Deserves to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

But that was nutty.

He knew where he was and his dad was right behind him. Squinting, Eli searched the grove. But no. He couldn’t see his father. Nor the dogs.

About to call out to him, Eli caught a glimpse of the bay stepping through the trees again, a phantom horse, barely visible just like in the cartoons he watched or the video games he played.

Feeling a little better, he leaned over the saddle horn, shifting his weight, urging Jetfire forward. Man, it was cold. Too cold. The sooner he found the dumb hole in the wire mesh, the sooner he could go back inside. Jetfire picked up the pace, threading through a copse of saplings as Eli peered through the shifting snowflakes. The fence crossed the stream again as it cut through the trees, heading in a crooked path to the river a few miles to the west.

The fence looked a little different, not as much ice building up over the wire, no snow sticking to the posts. Maybe the cattle had rubbed up against it when searching for a way through. After all, he was near a deeper part of the stream. A particularly stubborn calf with just enough curiosity and no darned brains could wade in and, if he tried hard enough, maybe duck under the wire where the fence spanned the creek. There was no guard there, no floating cattle panel that moved with the current. Squinting through the snowfall, Eli encouraged Jetfire forward, closer to the creek, but the horse snorted and balked.

“Come on,” Eli insisted, giving Jetfire a nudge with his knees, urging the gelding to walk closer to the creek.

Instead, Jetfire started backing up.

“Hey!” Eli said sharply. “Let’s go!”

But the gelding was having none of it. Tossing his head and snorting, Jet shied away from a thicket of maples.

Eli took a firmer grasp on the reins. “What’s got into you?”

From somewhere nearby, a dog growled low and warning, the sound causing the hairs on the back of Eli’s neck to lift. Jet reared up.

Eli fought the reins. “Whoa. Stop!”

Bonzi appeared, his caramel-colored coat dappled with snow, his lips snarling, showing teeth. His eyes were trained on the creek, just beyond the brush. As Jet shied, the hairs on the back of the dog’s thick neck raised. Tail stiff, he snarled and barked, his eyes focused on a bend in the creek.

What was it? A wildcat or puma? Maybe a wolf?

Shivering inwardly, Eli followed the dog’s gaze with his own.

“Trouble?” his father shouted from somewhere not far behind.

The last thing he wanted was his dad to think he couldn’t handle his horse. Eli’s gaze scoured the wintry banks of the creek, searching the exposed rocks and tangled, snow-covered roots. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “It’s just—”

His words died in his throat.

His stomach dropped.

Fear cold as an Arctic blast cut through him as he saw what the dog had sensed. Ten feet ahead in a deep pool, a woman’s arm stretched out of the water, fingers wide as if supplicating the heavens.

Eli yanked hard on the reins as he stared at the hand. Reaching upward, one finger severed, the hand seemed to be grasping into the empty air for help.

“Oh . . . Oh . . . God . . .” he whispered, horrified. The horse, feeling his fear, minced in a tight circle, tossing up snow.

Eli forced himself to look harder. There, under a thin layer of ice, lay a woman. She was staring straight up, the current below her rippling around her, feathering her long brown hair, causing her blouse to billow around her midriff. Set in a death mask, her face was a grayish hue, and beneath the glaze of ice, her eyes were wide and fixed, seeming to stare straight into his soul.

“Eli?”

His father’s voice barely registered. He felt as if he might be sick. “No . . . oh . . .” His insides turned to water. “Dad!”

Screaming before he could stop himself, Eli nearly toppled out of the saddle as Jetfire, nostrils distended, reared, then spun and took off at a full gallop, racing through the trees and across the pasture-land, his hooves throwing up clods of snow. Over the rush of wind in his ears, Eli heard his father shout and the dogs begin to howl and bark, but all he could do was hang on to the reins and saddle horn as the horse tore up the rise toward the house. The world went by in a blur of white, but all Eli saw, indelibly etched in his brain forever, was that mutilated hand reaching for the sky.

Chapter 4

You’re a chicken.

That irritating voice inside Pescoli’s head wouldn’t leave her alone, even though she’d tried to immerse herself in the autopsy report she’d found on her desk this morning.

She’d had the perfect opportunity to tell Santana about the baby after he’d met her at the top of the stairs, kissed the damn breath from her lungs, and for the first time in their new house, made love to her right on the hard subfloor of their master bedroom. Okay, there had been a sleeping bag, but still.... The sex had been intense, maybe even a little rough, but filled with the passion she found exhilarating. Afterward, as she’d snuggled up against him, both their naked bodies shining with sweat, she should have screwed up her courage and let him know that he was going to be a father later this year. But she hadn’t, content to hold him tight, feel his strength, and listen to his heartbeat as she stared through the open French doors and watched the nightfall.