heels must be part of the uniform, as much as the pink smock, white shirt, and black slacks. Her hair looked different, practically every day, and if business was slow, they fixed each other’s hair. It was almost like watching a slumber party.

That night, she locked up alone. He knew she would be leaving at half-past eight, after she had balanced the accounts and finished closing the salon. Everything was falling into place. He had been so deliciously careful.

There were no other cars in the lot. Just hers. And his, nearby. But not where she could see it. He waited outside the range of the security cameras. Days before, he had calculated where he could stand without being seen, at least nothing more than a hint of his shadow. That idea pleased him. When people started asking questions, they would find nothing of him here. Just the echo of her absence.

When she came outside, she had her keys already in hand. As he knew, she had taken self-defense courses at the Y. She had pepper spray on her key ring. She wasn’t a stupid woman, nor would she prove easy prey. That was why he had chosen her, for what was the point of a simple test? She comprised part of his dark gauntlet, and facing this would make him ready for what was to come.

She noticed right away, but then, he
had
slashed her front right tire so it was obvious. A low curse escaped her as she dug in her bag for her phone. Ah, that mistake would cost her. She should’ve gotten in her car immediately in case the flat was meant as a distraction.

It was.

He slipped up behind her, handkerchief in hand. She didn’t even scream. The cloth muffled her struggles, but she went limp in his arms with a satisfying speed. Keeping the cloth over her mouth, he lifted her, checked the area, and then strode toward his car.

He didn’t put her in the trunk. On such small details hung the difference between success and failure. Instead he tenderly eased her into the passenger side of the car and buckled her in. To a policeman or passing car, she would seem to be asleep. Not so unusual at this hour. To keep her unconscious, he slipped a surgical mask over her face to secure the handkerchief across her nose and mouth.

As with everything else, he drove with care, leaving the lights of the city behind. The country road was desolate, and he kept driving until he reached their destination. There were no lights inside. He did not need them.

When he carried her inside, she still had not stirred. He took her downstairs to the room where he had spent so many nights in his youth. Each crack in the stained cement he knew by heart, each shadow thrown by the bare bulb swinging on its loose wire. He lay her down on the table and fastened her in place.

Any new endeavor required a certain amount of experimentation. Otherwise how could he ever learn what worked or what he liked best? Anticipation radiated through him in a low-grade hum. He had her laid out for his pleasure, anything he wanted . . . anything at all.

Something like love surged. She would help make him ready for the one. He was going to make them pay, soon now. The years of waiting and watching would soon be over, and then Daddy could sleep. Only one thing could stop the screaming.

He removed the mask, but she still did not move. Worried now, he leaned closer and took her pulse. Nothing. When he peeled back her eyelids, they showed no signs of life.
God-dammit, you killed her too fast
, the old man snarled.
She didn’t feel a thing. You used too much chloroform, you moron. Or maybe you just left the rag on too long, because you were so fucking scared of being caught. Pussy. They’ll ride you like a horse in prison.

Furious, now, he took the knife to her, trying to drown his father’s voice. He’d planned to use her for practice; now it was all ruined.
Slash, slash.
He imagined it was the bastard who’d sired him instead. It was his one regret—that the devil had died in a car accident instead of by his hand.

He hadn’t wanted to come back. But he couldn’t live with the noise in his head. If he could’ve shut the old man up any other way, he would’ve stayed in Florida. But over the years, the screaming grew louder and pretending got harder. At the age of nine, he
had
promised. He’d sworn to make all them pay in exchange for light and food and warmth. At last, he’d yielded and come back to Harper Creek, the heart of darkness.

He had been planning ever since. But now, there was only one way to proceed—only one course that would satisfy the old man. First, however, he had to dispose of his mistake. In this business, there was no margin for error. The next time, he’d get it right. Next time, it would be perfect.

Thursday night was
rough, and life got worse thereafter.

Neva ran home early Friday morning to shower and pack a bag full of clean uniforms. She hated leaving the kittens alone at their age, even for that long, but she couldn’t bring them to her apartment.
I’ll be quick
, she thought, until she stepped through the front door.

A mildew odor greeted her, and she found a puddle of water nearly an inch deep on her living room floor. Overhead, the dark stains on the ceiling had finally given way to a ragged hole, where pipes and supports were visible. Restraining a whimper, she splashed through to the bedroom and saw there was damage in here as well. Her clean uniforms were no longer so pristine; they needed to be laundered before she could wear them.

She went downstairs to confront her landlady. Mrs. Popović took nearly five minutes to open the door, probably because she knew the conversation wouldn’t be pleasant. The woman answered in her housecoat, hair up in curlers, a cigarette dangling from her orange mouth.

“Good morning,” the woman greeted her.

“Not so much. Are you aware part of the upstairs has fallen down into my apartment along with a significant amount of water?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Popović bobbed her head. “I have my grandson coming out to fix the problem.”

“And how long do you expect that to take?”

A lift of bony shoulders, shifting pale blue flowered fabric. “Not long.”

Considering it took two weeks to replace a broken window pane, Neva didn’t have much confidence in that assessment. “I can’t live like that.”

“So go visit relatives. Stay with good friend. Don’t worry, I knock it off your rent.”

Neva clutched her bag full of uniforms and fought the urge to scream, but she didn’t have time to argue. The clinic had to be open and there were kittens who would die without her care.

“Fine. Let me know as soon as the repairs are finished.”

By that afternoon, Neva wasn’t sure she could last the month. Though the kittens were fine, she was flagging. Sleeping on the cot at night, working all day, and almost never leaving Paws & Claws left her sputtering like an engine running out of gas. It was costing her—not that the babies weren’t worth it—but she didn’t want to make some stupid diagnostic error on one of her patients, either. People needed her to make the best choices for their pets’ health. She was no longer in top form and she knew it.

But at least she
could
sleep in the clinic while Mrs. Popović had the ceiling fixed.
Other people are much worse off
, she told herself. It was just a string of bad luck; that was all. Everybody went through rough patches, and then the universe evened it out with good fortune down the line.
It has to turn around . . . and soon.

When Zeke came in at two, she didn’t know how she was going to make it until six. And then another endless night lay before her. She hid the worst of it from Julie, who was distracted anyway with talk about Thanksgiving. Her friend was worried about meeting her in-laws-to-be, which she suspected was part of the reason the two still hadn’t tied the knot. According to Julie, Travis had a mother who could best be termed possessive—and she didn’t approve of young people living in sin.

She didn’t see Zeke until an hour after his shift started. Patients kept her tied up, so she didn’t have to think about his mystery, his silence, or his unexpected kindness. But they ran into each other in her office, both checking on the kittens. It was almost time for the next feeding, and they were mewing, clambering over each other looking for teats on the surrogate mother he’d suggested.

“You take one, I’ll take one,” she said by way of greeting. “And first done gets a bonus baby.”

His eyes lightened a little, though he didn’t smile. Sitting down opposite her on a crate of dog food, he got right to work. She noted his gentle competence in making sure the little fur-face got what he needed. The quiet between them felt comfortable, surprisingly, though they hadn’t known one another that long. She felt at ease with him as she had with few folks since returning to Harper Creek after college.

Luke had been one of them. But she wasn’t going to think about him today.

Experience led her to finish first, so she took the other one, and he went to work on burping detail. Next, they’d have bathroom duty. It was an endless, exhausting cycle, but it’d be worth it when she found homes for these darlings.

“Look tired,” he commented at length.

She’d gotten used to his laconic, truncated sentences, though she supposed he might sound strange to someone else. “It’s going to be a long few weeks.”

“Why not take them home?”

Oh, how she wished. But she couldn’t even live there, let alone the kittens, but she wouldn’t complain to Zeke. Her problems weren’t his. “I can’t. My landlady is picky about pets, and I can’t afford to piss her off. There aren’t a lot of places to rent around here.”

At least, that my parents don’t own.
But she didn’t say that aloud.

From his expression, he extrapolated the unspoken sub-text. Zeke didn’t comment. Neva decided she liked that about him. He knew when to keep quiet.

“Julie?”

“Travis is allergic.” To cats, not dogs. Otherwise, it would never work with Julie, who loved Doof almost as much as her boyfriend.

And besides, this was her pet project. She’d decided to save these three newborns, and it didn’t seem right to stick Julie with the task just because it was tiring. Life didn’t work that way, unless you were selfish, and Neva had never been one to bail on trying times.