8. Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER 8
~LEVI~
“ Y ou’re going to be the death of me.”
I’m playing with her hair as she lies on my chest, both of us struggling to catch our breath.
“That’s not funny.” She frowns up at me and then turns away, climbing out of the bed and padding into the en suite. I hurry into the other bathroom on this floor, clean up, and when I return to the bedroom, Starla is pulling on her clothes.
“It’s just an expression,” I remind her, uneasy with the stiff lines of her shoulders and back. “You know that, right?”
“Right.” She sighs and turns to look at me. “But after Rick, jokes about dying just aren’t funny, Levi.”
“Who’s Rick?”
She stares at me for a long moment. “Do you live under a rock?”
“Keeping up with pop culture really isn’t my strong suit.” I tug on my jeans but don’t bother fastening them or pulling on my shirt. “So, who’s Rick?”
“He was my fiancé,” she says as calmly as if she were telling me the temperature outside. “And he died.”
“Start from the beginning.”
“Let’s go downstairs,” she suggests, already walking ahead of me out of the room and down the stairs. “Rick was a race car driver. I met him at an event, and we were inseparable after that day.”
Being jealous of a dead man isn’t something I’m proud of, but here we are.
“He was successful and loved the thrill of racing. It scared the hell out of me. I wouldn’t get in one of those death traps if my life depended on it. And Rick always assured me he was safe. Careful. I believed him.”
She fills a kettle full of water and sets it on the stove to boil. I sit in a stool at the island, watching her move about the kitchen, pulling out cheese, crackers, and fruit.
“He asked me to marry him before my Belladonna tour, and things were good. We were on the same page about life goals.”
“And what were those?” I ask, pulling her out of her reverie.
She blinks at me twice and then answers. “No kids, focus on career, retire early.”
“Okay, and then?” I don’t ask her if those are still her goals. We’ll get to that later.
“I was on tour, and he was with me in Dallas for a show. He had a race the next day, and I told him not to come to the show in Dallas, that he should be in Florida where the race was, getting rest and practice. But Rick had a thing about missing any of my shows. He thought it was bad luck.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she places the snacks on a cutting board.
“He flew out to Florida after the show, but it was a late-night flight, and by the time he got there, got settled at the hotel, and headed to the race track, he hadn’t had much rest to speak of. I was so damn irritated with him.”
The last sentence is a whisper as she pushes the board to the middle of the island. When the whistle blows on the water, she pulls the kettle off the flame and reaches for two mugs and some teabags.
“Tea?” she asks.
“Sure.”
I don’t give a fuck about tea, or cheese and crackers for that matter, but I’m not about to stop her. She’s on a roll.
“So, he called me, and he was kind of whiny about how tired he was. I was frustrated with him because I’d told him to go the day before. In fact, I think my exact words were, get the fuck to Florida. You’ve seen the show.
“I think that hurt his feelings, or he was just stubborn and more determined to stay after that.”
She shrugs a shoulder and pops a piece of Swiss into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
“Either way, I didn’t coddle him during that call. I told him he was tired because he was a stubborn ass, and I didn’t feel sorry for him. I told him to suck it up and deal with it, and good luck.”
She stares at the cracker in her hands, then looks up at me.
“I didn’t say I love you. I didn’t say anything nice during that call, actually.”
I remember the crash now, but I wait patiently and let her finish telling me herself.
“The next thing I know, I’m getting a call from Bobby, Rick’s manager, who was with him, telling me that Rick screwed up in the race and was in a massive accident.” She looks me square in the eyes, and the turmoil churning within her is almost my undoing. “The car exploded, and he didn’t survive. I saw the crash on TV before they cut to commercial. I was praying that he somehow made it out alive, but he didn’t.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“Yeah.” She sets the cracker aside and dunks her teabag in the hot water. “It was pretty horrible. And I had a bad case of survivor’s guilt because I was so mean to him that morning. And for a million other reasons.”
“You didn’t know.”
“No, but I feel guilty all the same. I told him to suck it up and just deal, and it probably cost him his life.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s absolutely true. He could have pulled out of the race altogether and cited medical problems. But I had to challenge him, and he died because of it.”
“He died because he didn’t listen to common sense and get rest when he should have,” I counter. “He was an adult.”
“I suppose.” But she doesn’t sound convinced.
“What else are you feeling guilty about?”
“Everything,” she says without even thinking it over. “It’s why I work so damn hard. If I’m working, sinking all of my energy into the job, I don’t have time to think about Rick and that whole clusterfuck. But it caught up to my health, and my doctor made me take this three-month vacation.”
“How is it affecting your health?”
“I was getting dizzy. I passed out twice on the road. I was convinced I had a brain tumor, but the doctor said it was exhaustion and ordered mandatory rest.”
“Good.”
She raises her brow and takes a sip of her tea. “I hadn’t slept with anyone after Rick until you. That’s why I didn’t text or call you after. Because I felt a massive amount of guilt for not only being with you but also enjoying it so much.”
“Starla, Rick would want you to move on with your life. He would want you to be happy.”
She shakes her head adamantly. No.
“Of course, he would,” I continue. “He loved you.”
“No. He wouldn’t.” She takes a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this. I probably should have made you sign an NDA when we started seeing each other.”
“That’s the second and last time you’ll insult either of us like that.”
Her cheeks darken with shame. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“Tell me.”
“About a month or so before he died, Rick was filling out new insurance paperwork, life insurance and that sort of thing. Doing what he did for a living is dangerous, and he always had an updated will. He was making sure I was the beneficiary on everything since we were just a few months from being married. Anyway, I can’t remember exactly what led to it, but I said something about wearing black for a whole year if he died, out of respect. I said it in a joking way, you know?”
I nod, waiting for her to tell me more.
“And he said, ‘ No, you’ll get in that coffin with me, babe. If I die, you die. There’s no happily ever after without me.’ ”
I’ve never wanted to punch the hell out of a dead man so badly in my life.
“I laughed at him, sure that he was continuing the joke, but he was dead serious. He was like, ‘ no, you’re mine, and if one of us dies, the other does, too.’ I blew him off, and we never talked about it again.”
“Starla, that’s not a normal thing for someone to say to a person they supposedly love.”
“Well, I didn’t grow up in a typical loving family, and I’m not using that as an excuse, but I just blew him off because he was only thirty-two. I never expected him to actually die .”
“Of course, you didn’t.”
“I was so fucked up after it happened.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head mournfully. “And I will admit—to you—that I thought about killing myself.”
My hands fist on the countertop, the movement catching her eye.
“Are you okay?”
“No. Keep going.”
She pauses. “I had it all planned out. I had a bottle full of a mish-mash of pills that I’d been prescribed for anxiety and insomnia. A bunch of stuff. And I was just going to take them all at once and go to sleep.”
My gut churns. My eyes burn. The thought of Starla hurting herself, of never knowing her is a searing slash to my very soul.
“What stopped you?”
“Meredith called me that afternoon and said she was on her way to spend a few days with me. That Mark had things handled at home, and she wanted to be with me. It gave me something to be happy about. Something to look forward to. And I knew that if I followed through with my plan, she and Jax would be devastated, and I didn’t want to put them through that.
“So, I took the bottle into the bathroom and flushed all of the pills. Since then, I still don’t sleep well, but I refuse to take meds for it. I never fill the prescriptions. It’s not because I want to hurt myself, but because I don’t want them. I have been doing fine.”
I shift my head to the side as if what she said didn’t make sense at all.
Because it doesn’t.
“Everything you just said does not sound fine. ”
“I know, but I really am. After the first six months or so, I fell into a rhythm. Record, promote, tour. Over and over again. Constant work. Come to Seattle to see Jax and Mer and the kids, then back to it. I worked hard, and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in the past five years. My career has skyrocketed, thanks to that hard work.”
“And you’re dizzy and passing out.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I went to the doctor and took his advice to rest. I hated the idea of it, trust me, but here I am. And it worked out because I reconnected with you, and I get to see Mer and Jax whenever I want. I’m writing songs, and I’m dancing, but I’m not fixated on the work anymore.
“And, yes, I feel guilty that I enjoy you so much. That not just the sex but everything feels amazingly easy with you. Rick would not want that. But, damn it, I’m here, and I’m not going to just exist anymore. I’m going to live my life.”
“Good girl,” I whisper, watching her from the other side of the island. I want to hurry to her and sweep her into my arms, kiss her silly.
“You can run away if you want to. I wouldn’t blame you. I’m a mess.”
I stand, but I don’t run away. I walk around to her and pull her against me, smiling against her hair when she clings to me in relief.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay. Good.” She kisses my bare chest. “You should have put a shirt on because telling you that story when you’re half-naked was really distracting.”
“You did great.”
My phone rings beside the bed in the early morning light, and I answer before the first ring is finished.
“Crawford,” I whisper as I pad to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
“Hey, it’s Matt Montgomery. Sorry to call so early, but I’m at the Lubbock residence. Jeremy and Karen. You were here a couple of days ago?”
“Yeah, he’s being stalked by Francesca Smith.”
“You might want to get over here,” Matt says grimly. “Now.”
“On my way.”
I don’t question him further. I end the call and splash cold water on my face and over my hair. I quickly brush my teeth, push my fingers through my hair, and walk into the bedroom to pull on some clothes.
“What is it?” Starla asks from the bed, her voice heavy with sleep. She actually slept the entire night.
“I need to go follow up on a case I had a few days ago. There’s an emergency, it seems. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’m fine,” she insists and rubs her eyes. “Honestly, I am. Go do your job. I’m safe here.”
I prop my hands on my hips and watch her. The threat yesterday was real, and not something to take lightly.
“I’ll assign a uniform to sit on the street in an unmarked car.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Humor me.” I kiss her lips and hurry out. “I’ll call when I can.”
“Bye!”
It’s before six, so the drive through the city to the other side of town doesn’t take long. The Lubbock house has been taped off, and the street is blocked off with cruisers.
“Crawford,” I say immediately to the uniform at the door.
“Yes, sir. Montgomery is inside.” He passes me a pair of sterile booties to go over my shoes.
I nod and step in, then stop in my tracks.
There is blood everywhere. On the walls, the floor, up the stairs to the second floor.
Red and fresh.
“Jesus,” I mutter, pulling latex gloves out of my pocket and immediately pulling them on, then slip the booties over my shoes. This crime scene is intense and won’t be tainted with any of my prints or DNA.
I’m too fucking smart for that.
“Up here,” Montgomery calls out, and I do my best to avoid most of the blood on the stairs as I climb them. “In the bedroom.”
I stop at the doorway. “What do we have?”
Matt squats beside the body of Francesca. “This is one of two vics.”
“Where’s the other?”
His eyes turn up to mine. “In the bathroom. Before you go in there, know that it’s maybe the most gruesome thing I’ve ever seen in my twenty years on the force.”
I cock a brow. “I take it that’s where all the blood came from? Because she’s not stabbed.” I indicate Francesca’s prone form.
“Affirmative,” Matt says with a nod. “Francesca was shot. Once.”
And from the looks of it, in the head.
I walk into the bathroom and have to close my eyes against the immediate onslaught of nausea. I’ve seen everything on this job.
Or I thought I had, until this.
“Fuck me,” I mutter and feel Montgomery walk up behind me, taking in the scene with me.
“Yeah.”
Karen Lubbock, or what’s left of her, is in the bathtub. She’s cut from her throat to her pubic bone, and all of her internal organs are no longer internal. More blood practically paints the walls and pools on the floor. Her head is scalped. Her eyes are gouged out.
I glance into the sink and have to cover my mouth. “Are those her teeth?”
“Looks like it.”
“Fuck, Matt, she literally dismantled her.”
“We think Karen answered the door to Fran, and Fran immediately stabbed her, pushing her inside. Kept stabbing her, and dragged her up the stairs, through the bedroom, and in here. Karen was long dead when she was disemboweled.”
“She was more than disemboweled,” I reply. “I don’t even know what this is.”
“Jeremy Lubbock was at work, working an extra night shift. Whether Fran knew that or not, we don’t know.”
“She probably did.” I bend over and look in the tub, then immediately regret my decision. “Was she pregnant?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ, Matt.”
“Jeremy came in and found them. He retrieved his handgun and shot Fran. Once. Then called us.”
“Where is he? And the kids?”
“His parents came to get the kids, and he’s at the police station, giving a statement and being evaluated.”
I walk out of the bathroom, unable to look any longer at the holes in Karen’s head where her eyes should be.
Fran is on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Lifeless.
“I arrested her two days ago for stalking and harassment. She bit the hell out of Anderson, sending him to the hospital.”
“I know,” Matt says. “She posted bail yesterday morning.”
“And came here seeking revenge.”
“Looks that way.”
“She was one fucked-up woman. You’re not going to charge him.” It’s not a question, and Matt shakes his head no.
“It was self-defense.”
“Agreed. God. How can I help?”
“I’ll need copies of your reports, and Jeremy asked to speak to you. So, if you don’t mind going to the office and talking with him, I’d appreciate it.”
“Done. What do you say to someone whose pregnant wife was literally gutted in his bathroom?”
Matt just shakes his head. “I’m so fucking pissed off, I would kill her myself if he hadn’t finished the job. And that makes me a shitty cop.”
“It makes you a good cop and a good man. You have a wife.”
“And a baby on the way,” he says. “I can’t imagine it.”
“The medical examiner on the way?”
“He’s outside. I asked him to wait until after you got here. I’d also like you to take a look around, make sure nothing is different from two days ago when you were here. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“I’ll look around on my way out, but aside from the blood, nothing stands out.”
He nods, and I walk out, checking through the rooms I was in before. It doesn’t look like Fran was in there. Nothing is broken or moved. Nothing seems suspicious.
But when I turn to walk outside, one word is written in red on the back of the door.
Mine.