Seismic Crimes, page 6
Stepping cautiously around the towel, she examined her belongings. Half of it she tossed into a garbage can. The clothes and shoes that were salvageable went into black bags to wash later. Books that weren’t warped and all the knick-knacks that had survived Hurricane Sabrina’s ransacking went into boxes. With each item she tossed out, with each box she taped, her heart grew heavier. While she was busy going through her bedroom and bathroom, Donovan and his friends removed the dining room table, dresser, and the full boxes. After walking through the house—an empty shell of what used to be her home—Beth removed the large painting of the beach from her bedroom wall.
“This is the last of it,” she told Donovan.
He took the painting from her and studied it. “Who’s Rachel Reagan?”
“My mom. Reagan was her maiden name.”
“She painted?”
“She did. I would watch her paint on the patio every Sunday morning. It was like our church. When she finished, we would have a fabulous brunch with fresh fruit, scones, and chocolate.”
“Your mom and my mom would’ve gotten along real well.”
Once outside, Beth gazed upon her home. She tried not to feel as if she had lost her parents all over again, but that’s exactly what it felt like. Losing her home was a funeral in itself. And the thought of never coming back brought tears to her eyes. Life went on. Not many people were lucky enough to live on the same street their whole life, but that street was where she’d learned to ride a bicycle and where her bus stop was all throughout school. She liked to think her life could’ve played out completely on that street, in that house, but her dream had been shredded by Hurricane Sabrina.
Chapter Eight
Donovan drove down the interstate in his truck. One month after Hurricane Sabrina wailed on Florida with her giant fists of wind, the Sunshine State was close to being back to normal. When the deep floods of her vengeful tears reduced to puddles, Floridians began cleaning the debris she’d left behind as a parting gift. Filth covered the streets, city workers had to dissect fallen trees, and the governor brought in sand by the truckload to repair the deteriorating coastline.
Several beach homes had fallen into the turbulent waves. A few clung to their stilts, leaning precariously over the edge of crumbling dunes. Blue tarps covered many roofs in need of repair and several buildings with substantial damage still had storm shutters hiding their windows. Many establishments had sheets of plywood blocking their front doors with spray-painted messages stating they were closed.
From the interstate, the only visible damage from Hurricane Sabrina was to the billboards. She had torn them apart, but there was no time to fix the signs because homes, banks, schools, and football stadiums needed repairs first. Worse than any physical damage was knowing Buck was still at large.
Donovan pulled his truck into a plaza with a grocery store, sandwich shop, and nail salon sitting side by side. He parked in front of Beth’s studio, The Fighting Chance, where she taught self-defense classes. Since her car still needed a radiator transplant, Donovan had been driving her to and from work. He didn’t mind, though, because he got to see her after classes, when she was hot and sweaty.
The sun was submerging into the horizon, leaking oranges and pinks across the sky. Seeing such a beautiful sunset brought back the memory of the bruised skies from Hurricane Sabrina’s hulking mass.
Amazing how nature can reward us with beautiful things one moment then punish us on a whim.
He entered the studio to the sound of sneakers pounding the blue mat and gloved hands punching protective gear. Corissa, Beth’s front desk receptionist, a young woman with 24-karat gold hair and diamond eyes—a pale gray bordering on translucence—beamed at him as she put down her psychology book.
“Hey, Donovan. They’re almost done.”
He glanced at the blue mat where Beth coached seven people on how to get out of a bear hug by lifting their elbows and rotating from side to side as fast as they could. Some connected with the head of their attacker and others didn’t, but the objective was to loosen the hold around their middle so they could spin out of the hug, grab their attacker, and finish with a knee to the groin.
Donovan had been amazed when he saw Beth’s studio the first time. She had done a great job creating her business and studio. White walls with purple words—Strength, Rise, Strive, Live—encouraged her students as they learned to protect themselves. At the far end of the room, Beth had turned the wall into a slate of signatures. Everyone who had ever set foot on the blue mat had signed his or her name. Quite a lot of names were already scribbled in permanent marker.
Donovan leaned against the desk and tapped Corissa’s psychology book. “How’s your class?”
“Interesting. I’m learning a lot.” She smiled suddenly, revealing a tiny gap between her front teeth. “Beth told me if I read anything that sounds like you to let her know.”
Donovan smirked. Does Beth still think I’m a closeted killer?
“She said that, did she?”
“Oh, she was just kidding.”
“I bet.”
He was amused and pissed off at the same time. If Beth thinks there might be the slightest possibility I could be a psycho, then why in the hell is she with me?
“Looks like they’re finishing up,” Corissa said.
Donovan turned to see Beth standing in front of the seven sweaty individuals.
“You were all spectacular,” she told them. “Seeing how much you have grown since your first lesson has made me proud. Next week, I’ll be teaching you how to do this.” She nodded at the man beside her who was equipped with padding and a helmet. She turned her back to him, and he wrapped his arm around her neck, pressing a plastic knife to her throat. Her arms shot up, and she gripped his wrist with her hands, one on either side of his arm. Then her head shot back, butting the helmet. When her attacker stumbled, her hand fell, striking him in the groin. As he doubled over, her elbow rammed him in the ribs, and the back of her fist jabbed his face. Free from his hold, she spun away from him, while wrenching his arm, and slammed him into the ground.
Excited chatter and applause followed Beth’s maneuver. She faced her students with a grin on her face. “Until then, be safe.”
She exchanged hugs with a few of her students and clapped her pretend attacker on the arm. “Thanks for being such a good sport.”
“Always for you,” he told her with a wink.
Donovan glared at him. If he touches or flirts with her one more time in my presence, he’s a dead man.
Beth glanced his way as if she could hear his thoughts. He lifted his brow at her then narrowed his gaze on the man at her side. She said something to her assistant that had him leaving. As he passed Donovan, he smiled meekly.
Keep smiling, asshole, you just averted disaster.
“Corissa, you can leave. We’ll lock up,” Beth shouted from the mat.
Donovan turned to Corissa. “See you tomorrow.”
She picked up her psychology book and purse.
“Oh, and if you read anything that sounds like me…” He glanced at Beth and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Let me know first.”
Corissa laughed. “You’ve got it.”
Donovan escorted Corissa to the door, keeping an eye on her until she made it to her car. He went to Beth as she wiped down the equipment with sanitizing wipes. She wore a pink tank top and black workout pants. Her hair was in a high ponytail that swung back and forth every time she moved her head. Sweat glistened on her chest. The deep cut that had been there was a faint pink line above the collar of her tank top. Donovan’s insides clenched, and his mouth watered. He wanted to run the tip of his tongue along that scar, wanted to taste the saltiness of her skin.
He put his hands in his pockets. “You’re full of surprises, Beth Kennedy.”
She grinned. Her eyes were alight with life, as they always were at the end of her classes. “We’ve known each other for a month. You have a lot more surprises coming your way.”
“Bring ’em on.” He winked at her and enjoyed seeing her flushed cheeks brighten. He glanced at the blue mat. “No man would have a chance against you.”
“I was up against you, and you apparently had a chance,” she said with a bite to her words.
His lips spread. “I’m a different kind of man.”
“You certainly are,” she mumbled. She picked up a can of disinfectant to spray down the mat but paused in her chores with a hand on her hip. “How exactly did you stop my attempts to hit you?”
“I knew what you were going to do a second before you did.”
She glowered. “Don’t let anyone know that, or I’d be out of a job.”
“Any other man, baby, and you definitely would’ve crushed his nuts and beaten the crap out of him with that candlestick holder.”
“You pinned me on the floor.”
Donovan thought back. After he yanked her into her house, seconds before a tree crashed onto the welcome mat, he had rolled her beneath him to stop her struggles. He nodded once. “I did.”
Her maple eyes darkened. “I know how to get out of that hold. I teach people how to get out of that hold.”
“Beth.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “I was prepared for you to fight me. I pushed my body weight onto your hips so you wouldn’t be able to pivot me off you. My brother did martial arts for years and taught me everything he knew. I knew what I was doing. Don’t think just because you couldn’t get away from me, or hit me, makes you an inadequate self-defense instructor. We both know that’s not true.”
Beth looked up at him. “I appreciate that.” She pulled away from him and headed to the other end of the blue mat. “And if it wasn’t a little windy, you definitely wouldn’t have hit that tree.”
Donovan rotated, watched her uncap the disinfectant. “What did you say?”
She peered over her shoulder. “You heard me.”
He eyed her. Is she seriously challenging me? She bent over to spray the mat, her butt aimed at him. A smirk stole across his lips. I’m going to teach her a lesson.
The sun was down, and the sky was darkening when they left Beth’s studio. Donovan reversed out of the parking space and turned in the opposite direction of his apartment.
Beth zipped up her athletic jacket to fight the chilly November night and turned to him. “Where are we going?”
Donovan kept his eyes on the road. “I’m taking you somewhere.”
“Donovan, I’m tired and sweaty. I just want to go home, shower, and lounge on the couch with you.”
He smiled. “We can still do that. After.”
“After what?”
“We have a little fun.”
She shook her head, but he could see a small smile on her lips as she settled back into her seat. Thirty minutes later, on a deserted road, he put the truck in park and got out to unlock the gate blocking their path. Then he continued down the dirt road to a clearing of land with a single cement building. When he cut the engine, Beth turned to look at him. “What is this place?”
“You’ll see.” He got out of the truck, stole Beth’s hand, and led her to the building where he crouched in front of the white garage door to unlock it. He stood up. “Beth, I’d like to introduce you to”—he lifted the door, revealing a neon-green monster truck—“my truck, Venom.”
“Holy crap.” She stepped into the garage. Her hand stroked a black cobra poising to strike along the side of the truck. Donovan watched her hand, his stomach tightening. He wanted her hands on his back, chest, everywhere.
He cleared his throat. “Do you wanna go for a ride?”
Beth grinned at him. “Of course I do.”
Donovan opened the passenger door. “Hop in.” She swung herself into the seat, strapped on the helmet he handed her, and swiftly buckled herself in with the safety harness. He couldn’t stop from chuckling.
“Shouldn’t we be wearing fire suits or something,” she asked.
He looked at her and admired how sexy she looked wearing a helmet. “I’m not going to do anything that we would require fire suits to protect us. I wouldn’t risk you getting hurt, Beth. Trust me, okay? You’re in good hands.” He turned the key, igniting the engine and savoring the roar of the five hundred and seventy-five cubic foot engine coming to life.
Beth examined the console with the curiosity of a six-year-old. “Why do you call your truck Venom?”
Their eyes locked.
“Because venom is fast and lethal.” He revved the engine, sending vibrations up their legs and spines. “Don’t worry,” he repeated. “There are three kill switches.”
When Beth blinked at him, he stepped on the gas pedal. The monster truck shot out of the garage. He maneuvered it around the building toward the course he had built to practice stunts. Earlier in the month, he had to rebuild the ramps that had gone flat and muddy from the flooding.
Driving along the edge of the field, he forced the truck to go as fast as its engine would allow. Adrenaline coursed eagerly through his veins, like the methanol flushing through the engine.
Venom.
Deadly, but addicting.
Grinning, he whipped the steering wheel to the left, lifting the truck off the two outer tires.
Beth’s body slid in her seat, tipping her toward Donovan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her groping for the harness keeping her in her seat. With a jerk back on the wheel, he leveled the truck onto all fours and zeroed in on an obstacle ahead—a series of small mounds. The truck rolled over them, applying its nitrogen-charged shock absorbers. Despite the twenty-eight inch suspension travel, they jostled in their seats. Donovan heard Beth curse. As the truck hopped off the last mound, he put the throttle to the floor, knocking the truck back onto its hind wheels so the nose pointed skyward.
Beth let out a small scream. Chuckling, Donovan risked a glance in her direction to see her hands over her eyes. Amusement fluttered through him. She could take on a killer cop, but the thrill of a fast truck made her want to hide.
“Open your eyes,” he insisted. “Look at the stars.”
She lowered her hands and Donovan heard her intake of breath as she looked at the ebony sky and the blurring streaks of starlight. “Wow.”
Smiling when he heard her breathy praise, he said, “Hold on.” He let up on the throttle, dropping the truck forward, and immediately accelerated again. With his foot never flinching off the gas pedal, he turned the wheel while releasing the clutch, causing the truck to spin in a tight circle. And it didn’t stop.
Beth’s laughter rang in his ears, reminding him that donuts were always his favorite stunt. He broke out in a grin as he continued to hold the steering wheel in place. The truck had no other choice but to rotate wildly. The tingles in his hands and feet, from the engine, heightened his own excitement. He threw back his head and let out a whoop. A few more rotations and he eased his foot off the throttle.
Even when the truck stopped, Beth didn’t quit laughing. Her hand was pressed to her chest, her head bowed. She’s not laughing, she’s giggling.
She looked at him with glimmering eyes and flushed cheeks. “That was fun.”
Donovan’s lips split wide. Seeing her delight was contagious, but he wasn’t done yet. “Wait.”
Her eyebrows shot up, but exhilaration hid behind the gesture. “More?”
He grinned in answer and lined the truck up with the biggest ramp on the field. The truck zoomed up it.
“Oh shit,” she gasped.
Donovan felt the shock absorbers compress while they built up pressure. They sprang back with such force the truck boosted into the air like a frog leaping off a lily pad. Beth raised her hands, as if she were riding on a roller coaster, and let out a cheer.
Gravity wrapped its transparent hands around the truck and yanked it down. They bounced in their seats when they hit the ground. Donovan stopped the truck to get a good look at Beth. She faced him with the biggest smile he had ever seen.
“Can we do that again?”
Her enthusiasm elevated him. He had the desire to show her every stunt in the book. “Not tonight,” he said. “I have to refuel and fill the tires with more air.”
He backed the truck into the garage and climbed down. Beth met him on the driver’s side. “That was amazing!”
She launched herself at him, taking him by surprise, but he managed to catch her in his arms as her mouth stamped his. He could taste her adrenaline on the tip of his tongue.
She pulled back and looked up at him, panting. “You’re one hell of a driver, Donovan.”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes strayed to the hood of the monster truck. “Have you ever had sex on your truck?”
Her question threw him off balance. His eyes strayed to the hood and then back to Beth. At first, he didn’t think she could possibly mean what he thought she did, but her chest was rising with shallow breaths and she was looking at him with hungry eyes. His mouth peeled open as he drew in a slow breath. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was clear at that moment Beth was the girl for him.
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“Would you like to?”
Her words alone caused his stomach to tighten. His pulse quickened at the promise of a release. After driving his truck, he was full of energy, energy he wanted to use on Beth. He felt movement in his pants with the mere thought of her lying naked on the hood of his truck. He reached out to touch the place where he imagined her. “It’s warm.”
“So?”
She clambered up the tire, using the deep trenches in the rubber to make her way up. Her feet slipped a few times, but she managed to get to the top where she scooted over the hood so her feet rested on the bumper.
She peered over her shoulder at him. “What do you say?” she said, tempting him.
And he took the bait.
He moved around the giant tire and stood in front of her. “Take off your jacket and sit on it so you don’t get burned.” Wordlessly, she followed his instructions. When she sat on her jacket, he removed her shoes. They dropped to the concrete floor. Then he took the band of her workout pants with his fingers.
