Broken (3 page)

A soft smile touched his lips, but his feet carried him toward the kitchen pantry and the cubby hole where he’d found the camera.
Maybe there’s another hidey hole around here, or something else I missed.

As he turned, the sound of large vehicle tires chewing their way down the gravel driveway catapulted his heart into his throat. Lightly, he crept toward the front window, recognizing Sam’s SUV easily before moving back toward the bedrooms and the rear door.

What did he send you, Sam? What was in that package? What do you know?

At the back door, with his latex-covered hand on the doorknob, he listened intently to the key sliding into the deadbolt, then into the knob, barely able to distinguish the sound from the thrumming of his nerves.

The feel of the cabin’s seal being broken stroked him, so he opened the back door and slid outside, carefully timing the closing of the doors. Before he moved off the back porch, he cast another glance at the SUV and was reassured that there was no one waiting for her. Taking the opportunity, he slid to the far side of the shed and into the tree line where he crouched, wondering what she might lead him to if he stuck around.

--

Sam stood in the entryway, struck by the devastation and wondering whether it was the killer who’d caused most of it or the police. Fingerprint powder leaped out at her from almost every surface as she moved haltingly through the front room, her fingers lighting on small objects: a pillow, a book, an uprooted plant.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she moved through to the open kitchen with visions of the dance she and her father had developed over years of bringing meals to the table twirling in her head.

“
Careful there, Sammy, keep the blade tilted just a little bit away- you don’t wanna cut those little fingers, do you?” his rich, warm voice asked.

“
No daddy,” she giggled.

Taking a shaky breath, she moved past the kitchen counter to the pantry. At the right-hand side of the top shelf, she saw the opening in the wood panel and stuck her hand into the darkness, knowing that was all she’d find.

She was right.

But did they find the other two?
she wondered from the threshold of her father’s bedroom, just before flipping the light switch and entering that safe and sacred place.

Tears covered her eyes as she stepped into the room, surprised for some reason to find the bed still made, as if the destruction in the rest of the house didn’t dare breech this sanctuary. The only hint of anything amiss was the ever present charcoal colored dots of fingerprint powder.

Trying to stay focused, she slid the closet door open and knelt into a wall of fragrances. The faintly spicy aroma of his aftershave, the clean soapy smell of his deodorant, and the faint mingling of hot metal and grease that had become part of the very fabric of his work clothes, all combined and were the scent of her father.

One of her first memories smashed into her mind, one from so far back the cabin didn’t even have carpeting yet. Bare plank boards worn smooth through decades of hunter’s boots scraping along the floor was the first vision of her home. She couldn’t have been more than three, and her best friend in the world was her bunny, Ears.

He was a stuffed rabbit with ears long enough to wrap twice around his body. He went with her everywhere (she’d always had him), and no matter how dirty he got, somehow he always managed to be clean sometime soon after.

She could feel the low ‘whump’ of her father’s huge tired body falling into his rocking chair at the end of the work day. That was when she knew he was ready.

She would toddle her way to him, step onto his foot and climb into his lap, breathing in the scent of a hard day’s work. Her thumb would perch in her mouth; the bunny, held by the ears, was nestled tight between her and daddy, and his big warm hand stroked her hair and back while his lips rested tiredly against her head. When his soft contented sigh finally vibrated through her, she knew it was okay to let sleep come and claim her.

Leaning into the closet, she removed a floorboard and felt around inside that particular hiding place, too. This cubby was the first place Dave kept his gun before realizing just how resourceful his young daughter was and getting the jeepers scared out of him one night when she brought the locked box to him and asked him what it was.

This one was empty, too.

She sniffed, rising to her feet while fishing the keys from her pocket. “S’only one other place he could’ve stowed it,” she muttered, heading out the back door and into the ridiculously bright afternoon.
Doesn’t the sun know I put my dad in the ground today? How can it be shining?

Standing on the tiny porch outside her father’s bedroom, Sam’s eyes fell to the shed and the large rust colored stain on the otherwise nearly pristine quartz rocks. “He was just a big ole...? How could anyone...?” The question lay sideways in her throat jaggedly snaring her breath.

--

From within the tree line, Randy watched Sam step out onto the rear porch, his fingers clamped around the blackjack in his pocket, the tips caressing the smooth leather warmed faintly by his own body heat. The length of the weapon, and its stiffness, shot a wave of sparkly heat through his groin as his lips fell faintly apart.

He thrilled as she moved down the steps toward the shed and him. His body coiled tightly, sweat began to seep to the top layer of his skin and his breath sped up. He watched her eyes move over the trees and wondered how it was that she didn’t see him.

Then, for a brief second, he would have sworn she was looking directly into his eyes, and his heart literally held its beat before racing off with excitement. Between his legs, he felt a stirring, and again his fingers caressed the smooth leather encased weapon. In the privacy of his mind, he let himself remember the taste he craved and the feel of the warm giving hands that had always been so eager to please.

Her cell phone rang, shattering the moment, impaling his brief craving for peace on a flare of temper.

“Hello?” she answered. “Jase,” she seemed to sigh and her voice smiled, “how’re you doin’, sweetie?”

Jase? Oooh, seeing someone now? Gonna fuck over another man just like your no good slut of a mother did, Sammy? Huh? Well, not on my watch! This is the end of the road for your line!
But she was moving up the driveway toward her truck, moving out of earshot. Slowly, he crept a few feet forward through the underbrush, glad for the moisture that kept the evergreen needles from crackling under foot.

“Been better, how goes the case?” she asked, turning back toward the shed with the keys in hand.

Returning to his spot, his hand clamped around the blackjack knowing the pulsing he felt came from his hand, but allowing himself the brief fantasy that it was the instrument.

“Unusual anything, you know what I mean. Scribing on the body, mutilation, genital or otherwise... evisceration, implements shoved...” she sniped impatiently, then opened the shed door.

She pulled a small mag-lite from her pocket, shining its beam into the darkness.

Case? You’re fucking a cop? Yet ANOTHER one, don’t you people ever learn? But that means I have to be careful, if he’s a cop... I can’t let you hurt him. But he won’t understand, he won’t understand why. I have to make sure he’ll understand first then it’ll be okay.

“What did he do?” she asked following the beam into the shed, “So, give me a distraction.”

With her inside the shed, Randy returned to his hunter’s mindset, letting sensation wash over him, letting himself feel the arousal, the whole body excitement that came with the possibility of discovery. If she forced him to move against her while on the phone, he risked everything. She could say his name and then he’d have to go to ground.

Sweat stirred again and his body’s corners tingled as he edged closer, listening to the sound of heavy equipment being moved around inside.

Wood scraped against wood a moment later, followed by a shaky huff, “Son of a bitch. There’s nothing here. The son of a bitch got it.”

He smiled and felt his system start to come down.
Good, then I can still do this the right way.
Fading into the shadows, the last of Sam’s words that he could hear echoed his actions.

“I gotta go.”

The sound of her sobs followed him a few yards into the woods, then faded away, leaving him in peace on his way to the car.

--

Pete Baski flicked his half-mast eyes toward his partner as Jase snapped his phone shut then pocketed it. An instant later, he returned his attention to the jungle’s worth of children tearing out of their brick prison and into the afternoon sunlight, seeking the freedom that was denied them all day.

Pete forced his gigantic frame upright in the driver’s seat, swinging his head around to meet his partner’s eyes. “Man, you don’t have enough focus to take a crap. Would you just go already?”

3

The Custon family house was a fairly large colonial with just enough black wrought iron fencing and voluptuous landscaping to impress upon those driving down Main Street that a special family lived there.

For over eighty years, the majority of the town owed its continued existence to the Custon Tool and Die, Co., the very same business started in the 1920’s by Carl’s father, Jacob, who groomed his first born to take over one day. There’d never been so much as a thought about not picking up the legacy, about not doing as his father trained him to do. Such was also the case between Carl and his first born son, Mike, who was poised and ready to bring the company into the future with his father’s blessings.

It wasn’t that Carl didn’t love all of his boys, but his chief concern was the man who would one day bear the responsibility, not just for holding up the family, but the community as well. As a result, frequently as children, his middle boy, Randy, and his youngest, Eric, were left to fend for themselves. They were always welcome at the shop, but since neither of them was first born, the cold, hard fact was that neither of them was given much consideration, at least not by their father.

Randy’s teen years had been filled with extracurricular activities; the boy was an odd amalgam of athletic prowess and electronic savvy that Carl could flaunt with pride for the trophies and plaques decorating the room he shared with his little brother, Eric. But again, he never considered that there might be more to either of his other boys than met the eye.

Randy glanced across the slate top cooking island at his little brother who sat on a stool in jeans and a plain white t-shirt that pulled and bunched across his perfectly muscled chest and shoulders.

Eric kept his hair trimmed in an updated James Dean’s style and wore a hint of dark stubble over his jaw. His warm, hazel eyes were focused on the riot of colorful blooms edging around the patio, so he didn’t catch his older brother’s appraising glance.

“So, after all these years, you’re still crushing on her?” Randy asked with something tight in his voice.

Eric turned his smirk to the older man, his full, almost pouty lips, stretching mischievously upward as he shrugged. The tip of his tongue flicked out, catching a drop of beer from the bottle, “Maybe a little. She’s a nice girl Ran.”

Forcing himself to look away to gather his thoughts, Randy set the knife down and double-checked the sandwich fixings he’d brought out. “They’re
all
nice in the beginning. You KNOW that. You’ve seen it with your own eyes, why do you keep going back for more?” he asked, and he really did want to know.

Eric set the bottle down. He leaned forward with a faint shimmy to those broad shoulders of his and ducked his head, forcing his brother to meet his gaze, “You
do
know I’ve had my heart broken by more guys than girls, right?”

“Then why bother with either one?” Randy asked, mesmerized by the way those full lips worked around the words the younger man spoke.

Oh, God... please, Eric, just... just...
He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing the sensation away, forcing himself to stay focused on the conversation.

Eric’s mellow chuckle sent shockwaves up his spine as Randy raised the bottle up to his suddenly parched mouth, throwing almost half of the cool fluid down his throat.

“What should I do? Live like monk? Like you? No thanks. I like company, Ran. I like having someone around to get me out of my own head. I mean mister lefty or mister righty fits the bill once in a while, but I NEED to feel someone with me,” Eric explained, watching his big brother’s meticulous creation of his should-be-famous, multi-meat stack-wich.

“So, what’re you gonna do? Go to the Shiner’s and ask her out? Or maybe take her in the bathroom, bend her over and fuck her blue?” Randy asked, doing his best to keep the rolling anger in his belly in check.

“Geez, Dude! FUCK no! You know it’s not like that.” Eric shook his head, frowning at his brother, watching that jaw muscle tick and his full firm mouth turn down as he sliced the sandwiches in half.
You need someone to hold you, someone to touch you and love you big brother. Why can’t you let me give you what you need? No one will ever love you like I can... or kiss you or drink you in like I can. You’re never going to find anyone who has what I need for you to take from me.
“Besides, she’s dating some cop from Dubuque.”