Waiting In Darkness_A Sabrina Vaughn Thriller Read online

  As soon as she heard the name, Melissa recognized the face. Michael O’Shea. He looked different than she remembered. His hair was short—military short—no longer lank and long against his neck. His face was different too. He looked clean. Healthy.

  He caught her looking, pinning her with a set of dark gray eyes, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a lopsided grin and she remembered who he was and has he’d done. The trouble and pain he’d caused. That he’d abandoned his little sister after his parents died and she looked away from him, suddenly wishing him gone.

  As soon as she looked away he aimed his attention toward Tommy and answered his question. “Yesterday. They gave me a few weeks leave before I start Ranger school,” he said with a shrug. “The old man finally got rid of it, huh?” he said, jerking his chin at the place where an old, freestanding video game used to be.

  Tommy followed his gaze and laughed. “Yeah, it must’ve died of loneliness because it stopped working right after you left.”

  Michael must’ve found it amusing that something in Jessup had actually missed him because he laughed too.

  “Here,” she said, shoving a container full of pie into his hands. “Not sure what kind it is.”

  Taking the container, Michael lifted the lid and took a peek. “Peach,” he said, looking at her, another lopsided grin plastered across his face. “My favorite.”

  Before she could form a response he dropped the change Tommy had given him into her outstretched hand. “Give that to Terri, will ya?” He turned away before she could answer. “See ya around, Onewolf,” he said over his shoulder and then he was gone.

  TWENTY minutes later the diner was closed up and she and Tommy headed toward the park, cutting through it toward home—a rickety single-wide with cardboard over the windows and a front porch that was really nothing more than a sheet of plywood and a few stacks of cinder blocks. On impulse, Melissa grabbed his hand, lacing her fingers between his and he instantly stiffened.

  “Melissa,” he said, trying to untangle his hand from hers. “Someone might—”

  “Someone might what?” she said, using her other hand to gesture down the dark, deserted path they were traveling. “See us? I got news for you Tommy—I’m Kelly Walker’s daughter. No one cares much about what the town whore’s daughter does or who she does it with.”

  “You’re a hell of a lot more than that and you know it.” Tommy scowled at her. He hated it when she talked about herself like that. “If your father finds out we’re together, he’ll string me up.”

  Her father. The thought of him soured her belly and for a moment she had the urge to let go of Tommy’s hand. Instead she tightened her grip. “No, he won’t—because that would come too close to claiming me for Chief Bauer’s comfort.”

  “He’s not the only person around here who’d have a problem with a white girl dating an Indian,” Tommy said, shaking his head at her.

  She knew he was right. Jessup was a small town. People here were still closed-minded and judgmental about things like that. “I don’t care what he, or anyone else for that matter, thinks.”

  “That’s not true and we both know it.” He was right about that too—she did care. She wanted people to look at her and see something better than who and where she’d come from. Just once, she’d like to hear her father say her name out loud.

  “I don’t care,” she said, her voice going wobbly. “He’s never given me a reason to.”

  “Your father,” he said gruffly. “Is that why you’re doing this with me? To get back at him?”

  This. Like what they had together was just a temporary thing. Like it didn’t matter.

  She looked down at where they were joined—their fingers weaved together. Hers tightly wrapped. His loose, ready to let her go at a moment’s notice. For some reason, it made her angry.

  She pulled her hand free and started walking. “Why do you keep doing this, Tommy? Why can’t you just let things be good between us?”

  “Because I’m never gonna drive a convertible and I’m never gonna go to college.” He kept pace with her as he shook his head, giving her a sad look. “I’m gonna work at that goddamned diner until the day I die and you deserve better than that.”

  “Jed.” She stopped walking. Turning, she stared at him, her ears ringing like he’d slapped her. “This is about Jed?”

  “It’s about all of them.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “About how almost every guy in this goddamned town would be better for you than me. But sure, we’ll start with Jed—peach pie?”

  Peach pie. The words were like a fist to her gut, nearly knocking the wind out of her. “I don’t understand,” she said quietly, even though she understood perfectly.

  “Yes you do.” Tommy shook his head, refusing to buy the act. “What was he talking about?”

  The moment he said it, a flush crept up her neck—hot and splotchy—to settle against her cheeks. “Who knows?” she shrugged, looking away, using the dark to hide the truth. She’d always been a terrible liar. “He was drunk, talking nonsense.”

  Tommy was unconvinced. “Are you seeing him?”

  “What?” The questions stung.

  “Look—I understand if you are,” he said, reaching for her hand, he smoothed a work-callused thumb over the newly healed burn on the back of it. “He’s rich and he can—”

  “You don’t understand anything.” She yanked her hand back. Tears stung her eyes and she had to take a few deep breaths to steady herself before she spoke. “You’re letting Jed win.”

  “Something happened between you two,” Tommy said, frowning. “And I want to know what.”

  She sighed. “Why does it matter?”

  “Because,” he yelled, the boom of his voice bouncing off the trees that surrounded them. He stopped and took a deep breath. “Because,” he started again, his tone quiet. “I don’t understand what… why you want to be with me. I got nothing—not a damn thing to offer you.”

  “Offer me?” she said. “Like money? Like I’m some kinda whore? Like my mother.”

  “That’s not what...” The tables had suddenly turned and he sighed, rubbing his free hand across his forehead like he was dizzy. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?” she said, her voice gaining a sharp edge she’d always been careful to dull before. “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you? Because of this?”

  She pointed at her face. Like she was looking in a mirror, she could see it. The delicate arc of cheekbones that swept into a lush fall of auburn hair. Wide blue eyes set over the perfect slope of her nose. The generous set of her mouth above a flawlessly angled chin. Even her ears were perfect. Melissa hated it. Every time she saw herself, she saw her mother and she felt sick. “Is this all there is to me?”

  “What? No.” He looked at her like she’d spit on him but she’d seen it, the guilt that flashed in his eyes before he looked away from her.

  She looked down at her hand. The starburst scar still pink and shiny. She’d gotten it a few weeks ago when she’d been helping him in the kitchen at the diner. For what felt like the hundredth time, she wished it was on her face. “Do you love me?” she said, looking up at him.

  He stood there, staring at her—the sharp angles of his face thrown into deep shadow, the dark irises of his eyes glimmering silver in the moonlight. “You know I do,” he said, sounding almost helpless.

  “Why?” It was a question she’d never asked before. One she was afraid of. “Why do you love me?”

  His mouth clamped shut, the look of helplessness that sat on his face twisting into one of confusion. He looked away from her, like he was trying to find an answer that would satisfy them both.

  She waited, each seconds’ worth of silence that ticked away, ringing in her ears. Finally, she nodded, offering him a small smile. “Goodnight, Tommy,” she said, her chin tipped up to keep it from trembling.

  She walked away and he let her.

  THREE

&n
bsp; HE FOLLOWED HER HOME.

  He’d been doing it for a while now—showing up at the diner right around closing and then hanging around the parking lot until she and that cocksucker fry cook locked up and left for the night. They’d usually part ways—she’d walk through the park while he cut across Main. This time, Onewolf walked with her.

  They were real careful in public. Never touched. Never let themselves look at each other longer than a moment or two. They barely said two words to each other most nights. But he’d seen it. The way he’d come charging out of the kitchen to defend her. The way he’d pushed her behind him to protect her. It was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes and half a brain, what was going on between them.

  Lucky for them Jessup was full of half-retarded idiots.

  He didn’t like it. Decided, then and there, that he was going to do something about it. She was going to remember who she belongs to. He’d make sure of that.

  Needing to feel her—smell her—his hand strayed to the pocket of his jacket but he stopped himself from reaching inside.

  Not here. Not yet.

  Reaching into his other pocket, he ran his fingertips along the hilt of the large folding K-BAR he kept there. The handle was a bit worn from use, his fingers fitting into the grooves they’d made over the years. How many things had he killed with it? How much blood had cooled against its blade? More things than he could remember. More blood than he wanted to forget.

  But never a person. Not yet.

  He’d decided, the moment that filthy half-breed put his hands on her, that his would be the first human belly he’d stick his knife into. Tommy Onewolf was gonna look at him and know that he’d put hands on something that didn’t belong to him.

  He kept off the cement path they walked down, sticking to the trees, slipping from shadow to shadow, close enough to hear their conversation. They were fighting. He accused her of cheating on him and she denied it, turning the tables on him. “Why?” he heard her say. “Why do love me?”

  He knew the answer. He knew why he loved her. Known since the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her. She’d been nothing but a girl then but he’d seen it, lurking in the impossible blue of her eyes. The truth. She belonged to him. The word wadded up in his belly, tight and hard, like a rock.

  Mine.

  That one word played on a constant loop in his head whenever he saw her. Taunting him. Driving him crazy with its insistent drone. In it, he felt an impossible weight bearing down on him. A need he’d been fighting for as long as he could remember. He wanted to do things to her. Bad things. Things that, once they were done, he would not be able to undo. Every second of every day, those things pushed at him, hardening from want to need. Someday soon he’d give in to them.

  Instead of scaring him, those things he wanted to do excited him.

  His hand began to wander again. Had to clench it into a fist to keep it from reaching into his pocket.

  Not here. Not yet.

  He heard her say goodnight to Onewolf. Watched her continue on toward home on her own. Knowing her routine, he waited, watching as she entered the trailer park. She veered left, toward the nicer, well-lit side of the park. This was where the old woman who watched her siblings lived. As soon as Melissa disappeared, he crossed the street, heading for the thick line of trees that divided the trailer park in two, he kept his head down, the dark ball cap he wore tugged low on his head until the trees swallowed him. People knew him. If someone saw him, they’d give him a puzzled smile and try to make conversation. Nosing in. Trying to figure out what he was doing here.

  He walked, heading for the back of the property, the tree-line thickening as he went. When he reached the very end, he turned right and walked a bit further until he saw the dim outline of the rusted-out trailer she lived in. Every light in the place was on except hers. He waited outside her window, hidden in the trees. She would be home soon.

  Unable to wait any longer, he reached into his jacket pocket, his hand eagerly closing over the pair of cotton panties he’d stolen from her room a few days ago. He rubbed them between his thumb and forefinger, the scalloped lace that skirted their hem scraped against his fingers.

  He’d watched her take them off. Could still feel the heat of her trapped in the thin fabric where they’d fit between her legs. She’d slipped them off her gently rounded hips. Pulled them down her long, slim legs. He held them up to his face and breathed deep. Taking in the dark, secret smell of her. She’d be home soon. She’d know he was there. That he was waiting for her in the dark...

  She smiled at him, crooking her finger. Beckoning him. Inviting him inside and he’d go to her. Climb inside her window…

  One hand gripped the wad of cotton while the other fumbled with the fly of his jeans. He yanked them open and freed himself, cool April air caressing his exposed flesh. He wrapped the panties around his cock, closing his hand around them both. Working his fist up and down—his fingers tightening and releasing on every slide, covering himself with her scent.

  She was on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of white cotton panties. Legs spread wide, waiting for him with her eyes closed, fingers skimming over the crotch of her underwear, lips parted in a soft, eager moan. She wanted him. What he was going to do to her. She’d been waiting her whole life for it, just like him. He stood at the edge of the bed, between her open legs, taking off his shirt. His belt. His shoes. His pants.

  And then he drew his knife, working the blade free from its handle with a whispering snick that stilled the hand between her thighs and pulled her eyes open.

  That’s when she saw him. The real him.

  She tried to twist away, but he was already there, on top of her, pressing himself into the space her fingers had made wet for him. He’d kiss her and she’d pull back, her lush auburn hair slung across her face. Her mouth open, her chest heaving against his, filling her lungs with air, readying to scream.

  He lifted the knife and she went still as he pressed it against the curve of her breast. Deep, blue eyes wide and stark with fear, her breath racing from her lungs in short, panicked bursts, each one pushing her breast against his blade.

  He cut her—the edge of his blade whispering across her skin as he pushed himself inside her, the pain and blood of both, sharpening her fear into terror...

  He was so engrossed in the scenario inside his head that he didn’t see her at first but suddenly she was there. He could see the silhouette of her through the filter of thin fabric that covered her window.

  She locked her bedroom door and began to undress, slow hands reaching behind her to untie her apron. Tired fingers fumbling the buttons of her yellow dress open before letting it slip from her shoulders. Next she unhooked her bra…

  The hand between his legs worked faster, his hips swinging forward, matching the uneven rhythm of his breath as it broke from his mouth in a single whispered word, over and over.

  Mine. Mine. Mine...

  Fantasy and reality began to blur and the image of her in his head and the one in front of him merged. Became one in a violent smear of blood and sex. He came, the hand on his cock tightening and jerking around the head of it, catching his semen in the folds of white cotton, while his hips bucked and his teeth clamped down, holding in the sound of his release.

  When it was over he put himself away. The light in her window went dark and he left, the smell of them together—her sex mingled with his—still riding on his skin

  FOUR

  THE TRUCKER FROM TABLE six was sitting in her living room.

  He’d been there when she woke up, bringing the twins into the kitchen to feed them breakfast. She’d noticed him instantly, her gaze jerking away the moment it touched on him to focus on the buckle of her sister’s highchair rather than the fact that his attention snapped at her the moment she walked into the room.

  Like he’d been waiting for her.

  Riley looked up at her, her bright copper curls bouncing as she banged the flat of her chubby hand against her highchair tray.
“Morning, baby,” she said quietly, offering the toddler a tight smile. She didn’t know the difference. As soon as she acknowledged her, Riley grinned.

  With the weight of the trucker’s stare pressed tight against her back, she focused on the task at hand. She made breakfast, divided scrambled eggs onto plates, cutting toast into bite size pieces. She’d used the last of both. She’d have to stop at the store on her way to work. Lucky for her, her boss let her keep groceries in the walk-in during her shift. Rationing milk into sippy cups, she stole a glance out the kitchen window. Her mother’s beat-up, old Camero was gone. It wasn’t even 8AM. Kelly never even opened her eyes before noon, let alone got dressed and—

  “You’re fuckin’ that Indian kid.”

  The voice behind her had gravel in it, rough and pitted from too many cigarettes. Her hands jerked, sloshing milk over the side of the cup while she tightened the lid. She hadn’t even heard him move. Someone that big shouldn’t be allowed to move so quietly.

  He was close; she could smell the warm beer on his breath. Feel it against her neck. He leaned into her, planting a large, heavy hand on the scarred Formica counter, hemming her in. She took a sliding step in the opposite direction, not daring to turn until she was clear of him.

  “What?” he drawled, turning to lean against the counter, beefy arms crossed over his barrel chest. “You don’t know how to talk unless you got a coffee pot in your hand?”

  She’d been friendly to him the night before. Smiled and chatted while she refilled his coffee. Brought him his food. Handed him a container of pie and apologized for closing early. What kind of pie had she given him? Remembering Jed’s outburst, what he’d said, stained her cheeks with shame.

  She set Jason’s cup on his tray and turned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, forcing as much conviction as she could find into her tone to replace the cold spike of fear that shafted through her. He knew about her and Tommy. Suddenly, looking into the flat, mud-brown eyes of the man in front of her, Tommy’s insistence that they keep their relationship a secret didn’t seem so ridiculous.