Dead Silence A Body Finder Novel

Chapter 12


“GET IN.” VIOLET’S VOICE WAS PRACTICED AND steely as she met Jay’s startled expression.

She wasn’t surprised to see the look of shock on his face; she was probably the last person he’d expected to find sitting behind the wheel of his car, engine running. But she was tired of waiting for him to figure things out and come to her, tired of drowning in her own self-despair, and she’d decided to take matters into her own hands.

Plus, she’d known he kept a magnetic hide-a-key under his front passenger wheel well. It wasn’t exactly like she’d broken into his car, or anything. Not technically at least.

“Violet . . .” he started to say, but she cut him off.

“Get in,” she repeated, testing her foot on the accelerator and revving up the engine, hoping to make an impact on him, letting him know she was serious. “Now,” she insisted.

He didn’t jump at her command, which was sort of what she’d hoped for, and he didn’t open the door and haul her out, burying her in his arms and begging for forgiveness. She’d imagined it that way too—along with about a hundred other scenarios, some good and some not so good. The begging-for-forgiveness one ranked right up there with the ripping-his-shirt-off-and-dragging-her-to-bed one. She smiled wickedly to herself.

She supposed she’d have to settle for his soft sigh of resignation and silent acquiescence, as he rounded the front of the car and climbed mutely into the passenger seat. At least he hadn’t insisted she get out of his car and leave.

She’d been waiting in the dark for almost an hour, sitting in the parking lot of the auto parts store where he worked, knowing he’d be off any minute and find her there—borderline stalking him. She’d nearly changed her mind a dozen times as her heart climbed higher and higher into her throat, anticipation threatening to get the best of her. But each time she’d remind herself of how miserable she’d been the past few days without him, of how badly she wanted to fix this . . . this mess she’d made. And how sorry she was she’d let it get this far in the first place.

No more lies, she told herself. No more secrets.

Yet here he was, sitting right beside her, and suddenly all she wanted to do was bolt. To run away and hide so she didn’t have to face him right now.

“What are you—?”

“Shut up,” she insisted, not wanting to stray too far from the plan she’d formulated, otherwise she might just chicken out after all. She slammed the car into reverse, still expecting Jay to stop her at any second . . . especially since he’d never let her drive his car before. But he didn’t. He bit back any questions he had as she pulled out of the parking lot, leaving her car behind in a darkened corner, just out of sight.

Violet pretended to concentrate on the road, and the traffic lights, and the steering wheel and turn signal, and everything else she could pretend was significant as she drove. Anything in order to ignore how uncomfortable the silence inside the car was. She stole glimpses of Jay whenever she was sure he wasn’t looking, as he too seemed to find the signs and streetlights and storefronts fascinating. Entirely too engrossing.

She wanted to reach across to him, to touch him, let her fingers weave through his, but she couldn’t. Not until she could talk to him, explain things.

She gripped the leather wheel, which suddenly felt sticky beneath her hands as she drove, following the path she’d mapped out in her head, wondering at what point he’d realize where she was taking him.

But if realization dawned, he never said so. He just continued to watch as stoplights turned into stop signs, and then were replaced by nothing but trees . . . all around them. Trees and deserted stretches of roads and night skies.

When Violet pulled off the pavement and the sound of gravel replaced the glaring silence, Jay finally spoke. “Why here?” he asked.

But Violet still wasn’t ready to answer him. She stopped the car, putting it in park and turning off the ignition. She pocketed the key, and without looking his way, ordered, “Get out.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the faintest hint of a smile. “I have my own set, you know?”

Her stomach dropped, heavy like it was filled with lead. She hadn’t considered that. Of course she didn’t have the only key . . . she had the spare.

She squared her shoulders and got out anyway, slamming the door behind her, deciding to play this through anyway. He wouldn’t just leave her out here, would he?

Without the headlights, it was darker. The only light came from the bridge about a quarter of a mile away. And it was too high up to be all that effective.

Violet stood there, waiting, straining to hear above the rushing water of the river for the other sound she so desperately wanted to hear—the passenger side door. It took far too long for it to come, but when it eventually did, her heart swelled with relief, like a balloon filling with helium. The sound of his footsteps, coming closer, made her feel like she could soar.

“Violet,” he said, this time sounding more determined than before. “Why are we here?”

His voice wasn’t soft or apologetic, or even filled with the kind of lustful desire that would give Violet the impression he might actually rip his shirt off at any second, but he didn’t sound angry either. She turned to face him, looking at him in the pale light that shone down on him from the bridge. The sound from the water, just steps away, was alternately trickling and gushing, as the river pushed and splashed and parted for both smooth and jagged rocks in its path. At the edge, where it was shallow, the water was cool and almost tranquil. But farther out, it could be treacherous; the perilous currents had been known to pull full-grown men beneath them, trapping them. Drowning them.

Yet it didn’t stop people from fishing, swimming, rafting, and tubing this very same river. The shore where she and Jay stood now stretched into a long sandy beach along the water’s edge, and still had the charred remnants of summer bonfires.

“Beer Bottle Beach . . . don’t you remember? Your mom used to drop us off here? We used to go inner tubing in the summer.” The beach probably had an official name given to it by the county or the parks department, but everyone called it Beer Bottle Beach . . . a name it had had for as long as Violet could remember.

His voice was low and husky. “Of course I remember. What I meant was, why are we here?”

Her feet sunk into the sand as she faced him, tears stinging her eyes. “Jay.” She hated that she sounded like she was pleading now, and she wished that she could be tougher . . . stronger. “I told Chelsea everything.” She wanted to tell him the rest, to explain what she meant by that, but already her voice was wobbling, on the verge of breaking. She took a breath, trying to collect herself.

A soft breeze spilled over her skin, and above them headlights shone down on them as a car crossed the bridge. Just for a moment, she could see him clearer, and she knew that he could see her too as the tears she’d fought against spilled onto her cheeks.

He looked stupefied. “What . . . what do you mean, you told Chelsea?” His voice no longer sounded husky or quiet. “What are you talking about, Violet? You didn’t tell her what you could do? Not about . . .” He frowned, as if just saying it, even here, while they were all alone, was too much to share. “Not about the bodies?”

But already she was nodding, and even in the faded lights, she knew he understood. He raked his hand through his hair. “Are you crazy? That’s not what I wanted. That was never what I wanted. I want you to be honest with me. With me, Vi. Not to put yourself in danger by telling other people.”

He took a single step away from her, and then seemed to think better of it and came back, positioning himself directly in front of her. If he’d had any notions about being aloof and cool, they were gone now, vanished with the admission of what she’d done.

“Dammit,” he cursed.

“Jay . . .” She closed the distance as she reached for him. When her fingertips brushed the coarse hairs on his arm, heat flushed her face, rushing all the way to her belly. Suddenly she wanted to rip his shirt off, regardless of how inappropriate the timing seemed. “It’s just Chelsea. I trust her.” She let her fingers move down, feeling their way along the sinewy muscles of his forearm, letting her thumb trace a circle around his wrist bone, moving until her hand was beneath his, their palms touching. “We can trust her.”

He moved then too, his fingers snapping closed around her hand in a sudden, swift movement that startled her, making her breath catch. Her pulse hammered against the base of her throat. “It’s not that you told Chelsea that bothers me,” he said warningly. “It’s that the more people who know—no matter who they are, no matter how trustworthy they are—the more likely it is to get out. Don’t you get it?” His grip lessened as he tugged her, so softly she didn’t even realize at first that she was being tugged. She was standing so close to him that she could practically feel his heartbeat across the distance. His eyes, normally playful and gentle and ready to smile, were on hers, brimming now with something intense and urgent as he willed her to understand.

Violet held her breath as she frowned. “I didn’t want to lie anymore,” she tried again.

But Jay was shaking his head. “No, Vi. You’re wrong. You’ve got this all wrong.” And suddenly they were no longer standing apart; they were no longer separated by the breadth of their heartbeats. Jay was squeezing her against him, crushing her. Not hugging or stroking her, but crushing her. She felt his fingers clawing at the back of her shirt, balling the thin fabric in his fists as he clutched her to him, and she could feel the days and weeks and months of frustration and fear and whatever else he’d been holding back come pouring out of him as he groaned achingly into her curls . . .

. . . And he crushed her.

She might have complained—needing to breathe and all—but instead she remained still, and silent, waiting for him to regain himself as he rocked and squeezed her. She concentrated on the fact that he was touching her at long last, and that through the small gasps she was able to take, his T-shirt smelled of car grease and Irish Spring soap, exactly like it should smell. Like him. And that she’d missed that smell more than she’d ever thought possible.

After a few agonizing minutes, he exhaled, dropping his chin against the top of her head. “I want you to lie. You need to lie, Violet. Just not to me.”

She wanted to nod and tell him she would, that she would lie her ass off . . . whatever he wanted her to do as long as he’d keep holding her like this. And maybe if he’d take his shirt off too. But she knew that wasn’t an option. “I can’t. No more lies. No more secrets, Jay. Besides, Chelsea already knows. There’s no going back now.”

He shook his head, but didn’t let go. “Fine,” he said, and she swore his grip tightened again when he said it. “But that’s it. Swear to me that Chelsea’s the last one, you won’t tell anyone else.”

“I can’t do that either. I might have to tell someone else,” she said, but she was grinning now because it was hard to take him seriously when he’d let go of her shirt and his hand was moving low across the base of her spine. He was making it hard to think about anything but the path his hand was taking. She wiggled against him, and he groaned again, but this time for an entirely different reason than he had before.

She stopped then, realizing that she still had things she needed to tell him, and if she didn’t tell him now, she’d feel like she was still keeping secrets from him. “Wait,” she said, taking the barest step back and reaching for his hand, forcing him to pay attention. “I need you to know something. My imprint . . . it’s gone.”

It was his turn to go motionless, his hand falling away from hers. “Gone? How is that . . . ? How?”

Without waiting, Violet told him, before she could change her mind. “It was Rafe. Rafe got rid of it for me.” She explained to him about her grandmother’s journals, about the way the echoes and imprints vanished when the heart was separated from the body. She described what Rafe had done to Caine’s body for her.

She told him, too, about Dr. Lee, his involvement in the Circle of Seven, the sleeping pills he’d been giving her. Everything.

And Jay listened. Wordlessly.

When she was finished, she reached up and absently smoothed a stray hair away from his forehead. He stopped her, catching her hand and her awareness. “Why do you think he did it?” he asked, and Violet strained to see him better in the dull light.

“Dr. Lee?” she asked back, being intentionally obtuse. She knew exactly who he meant.

“Rafe.” He said the name with obvious distaste. “Why do you think he would risk so much for you? He’d get in a lot of trouble if he got caught.”

Violet shrugged, still warring with that part of herself that wanted to avoid the truth. But she couldn’t be that girl anymore, not with Jay. Shaking her head, as if her internal struggle had reached the surface, she said, “For a lot of reasons, I guess. Because he’s my teammate. Because he’s my friend.” She shrugged again as she glanced away from him. “But mostly because he likes me. I think he’s always liked me.” Her voice had gone soft, and was muffled by the river behind them.

Shame filled her like the icy waters beyond.

She remembered once, when she and Jay had come to the river on a clear May day—far too early in the year for the sun to have warmed the waters that were just beginning to melt off the glaciers, trickling down from the mountains. But they’d decided it was warm enough to go swimming, and they’d searched the shoreline for a good spot, finally finding a place where the water pooled away from the rocks, where it was still and deep and calm.

They’d stripped down to their underwear under the late spring sun, and had climbed up into a tree that hung over the spot. Without so much as testing the water with their toes, they’d clutched each other’s hands, and on the count of three, they had jumped.

If their parents had known what they’d done that day, they’d have been grounded for life.

But Violet could still remember how the too-cold water had felt when they’d plunged into it. The way a million frost-tipped needles had skewered her skin all at once, making her want to gasp even as water filled her nose and mouth. The way her lungs had compressed in on themselves, feeling as if they would shut down and might never breathe air again. The way every muscle in her body had felt paralyzed and her legs had refused to kick even when she’d started sinking toward the bottom.

She felt that way now. That’s how the shame of not telling Jay about Rafe’s feelings sooner felt . . . like needles and squeezed lungs and useless muscles.

And just like that day in the bitter waters of the river, it was Jay who saved her, who dragged her to the surface as he held on to her.

His hand on hers was safe and solid . . . and lifesaving. “And what about you, Vi?” he questioned, pulling her gaze back to his just like that. “Who do you like?”

She would have come up coughing and sputtering, the same way she had when he’d pulled her out of the river, but this answer was easy and came to her lips without a second thought. “You, Jay. It’s always been you. It always will be you.”

He reached for her then, and she was off her feet in an instant, giggling breathlessly as they landed in the sand beneath them. “I knew you’d say that,” he told her as he buried his face in the hair that curled wildly around the side of her face.

The sand was still warm from the late summer day, and it molded around them, cradling them. “Then why’d you ask?” she insisted, already breathless and surrendering to his touch.

She could feel him grinning as his lips brushed over hers. “Because I wanted to hear you say it.” And then he kissed her, his tongue slipping past her lips, and the sounds of the river faded, along with the light of the bridge and the worry of secrets kept and those revealed.

“Wait,” she gasped, whispering as she reached up and pushed him away from her. She tried to sound serious as her heart hammered painfully inside her chest, but it was so terribly hard with him watching her like that, his eyes wide and expectant.

“What is it?” he asked, his breath hot against her own.

She grinned back at him, feeling devious and wanton. “I’m gonna need you to take off your shirt now.”