Chapter 10
I scuttled back home and cautiously entered the house, listening for sounds of a would-be killer. Silence. Feeling slightly tense, I went into the kitchen. The cable was gone. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Or maybe neither.
I headed upstairs.
Josh was gone—hopefully at school.
The bed in the guest room was made. I guessed Jon had gone to work. No good-bye. As usual. After checking every room in the house for an unwanted visitor, I showered, dressed, then headed down to the girl-cave. Flipped on the lights. As I headed toward my drawing desk, there was a loud buzz and a zap and then everything went black.
Standing in the middle of the room, I blinked, frozen in place, instantly terrified. Was this a trap? Or merely a short circuit? My heart thumped against my breastbone. My ears strained, listening. Nothing. Just silence.
One second passed. Another. Nobody grabbed me. Nobody clobbered me over the head.
A short circuit. That was all it was.
Slowly, gradually, I started breathing again. My heart rate settled into a more normal pace. Already becoming disorientated in the blackness—I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, literally—I turned around, extended my arms, and took one, two, three baby steps. I hoped I was heading in the right direction! I took a few more, expecting to feel the wall enclosing the side of the staircase any time now ... any time ...
Crack.
Crash.
Instinctively I dove forward, away from the earsplitting noise. Something had fallen. Something huge. Finally, my hands smacked into a wall. I flattened my body against it and caught my breath again.
Dust choked me.
I was feeling closed in, suffocated, trapped. Using the wall to support me, I sidestepped five, ten paces. Hit another wall. I groped. It was the cubbie wall. Damn, I’d gone the wrong way! I was cowering in the far back corner of the room. Which meant the thing that crashed was probably blocking the exit. This was not going to be fun.
I reversed directions, walking carefully until I couldn’t go any farther. Something big and wooden was lying in a heap on the floor, directly in front of the staircase. Fortunately I discovered—after feeling my way around like a blind woman—I could climb over it. When I stepped foot on the staircase, I gave a little shout of victory.
I threw the door open and squinted against the bright light. All it took was one quick glance in the kitchen to see the power hadn’t gone out in the whole house. Just the basement. Lucky me. I looked down the steep staircase. The light spilling from the floor above illuminated part of the rubble at the bottom. Looked like one whole section of the cubbie wall had fallen. I was damned lucky I hadn’t been standing there when it had given way. I might have.... I could have been....
If I’d been standing just a few feet over, I very well would have been the second woman to die in this house.
Another coincidence?
Feeling a little sick, I flopped onto a bar stool and let my head fall. It landed on the cool granite countertop.
I’d almost died.
Was it an accident? Or not?
I sat there, stunned, staring at the back of my eyelids for who knew how long. A knock at the front door brought me out of my stupor.
I opened my front door to discover I was having guests for an early lunch. Samantha, Lindsay, and Erica were standing on my porch, each of them holding a covered dish.
“I brought a salad,” Lindsay said. “That’s one thing that not even I can burn.”
“Pasta from Juliano’s Restaurant,” Erica said.
“And I brought dessert,” said Samantha, following the other two ladies into the house. “I hope you don’t mind our little surprise visit.”
“No, I don’t mind at all.” I shut the door and followed them in the kitchen.
Finally, one of them clued in on my dazed condition. “Christine, are you okay?”
“Um, I’m not sure. Something just happened. Downstairs.” I pointed and all three of them looked toward the basement.
“What happened?” Lindsay asked, plunking the salad bowl on the counter. “You look absolutely petrified.”
“I think I almost died.”
“What?” Lindsay rushed to me, eyes flying over me, probably looking for injuries.
“I went downstairs to work and the light went out. It’s freaking dark down there when there are no lights. And then I was trying to get back upstairs but there was a crash, and, and ...” I swallowed but my mouth and throat were stone-dry. Lindsay rushed to the refrigerator, grabbed a water bottle, and handed it to me. After thanking her, I continued, “The built-in shelf fell, right in front of the stairs. If I’d gone the right way, instead of back—I got a little turned around—it would have landed on me.”
All three women gaped at me. Then two of them looked at Erica.
Quietly, she said, “Adam built those shelves.”
“We didn’t think about him,” Lindsay said.
“Michelle would let him into the house without a second thought,” Samantha said, softly.
We all looked at Erica.
Erica shook her head. “No, it couldn’t be Adam.”
“Were you home with him that day?” Samantha asked.
“No, I wasn’t.” Erica fiddled with her hair.
“Then you can’t know that for sure. Right?” Lindsay asked.
“I know he wasn’t home,” Erica repeated, sounding absolutely certain. We all waited for her to tell us why she was so sure. She sighed. “I came home early that day. His car was gone.”
“Maybe he drove it around the block and parked it?” Lindsay reasoned.
“No, he didn’t do that.”
Everyone, including me, gave Erica a pitying look.
“Dammit, don’t look at me like that. I’m not fooling myself. I know for a fact that Adam wasn’t home because I sent him and the kids to my parents for a long weekend. I wanted some time to myself.”
Okay, that made sense. But why had it seemed so difficult for Erica to spit it out? She was acting guilty, like she was hiding something.
“That was the weekend I found out Matt was cheating on me for the first time... .” Lindsay said softly. She seemed to be talking to herself, not to anyone in particular.
Now I understood why Erica had tried to avoid telling us she’d been home alone.
Lindsay lifted her gaze to Erica but didn’t say a word. I think she understood, too.
“We should eat before everything gets cold.” I jumped to my feet. After setting out all the essentials and pouring drinks, I sat down at the dining table with my three friends. Over heaping plates of pasta, we talked about the case. Turned out the doctor was a dead end. Erica had been able to sweet-talk Theresa into checking his schedule that day. He’d delivered not one, not two, but three healthy baby boys that day. He didn’t leave the hospital until after five P.M. And that could be confirmed.
The doctor wasn’t the killer.
Which left ... the three women sitting around me and ... ?
Josh skulked into the kitchen just as I was about to say something. He looked ... strange. Tense. His eyes snapped to mine. They were dark. Cold. Empty.
That was one person we’d never considered.
“Josh ... ?” I said.
He knew the victim.
He had access to the victim.
But two years ago he would have been just a child. Much too young to do anything so horrid.
A sick feeling swept through me.
“No school?” I asked.
“I’m sick.” Josh jerked his gaze away and left the room. A chill skittered through my body.
Could it be Josh?
“I don’t know what the problem is with Josh lately,” I grumbled, not really expecting anyone to respond. “I thought we were getting along okay, but the last few days, he’s been so ... tense.”
“What if it was Joshua?” Lindsay whispered as if she’d read my mind.
“Why would he kill his own mother?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer. Lately it seemed he’d gone out of his way to stay away from me. But that was expected, normal. After all, he was a preteen. They were prone to mood swings. And getting adjusted to having a new adult in the house took time. There’d been no sign of instability, no sign of hostility. At least nothing out of the ordinary. Every teenager got cranky sometimes.
Could a ten-year-old child really kill his mother? Could a child live with that kind of guilt for years? Would a child who had killed his mother even feel guilt? How would he hide what he’d done from everyone?
“Erica, I started to tell you something the night of the party,” I said, intentionally shifting the conversation. I wasn’t comfortable with the direction my thoughts had drifted.
Erica nodded. “Of course, Josh,” she said, ignoring me. “We should’ve thought of that possibility sooner.”
“Your cat’s dead,” I said.
Erica didn’t respond. Didn’t blink an eye. “Christine, have you noticed anything unusual around here?”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Anything. Anything at all.”
“I’ve noticed ... neighbors getting wasted and dancing around their front yards in the middle of the night. Having affairs because they hate their husbands. Becoming lesbians because they’ve been heartbroken one too many times. But I’m thinking that’s pretty normal stuff.”
“No, you’re right. That is pretty normal stuff, compared to—” Erica cut herself off. “I’m thinking more like finding dead animals at your doorstep?”
“Yes. Why?”
“That’s it.” Erica slapped her flattened hands on the table. “They’re gifts. For Jon. A plea for forgiveness. It makes perfect sense, and it explains why we suspected Jon in the first place.”
“Huh?” I said, not following.
Lindsay agreed with a nod. “He knows the truth. We smelled the deceit.”
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“He’s protecting his son,” Samantha explained, her pretty ice-blue eyes full of understanding. “Jon has been protecting Joshua all this time.”
“But why? Why would Josh kill his mother?”
“I’m guessing it was The Change,” Samantha said, shaking her head. “He probably couldn’t help himself.”
“What change?” I was so fricking lost. Would somebody explain it in simple terms? “What about the shelves falling? The dog cable?”
“An accident, I’m guessing,” Lindsay said.
“Adam built some shelves in our house, too. They fell,” Erica admitted. “The cable was probably left by Jon. He might’ve been trying to secure Josh.”
“Secure Josh?” I echoed.
Samantha pulled a pill bottle out of her purse, studied it, then dropped it back in. “How terrible for Jon. To lose his wife and then face the stigma of a police investigation. Not to mention, I’m sure he was terribly worried about what would happen to Josh if anyone discovered the truth. And here, I thought I had a lot of stress to deal with.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
Samantha, Lindsay, and Erica exchanged glances. Finally Erica spoke, “There’s something you don’t know about us. All of us. You see, we’re not exactly what you think we are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You were right.” Samantha emptied her purse onto the table. I counted five prescription bottles. “I am addicted to prescription drugs. Lindsay is sexually confused. And Erica hates her husband and is sleeping with a younger man. But that’s not the worst of it. Not by a long shot.”
I held my breath, knowing I was finally going to have the answers I’d been searching for.
Samantha folded her napkin and, after dry-swallowing a handful of pills, clasped her hands in her lap. “I started taking Xanax years ago. For anxiety. Then I added Valium to my daily diet. And sleeping pills. I couldn’t handle it anymore. The stress. My husband is a demon, and I do mean that in the most literal sense. If you have any doubt, just look at my children.”
Demon spawn? They were a little loud, slightly wild, but hardly the offspring of the devil.
“And I have my reasons for resenting my worthless husband,” Erica said. “He’s a dragon. Because of his hair-trigger temper, he hasn’t been able to keep a job for more than a month. And he won’t try anger management therapy.”
“My run-around, cheating ex-boyfriend was a fae. I’m telling you, they cannot be monogamous. It’s simply not in their blood. I know that now. And we”—Lindsay motioned to Samantha, and Erica—“are werewolves. So was Michelle. You saw us. With Samantha.”
My gaze snapped back to Samantha’s eyes. Ice-blue. “There’s no such thing as werewolves,” I said.
“Oh yes, there is,” Lindsay said. “You’re not only sitting at the table with three, but you’re living with one, too.”
This was crazy. Insane. Silly.
A joke. Had to be.
I stood. I sat back down. I stammered. Finally, I was able to speak. “First you tried to convince me that Jon killed his wife. Now you’re telling me he’s a werewolf?”
“No,” Erica said. “Jon’s not the werewolf, although he isn’t what you’d call human, either. Josh is a werewolf.”
“What are we going to do about Josh?” Lindsay asked, genuine concern pulling at her brows. “We can’t take this to the police. You know what will happen.”
“No, we can’t. You’re right about that.” Erica’s gaze swept around the table. “We have to keep it to ourselves. We know the truth at last, and we can let it rest. It’s the best thing for everyone. It’s what Michelle would want. He’s made it through his first Change. He isn’t dangerous anymore.”
Was I buying this?
Hell, no.
Not at all.
Were these people all crazy?
I just wanted them to leave. Now. My skin was feeling creepy-crawly. My insides were twisted into knots.
“Christine, you’re looking a little pale,” Lindsay pointed out.
I stood, bracing my hands on the tabletop. My knees were soft, my head a little swimmy. “I think I need to go lie down.”
They all stood at the same time and filed toward the door.
Lindsay was the last to leave. She touched my arm, and I twitched, some instinct inside of me jumping at the contact. “If you want proof, come outside tonight. Midnight. It’s a full moon. You’ll see for yourself.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I shut the door and vowed I wouldn’t get anywhere near a door or window after eleven tonight.
Of course, I broke that vow.
At exactly midnight, I stepped out onto the deck. And I watched the three women who were slowly becoming my friends change into wolves.
After swallowing the contents of my stomach a few times, I staggered back inside and stumbled right into Jon’s arms. I flung myself as far from him as I could, then turned to face him.
“Did Josh kill his mother?” I blurted.
Jon didn’t answer right away. He looked torn, guilty, conflicted.
I saw red.
“Jon, you know I’ve sensed something wasn’t right about this place since I arrived. I’m telling you right here, right now, that you owe me the truth.” Folding my arms, I took another step backward, afraid I might do something impulsive if I didn’t put some space between us. I couldn’t ever remember being so angry, so hurt. “If you can’t trust me with all your secrets, every last one, I have to leave. That’s all there is to it.”
His jaw clenched. “Please, sit down.”
Reluctantly, I followed him into the family room and sat.
He sat opposite me, on the ottoman, elbows resting on his knees, body angled forward. “I take it you know about Lindsay, Samantha, and Erica?”
I nodded. Couldn’t say the words yet. It was all too freakish to speak aloud.
“Then you know werewolves exist.”
“But what does that have to do with Josh?”
“What I told you about Michelle having trouble getting pregnant was true. After trying for years, we adopted Joshua, knowing he would become a werewolf someday. I thought we could handle his first turning without help. I was wrong.” He gritted his teeth and stared down at the floor. “I’ll regret that mistake for the rest of my life.”
Werewolves. Changing. What the hell? Was I having a nightmare? Was this all a big joke? I felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit’s hole and landed in some kind of freakish Wonderland that not even Lewis Carroll could have cooked up.
“What happened?” I asked as I struggled to sort through what I was hearing, thinking, feeling.
“During a werewolf’s first turning, the wolf instinct can be very strong. Too strong. Joshua was young. He couldn’t control it.” A tear slipped from Jon’s eye. “My wife.” He dropped his face into his cupped hands. Didn’t speak for a long time. I didn’t know what to say. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to turn Josh in, knowing what would happen to him. I knew, too. We couldn’t... . I couldn’t... .”
“He’s a werewolf.”
Jon nodded.
“You, too?”
“No.” Jon’s eyes found mine. “You’ve always called me Dracula—”
“It was a joke.”
“Maybe to you, but it was closer to the truth than you realized.”
I staggered to my feet. Stunned. Too overwhelmed and shocked to think straight. But I knew one thing. I was hurt. Deeply. Jon hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me the truth. About himself. His son. His wife. Not even his neighbors.
“Are you leaving?” he asked as I headed toward the foyer.
“I don’t know yet. I need some time to think.”
“If it makes any difference, I do trust you, Chrissy. That’s why I told you the truth.”
A tear dribbled down my cheek. I sniffled, dragged my hand across my face. “It sure took you a long time, though.”
He rose to his feet and slowly walked toward me. “You’re right. But am I the only one who was afraid to trust, Chrissy? Or were you putting up a few walls, too?”
“What are you talking about?”
He gave me a pointed look.
Shoot, he was right.
I fell right into defense mode. “But if you hadn’t given me a reason to be distrustful—”
“Chrissy, the first day you were talking about safety nets.”
I was. I had. Shit. How could I have been so insensitive?
“Jon, I’m sorry—”
“I love you,” he said, interrupting me. “I want you to be a part of every aspect of my life. The dark and the light.” Closing the distance between us, he clasped my upper arms in his fists and searched my eyes. I don’t know what he saw, but it couldn’t have been what he’d been hoping for. “You have to be willing to trust me. Do you want to? Are you capable of trusting anyone? Or do you need to jump off the high wire now and let your safety net catch you?”
I didn’t know how to answer him.
He released my arms and I breathed easier. And yet I felt worse. Cut off from him. As if I’d lost him already, despite his words. And, oh God, how awful that hurt. Like a red-hot blade plunged into my gut.
This man had grieved the death of a wife and still fiercely protected the child who’d killed her.
This man had gone out of his way to make me feel at home, welcomed.
This man had silently endured my distrust since the day I’d moved in, waiting patiently for me to decide whether or not I could trust him.
What the hell was I doing? How could I even think to leave this man?
Eyes burning, I flung myself at him. He caught me, just like I knew he would, and pulled me into a bone-crushing embrace. “I’m so sorry,” I said to his chest. “You’re right. I was basically sabotaging our relationship from the minute I stepped out of that truck. It’s a wonder you didn’t throw me out then.”
“I couldn’t do that. I need you too much. You’re my safety net.” He stroked my hair, cupped my chin, and lifted it until our gazes met. “Tell me you love me.” His eyes were pleading.
“You’re my safety net, too. I love you, Dracula.”
“Oh yes. Chrissy.” He kissed me and I kissed him back. He would never again doubt how I felt about him. Never. Vampire or just a guy who works some crazy hours, this man was my dream man. Mr. Perfect. I was going to do everything in my power to be his Mrs. Perfect.
On Halloween, I received a very special gift—the ring, and the proposal that I’d been waiting for. Of course, I very happily accepted both. I’d found a home, a future, a family. Here. In Jonathan Stewart’s arms. In his house. In his town.
Not to mention, a very dedicated, well-dressed, wonderfully goofy Pack of friends to dance with in the moonlight.
As the old saying goes, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. That was never more true than on Lancaster Street. Samantha Phillips was jealous of Lindsay Baker’s freedom. Lindsay Baker envied Erica Ross’s lifestyle—the cars, the clothes, the vacations. And Erica Ross begrudged Samantha’s job as full-time mother.
But they all envied Michelle Stewart. Because everyone knew a vampire—who perhaps was a little too undead to be fairy-tale Prince Charming material—was still a better catch than a hotheaded dragon, a runaround fae, or a demon with an attitude.