Its one of us, p.32
It’s One of Us, page 32
Shock ripples across his face. Then his mouth is on hers, the kiss so violent, so explosive, that she has no time to react, only to sink into him, into his body, revel in his arms, the strength of him holding her. He pushes her up on the railing, his body hard between her legs, and the heat of him drives her wild. Her legs go around him, pulling him close. His shirt is off a moment later, and she runs her hands over the broad expanse of his chest.
He pulls away slightly, as if in question, and in response she arches her back, arches into him, every line and contour of her body screaming yes! Her shorts are off now, and his pants, and he takes her, there on the deck, under the brightening sky, the seagulls and sandpipers and sea oats the only witness to their passion.
It is over too quickly, and they are left panting in the morning heat, both trying to find a way to get closer, waves of pleasure crashing through them.
“Inside,” she whispers, and he picks her up as if she weighs nothing and carries her into the living room.
They stretch out side by side, and she is amazed at how they fit together, even after all these years. So perfectly, as if they’re made for one another.
They make love for hours, until the sun is drawing low and the shadows high.
She hasn’t been this happy in a long time. Being with him again is just as wonderful as she’d dreamed.
Perry, too, seems more relaxed, though there is still a tension in him. He’s probably thinking about Park; she wants to tell him that this is their moment, not to let in the chaos they’ve managed to flee, if only for a few hours.
“Is this going to be weird?” she asks softly.
“No. Only I don’t think I could ever get enough of you,” he says, and she smiles, snuggles against him.
“Then run away with me. Stay here. We can start over, together. Take the chance we never had.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible, Liv. Not until we get things settled with Park.”
“Is this why you want him taken down? So he’s out of the picture? Let me tell you, Perry, you needn’t worry about that. Park and I are over. I’m free. My heart is free, I mean. The rest is just paperwork.”
“It’s not that. I can’t live with myself knowing what he’s done.”
He pulls on his jeans and shirt, leaving them both unbuttoned. She feels so far away from him already, though he’s standing five feet away.
“It’s time to call him again, Liv. I have to resolve this in my mind. I’ll leave it up to you if you want to tell him about—” he points to the living room floor, littered with cushions and clothes “—this.”
“This?” She’d be amused if she wasn’t so desperately afraid of what might happen next.
“You know what I mean. Us.” He looks confused and abashed. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Perry?”
He looks back over his shoulder, and her breath catches.
“Is there an us?” she asks.
His smile tells her everything, but the words are good, too.
“If you want there to be.”
“I do. Stay with me while I call?”
44
THE MOTHER
Darby is in the back yard taking hamburgers off the grill when Osley and Moore show up at her door. Scarlett calls for her, yelling that the police are there, and Darby has a terrible premonition that that their lives are about to change forever. Again. Her mind touches briefly on Peyton, who has dropped off the face of the earth, and draws back sharply, as if burned. She will be in therapy for years trying to understand her mixed emotions toward her son. The boy she raised, who has killed. Kidnapped. Raped. A man she no longer knows, who she can never understand, but wants to hold tight to her breast, to carry inside her again. If only she could do it all over, if only she could start fresh.
But it is too late for that.
“Want me to leave?” Park asks. He is tending the small bonfire they’ve pulled together. Hot dogs and burgers on the grill, s’mores for dessert. Not a date. Neither of them want to call it that, but they’d be lying if they didn’t acknowledge they enjoy spending time together. Though how she has gotten herself into this situation, on a definitely-not-a-date in her back yard with a married guy who she’s never slept with but whose sperm twice created life inside her, one of the resulting children the reason the police have arrived, isn’t something she wants to examine closely.
When Olivia took off for the beach, bailing on Park, on her clients, on her whole life, Darby honestly understood the impulse. She almost envied her the escape.
But at the same time, she’s happy Olivia is gone. It’s given Scarlett time to get to know her father and has given Darby a chance to get to know Park as well. To assess for herself whether he could be capable of deceit.
She’s vulnerable right now, she understands this. But she has a bizarre connection to this man, and the more he’s around, the more complicated things have gotten. She’s attracted to him, and she hates herself a bit for this. She, who has never needed anyone, is suddenly happy for a shoulder to cry on.
Park has been around more and more lately, spending almost all his free time at Darby’s and Scarlett’s sides. He hasn’t shied away from the awkwardness of the situation; instead, after Scarlett goes to sleep, he puts his arms around Darby and holds her while she cries. He encourages her to talk openly about the problems of Peyton’s childhood. He reinforces her decision to commit her—their—son. He seems to love their daughter without reservation, delighting in every word, every laugh, every moment quiet and loud.
The romance between father and daughter will end eventually, when Park finally trips up and says the wrong thing, or worse, says no to something Scarlett has her heart set on, but for now, Scarlett is coping better than Darby could have hoped. She’d been planning to get a psychologist involved, but right now, her daughter is doing okay. They agreed she doesn’t have to go back to Bromley, and Darby has filed a notice of intent to homeschool her with the Davidson County school system. Scarlett seems quite content with that option. It makes Darby feel better having her close to home now, anyway.
Interestingly, Park’s been talking about serving Olivia with papers. “We’re broken,” he confessed, late last night, as they sat together in the cool autumn darkness, finishing the bottle of wine. “I think we have been for a long time, and I just didn’t see it until she left. There’s no glue in the world that can put us back together again.”
She doesn’t want him to leave. Now, or ever.
“Please stay,” Darby finally says. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
Park nods. “Bring them out here, then. So we can keep an eye on the fire.”
Responsible Park. She knows he won’t let anything bad happen if he can help it.
Moore and Osley both look tired and rumpled, as if they’ve been up for days. They decline the offer of drinks and seats, instead preferring to stand, hands outstretched over the flames. The evening is chilly, the autumnal equinox upon them. Amazing how quickly the weather shifts in only a few weeks when fall is marching toward winter. Things die faster than they grow.
Scarlett joins them, hope mingled with fear on her face.
“Can I stay?” she asks, and before Darby can say yes or no, Osley nods.
“Stay. We’re all good.”
“We found Jillian Kemp,” Moore says, but before Darby’s next, horrible heartbeat, the cop smiles. “She’s alive.”
They detail what’s been happening—finding Kemp, her health status, her information about where Peyton took her, developing the maps, taking the chopper, the overflight throughout the farmland and hills near Waverly.
“We found the barn where he’s been living. Found all his things.”
“But Peyton?” Darby asks, voice barely a whisper.
Osley steps in. “Ms. Kemp was positive she killed him, but we found no sign of him other than a pretty extensive blood pool. She caught him in the head with a chisel. Either an animal got him, which is possible, or—”
“He’s alive,” Darby breathes. “Thank God.”
“Have you seen him?” Osley asks sharply, and she shakes her head.
“Nor heard from him. But I’m his mother. Of course I’m relieved he’s not dead.”
“So where is he?” Scarlett asks. Her eyes are filled with terror, and pain, and it kills Darby to see her upset like this.
Osley clearly recognizes the look, speaks as gently as Darby’s ever heard him. “We don’t know, honey. But if he’s out there, he’s wounded, badly. We’ve got a BOLO out for all the hospitals, but you’re a nurse, Ms. Flynn. If he’s injured as badly as we think, and he’s able, chances are he’s going to come home to you.”
Darby looks to Park. The cops don’t seem surprised to see him, which tells her they’ve been watching the house and know he’s been here before. He nods encouragingly.
“I promise I’ll call if he comes home. He needs help. I want to get him the help he needs, and I don’t just mean stitches for a wound. He needs to be in the hospital. Not jail,” she finishes, voice growing louder. “You can’t arrest him and send him to prison. Please. He needs psychological help.”
“That’s not up to us, Ms. Flynn. There’s more. We’ve been doing some pretty intense work these past few weeks, and we got confirmation tonight that his DNA has matched to three more unsolved homicides. One dates back two years. I’m afraid your son has been keeping some pretty heavy secrets from you.”
Darby feels faint. This can’t be happening. “Beverly Cooke isn’t the first?”
“No, ma’am, she wasn’t. There will be a lot more information coming out in the next few days, but we wanted you to hear it from us first.”
Darby sinks onto the couch by the fire, and Scarlett cuddles next to her.
“It’s okay, Mom. It’s not your fault.”
Moore agrees. “It isn’t something you’ve done. It’s what he’s chosen to do. Just promise me you will turn him in if he shows up, and be very careful around him. He won’t have much to lose if he knows you’re aware of the extent of his crimes.”
Osley glances over at Park. “Any word from Mrs. Bender?”
Is Darby imagining it, or was there a slight emphasis on the word missus?
“Other than assurances from her client that she is alive and well and hasn’t seen Peyton, no. She won’t talk to me.” He shrugs. “Is what it is. She’ll come back, or she won’t. Personally, I don’t care. It’s more important for me to be here right now. Especially if Peyton might come home.”
Darby wants to interject that’s not true, he cares, he cares so much it’s eating him up inside, can’t you see how deeply she wounded him? but she doesn’t. Things are complicated enough without her getting involved.
“I’m sure Ms. Flynn appreciates the bodyguard services. I hear you’ve met a few of your kids.”
Park’s face lights up despite the terrible news they’ve just received. “I have. Scarlett’s been managing getting everyone together. And Winterborn has offered a mediation, too. They don’t want to get sued, have made it clear they are sorry for what’s happened, are changing all their protocols. They’ll settle with us, with the kids. I think it’s important for the families who feel betrayed to get some sort of compensation. Me, I’m feeling pretty blessed right now. We’re up to thirty-two.” The note of pride in his voice makes Darby want to smile, but this isn’t the time for it.
“Peyton,” she says, pulling them back. “Did he hurt Jillian Kemp?”
Moore slaps her hands together over the fire. “Well, that’s up for debate. He drugged her, and while she doesn’t have any obvious physical wounds, there’s some confusion as to whether he assaulted her or not. When she was awake, he talked. Mostly about his life, and Olivia Bender.”
She addresses Park again. “We really do need to have some idea where Mrs. Bender is, sir. She’s in danger until we can get our hands on Peyton. He’s obsessed with her, and we don’t want anything bad to happen.”
“I honestly don’t know exactly where she is. She had my car shipped back to me from Florida somewhere. But the client is one she’s worked for before. Annika Rodrigue. I’m sure you could reach out to her and see if she’ll share. She won’t tell me, but you’re different.”
Osley brushes his hands along the front of his jeans, a sign Darby’s grown to recognize as a signal to his partner that it’s time to leave. “We’ll do that. Thank you. We should be off, lots to do. We wanted to give you the heads-up though, ma’am, that your son is still out there, and we need everyone to stay on high alert. If you hear from him, you gotta call us right away. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Oh, Mr. Bender?” Osley tosses something to Park. “We found this. Figured you’d want it back.”
Park dangles the small thumb drive in the air. “Thanks. Did you look at this?”
Osley flashes that lazy grin. “Only to make sure it was yours.”
Park smiles back. “Thank you, Detective. You’ve saved my career.”
Darby sees them out, returns to the back yard. Park has assembled the food for them; Scarlett is already digging in.
“Can you eat?” he asks quietly, and she shakes her head. “Come here, then.” He opens his arms, and Darby collapses into them, grateful, so grateful, that he’s here.
* * *
It is later, after she’s promised they’ll be safe, after he’s gone home and she’s finished the wine and cried herself into an almost state of sleep, that she remembers what the cops said about Jillian. “He drugged her.”
She gets out of bed and goes to the linen closet in the hall. On the top shelf, she keeps an emergency kit, much more complete than your average first aid kit. It’s surgical, has the tools for field dressings and pain relief, IV antibiotics, the works. It seems smart to have something so complete in case of the zombie apocalypse, or some other sort of emergency. With as many tornadoes and floods as Nashville suffers from, she never knows when it might be needed.
She has to get the stool, but she reaches into the dark recess of the closet to find the space where she knows the kit lives, and finds it empty.
A tiny bubble of panic forms inside her. When did Peyton take it? Before he started his killing spree?
Or after?
There are all sorts of things in the kit that could be used to drug a woman, but if she’s going to guess, he’s been using the midazolam or propofol. It will not only knock her out, but she’ll have no memory of anything that happens while she’s under the influence of it.
This is your fault, Darby. You’ve given him the tools to prey on these women. You packaged it up with a bright red bow.
She snaps off the light and sits back in the chair. What can she do? Can she fix this?
“Mom?”
Scarlett comes into the office, ghostly in the darkness.
“You okay, honey? That was some pretty heavy news they delivered.”
“No. Do you think he really did these things? That he’s murdered all those women?”
She puts her arms around her daughter and holds her close. “I hope not, love. But I’m afraid he might have.”
45
THE MURDERER
When he woke, to the trill of birdsong, the sun was climbing the sky like wisteria on a trellis, and the woman was gone.
There was a gash on his temple and blood had poured down his face, onto his shirt, pooling in the dirt beneath his body.
His time was running out.
He managed to get himself off the ground, crawled into the barn, dizzy, so dizzy. The rusty smell of the dried blood turned his stomach, as did the view of the wound in the mirror. It needed stitches, a horrible process he barely managed, the numbing shot done awkwardly with his left hand, the line of black zigzagging and crooked. His eye on that side was swollen nearly closed. Once he’d covered the wound with a bandage, he broke open the chemical ice pack and applied it. Getting the swelling down would help.
He had to leave. If she’d gotten to the police, they could come at any moment.
He changed, packed what he needed—food, clothes, the emergency kit, the gun—and left the rest. He felt a pang leaving his trophies, but they served no one at this point. Maybe he’d come back for them one day.
He drove the van to a truck stop, left it in the corner of the lot, stashed between two eighteen-wheelers on their sleep break. With luck, it wouldn’t be found for a while. Long enough for him to get to Olivia’s house. Long enough to see her again.
A sketchy trucker let him hitch a ride back to town. With the bandages over the chisel cut, Peyton figured he was safe from exposure so long as he kept the baseball cap on. The guy driving seemed as disinterested in him as Peyton was with the trucker. He dropped him at the exit into Bellevue and didn’t glance back.
It took him three hours to make it to Forest Hills. He wanted to go home, wanted to curl up on the sofa in the living room and let his mom make him hot chocolate like she used to, let her clean his wounds and fix him properly, but he couldn’t face her. He couldn’t face Scarlett, either. Things were too complicated, too out of control. Better to leave his family, the people he loved—if he can ascribe the strange fullness he feels when he looks at them as an emotion people know as love—and finish this the way he started it, with Olivia.
So he hoofed it to the Benders’.
Olivia’s Jeep was in the driveway. The sight of it lifted his heart. She was home!
He still had a full set of keys, to the house, to the cars, to the shed, though he wondered if by now, they’d had them changed. The cameras were running again; he could see the small red power light. Going up to the house would be harder. But he didn’t care. He wanted things to end. He wanted to die with Olivia’s arms around him.
He was about to scoot around the hedge to the porch when the garage door started up. He could hear Park Bender talking. Shit. He rolled to the ground by the hedge and froze. He’d been so careful, but had he been seen? Had someone called the police? Was this going to end right now, with Peyton covered in blood and muck, lying on the ground like a wounded squirrel?
