Blood Ties (formerly Blood Relations) was a finalist in the Mystery Category of the Writers’ League of Texas 2008 Manuscript Contest.

Cover by Ron Hall, award-winning digital designer

ISBN: 9781483534206

Chapter 1

Jeremy glared at the snack machine, willing it to drop the dangling potato chips. The chips perched on the tip of the curved wire, teasing him with their nearness, yet refusing to budge. Damn! That was his last dollar! He banged on the front of the machine. Nothing. He jabbed the coin return. Still nothing.

He shuffled to the fridge like a polar bear at a garbage dump in Anchorage, praying someone had left a few morsels from lunch. He pawed through throw-away containers and plastic bags. Some of the stuff looked like it’d vacationed there over the summer. Freezer yielded the same results. He wasn’t that hungry.

Jeremy gravitated back to the snack machine. This time he pummeled it with his fist, cursing at the taunting chips. Then his eyes drifted to the can beside the coffee urn. People were supposed to pop a quarter for coffee. Few did. He sidled to the sink and snatched up the can, tumbling blessed change into his hand: 65 cents! He was in luck! He’d return the money in the morning.

He zipped back to the snack machine, carefully inserted 60 cents, and jabbed B5 again, whistling cheerfully. The machine went er-er-er. And stopped. The chips still taunted him.

Jeremy stared at his reflection in the snack machine front: He saw a burly guy with unruly, curly black hair and a beard to match. His eyes narrowed into chips of obsidian. He punched the glass with his fist, watching his reflection wobble. For good measure, he kicked the machine, cursing as he stubbed his big toe. Damn. Shouldn’t’ve worn sandals! He opened the teachers’ lounge door and limped down the hall to his classroom, his stomach growling in protest.

This Tuesday had been a long day. Less than a week before the brats came back to school. What with meetings and conferences, he hadn’t been able to get done a third of what he needed to in his classroom; so he hadn’t taken the time to go out for lunch. Hadn’t eaten since that bagel and cream cheese at 7. Long damn day.

Teaching science was a drag sometimes, particularly when he wanted to set up “life” exhibits for the ungrateful little bastards, who didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything but the opposite sex and the latest sighting of their current stupid “heroes.” God, he hated middle school and the raging hormones within. The terrarium and aquarium had taken much longer than he’d anticipated, and he still wasn’t through. He didn’t know why he bothered.

He glanced at his watch. Nearly 5. Hell. Maybe he’d call it quits for the day. He’d just grab his red-tailed boa, Matilda and head home; he’d finish her terrarium tomorrow. Fortunately, he’d walked in, not ridden his bike. He chuckled as he recalled Taylor’s begging him to leave Matilda with her, for “company.” How much company could a snake be, he wondered. A flash of bright red, green, yellow, and blue streaking around a far corner caught his eye and snapped him out of his reverie. Damn kids. Probably messing with his stuff. He glanced at the ceiling. Cameras were supposed to be installed this year. About damn time.

He loped down the hall to give the little fuckers a piece of his mind. At the last classroom on the left, he heard a noise. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Shit! What if they weren’t all gone, what if they were lying in wait for some stupid adult (him) to wheel around the corner to ambush and rob? He flattened himself against the wall, looking in vain for something to use as a weapon. No such luck. The custodians had removed all the mops and brooms. He inwardly cursed. Fine time for them to finally start doing their job.

Jeremy inched toward the door and peered cautiously into the classroom. One bank of lights was off. He flipped the switch. Room looked empty. His heart dislodged from his throat, and he tiptoed inside and cocked his ear. There it was again. A faint noise. He crept into the classroom, looking for any sign of life. He almost tripped over the mop handle.

Cursing the custodians, he bent to pick it up. Then froze. The handle was covered in what looked an awful lot like blood. There was the weird noise. He tiptoed toward the area he hadn’t been able to see from the door, which was behind a moveable partition. He wondered why Taylor had stuck the thing in front of her desk. He frowned. It wasn’t lined up the way Taylor normally did things; it was catawampus. There it was again. This time he recognized the sound as a moan. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

The next thing that registered was that Taylor was really gonna be pissed: Stuff from her desk and shelves was strewn around. He stepped around the partition. And saw Taylor sprawled across the top of her desk, legs dangling off the side, clothes ripped off and scattered on the floor. Her face was unrecognizable. Blood pooled around her hips, trickling down the side of the desk to drip in slow motion to the floor.

Jeremy didn’t want to stare at her nakedness, but he was mesmerized by crimson blood screaming against pale breasts. He wanted to cover her up. But as he stooped for her clothes, he knew he was going to be puke. He barely made it to the trash can before he started heaving. He thought maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t been able to nab the chips.

Jeremy didn’t recall dialing 911. Maybe someone else had. Or maybe he just blocked it out. Next thing he knew, a siren wailed nearby. Two EMTs rushed into the building. He wobbled into the hallway to point them to Taylor’s classroom.

They were obviously used to seeing blood and gore and seemed detached in their handling of Taylor. Jeremy wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shake them both. Look, dammit, that’s a person there, the woman I love, he wanted to shout. And maybe he could have loved her, too, if he hadn’t been such a chickenshit about asking her out.

Instead, he asked, “She gonna be okay?” His voice shook.

The male EMT shrugged. “Dunno.”

Jeremy watched the female EMT make some kind of cryptic call. “Can I go with her?” he asked softly.

Both stopped what they were doing and looked at him. “Probably shouldn’t,” the guy told Jeremy. “You’ll be needed here, buddy.” He and the woman exchanged glances as they wheeled the gurney to the ambulance.

Jeremy looked down at his shirt. And saw the blood stains. He stared. He didn’t remember what’d happened after he’d puked out his guts. Had he tried to pick up Taylor? Clothe her? Somehow he’d gotten blood on himself. Her blood. Quite a bit. A wave of nausea swamped him. They thought he’d hurt Taylor! That was what the look meant. As if he could. He slid into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

She was the reason Jeremy had stayed so long: He’d hoped they could chat when she finished her room, and he’d walk her to her car. He’d peeked in before he ambled down the hall, but she wasn’t anywhere near done. She’d looked over from her bulletin board, smiled, and waved at him, shaking her head when he’d asked if she needed anything. He’d sighed, shuffling down to the office to get copies. Everything was locked up and the staff had bailed. Then he went to the teachers’ lounge and wasted time there, checking the Weather Channel and going to the bathroom before he’d tried the snack machine. He estimated he’d been gone from his room only 10 minutes, 15 tops.

He remembered when they’d met. He wasn’t originally from Walker; so he had no idea she was one of the Walkers. After all, it was a common name. He’d just been hired at Walker Middle when Taylor waltzed in. That was two years ago, in ’04. Apparently, daddy had wanted her to be a lawyer. So she went to law school. But she wasn’t happy. She decided to try teaching. For herself, she’d said.

As cynical and burned out as Jeremy was, Taylor exuded joy and enthusiasm. She attacked teaching with the same zeal she must’ve used for law school—and for life. She worked with special ed kids. Jeremy couldn’t even stand the regular ones; he had no idea how she managed with those kids. Because of their schedules, they didn’t see much of each other, usually only in the mornings, before school started.

Tall and athletic, Taylor breathed self-confidence. She wore her long auburn hair loose. Her hazel eyes often seemed to be smiling at a secret something. Jeremy had never seen her frown or chew anyone out. He always thought that, ironically, she was really an anti-Jeremy. Before he could ask her out, a damn lawyer caught her eye. Cam worked for her dad’s law firm and was obviously “going places,” which Jeremy, admittedly, was not. Well, at present, anyway. Maybe once his career took off. That would show the smug bastard, Jeremy thought.

After a whirlwind romance, Cam and Taylor had married last summer. It had broken Jeremy’s heart. Even though staff and faculty had been invited to the wedding, Jeremy couldn’t bear to go. The thought of her being with someone else when she should have been with him was just too much. After that, Jeremy became even more cynical and burned out. When Taylor had tried to talk to him, he responded monosyllabically—or not at all. She had seemed hurt and dismayed by his attitude, but dammit! She had broken his heart, without even knowing it. Life really sucked.

A siren in the distance snapped him out of his private pity party. That would be the cops, he assumed. Jeremy took a deep breath and prepared for the worst nightmare of his life, having to stay and be grilled while not knowing how Taylor was doing. Heavy footsteps pounded the halls. Jeremy gazed up to see his nemesis lurking in the doorway.

Kevin Conway was several inches shorter than Jeremy. He wore his chestnut-colored hair close cropped. His pale skin looked like it hadn’t seen daylight for months. As soon as he’d seen Jeremy, a flush rose from his neck all the way to his eyebrows. His light-brown eyes narrowed as he eyed Jeremy, the kind of look you’d give a mangy dog shitting on your doorstep, Jeremy thought.

Then a smirk filled Sgt. Conway’s narrow ferret face. Jeremy wondered if he remembered the little DUI incident, which’d happened the day Taylor’d announced her engagement.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old drunk skunk pal. So, Germy, what laws you broken this time, man?”

Jeremy winced. Shit. The bastard remembered. He hated when Conway called him that.

Chapter 2

Taylor felt disoriented. She knew she should remember something, but she was drifting somewhere. Her tongue felt wrapped in wool, along with her brain. She needed to jump up and get some water. She heard disembodied voices, which suddenly got louder as she rolled onto her side. Ah, to hell with it. Maybe she’d just float back into la-la land.

* * *

When Taylor tried to sit up, several things happened at once before she nestled back under the covers, sighing. Sgt. Conway stopped flirting with the nurse on duty and flew to Taylor’s bed. The nurse yelled for a doctor. Dr. Lee appeared in the doorway and went to Taylor’s bed. Kevin noted he was Asian, probably Chinese; he didn’t recognize him, must be new. Kevin studied him: thick, black hair and shorter than himself, brown eyes magnified by a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

Then Taylor’s father stormed into the room, trailed by the wisp that passed for her mother. “What the hell happened to my daughter?”

“Uh, sir, Judge Walker, uh, your honor, can we talk outside?” Sgt. Conway pleaded.

Judge Walker glared. Kevin didn’t think he’d heard or would listen. But with a glance at his wife that said, You stay put! he abruptly turned and stomped out. Kevin bobbed along in the judge’s wake. Dr. Lee stayed with Taylor and her mother, glancing anxiously from one to the other.

“You in charge?” It sprang out as a challenge.

“Yes, sir.” Kevin gulped. He felt about 10. Judge Walker seemed to tower over him, but he wasn’t that much taller. He estimated the judge topped his five ten by about four inches. The judge’s paunch showed 75 years of overindulgence, and his ruddy, puffy face the sure sign of too many martinis for lunch (or instead of lunch). The judge’s shock of white hair practically bristled with indignation. Even his snowy caterpillar eyebrows seemed to quiver. Pale blue eyes lasered into Kevin’s soul.

Kevin winced. He knew everything would have to be done by the book or His Honor would have his ass on a plate for breakfast. His ass he could live without; it was his balls he worried about losing in any such encounter.

“Well?” the tone dripped pure ice and slapped Kevin in the face like a wet gym towel. “What the hell happened?”

Kevin gulped again. There was no delicate way to put it. “Sir, your daughter was raped and beaten.”

Judge Walker stared at him. “Where?”

Kevin took a deep breath. “At, uh, her school.”

Judge Walker shook his head and snorted. “At school? You gotta be shittin’ me!”

“Uh, sir. No, sir. One of her colleagues found her.”

“He the one?”

“At this point, we’re not sure.”

“When’d it happen?”

“Yesterday afternoon, around 5.” Kevin glanced at his watch. “Nearly 24 hours ago.”

The judge poked a finger in Kevin’s chest. “I want you to find the son of a bitch. Then I’ll take care of him myself. Understand?”

Kevin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t know how to answer. So he just mumbled, “Yes, sir.” He didn’t want to know details about how the judge would “take care of” the perp.

The judge strode back into the room, nearly bowling Kevin over as he pushed past him. Kevin felt he should have expressed his sympathy or done something, but he couldn’t think when that man was around. He shook his head to clear it. Jesus! What an asshole! Of course, maybe Kevin would feel that way, he reasoned, if his only daughter had just suffered a vicious attack. He slid back into the room, in time to hear the doctor explain Taylor’s prognosis.

“All in all, she took quite a beating. Lost a lot of blood.” Dr. Lee consulted a chart and glanced up. “And she lost the baby.” His soft voice was clinically professional.

“The baby?” Rita Walker’s voice was almost inaudible. Kevin studied her. A real contrast to her husband, Mrs. Walker’s hair was a pale blonde and looked like she’d just walked out of a salon that had gotten stuck in a ’60s time warp. Her poufy hair accentuated hazel eyes. Kevin thought she had on too much makeup, made her look way older than she was. But maybe that was the point. She was nearly a foot shorter than her husband.

Dr. Lee looked at her and bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am. She was pregnant.”

Rita grabbed her husband’s arm. She wobbled as if she might faint, but he was oblivious to her. Kevin almost expected him to shake her arm off, as he would a pesky puppy. But he didn’t. He just looked thoughtful.

Kevin noted the doctor looked like he’d sucked a spoiled oyster. He guessed it probably hadn’t occurred to Dr. Lee that Taylor’s parents didn’t know about her pregnancy. The doctor stared at the ceiling, not daring to look at anyone in the room. He probably realized he’d just broken patient confidentiality. Kevin sympathized: He was sure the doc’d hear about this lapse. Judge Walker’s temper was legendary.

There was a commotion in the hallway. Everyone turned as Jeremy burst into the room. Kevin noted Jeremy’s clothes looked like he’d rolled around on the floor in them. Curly black hair flew in all directions. His beard was flecked with bits of tissue. And his eyes were red rimmed.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Kevin challenged.

Ignoring everyone else in the room, Jeremy dashed to Taylor’s bed and stared at her. “Oh, Jesus,” he moaned. His hands shook as he lightly touched the covers.

Judge Walker’s eyes shot daggers at Jeremy’s blood-stained clothes. “Son, you were asked a question.”

Jeremy looked up, confused. “I wanted to see how she was. I’ve been worried since I saw her yesterday.” He turned to Kevin. “I couldn’t sleep last night, and I—”

Judge Walker lunged at him. “You son of a bitch! You the asshole who did this to my daughter?”

Jeremy didn’t move, but Kevin smoothly inserted himself between the two. “Your honor, we have no proof.”

Jeremy stared. “How could I could do something like this?” He gestured at the bed.

Kevin’s smile was tight. “Jilted lover. Wannabe lover. I dunno. You tell us.”

Jeremy scratched his beard and shook his head. “It’s true. I do love her, but she never knew it.” He looked from Kevin to Judge Walker. “You’ve got to believe me.”

“No, son. We don’t,” the judge sneered. He pointed at Jeremy’s clothes. “You were there when it happened, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir, but I’d never do anything to hurt her. Honest. I’ve been driving around all night.” He rubbed his eyes with both fists.

Dr. Lee clucked and tsked and said they all needed to leave the room so Taylor could get some rest. He said he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to be talking about Taylor, without knowing whether she was able to hear them. It might upset her, he pointed out. Kevin bet he was still trying to think of a way to avoid a lawsuit about the pregnancy slip.

Judge Walker wheeled on Dr. Lee and told him to leave them the hell alone. This was his family, and he’d damn well deal with the situation. Of course, no one ever questioned Judge Walker, and the doctor was no exception. He turned and slunk out of the room.

“And what are you still doing here?” Judge Walker barked at Kevin.

“Sir, soon as your daughter wakes up, I’m going to have to ask her a few questions.”

“The hell you are. Get out.”

Kevin didn’t budge. “No, sir. Afraid I can’t do that. I’ve been directed to stay.”

The judge’s furry white eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Directed? By whom? By God, I’ll call the guv’nor of Florida if I have to.”

Kevin spread his legs and crossed his arms, distributing his weight evenly. “Go ahead. But I’m staying till I’m told otherwise.” He spoke firmly, but his guts were quivering. He could see waving his balls good-bye after this episode.

Rita touched her husband’s arm lightly, almost tentatively. “Lawrence, honey, let’s go home. We’ve got calls to make.”

He snorted. “I know one call I’m making before we leave this place.” He whipped out his cell phone and jabbed in numbers, his look daring Kevin to stop him.

Forgotten in the commotion, Jeremy eased over to Taylor’s bed and lightly kissed her forehead, on the only place that wasn’t cut or bruised. He took her right hand in his, squeezed it lightly and whispered, “Sorry I’ve been such an ass.” Then he quietly slipped into the hallway.

* * *

Jeremy wondered idly whether Cam had gotten the message in Iraq or wherever the hell he was serving. Another notch in the bastard’s C.V., he thought, mixing metaphors. Not only was he a brilliant attorney, he was serving his country. Walker’s weekly newspaper ran photos of him surrounded by smiling, grateful orphans, sometimes accompanied by a column e-mailed to let “friends and neighbors” know what he was doing to preserve freedom. What a crock! Jeremy felt he was preparing for a political run. But maybe that was just his cynicism (and love of Taylor, he admitted). Jeremy kicked a large pebble as he stepped into the parking lot. He wished it were Cam’s head.

* * *

Judge Walker glared at Kevin. Gauging from the judge’s expression, the phone call had apparently not been successful. Kevin bit his lower lip to hold back the grin that was threatening to ripple over his face. With another venomous glance over his shoulder, the judge stormed out. Before Rita followed her husband, she shrugged and smiled sadly at Kevin. She said nothing.

Once the room cleared, Kevin took a deep breath and shook his head. Shit, that had been more excitement than he’d faced in his nine years with the sheriff’s office. He turned to watch his charge as she slept. Maybe things would get better once she woke up.

As she slept, a slick-looking guy with thick, moussed-back brown hair graying at the temples and wearing aluminum wire-rimmed granny glasses barged into the room. Kevin sized him up: Late 40s, probably. Pale blue eyes seemed to shoot straight through Kevin’s clothes, like an X-ray. Carried himself like military—or former military. Kevin recognized him immediately: Al Mason, principal of Walker Middle.

Kevin inwardly shivered under his frigid stare. “May I help you, sir?”

“Okay if I pop in?” Mason asked, his voice emotionless.

Kevin shook his head. “Sorry, sir. Only visitors allowed are family right now.”

Mason nodded and stared through Kevin. “I see. Well, tell her I came by.”

“Sure will, Mr. Mason. I’m sure she’ll ’preciate your concern.” Kevin watched as the ramrod-straight figure marched down the hall. He bet the kids at Walker Middle didn’t get outta line. Hell, dude made him feel like he was in junior high all over again.

Chapter 3

Taylor had been dreaming of running through a field, looking for something. As she bent to pick up a flower, it dissolved between her fingers. When she looked down, pieces of broken glass dotted the ground. She gingerly picked up a shard to examine it. The sun shone through the glass like a prism, diffracting the light into a rainbow of colors. She felt a sharp prick and looked down at her hands. They were bleeding. She dropped the glass and tried to run, but her feet felt like they were mired in fresh cement.

Something brushed her forehead and touched her right hand. Gentle words wafted into her right ear like a summer breeze. She smiled and relaxed, lightly falling backwards into the soft cushion the flowers made.

When Taylor woke up, she felt disoriented. She could tell it was night because everything was dark, but she knew she wasn’t in her own bed. Maybe she was at a friend’s. She yawned and looked around. Someone in white sat beside her. An angel? Maybe she was dead. She tried to sit up and felt something stuck in her left arm. She tried to turn to see what it was.

“Oh, you’re awake. Can I get you anything?”

Taylor frowned. “Who are you? Where am I?”

The woman stood and patted Taylor’s arm. “I’m a nurse your daddy hired. You’re in the hospital.” She paused, unsure of how much or what to say. “I’m afraid you were in an accident.”

Taylor yawned. She felt groggy, but she also felt—euphoric, was that it? “What happened?”

The nurse shook her head and stared at Taylor. “You don’t remember?”

Taylor yawned again. “No. Was I in a wreck?”

“I can’t say. You need to stop talking and rest. Can I get you anything?” she repeated, as if to forestall any more personal questions.

“Is my husband coming home?” Taylor’s voice was flat.

The nurse shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, guess I’ll need a mirror to get myself all prettied up for him.”

The nurse turned, but Taylor thought she saw her wince. She mumbled something.

“What?” Taylor asked.

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea right now.”

Taylor’s arms seemed to be floating away from her body, but she managed to bring her right hand up to touch her face. She couldn’t feel anything. Maybe it was the drugs or whatever they were giving her. She yawned again and snuggled under the covers. The nurse immediately called Taylor’s parents as she’d been instructed. It was 4 a.m.

Within the hour, they were back by her bedside, standing vigil. When Taylor awoke three hours later, they smiled down at her.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, baby,” her father boomed.

“Daddy. What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” He and Rita exchanged glances.

Taylor frowned. “No. Last thing I remember was setting up my classroom at school.”

Kevin stepped from the shadows, yawning. He spoke to the Walkers. “Judge, Mrs. Walker, I’m gonna hafta ask y’all to wait outside for a few minutes. I need to ask Mrs. Campbell a few questions.”

Judge Walker’s face turned purplish crimson, and Kevin was afraid he’d stroke out right there. Once again, Rita Walker saved the day. She plucked at his sleeve timidly and said, “Come on, dear. Don’t you want that animal caught?”

Lawrence Walker shook off her hand and stomped out of the room, cursing under his breath. Rita shrugged at Kevin and smiled sadly as she eased out of the room.

“Hey, sleeping beauty, how ya doin’?” Kevin grinned down at Taylor.

She grimaced. “Seen better days. So what happened?”

Kevin took out a notebook. “You don’t remember?” He stared at her. “Anything?”

She shook her head and grimaced as the movement gave her a headache. “Something at school,” she mumbled. “I was in my room. That’s the last thing I remember. I’d glanced at my watch; it was nearly 5.” She grinned wryly. “I think everyone else booked about two hours earlier.”

“Not quite everybody.”

She frowned. “Oh, yeah. Jeremy was trying to set up his stuff for science.” She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember. “I heard a noise in the hallway. I assumed it was Jeremy. I didn’t check it out.”

Kevin clicked his pen against his teeth. Jeremy. There it was again. Something about that turd just didn’t add up. He should’ve already checked him out. He cursed himself for not jumping on that right away. Like his tale of the “mysteriously disappearing, running kids.” No one else around to prove that story, and the only person Taylor remembered in the area was Jeremy. Kevin’d make sure he nailed the slimy bastard this time. He envisioned a grateful Judge Walker boosting his career. Taylor broke into his thoughts as she touched his arm.

“Will you please tell me what happened?” she asked softly.

Kevin paused. He wasn’t sure he was cut out for this part of the job. He spoke without looking at Taylor. “You were beaten and raped,” he mumbled. He cleared his throat. “Doctor said you lost the baby.”

Taylor blinked. “Oh, my God. No.” Her fist struck her thigh.

Kevin looked up at her tone and the unexpected blow. Damn. He didn’t know how to handle these situations. “Um, I can have Dr. Lee come in and talk to you about that.” He wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

Taylor began to sob, tears streaming down her face. Kevin awkwardly reached over to pat her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. You can try again.”

Her eyes met his, but they didn’t seem focused. “No. I can’t,” she whispered hoarsely.

Kevin didn’t ask what she meant. Maybe she’d heard Dr. Lee talking to her parents. Maybe he’d said she’d never be able to have kids. Whatever. Kevin just sloughed it off. Later, he regretted not having asked the question. Stupid rookie mistake. But at the time, all he wanted to do was get information about the assault so he could nail that fucker Jeremy Briggs. Kevin was still pissed the asshole had managed to weasel out of the DUI—because of a stupid paperwork glitch on his part. Maybe this time he wasn’t so slick. Maybe he’d left a little something at the scene of the crime. Kevin smiled grimly, hoping the bastard hadn’t been bright enough to use a condom.

Taylor looked around the room for the first time. Flowers bloomed out of every possible corner. She felt as if she were in a florist shop. The sickeningly sweet smell nauseated her. She spotted the largest bouquet, from Cam, and asked Kevin to bring it to her. She opened the card and read it. She looked up and grimaced. “He’s on his way home,” she said dully.

Kevin stared at her. Maybe it was the drugs, but she didn’t seem happy about her husband’s coming home. He put both fists in his eyes and rubbed them, yawning. “Well, if you can’t remember anything about the attack, I’m outta here.” He dropped a card on the covers. “If you remember anything—anything at all—give me a call right away, okay?”

Taylor nodded, but she didn’t seem to see him. Maybe she was thinking about her husband’s return. Where was he? Kevin didn’t pay attention to the local paper. It was just some damn where they didn’t much care for Americans, that’s all Kevin knew. Not any place he wanted to be, you bet your sweet ass.

Before he left, Taylor asked him to open the blinds. When the sunlight poured in, she winced. He moved to close the blinds, but she waved him off, thanking him. The hospital sat on a bluff, and her room faced the river. Kevin imagined she wanted to see what was going on outside. She couldn’t tell him what she really wanted: To block out what was going on inside.

Chapter 4

From the media standpoint, the timing of the attack had been perfect. The Walker Weekly was about to go to press. The one-man operation who wrote, photographed, edited, and published it was practically giddy. Usually, all Jimmy Joe Bryant had to write about was the garden club or the “sermon of the week.” This was a real, honest-to-God crime! Maybe it’d even be picked up by some dailies or the AP. He could dream, couldn’t he?

He scratched the bald spot on the top of his head, between his rapidly thinning gray hair gloating as he looked over his latest oeuvre. Of course, he couldn’t get an interview with Taylor, but he did manage to sneak into her hospital room and get a picture of her lying beaten and broken in bed. She looked so damn bad, Jimmy Joe almost regretted running the photo. But he shook off his qualms as he thought about how this might give his readership—and the bottom line—a substantial kick in the rear. Maybe even a Pulitzer nomination, by God!

At the end of the article, he quoted Deputy Kevin Conway, only because the sheriff was out of town: “This is the most heinous crime we’ve ever seen here in Walker. We’re all shocked about it and offer our sympathy to Mrs. Campbell and her family. If you have any information about what happened, please contact the Sheriff’s Office.”

In a sidebar to the front-page story, Jimmy Joe ran the Judge Walker’s information about the $25,000 reward for information leading to the capture and arrest of the perpetrator(s). Jimmy Joe nodded to himself, brown eyes shining. This was by far his best work ever!

The paper came out Thursday. Cam picked up a copy at the Pensacola airport as he landed. It had been a long 24 hours. He didn’t recognize Taylor by the hospital picture: Both eyes were swollen, as was the rest of her face. A large bandage covered her nose, maybe it was broken. Even though the photographer had apparently used a digital camera, the picture quality wasn’t that good. He must’ve snapped it in a hurry, Cam thought.

Cam ran a hand through white-blond hair cut shorter than he liked, thanks to his military assignment. As he sauntered out of the Pensacola airport, the late afternoon sun made him squint. He pulled the sunglasses from the top of his head and jammed them on, obscuring sky-blue eyes. Heads turned as he strode to pick up his rental car, but he didn’t notice.

When he got to the hospital, he found Taylor asleep. Cam didn’t want to wake her because he figured she needed rest after what she’d gone through. When his commander had called Cam into the office, Cam knew something was up: A Red Cross guy stood by Maj. Bolling’s desk. All the guy said was that Taylor had been in an accident, and Cam needed to go home ASAP. He hadn’t realized what had happened till he picked up the mullet wrapper at the airport.

Lousy timing on Taylor’s part, Cam thought. Bolling had just been promoted. Cam was supposed to assume command of the unit in two weeks. He checked the date on his watch. No, 10 days. He had a lot of prep to do. Cam resented having to put his life on hold to come baby sit Taylor. Not to mention the hot little brunette nurse he’d left in country.

Cam looked down on Taylor, sleeping peacefully, and realized how tired he was. He guessed he’d better head to the house to check on things. He started to pat her on the shoulder, but drew back his hand, as if he were afraid she was too fragile to touch.

After he left the room, Taylor opened her eyes and sighed. She realized she couldn’t put off the inevitable unhappy reunion forever, but she didn’t have the energy to face Cam yet.

When Cam hit the parking lot, his cell phone rang. He felt annoyed. Who in the hell had this number? Maybe it was his unit, calling him back to Iraq. He almost hoped so. It would be a relief to face combat. And easier than facing Taylor, he conceded.

“Hello.”

“Bastard that raped your wife’s in your house right now.” The voice was muffled.

“Who is this? Hello? Hello?”

Nothing. The mystery caller had hung up. Cam’s tiredness melted away as anger surged through his body. He hopped into the rental car and sped home.

Cam felt naked as he slipped into the back of the two-story plantation-style home. Stupid commercial flights. He couldn’t bring his 9mm. He hoped the bastard was upstairs. That would at least give him the chance to nab the 9 mil out of his office, the house’s original library. He crept down the hall, holding his breath, prepared to deliver a half-assed karate chop if need be. No one downstairs, apparently. He slipped into the office, sat in his chair, and eased the 9mm from a lower desk drawer. He checked it. Yep, locked and loaded. Let’s rock and roll.

Cam heard a noise and looked up. A kid with a mop of unnaturally red hair wobbled in the doorway. Pale skin made his freckles appear even browner. The kid had scabbed-over gashes on his left cheek. Cam realized Taylor must have fought the punk. His mismatched eyes were wide open, staring at the weapon in Cam’s hand.

The kid raised his empty hands and stumbled toward Cam. “Mishter, I’m shorry—”

Cam watched as the kid took a couple of shaky steps into the room. Then, without warning, Cam fired three times. The kid crumpled to the floor in front of the desk. Cam calmly picked up the phone and dialed 911.

The sheriff’s car and ambulance arrived together, dueling sirens. Kevin knocked, but no one answered. So he cautiously toed open the door. The gurney pushers were right behind him. Cam sat in his office chair, gun on the desk. He gestured at the floor.

“Dead. I checked.”

Kevin took a deep breath. “What happened?”

Leaving out the mystery phone call, Cam related the facts to Kevin in a monotone: He’d hurried home from the hospital and realized an intruder was in the house. He’d slipped into the office to get his weapon. He’d heard a noise, turned around, and saw the kid rushing toward him, eyes wild like a rabid dog’s, maybe hopped up on something. Despite his direct command to stop, the kid kept charging at him, like a cornered tiger. Cam feared for his life. So he fired.

“Recognize the kid?”

Cam shook his head. “Never seen him before.”

Kevin looked a little closer, squinting at the body on the floor. “Me, neither. And it ain’t like this burg’s a big city like Pensacola.”

The last 24 sleepless hours were rapidly catching up with Cam. He felt like he was going to crash any minute. “I’m exhausted. Need anything from me?”

Kevin nodded. “Gonna need you to come down to the station so I can get a statement.”

Cam yawned. “Can’t we do it here?”

“Nope. Sorry. Gotta do it on the special form.”

Cam sighed. It’d been a long-ass day. And it was gonna get even longer. As they went outside, curious neighbors down the street peeked out of their houses. Miz Perry, the old black woman next door, hobbled up the steps.

“Cameron, welcome home, sugar. When’s Taylor getting out of the hospital? I’ve made her a special peach cobbler.” She didn’t ask about the flashing lights in the driveway. Cam wondered if she’d even noticed them.

Cam shrugged, silently appraising the woman before him: 70ish, skin as light as a pecan shell, dark brown eyes alert, mostly white hair short and tightly permed. He yawned. “Sorry. I don’t know. Didn’t talk to the doctors yet. When I went by the hospital, she was asleep.”

Miz Perry nodded. “You just tell her we’re prayin’ for her, y’hear?”

“I’ll do that, Miz Perry. Thanks.” He eased past her and slid into the deputy’s car. Least he wouldn’t have to drive, tired as he was.

When Cam returned home, the body had been removed. He could see blood stains marking the spot where someone had died. Cam sighed. He’d probably have to get rid of the damn thing. A shame because he loved that rug, an Oriental piece someone had gotten in Kuwait. A present. He trudged upstairs to bed. The adrenaline spent, he felt totally wiped out.

A noise awakened Cam. He grabbed his pistol, eased out of bed, and crept to the doorway to listen. Nothing. Well, it was an old house, probably just settling noises. He went back to bed and slept soundly and dreamlessly till the following morning.

Yawning, Cam stumbled out of bed and opened the closet door. He frowned. Things seemed to be out of place. Neatness was Taylor’s middle name. While Cam tended to toss his stuff around, odd socks landing on chairs or the floor, Taylor’s mantra was “A place for everything, and everything in its place.” Cam frowned. The closet definitely did not look right. Things weren’t strewn all over, but stuff had obviously been moved.

Then he remembered the kid. He’d probably come up here looking for a safe or valuables. Yeah, that must be it. He debated calling the sheriff’s office again, but shrugged it off. Stuff wouldn’t look out of place to anyone else. It was just a gut feeling he had—that and knowing Taylor’s habits.

He threw on a pair of ragged shorts and a ripped tee. Might as well get that carpet out before Taylor got home. He rolled it up and loaded it into the rental’s trunk. He’d pay the $10 or whatever to leave it at the dump.

When he returned, he felt better. He dashed upstairs to shower. Then he headed to the hospital. Cam took a deep breath as he entered her room. He and Taylor needed to talk. Now. Before she came home.

Chapter 5

Because Cam hadn’t called to warn her he was coming, Taylor couldn’t pretend to be asleep this time. She sat up in bed, animatedly talking to her mother on one side, some guy on the other. Cam had no idea who he was. Just some stocky guy with curly black hair and a full beard. About Cam’s height. Looked like a damn grizzly. The guy’s smile reached all the way to his gray eyes. When the guy looked up and saw Cam, his smile faded instantly.

“Hey, baby. How’s it going?” Cam tried for the casual approach, ignoring the other two.

Rita Walker looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard Cam enter the room. It was Taylor who was the most interesting for Cam to watch. Her face was a mask, nothing readable, even if he’d been good at deciphering women’s feelings, which he admittedly wasn’t. He still couldn’t recognize her face beneath all the damage inflicted on it.

“Cam. Hey. Glad you made it back in one piece.” Her voice was flat. Sounded like she had a mouthful of marbles.

Rita and Jeremy exchanged glances, made apologies, and left. Jeremy glared at Cam on his way out. Cam shrugged and wondered what his problem was. Cam wanted to call them back, yell for them to stay. Please. But they ducked out the door before his tongue loosened. He inched the million miles to Taylor’s bed, each step taking longer than the one before.

Taylor picked at something on the covers. “Guess you heard. But you didn’t need to come back for this. Really.”

Cam stared at the floor. “No. I had to,” he mumbled.

For the first time since he entered the room, Taylor looked at him. It wasn’t a hostile look, but it wasn’t a wifely look, either. It was just a questioning look. “Why?”

Cam took a deep breath and looked down at Taylor, shuffling from one foot to the other. “Look. We need to talk, baby.”

Taylor laughed. It came out as a bitter snort. “Don’t call me ‘baby,’ please.” She waved a hand. “Go ahead. Let’s get this over with.”

Cam shrugged and looked around the private room. “I dunno. It just doesn’t seem right here.”

Taylor gestured at herself. “Because I’m ‘here,’ which means I can’t jump up and kick the living hell out of you?”

Cam winced at the venom in her voice. “No, it’s just that I, well—” His voice trailed off as he shrugged again.

“I’m tired. Just go.”

Cam made no move to lean over to kiss her. Instead, he slunk out the door without saying anything else.

Taylor waited, sure her mother and Jeremy were still outside. After a few beats, she decided they must’ve left. They probably didn’t want to interfere with her connubial reunion, she thought bitterly. She hadn’t told Cam about the baby, and she realized no one else had, either. Thank God.

At least Jeremy had brought some good news. He’d seen the principal at school, and Mr. Mason had asked him to let Taylor know she didn’t need to worry about coming back right away. They’d cover next week—and beyond, if need be—she just needed to get herself better.

Personally, Taylor felt Mr. Mason was a little shaken that she’d been attacked at his school. Perhaps he was afraid of an ensuing lawsuit. Anyway, she was grateful for the message and glad to see Jeremy, who seemed to be back to his old self. The one she’d remembered when she first met him two years ago. Before she met—and fell for—Cameron Campbell.

Taylor recalled her encounter with Cam in her father’s law office. All the women were fawning over him, staring at him with goo-goo eyes like teenagers. At first, she hadn’t been too sure about him. He was a little too slickly good looking for her taste. At six two, his face was model quality, “chiseled” she supposed it’d be called. With carefully coiffed hair, charismatic blue eyes, and perpetually tanned face, he was photogenic as hell. Cameras loooooved him.

Cam had persisted till he wore her down, and she went out with him. He oozed charm and sex appeal out the ass. They hadn’t dated long when he popped the question. That was a year and a half ago. Caught up in the moment, she’d agreed to marry him. They’d gone off on a long weekend together. It was the middle of winter and he wanted to take her skiing in Aspen.

He’d actually gotten down on one knee to propose; she thought it was corny-cute. She didn’t hesitate, although in retrospect, she realized she should have. Soon as she said yes, her parents had popped into the restaurant, her father grinning like a shit-eating possum. Bastard had been so damn sure she’d say yes. Even as she’d smiled and accepted the congratulations, something threatened to come back up. Maybe she’d had too much champagne. Right then as she saw him and her father together, she had a flash of insight about Cam: He and her father were too much alike. Totally used to having their way about everything.

At 35, Cam was eight years older than Taylor. He was cheerfully forthcoming about his former girlfriends—and there had been plenty. Well, she discovered later, he’d been truthful about most. Except one. The most important one. The little blonde bitch who was a sergeant in his unit. He’d never mentioned her at all. And, although several unit members and spouses came for the wedding, Blondie didn’t show her face. Of course, Taylor hadn’t known about her then.

When they’d gotten married last summer, Cam kept bugging her to get off the pill. He said he wanted a big family. Fortunately, she hadn’t listened. After six months of marriage, he came down on orders for Iraq. She shouldn’t have been surprised; she knew his company had served in Afghanistan already. But she just wasn’t prepared.

Married life had seemed fairly routine up until then. Taylor realized Cam didn’t set off fireworks with their sex life; it almost seemed mechanical. She chalked it up to being newlyweds. And she hadn’t had a whole lot of suitors to compare with Cam. The only fight they had before he deployed with his unit was about her continuing to work.

“I love my job,” she insisted. “I’m not quitting now.”

“You’re not working when we have kids, and that’s final.”

“We’ll see.”

Maybe that was one reason Taylor had decided not to start a family right then. Her body was one small part of the marriage that Cam was pissed he couldn’t control. She never told him she was still on the pill. After he left, she realized she missed him. Maybe she was being selfish and ridiculous about starting a family. She quietly went off the pill.

Cam hadn’t told her he was coming home for R&R. When he swaggered into the house, he said he’d wanted to surprise her.

She pointed a finger at him in a mock scolding pose. “Well, it’s a good thing my boyfriend wasn’t here, isn’t it?”

He’d grinned and kissed her, lifting her off her feet. “Sure is. I’d hafta kill the bastard.”

He’d seemed every bit as keen to start a family, but his actions didn’t match his words. Taylor figured he was tired from the flight and just needed a little time to unwind and forget about combat for a while. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the timing was all wrong for making a baby.

He’d arrived mid-May, just before school let out. That was another thing that irritated her: If he’d bothered to let her know he was coming, she could have maybe arranged for a day or two off. As it was, she couldn’t find anybody to sub on such short notice, particularly at the end of the school year. Of course, Cam didn’t understand why she couldn’t just take off to be with him. To hell with the school and her “responsibility.” That led to another argument.

His last night home, they’d driven to Pensacola for supper. It was about an hour each way to the restaurant, Yamato, which was her favorite place for Japanese. She’d protested that she could fix a gourmet meal at home, but Cam had insisted. She sighed; sometimes it was just easier to give in.

At the restaurant, he’d gotten drunker than Taylor had ever seen him. He scared her. Most of all, she was scared to ride in the car with him. He refused to give her the keys. Fortunately, the I-10 bridge over Pensacola Bay was still down to one lane, thanks to Hurricane Ivan. So he had to drive slowly across the water.

But once he’d cleared the bridge, he drove like a maniac, careening from the median to millimeters away from the shoulder. She’d glanced at the speedometer only once, and he was doing 95. Taylor made sure her seat belt was fastened and braced herself in the seat, closing her eyes and waiting for the crushing impact of a ton of steel against an immovable object. Longest damn hour of her life.

When they’d finally gotten home, he sang loudly and off key all the way into the house. She didn’t recognize the song, but it didn’t matter. It was after 11, and everyone was in bed. It was generally a quiet, reserved neighborhood. She thought she saw a light go on next door in the Perrys’ house, probably the grandson. But Taylor couldn’t stop to check; she was concentrating on manhandling a large, drunken husband up the broad veranda and into their house.

Taylor was exhausted from the ride home. All she wanted to do was go to bed. As she sat on the bed to undress, she heard Cam stumbling up the stairs, cursing all the way. Then he loomed in the doorway, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. He hadn’t smoked when he left for Iraq, she thought inanely.

Cam swayed as he tried to keep his balance and took a healthy swig from the bottle. “Le’s make a baby,” he slurred.

Taylor jumped up and snatched the cigarette from his hand, dashing into the bathroom, and wetting down the butt in the sink. That was all she needed, for him to burn down the damn house. “Cam, sweetie, you’re drunk, and I’m tired. Let’s just go to sleep, okay?”

He plopped the bottle on the nightstand and yanked off his shirt, tossing it into the air like a frisbee. He forgot to take off his shoes and crashed to the floor, muttering curses. She watched calmly as he sat there, struggling to shuck his pants and muttering. She made no move to help him. She flounced onto her side and jammed a pillow over her head. When Cam finally got his clothes off, he pulled himself onto the bed and started pawing at Taylor’s back.

She tried to ignore him, but he rolled her over, pulled her to him, and began kissing her. Wet, sloppy kisses with an undertone of stale booze and dragon mouth from the cigarette. Taylor felt as if she would throw up. She pushed him away, kneeing him in the groin. His head smacked against the headboard.

“Bitch! Shit, that hurt.” He rubbed his balls and then his head, as if he couldn’t decide which hurt more.

“I’m sorry. But I told you I’m tired. And you’re drunk. I’ve got to go to school in the morning. I need my sleep.”

Cam rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, checking for blood. “You’re always tired,” he muttered, reaching for her. “Goin’ back to Iraq t’morrow. Le’s make a baby.”

“No.” Taylor pushed him away, pulling the pillow over her head again.

“Think you’re better’n everybody else. But you’re not,” he yelled into the pillow over Taylor’s ear. He mumbled something else, but Taylor ignored him. It took her half an hour to finally get to sleep.