Текст книги "Tethered Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Fine!” I squeak, seeing him move toward me. I dart around him to the passenger’s door. “I’ll get in by myself!”

“Thank you.” He exhales and a little tension escapes his shoulders.

“You’re not going to hold my door open or help me in or any of that shit, are you?” I ask suspiciously, my hand hovering over the door handle.

Drake raises an eyebrow as he walks around the front of the truck. “Noelle, I’m protective, not stupid. If I pulled that as well as this, my life wouldn’t be worth living for at least a week.”

“Oh, okay.” That came out a little too cheerily. Oops. I get into the truck and slam the door behind me. “It restores my faith in the relationship when you follow up your angry-caveman act with that kind of sensibility.”

“Angry-caveman act?”

“Don’t make me act like one, okay? I’ll show you on Halloween. You can be Fred and I’ll be Wilma.”

“Can we get through Halloween in June before we hit the real thing? I don’t even want to think about the horror we’ll face there.”

I slump back in my seat as he turns away from the station. “If you’ve jinxed it, I’m going to kill you.”

“Noella!” Nonna gasps. “Drake!”

“Told you,” I hiss, grabbing his shirt.

He bats my hand away. “Hey, Nonna. How you doin’?”

Nonna pulls her shawl around her shoulders—it’s almost fucking ninety degrees—and smiles slyly. “I am-a good. And-a you-a?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Noella? You-a well?”

Drake nudges me.

“Fine, Nonna.” I force a smile.

“You-a never come-a to church.”

Ah, she’s a bright one, my nonna. “Well, you know. What’s life without a little craziness?”

“Church-a is-a not-a crazy,” she says, shaking her head in disappointment. “It is-a en-a-lightening!”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. What’s life without a little enlightenment?” I mean, I could probably get it by switching on a lamp and reading a bunch of those crappy inspirational quotes on Facebook, but sure.

“This is-a it? You-a just here for-a no reason?”

I elbow Drake and glare at him.

Nonna gasps.

“No!” I snap, instantly seeing her mind travel at warp speed to its usual conclusion. “No, Nonna. Look? See?” I wave my left hand in front of her face.

She grabs it with long, wrinkled fingers and holds it in front of her eyes. She squints. Then her face drops. “Ah, cazzo. You will-a be-a zitella!” She turns to Drake with fire in her eyes. “Why no-a ring on-a her finger, ah? You no-a keep-a her a zitella! I tell-a your mamma!”

When he doesn’t reply, she huffs and walks toward the church.

“Thanks for that,” he finally mutters to me. “Always wanted my ass kicked by a crazy, old Italian woman first thing on a Sunday.”

I shrug. “What can I say? It’s part of dating me. Plus, you didn’t save me when she was asking questions, so that’s your punishment.”

“She’s not going to let up, is she?”

“Oh, no. If you thought she was bad before, now that she doesn’t have Dev and Amelia’s wedding to focus on, she’s gonna be all over you like Winnie the Pooh in a beehive.”

“Yeah… We might have to break up.”

I snort, grabbing the pen to sign in under Father Luiz’s watchful eye and playful wink. “Watch it. She’ll tell your mamma.”

“She’s in Hawaii, climbing a volcano right now. I doubt she’ll care. You know she’s crazy.” Drake takes the pen and signs his.

“Is she? I seem to remember a sweet pie-making woman who provided me with a pie every time you were mean to me when we were kids. She owes me, like, ten for the times you’ve been mean to me as an adult, for what that’s worth. You might wanna start writing this down.”

Drake rolls his eyes, and we take our seats in the very back pew, in the corner, where we can see everyone. He leans over to whisper in my ear.

“I don’t think my mom is going to be home to bake you pies any time soon. She’s seeing how many states she can visit before she turns sixty. Never mind that she has another five years until that date.”

“Well, that sucks.” I tuck my purse beneath the pew under my feet.

“I’ll repay you. Not in pies. I can’t bake.”

I look at him sideways. “I’m gonna need information on how you’re gonna repay me.”

His lips curve to one side. “Can’t say it here. I might go up in flames.”

Oddly the sexiest way I’ve ever been promised an orgasm in my life.

I pat his leg. “Okay. You tell me later. I have a feeling your being burned won’t help.”

He winks then puts my hand back on my lap. “Watch it. Nonna just gave you the death stare.”

“Oh, please. If the death stare worked, I’d be a zombie by now.” I spy her glaring at me from a few pews forward. “I think we were supposed to sit with her,” I whisper.

“Nope. Need to be here.”

“I know that. She doesn’t. Aaaand here she comes. Fuck it.”

“That’s a sin,” Drake says, his eyes scanning the room. “Although I’m starting to think that...”

“You start-a to think-a what?” Nonna snaps when he trails off. She drops herself into the seat next to me and rests her cane against the pew.

“That you’re the best cook I know,” Drake improvises, flashing her a devastating smile.

“Hmmm.” Nonna purses her lips, but the twinkle in her eye is satisfied. “Why you-a sit-a so-a far back? Is-a good at-a the front!”

“We like the back,” I say. Hello, Lame Excuse! Nice of you to drop by. Can you send your cousin, Believable Reason, next time?

Nonna gasps and leans in. “Are you-a working?”

“I’m working on a way to reclaim my personal space,” I mutter, pushing her away.

“You can-a tell-a me.”

“Nonna, no one can tell you anything. Silvio keeps secrets better than you do.”

“Ah, the boy has-a to learn-a!”

“Hopefully he learns from someone else,” I say under my breath.

“What-a you say-a?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Just clearing my throat.” I make a point to actually clear my throat. “Look. Father Luiz is up there now. Be quiet.”

“But-a—”

“Nonna. Shush.”

Thankfully, she shushes. In doing so, she allows me to focus on the service. The attendees, that is.

The thing about suspicious behavior is that it isn’t always suspicious in the way you think. Someone could be restless and fidgety because they’ve been forced to be here, like me. Ahem. Or the teenager with the shifty eyes could be scanning the room because he’s looking for his friend, also forced to be here, so they can hang out after and bitch about it.

That’s the problem we have. Suspicious behavior rarely is suspicious.

Some of the travelers are here too, but I don’t recognize any of them. I probably haven’t literally walked into them yet.

What if the killer is a traveler?

It’s not the first time I’ve had that thought, but if it’s true, it opens up a huge pool of people we know nothing about. Can we even let them leave town if we suspect them?

This is our other problem. I know everyone in town, at least by name and profession. If I don’t know them, you bet your ass I know someone who does. I can’t imagine everyone in town being a Satanist. In fact, I’m pretty sure that every inhabitant of Holly Woods is Catholic. Christian, at least.

Except Dina. She’s Wiccan. But not a Satanist.

The more I think about it, the crazier it seems. It just isn’t right, is it? These kind of killings in a small, religious Texas town. What is the point of them, besides to rouse an entity that has no proof of existence? If word got out around town, there would be a kind of mass hysteria saved for those horror movies set on prom night.

Or like when they stopped making Twinkies. That was a sad, sad day.

A part of me wants the killings to just stop. A part of me doesn’t want to find the killer because I don’t know if I can come face-to-face with someone…like this. I don’t want to. The idea is terrifying.

More terrifying?

If religion really is the link, then there isn’t a single female in Holly Woods, young or old or in between, who is safe.

I’m going to have nightmares about that until the killings stop or the people responsible are caught.

My best friend. My sister-in-law. My future sister-in-law. Sweet Rosie, who serves me coffee. Melanie at the bookstore with my favorite raspberry cupcakes. My niece. My mom. Hell, even Nonna. Although she likely would impale them on her cane, so maybe there’s not too much to worry about there.

Fact is, this town is full of us.

All of us are ripe for the picking. None of us have any kind of safety barrier unless we’re armed and can get there before any kind of kidnapping or poisoning happens.

Drake’s forcing me to get into his truck makes a whole lot more sense right now. He figured all of this out before I did.

Oh, dear God. I hope I haven’t just earned myself a permanent shackle in the form of a six-foot-odd, two-hundred-pound, growly, grumpy, muscular male.

I mean, it could be worse, but independence is also better. But then safety trumps that… But then I have a gun.

And it always comes down to it. A bullet doesn’t have to leave it to be deadly. One bash on the head and you’re down like a stack of shit.

How do we protect every single woman in town—and even those in Austin? Do we publicize that there’s a serial killer and people should be extra vigilant? Avoid going out after dark alone? But that’s pointless, because both Toni and Melissa were taken during the day. For all we know, so was Annabelle. She was marked in the daylight, at least.

Are they random? How do the killers know their religion? Are they really picked out in church? Are they spread out, one here, one Austin? How do they pick who they’re going to sacrifice? Is there an age limit? Are they known to their victims?

Who in this fucking crazy world are they?

How? Where? When? Why? So many questions. So many we may never get our answer to. There are ten days left of the fair, which means ten to the solstice. Another six victims, if my theory is right. Another six catholic females could be killed purely for their beliefs—or maybe even for their lack of. For all we know, none of the girls were practicing. They were given the religion by baptism.

Just like I was.

I draw in a deep breath. We need to know. We need to know if they were practicing, because if they were and they came to church every weekend like good, honest girls, then we know how our victims are selected.

I bend forward and reach into my purse, drawing the attention of Nonna. She flicks her fingers against the side of my thigh, the sharp tap stinging. I wince but locate my phone and unlock it.

“Noella!” she hisses under her breath.

“Important,” I whisper back. I text Carlton. Practicing?

What? he responds immediately.

Victims. Church.

Nonna hits me again, and I jerk upright. I swear to all that is holy, if she hits me again…

“What are you doin’?” Drake asks me in a hushed tone.

“Information,” I grind back, glancing at my purse. My message blinker is flashing green. I’m itching to read it.

“Noella!” Nonna hisses again. “God doesn’t like phones!” she rambles in whispered Italian.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t like murder either,” I shoot back in English, my tone as harsh as hers.

Hers somehow sounds scarier. I guess Italian is sexy as hell in bed when the guy is hot but scary as fuck when it’s your nonna in church. Go figure.

I bend down, ignoring her groan, and open the message. The single word from Carlton sends a crushing chill down my spine, one that spreads out and envelops my whole body until goose bumps are pimpled across my skin.

Yes.

I sit up again, slower this time, and touch my hand to my arm. I rub it frantically, but the chill won’t leave, so I try the other arm. Same thing.

In this room is at least one murderer. We have his semen. We have half a print of what might be his boot. But we have no idea who he is.

It could be someone I trust. It could be someone I smile and wave at every day. Someone who told me last summer that my dress was pretty. Someone happy to see me back in town. Someone I pass every day while walking into Rosie’s for my vanilla latte.

Someone is in here and every single female in this church could be next. Or the one after. Or the one after. Any one of us could have a number on our heads and all we can do is wait and see if we’re called to hell.

“Excuse me,” I whisper, grabbing my purse and darting around Drake. I quietly slip out of the door, unnoticed by anyone but Drake and Nonna, and step into the sun.

The closer it gets to midday, the hotter it gets. I’m thankful for the light-blue lace dress I decided to wear this morning, not only because it is Nonna approved for church, but because it’s the softest thing I own.

I take a few steps away from the church, through the flowers that line the graveled walk to the main door, and toward the cemetery. Holes are being dug, presumably for Toni’s and Melissa’s funerals. My heart jumps into my throat and sticks there. I’m no stranger to a funeral, but there’s something about seeing the holes being dug that makes it worse than the bodies even being lowered into them, safely inside their caskets.

“Noelle? Are you all right?” Alex steps out of seemingly nowhere, his dark eyes focused on me.

In my shaken state, caused by my own thoughts, I jump.

“Sorry—I keep startling you.”

“No, no,” I say quietly. “It’s okay. I really should start being aware of my surroundings.”

He nods slowly. “You should. It’s not exactly safe around town.”

“I… Yeah. That’s why I’m not aware, ironically.” I laugh weakly and push my hair from my eyes.

“You’ve been inside?” He points to the church.

“Yes. Stepped out for some fresh air,” I half lie. What? I do need it.

“Damn. I was hoping to stop by for the service. Ah well—always next week.”

My eyes narrow. I force them back to normal. “You could probably slip in. There’s a couple seats in the back pews.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” He shoves his hands in his pockets the way a teenaged boy would. “I don’t want to disturb anyone.”

“There’s another at five thirty if you have anyone to cover your stall,” I offer. “It’s the same one Father Luiz is giving right now.”

His lips tease into a knowing smile. “I sense a hint of frustration in your tone.”

I shrug a shoulder, smiling myself. “Too many years of being dragged to both by my grandmother, and too much time wondering if Father Luiz ever bores himself with the repetition every week.”

“Does he do other services? In the week?”

“Yeah… Wednesdays. It used to be more, but he’s getting old. Just don’t tell him I said that. He might recognize it himself, but he refuses to let anyone else see it. Anyway, it’s the same service, but only the old people attend. I guess they forgot it from Sunday. Both times.”

Alex laughs. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind if I can’t make it tonight.”

“Noelle? You okay?” The sound of Drake’s slightly worried tone comes from behind me.

I turn to him. “Yeah. I just needed a few minutes is all. Then Alex found me.” I crook my thumb toward the dark-haired man.

“Drake,” Alex acknowledges, holding his hand out.

“Alex.” Drake shakes. “How are you?”

“Good. I was just talking with Noelle about the services. I was hoping to make it this morning, but I guess that’s what I get for not checking first.” He grins. “Anyway, I’ll be off. Gotta go find some lunch somewhere before the fair opens. See ya.” He holds his hand up.

Drake holds his hand up, and I echo a small, “Bye,” but he probably doesn’t hear me.

Drake grabs my shoulders and looks down at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I shake my head. “For one, I don’t trust him.”

“Alex?” One eyebrow shoots up.

“Yeah. He just… I don’t know. He freaks me out a little. He’s pretty desperate to get into a service, and he knew a ton about Satan when he helped me with the runes. I just don’t like him, I guess.”

“All right, cupcake. First thing you need to know about Alex is that he wouldn’t even shoot a deer unless it was trying to stab him with its antlers,” Drake says softly, but I can see the laughter in his eyes.

“Neither would you,” I point out.

“Only because my mother would skin me, but she wouldn’t have the decency to shoot me first,” he argues. “But I know Alex. He’s a good guy.”

“So was Marshall. And Ellis was a great girl.”

Drake just about stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Not every good guy ends up being a murderer, and not every murderer pretends to be a good guy.”

“You sound like my brother.”

“Well, cops will be cops.” He smiles. “You trust me, don’t you?”

I sigh. “Of course I trust you.”

“Then trust me on this. You’re wrong about Alex.”

I “hmph” my answer, but thankfully, Drake doesn’t take it any further.

“So, why’d you run out?”

I take his hand and pull him the few steps to the parking lot then toward his truck. Wisely, he stays quiet until we get there and I can speak. I tell him about my conclusion in the service and my text exchange with Carlton.

Drake runs his tongue over his teeth, my newest theory running around his mind as he tries to make sense of it. “But that doesn’t help us,” he finally says after a minute or so of silence. “We don’t know who it is.”

“I know. There has to be a…” Ding ding, we have a winner!

“To be a what?”

“There has to be a way to find out who was at the service. And there is!” I fist the front of his shirt and excitedly jump up and down. “The sign-in book! You can’t go in unless you sign! Father Luiz is like a hawk!”

Drake’s lips flatten into a thin, grim line. “Do you really think that the killer used his real name?”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Why does he always have to burst my bubble?

“But we’ll be able to find out what the fake name is, and then we’ll have the killer’s handwriting!”

“And no handwriting from a suspect to test it against.”

Again with the bubble bursting.

I jab my finger into his chest. “Then we’re just gonna have to find the killer and get his handwriting, aren’t we?”

“That’ll probably be easier than his semen,” Drake drawls, pulling his keys from his pocket. “What are you gonna do? Force every male in town to write that name and see what matches?”

“Can I do that?” I ask hopefully.

He stops, wraps one solid arm around my shoulders, and pulls me into him. His upper body is shaking, and I can feel his smile against the top of my head. I try to pout into his chest, but the escaping rumble of laughter from him just makes me smile.

“Technically, you could, but you’d be on your own. I don’t see Judge Barnes signing a warrant for the handwriting of every inhabitant of Holly Woods on this particular day.”

I sigh through my smile. “Dammit. I really thought we were onto something there.”

“Bless you,” he mutters, dropping a kiss to my head.

I roll my eyes and extract myself from his grip. “It’s ‘bless your heart,’ and I’d like to think you could say, ‘Fuck you,’ to me by now without sugarcoating it.”

He says nothing as we get in the truck. Then, when I’m belted in, he looks at me. I beat him to speaking.

“Oh! Are you doing anything for the rest of the day?”

“Yes. Working,” he drawls like I’m stupid.

I slap his thigh. “Bastard. I mean in particular, because I happen to have the address of the most local satanic sect leader and we could always go and question him.” I waggle my eyebrows like I’m offering him a day in bed with me or something.

“When the fuck did you get that?”

“This morning,” I reply nonchalantly. “It’s in the file, but I didn’t get to tell you because you dragged me out of your office as soon as you could.”

“Dammit, Noelle! You should have told me!”

“I just told you why I couldn’t!”

“You should have told me anyway!”

“Excuse me if, between your caveman antics and my grandmother’s wedding dreams, I didn’t quite manage to spit it out.”

Drake rubs his hand down his face. “Here we go again.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means here we go again.”

“But I don’t know what that means.”

“I’m going to count to ten in a minute.”

“Good. Then I have ten seconds to shoot you!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, an angel is crying at your bullshit,” he mutters, turning the key and bringing the engine to life.

I snort. “Nah, you already gave them all a panic attack. God’s got his eye on you, and we all know what he did to Adam and Eve when they fucked up.”

“He kicked them out of Eden, Noelle. Now, unless the bank suddenly became God, I think I’m pretty safe at home.”

“Banks are God. Bunch of dictators.”

“You’re the most random person ever. How do I put up with you?”

“Because I’m charming and good in bed, obviously.”

He mutters something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“It was me agreeing with you, sweetheart,” he says in an attempt to placate me. “Have you had your cupcake today? We all know how you get without sugar.”

“Drake Nash, you’re so damn lucky you’re driving or your balls would be going on my fireplace. I’d paint them orange and they’d be my little pumpkin ballsacs.”

“Okay, first”—he cuts his eyes to me—“you’re not making pumpkin anything out of my balls. Neither are they going on your fireplace—physically or otherwise. Second, we’re gonna stop by Rosie’s between the station and the sect leader’s house and get a box of cupcakes. Clearly, hungover Noelle is a sugar-craving Noelle.”

I pause for a moment then gently pat his thigh. “You’re learning. Atta boy.”

He pulls up outside the station, kills the engine, then looks at me. I expect him to reply, but he just shakes his head and gets out, mumbling to himself about difficult women.

I’d take offense, but I am difficult. It’s a better quality of mine.

If difficultness, stubbornness, and a heavy dose of passion are my better qualities, I’m starting to wonder what that says about my worst qualities.