Chapter 11

Rain lashed the living room window and pounded the roof, sounding like marbles dropping on concrete. Streaks of lightning burst through the cracks in the wooden blinds. An Elvis CD—That’s the Way it is—played on the stereo, but it was struggling to compete with the crescendo of the storm.

I hoped the power stayed on, for many reasons, but mainly because I was on my computer.

Two years ago, when I’d been a crime reporter for the Star, a young girl, Maya Pittman, had been murdered, and I’d done the story. Her killing was vaguely similar to Katie’s and Cassie Carthage’s—the girl killed the year before Katie—but the police didn’t link the crimes. Nor did they make an arrest. In Maya’s case, her male teacher had been the prime suspect. They’d been having an affair. As far as I knew, the police were still investigating him, but apparently hadn’t found enough evidence to make an arrest. At seventeen, Maya was older than Katie and Cassie had been, but the murder shared many of the same characteristics in that Maya was also choked and sexually assaulted, and her body was also found in a wooded area.

Over the past few years, I’d randomly researched murdered girls on the Internet—especially those whose cases were unsolved—hoping I could find something that would help me to solve Katie’s. Or, at least, stumble across some kind of information I could take to the police so they’d reopen Katie’s case. So far, nothing like that had occurred and lately, I’d been neglecting that task. After speaking with Corrine, my guilt had inspired me to renew my amateur investigation.

At the moment, staring at a photo of Brie Samuels, sadness weighted my heart. Brie had only been thirteen when she was murdered. Her killer had never been caught. She lived in a small town near Omaha, Nebraska, the daughter of divorced parents. She disappeared one weekend, but it took them several days to even realize she was missing. It was during the summer. Her father thought she was at her mother’s, the mother thought she was with her father. Shortly after they discovered she was gone, her nude, stabbed body was found in a corn field by volunteers.

The information to be found on the Internet was limited, but I had to do what I could. Especially after my visit to Corrine and Vic. They were counting on me. Katie was counting on me.

I picked up the penny. I wasn’t sure why Corrine thought I should have it, but I’d kept it on my computer desk since she’d given it to me. I didn’t know if I believed in it or not, but from what I understood, the pennies from heaven thing was supposed to be about comfort. Not about being creeped out over a murder. I turned the penny over in my hand. 1969. Did it mean anything? Were these truly messages from Katie or was I getting as removed from reality as Corrine?

A thundering noise sounded, making me jump. At first I attributed it to the storm, then I realized that wasn’t what it was. Someone was knocking on my door. And making a hell of a racket in the process.

Matt?

My heart thumped in rhythm with the beat of the pounding. This time, I’d be armed. I grabbed my .22 from the top of the closet in the foyer. I’d learned to shoot growing up with my brothers, and as a single woman living alone, they’d insisted I have a weapon for protection. In all these years, I’d never gotten it out. Until now.

I went to the door and peered through the peephole. I flipped on my porch light, but with the rain and the darkness, I couldn’t make out anything but shadows. I shouted, “Who’s there?”

The words that came back were muffled by the storm, but it sounded like he said, “Lane.”

I took my chances and swung the door open.

Lane stood on my porch, holding a limp body in his arms.

“Jesus Christ. Josie,” I whispered, stepping back quickly so he could come in.

I shut the door and whirled to face him. “Is she… dead?” My voice was strangled with fear.

Lane shook his head. “She’s not dead. She’s loaded out of her mind, though.”

I realized then how stupid my question was. Like Lane would bring my friend’s dead body here.

He glanced down at the .22, and I turned and shoved it back in the top of the closet, not offering an explanation.

“Here, come through here.” I led him into the living room where he lowered Josie gently onto the couch. A black raincoat covered her. I was sure it belonged to Lane. “What…? How…?”

“Right now, you need to get her out of those wet clothes and into something warm. Do you have coffee or tea?”

“Not made. I can make some.”

“I’ll do it while you get her into something dry.”

Lane disappeared into the kitchen, and I rushed into my bedroom, yanking a pair of sweats from my dresser drawer. On the way back, I grabbed a large bath towel.

Hurrying into the living room, I bent over Josie and threw off the raincoat. Her jeans were sodden, the thin T-shirt plastered to her skin. Getting the clothes off her was a chore. She was dead weight and they clung to her skin like bark to a tree.

Finally, after a battle akin to that waged by Sparta, I managed to peel them from her, then dried her briskly with the towel. Her skin was so pale, it seemed to glow. I tugged the sweats over her body, and Lane came back into the room, carrying a steaming mug. “I made her tea with honey.”

“Did she O.D.?” I asked worriedly, spreading an afghan over her.

“No. She’s just loaded.”

“Should we get her to vomit?”

Lane grimaced. “She already did.”

“Oh, in your car?” At his nod, I said, “Sorry about that.”

“Not a big deal. I’m a cop. I’ve had worse things happen.”

He squatted next to the couch and put his arm behind her shoulders. “I’ll raise her up. You see if you can get her to drink some of the tea.”

I did as he asked. Some of it ran down Josie’s chin as I tilted the cup to her lips, but some made it inside.

She frowned and tried to pull away from me, but Lane held her firmly.

“Should we just let her sleep?” I asked.

“She needs liquid so she doesn’t dehydrate. She also needs something in her system to dilute the drugs.”

I fed her more of the tea. She swallowed noisily. Her eyes flitted open, and she stared up at me. The dark pupils nearly obliterated the green of her eyes. Yep. Loaded.

“What’s the…? Roe?” Her words were barely decipherable. “What am I… Oh, God,” she groaned and fell back limply against Lane’s arm.

“Yes, it’s me, Josie. Are you okay?”

“Gotta get offem,” she mumbled. “Thas how he keeps me comin’ ‘round. Keeps me tied to ‘im. Knows I need the drugs.” Suddenly, she giggled. “Oh shit. Cops ‘ere and I’m talkin’ ‘bout drugs.”

I looked at Lane. “Why did you bring her here instead of arresting her? How did you come to be with her?”

“He’s a good man,” Josie said, her eyes drifting shut once more. “He’ll take care…”

“Is there a bed you want her in?” Lane asked. “She needs to sleep this off.”

I nodded. He lifted Josie in his arms, and I led him to the guest room. I pulled back the covers so Lane could lay Josie on the bed.

As I tucked the blankets beneath her chin, she said, “Maybe Katie’s the lucky one.” Her eyes bore into mine, tears swimming, running down her face into the pillow. “At least she’s free.”

Tears surfaced in my own eyes. “Shhh, sweetie. Just sleep, okay? You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

She closed her eyes, and I stood next to her until I heard small snores coming from her and saw the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Lane and I returned to the living room. His hair was plastered to his head, dark with rain. The shirt he wore was probably supposed to be a light shade of blue, but it had also darkened with the water.

“Would you like something to drink?” I asked, itching to know what the hell had happened but trying to be patient.

He shook his head. “I drank some water while I waited for the tea.”

“Would you like something dry to put on? I might have a sweatshirt that will fit you. Actually, I think I have a few of my brother’s things. He does his laundry here sometimes.”

“No. I’m fine. I’ll dry.”

“Hold on.” I went down the hall and got another towel. I returned, handing it to him. “You can at least get part of the moisture absorbed.”

“Thanks.” He took it and dabbed at his shirt, then rubbed it over his hair.

“What happened? I mean…” I lifted my hands, let them drop. “How did you come to be with Josie?” I repeated my earlier question.

“I got a tip on Lovell’s location. By the time I got there, he was gone. Josie was there, though. She was in a bad way, so I couldn’t leave her.”

“You could have taken her to jail.”

He was quiet for a long moment. I waited.

“That’s not what she needs right now. She needs to get off the drugs, but not in jail.”

A knot of tears formed at the base of my throat. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He shrugged. “I know you’ve been worried about her. Thought you’d worry less if she were here.”

I nodded and impulsively stepped toward him. I gave him a quick hug, rain-soaked shirt and all. The brief contact with his hard chest was unexpectedly pleasurable. My breath quickened as I stepped away. “Really. Thanks.”

“Maybe you can help her get into rehab,” he suggested.

“I will. I’ve tried, but not that forcefully. I’ve been accused of enabling.”

“Time for tough love.”

“You sound like my friend. And my brother.”

He smiled and those enticing crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. The blue irises sparked like an electrical current moved behind them. A sizzle zipped through the air that I couldn’t attribute to the storm. His gaze moved slowly over my face. His voice was husky as he said, “Funny. What I’m feeling right now is far from brotherly.”

“Yeah?” I said, but my throat was dry and the word came out a croak.

“Yeah.”

Married, married, married.

I let the words beat into my skull and used them as a cloak against the intense sexual attraction building for Lane Brody. His Good Samaritan bullshit didn’t help matters at all. Damn him for making me like him, too.

“I could actually use something to drink,” I said. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m sure. Thanks.”

I went to the kitchen, calling over my shoulder, “Have a seat, if you’d like.”

I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and twisted off the cap, downing most of it in one swallow. I thought about sticking my head in the freezer to cool off, but it was a different part of my body that was affected, so I didn’t.

When I returned, Lane was sitting on the sofa. I felt an irrational thrill that he wasn’t leaving yet. I sat on the chair he’d occupied the night Matt came to the house.

Searching for a non lust-inducing topic, I said, “So, how long have you been married?”

A cloud seemed to pass over his features. “Ten years.”

I tried to quell my disappointment that he didn’t add, But, we’re separated, just waiting for the divorce to be final. I still wear the ring because I’ve been too busy to take it off.

“Does she worry about you?” I added hastily, “I mean, being a cop and all.”

He shook his head slowly. “She’s been in the hospital… long term. She’s not really… aware… of much these days.” His smile had a bitter edge to it. “Even before then, she wasn’t particularly concerned about my well-being.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, recalling Asia’s words about his wife being mental.

He nodded and looked toward the window where a bolt of lightning had just cut a jagged tattoo across my blinds. “Did you know that a bolt of lightning travels up to 100 million feet per second?”

I shook my head and grinned. “I thought it was 50 million feet per second, but what do I know?”

He chuckled. “Sorry. It’s kind of reflex.” His restless cobalt eyes traveled over my face and hesitated at my lips. He cleared his throat. “Maybe I’ll take that water after all.”

“Sure.” I went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. When I returned, I handed it to him, holding my breath for just a second when our fingers almost touched. As he took off the cap and tilted the bottle to his lips, I said, “So, why did you become a cop? Let me guess. You grew up watching Starsky and Hutch and wanted to be just like them? Or, it’s because you come from a long line of cops. Small town southern sheriffs, right?”

I realized I was babbling, but there was something about this night, the rain, the gratitude I felt toward this man, the blue of his eyes, the shirt becoming more their color as the moisture evaporated. Not to mention, I hadn’t had sex in a really, really long time.

“Yeah, I watched those shows.” Lane laughed. “I didn’t come from a long line of cops, though. My dad was a welder, but he left us when I was five.”

He looked down for a moment, and I wondered what that must have felt like. A five-year-old boy abandoned by his father. I wanted to ask him more about it. Had his mother remarried? Raised him alone? Had he seen his father since? But I didn’t want to pry. He’d tell me what he wanted me to know.

“I didn’t set out to be a cop,” he said. “I thought I wanted to be an attorney. I was going to law school. One day, I was at the bank, waiting in line in the lobby. Three guys came in with guns. Robbed the bank, terrorized the customers and the poor girls working the teller lines. No one was injured, and the guys were caught that very day. I was back in the bank the following week. The teller who waited on me was young, no more than eighteen or nineteen. I asked her how she was and she said, ‘Fine, sir, and how are you today?’ I was talking about the robbery, but she still tried to be professional, be brave. There was a quiver in her voice and it infuriated me at the crooks who would dare to do that to a young girl, just trying to do her job. I decided I’d rather be one of the cops who brought assholes like that down than the attorney who got them convicted, or worse, got them off.” He looked at me, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Sorry if I bored you. Didn’t mean to give you the long version.”

“No. You didn’t bore me. That’s a terrific story.”

“So, tell me. Who’s Katie?”

“What?” I asked, startled.

“Josie mentioned Katie.”

“Oh, yes.”

I didn’t say more. I hardly ever talked about Katie, at least not to people who hadn’t known her. I met his eyes and saw curiosity there. I also saw a glimmer of something else. Maybe he was feeling the same sexual tension I was. The third being in the room. Almost a living, breathing force.

“I saw how you reacted when she said Katie’s name,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me, but…”

“But?”

He stared at me, his gaze intense and compelling, sucking the oxygen from the room. “I don’t want to leave just yet.” His voice was low, gruff. “Maybe it’s safer if we talk.”

What would you rather be doing? I wanted to ask, but didn’t, because I knew. I could feel the pull, the axis of desire swirling between us.

And, he was married. Happily or not. Ill wife or not. Married. I didn’t need to make any more mistakes. I didn’t need any more heartache. From the looks of him, he didn’t either.

“Right.” I nodded and closed my eyes, swallowing back tears, working up the courage to talk about Katie. Opening my eyes again, but not looking at him, I said, “It happened when we were twelve. Katie, Josie and I were best friends. Inseparable. We were camping out in my back yard. My parents went out for the evening and my brothers were home with us. Actually, I’m sure my parents were home by the time… when Katie…” I sucked in a breath as a jagged pain ripped through me with the memory. “Sometime during the night, Katie disappeared,” I whispered. “There was a search party. In the wee hours of the morning, one of our neighbors found her body. She’d been murdered.”

I swallowed again… waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, I looked at him and went on, “No one was ever arrested for her murder. They had a suspect. He’d done time for a rape. He was also suspected in the murder of another young girl a year earlier. They could never get enough evidence to make an arrest.” Standing, I walked to the window and looked out over the darkened neighborhood, not really seeing the falling rain, my mind on that night long ago. I spoke without turning around. “It tore two families apart. A whole neighborhood, really. But my parents were especially devastated. Blamed themselves. Katie’s parents blamed them, too. They said if my parents had been home, it never would have happened. Which wasn’t true. They would have been inside the house and would have had no idea what we were doing.” I gathered the hair on top of my head and squeezed, closing my eyes against the tears. Against the memories. “I think my parents were home by then, anyway. By the time Katie—”

I stopped. Took a breath. Released my hair and swallowed.

I hadn’t heard him rise, but Lane was suddenly beside me. He reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. Lightly. Comforting.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

I nodded. “It wasn’t their fault. Katie’s parents knew my parents were going out. Knew we were spending the night in the back yard. It was a safe neighborhood. They weren’t worried. But after…” I shrugged. “I guess they just needed someone to blame.”

“I’m sure they did,” Lane said, but I was barely aware of him speaking. I was lost in that time. Now that I had started, it all kept pouring out.

“Although Mom and Dad felt guilty, they were defensive when Katie’s parents accused them. It caused a huge rift, and they never spoke again. Funny, but Katie’s parents didn’t hold it against me or Josie. As a matter of fact, I became even closer to them as the years went by. Katie was an only child, and I guess it helped to have me around. My parents didn’t mind. They felt terrible about what happened. Almost guilty about the fact that they had four children left when the Broussards had none. My brothers were devastated. Especially Gabe, since he was left in charge. Coburn, as usual, was a rock, but Mitch and Gabe went to pieces. It had the opposite effect on each of them. Gabe, who’d been wild and out of control, settled down, became quiet. Wound up becoming a priest. Mitch went a little crazy for a few years. Got really heavy into drugs. Josie did, too. Only, Mitch came back.”

“Must have been horrible.”

“It was.”

We started junior high that year. It was miserable. I already had a reputation for being a little morbid since my dad was a mortician. After Katie’s death, rumors circulated about my family being cultists. About how we’d put some kind of curse on her. Some even said we’d sacrificed her in a ritual and eaten her flesh. Josie became a stoner and I became an outcast. My brothers, oddly, went unscathed. They were just too good-looking and had too much personality to let a little thing like ritualistic murder affect their popularity.

“I was in Alabama at the time,” Lane said. “I guess it didn’t make it on the news there. I never heard about it. I would have been, let’s see… fourteen. Didn’t pay a lot of attention to the news back then.”

Fourteen. A shiver ran down my spine. It was silly, though. The pennies meant nothing.

“Even with all the accusations flying around, truth was, if my parents had been home, it wouldn’t have changed anything. If Gable had checked on us again, it wouldn’t have changed anything. The only thing that would have changed what happened is if Josie and I hadn’t teased Katie. Or, if we’d gone with her when she asked.”

Lane’s hand gently squeezed my shoulder. “The only thing that might have changed is that you might been killed too.”

I shrugged again. Maybe he was right. But it didn’t feel like it.

I stepped away from his touch and went back to the sofa. He settled beside me.

“I know the guys on the cold case squad,” he said. “They’re buried right now. Probably will be ‘til the end of time, actually. The stats on unsolved murders are staggering. But, maybe I can check around. See if I can get something going on Katie’s case again.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe. There has to be new evidence to start an investigation on a cold case, but maybe something will come up.”

I thought of Corrine’s penny. I didn’t mention it. I doubted that a pennies-from-heaven story from a grieving mother would be considered new evidence.

“What about Maya Pittman?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The girl who was murdered in ‘06. There were a lot of similarities to Katie’s murder.”

“I don’t know. That was about the time I moved here. Not familiar with that case. I can check into it, though. See what comes up.”

“That would be great,” I said, feeling close to tears. I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that, after all this time, Katie’s murder would be solved. But I couldn’t control the wiggle of hope that started inside me.

Lane stood. “I’d better be going.”

I nodded, standing also, and walked him to the door.

I could hear the rain, still hammering against the doors and windows. It hadn’t let up. If anything, it had gotten worse.

We stood silently in my foyer, listening to the rain drum on the roof. I could feel heat emanate from him, although our bodies weren’t touching. He reached out a hand and lifted my chin until I stared up at him. His gaze roamed over my face, settling on my lips. A glint of desire flashed in the sea-blue eyes before his lashes lowered over them. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked, almost in a groan.

I didn’t answer. I wondered if he could hear my heart galloping in my chest. The sound seemed to drown out even the storm outside.

The heat of his breath fanned my cheek as he sighed. “Goodnight, Monroe,” he said, releasing my chin and placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

I felt the imprint of his lips long after he was gone.

****

Lane sat in his car without starting it, watching sheets of rain cascade over his windshield. Moisture dripped from his raincoat onto the seat, but he barely noticed. The wind howled, buffeting the car, and dark dampness pressed around him. He looked through the deluge to where Monroe’s porch light burned like a beacon of warmth.

A hollow void opened up in the pit of his stomach. The feeling reminded him of a time, long ago, when he’d been around nine. He’d bicycled over to his friend, Evan’s, house. Lane was going to spend the night with him. Evan had the whole set of Star Wars action figures. Lane didn’t have any, but his mom had taken him to see the movie for his birthday.

Lane stepped up on the porch, but before he could knock, he heard bursts of laughter. Looking through the living room window, he saw Evan with his dad. His father had him lifted off the ground, in a headlock, tickling him. Evan roared with breathless laughter.

A funny feeling came over Lane. At the time, he didn’t recognize it as loneliness. Didn’t know it was an awareness of looking in at something he’d never had and never would have. He just knew it made his heart hurt and made him a little mad at the same time. He stood watching for a few seconds, then realized he had tears running down his face. Embarrassed and miserable, he got back on his bike and went home without letting Evan know he was there.

Lane sighed and started the car, casting one last look at Monroe’s house. After she’d opened up to him about Katie, he’d wanted to tell her about Catherine. He didn’t, though. It didn’t seem to be the right time. After her unburdening herself about the tragic murder of a childhood friend, he didn’t want to talk about his cheating wife.

No, he wouldn’t expose Monroe to the sordid ugliness of his life.

As Monroe had talked about Katie, he’d watched a barrage of emotions cross her features. Disbelief, grief, guilt, anger, bewilderment. The same expressions he’d seen on the faces of other survivors. He’d always thought that was a good word. Survivors. For many, afterward, survive was all they could do.

The ones where the murder was never solved were the worst. There was no closure. That’s what he wanted to give Monroe. He didn’t want to give her false hope, but he wanted to do all he could to solve Katie’s murder.

Although he wanted to be so much more, being the guy who gave her closure would have to be enough.