Blood Ties (21 page)

“Bullshit. I heard you were all over him.”

“You heard wrong. Besides, even if I was, what business is it of yours?”

Ray grabbed my shoulders and shook me until my teeth clacked. “Everything about you is my business. You’re
my
girlfriend. You think it’s funny to fuck around on me?

You think I’d just put up with it?”

Th

e fuzzy feeling left my brain. “Get out.”

“I don’t think so. I wanna know why you’ve been avoiding me.” His vise-like grip tightened. “Who’s this guy you’ve been seeing on the sly? You think I’m stupid?”

“I’m warning you, Ray,” I said, against the rage building inside me. “Let go of me right fucking now and get the hell out of my house.”

His jagged fi ngernails dug into the exposed skin of my back. “Or what? You gonna call the sheriff ? Maybe your pansy-ass friend Kevin will come after me,” he sneered, as his spittle dotted my face. “Does this new guy like the way you move in bed enough that he’ll take me on? Or, is he another pussy hanging around for a sample of yours?”

219

Th

e last thing I’d call Tony Martinez was a pussy. Retreat was impossible against Ray’s increasingly painful hold, so I tried logic. “We’re done. Take the hint and get out.”

“We’re done when I say we’re done.”

I dropped my shoulders, lifting my arms between Ray’s and circling my hands up, pressing my elbows into his forearms. He released me, his hands fell away, and I stepped back.

But not fast enough. His right fi st hammered into my jawbone. I staggered, trying to get into a defensive position.

Before I could, another powerful blow connected with my already queasy stomach, glancing off my bruised ribs. He backhanded me, his class ring caught on my cheekbone.

Rage had darkened his features into a mask of hatred I didn’t recognize on him, but had seen on my father.

He reached into his tool belt and grabbed a hammer.

Blood trickled down my stinging cheek. I hadn’t yet caught my breath from his sucker punch. As he advanced on me, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t taken his threats seriously. How had I ever considered him harmless? In that moment I knew he’d kill me.

Th

e screen door banged open, feet scuffl

ed, and the

next thing I knew, Ray was sprawled on the orange shag carpet, fl at on his back, staring up the barrel of Kevin’s gun.

“Come on, asshole. Give me a goddamned reason.”

Kevin shoved the gun higher, making Ray’s nose resemble 220

a pig’s snout. “You get off on hitting her? Do you, you sick fuck?”

Ray shook his head wildly and Kevin’s gun slipped, gouging a chunk from his cheek. He winced, but Kevin didn’t move back.

I heard a crack and looked to where Kevin’s knee had ground into Ray’s ribs. Kevin pressed harder and Ray sucked in a painful breath. Th

e hammer dropped from

Ray’s curled fi st.

“He’s got a sheetrock knife on his tool belt,” I said, feeling as if someone else had spoken the words through my mouth.

Kevin also removed a mini-saw before turning to study me. “For Chrissake, Julie, get in the kitchen. You’re bleeding.”

I shook my head slowly, running my tongue around my teeth. Didn’t feel like any were loose. “Not until he’s gone.”

“Th

en call the sheriff .”

“No.”

“Why

not?”

Like this wasn’t mortifying enough. “Just get him out of here.”

Ray lumbered to his feet, blood oozing down his battered, handsome face. He couldn’t wipe it away with his gaze trained on Kevin’s gun.

When they reached the door, I said, “Stay the fuck away 221

from me, Ray. I mean it. Next time I’ll press charges.”

“Come near her again and I’ll kill you,” Kevin said as he heaved Ray off the porch, throwing his tools after him.

“Th

at’s a fucking promise.”

Th

e door shut with decisive click. I slumped into the couch.

Kevin didn’t go after Ray, although I knew he wanted to. He deposited the gun on the coff ee table and returned from the kitchen with damp towels and ice before I could object. He dabbed at the blood without comment. I closed my eyes, desperately wanting to give in to a river of tears.

Kevin would understand, but tough chicks never cried, especially over a man. I sucked it up.

“Good thing you can take it on the chin,” Kevin said evenly, although his breaths came in short, angry bursts like a bull in rut, “or else we’d be in the emergency room.”

“I’m

fi ne.”

“I can see that.” His fi ngers gently stroked the bump rising on the other side of my jaw, traveled up and smoothed the hair from my forehead. A sense of utter calm fi lled the dark hole where my courage had been sucked out.

“Hell, Julie, I’ve never had this happen twice in one year. And it’s happened to you twice in one
week
.”

Th

e smell of the antiseptic cream stung my nostrils before the nasty stuff burned my fl esh.

“Hold still, tough girl, this might sting.”

I gritted my teeth, but didn’t pull away. Getting 222

smacked around was almost easier than dealing with the medication.

Kevin placed a cylinder of lemonade in my hand and raised it to my jaw. I opened my eyes. His concentrated gaze seared me, stinging and soothing as powerfully as the fi rst-aid treatment.

Before he could reset the distance between us, I caressed the side of his stony face. “Th

ank you.” My hand

dropped when he closed his own eyes and sighed.

“No problem.” He stood, giving me his back and raking an unsteady hand through his hair. “You want a brandy or something before you tell me what happened with Shelley today?”

Brandy? Next, he’d be off ering me smelling salts.

“No.” I immediately launched into the morning’s events, and backtracked to my discussion with Tony Martinez. Kevin didn’t chastise me for questioning Shelley alone. Or chumming it up with a biker of dubious reputation. Or, for blowing off my real job. When he hadn’t said anything after a few minutes, I prompted, “Kevin?”

“Sorry. Just thinking about heading up to where they found Samantha. Got directions from Sergeant Schneider, but don’t think we’ll fi nd anything.” His frown deepened the worry lines set between his eyes. “Although the fresh air might do you some good. Th

ink you’re up for it?”

“Sure.” I darted to my feet and did a little soft shoe.

“See? Good as new.”

223

“I’m beginning to think you’re part Borg.”

“Only the best parts, baby.”

He re-holstered his gun, letting the nylon case dangle at his side. “Don’t know why I encourage you. But if you’re sure you’re all right, get your hiking boots on. We’re goin’

a-huntin’.”

“For

what?”

“Clues. But you’d better change out of your pajamas in case we run into Big Foot.” Kevin paused and smiled, ruffl

ing my hair. “Course, with your track record, you’d probably end up dating him.”

Kevin’s tongue stayed idle on the drive up Rimrock.

Th

e scenic road was another reminder of why I’ve chosen to live in the Black Hills. Th

e simple beauty. Th

e splendor. Th

e

fact we’d only met a dozen cars on this stretch of highway.

Rimrock Highway is a popular thoroughfare for tourists on the way to Deadwood. Rock cliff s in shades of cream and cinnamon jut to the sky, an expanse of blue the color of a newly laid robin’s egg. Black Hills spruce, choke cherry bushes, and the occasional Aspen tree pepper the slanted shale ramparts. A stream meanders alongside clus-ters of houses. Most homes are situated on higher ground now, after the fl ood of 1972, when the mild-looking stream roared through the canyon, taking houses, boulders, cars, and many lives in its wake. Until that time, people had forgotten how Rapid Creek had gotten its name.

We passed the sign announcing the turnoff to Hisega.

225

Housing developments ruled here, with the occasional bed and breakfast, restaurant, or a tiny ranch thrown in for diversity. Th

ere was even an ostrich farm tucked in among the hills. “No trespassing” and “no hunting” signs were nailed to trees or rickety fence posts. Once we turned from the paved portion of the road, we entered the Black Hills National Forest. No wonder local law enforcement had trouble deciding jurisdiction. Even with a map of this quadrangle in my lap, the boundaries between public and private land blurred.

Kevin had driven his old two-seater Jeep, which he uses for off -road excursions. As far as unmanaged fi re trails went, this one was close to a real road. Usually, I loved hanging on, bouncing around inside the cab, watching wildlife scatter in our wake. Not today. Every bump jarred my ribcage. Every turn had me grinding my teeth, expand-ing the ache in my swollen jaw. And every few minutes I glanced into the side mirror. But the trail behind us stayed empty. Still, I was spooked.

“I don’t think Ray is going to come after us, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kevin said, downshifting to a crawl as the potholes in the rutted road became unbearable.

“I’m sure he’s drowning his sorrows with his loser friends at Dusty’s. But I’ve had this weird feeling since yesterday that someone is following me.”

He muttered something and studied the envelope 226

clutched in his hand. We slowed and stopped. Kevin jammed the Jeep into reverse and parked in a fairly fl at section close to the road. “Th

ink I missed the turn.”

“Isn’t it marked?”

“What?

Th

e crime scene?”

I

nodded.

“With yellow crime tape cautioning people to stay out?”

“Yeah. I mean on TV . . .”

“I’m unplugging your television. Th

at might happen

in LA or New York. Here most everything is handled in two hours unless they have to call in the DCI from Pierre.

Th

ey don’t even do that much any more.” He rubbed the furrow between his eyes. “You up for a little hike?”

“Sure. How far?”

“Don’t

know.”

I pulled on a jean jacket, leaving my cigarettes and lighter in the Jeep. As a lifelong resident of the Black Hills, I’d witnessed the devastation of forest fi res fi rsthand.

Smokey the Bear might be hokey to East Coasters, but I took his warnings seriously.

Th

e overgrown road ended at the creek bed so we backtracked to search for a path along the water. Th e creek

was high from melted snow and I knew from previous visits, bitterly cold. Th

e water danced with life. Brown trout

blended with the rocks, visible only by the barest fl ick of a mud-colored fi n. Bright green algae teased from the river bottom as the water fl owed patiently in places and rushed 227

over boulders in others. Th

e glumpy bank gave way to

sheer expanses of fl esh-colored rock, making navigating the spaces between the vastly diff erent areas diffi cult.

But the view was worth it. Th

e cliff s were higher

back here than the ones close to the highway, with a pro-nounced rather than a gradual drop. Everything seemed better. Taller trees, fresher air, a brighter sun sparkling over the clear, icy blue river. I inhaled the cool scent of clean water and damp, loamy smells particular to a spring forest and closed my eyes. Th

is reconnection with nature after

my hellish week was exactly what I’d needed. Kevin had known. He always did.

He led the way, keeping an even pace. We hiked in solitude, as was pretty much our unwritten rule. I’d started to feel the burn in my thighs and calves when the creek banked right and disappeared between two grayish-black walls of rock. Darker splotches of moss discolored the stone; the formation looked like a diseased and discarded elephant.

Kevin stopped, uncapped his canteen and settled upon a log decaying in the small clearing.

I checked for bugs hidden in the bark and wood pulp before I joined him. “So, what do you think?”

“We should do this more often.” He inhaled with great gusto and tipped his head back to enjoy the majestic cloudless sky, the unfettered air, allowing the spring rays to warm his face. “It’s beautiful. I wouldn’t mind building 228

a house out here someday.”

Kevin? Mr. No-maintenance-condo? Settling down and living in the woods like Ewell Gibbons? I cocked my head, taking a swig from his canteen. “Not many houses out here.”

“I think that’s why I like it.”

Or, that’s what Lilly likes. I kept the opinion to myself and grabbed a handful of pine needles, neatly snapping off the crisp brown ends before breaking the rest into little pieces and tossing them back on the chilly ground.

Kevin withdrew the envelope from his pocket. “Not sure if we’re in the right place. Maybe we should head back.

Follow the creek the other direction. We were supposed to pass a couple of houses. I didn’t see any, did you?”

I lifted my chin to stare at the apex of towering trees.

A pine-scented breeze sent my hair fl ying and my spirits soaring. Truthfully, I didn’t want to move. Th is little

clearing had temporarily patched the dark cracks in my spirit with peace. Not another soul was in sight to ruin it.

Even the birds were songless and the turkey and deer were scarce. “Nope.”

“Ritchie also said there were cabins along here for some kind of church camp.”

“Th

ere’s more than one camp.” I remembered four or fi ve diff erent denominations claimed this area, each with a separate campsite. No “good will” camp games or tomfoolery was tolerated between Methodists and 229

Presbyterians. One year my father had threatened to send me to Catholic church camp for the whole summer. He never followed through, thank God.

“Let’s try the other way.”

Once again I trailed behind, but my blood tingled with energy and I wasn’t huffi

ng too loudly from normal

physical activity. When we passed the Jeep and my stash of cigarettes, I looked longingly for a minute, but a sense of denial increased my feeling of nobility.