Shadow of Vengeance (14 page)

“That’s it?” She sifted through the remaining files, wondering if maybe some of the sheriff’s notes regarding Derrick Rodgers’s case had fallen out and mixed with the others. No such luck. Apparently, note taking hadn’t been Sheriff Miller’s strong suit.

As she moved on to the next file, a knock came at the door. “Thank God,” she said, and crawled off the bed. Another hour in this hotbox and she might end up with heat stroke.

Opening the door she said, “Hey, Joy, sorry to bother…” She took a step back when Owen’s big body filled the doorframe.
 

When he moved into the room she tried to ignore the way the worn, navy University of Virginia t-shirt hugged his well-muscled arms and chest. Except that ended up drawing her attention to the loose, grey sweatpants, which rode low on his lean hips and made his ass tempting enough to grab. Never in her life had she grabbed anyone’s ass, nor had she had the desire. Until now. She wanted to grab him from behind, then reach around the front of those loose sweatpants. Slip her hand beneath the waistline until she stroked—
 

“Good God. It’s Africa hot in here,” Owen said, crouched and inspected the woodwork along the hardwood floor.

“No kidding. This room could rival a sauna.”

“Yeah.” He stood and angled the tall dresser. “Joy told me. She suggested I close the vents and kick the ceiling fan on high.” He crouched again and shifted a latch on the floor vent. Standing, he moved around the small room, his focus on the floor. “She said there should be two of them…here it is.” He moved the nightstand and revealed another vent. After he’d finished closing the vent, he reached up and adjusted the ceiling fan—which she couldn’t reach—to high.

Within seconds, a blessed breeze ran through the room. “So much better,” she said on a sigh. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He glanced at the files on the bed. “Find anything interesting?”

She shook her head. “I’ve only gone through one case. There wasn’t much there. Kid disappears, no evidence but the Hell Week note. What about you? Have you looked at any of the files?”

“Just a couple, then I needed to refill my glass with ice. That’s when I ran into Joy in the kitchen and she told me about your room.” He nodded to her vodka Sprite. “I brought up some extra ice. I can bring it over, we can bitch about Sheriff Miller and the way he’d handled these missing person cases over a drink.”

When they’d stopped at the liquor store on their way back from the medical center, Owen had picked up a fifth of Jack Daniels and a six-pack of Coke. Although normally not one to drink alone, and tempted to engage in a bitch session, she knew spending the evening closed in a room with Owen could be a mistake. Considering she was having a difficult time trying to erase any thoughts of him that didn’t have to do with work, she needed to maintain her distance when the opportunity, like now, rose.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. It’s been a long day. I’m going to finish reading through these cases, then go to bed.”

Nodding, he glanced at her breasts, then moved toward the door.

Due to the heat, she’d forgotten about the lacy camisole, and immediately folded her arms across her chest. She’d only worn the top once, then afterward, had shoved it in her underwear drawer never to be used again. In her opinion and experience, women with boobs as big as hers had no business going braless or wearing skimpy camisoles. Unless, of course, the intention was to seduce, or in her case, stay cool.
 

With his hand on the doorknob, he turned. His gaze drifted to her chest again and heat, having nothing to do with the wonky room temperature, rose to her cheeks. Even with her arms over her breasts, the breeze from the ceiling fan kissed her cleavage, which meant an ample amount of bare skin remained exposed and in plain view for him to see. She knew her breasts were one of her best assets. A part of her wanted to drop her arms and let him look his fill. Let him realize what he could have had if he hadn’t blown her off after their kiss. If only she had the nerve and at least one slutty bone in her body.
 

When he met her gaze, she hugged herself tighter. His eyes had darkened and now matched the navy shirt he wore, and she swore he stared at her with something akin to hunger and longing. Then he blinked and whatever she
thought
she saw had disappeared. Or maybe she imagined the whole thing, which was likely the case. She might have a nice rack, but she didn’t have the face and body to go with it. Based on the women she’d seen Owen with, unless he was desperate, she doubted he would be interested in her. Not that she want him to be interested in her.

Liar.

True. She couldn’t help wanting what she knew she shouldn’t or couldn’t have—Owen Malcolm in her bed, naked and on top of her. Pining after a man who was not only way out of her league, but a serial charmer similar to the men her mom had been with, would only lead to resentment and feelings of inadequacy. She should know, because that was exactly how she’d felt after Owen had kissed her, then walked away as if it hadn’t happened.
 

She glanced at his mouth. Memories of his lips on hers suddenly surged through her mind and body. The heat of his touch, the way his muscles had bunched under her hands as she’d clung to him, to his dominating lips…
   
 

 
“I know you’re worried about Sean and Josh. If you change your mind and want to talk, I’ll be up for a while.”

She shook the kiss from her mind. “I won’t,” she said, too quick and curt. He had to leave. Her nipples were starting to ache and her other girl parts were beginning to come alive. She needed him and his big, sexy body out of her room. She needed to go back to the files on her bed and lose herself in the investigation, not the confusing thoughts and memories just being near him evoked. “I mean, we have an early day. Jake’s going to be here at seven-thirty, and we’re meeting with the dean at nine.”

He clenched his jaw, then nodded. “Right. Jake. How could I forget?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He opened the door, then paused at the threshold. “There is one thing.”

“And that is?”

“I noticed the way you and Jake…interacted.”

Confused, she furrowed her forehead. “Meaning?”

“It’s not my business who you…I mean, it’s none of my, uh—”

“Just say what’s on your mind.”

“Fine. No offense, but you’re new to working in the field. Trying to mix business with pleasure isn’t advisable. Especially if the…ah…other party ends up not interested. It could make working the case uncomfortable.”

How could such a brilliant investigator be so clueless? She had zero interest in Jake. Sure, the hunky sheriff wasn’t hard on the eyes, but based on the weariness etched on his face and the despondency in his dark eyes, she suspected the man carried a lot of baggage. She liked to steer clear of guys like Jake. She had enough baggage of her own.

Rather than comment on Owen’s ridiculous assumptions, she wished him good night and tried to close the door.
 

He stopped her. “So you admit you’ve got a thing for the sheriff?” he asked, his voice laced with accusation and irritation.

Highly offended, she dropped her arms and fisted her hands. “I’m not having this conversation.”
 

His gazed dropped to her chest again. This time she didn’t cover herself. She might not have the body and face to go along with the boobs, but she wasn’t ugly. How dare he act as if she was the one who would end up rejected, not Jake.
 

“Fine,” he said. “I just don’t want to—”

“I don’t care what you want,” she interrupted. “Good night.” After she closed the door in his face, she moved back to the bed. Although insulted, she had to admit that the timing of Owen’s asinine bullshit had been perfect. Without trying, he’d not only reminded her why she should leave the mistletoe kiss in the past, but that fantasizing about Owen would prove pointless. He clearly had no interest in her outside of work, and undoubtedly found her unattractive.
 

But as she began to sift through the case files, her mind kept wandering back to Owen. To how hot he’d looked in his t-shirt and sweats. To his smile and how good he’d smelled. Damn it. To that stupid, sexy kiss and how badly she wanted one more taste…

*

He turned on the lantern. Light immediately illuminated the basement and reflected off the pledge, who hung from the wall, his position unchanged since early this morning. The small space heater remained in front of him, giving little warmth. Moving closer, he raised the lantern and shook his head. He might have to cut Hell Week short. The little puke’s gauntness, his hollow, pale cheeks, and his shallow breathing worried him. His pledge couldn’t die before his time. Not now. Not when he’d come so close to fulfilling his destiny.
 

“He doesn’t look good,” Junior said as she stepped down from the ladder.

“He’ll be fine.” He smacked the puke’s face. “Rise and shine. It’s time for dinner and calisthenics.”

“You’re unchaining him?”
 

“Yes. Get the bat.” After setting the lantern on a bench, he pulled a bag of cold, cooked wild rice from his coat pocket. While he’d threatened to give the pledge maggots, producing the disgusting larva for consumption would have been too difficult, especially in the dead of winter. “I’m not about to feed the little puke. He can do it himself.”

Metal bat now in hand, Junior hovered behind him while he released the pledge from his bindings. The pathetic puke fell to the ground, shivering and groaning, his naked back baring deep scratches from time spent against the rock wall.

“Get up. Now.”

The pledge slowly moved to all fours, shook his head, then dropped to the floor with a grunt.
 

“I told you to get up,” he said, then punctuated his demand with a swift kick to the puke’s stomach.
 

Back on his knees, coughing, mouth gaping, the pledge clutched his midsection. “Please,” he begged. “No more. Cold. So cold.”

“Ah, but you won’t be after you’ve done your daily exercises. First, you need sustenance.” He dropped the bag of rice in front of him, then pulled a plastic bottle, filled with salted water, from his other pocket. “I even brought you something to quench your thirst.” He set the bottle next to the rice.

The puke looked up at him, his eyes wild, searching. Then he stared at the bag.

Wondering if the pledge remembered the maggots he’d promised for dinner, he smiled. Psychological torture had played a large part in the Hell Week he’d experienced twenty-five years ago. But he’d been mentally stronger than his tormentors had given him credit. He’d endured their infantile demands, ate items he and the other pledges were led to believe were grotesque. He’d do the same to his pledge and much worse as the days continued. Today was only Monday, after all. If he were to complete a reenactment of what had happened to him twenty-five years ago, he’d have to stay on course and exhibit an enormous amount of patience. This pledge was the most important of them all. He would close the circle. And his death…?

The ultimate revenge.

Junior lowered the bat. “How long are we going to wait on him to eat? I have to leave soon, but don’t want to miss a thing.”

Children, even when they’re grown, should be seen and not heard. While he’d developed an infinitesimal amount of paternal warmth for his daughter, her whining grated on his nerves.

Raising the heel of his booted foot over the pledges hand, he said, “This pathetic pile of vomit has three seconds to begin eating. Otherwise, I’ll crush his fingers. Afterward, I’ll smash the maggots, dump them into his water and force the contents down his throat. Either way, boy, you
will
eat your dinner.”
 

The pledge kept his focus on the rice, but he shifted the hand near the boot heel a fraction. Then another, and another until he touched the bag.

“Eat it.”

 
While remaining on all fours, the pledge dropped to his forearms and scooted his knees until his bottom rested on his heels. Cupping the bag in one hand, he dipped three filthy fingers inside, scooped the rice, brought the food toward his mouth, then hesitated.

“You need your protein. And while not necessarily appetizing, maggots have as much protein as a chicken breast.” He didn’t know if that was true, and quite frankly didn’t care. Even though what the pledge held in his fingers didn’t move and it smelled like rice, the boy must think he was about to eat maggots. The horror one creates in ones own mind is sometimes worse than reality. Although in this case, that horror, something he’d experienced during his own Hell Week when he’d been eighteen, would eventually become a reality for the pledge. In order to complete the circle, to rid him of the demon that had haunted him for over two decades, he had no choice but to inflict terror, humiliation…pain.

The pledge’s raw back, his bony spine, curved upward as he twisted his head and dry heaved. A moment passed. He looked back to his fingers, coated in rice, then quickly shoved the contents into his mouth. As he coughed and gagged, he scooped out more rice. Like a feral, undomesticated pig-child, he devoured the rest of the rice. When the bag was empty, he reached for the water bottle, then took a long swallow. Within seconds, he retched, splashing the salt water and rice on the ground.