Hour of Need (Scarlet Falls 1)

“Easy.” He wrapped a hand around the front of her pelvis. This thumb circled slowly until he touched a nerve that sent pleasure bursting through her. Finally. She clamped around him. His body responded with a final surge and a groan that sounded as if it were ripped from the soles of his boots. Which he was still wearing, she noted.

Giddiness rose through her chest and burst from her lips as laughter.

Grant lifted his head and frowned. “That’s not the response I was shooting for.”

Still giggling, she kissed him and looked down. His pants were around his knees. Her jeans and panties dangled from one of her ankles. They were both still wearing their boots.

He sighed. “Yeah. This is not normally how I like to make my first big impression.”

“Don’t worry.” She cupped his jaw and kissed him again. “You made quite an impression.”

“Still, if we do that again, I’m going to want some more room to maneuver.” He stopped. “But maybe that’s not a good idea. I just hope we both don’t end up regretting this.”

She put a finger to his mouth. “I have no regrets.”

But pain gathered inside her. If they’d met under different circumstances, who knew what could have blossomed between them. In less than a week, Grant had gently worked his way inside her heart. He was a special man. A man she could let share her life.

Lord, she was being ridiculous. They’d just met. Maybe this feeling was dependent on the security Grant provided for her family. It wasn’t as if Ellie had any real experience with successful relationships.

It hardly mattered. A career soldier would never be satisfied with domestic bliss. She’d have to be satisfied with a little tenderness, some terrific sex, and a bittersweet memory. She couldn’t get too used to having him around. He’d be gone soon, and once again, she’d be alone.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lindsay

January

I limp into the locker room. My knee stings from an epic fail of a double axel. Stopping in the U-shaped alcove that houses my locker, I pause. The hairs on the back of my neck wiggle. I can feel someone’s attention on my back. A shudder rides my spine and cramps my belly, as if I’m a vampire’s next victim in a horror movie. With one hand on my combination lock, I turn around. On the other side of the locker room, Regan and Autumn stand in front of Regan’s open locker. Excitement churns in their eyes. They might not be bloodsuckers, but they are sucking the will to live from my soul.

Too much melodrama, I know. I need to lay off the comics.

Mom did it. Last week, she complained to the school and Victor. She said the principal promised to talk to Regan and Autumn. Victor won’t say a word, though. He tries to look out for me, but let’s face it. They have the power, not him. His career is already shaky. Everyone says this club is his last chance. What is a skating coach supposed to do if no one will pay him to coach skating?

Anyway . . .

They. Are. Pissed. Every day since has been the worst yet.

Yesterday, I stuck my finger down my throat and threw up so I could stay home, but my mom didn’t buy the fake sick act today.

“You can’t let them win,” she says.

She is clueless. I am the only possible loser here. Regan and Autumn and their Shrew Crew have been at me for six solid weeks. I am their mission. Making me miserable is their purpose in life.

My dad called the phone company. They blocked the number. Texts started coming in from a different number a couple of days later. The cell phone company said the numbers are burner phones, disposable and untraceable. I told my parents these kids are smart, but they didn’t believe me. Plus, Regan’s dad is a computer guy.

Dad says he’s going to the police next. He wanted to take my phone away, but it’s my only link to Jose. Dad made me close all my social media accounts because nasty messages started showing up on those last week. They’ve cut me off from everything.

Mom is taking me to see a psychiatrist after school tomorrow. Because I am not enough of a freak, now I have to see a shrink, too. I had one in California, but I only saw him for my ADHD meds. This is different. This time, they think I’m a head case.

Despite my parents’ best intentions, I am all alone.

I spin the numbers into place. The weight, the intensity of the girls’ focus practically burns. What are they planning? Sweat breaks out under my arms, and it isn’t from my skating practice.

Those girls hate me. I’ve been in Scarlet Falls more than two months. I keep waiting for them to tire of taunting me. Doesn’t devising ways to make me miserable take up a large chunk of time? The junior skate team made sectionals this year, and they’ve been practicing before and after school every day. Don’t they get tired? Regan and Autumn have National Honor Society and student council meetings to attend. Straight-ironing their highlights must consume at least thirty minutes a day. Their hair is perfect.

Instinct tells me not to turn my back to them, but Mom will be here soon. The last thing I want is for her to come looking for me. Then she’ll have time to talk to Victor. My life is humiliating enough without every single person in it constantly discussing my public shame.

I open my locker and jump backward. Inside, a Barbie swings from a string tied around her neck. Her hair is black, and someone has glued a pink stripe on one side to match the streak in mine. Her fingernails are even painted black. A note glued to her chest reads, “Do everyone a favor and die.”

I close the locker and pull out my clothes. I pretend not to have seen anything, but I can feel the girls’ glee burning my back. I change quickly, an embarrassing act on the best of days. I’m too skinny. Seventeen years old and no boobs yet. Since I moved here, my acne has flared up too, as if my own skin is collaborating with the enemy to make me yet uglier.

In my black T-shirt and army cargos, I put a foot on the bench and lace up my combat boots. Most of the other girls have left now. I look over my shoulder. Regan and Autumn are gone. Did I disappoint them by not freaking out? I hope so. Though I’m not sure if my ignoring them will make them get bored and move on to someone else, or if they will only see my attitude as a challenge and try harder.

It could go either way. It probably all depends on whether another possible victim gets their attention. But for now, we all know I’m their bitch.

I toss the doll into my gym bag. I don’t want to see it there again tomorrow, and it’s the first piece of actual physical evidence of their torment. On the way out of the locker room, a hand to my spine sends me sprawling forward. Pain slams through my bruised knee as it hits the concrete. My duffel bag slides down the aisle. I drop my purse. The contents scatter on the concrete. Why do the tampons always go the farthest?

I scramble to scoop my stuff back into my purse. Where is my duffel bag? I spot it near the door. The zipper is open. I look inside. The doll is gone. As if it never existed. My evidence just went poof.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Grant slowed the rental car and surveyed the rows of crumbling buildings. Two rows of ten attached units faced each other across a hundred feet of blacktop. Clumps of frozen slush dotted the parking/delivery area. Despite the recent snowfall, weeds sprouted through cracks in the asphalt. Snow spread in random patches on the surrounding fields. Brick walls had fared better than the roofs. Most units sported broken windows and doors.

“This is the address?” Grant lowered his window a few inches and listened. On a flagpole at the entrance to the complex, a tattered American flag whipped in the wind. The sight of the torn and faded Stars and Stripes stirred his anger.

Mac checked the piece of lined paper in his hand. “That’s what it says.”

A ten-year-old boy in a scout uniform had knocked on the front door early that morning. He’d sold Mac a candy bar and passed him the note with his change. The note read: Last known address, D’s BFF, Earl.

“How did Freddie know where to find Donnie?” Grant asked.

Mac gave him a casual shrug. Grant was tense enough for both of them. The recent snow had blown across the open fields and drifted against the buildings. Even with recent warm temps, a few inches remained on the concrete walkways. Zeroing in on footprints in the slush, he pointed toward a unit in the center of the row. The roof and windows seemed intact. “Looks like he’s squatting in that one.”

The remaining snow appeared undisturbed. Grant saw no other signs of occupation, but he circled the entire complex to be sure. A POS sedan was parked behind the unit he’d targeted.

He parked the car and pulled his Beretta. He checked the inverted knife strapped to his boot. Secure. They got out of the car.

Grant ran to the building and crouched beneath the window. Mac took position on the other side. Peering over the sill, Grant scanned the interior. The unit was narrow. The rear of the space was an open room. A few doors suggested offices and restrooms toward the front. A kerosene heater glowed a few feet away from a mattress on the floor. A man slept under a pile of blankets. The space had been fitted out with a few tattered lawn chairs, a card table, and a camp stove. Canned goods were lined up on the table next to a stack of red Solo cups. Plastic grocery bags and trash littered the concrete floor. A few items of clothing were piled on the floor next to a backpack.

Mac slid a tool from his pocket, knelt at the back door, and worked the lock, while Grant watched the inhabitant. A faint click signaled the movement of tumblers. Mac grinned, and Grant wondered what other skills his brother hadn’t lost in the years since his reformation.