Cruel Vendetta, page 8
My stomach twisted into a giant knot as bile crept up my throat. I knew he'd never seen me as anything other than Izzy’s best friend; he still didn't. To him I was just the young woman who needed a place to crash until I was on my feet. I was the charity case. The one he pitied.
Tears burned the bridge of my nose and squeezed from the corners of my eyes even as I clenched them closed. God, I hated this feeling so much. I was close to him yet I'd never been further away. Being so close to him but knowing we'd never be able to be together broke my heart. I snuggled deeper into the covers and yanked the comforter over my head. All I wanted to do was block out the world, forget about the pain and everything that was wrong.
Fourteen
DREW
As I stared at the computer screen, Emery came to mind once more, as she often did these days. Having her in my house for the past week was slowly driving me crazy. For my own sanity, I tried to avoid her as much as possible. Because if I gave in to the chemistry burning between us, there was a very real possibility that I would cross a line that was better off left alone.
I wasn’t even sure she’d welcome my advances. I’d caught her looking at me from time to time, but what the hell did that mean? It could be that she was just grateful for a place to stay. But could it be more? Soon after she moved in, I noticed more groceries in the fridge. She’d offered to make me dinner, but I’d declined, escaping back to work instead. The thought of sitting there with her, having an intimate dinner all alone… Christ, it was enough to drive any man insane.
I worked as much as I could to avoid being home alone with her, but I couldn’t tune out the nagging voice at the back of my mind demanding to know more about her. Though I’d known her for years, I didn’t really know her. I wanted to know her favorite color. Did she prefer rom-coms or thrillers? What did her future look like?
A thousand questions hovered on the tip of my tongue, all of them destined to remain unanswered. I would never ask Emery outright, and I couldn’t bring it up to my sister without arousing her suspicions. I couldn’t begin to imagine what the hell Izzy would say if she found out I was interested in Emery. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t look. And I did look—every single chance I got.
When I did finally go home at night, all I could think about was her in the spare bedroom, curled up in bed all alone. I wanted to climb in next to her, pull her close and kiss every inch of her from the top of her head all the way down to her toes. I wanted to fuck her slow and hard and deep, show her that I was the only man she needed.
But I couldn’t do any of that. So I took a cold shower and rubbed one out instead—sometimes twice. It never fully took the edge off, though. I wanted more. I wanted her. I just wasn’t sure if she wanted me.
I studied the screen for a second before voicing an observation that had tugged at my brain for the last few days. “Abby seems to be about the same age as my roommate. I bet they'd get along.”
At that, Clay’s eyes snapped my way. “I think you missed the memo on that one. Pretty sure the girls already have plans to go out in a couple weeks.”
That was certainly news to me. Not that it was any business of mine, of course, but I couldn't help the slight burn of jealousy that snaked through my gut at the thought of Emery being out at a bar, surrounded by men who would love to tumble her into bed.
“Don't worry,” he said, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Grace is going too, so they can't get into too much trouble.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think you severely underestimate what happens when women get together.”
“True story.” He snorted. “But at least Abby can go gab with the girls for a while and leave me in peace. Damn woman could talk the ears off a donkey.”
I couldn't help but grin. Despite his words, there were no bite behind them. By now, I'd seen Clay and Abby together often enough, and I knew he was absolutely crazy about her. They accepted one another, faults and all, and embraced their differences.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “Do you mind if I ask what the age difference is between you and Abby?”
His golden eyes flicked back to mine. “About seven years. Probably just a little more than you and your girl.”
An itchy sensation formed between my shoulder blades and crawled up the back of my neck under his penetrating stare. “Emery and I aren’t dating. She's just staying with me for a while.”
He studied me for another moment before turning his gaze back to the computer screen. I breathed out through my nose, both relieved and disappointed that the conversation was over. But Clay surprised me. “If you're worried about the age gap, don't. She seems crazy about you.”
My heart ricocheted off my rib cage as my breath halted in my lungs. Was she really? Clay didn't offer anything else, and I didn't either. He'd certainly given me something to think about, though.
On screen, Abby took her last shot and missed. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse and almost immediately, it slipped from her fingers and hit the floor at her feet. One of the men who’d been waiting his turn stooped to pick them up for her. Abby smiled at him as she reached out to take the pack from his fingers. But the man didn't let go. Instead, he gave a little tug, pulling Abby closer to him.
Clay shot straight up in his chair, a low growl rumbling up his throat. “Relax,” I murmured quietly.
Abby tipped her head to one side, teasing smile in place as the man leaned even closer and spoke into her ear. Placing one hand on her lower back, he gestured toward the door, then smoothly maneuvered her out of the room.
Con was still at the pool table, but Blake was seated at a table in the corner, and he had a vantage point of the entire bar. The man urged Abby down the hallway toward the backdoor.
“Cole, they’re headed your way,” Blake said as he stood and fell in behind them.
Clay looked like he was ready to tear the guy apart—not that I could blame him. “Anyone have eyes on them yet?”
“10-4,” came Cole’s low response from where he was stationed behind the building, in a small spot where smokers gathered.
“Everyone in position?”
Each radioed in their confirmation, and adrenaline zinged through my veins. We’d lost video feed since only Con had been equipped with a camera, but I trusted them to make sure everything went smoothly.
A full minute passed in tense silence, then all hell broke loose.
Fifteen
DREW
Clay erupted from his chair. “What the hell is going on?”
I held up one hand, listening intently to the cacophony of voices and scuffles on the other end. On screen, Con sank his last two shots, then nodded his thanks to his opponent and meandered out the door. Faces bobbed and weaved as he cut through the bar, exiting the front door to make his way around back.
It was too dark to see anything, but I could still hear the men speaking in the background. When their voices died down, I spoke into the comm. “Report.”
Vaughn came on a second later, sounding a little breathless. “Asshole tried to run, but Lawson took him down.”
Anticipation zinged through my veins. Running at the sight of an officer was almost a complete admission of his guilt. “Everything under control?”
“Yup. Mac is reading him his rights and loading him now. We'll be at the station in fifteen.”
“We'll meet you there.” I shut the lid of the computer and scooped up all the devices, then tipped my head toward Clay. “Let's go.”
He threw an aggravated look my way. “What about Abby?”
“The guys will bring her into the station and we’ll meet her there.”
Relief and worry warred in his expression, but he fell into step next to me as we left Claire's house. I took a second to lock up before cutting across the back yard and making my way to the cruiser where we’d parked it a couple streets over. Clay’s fingers drummed a nervous tattoo on the console, and I threw a little look his way. “I appreciate both of you doing this.”
“I just hope we don't have to do it again,” came his frank reply.
“Me too.” I meant that with all sincerity. I hoped to God this was the guy we'd been looking for.
Ten minutes later we pulled into the station, and I immediately spotted Mac's cruiser. The officers had already beat us here and hopefully had the suspect in the interview room. Clay threw the door open as soon as I pulled to a stop, and I bit back a smile despite the severity of the situation. “Let's go find your girl.”
I buzzed myself in and found Vaughn behind the reception desk. “How did everything go?”
He sported a bruise high on his cheek, and the left side of his upper lip was bleeding. “Asshole got combative as soon as he saw us coming.”
I dipped my chin. “Make sure you get that taken care of.”
He nodded. “Will do.” He turned toward Clay. “Abby and the others are in the bullpen.”
Without waiting for me, Clay took off at a fast clip to find his fiancée. I had just rounded the doorway when I saw him wrap his arms around her waist and lift her right off her feet. A tiny arrow of something that felt a lot like jealousy sliced through my heart at the sight. They clung to each other, and my gaze slid to Con, who stood just a few feet away. He watched on, his expression a mixture of wry humor and mild disgust.
Forcing down the strange emotion that plagued me, I inclined my head toward Mac. “Wanna sit in?”
Though he had escaped the fight unscathed, I saw a glimmer of retribution in his eyes. “You bet.”
I led the way to the conference room and peered through the small window. Our suspect sat cuffed to the table, his expression infuriatingly blank. Mac passed me a folder, and I skimmed the contents.
Seth Stratton was thirty-four and currently resided in Mineral Forge, a small city just southwest of Cedar Springs. He worked at a local mill, and aside from a few minor traffic violations, his record was pretty clean.
My gaze strayed lower, and my pulse kicked up when I saw his next of kin listed at the bottom. Stratton’s mother, Muriel Lewis, lived in Mineral Forge as well, at the very same address as her son.
I snorted. “Guess that explains why he took the victims to their own homes.”
Of course, we couldn’t be certain the man seated at the table was, in fact, responsible. But we were going to find out.
Stratton didn’t so much as blink when I shoved open the door and stepped inside. “Mr. Stratton. Nice of you to join us this evening. Wasn’t sure we’d have the pleasure of your company. You know, with you running away from my officers and all.”
“They weren’t wearing uniforms.” He lifted one shoulder. “Wasn’t sure why they were chasing me.”
“Right.” I nodded. “And after they identified themselves? Still thought it was a good idea to try to bolt?”
“I was just trying to get out of the way. Didn’t know they were coming after me.”
“Didn’t you?” I lifted a brow his way. “I’d say they had a pretty good reason for intervening when you coerced the woman to go out back with you.”
That dead-eyed look didn’t change. “Is flirting a crime now? Far as I can tell, the woman came with me of her own accord.”
“Like all the others?” I tipped my head at him. “Tell me—how’d you drug them?”
His expression never wavered. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” I flipped open the file folder and spread the images across the top of the metal table, then tapped Amanda's photo. “Do you recognize this woman?”
“Should I?” Stratton stared at me across the table as he dodged my question, answering it instead with a question of his own.
There was no doubt in my mind that he was practiced in effectively invading peoples’ questions, and it had probably kept him out of more trouble than I could imagine. I slid Kristi's photo an inch closer to him. “How about this one?”
“Don't recall.”
“Are you sure? Because I'm fairly certain you met her at Mason's last month.”
He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “There are a lot of women in that bar. Can't say I keep track of them all, officer.”
“Detective, actually.”
“Detective, then.” His dark eyes stared back at me, not a single iota of remorse or guilt to be found in the depths.
Despite the fury coursing through my body, I forced myself to stay calm. I saved Jessica's photo for last, dangling it in front of him by the tips of my forefinger and thumb. “This is Jessica. Don't suppose she looks familiar either, huh?”
He barely even glanced at the photo. “Sorry.”
The single word escaped without an ounce of sincerity. I set the photo down in front of him and extracted one more from the bottom of the file and slapped it on top of the other. “Recognize her now?”
The picture had been taken postmortem, several weeks after her death. His gaze dropped to the photo of Jessica and for the tiniest fraction of a second, he froze. There. There was something in the depths that reflected his acknowledgment. It wasn't guilt. It wasn't even sympathy. It was something far darker—a brief flash of pride, maybe, or excitement. It was enough to make my stomach turn.
I let out a slow breath through my nose before speaking again. “Mr. Stratton, do you have any distinctive characteristics—birthmarks, tattoos, anything of that nature?”
One dark brow ratcheted upward. “Why?”
“Well, you see, one of the women reported that the man had a tattoo.”
“Lots of people have tattoos.”
“Sure they do,” I agreed. “But not many have this one.”
I pulled out the composite drawing that had been supplied for us, and set it down in front of him. “Your mother’s maiden name is Lewis, isn't it?”
He held my gaze, but the cocky confidence had leached away, leaving him looking incredibly unsure. Finally he responded. “I think I should call a lawyer.”
My muscles trembled with barely restrained rage, and I channeled it toward the man in front of me. “We can certainly do that. Or you could just make both our lives easy and show us. You're going to have to do it one way or another,” I stated plainly, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back in the chair. “Either we do it now, or we keep you in lock-up overnight, call your lawyer in the morning, and do this all over again.”
He seemed to know he was caught, because he slowly stripped out of his blue flannel button up. He wore a plain white tee shirt underneath, and I gestured with my chin toward his sleeve. “Left bicep?”
Reluctantly, his movements jerky with anger, he peeled the sleeve of his shirt up just enough to reveal the tattoo. I glanced at Mac. “What do you think?”
“Looks identical to me.” I turned my gaze back to Stratton. “I think that answers our questions. Please stand up.”
He followed my instructions, his eyes burning with a cold hatred as Mac read him his rights, then cuffed him. I called two of our officers on night shift to load him up and transport him up to the county jail, then headed into the bullpen.
Several sets of eyes stared at me as I walked in, and I couldn't contain my grin. A round of congratulations rose on the air, everyone shaking hands and slapping backs. There would still be a trial, and a fuck ton of paperwork, but we'd found him. It was finally over.
Sixteen
EMERY
None of this was working out the way I’d planned. I sat on the cool concrete floor of the basement, staring up at the cabinet. My arms and back ached, and my fingers were stiff from the constant pressure of wielding the sanding block. Despite spending almost all morning on it, I'd made almost no progress. The paint was stubbornly thick and uncooperative, and just the thought of removing all of it left me exhausted.
Of course, my tiredness could be attributed to the fact that I hadn't gotten a full night’s sleep since I'd moved in. If I'd thought Drew was avoiding me before, now he was barely more than a specter. And last night… Tears pricked my eyes. He hadn’t come home at all last night.
I knew he didn't want me here; that was painfully obvious. No matter what I did, he refused to acknowledge me. I turned my phone over in my hand, debating whether to call Izzy. The truth was, I was still upset by her betrayal. It had cut deep. She wasn't a malicious person by nature, I knew that, and I was certain that she had good intentions. But that didn't change the fact that she'd lied to me and deceived Drew. We hadn't spoken since I moved in, and it was tearing a hole in my chest. We'd never gone this long without talking before.
Part of me wanted to text her, to ask her what the hell she'd been thinking, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It Wouldn't fix anything. I needed to figure this out on my own. I needed to focus on my immediate problem, which was finding a new place to live. Which meant I needed to pick up as many shifts as I could, and continue to look for a second job. But that would mean taking time away from working on the cabinet, and if I didn't finish the restoration, I wouldn't get money from Grace. I was damned if I did, damned if I didn't. The situation felt hopeless.
The numbers on the clock rolled over, revealing a new minute, and I sighed. I had a shift at the diner this afternoon and though I didn't need to be there for an hour and a half, it wasn't like I was accomplishing anything at the moment anyway. Might as well get ready for work.
I trudged up the stairs, completely unsurprised when silence greeted me in the house. Drew might be absent, and it was lonely sometimes, but it was still far better than being at home with Alan. Just the thought of his beady eyes leering at me sent goosebumps sweeping over my skin. I couldn't go back home even if I wanted to. I needed to stay here. Drew's reticence might make for an uncomfortable living arrangement, but it was better than locking my door every night wondering if Alan would try to slip into my room again.
