CHAPTER Twenty Five
Earlier that night, Ike sat at Fuzzy’s in Cobden, drinking and feeling sorry for himself. He had stooped pretty low, first by tracking Camille with the GPS app, and then by trying to badmouth Ross all over town and even in front of Camille’s parents.
Desperate measures, he thought, called for desperate actions.
But his efforts were in vain, and now he just looked stupid.
Ike had first met Camille in their senior year of college at Southern Illinois. He remembered thinking she was so smart and so driven. Aside from her drop-dead looks and gorgeous eyes, Ike loved her tenacity most.
They were inseparable during their final semester, and everyone thought they were on the path to marriage.
Ike had always known that Camille was not the kind of woman he could domesticate and turn into the stay-at-home wife and mom he envisioned for his life.
Everything he loved about her bold, carefree personality seemed fine for a college girl, but Ike had other ideas about what his life would be like with a wife and family.
Therefore, talks of marriage always brought out the horrible truth that they were great friends and good in bed, but not life partners.
Camille was too driven, and no man was going to suppress her big dreams, not even her handsome and loveable college beau, whom she adored with all her heart.
Looking back, Ike admitted that their relationship as a true couple had ended about six months after they graduated. That was six years ago, but neither one found anyone else, so they stayed in their comfort zone far longer than they should have.
Ike knew Camille was right when she’d said they were just fuck buddies, but he always thought she was crazy for him, and he always believed he had her right where he wanted her.
To hear her say such a casual assessment of their relationship hit him the wrong way, as if he could have a fuck buddy, but she was expected to be devoted.
He hated to admit it, but he liked having her at his disposal.
But now he knew that this treatment was the final straw for Camille.
In the final weeks before Camille left for the lake job, she had not called or texted him once, and he was okay with that until he discovered she had taken off without even telling him. For Camille, the relationship was completely over, and she didn’t owe him an explanation of her plans.
Realizing Camille had gotten out of his reach nearly sent Ike into a frenzy.
All of a sudden, he loved her, he had to have her, and he became obsessed with getting her back.
When things didn’t go as planned on his first several attempts, he began to panic.
Camille had moved on, and this thought drove him mad.
It had been a couple of months since he had driven to the lake on a whim and been sent home empty-handed, and Ike’s broken heart had not healed. Especially when he was drinking, Ike loved Camille beyond measure and felt he just had to talk to her and win her back.
It was 10 p.m., and Ike shouldn’t have, but he paid his tab and hopped in his truck and headed for the lake.
He was in the right frame of mind to go fight for the woman he loved.
He just had to make her see that they belonged together.
Ike knew if he could get her alone, away from him, he could be very persuasive.
He had seven years of experience with Camille Hargrove, and Ike was certain he knew her better than Ross. He just needed to talk to her.
When he arrived at the lake about 2 a.m., the plan he’d hatched at Fuzzy’s didn’t sound as solid as it did after about a half a dozen beers.
Nonetheless, he was there, and he was going to give it his best shot.
But he figured his plea for her heart would be better received at a reasonable hour.
Once he made it all the way down the lake road to the cabin, Ike noticed Camille’s Bronco wasn’t there, but Ross’s truck was.
All this way, and she’s not even here.
Ike was disappointed, but he was also tired, dog tired, and he decided to sleep in his truck for a few hours.
Maybe by then, Camille would be back, and he could catch her and talk to her before she went inside.
It was only a minute or two, and Ike was sound asleep, huddled up in his truck despite the cold.
Ike’s hibernation was interrupted at about 4 a.m. when a white Malibu crept slowly down the gravel road, turning its lights off before making the final curve into the clearing.
Shane Simpson knew he was playing with fire by attempting to do away with the pesky lovers so soon after his incidents with Nolan and Sam.
But he was fixated on eliminating everyone who had exposed him.
He knew Camille would not stop until she discovered every single secret he had hidden for so long.
There was no question: Both she and her lover had to die—the sooner the better.
After taking care of these two, I can skip town for good and lay low. Janelle, my dear, you get a free pass for now. I guess that’s one of the perks of being such a good fuck.
When Shane saw the Bronco missing but a strange truck parked on the driveway, his enthusiasm drained.
Fuck! What’s going on?
He brought his car to a stop somewhat behind the cabin, trying to make it less noticeable when Camille returned.
Walking toward the house, Shane noticed it was completely dark, which could mean Ross was in there sleeping. Or it could mean they were both gone in her car. Shane was about to try the door when he noticed a person sleeping in the unidentified truck, but it wasn’t Ross Paine.
Shane now changed his trajectory and began walking toward the sleeping man.
Dammit! Why can’t things just go as planned?
And with that thought, Shane violently opened Ike’s truck door, nearly scaring Ike to death. Waking from a dead sleep so violently had him more disoriented than afraid at first. But once his sleepy eyes focused on the enraged and massive Shane Simpson, panic overcame him.
“What, man? What’s going on?”
Although innocent, Shane saw Ike as the “spoiler” of his plans, and Shane’s rage grew quickly and became intense.
He grabbed Ike by his jacket collar and dragged him out of the truck and to the cabin without a word.
Ike’s futile attempts to break free from this massive man’s grip left him solely at Shane’s mercy.
With only one available hand, Shane had no patience for picking the lock, so he broke the door window, reached in, and quickly unlocked it.
Inside, Shane pulled out his hunting knife and put it up to Ike’s face, still gripping his jacket with the other fist.
“You,” Shane said just inches from Ike’s face. “You are one big pain in my ass.”
As Shane finished his comment, he took the razor-sharp tip of the knife and slowly made a large cut in Ike’s arm, eliciting a muffled scream of excruciating pain.
Shane forced Ike into the bedroom, looking for something to tie him up.
When he finally found an extension cord, he shoved Ike hard, face down, onto the concrete floor, bashing his forehead, temporarily knocking him out.
Shane took advantage of having two usable hands and tied Ike’s wrists tightly.
He then found a sock and went looking for something to secure it in Ike’s mouth.
Moving quickly, Shane found some duct tape in a kitchen drawer.
He then went back into the bedroom, shoved the sock in Ike’s mouth, and taped it securely.
With his adrenaline starting to wane, Shane took a moment for a breather.
“Fuck!” he yelled.
Shane had not anticipated any deviation from his plan, and discovering Ike threw him off completely. He had never killed anyone without planning it, and most of the time, obsessing over it for a significant amount of time. But Shane didn’t even know this guy. He had no plan and no vision.
When Ike started to come to, Shane walked over and kicked him hard in the face, knocking him out again.
“You’re just fucking lucky that’s all you got, asshole!” Shane said, rifling through his pockets for his keys. “I’ll take that sweet truck, though,” he said with a smile.
As soon as Shane found Ike’s truck keys, he was out the front door.
First, he decided to dump the Malibu in the lake and then hightail it out of there in Ike’s new Silverado.
Moving quickly, Shane completed his goals and hoped he could make it out of that lake road and onto the highway before Ross and Camille returned.
Giving off a little victory yell when he pulled onto the main road, Shane was no longer in a funk, sulking because his plans were spoiled. Instead, he was thinking about Ross and Camille coming home and finding a half-dead man bound and gagged on their bedroom floor.
“This might be better than the original plan,” he said to himself. “Keep the lovers scared and paranoid. Then, when I do get them, it will be such joy! Besides, I got a new truck out of it!” he said, nodding and smiling, now proud of his morning’s work.
To relax, Shane cranked the radio and roared off down Highway 54. It wasn’t long until he passed a red Bronco heading in the opposite direction, but Shane didn’t even notice. He was too busy thinking up his new plan for the pesky couple.