Broken Heart 05 Over My Dead Body (18 page)

“Gran?”

She didn’t answer. Foreboding crawled through me. I hurried through the living room. The TV and lights were on, but my grandmother wasn’t in here, either. The screen door banged shut behind me as I stepped onto the front porch.

Men were gathered on the bank of the creek. Some stood back, while others kneeled at the edge.

“I tried to call your phone, honey,” said Gran. She stood next to the railing, her fingernails digging into the wood. George had his arm around her, his gaze solemn. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “They found . . . something in the creek.”

“It’s not her,” I said, fighting off the hideous suspicion clamoring through me. “It’s not Glory.”

I didn’t hear her response because I was running. To the creek. I shoved through the ring of men standing watch, and tried to pry myself between those kneeling. They wouldn’t let me through.

“Move, goddamn it!” I grabbed one by the shoulders and yanked him backward. He flew into the knot of men behind me, knocking them over like bowling pins.

Then I saw. Brady in the water. Holding her. Her face cradled to his shoulder. Her skin waxen, her body limp, her dress shredded. Her bare feet dangled in the water.

“Simone,” he said. “Stop, honey. Please.”

My grief was a living, breathing entity. It reached out and punched at the water. The creek churned and swirled. Water geysered and lacerated the muddy banks.

Brady shifted and her arm slid free of his grasp. The hand falling, falling into the water . . . and my mind snapped. I’d seen her tiny hand falling, falling into the blood. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to do it. I couldn’t move, and there she was, two years old, in her footie pajamas, squatting next to me, her tiny fingers dripping red.

Someone was grabbing me, holding me back. I slipped to my knees, my gaze on that small, still form, and screamed.

I heard Brady’s voice, but couldn’t comprehend his words. Then what he was saying penetrated my anguish. “She’s not Glory, sweetheart. She’s not Glory.”

When I came out of the fog, I stared into the jade eyes of Damian. He was the one who’d blocked me from going into the water and still held me by the shoulders. He glanced at the girl and grimaced. “It’s Marissa.” He dropped his head.

Darlene’s little girl. Oh, God. Oh, no. Relief shuddered through me and drifted like snowflakes through my horror. My gaze skidded toward the creek. I watched Brady relinquish the girl to a dark-haired man, who gently lifted her into his arms.

“Did she d-drown?”

He shook his head once, and suddenly, I didn’t want to know any more about the child. Another mother had lost her baby tonight. I knew it was wrong to feel so happy that Glory wasn’t the lifeless one in Brady’s arms. But I felt that way all the same.

“What about Glory?” I clutched Damian’s shoulders. “Where is she?”

“We’re expanding the search. We will not stop until she is found, Simone.”

Then Brady was there, lifting me away from Damian’s arms and into his. He scooped me up and strode toward the house. His jaw was clenched, his brown eyes dark with pent-up emotion.

I smacked his chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking you home. Where you’ll stay with your grandmother. Do you understand me?”

“I’m short, not stupid. And here’s a news flash: You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

He put me on the porch and gripped my arms. “Until I know what’s going on here, I want you and Grandma Elaine safe. I won’t be able to focus unless I know you’re all right.” Frowning, he studied me. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got in a fight with the barn. It won.”

Any other time, he might’ve laughed. Instead, he had the nerve to look even more concerned about me. He kissed my forehead. “Please, Simone,” he whispered. “Stay here.”

It was the “please” that did me in. That and the intensity of his stare. And maybe that little kiss of comfort. He really did care about us. I knew if anyone could track down my daughter, it was Brady.

“All right. When you find Glory, call Gran’s cell phone. Mine’s broken.”

He nodded. Then he whirled around, reinserted his com link, and started giving orders to his team. Gran put her arm around me and squeezed.

“What was all the fuss?” she asked.

“Nothing.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that another little girl was dead, one who looked a helluva lot like my daughter. “She’s not there.”

I looked at George and silently asked that he not tell her the truth. He nodded in acknowledgment.

“Brady will find her,” said Gran, her voice all kinds of relieved. “I’m gonna go finish the lemon bars. And I’m gonna pray.”

I wanted to pray, too, but God and I had a parting of ways even before I’d become a vampire. I still went to church every Sunday, hoping to find forgiveness. To find my faith again. Then I’d gotten undead, which was the reason of all reasons not to go to church anymore.

Gran and George went into the house, and I looked at the awfulness going on in my front yard. Most of the men dispersed, reengaging in the search effort. Four others took the girl to a black Ford F-350 truck. Three got into the bed with their precious cargo; the other swung into the driver ’s seat.

In no time at all, everyone was gone.

I stood on the porch, listening to the wind rattle through the trees of the nearby woods. I heard faint sounds—pants scraping bark, grass slapping at boots, voices murmuring. After a moment or two, even those noises faded. . . . And I heard only the water’s quiet burbling.

“Where the hell are they?” I cried in frustration. It had been almost three hours since Glory had gone missing. Dawn was a little more than an hour away. I already felt the tug of slumber. I didn’t want to go to bed without knowing Glory was all right.

I wouldn’t have a choice. My body did whatever the hell it wanted when it came to sleep. There was no Jolt for us undead, nothing in the world that stopped us from our daily rest.

I paced the living room, feeling frantic and helpless. Brady had called Gran’s cell phone once, just to let us know that they hadn’t found a damned thing.

“They’ll find her.” Grandma Elaine was sitting in her rocking chair, humming as she knitted another blanket. George was in the kitchen, cleaning. Apparently, the man reacted to stress by turning into Mr. Clean. He’d mopped, swept, taken out the trash, and was currently scrubbing out the refrigerator.

Gran always knitted blankets, mostly for Christmas presents. She also gifted her famous pepper-raspberry jelly—the only time you could ever get the stuff. Once you had a taste, you craved it all year long.

I had tried to fix my cell phone, tried to use it as a way to get my mind off Glory. My hands were shaking too much, and my brain refused to work. Gran had found some comfort in her knitting, but watching her be patient and steady just jangled my nerves more.

“Simone, you gotta have faith.”

“You think God is gonna save her?” I asked, tasting bile. “You think if I pray hard enough, He’ll bring Glory home? He didn’t seem all that interested in saving us when we needed His help the most. She almost died then, too. You know what I had to do. You know what happened. God wasn’t there.” I smacked the arm of the couch. “We’re just lab rats in a maze, looking for the fucking cheese. And He keeps moving the cheese.”

“You’re the only one who can figure out your relationship with our maker, child.” She sighed and turned toward me. “Are you really going to blame God for the choices you made?”

We’d had this conversation before, and it always hit the same wall. And if I were to believe Dr. Merrick and Zerina, then God was not just some all-powerful guy who helped one person but not another. He was life itself. And my life was created by my choices.

I think I might be able to live with that concept of God. I couldn’t blame Him for what I had set into motion. Lyle showed up with the gun. Jacob had laughed, even after Lyle shot him in the shoulder. Laughed as he wrenched it out of the old man’s hands and put it to Lyle’s forehead.

“Simone?”

I heard the concern in Gran’s voice. Being blind had in no way inhibited her ability to see the truth about people. She knew I was skipping down the dark side of memory lane.

“I’m okay.” I stood up, trying to shake off the willies. Thinking about my old life, about when I was the Other Simone, always gave me the chills. “I need some fresh air.”

“Really?” said Gran, smiling. “Since when?”

“Oh, ha.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’m too restless to just sit here. I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in a few.”

“All right, baby.”

She went back to knitting, and I left the house. I sure as hell didn’t want go to the barn again. I hadn’t quite processed what had happened to me there. When Brady came back, when he brought Glory to me, I would sit down and tell him everything.

Going to the creek didn’t hold any interest for me, either. I didn’t want to relive those moments when I thought Brady was bringing Glory out of the water. That poor girl. What had happened to her? And what about Darlene? Was she dead, too?

Stupid as it was, I walked toward the water, inexplicably drawn to the place. Before I knew it, I was already halfway down the pier. I stopped, looking out to the water. It didn’t look so calm and friendly now. I doubted I’d ever stick my toes in there again.

I walked to the end of the pier and looked down. I saw nothing in the muddied water. Just the usual debris—sticks, leaves, and there, a candy wrapper. Baby Ruth.

Squatting, I peered down. The disturbed silt hadn’t yet resettled, and it left the water murky. Gray clouds had scuttled across the moon, only half-visible, leaving very little light.

The Baby Ruth wrapper twirled around, just out of my reach. With everything that was going on, picking up litter was the least of my worries. I studied the gently sloping banks. The section near the pier had been gouged by boots and hands.

Wait a minute. Baby Ruth? That was Reiner’s favorite candy. What the hell was it doing floating in the very creek where Marissa had died?

My whole body froze. No—no way. Granted, I didn’t have good feelings about the man, but I couldn’t see him killing a little girl.

Then again, I’d already shown what a bad judge of character I could be.

“Simone?”

I almost jumped out of my skin. As it was, I nearly fell into the water.

Reiner grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me backward, preventing my headfirst splash into the stream.

“Shit!” I shrugged off his hands and struggled to my feet. “You scared the hell out of me! Why did you sneak up on me like that?”

His eyebrows almost touched his hairline. “I did not sneak up on you. You were . . . occupied.”

I couldn’t hide my nervousness. “Sorry! It’s just . . . I’m crazy worried about Glory.”

“Understandable, Liebling. You are all right?”

“I’m fine, just fine.” I managed to push my lips into a trembling smile. “Is that why you’re here? To join in the search?”

He shook his head. “I am here for Marissa.”

For a shocked moment, I couldn’t speak. Finally, I managed to sputter, “What?”

He tapped his nose. “It’s what I do, Simone. I’m a tracker. The best.”

“Better than Damian and his brothers?”

“The best,” he repeated. “I can track anything, anyone. I will find the one who strangled the little girl.”

My stomach clenched. “Strangled? Sweet Jesus.”

Had he done it? Perfect cover if the murderer was the one searching himself. Still, Reiner’s eyes held no guilt. To my überears, his heartbeat and breathing remained normal. He didn’t flinch away or try to avoid the subject of the dead girl. I couldn’t believe he was that cool under pressure, so I was left with one conclusion: He hadn’t hurt Marissa.

“You understand the importance of finding the killer, ja? It is the only reason why I do not join the search for your daughter.” He looked empathetic. “Do not worry, Simone. Your Glory will be found.”

“Of course she will.” I wanted so badly to cry again, but I swallowed the knot crawling up my throat. I had no tears. And dry-weeping in front of Reiner . . . well, I just wouldn’t do it. “I’ll leave you to your work, then.”

I engaged my vampire speed and reached the house in no time flat. I went inside, feeling more agitated than ever. Maybe if I liked the guy better, I wouldn’t feel so offended by his need to create a connection with me. Reiner had some sort of agenda here in Broken Heart. Obviously, he didn’t like that the princes had abdicated their political positions. Then again, he’d gone to all the trouble of making that expensive statue. Surely such a gift meant he was embracing the future of his people. Was he here to support the new direction? Or was he here to thwart it?

I rolled my eyes. What next, Simone? You wanna study the John F. Kennedy case files and form another theory about the magic bullet? My paranoia only subsided after I got undead. Having supernatural abilities certainly made me worry less about the past catching up with me. Broken Heart had unknowingly become the ultimate Witness Protection Program.

I heard the trill of Gran’s phone. I hurried into the kitchen. Gran leaned against the counter, her face red from crying.

George held her cell phone up to his ear. “Yes, Brady. She’s here.”

He held out the phone and I took it.

“Please tell me you found her.”

“Two men will arrive in approximately five seconds. You will go with them.” His voice was as hard as granite.

“Oh, my God.” My undead heart did a loop-de- loop. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He didn’t respond.

I tried to draw in a breath, which so didn’t work. “It’s close to dawn, damn it!”

The back door opened and two men, dressed head to toe in black uniforms filled with all kinds of scary equipment, entered. Their faces were covered and they wore goggles.

I looked at the strangers who stood sentinel in my kitchen. They each raised their rifles and pointed them at my head.

“What’s happening?” asked Gran, her blind gaze tracking the intruders. “Who are you?”

George stepped in front of my grandmother, and she grasped his shoulders.