A Caress of Bones: a serial killer thriller (Wren Delacroix Book 9) Page 14

  They seemed fused together now, somehow, more than they had been. They had created life together, and it was growing inside her. The thought made her feel awed and shivery and breathless.

  “Do you think I’m starting to look pregnant?”

  “Nope.” His mouth was at the nape of her neck.

  “Don’t you think my belly is bigger?”

  “I can tell.” He moved his hand over her skin. “But I get to see you without your clothes, and I’m pretty familiar with the way you look, so, it’s different. Objectively speaking, you don’t look pregnant.”

  “Just fat?”

  A pause.

  “Cai?”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure I should touch that,” he said. “But you know you’ve never looked fat in your life, and that you don’t look fat now.”

  “But I’m… fleshier.” She wriggled against him.

  “Yeah,” said Reilly. “And I’m not complaining.”

  She snorted. “You like me fat.”

  “I love you,” he said. “And you’re incredibly sexy right now.”

  She smiled, unable not to feel satisfied at that. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”

  “Uh… really? You want to do that?”

  “I feel like people talk about it,” she said. “I don’t know why we haven’t.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Girl,” she said.

  “That was quick.” He was amused.

  “Boy is good too,” she said, “but I just think girls are easier.”

  “I’ve always heard it the other way around.”

  “Girls can do anything, and be anything, and there’s no restrictions on girls. But if boys want to like butterflies or wear ribbons, people flip out. And boys have testosterone and they grow into teenage boys, and… I think girls are easier.”

  “Well, I want a girl too,” he said.

  “Because you already have a boy, and you want one of each?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “I’m worried about…” She swallowed. “I’m worried about hair stuff if it’s a girl, though.”

  “Hair stuff?”

  “Because I’m not good with white hair,” said Wren. “Let alone black hair.”

  He snickered. “Yes, it’s very complicated, Wren. It’s, you know, so dark and curly and—”

  She elbowed him. “I have read Facebook threads about this. It is a thing.”

  He continued to laugh.

  “It’s not funny,” she protested, twisting in his arms to face him.

  “It’s a little funny,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face. A moment passed, and they looked at each other. “You sure that’s what you’re worried about? Not that, you know, you’re going to have a baby who doesn’t look like you?”

  “My baby is going to look like me,” she said. “Just because our skin might be slightly different shades, it’s not going to mean anything.” She winced. “Well, it means something. Of course it means something, but it doesn’t matter—” She broke off. “This keeps coming out wrong.”

  “I know what you’re trying to say,” he said. “I’m not trying to trip you up. You don’t have to say the right thing to me.” He kissed her.

  She melded herself into him. “Our baby is going to be beautiful.”

  “Yes,” he hissed.

  And then they kissed again.

  He traced a finger over her bare shoulder. “What about this vigilante angle?”

  “That’s an abrupt subject change, Caius Reilly.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “It was getting heavy there. I felt guilty for saying anything to you like what I said. I know you are already head over heels for the baby. And it’s a little late to be cluing you in on the fact that I’m a black man.”

  She snickered. “You’re black? What?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, thought it was time you knew.”

  “I’m thinking she’s not a vigilante.”

  “Oh, you’re going with the subject change now.”

  “Your sister’s going to help me with our little girl’s hair.”

  “Obviously,” said Reilly.

  “And she will understand that it’s a thing,” said Wren.

  “We’ll just shave her head,” said Reilly.

  “No, we won’t,” said Wren.

  “She might want her head shaved,” said Reilly. “You were the one who was just on about how girls can do anything, but boys can’t like rainbows or whatever. So, maybe she wants her head shaved.”

  “Okay, you win a point, and that is that there are gender-role issues regardless.” She ran her fingers over his bicep. “I’ve changed my mind. I want a boy after all.”

  “I’ll be happy with a boy,” he said. “Poppy still could be killing jackasses. It might be important for us to nail down her motives. Who knows how we’re going to catch her otherwise?”

  “If she really cares about her son, she’s going to come back to see him again and again. So, we just camp out here outside his house until he shows up.”

  “That sounds like a great way to waste a lot of federal money on hotel rooms,” he said.

  “Right, and after we just bought that nice big house,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “And you’ll be deprived of nesting.”

  She groaned. “I don’t think I’m going to do that. I don’t think I’m the nesting type. You be the nester, Cai.”

  “Me?” He pushed up a bit over her, arching an eyebrow. “I’m the nester?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “You decorate the nursery.”

  “Okay.” He kissed her. “I will get right on that, if you’re serious.”

  She laughed. “No, you won’t.”

  “I definitely will.” He kissed her neck. “But you have to promise that you’re going to let me do it, and you’re not going to say anything about my choices. I get to pick everything. Colors. Themes. Furniture. The whole nine yards.”

  She pushed on his chest. “Well, you’re kind of scaring me. What are you thinking?”

  “You don’t care,” he said. “You’re not a nester. I’m the nester, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

  “It’s going to be in my house,” she said. “For my baby. So, if it’s horrible—”

  “Are you saying you want to nest a little? Maybe you want to decorate after all?”

  She glared at him. “You’re awful. You’re just trying to trick me into nesting. I’ve known all along that you wish I was more domestic than I am.”

  “I’m teasing you, it’s true,” he said, settling back down next to her. “In all seriousness, we can nest together. I would not decorate a nursery without your input, I promise. And if you do want me to take point on it, I’ve got you. And you are incredibly domestic, Wren.” His hand was on her stomach again. “You can’t get more domestic than being pregnant.”

  She shut her eyes. “Okay.” Maybe at some point in their lives, she would have found something in whatever he was saying to argue about, but that all seemed silly now. Why argue? “I’m domestic, then.”

  “We’re domestic,” he said.

  “Mmm.” She snuggled into him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EVERLY Green’s roommate had a boyfriend, and she kept spending the night at his place, and Everly had tried to convince the both of them—on numerous occasions—that they should sleep at their place instead of going back to his house.

  But the boyfriend—his name was Grant—had a one-bedroom apartment all to himself, and apparently they liked the privacy.

  It was only that Everly found being alone terrifying.

  She’d been seeing a therapist since she’d escaped from that asshole in the woods, and the therapist said her feelings were entirely rational, that she’d had her safety threatened, and that she might never be quite the same.

  But the therapist also pointed out that this hadn’t happened to Everly when she was alone, but in a party full of people. She’d been a drunk girl slumped against a guy�
�s chest as he walked her out to his car, probably laughing with people about how she’d passed out, probably with other people looking on and thinking what a great guy he was.

  “This was not your fault,” the therapist said. “This was not a result of a lack of preparation on your part. This was his fault.”

  But as to the question of safety, well, her therapist said that safety was an illusion. None of us were safe, ever. There was no way to be completely safe. What Everly had to learn to be now was how to be brave.

  “You fought him off,” said the therapist. “You’re resilient and strong.”

  Everly disagreed. She’d gotten lucky. She shouldn’t have been able to beat that guy up. She didn’t understand how she’d done it.

  And now, she’d heard that another girl had been taken from a party, and this one was dead. Everly should be dead, but she wasn’t.

  Now, it was late, and she’s just awakened, because she’d heard a sound.

  Her bedroom was small, cluttered with mismatched hand-me-down furniture and plastered with cheap posters of famous works of art, which she’d put in cheap frames in an attempt to make them look less cheap.

  It was dark in her room, but a bit of moonlight came in through the curtains, spilling out onto the floor.

  It was a dream, she said to herself. There’s no one out there.

  Footsteps.

  She could hear them, coming through the house. The floor was creaking as someone moved over it.

  Celia, she thought. Celia’s home. It had to be her roommate.

  She could call out to her, and Celia would answer in a reassuring voice that it was her, and then Everly would know that everything was okay.

  She took a deep breath.

  Her voice got stuck in her throat. Her heart started to beat too fast in her chest, and sweat broke out on the back of her neck.

  She was stuck here, in her bed, the covers too heavy, strangling her.

  The footsteps were coming closer.

  Closer.

  Call out for Celia.

  She couldn’t.

  At least get out of bed and go open the door and look.

  No.

  Her heart thudded painfully against her rib cage. She couldn’t breathe.

  The footsteps were closer yet.

  Suddenly, they stopped.

  She heard a door open, the door to Celia’s bedroom.

  You see? It’s Celia. She probably had a fight with Grant, and now she’s coming home to crash here, and—

  The floor in the hallway groaned with the sound of weight.

  A hand closed on her doorknob.

  Suddenly, she flung herself into motion. She leaped out of bed and tore across the room, snatching up her Chemistry textbook, which was huge and heavy.

  The doorknob rattled. She had locked it.

  “Celia?” she said.

  No response.

  “Celia, if it’s you, answer me now,” she snarled.

  It wasn’t exactly difficult to unlock her doorknob from the other side. It required next-to-no skill, and she could already hear the scrape of something being inserted into its simple internal mechanism.

  She looked around.

  Out the window?

  Fine.

  She darted for it. Should she put down her book, her only weapon?

  She hesitated, unsure, the fear making it impossible to think.

  And then she heard a click as the internal mechanism of her lock came undone.

  She turned to the door, and she watched it open.

  It was him.

  “Everly,” he said.

  She was shaking, every part of her trembling. She threw the book at him.

  He brought up his arms to protect his face. It glanced against his forearms.

  She turned to the window and tried to push it up.

  It was locked. Of course it was locked. With trembling fingers, she reached up to unlock the—

  He was there. He had her by the wrist. He tugged her and she collided with his body.

  She shrieked.

  “Shh,” he said, pressing a finger against her lips. “I was going to let you go. I figured it was a sign, if you got free from me, that it was meant to be. But you’re a loose end.”

  She punched him, slamming her fist into his face, just like she’d done before.

  Well, she tried.

  He sensed her movement and caught her. He wrenched both of her hands behind her back and held them there.

  Now, their bodies were touching, they were so close. His face was inches from hers.

  She let out an inhuman sort of wailing sound. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be here, in her house.

  “Oh, Everly,” he said. “You have to be quiet.”

  She threw back her head. “Help!” she screamed. “Help me, somebody hel—”

  He slammed her into the wall so hard that her words cut off.

  And then he had something, a needle, gleaming and sharp.

  Her lips parted.

  “Didn’t think you’d take a drink from me this time,” he said, and jammed it into her neck.

  He let go of her.

  She staggered forward, trying to scream, trying to hit him, trying….

  But the floor swam up to meet her and swallowed her whole.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “NO, definitely no assault reports on this guy, not in any of his other relationships,” Queen was saying.

  Wren wrinkled up her nose. It was looking like she needed to put this theory of hers to bed. This clearly wasn’t how Poppy picked her victims.

  “But he has some stuff for drugs,” said Queen.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Wren. “What about maybe talking to the foster family who has custody of her son? Was your contact able to talk to them?”

  “They don’t want to talk,” said Queen. “A lot of people in that community are really distrustful of law enforcement. You could go there and try to force them to tell you something, but you probably wouldn’t get anything from them.”

  “But did they say anything about hearing from her?” said Reilly.

  “They said they had not,” said Queen. “Which… can you trust that?” She spread her hands. “Who knows?”

  “Right,” muttered Wren.

  Her phone started to ring.

  She answered it. “Delacroix.”

  “Hi, Delacroix, it’s Jim McNamara in Cardinal Falls,” said a voice.

  “McNamara,” she said. “You, um, you’re calling me? You know that Cai and I just bought a house together?”

  “Exactly,” said McNamara. “I figured that since you two are seriously committed to each other, it would no longer be weird, and that I could call you instead of him sometimes. We got a body.”

  “Shit,” she said.

  “Yup,” said McNamara. “And get this, it’s Everly Green.”

  “The girl who got away? He came back for her?”

  “Yeah,” said McNamara.

  “Why didn’t we have protection for her?”

  “Well, we did have someone doing the rounds near her apartment,” said McNamara. “But… it didn’t help.”

  “Was she in the woods?”

  “Yes,” said McNamara. “Set up in that pose and the whole thing.”

  “Oh, God,” said Wren. “Well, we’re not in the state, so we can’t come to the scene. Get pictures, and send her body to our lab, and we will be back as soon as we can.”

  When she hung up, Reilly said, “Everly Green? He got her?”

  “She saw his face,” said Wren. “We should have known it was only a matter of time. He’s too smart to let her be out there, ready to identify him. Damn it.”

  “I guess you guys have another case?” said Queen.

  Wren nodded. “We might have gone as far as we could with investigating Poppy’s past, anyway. We’re kind of at a dead end here. No more victims to talk about, no one else to interview.”

  “Does this happen a lot?” sa
id Queen. “Do you have to leave one investigation for another?”

  “Honestly, we’re not usually double booked,” said Wren. “All accounts to the contrary, serial killers are kind of rare.”

  “Right,” said Queen. “I do actually know that, having worked homicide for my entire career. But I can’t imagine working those kinds of cases over and over again, looking into that darkness.”

  Wren considered. “You don’t find homicide just as dark?”

  Queen shook her head. “Nah. People kill other people, and eighty percent of the time, they didn’t really think it through, you know? It was either a crime of passion or they were impaired by drugs or alcohol when they made the decision, or they’re doing it because of complications with selling drugs or a gang or that kind of stuff. They feel remorse. But I watched you with Poppy when you interviewed her, and she was stone cold.”

  “True,” said Wren. “I don’t know. I guess I think it’s worse in some ways, having the depth of empathy and knowing the pain you’re causing and doing it anyway.”

  “It does wear on you,” Reilly spoke up, his voice quiet. “The darkness? It does.”

  WREN was shoving clothes into her suitcase when the phone in their hotel room rang. She almost didn’t answer it, because she couldn’t think of who would have the number or be trying to reach them.

  But on the off chance it was important, she did.

  “There’s a kid here who claims he should talk to you,” said the woman at the front desk. “I tried to send him away, and he’s being really insistent. Says it’s got something to do with his mother, some Indigo person. I know you two are FBI, so I thought maybe it was important, and—”

  “No, you did great,” said Wren. “Yes, we will be down there in five minutes.”

  She and Reilly bought Connor a soda from a machine, and they sat together in the lobby. He looked like Poppy. He was blond and he had her eyes. Wren thought she could see the resemblance to Keith Hughes, too.

  “We weren’t aware you knew that she was your mother,” Wren said to him gently. “We thought that she’d kept that from you.”

  “She told me last time she was here,” said Connor. “She said she wants a better life for me. I want that too. I came here because…” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them. “I don’t know. I think it’s stupid.”