Infamous: (A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense) (16 page)

Taylor stared at the smoking remains of her childhood home, shaking and bruised. Anton had gotten them out just in time. They were watching the show from Susan’s house, hiding from the police. Susan had already given a statement, irritating the cops with what she called “old lady rambling” and they’d left her alone pretty quick.

“They couldn’t find their asses with both hands,” Susan muttered, pouring whiskey into teacups. “Drink up, you two. It’ll fortify you.”

“Or lay us out,” said Anton, grinning. Susan smiled at him.

“Oh, a big guy like you can handle it.” Susan sat back and sipped at hers delicately.

Taylor was still looking out the window through a slit in the curtain, a knitted afghan around her shoulders. She felt cold and hot at the same time. Her stomach was in knots, her head light. Maybe she was in shock.

Or maybe she was just seriously pissed off.

That someone had set fire to Grams’ house made her want to scream. That they’d almost certainly done it to try to kill her and Anton terrified her, especially since they’d clearly used some kind of accelerant to do it, making them slow and sluggish, made her sick. That they’d almost succeeded infuriated her. That she knew exactly who it was made her beyond livid. He had to be stopped.

She’d barely gotten the papers, their edges were curled and blackened. She just didn’t know what to do with them or how to clear Anton and prove who was actually behind the murders. Because she still wasn’t sure how to get him out in the open. If they couldn’t expose him, none of it would matter.

One thing was for sure; she was extremely sick of Sweethollow, cover-ups, and “cute” local legends that had been sanitized to attract tourists and erased real people. Not to mention she gave horrible psychopaths an easy way to commit heinous acts and cover them up. The last thing she wanted was to become another footnote in this messed-up story, but something had to be done.

She was suddenly enveloped in strong arms, held close.

“It’s going to be okay,” Anton was saying. She was shivering.

“You don’t know that,” she whispered.

“I do. It will be. Don’t cry,” he said.

“I’m not…” And then she felt the wetness on her cheeks. She sobbed into his chest, feeling tired and scared and about as far away from a tough city reporter as it was possible to be. She wasn’t cut out for this. She’d finish it, no matter what, but after this she was going to take up a nice, safe job. Maybe something to do with accounting.

She cried for a while; then, to her surprise, she actually dozed off. When she woke up, she was on the couch, afghan over her, Anton talking quietly to Susan and someone else. Officer Powell.

Taylor got up a little unsteadily and walked over to them. Nate looked concerned, and Anton looked crabby.

“Are we safe?” she asked. Powell nodded.

“For now. Everyone at the precinct thinks you two skipped town. So I’d advise you to stay inside until it’s fully night. And then actually get out of town,” he said. Taylor shook her head.

“We can’t. I’m not leaving until we find out what happened to my grams’ house. And the murders. I know it’s not the Rider now. I saw a man heading out the back. He was familiar, but I didn’t get a good look, so I can’t be sure,” she said.

“Taylor, it’s not worth it. I’ll keep investigating but it’s not safe for you here,” he said.

“Anton, back me up here,” Taylor said.

“He has a point.” Anton sighed. “But she’s right. I can’t leave this alone either. Not when someone has tried to kill Taylor twice and me once,” he said, voice hard. When she looked at him, his eyes were like hard chips of ice.

“Well, there’s only so much I can do. I’ve put myself on the line here already,” Powell said, frustrated.

“We know. I’m not asking you to do anything else. Stay out of it, investigate what you can. But I’m telling you right now: Nick de Marco is behind this. I don’t think he’s dead,” Taylor said.

“What?” said Powell, eyes wide.

“I have no proof. I told you I didn’t get a look at the guy leaving. But it was him. He faked his own death and made the rest look like the kind of stuff that happens around this time of year,” she said. “And he killed those girls back in high school. I think you know it, but like everything else with him, there’s no damn proof.”

“Look, I hated the Saints too, but—” Powell started, his face disbelieving.

“I know how fucking nuts it sounds. Like some movie or ridiculous novel. But he’s crazy…no, not even crazy. He’s something else. I don’t know any other word for it but evil,” she said.

“I’m a cop. I believe in evil,” Powell said.

“Well, that’s a start. I know I need proof. And I can get it. Maybe. But you need to keep the rest of them off us for a while. And we can’t leave yet. Otherwise this will never be over. And you won’t be safe either,” she said. Powell snorted.

“I’d trust her on this,” Anton said. “She’s been right about everything so far.”

“Unfortunately,” Taylor muttered. Anton took her hand and squeezed. She smiled at him. All of this murder and mayhem wasn’t the only thing crazy. She now trusted Anton Quinn with her life. And that was pretty insane, considering it had been just one week that she’d been back in town. But she was done holding on to the past. She wanted to start new. And the only way to really do that was to get Nick and then get the hell out.

“Let’s all have some coffee and then we can figure out what to do,” said Susan, coming out of the kitchen with a plate of little cakes. Taylor’s stomach growled. Coffee sounded amazing right then and she could smell it, acidic with a hint of nuttiness.

“I’m going to get back and keep everyone off of you. Text this number when you have any updates,” Powell said. “And be careful. I know I said that already, but I need to make sure you hear me.”

“We do. We will,” Taylor promised.

“Because if it is Nick…” He trailed off.

“It could get worse from here. I know,” she said.

“Do you?” he said quietly. She nodded. And then he was gone.

She took a deep breath and looked back at Anton, standing in the doorway to the kitchen where the smell of freshly brewed coffee was getting stronger. He looked so solid there, outlined by the warm light, shoulders broad, eyes dark and intense. She couldn’t read his expression.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked softly.

“No, but I’m going to anyway,” she said, laughing a little brokenly. “I have to. You know that. For Grams.”

“I know. I just had to make sure,” he said.

“You don’t have to come with me. I don’t want you to get any more hurt—

He was across the room and kissing her, hard, before she could finish her sentence. His lips were warm; his hands held her tight.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Never. You hear me?”

She put her head on his chest, smelling, the scent of smoke still in his clothes. They’d nearly died today, gone up in flames. The idea of losing him made her sick. The fire had been so close, she could still feel them getting hotter and higher…

“Taylor, don’t. Don’t think about it. We’re okay. I’m okay,” he said.

“How do you always know what I’m thinking now?” she asked with a smile.

“I can read your body,” he said, a knowing smile in his voice. She laughed, hugging him close.

“We’ll get through this. And once we do, we’ll get the fuck out of here and make babies,” he said. She laughed harder.

“Yeah? Who says?” She looked up at him, eyes big and searching his beautiful face.

“You, of course. But something tells me we’re going to have at least two. A boy and a girl. And they’ll both have your eyes and laugh…”

Taylor hugged him again. Funny how quickly life could change in a little over a week. She was just worried about what she could lose now.

“Okay, let’s do this. We don’t have much time,” she said.

“Coffee! Cream and sugar!” Susan called. She and Anton walked into the kitchen, hand in hand, ready to get started. It was going to be a long night.

They moved like shadows across the street, back to what had been Grams’ house. The cops were all gone; only yellow tape remained. They went around the back to the small gate that led to the path. The taller figure used a low light to guide them. As they went, Taylor dropped two things: a white handkerchief and another orange folder. She wasn’t subtle about it, and she hoped that their “stealthy” walk had been well observed.

Taylor knew they were taking a big risk, but it had to be done. They had to get this person out in the open. It was now or never and she didn’t especially want to start her life with Anton (if he wanted to start a life with her) on the run from a psycho.

Now she just had to make sure they didn’t get killed in the process.

The plan was pretty simple. Lure the bad guy into the woods, get him to admit to what had happened on camera, get him sent to jail. Why the woods? Well, they couldn’t go anywhere else. It was secluded, so they’d have the time to get what they needed, and no one else could be collateral damage. Plus, she wanted to know if the “real” Rider would show up or if that was just part of the show. The white handkerchief had been a bit of an offering. She felt ridiculous immediately after doing it, but if anyone was watching out for them, maybe they’d get a message to her. Superstitious malarkey, maybe. But they needed all the help they could get.

Yeah, it was a little Scooby-Doo, but they weren’t exactly experts. And at least this way they’d kill two birds with one stone. Hopefully not literally.

She just had to trust that the killer’s ego was bigger than his common sense.

Anton wasn’t sure about the plan either, but at this point they needed to get this asshole where he could get his hands on him. The fire had been the last straw. Anton had never been great with his temper, but this guy had to go. They were just lucky he’d woken up, and it was just luck that he had. The bed being so narrow had made him cramped and he’d woken up from actually falling out of it. He’d been terrified when Taylor wouldn’t wake up at first. And jumping out of a burning building hadn’t been high on his list of things to do with a girl.

He walked next to Taylor in the woods and wondered if the bad guy was going to take the bait. He had tried to kill them with a house fire. Subtle didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary.

Anton wanted to think about other things, like how much he loved being with Taylor. Although, he had to admit, that might be scarier than the killer on the loose. And it was all so fast. He’d spent his entire life trying to avoid the exact feelings he was having for someone he’d known less than a week. Although, really, he had known her for longer. There’d just been a bit of a break between.

And he didn’t want to be alone forever. It wasn’t something he admitted, even to himself most of the time. Taylor made him feel like he belonged somewhere, like he had a home. And it didn’t hurt that he seemed to want to sleep with her every other second.

They were headed to the clearing where the last body had been found, the cop Anton was accused of viciously murdering. Seemed drastic and overly morbid, but it was the only place they could think of that he might actually meet them at. It also happened to be very close to the Windy Bridge, which Anton didn’t think was accidental. As for drama, this killer liked to behead people while pretending to be a mythical horseman. Some might call it poetic. He thought it was just fucking crazy.

He took Taylor’s hand and she squeezed it.

He hadn’t told her, but Susan had slipped him something before they left—her gun. He’d promised Taylor they’d catch whoever it was, but he didn’t trust that it would be that easy. Especially if it was Nick. Given everything he’d done so far, there was no way Anton thought the guy was going to go anywhere willingly. He thought Taylor was being naïve on this point, but she wanted to believe this could be solved without any more violence. Anton doubted it. Nick hadn’t had an ounce of kindness or empathy in him in high school and he clearly hadn’t learned any since. The guy was willing to kill his own friends. It was obvious they were dealing with someone both entirely unhinged and unbelievably calculating. Anton had a feeling Nick was willing to do anything to anyone to avoid getting caught.

Meanwhile, Anton had realized something about himself in the last twenty-four hours—for Taylor, he was absolutely willing to kill.

And he was more than ready to take down Nick, the Rider, or anyone else who tried to hurt her again.

A few hours later and Taylor was thinking that, surprisingly, waiting for a psychotic killer to show up and admit to all their nefarious crimes could be…boring. They’d made a little camp for themselves and not hidden from any prying eyes. And yet… nothing. She was seriously thinking about giving up and trying something else altogether when, finally, they heard the distinct sound of boots walking on dry leaves. She was still holding Anton’s hand and trying not to be cold. It wasn’t quite working.

Taylor could feel Anton was getting restless. He probably wanted to ditch this plan and go find Nick, but since they didn’t know where he was, that wasn’t likely. And then she heard the crunching sounds. She felt him tense beside her.

A tall dark figure strode into the clearing, cloak swirling, hood hiding the face. A strange sound come from it, like laughing through a box. Taylor realized it was a voice shifter and tried not to laugh.

“What are you, Darth Vader? Give me a break,” she muttered. Anton elbowed her and gave her a look.

“I know you’re there. Come out so we can finish this,” the voice warbled.

Taylor had an insane urge to start giggling. She knew it was gauche but she couldn’t help it. They’d officially hit absurdity DEFCON 1.

Taylor stood up suddenly, getting out of Anton’s well-meaning grip. She strode forward, sick of the entire affair. This guy was going down.

“I know it’s you, Nick. Congrats, you burned down my house, nearly killed me in my car, framed Anton, and now you look like an extra from a bad B 80’s sci-fi movie. And I’m over it,” she said as she walked forward, brandishing her phone.

“The police know about you,” she said. She heard Anton cursing up a storm behind her. The figure hadn’t said anything since she’d come out.

“I mean, seriously, these theatrics? Did you actually think you’d get away with setting people on fire? Beheading them? You’re some kind of serious whack job,” she continued.

“Shut up,” the figure said.

“Ah, there we go. The classic line from ye old Rider, ‘Shut up.’ Very old-timey,” Taylor scoffed. She was making him angry on purpose. Angry people did stupid, rash things. And she needed to keep him there long enough for Powell to get there.

“You were always a mouthy bitch,” it said, then took the hood off. Nick de Marco stood there, not looking all that great, truth be told. He had a nasty fresh burn on one side of his face.

“Oh, did you hurt yourself setting my home on fire? Poor you. A real tragedy,” she said. His face twisted, which made the fresh burn scar even more frightful.

“And I’m going to do the same to you, and then take off your pretty head. You and your boyfriend,” he said, taking out a gun. Taylor froze, but she knew Anton had her back. Somehow.

“Where is he? Did he ditch you already?” Nick sneered.

“You wish,” she said.

“Whatever, he’ll fuck off without you eventually. Everyone knows the Quinns are bad news. Besides…” And here his face became some kind of evil, horrifying mask. “The police aren’t coming. I’ve created a…distraction. You’re alone,” he said.

“No. She really isn’t,” Anton said, and stepped out, holding a gun—from where Taylor had no idea. Probably Susan. If they made it out of there, she was going to have words with her. Mostly “thank you.”

“I think you’d better put yours down, Nick. I’m a better shot,” Anton said.

“Are you? I’m a cop. I was trained to hit my targets,” Nick said.

“Maybe. I heard you mostly coasted. God knows why anyone ever let you get away with anything. You’ve always been a creepy fucker,” Anton said.

“The dirt I have on people in this town, I could’ve ended up police chief if it hadn’t been for that fucking Coulson skank. I’ll just start over somewhere else. People are easy. You just find their weaknesses and exploit them,” Nick said, waving his gun hand.

Taylor kept an eye on it and suspected Anton was, too. Nick might be trying to sound blasé, but she could see the sweat on his forehead. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what the hell to do about the gun pointing at them.

“Sounds like a really great way to go through life, Nick. I’m guessing you missed a few things most people learn in kindergarten. Such as not killing your classmates,” said Taylor.

“Just because you got a makeover and some fashion sense doesn’t mean you should piss me off, slut. You clearly haven’t learned anything since high school, since you’re sleeping with the guy who humiliated you. God, that’s still funny. Even the yearbook called you ‘Blueberry’ after that,” Nick said. Taylor felt herself getting angry, but she kept it under control. That was the past. And he was still just a shit.

“You are such fucking scum, de Marco.” Anton sighed.

“Me? A fucking Quinn is calling me scum? Your father beat the shit out of you, was a drunk loser, left you and your mom…and your grandfather? A gambler who had two families. And you, what are you? A small-town mechanic who only sleeps with married women and former high school skanks with low self-esteem.” Nick laughed. His aim wasn’t bad, Taylor thought. But Anton stayed cool. She loved him more in that moment than she had ever loved anyone. It was time to get Nick to make a mistake.

Taylor started laughing. Peals of it, loud and long and hard. She laughed and laughed, her sides hurting.

“What the fuck are you laughing at, bitch?” Nick asked, eyes narrowed, gun hand trembling slightly as it swung in her direction.

“You. You think reminding me I was unpopular in high school is going to hurt my delicate feelings? I lived it, asshole. There isn’t anything you can say or do to me that can hurt. You killed those girls, and you were so afraid I’d remember, you actually made sure I did. You fucked up there. I’d completely forgotten. You’re just a sad, pathetic wannabe who decided to murder all his friends because a lady wouldn’t sleep with him. That’s one fragile ego you’ve got there, Nick,” she said.

“Taylor…,” Anton said, as the color rise in Nick’s face. What the hell was she trying to do? Get them killed?

“You should listen to your fuck buddy. I won’t mind killing either of you at all. The only thing I’ll be sorry about is not being able to take my time. But I’ll still get your heads,” Nick said.

“You know, you’re disappointing. I was really hoping it would turn out to be the real Rider. A ghost going about righting wrongs. But instead it’s just a washed-up high school football player. I mean, you’re psychotic, obviously, but you’re also a coward,” Taylor said.

“Jesus, Taylor…,” Anton hissed. Nick was getting more and more angry, pacing with the gun pointed at them, back and forth, like a deadly pendulum. Taylor thought Anton had probably overstated his ability to shoot. It must’ve been quite a long time since he’d handled a gun and it was dark. The more she thought about their “plan,” the more she felt like one of those protagonists who did something really stupid just to advance the plot on a TV show.

“At least I’m not a city skank who stuck her nose where it doesn’t belong,” Nick said. Taylor shrugged like it was the least interesting thing she’d ever heard.

“Then you shouldn’t have sent me that clipping. It’ll make quite a story. And you can’t frame Anton with me around,” she said.

“What are you talking about? What clipping? He’ll go down for this anyway. Town bad boy kills former bullies and current lover. Then kills himself. Easy. We like easy around here,” Nick said.

“Except this entire conversation has been uploaded to a website and sent directly to Powell. So even if he’s not around now, even if you shoot us, everyone will still know,” Taylor said. Anton turned around, surprised. That’s when Nick struck.

He fired straight at Taylor, but Anton was moving in front of her. It played out like slow motion, the bullet hitting Anton in the shoulder, blood spraying, his body going down. Taylor was over Anton in a flash, but it felt like forever. She was holding her hands over the wound, blood seeping out. Nick was standing over them, gun pointing.

And then something flashed, and suddenly there was something very wrong with where Nick’s face had been.

His head was gone.

Taylor stared up as his body teetered, then fell. Behind him stood a cloaked figure, taller, shimmering around the edges, saber long and silver and bright in the dark.

It walked through the body, cloak billowing against the wind, hood high, eyes burning in the shadows. The air was colder, icy, like it had suddenly become winter between one moment and the next. It stopped in front of Taylor with a sound of unseen spurs clicking. Taylor looked up and suddenly felt…calm.

The figure pulled back its hood, and long dark hair flowed out like a black stream. A plain, stern, young face that Taylor could see through looked down at her with deep black holes for eyes in which two fires burned. The Rider regarded her with her head tilted, like she was examining a bug. She looked down at Anton, head cradled in Taylor’s lap, eyes shut.

“It’s okay. He’s…a good man,” Taylor said. The Rider nodded. She looked back at the body of de Marco with disdain.

“He was…not,” the Rider said, voice a soft sigh.

“Not at all,” said Taylor. “Thank you.”

“I did it for…balance,” she said. Taylor nodded, not entirely sure what that meant but still grateful.

“Things are…even now. You were needed,” the Rider said.

“You sent me the clipping? But how…?” Then Taylor shook her head. It was probably better if she didn’t try to suss that out. She was talking to a ghost—that was enough.

“Go. These woods are home to more than just myself,” the Rider said. And with that cryptic remark and a small nod, she walked off, through the body again, into the clearing, and away. Taylor heard the sound of hoofbeats, like deep echoes, and the whinny of something that was no longer a live horse.

“Taylor?” Anton’s voice was weak and he was looking up at her, struggling to sit up. She pressed on his shoulder and he gasped.

“That was pretty stupid,” she said, kissing him, tears flowing.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nick…he’s dead. I don’t know what happened. Gun must have gone off in his face,” she said, lying a little. She didn’t want to explain the Rider and have Anton think she was crazy.

“Good,” Anton said. He sat up gingerly,  his shoulder probably feeling like it had gotten ripped off. She saw the body, but not the head which had gone somewhere off into the darkness. Anton looked like he was in too much pain to notice it was just gone.

“We should get out of here,” he said.

“Yeah, I’ll help,” Taylor said. “I’m not sure we can explain this to cops. We’ll let Powell handle it. I’m sure he can spin it. Somehow.”

She helped him up and he leaned on her a little, then took her hand. They moved slowly out of the clearing, listening for sirens but hearing none. They were too far into the woods, and likely Powell wouldn’t know what had happened until morning. Taylor hadn’t been lying; everything was recorded. But she still didn’t feel like staying around in Sweethollow to deal with the fallout.

As far as she was concerned, the story was over. She’d never be able to prove it all, and it was too weird. A real ghost? Please. Her editor would laugh in her face, then fire her. She suspected she’d be finding a new line of work anyway. Investigative journalism was clearly not for her.

“Hey, Taylor?” Anton said quietly, breath streaming like smoke in the night.

“Yeah?” she asked, squinting ahead to see if she could make out the path. It was starting to get a little lighter, somehow, and her phone light was cutting the darkness enough to see a bit around them.

“I love you,” Anton said. She stopped, looking up into his face. It was strained with pain and had dirt smudges on it. His hair was wild. And he was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen before.

“I love you, too,” she said. And reached up and kissed him.

“Now let’s get out of these fucking woods, away from this fucking town, and make a new home,” he said.

Her laughter rang out into the night, bright and clear.