Torn Apart
Praise for the novels of
SHARON SALA
“Sala’s characters are vivid and engaging.”
—
Publishers Weekly
on
Cut Throat
“Sharon Sala is not only a top romance novelist, she is an inspiration for people everywhere who wish to live their dreams.”
—John St. Augustine, host,
Power! Talk Radio
WDBC-AM, Michigan
“Veteran romance author Sala lives up to her reputation with this well-crafted thriller.”
—
Publishers Weekly
on
Remember Me
“[A] well-written, fast-paced ride.”
—
Publishers Weekly
on
Nine Lives
“Perfect entertainment for those looking for a suspense novel with emotional intensity.”
—
Publishers Weekly
on
Out of the Dark
Also by Sharon Sala
THE WARRIOR
BAD PENNY
THE HEALER
CUT THROAT
NINE LIVES
THE CHOSEN
MISSING
WHIPPOORWILL
ON THE EDGE
“Capsized”
DARK WATER
OUT OF THE DARK
SNOWFALL
BUTTERFLY
REMEMBER ME
REUNION
SWEET BABY
BLOWN AWAY
Originally Published as Dinah McCall
THE RETURN
Look for Sharon Sala’s next novel
SWEPT ASIDE
available August 2010
SHARON SALA
Torn Apart
Every day, every minute, in a thousand homes and cities around the world, children are being molested.
They are at the mercy of their predators, who stalk them like prey; they are overwhelmed by what is happening, too frightened and intimidated to fight back.
And every night, thousands of children like the little boy in my story suffer silently under fear of death.
God will take care of the predators.
It is up to us to speak for their victims.
In my small way, by telling this story, I am shouting aloud for the world to pay attention—for people not to look away.
For everyone who ever suffered in silence and for all the children who never made it home—this book is for you.
Contents
One
Bordelaise, Louisiana, May
M
oonlight coming through the thin veil of curtains cast a pale yellow glow on the sweat-slicked bodies of the couple in the four-poster bed.
The woman’s long dark hair spilled across the pillow beneath her head, while the man’s hair, still damp from an earlier shower, glistened in the moonlight.
Her legs were locked around his waist.
His hands were braced on either side of her body.
The intensity of their lovemaking was, as always, made all the sweeter because their time together was so brief. But the briefness of their interlude was not because this was a secretive affair. J.R. and Katie Earle were married, and to each other. It was his job that kept them apart.
A single bead of sweat ran from J.R.’s hair and down the middle of his back, but he didn’t feel it. The only thing on his mind was how good it felt to be making slow, sweet love to Katie.
Their bodies rocked in perfect rhythm—the kind that true partners know—meeting each other thrust for thrust as the heat between them grew. Like dancers caught in the spotlight of moonglow, their bodies moved in graceful passion.
It wasn’t until Katie began to moan and her body began to tremble that J.R. lost his own control. He gave up and gave in, spilling his seed deep inside her in wave after wave of helpless ecstasy.
Katie was still shaking from the rocket ride of her climax when J.R. buried his face against the side of her neck and then covered her face with kisses.
“Ah, God…Katie…so good. So good. You don’t know how I miss you when I’m gone.”
Katie shuddered on a sigh as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I love you so much,” she said softly.
J.R.’s heart skipped. That was a vow that never got old.
“I love you, too, baby,” he said softly, then pulled her to him and closed his eyes.
Like all married couples, their lives weren’t perfect. Katie would have been happier if J.R.’s job didn’t take him away from home, if they could be together every night, like most of the other families in Bordelaise. It wasn’t the best of situations, but his job was too good to give up, and until now, they’d had no other options.
What Katie didn’t know was that this weekend, J.R. had come with a secret. Macklan Brothers Oil had just given him a promotion that would mean he’d be home every night. All they had to do was move to New Orleans and their lives would be perfect.
But there was a kink yet to be ironed out. J.R. knew how attached his wife was to this town and this house, and how fragile she had been emotionally since her parents’ deaths.
Katie’s parents had lived in Bordelaise all their lives until J.R. and Katie got married. That was when they’d deeded their little house to the newlyweds as a wedding present and moved to New Orleans, and that was where they were living when their grandson, Bobby, was born. Just before his second birthday, Hurricane Katrina hit. Communication ground to a halt. Cell phones didn’t work. People who’d been evacuated became separated from their families. Hundreds upon hundreds of people were unaccounted for. And Katie’s parents were among them.
The days of not knowing had turned into weeks of pure misery before their bodies were finally found, floating in what had once been the attic of their home.
If it hadn’t been for J.R. and the knowledge that she had to stay strong for the child who needed her, Katie would have lost her mind.
They’d gotten through the tragedy together, even though there were still times when the knowledge of how her parents had died threatened to overwhelm her. But the familiarity of Bordelaise, and the comfort of living in her childhood home, had been a buffer against the pain.
J.R. knew she hated being apart from him as much as he did her, but he was afraid to tell her about the promotion, and uncertain how she was going to feel about moving to the city of her nightmares.
It was that very fear that had kept him from blurting out his news the moment he’d walked in, and it was still that fear that kept him silent as they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
On the other side of town, the window-unit air conditioner on the south wall of Newton Collins’s trailer house vibrated noisily as it wheezed out intermittent puffs of cool air. The living room where Newt was sitting was dark, as were most of the other homes in Bordelaise. But that was as it should be, considering it was after midnight. The only other sound in the room was the steady slapping sound of flesh against flesh as Newt pumped his erection with rock-solid rhythm.
His lips were slack, his gaze locked on the flickering light of his computer screen, which showed the innocent faces of the pretty little boys cavorting on a trampoline. That the little boys were nude was just icing on the cake.
Outside, a passing car suddenly backfired, jarring Newt’s concentration. Afraid he would lose his erection, he tugged harder, which distracted his vibe even more. Despite his best efforts, his cock finally went limp. He groaned, then cursed. Now he either spent a night with frustrated dreams, or got up and did something about it.
Even though he was reluctant to leave the comfort of his trailer for the muggy heat of a Louisiana night, he could no more control the urge for satisfaction than he could understand why only pretty little boys got him off.
He dragged himself up from his recliner and began to dress. One positive note about being forty-seven years old and attracted only to little boys was that he didn’t need to worry much about his appearance. Women would have been put off by his paunch, narrow-set green eyes and brown, thinning hair. He knew his chin was receding and his nose was too large for his face, but he didn’t care. He had no interest in attracting women. They didn’t attract him. Why bother to fight it?
By the time he was reaching for his shoes, he was already getting amped just thinking about what came next. He palmed his car keys and headed out the door.
There was an all-night quick stop near the middle of town, and from there it was only two blocks to J.R. and Katie Earle’s house. However, he had no interest in the couple who lived there, other than to make sure they didn’t know about his midnight runs. For Newt, it was their seven-year-old little boy, Bobby, who was the draw.
But he had to be careful to just look and not touch. He had done time in the California justice system for child molestation, but after leaving the state a few years earlier, he had managed to slip under the radar by keeping his hands to and on himself. His job as a bus mechanic for the Bordelaise School District was the perfect environment for a man with his particular tastes. He was getting paid for a specific skill with engines, with an added bonus of free looks at an endless array of little boys in the school right next door.
Once outside, he broke into an instant sweat from the heat and humidity, and promised himself that when he got to Pinky’s Get and Go, he’d buy himself a good, cold Pepsi, and maybe a Snickers bar to go with it. Nothing wrong with adding a little caffeine to the titillation he was seeking.
He got into his truck and started the engine, then quickly switched on the air-conditioning as he drove out of Walker’s Trailer Park. Just thinking about Bobby Earle upped his pulse.
When he got to Pinky’s, he parked off to the side of the building, away from the single streetlight, and walked inside. As usual, Pinky Barton was behind the counter.
Pinky owned the store and worked the night shift. His wife, Tina, worked the day shift. They attributed their forty-year marriage to the fact that the only time they crossed paths was coming and going from the store.
“How’s it going?” Pinky asked, as Newt walked inside.
“Good enough. Couldn’t sleep, though,” Newt said, as he took a cold bottle of Pepsi from the cooler. He stopped on the way back to the checkout counter and grabbed a can of Vienna sausages.