Killer Love (40 page)

“Aw, come on. All I can do is talk about ‘em. Give me something.”

Wil shook his head. “You’re nothing but a dirty old man. Your ass should have been in a sling a long time ago.”

“Guess it’s cause I look like goddamned Wilford Brimley,” Ray grumbled.

This was true. With sparse hair and a mustache as white as a fish belly, round, gold-rimmed glasses, and cheeks that were perpetually rosy, he could pass for Wilford Brimley...or Santa Claus.

Wil’s cell phone rang and he looked at the caller ID. Abby. Wil flipped open the phone and mouthed to Ray he needed to take the call and Ray wandered away.

“Can I see you today?” Abby asked.

“With or without clothing?”

She laughed, but it sounded forced. “With.”

“Is something wrong?”

She was silent, then, “I just need to talk to you.”

“Is everything okay with Lindsey?”

“Lindsey’s fine. It’s not about her.”

“Want to come by the station? I’ll be here another hour or so.”

“No.”

Wil felt like an idiot. He’d momentarily forgotten Abby was as vehemently opposed to police work as Lindsey. Abby had been reluctant to even go out with him until he’d convinced her that the biggest danger he faced was carpal tunnel syndrome and paper cuts. He figured there was a story behind her fear, but she never talked about her past and he didn’t push.

“Can’t you tell me on the phone?” Wil asked.

Silence again. He heard her take a deep, shaky breath, like she was trying not to cry. “I didn’t want to do it this way.”

Wil had that panicky flutter in his chest he’d had the day Lindsey called him, crying hysterically, from her grandpa’s cabin. He’d had it again the first few times Lindsey’s screams woke him from a deep sleep.

“Abby? What’s going on?”

“I can’t see you anymore. I’m sorry. It’s just not working out for me.”

The panicky feeling traveled from his chest to his hairline. “Tell me what happened.” His throat felt raw and tight.

“Nothing happened,” she said wearily.

“You owe me an explanation.” Now he was pissed.
Great, that’s sure to change her mind.

“There’s no explanation to give you. I was reluctant to get involved with you in the first place, with anyone, for that matter. It’s just been too much, too fast. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. Goodbye, Wil.”

“Abby?”

She was gone. Wil snapped his phone closed and looked around the room. Ray was talking to Lesli, no doubt sending her out on the call. Latham Prescott hovered nearby, gesturing with his hands. Wil figured he was trying to talk Ray into letting
him
go. Ronald was pouring a cup of coffee, probably relieved that whatever was going on didn’t involve him.

No one was looking in his direction. Pressing his fingers against his closed eyes, Wil was relieved to find them dry...relieved he was only crying on the inside.

****

The bar was one of those out of the way places...dark, shabby, without the calypso music and island trappings of the other, more touristy establishments. Even its name was unpretentious, ‘Jerry’s’.

The Avenger scooped a handful of nuts from the bowl on the bar, fed them into his mouth via the opening between his thumb and index finger, then washed them down with a Samuel Adams.

Pulp Fiction
played on the TV hanging behind the bar. “Can you switch that to the news?” the Avenger asked the bartender.

The guy was fat with a goatee and long gray hair tied back with a leather cord. He held up a chubby finger. “Hold on, pal.”

Pal.
He hated that. It had never bothered him until he heard a comedian on television say, to him, pal was the same as fuckface. He hadn’t thought of it that way before. Now that he did, he couldn’t stand it.

“Sorry,” the bartender said, still holding up a finger. “Gotta see this part.”

The movie was at the scene where Samuel L. Jackson quoted a bible scripture just before he blew some guys away. The bartender said it with him, word for word, ending with, “And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Man, that Samuel L. Jackson is one badass son of a bitch.”

No, motherfucker,
I’m
a badass son of a bitch. Samuel L. Jackson is just playacting.

The bartender picked up the remote. “Here’s your news, pal. Not a lot going on.”

There sure wasn’t. Not like there had been when he and Wil lived in Miami.

He watched the blonde anchorwoman drone on about the happenings, her expression never changing from wide-eyed delight whether she was talking about Jet Ski races or the war in Iraq. She was cute but sucked at reporting the news. Maybe she sucked at something else, and that was how she’d gotten the job.

A photo of Mayor Bingham flashed on the screen. Mayor Micah Bingham—former Miami Chief of Police, Wil’s best friend, and the man who had condoned Wil’s actions—was speaking in a public forum one week from today.

Vulnerable. Exposed.

He took another swig of the Sam Adams and gave a satisfied burp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The news just got interesting.

Chapter Three

The sun sank into the Atlantic, leaving behind a purplish pink trail in the sky. Wil tilted his chair back, propping himself up with one foot on the deck railing.

The ocean was still tonight, its surface like a sheet of sapphire glass. Slow moving lights in the distance cut a path through the dusk. A boat. It made him think of Abby. Not that he didn’t already think of her 24/7. He’d done the same when they were together.

Then, thoughts of Abby had given him a thrill that was part affection, part lust. Now, since she’d broken things off two days ago, thoughts of Abby depressed the hell out of him.

The worst part was not knowing
why
she’d ended things. He knew she valued her independence, her freedom. She was leery of commitment. But he was more than willing to take it slow, give her all the space she needed. He thought he had. Now this.

He took a sip of mango tea. The sweet, fruity taste coated his mouth and seemed to stop at the knot of pain resting at the base of his throat. Feeling a little nauseous, he set the tumbler on the table next to him.

The glass doors slid open behind him and Lindsey stepped out onto the deck.

“Hey, punkin’,” he said over his shoulder.

“Hey, Dad. Whatcha doing?”

‘Daddy’ had disappeared about the same time as her baby fat and he missed it. She wore a tight shirt that revealed cleavage she was just starting to develop. Her pajama pants were rolled down until they rested just above her pelvis. Come to think of it, he missed the baby fat, too.

“Just hanging out,” Wil said. “Wanna join me?”

She flopped down in the chair next to him. Mimicking his pose, she rested her feet on the deck railing. Her flip flops were made of tiny pink seashells and her sparkly toenail polish glittered in the moonlight.

Without looking at him, she said, “You miss her, don’t you?”

She’d asked that question a lot over the past four years, and it had always referred to her mother. She hadn’t asked it in a while, and he figured now she was talking about Abby. Either way, the answer was the same.

“Yes.” He looked out over the deck to the water, lest his expression give away just how
much
he missed Abby.

Lindsey didn’t speak and he turned his attention back to her. She stared down at her hands in her lap and twisted a silver ring with a large black stone around her finger.

“It’s my fault,” she said, in almost a whisper.

“What’s your fault?”

“Abby breaking up with you.”

Wil’s brows drew together and he dropped his feet from the railing. “Where did you get that idea?”

“When we were out on the boat. I said some things.” She took a deep breath. “I was kind of an effitch.” Effitch was Lindsey and her friends’ term for effing bitch. He was pretty sure that, when no adults were around, Lindsey and her friends just went with fucking bitch. “I kinda said you had other girlfriends.”

Wil thought about it for a moment. Abby wouldn’t have believed that, or at least he didn’t think she would. She knew him. They had a good thing together. She wouldn’t let a snide comment by a fourteen-year-old break them up. If nothing else, she would have asked him about it. There had to be more.

“What else did you do?”

She shrugged. “I think maybe she just didn’t want to deal with me. I was, like, pretty rude.”

Wil felt a rush of anger at his daughter he’d never felt before. Not just the usual exasperation. Actual anger. “Why would you do that?”

Lindsey’s voice rose defensively. “I don’t like her. She’s, like,
around
all the time. And she’s all phony nice.”

Wil ground his teeth, trying to keep his temper under control. “She’s not
phony
nice. She’s genuinely nice.”

Lindsey snorted. “Yeah, right. You think that cause you’re doing her.”

Wil frowned and said sharply, “You watch your mouth, young lady. That was uncalled for.”

“Sorry,” Lindsey muttered under her breath.

“Why did you decide to tell me this now?” Wil asked.

Lindsey did some more ring twisting, not looking at him. When she spoke, the hint of tears in her voice made her sound like the little girl she’d been not long ago. It helped to ease Wil’s anger. “The last time me and Mom were at Grandpa’s cabin, it rained. I asked Mom what rain was made of.” She gave a small laugh that ended on a swift intake of breath. “I was bored ‘cause I couldn’t go outside. I just wanted Mom’s attention. Wanted to talk about something. Mom said, ‘Rain is made from tears of the dead.’ I said, ‘But, Mommy, the dead don’t cry.’ She was quiet for a long time, then she said, ‘You’re right, honey. The dead don’t cry. Rain is from tears of the wounded.’ I asked her how they got wounded and she gave me this really sad look.”

Lindsey drew in a ragged sigh as tears filled her eyes. “Mom said, ‘We’re all wounded, Lindsey.’ I’ll never forget that look on her face. Her eyes were far away, kind of dead.” Tears streamed down Lindsey’s face as she launched herself into his arms, taking him by surprise. She buried her face in his neck, her words muffled. “You had that same look when I walked out here, Daddy. I don’t want you to be wounded. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be wounded.”

Wil held her and stroked her hair, feeling tears well in his own eyes. “Shhh, sweetie. It’s okay. I’m fine. Daddy’s fine. Don’t worry.”

He knew the time she was talking about. He remembered because that was the weekend Tara had killed herself and left their ten-year-old daughter to find her body. After it happened, he’d hated himself for not being there. He’d been working that weekend, which was the norm. He’d also hated Tara for leaving them alone and putting Lindsey through that. And somewhere, way down deep inside his grief-ravaged soul, so deep he’d never acknowledged it, just a little, he’d briefly, unreasonably, hated Lindsey for not preventing it.

Lindsey pulled away and looked at him intently through eyes that were red-rimmed and wet, although the sobs had stopped. “Did I ever tell you I dreamed I heard a man’s voice that night? It seemed so real I actually convinced myself he was there. In my head, I made up this whole story about how
he
killed her. How Mom didn’t commit suicide because she would never leave us like that. I think I did it to keep from feeling guilty for letting Mom die.”

Wil’s heart clenched. He should have been there. Should have protected his wife and little girl. He reached out and took one of Lindsey’s hands, squeezing gently. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetie. Don’t think that for a minute. Your mother was a very sad woman. I just didn’t know how sad, or I never would have let you go away with her. It’s not your fault.”

She nodded and wiped at her cheeks, her many rings clinking together with the motion. “If you want to hook back up with Abby, I’ll stop being rude to her. I still won’t like her, but I’ll be cool. I swear.”

Wil smiled. “You do know that, no matter what, I’ll always love you, always be here for you. No one can change my love for you and no one can take your mom’s place. Abby wouldn’t even try.”

“I know.” She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Night, Dad.”

****

Abby bent over in her leather office chair to tie the strings on her sneakers. She had a tour in an hour and, for the first time since she’d started the business, her heart wasn’t in it. She missed Wil already.

It was funny, but one of the things she missed most was his hugs. He had these firm, warm hugs where he’d wrap her in his strong arms, pull her to his chest and she’d feel like nothing bad in this world could touch her.

She’d never had much security, growing up, or in adulthood. Her life had been filled with changes, with moving from place to place, making new friends, starting new careers, never really feeling like she belonged.

But when Wil held her, it felt as though she’d found a haven. It felt as if she’d come home.

“You can’t go out today.”

Abby straightened and looked at Diane, her friend and receptionist. Diane’s blonde hair, piled on top of her head in a black scrunchy and teased until it resembled a bird’s nest, bobbed as she typed rapidly on her keyboard. The clicking of the keys was barely audible above the alternative rock music coming from Diane’s radio.

“Why not?”

Diane stopped typing and leaned back in the chair, folding her arms. “You’re so miserable, the sharks will smell it and circle the boat, go on a mad feeding frenzy.”

“It’s blood that attracts sharks, not misery,” Abby informed her dryly.

“Yeah? Well you’re bleeding misery all over the place. The sharks might get confused.” Diane’s face brightened. “I have an idea, why don’t we go out? Get drunk and get you laid? You know what they say, the only way to get over a man, is to get under another one.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “I’m not in the market for another man.” Abby hadn’t been ‘in the market’ when she’d met Wil. But the attraction had been like a tidal wave and she’d dove in head first.

“Well, you should be. Don’t get me wrong, I like Wil, but I don’t like to see you unhappy and I don’t want you to be alone.”