Page 23

CHAPTER 23

REDLEY

I look at the cop car I drove home last night as I walk to my truck. Part of me thinks calling this in is a bad idea, and the other part thinks it might be my only chance to get anyone else out here. I have a dead cop, and I have his cruiser. That has to be worth something.

And after everything the Wolf said last night, my head is too messed up to deal with this on my own.

I drive into town, pulling off at Doc’s place. He’s got one of the only phones that dials long distance, and he lets people use it on occasion. My truck stops right in front of the door, tires sinking into the mud as the spring comes in fully. I hop out, boots squelching as the earth tries to slurp them off me.

I use all my strength to ignore what happened between the Wolf and me last night, but I can’t. His lips on mine is all I’ve thought about since. My stomach wants to fall out, my heart aches, and my pussy reminds me that I’m a traitor .

“Hey, Doc,” I say as I push the door open.

He might be an old man now, but he’s still one of the biggest guys I’ve ever seen, strong through the shoulders and arms. His size reminds me of the Wolf, and I shake my head, hating that I’m seeming to find him in all these places where he isn’t.

“How’re you doing, Redley?” His greeting is pleasant enough, but a sigh in his voice tells me he’d rather not be seeing me. Oh well, the feeling is mutual. I’ve never liked the man, but things are especially strained between us since the issue with the Murphys.

“I could be doing better. Can I use your phone?”

He shrugs. “I don’t see why not. You know where it is.”

The phone hangs on the wall behind the secretary's desk, but he hasn’t had one for as long as I’ve been alive. I pick up the receiver and turn the dial, picking out the number of the station where Porter worked. They have to take me seriously when he doesn’t show up, right? He left his car.

As soon as I say my name is Redley Little, the phone goes dead, but I call again. This time, they don’t hang up immediately, but as soon as I say, “James Porter is dead,” I hear the distinct slam of a phone on a receiver.

“What on earth? Did he just hang up on me?”

I pick it up, prepared to call them back, but there’s no dial tone.

“Red, did you say there’s a dead cop up on your property?” Doc’s tone says he thinks I’m crazy, but I’m here to use his phone, not receive his judgment. “You know as well as I do that the law doesn’t come out here.”

That’s the very first time I’ve ever heard him acknowledge it outright. Most people don’t.

“The cops should be coming this time. I’ve got one of their brand-new cruisers.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” His hand scratches his gray beard like he’s deep in thought. “You run along home and get some rest. You’re imagining things again. It’s starting to make me worry.”

I’m extremely tired of the people in this town acting like I’m insane. I’m not goddamn insane.

“You’re starting to make me worry, Doc,” I shoot back. “Maybe I’ve got questions for you too.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s real malice in his gaze as he says, “That won’t work out well for you.” His hands tighten into fists, and despite his age, I’m sure he could hurt me. So I just wish him a good day and get the hell out of there.

I wait the better part of the morning and afternoon just messing around town in case the cops show up. Someone will have to lead them up into the woods and to the body. But by about three, I accept that no one is coming, and the Wolf isn’t dumping him off in town like he did the Murphy kid. I’m in this alone, and it’s time for someone to get Porter out of the sun.

My parents' home is even worse in the daylight, but at least my truck can handle the drive. The trees snap repeatedly as I go, the driveway so overgrown it’s hard to pick out. I stop to check I didn’t run over Porter more than once when the snaps sound a little too much like bone.

I’ve been thinking hard about what to do with him once I’ve got him. It’s not like I can hang onto a body as evidence like I did those bloodstains. Porter is going to be stinking soon if he isn’t already. The cops aren’t coming like Doc said, and even with a dead cop out here in Grimm Groves, that’s still not enough. I found the only cop horny enough to help, and the Wolf killed him.

I stop a good ten feet short of hitting James Porter, but it’s still too close for comfort. I imagine his swelling body popping beneath my tires, and I get full body chills. I might just put him back in his car, put the transmission in neutral, and push him off a cliff. If anyone finds him, they can make up their own crazy story as to how him getting shot in the head was an accident.

Granddaddy’s pistol is strapped to my side. The gun is too big for me, and I always struggle with it, but it’s my only one-handed option until I can afford a smaller caliber handgun. Maybe part of what Wolf said is true, and I don’t actually want to kill him. Perhaps if I did, I would have brought the double-barrelled sawed-off.

I can’t even begin to sort out what that means about me.

“Oh, dear lord. Poor Porter,” I say as I look over his corpse. I didn’t think about it last night, but now that the light of day is shining on him, his holster is clearly empty. The Wolf took his gun.

He’s already gone completely off color, and the blood on his temples is dried. The puddle underneath him is working its way there, tacky and sticky. I think about pulling out the arrow, but I just don’t have the stomach. So it will have to stay put. I drop the tailgate and look over the corpse like it’s nothing more than a load needing moving. As disgusted as I am by the head wound, I need to lift Porter by his upper body if I’m going to have any chance of getting him in there.

My hands slide under his armpits, and his stiffening limbs creak like the old floors as I try to lift him. He still bends a bit, which helps, but he’s incredibly heavy, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to make this work. I’m groaning and grunting and not making much progress when a familiar laugh comes from behind me.

Shit . I gasp as I drop Porter, but I manage not to scream. My hands fly to my holster as I scramble for Granddaddy’s gun. Spinning toward him, I plan to take a shot whether my heart is in it or not.

Wolf leans against a tree, and it’s the very first time I’ve seen him in the daylight since the morning after our one night together. As I suspected, the picture doesn’t match my memory. He’s larger, older, and somehow even more handsome. The barrel finds him. Pull the trigger , I tell myself.

To my nearly sixteen-year-old eyes, he was a man, but it’s clear now that he was still a teenager when he killed my granny. He is a man now, standing somewhere around six-foot-seven, over a full foot taller than me. His shoulder span and arms are incredibly impressive, much more so than you could ever tell in the dark, but what strikes me the most about the picture in front of me is how human he looks.

Are you really dumb enough to believe that? he asked me when I suggested he wasn’t.

“Muffin, put the gun down. You never point your gun at someone unless you plan on killing them.”

He cocks his head to the side, his expression open, eyes wide, staring at me like he knows anything about me. He doesn’t if he thinks I won’t shoot. That pisses me off and gives me a little of the resolve I lack.

“I’m planning on killing you.” My stance widens as I make my decision.

He rolls his eyes. “Why? What did I do that offended you so badly this time?”

“Granny,” I say. He doesn’t need any more explanation than that, but I have more.

“You really still have your feelings hurt over me killing some old bitch who beat you stupid? I'm not going to say sorry, Muffin. I’m glad she’s dead. You are too. You’re just too much of a coward to admit it.”

My mouth drops open. I never expected a monster to regret their deeds, but what he just said is beyond cruel. I did not want her dead, and I do hate him for killing her. He’s right that she was awful to me, but that doesn’t matter. She didn’t deserve to die just for hurting me.

“Not just Granny,” I insist. It’s nearly impossible to keep my voice steady. Rage and pain fill it, but I don’t let the tears follow. He doesn’t get to see me cry. His eyebrows push together. His head tilts the opposite way, confusion rather than arrogance for once.

“Stop acting like you care about these people. You don’t even like them, and they sure don’t like you,” he says.

I deeply resent the implication that I’m doing this for the wrong reason. I do care.

“I’m not talking about them .”

“The hell are you talking about then?” And his confusion is so delicious it’s almost as good as Porter’s fear.

I aim the gun at his forehead as I speak, fully planning to end this here and now. I can’t keep living life as a traitor, so what if this feels a lot like betraying myself too?

“You killed generations of my family. From my great-great-granddaddy to my mama, daddy, and brother. You killed all of them.”

His mouth falls open. His expression shows real fear as he raises his hands, and dammit, I practically drool for it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Muffin. How the hell could I do all that? Put that gun down.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I don’t usually like to agree with the people in town, but you do sound crazy this time.”

And those will be his final words ’cause my finger closes on the trigger.