Chapter 5
Bess
I try to take a deep breath in, but my lungs don’t seem to want to expand.
Peeking at Hugo’s rather formidable profile as he focuses on the road, I notice the tension in his jaw. I worry he didn’t buy into my spiel.
I reminded him Ken was my half-brother—which he recalled—and explained we’d only recently reconnected, but things were still a little tense and awkward. It was kind of weak, but not exactly a lie, even though that brief conversation was a lot more than just awkward.
It was downright scary.
Underneath all the anger and the vitriol my stepbrother was spewing at me, I could hear the fear in his voice. Part of me had hoped it was just a feeble attempt by him to get money out of me after his release, but I’m starting to believe some, if not all, of what he said was true.
And if that is the case, I could be in real trouble.
Oh, how I wish I could confide in Hugo, but I can’t. Especially after he opened up to me tonight, it wouldn’t be fair. Last thing I want is to put him in a difficult position, he’s had enough to deal with in his life, he doesn’t need me to complicate things once again.
That’s why, whatever tonight promised to be the start of simply cannot happen.
It’s too messy. I’m too messy, and he has no idea.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, pulling into the parking slot beside my Prius.
Plastering a smile on my face, I turn to him.
“Absolutely. Thank you for tonight, that was lovely. Delicious.”
I already have my hand on the door handle, ready to bolt as soon as the wheels stop rolling.
“Yeah, I had a good time.” He gives my knee a quick squeeze before adding, “Sit tight, let me get your door.”
Before I have a chance to stop him, he’s out the door and rounding the front of his truck. He stops right outside my door and pulls his phone from his pocket, putting it to his ear. He appears to listen and nods as he pulls open my door.
“…and I’ll be right there.” He tucks away his phone and holds out his hand, explaining, “That was work.”
Hugo is revealing himself to be quite the gentleman. Unexpected and, unfortunately, it does nothing to dull his appeal.
No, quite the opposite, I’m afraid.
When he starts walking me up the stairs to my door, I turn and stop him.
“Really, don’t let me keep you if you have to go; I can find my own way up.”
With Hugo standing two steps lower, I find myself at almost nose to nose with him, his blue eyes even prettier this close up. The darker ring only emphasizing the clear, ice-blue irises, but they are far from cold, instead radiating a heat I can feel down to my toes.
“Work will have to wait. I picked you up at your door, I’ll drop you off at your door,” he states in a low voice that has goosebumps break out on my skin.
I’m in so much trouble.
Resuming my trek up the stairs, I start digging my keys from my purse, but they’re quickly taken from my hand when we reach the top. Hugo steps up beside me and unlocks my door, opening it an inch before handing me back my keys.
“Well, thanks again,” I mutter, stepping inside and turning back to face him, my hand on the door, ready to close it.
But Hugo has different ideas, his hand shooting out to cup the back of my head as he leans in.
“If I had time, I’d dig for the reason you’ve been withdrawing from me since we left the restaurant. As it is, it’ll have to wait for a later time, but I’m not going to walk away without giving you something to think about.”
No sooner have the words left his mouth, when his lips hit mine.
His kiss is like that first sip of cold water when a hot day has you so parched you’re lightheaded.
For all my determination not to allow things to progress this far, I’m ashamed to admit, my free hand finds purchase on his chest, fingers curling into the front of his sweater. It’s instant capitulation, and my knees feel weak.
He’s thorough, his tongue testing as he slightly shifts and changes the angle to reach every inch of my mouth, and I’m a slave to his explorations.
“Fuck,” he curses when he tears himself from the kiss, his head resting against mine.
I don’t have the breath to say anything. Not even when he presses his lips to my forehead, and whispers, “I’ll call you later.”
I’m in so, so much trouble.
Hugo
Holy shit.
That was…unexpected.
I’d anticipated chemistry and I was prepared for it to be enjoyable, but that kiss was explosive. From zero to a hundred in a heartbeat, creating an instant addiction.
Then why does it feel I just opened Pandora’s box?
I didn’t believe Bess for even a second when she gave me that story about the reconnection with her long-lost brother, Ken.
Don’t get me wrong, I believe she was talking to him, but she looked way too spooked for it to have been simply an awkward conversation.
Something is going on she is not ready, or willing, to share.
I’m not going to push her, but I’m also not going to wait around for her to be ready to share. I don’t like her scared if I can help it, so I sure as hell am going to do a little digging on my own.
As I approach the location Warren indicated in his call, I see several first responder vehicles already parked in front.
I pull in behind a cruiser and turn off the engine, reaching over to retrieve my badge and sidearm from my locked glove compartment.
Then I grab my sheriff’s department windbreaker to put on over my sweater, and get out to join the small group about fifty feet down the sidewalk.
Deputy Warren Burns, Deputy Lloyd McCormick, and one of the new recruits, Deputy Heather Solingate.
“Sorry,” Warren says when he sees me approach. “I know it’s your day off, but Sheriff Colter had a medical emergency, so she wasn’t available.”
Immediately concerned, I look for clarification.
“Why? What’s going on with Savvy?”
Warren shrugs. “All I know is what her husband told me when I called her cell and he answered.”
God, I hope she hasn’t been overdoing it.
Some of us have tried to get her to slow down, now she’s getting a little further along in her pregnancy, but the stubborn woman simply won’t.
I can’t help but worry, even though it’s possible this has nothing to do with her pregnancy—or even Savvy herself—but either way, there’s nothing I can do about it.
Shoving down my concerns, I focus on the reason we’re here.
“So…get me up to speed,” I suggest.
Ever since the morning of the fire at Clem’s garage, we’ve been trying to locate his brother, Chance. A drunk, his movements in town are generally either predictable or obvious. Everybody knows him and frequently sees him around.
Not so this past week. He hasn’t shown up at his usual watering holes, hasn’t been seen around town, and after Clem let us into his brother’s small apartment, it was clear he hadn’t been there in a while either.
Of course we considered the possibility he might have been inside the auto shop when it burned down, but no human remains had been found. Even with the fire burning as hot as it did, you’d expect some evidence to be left behind.
But as it turns out, he’d been right under our noses the whole time.
“Mrs. Dixon put a call in to 911 to report an intruder in her shed. She was in the middle of explaining to dispatch what happened, when a loud crash could be heard, followed by screaming. Then suddenly the line went dead,” Warren shares.
“Solingate and I got here first,” McCormick continues.
“Circled the house and found the back door kicked in. When I approached, I got a glimpse inside the kitchen through the open door, and saw Chance with Mrs. Dixon. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against the cupboards holding her in front of him with a large knife pressed against her neck. ”
“Lloyd says the guy is completely wigged out, and was asking for his brother, so I sent KC to pick up Clem,” Warren finishes up.
I nod. “Good. Is anyone keeping an eye on things?”
“DiVecchio is back there.”
Good call, Sal DiVecchio is a veteran with the sheriff’s office, and as calm and solid as they come. He’s dealt with Chance Tanek on plenty of occasions and knows how to handle him.
“EMTs?”
“Yep, en route,” Warren confirms, and adds, “No sirens,” anticipating what would’ve been my next request.
You don’t want to chance anything—like the sound of sirens—triggering an already tweaked individual.
Burns obviously had that point covered so I move on.
“And has anybody talked to the neighbors yet?”
“Heather and I were about to,” Lloyd responds.
“Good. Do that.” Then I turn to Warren. “Would you mind waiting for KC to get here with Clem and make sure he’s calm before you bring him around back?”
He acknowledges with a nod, and as I start walking around the side of Connie Dixon’s bungalow, I keep my hand on the butt of my sidearm, just in case.
“Sal…” I announce myself calmly as I walk up to the deputy, crouched at the base of the set of steps leading up to the small covered porch.
I take stock of the splintered doorframe and the broken glass in the door opening. In between the shards of glass, I notice what might be drops of blood trailing in to the kitchen.
He may be injured.
“Hey, Chance,” I greet the wide-eyed, pale-faced man, as I crouch down right outside the door, making myself as small as possible.
Last thing I want is to panic or scare him even more than he already is.
Then I seek out Connie Dixon, whose eyes are clear and surprisingly steady as she calmly stares back at me.
“How are you doing, Connie?” I ask, noting blood on the front of her clothing.
It looks like it’s dripping down from a nasty cut on Chance’s forearm which is curved around his hostage, the knife in his hand. I also notice some blood on the floor by his hip, but that may have come from the same injury.
“We’re doing okay, here. Aren’t we, Chance?”
Age-stooped to five-foot nothing, looking very fragile with her spindly legs sticking out from the blood-stained housedress and her white hair in disarray—not to mention the knifepoint trembling against her throat—but Connie Dixon most definitely is not helpless.
The woman is composed, steady, and smartly trying to diffuse the very dangerous situation she finds herself in.
“That’s good,” I use the same gentle tone Connie used. “As long as everyone is good, we’re just going to wait for Clem to get here. You wanted to talk to your brother, right, Chance?”
I’m trying to get a casual dialogue going, find a way to get him to release Mrs. Dixon. Maybe get him to tell me what got us to this point.
“Clem…is he…he’s coming?” he stammers.
“Yup. He’s on his way. Hey…did you know you hurt yourself? You’ve got a cut on your arm.”
Chance pokes his head over Connie Dixon’s shoulder to look at his arm. “It’s fine,” he mutters as his eyes come back to me.
“Okay, if you’re sure. But it seems to be bleeding quite a bit. Maybe we can wrap it in a tea towel until you can get that looked at.”
“I said it’s fine.”
The old woman suddenly tenses up and I can see the paper-thin skin of her neck pucker as he presses the knife tip deeper.
“I already offered,” she courageously intervenes. “Chance would rather wait until Clem gets here, isn’t that right, Chance?”
He acknowledges with a grunt.
“Then we’ll wait,” I confirm.
It doesn’t look too likely he’ll be letting his hostage go voluntarily, and I don’t want to risk agitating him any further, so I take a moment to reassess.
I’ve barely had a chance to consider my options when I hear movement over my shoulder. I hope to fuck it’s Clem. Stretching a hand behind me, I hold off whoever is there.
“Let me just go see if your brother is here yet, is that okay?”
“Yeah.” He nods, stretching his neck, trying to look beyond me.
“I’ll be right back.”
I back away slowly and move out of sight of the kitchen before I turn around. Clem is off to the side with Warren holding on to his arm. I approach them.
“Did he hurt her?” Clem hisses when I get close.
“It doesn’t look like it,” I try to reassure him. “The blood on her clothes is from a cut on his arm I think he got breaking in the back door.”
“Jesus Christ. What the hell is he doing?”
“Hey, I don’t know, but I’m hoping he’ll talk to you. Stay by the door, and I’m gonna need you to keep your cool. He’s pressing that knife tip pretty hard in Mrs. Dixon’s neck.”
Clem hisses and drops his head down, pressing the heels of his hands in his eyes for a moment. Then he straightens up, takes in a deep breath, and nods sharply.
“I’m good.”
Just as I’m about to step aside to let him by, I hear the woman’s wobbly voice behind me.
“Hugo?”
When I turn around, she’s standing in the doorway in her blood-stained dress, backlit by the kitchen lights, looking like she stepped clear out of a horror movie.
“Something is wrong with Chance.”