The Eyes Die Last (27 page)

“How about you, Detective?  Did your daddy bring you here and teach you how to fish?” 

“My Da was killed in the line of duty not long before I turned four.  That’s all I’m going to share with you.  My life story is not open for discussion.” 

“There you go again.  Not open for discussion.  Your favorite words, no doubt.”  His irritation faded.  “I’m sorry for your loss.  It must have been hard growing up without him.  My Pop may have been worthless, but at least he was still around.  Your mother must have been some comfort for you.” 

“Afraid not.  She died four weeks after Da.  Everyone said she just didn’t have the will to live without him.”  She cleared the lump that suddenly formed in her throat and lowered her voice. 

Kennedy felt a familiar chill as she remembered finding her mother... 

Her mother’s room was spotless.  An eerie quiet had settled in.  Kennedy heard the steady tick-tock of the wind-up alarm clock on the night table.  The bedroom was cold, cold enough to make Kennedy shiver.  She knew the air conditioner was running full blast because it was churning out its usual symphony of annoying sounds.  Strangely, the window was also open, curtains fluttering gently in the breeze. 

She saw her mother lying on the bed clutching a framed wedding picture of her and Patrick in one hand and an empty pill bottle in the other.  The pills had been her mother’s best friends since Da’s death. 

“I’m at a loss for words, Detective.” 

Her head jerked her back into the present.  “It wasn’t so bad.  My grandparents raised me.  Grandpa’s the one who brought me here for fishing and star gazing.  I still come here whenever I can squeeze it in.”  She couldn’t keep the sorrow from staining her words, couldn’t keep the tears from pooling in her eyes. 

Nick said, “I seem to be asking all the wrong questions tonight.” 

“Don’t sweat it, Slick.  It all happened a long time ago.  Life moves on.” 

Kennedy, suddenly weary, stood up to leave.  “I’m going to turn in now.”  She twisted from side to side and extended her arms over her head.  “All this fresh air makes me sleepy.  Goodnight, Campenelli.  Maybe we’ll see some shooting stars tonight.” 

Nick stood up, looking like he was ready to walk her over to her camp.   A real gentleman.  Or a real slick killer. 

“Just park your ass right back down.  I’m a big girl and can walk to my campsite alone.  Hell, I’ve got a gun.  A big ass gun.  I can take care of myself.” 

“Wouldn’t you like someone to take care of you once in a while?”  His voice softened.  “On occasion, some people find it nice.” 

“Not me.” 

Nick blinked twice, reached into his cooler for another cold beer, and sat back down.  “Sleep well.  I’ll leave my lantern on in case you need anything.” 

“I won’t.”  After making sure she didn’t have an audience, Kennedy slipped into the cover of the small tree line for a bathroom break.  Minutes later she was tucked into her sleeping bag.  She fluffed up her pillow and shoved her big ass gun under it. 

“What an ass.”  She grunted.  “A damn fine looking ass.”  Kennedy fell asleep listening to the lazy, gurgling flow of the river’s current and a symphony of tree frogs singing, still thinking about Nick’s fine ass. 

NICK cleaned up the dinner mess and took a walk along the river bank before getting into his sleeping bag.  The woman haunted his thoughts, infuriating him at the same time.  “She’s too damned independent.”  He punched at his pillow. 

Something sure had soured her on life. 

He wanted to get to know her better, wanted to check out that mystery tattoo.  She was smart, beautiful and her pretty eyes swam with passion.  When she’d let her guard down earlier, he’d seen another side of her.  He smiled, remembering. 

She had a great sense of humor, and compassion had filled her eyes when he talked about his childhood.  The detective was a complicated woman. 

His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was to wonder if she’d be a wild woman in bed. 

Kennedy’s
dream came in the early hours of the morning.  She was making love to a faceless man.  He stood behind her.  She could feel his body, his large hands running up and down hers, his touch hot.  His hands and lips made her burn with desire.  Turning her head, she strained to see his face, needed to see who was making her body feel this way. 

“Please, let me see you.  I have to know who you are.  Please.  Right now.  I need to see your face.  Please.” 

Instead of turning her so she could see him, the man put his hands around her throat and began to squeeze.  His hands tightened, squeezing harder and harder.  She struggled, but couldn’t break free of him.  She finally broke his hold long enough to scream.  “Stop!  No!  Please stop!” 

Nick
was asleep, dreaming of Kennedy.  Dreaming she was in his bed.  She was all fire and passion.  Her body was every bit as beautiful and soft as he knew it would be.  Her eyes filled with desire as he made love to her slowly.  He stepped up the pace and she responded, the heat intensifying.  Their lovemaking became a scorching race to the finish line.  She began to scream in ecstasy.  She was screaming and screaming.  .  .  Nick shot straight up in his sleeping bag, instantly awake.  It wasn’t a dream.  She was real and the screams coming from her campsite were real. 

“Hang on, Irish.  Hang on.”  “No!  Please, no!  Stop!” 

Not bothering to put on his shoes, Nick grabbed the lantern and ran as fast as he could.  How long could it possibly take to run a few hundred lousy feet? 

She was kneeling on her sleeping bag, her hands wrapped tightly around her neck.  She was struggling with...  He wasn’t sure what she was struggling with. 

Nick groaned.  “What the hell?  Wake up Kennedy.  You’re having a bad dream.” 

Kennedy ignored him and began clawing and scratching at her throat.  Blood slowly seeped through the wide scratches her nails left.  Nick had seen enough.  Trying not to frighten her, he pried her strong hands from her neck and the long, angry red gashes where she’d dug at it.  She continued to fight him, gasping for air.  He pulled harder at her hands. 

“Damn it, stop fighting me, you’re hurting yourself.”  He demanded, keeping his hold firm.  “I’ve got you, Irish.  Shhh, now.  You’re having a bad dream.  That’s all it is, a bad dream.  Come on now.  Wake up.” 

Kennedy stiffened, half-rising a moment before she collapsed back into her sleeping bag.  In the dull light of the lantern, her face was pale and drawn.  In spite of the heat, her skin was clammy.  He pulled his t-shirt over his head and used it to wipe the blood off her neck.. 

She began to stir.  Her breathing was labored as she moaned and tossed her head back and forth.  Nick poured some of her bottled water over a clean corner of the shirt and wiped at her forehead. 

He soothed her.  “Are you awake now?  It’s Nick.  I’m right here with you.  Come on, Irish, wake up.” 

She opened her eyes slowly, rubbed at her eyes and studied Nick’s face. 

“Campenelli?  What are you doing here?  It’s morning?  No, not yet.”  She shook her head like she was trying to clear it.  “Still dark...  it’s nighttime.” 

“That’s right, Irish, it’s still night.  You’ve had a bad dream, but you’re fine now.”  He pulled the cover of the sleeping bag over her.  “You’re chilled.  Let’s wrap you up until you stop shivering.” 

Kennedy seemed to be studying his every move.  Her voice sounded shaky when she spoke.  “I don’t understand what you’re doing here.  Why am I so cold?” 

“I just told you.  Remember?  You had a bad dream.  Judging by the way you were screaming, I’m guessing it was a whopper.  I heard you all the way over at my campsite.  You scared the holy hell out of me.” 

He touched her cheek softly and removed the damp pillowcase from her forehead.  Adding more water to it, he used it to wipe more of the blood off her neck. 

“What’re you doing?”  She pushed the wet material away. 

“You scratched your throat.  I’m trying to clean the scrapes and wipe off the blood.  You did quite a number on yourself.”  With a gentle touch, he pushed the cloth back onto her neck and gently wiped at the damaged skin. 

“I remember now.  I couldn’t breathe.  He was strangling me.  I tried to pry his hands away, but he wouldn’t let go.  Wouldn’t let me see his face.  Then I was dying.  I was about to be one of the prostitute killer’s victims.” 

He pushed back the wisps of hair stuck to the side of her face.  “It was just a dream.”  A really bad dream. 

“A dream?  Ha.  A nightmare is more like it.” 

“Do you have nightmares often?  With the kind of job you have, I’d
understand
why.” 

She pushed him away and sat up.  “I rarely have nightmares.  When a case has me stumped I might dream about it.  I don’t usually star in them as the victim, though.” 

She wrapped her arms around herself and he thought he saw another shiver race over her body.  “I guess I owe you a thank you, Campenelli.” 

“Yes?”  He waited for the words, wanted to hear her say them, imagining how hard it must be for a woman like her to show a weakness of any sort. 

“Ah...  thank you.”  Her voice was almost too low for him to hear. 

Nick smiled, satisfied.  “No problem.  I’m glad I could help out.  Is there anything I can get for you?  Maybe a bottle of water?  Or I have a couple more Shiner Bocks in my cooler if you’d like one.” 

“No thank you.  I’m fine now.  I think I just need a little more sleep.”  Kennedy seemed to struggle with her words.  “I wonder if...  I, ummm...  never mind.” 

He was curious.  “What is it, Irish?” 

She shook her head slowly.  “Do you think it’ll be light soon?  I have no clue what time it is.” 

“It’s almost three.” 

“Thanks.”  She slid down deeper into her sleeping bag, reached under her pillow and wrapped her hand around her Sig.  “Good night.  And thanks again.” 

Nick was already standing when he figured out what Kennedy had wanted to ask.  She wanted him to stay.  She was shaken, but there was no way in hell she would ever admit it. 

“You know, Irish, I think I’d feel better if I just hang around a bit longer.  I’ll just sit here for a while and make sure you fall back to sleep.” 

“You don’t need to do that on my account.  I’m fine.  But if it makes you feel better, I won’t send you packing just yet.”  She sighed deeply and rolled over, facing away from him.  “Night, Campenelli.” 

“Good night, Detective.”  Nick smiled and sat back against her cooler. 

Nick
began to stir from a deep sleep, something heavy and soft weighing down his left side.  His skin was sweaty and warm beneath the weight.  The warmth spread over his groin.  Navigating his way through his mind’s early morning haze, he realized that sometime during the night he’d stretched out on the ground next to Kennedy and she was now snuggled against him, her right arm and leg thrown over his body. 

“Oh Christ,” he moaned.  A morning stiffy was bad enough, but how would he explain his body entwined with hers? 

Having her snuggled up against him was making it impossible to get his body to listen to his mental “DOWN BOY” signal.  She felt good.  She felt soft.  She felt like she belonged right where she was. 

Nick liked the feel of her body tangled with his.  He liked this side of her, the womanly side, the soft side.  She was asleep, leaning on him.  Holding him tightly.  Trusting him.  Yeah, this is nice.  I could get used to this.  He smoothed her hair back from her face to watch her sleep.  God, this woman is beautiful. 

Kennedy
felt all warm and tingly.  Mmmm, this is nice.  Someone was holding her, his arms wrapped around her while she slept.  The feeling was new.  The few between-the-sheets-encounters she’d experienced had never included a sleepover.  Kennedy appreciated the hard, firm body as she molded herself snuggly to him.  Smiling, she burrowed deeper against him and wrapped her arms tighter around the warmth. 

“Irish, are you awake?”  The voice was deep, throaty with sleepiness.  Or was that desire? 

“Yeah, I’m awake.”  She stretched and reached up to run her fingers over his face.  “I’m thinking about going back to sleep.” 

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”  She welcomed the feel of him, whoever he was, as he gathered her even closer. 

Kennedy jerked her head away and stared into those gorgeous brown eyes of his.  She blinked her own eyes several times before rubbing them with her palms.  She realized where she was—and who she was snuggling with.  His body held hers hostage. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Campenelli?” 

“Apparently being well handled by you, Detective.  Very well handled by you.”  He grinned, looking deep into her eyes.  “What?  No angry reply?” 

Angry reply, my ass.  “I’m not sure how I ended up here next to you, but if you try and pull any funny stuff, I’ll knock you on your ass.” 

“Let me correct you, I’m already on my ass and you’re not just next to me, you’re practically on top of me.  I have to admit, I like it.  I think your body likes mine even if you don’t.  What do you think?” 

Damn him, he sounds so smug. 

“I think you’re full of shit, Campenelli.” 

“I  think I’m going to kiss you.”