Odette C. Bell - Ladies in Luck - An Unlucky Reunion Read online

  I didn’t like the look in Nancy’s eye though; it was deeply unsettling. I also thoroughly believed that there was safety in numbers. And right now, despite my wavering feelings for the man, I was counting Denver as a friend. So yeah, I nuzzled up to him, getting as close as I could without pulling him back into the electrifying kiss Nancy had interrupted.

  “You don’t remember him? How could you not remember him?” Nancy asked accusingly.

  “He changed his name.” Denver now took a step backwards, his arms still held wide and stiff. In fact, he didn’t put them down until he accidently banged into my chest and quickly coughed a “sorry”.

  “From what?” I was happy to turn my attention off Nancy and back onto the world’s biggest jerk—or the world’s hottest motel man. The jury was still out on that. Yeah, I’d been about to indulge in a fling with Denver before Nancy had barged in, but now the heat of passion was abating and cold reason reminded me it would likely end in tears.

  “Do you remember Steve Marshall?”

  I bit my bottom lip and rolled it around against my teeth. Then it struck me.

  “The shit stirrer who spent most of his time bragging about implausible conquests while systematically picking on every girl in Wetlake?” I hazarded.

  Denver nodded, eyeing Nancy warily as he took another step back and closer to me.

  Maybe Denver believed there was safety in numbers too—or perhaps if Nancy tried anything again, he’d just scoop me up in his arms and claim he was already busy.

  I gave a twisted little smile at that thought, yet it quickly soured when I remembered someone had just been murdered.

  Steve Marshall.

  Okay, I’d hardly known him. He’d just been another bully at a high school I’d already hated.

  Now he was dead.

  I placed my shaking hand on my stomach.

  Denver flicked his gaze over me.

  He would know what I was thinking.

  Amongst the concern, horror, and grief, that spark of paranoia caught fire.

  There’d been another murder.

  James Wood clearly hadn’t been an accident.

  Someone was going through my reunion class.

  “Hank had made a name for himself as a big shot radio-host down the East Coast,” Nancy suddenly filled in. “It’s just… so senseless for someone to kill him. He’d made such a success of himself. The same with James. Why would someone want to kill those guys?” She brought her hands up and covered her face with them. Sobbing loudly, her chest punched in and out as if it were a ventilator pump for an oxygen machine.

  While no doubt she intended it to be distracting, Denver didn’t react.

  He was only looking at me.

  Though I wanted to hate the guy and I really wanted to stay away from him, right then he pulled me in.

  There was something so darn reassuring and reliable about the quality of his fixed gaze that I could almost pretend Nancy wasn’t in the room anymore.

  “Oh, Denver, you have to do something. You work for the FBI. That’s why I knew I had to find you and tell you this unspeakable news.” Nancy pushed herself forward, her hands still covering her face.

  While she clearly intended for Denver to jump in and wrap those solid and strong arms of his around her back, pulling her into a passionate and yet supportive hug, he clearly didn’t intend to do that.

  Instead he took another step back and closer to me until he brushed right up against my arm.

  “The local police are dealing with this case,” he began.

  “Police? But you’re an agent for the Government. Isn’t there something—anything—you can do? I would just feel so much safer knowing that you’re here for us, for me.”

  “Wetlake Police Department is doing everything it can. And if this case requires escalation beyond this jurisdiction, we will escalate it. Rest assured everyone will be doing everything to catch this killer.” Denver straightened as he spoke. He also slipped into what sounded like a rehearsed set of statements. “Right now, Nance, I suggest you go to your room and get yourself a glass of water. I’ll go make some polite enquiries with my brother.”

  Polite? More like pointed and delivered on the tips of his bone-white knuckles.

  I didn’t interrupt though. I just waited until Denver eventually managed to force Nancy out of the room.

  Without a word to me, he silently closed the door and crossed to the middle of the room, plucking out his cellphone as he did.

  I stood there and watched in total silence, my arms hooked tight around me middle.

  Though he held my gaze, he fidgeted as he waited for his call to go through. Running his thumb over his nose and jaw, he tapped the phone with his fingers and scraped his stiff lips across his clenched teeth.

  “Shit,” he managed eventually, “Thorne’s not picking up.”

  “Is that any surprise?”

  “He might hate me, but he knows how to do his job. He also knows—deep down—that I’m only trying to help.” Denver pocketed the phone and ran his hands over his head, no doubt letting the short stubble of his crew-cut pluck against his fingers and palms.

  “What… ,” I tried to ask what we’d do next.

  I couldn’t force the words through my choppy and erratic breath. Heck, that I was breathing at all was a bloody miracle. My chest was such a tight mess of emotion and shock it felt like it was turning to stone.

  “I’m going to go and try and find out about this murder. See if I can confirm what Nancy told us.”

  “Denver, that’s not… ,” I trailed off, about to point out that was not what I wanted to know. I needed him to tell me what I had to do next, if I was going to be next. By the sounds of it, Hank Reaver had made a true success of himself, lending yet more evidence to my theory that the killer of Wetlake High was going after its most successful graduates.

  I stopped myself though. I couldn’t be this selfish. Not now. Not when the news of Hank’s murder had just broken.

  Denver took a long time to face me. In fact, he looked solidly around the room until he stared at my feet. Then he finally flicked his penetrating gaze all the way up to my face. “Patti, you have to trust me, we’ll do everything we can to figure out what’s going on here. And if you are in danger, we will take immediate and effective steps to mitigate any threat.”

  There he went again, sounding as if he’d rehearsed every one of his words. There was undeniable comfort behind them though, so I forced a breath and managed a nod.

  “I’m going to go and find out what’s going on.” Denver nodded towards the door.

  Panic suddenly filled me. Hard and palpable, it felt like something sharp had made its way into my very veins and arteries. “No, Denver, I can’t stay here.”

  “No you can’t. That’s why you’re coming with me.”

  Though he spoke quickly and directly, I swear there was a slight smile behind his words.

  Nodding firmly, I took another enormous breath. Though my chest punched out about a mile, Denver didn’t glance down at it once. With all his attention, he focused like a laser on my eyes.

  I was starting to realize I’d underestimated Denver Scott. Maybe I’d been too quick to judge the guy. Perhaps I’d been too willing to bury that epic teenage crush.

  Under all the questions and the grumpiness, Denver was still there, just as simmering hot as ever.

  “Get your jacket, grab a bottle of water, and meet me in my car.” He walked past me and started to open the door.

  He stopped.

  His brow crumpled with confusion.

  He looked like he desperately wanted to ask me something. For a man who was entirely comfortable with pouncing upon you with question after question, it was remarkable to note how indecisive he looked right now.

  I didn’t need to be a clairvoyant to realize what he wanted to ask and why he didn’t want to ask it.

  What, if anything, had just happened between us?

  It was a question I couldn’t actually ans
wer, so rather than give him the time to ask it, I grabbed up my bottle, trundled into the bathroom to fill it, and then met him back at the door with a sharp nod.

  “Patti… ,” he began, turning to me slowly.

  I reached past him for the door handle and tugged it open. I barely met his gaze. Shit, I was doing it again—trying to hide form him while standing right next to him.

  I practically raced out the door, though not too fast, and I certainly didn’t get too far ahead.

  While I was trying assiduously to avoid having that conversation with Denver, I hadn’t lost my mind completely.

  Out there could be someone who wanted me dead. From ax-wielding woodsmen to vengeful nanas to plain old psychopaths.

  There had been two murders in the space of two days.

  Shaking, and feeling cold and confused, I trampled over the short grass and over to the car park.

  I turned, pressing my back hard into the passenger-seat door as I waited for Denver. Glancing up when I realized he was taking too long, I saw him slowly pacing up and down in front of my room while he held his cellphone hard against his ear. Though I couldn’t see his face too well, I bet he glanced my way more than once, and I bet his brow furrowed with incalculable confusion at the same time.

  “Stop being an idiot,” I told myself through a whispered breath, “either get over it or do something about it.”

  Before I could decide whether I really wanted to get over Denver Scott, something happened.

  That something was a scream.

  Loud and penetrating, it came from one of the motel rooms.

  Though I was all the way outside, the shrill quality of it still made me jump with surprise, my jacket snagging on the door handle of Denver’s car.

  Denver pivoted on his foot, dropping the phone to his side.

  Then he ran forward.

  My heart was a beating, wild mess in my chest, and my mouth was bone dry like the sands of the Sahara.

  Suddenly one of the motel doors burst open and someone flung themselves out.

  I took several darted steps forward, eyes so wide open they started to sting.

  I waited to see blood, to see the flash of a knife, to hear the ear-splitting bang of a gun.

  Nothing.

  Except for Nancy.

  She came pelting out of the room as if Death itself chased her.

  Denver reached her just as Nancy fell and slammed hard against the concrete of the porch.

  She was still shouting, screaming at the top of her lungs, her words a jumbled mess.

  No longer frozen to the spot, I pushed forward. Slow at first, once I hit the grass, I managed a jerky jog. “What’s going on?”

  No one answered me. Instead Denver leant down to Nancy then snapped up and entered her room.

  If my heart had been a wild mess before, now I lost all connection to it. As my fear and panic peaked, a cold wash of dread passed over me detaching me from every sensation as a fog filled my mind.

  “Denver?” I called out to him. “Denver? What’s going on?”

  I made it up the steps of the porch, my knees wobbling everywhere.

  Nancy was still on the ground, sobbing, her hair drawn in a tangled mess over her face and arms.

  I didn’t like the woman, and probably never would, but that didn’t stop me from leaning down and trying to comfort her. As I did, I saw other doors opening as people popped their heads out to see what was going on.

  “What’s going on?” the kid from reception called out as he pelted across the lawn.

  I had no frigging idea; Nancy was a screaming mess and Denver had disappeared into her room without a word.

  “Nancy, are you okay?” I asked, not expecting an answer. As I did, I tried to lean back to glance in through her half-open door.

  Before I could peer around it, Denver finally appeared.

  His face was ashen white.

  If there had been any doubt in my mind that this was serious, it dried up in the exact ghostly quality of his gaze.

  The kid from reception had finally reached us. He gave Nancy a freaked-out glance before trying to duck past Denver to get into her room.

  Denver put a hand up and stopped him in place.

  “I work here,” the kid snapped, “if there’s something wrong with the room—”

  “And I work for the FBI. This is now a crime scene. I’ve already contacted the police, and they are on their way. I need you to keep people away from this room and to try to calm the other guests down.”

  “Hold on, how the hell do I know you’re in the FBI, man?” the kid spluttered, still trying to lean past Denver.

  Denver reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. “You got any questions, you call the FBI and you quote the number on my badge.”

  The kid swallowed. He obviously realized this was not some game and shit had very much just gotten real.

  I slowly stood up. “Denver… ?”

  “Patti, just stay there with Nancy.”

  “What’s in the room?” I too tried to lean past Denver. “What’s going on?”

  “The police are on their way,” he dodged around my question deftly.

  Wordlessly I stared at him. I knew that no matter how much I questioned him, he wasn’t going to reveal a thing.

  So I just stood there and waited. Feeling cold all over and hardly capable of drawing a breath, I watched in a daze as the police finally arrived, drawing into the car park at full pelt, their tires skidding over the gravel.

  Flashbacks of the body at the reunion haunted my mind, and the lights of the squad cars sent cold memories of the aftermath seeping through my bones. Though I stood there in dazed astonishment—exactly as I had after I’d found James’ body—at some point I was told to return to my room.

  I didn’t catch sight of Denver through the confusion and mess, and soon found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, staring warily at the walls while listening intently to every scrap of conversation that filtered through them.

  Something huge must have happened to garner this much attention. But what?

  Not for the first time, I found myself shaking as I clamped my teeth hard together.

  I can’t tell you how long I stayed there waiting for a knock on the door or at the very least a phone call from Denver.

  As the night settled in cold and dark, I didn’t dare turn on a light. I just sat there on my bed and I waited for someone to tell me what in the holy hell was going on in this town.

  Chapter 9

  I woke to someone knocking insistently on my door.

  A bleary-eyed mess, it took me a moment to shake myself from the confusion of sleep.

  Then I remembered.

  Mouth drying and head pounding with confusion and dregs of fear and panic, I pushed myself up.

  “Denver?” I snapped as I made it to the door, pulling it open with a desperate tug.

  “No, Thorne, actually.” Thorne Scott stood there, one hand still raised from where he’d been knocking on the door. “I thought I would just come and check to see how you are.”

  I stared at him mutely.

  How I was?

  Confused, deeply shocked, and just a little shattered. I had no idea what was going on, and it felt far more isolating and dangerous than knowing there was a murderer on my tail.

  “What’s… happening here?” I managed.

  “Look, there’s been an… incident. But we’re dealing with it.”

  “What happened in Nancy’s room? What did you find?”

  “I can’t share the details of the investigation—”

  “Fuck the investigation. I need to know what’s going on here, now. People keep being murdered. What the hell is happening in this town?”

  “Patti,” half-whispering, Thorne checked over his shoulder before pushing the door open slightly. He looked like he wanted to come inside so he could continue the conversation in private.

  I just stood there though, ramrod straight and staring at him with a fear-la
ced and yet determined expression. “Thorne, what is going on?”

  He had to tell me something, anything. I couldn’t just stay here in my motel room, waiting around for the next murder as I twiddled my thumbs and combed my hair.

  “I can’t share the details of this investigation,” he said again, voice stronger this time, “but we’re doing everything we can.”

  “I’ve got to leave,” I finally realized.

  “What?”

  “I’ve got to get out of this goddamn town.” I turned sharply on my foot as the conclusion pounded down with the sure blow of a hammer.

  “We need to question everyone in the motel.” Thorne now walked into the room and closed the door gently behind him. “Patti, I understand you’re scared, but—”

  “Scared? Really? You think I’m just scared? I’m beside myself. Someone put a postcard in my room with a threatening message on it—”

  “Look, I already told you it’s highly unlikely that’s related to this case. It’s probably just a couple of kids acting up.”

  “Not related to the case?” I spat back, dumbfounded. “Doesn’t it mean I’m next?”

  “None of the… victims have received threats like yours.” He shook his head.

  “So what was in Nancy’s room then?”

  Letting out a tight, disbelieving gasp, he shook his head all the harder. “Something else.”

  “What? I know you can’t share the details of the case with me, but, Thorne, I’m going insane here.”

  “Just trust me, nobody is after you. And I’m doing—”

  “Everything you can,” I finished for him.

  Then I stopped. I stopped pacing the room, I stopped berating Thorne, and I stopped staring at my bathroom and waiting for the murderer to jump out of the shower.

  He watched me in silence for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I looked up.

  “That your trip back to Wetlake coincided with… this. Whatever this is. It’s really a nice place, and the folk here are charming and down to earth.”

  I wanted to add they were so down to earth that they were willing to stick you six feet under it, but I held my tongue.

  “Right, I should let you get some rest. You’ll be contacted sometime in the morning to give your statement.” Thorne rammed his hands in his pockets as he shrugged towards the door.