Is that what he thought? She was too shocked to respond. She’d gone to third base this last year, but only that once.
He jammed his hand farther up and she felt his fingers pushing at her panties, then sinking into her. “I knew you liked it,” he said against her ear, pressing her back against the seat, breath hot against her neck. “You’re all ready for me, aren’t you?”
It felt like he was trying to swallow her face with his mouth. His tongue lapped at hers and his giant hands were like lobster claws pinching at her breast and vulva.
His weight was suffocating. Panic rose up in her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight. Tears welled in her eyes. This wasn’t right. She didn’t want … her first time, like this? With Billy Boman forcing himself? He’d tell everyone they did it … that she’d liked it. That she begged for more.
Hell, no, it wasn’t going down that way. “Stop,” she managed again. “I’m gonna be sick, Billy-Bo! I can’t breathe. I think I’m gonna throw up!”
He was off her in a flash. As she scooted over the open console, she had an idea. “Don’t look!” she cried bringing her hand to her mouth.
He jerked his face the other way. “Just don’t puke in my truck!”
Randi grabbed the bag of weed, threw the cab door open and leapt out. She slammed the door behind her, ran to the side of the road, but instead of throwing up, she spun to face him.
“No means no, you big, sweaty jerk!”
Surprise registered on his face, then fury. “What … you were faking it?”
“Not the part about being disgusted by you. But the part about being sick? Yeah, faking that.”
He turned red. “You think you’re so smart? How you going to get home, cocktease? Huh? Maybe you should have thought of that!”
She flipped him the bird. “Screw you, Billy Boman! You better watch out, my brothers are gonna kick your ass for this!”
He laughed and started up the F-150. “Stupid little bitch! Why d’you think they had me pick you up?”
“Liar!” she shouted as he drove away. She bent and scooped up a handful of gravel and hurled it after the truck. “Asshole!”
It wasn’t until his taillights disappeared from sight that she realized he’d had a point. How was she going to get home now? No phone. No flashlight. And she didn’t even know where the hell she was.
It didn’t matter, she decided, starting to walk. She had his pot and he was gonna be so pissed when he realized it. She smiled and patted her shorts pocket. And anything was better than trapped in that truck being pawed by that freak.
Well, maybe not anything, she thought thirty minutes later. It was hot and buggy, and walking in her flimsy flip-flops was damn near impossible.
When headlights came around the curve up ahead, she jumped up and down, waving her arms.
Please stop … please … please …
For a moment, she thought they were going to fly on by her. Then the brake lights lit up and the car pulled to a stop at the side of the road.
Randi ran up to the car. The driver lowered his window; the smell of pot rushed over her in a cloud.
A young guy in a University of Alabama baseball cap. A girl riding shotgun.
“Need a ride?” the guy asked.
“Sure do.”
“Your car break down?” the girl asked.
“I was riding around with one of my brothers’ friends and he kicked me out, told me to walk home.”
The driver tugged his ball cap a little lower. “Now why’d he go and do something like that?”
Billy’s words—cocktease—played in her head. These two were obviously older and more experienced. The last thing she wanted was them thinking of her as a stupid little virgin. “We just had a disagreement over something, that’s all.”
“Where’re you trying to get to?”
“Home. Jasper.”
“Well, we’ll be heading that way later,” he said. “Right now we’re heading to a spot I know to have ourselves a party. Want to join us?”
Randi looked at the other girl and she smiled. “The more the merrier.”
“Hell yeah, I would.”
“Hop on in, then.”
Randi didn’t have to be asked a second time. She yanked open the door and climbed in.
CHAPTER ONE
Harmony, Louisiana
3:10 A.M.
Harmony PD Detective Miranda Rader parked behind the two cruisers already at the scene. Their flashing blue lights violated the otherwise still, spring night, bouncing off the trees and surrounding homes, spinning and tilting like a carnival midway on crack.
She closed her eyes and for a moment she was fifteen again. Police lights bouncing off the trees. This knot in the pit of her gut, this sense that nothing was going to be the same, not ever again.
She let out a pent-up breath and flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. Shake it off, Miranda. Focus.
She grabbed the ponytail holder she kept in the car’s front cubby and gathered up her shoulder-length brown hair. She couldn’t work with her hair in her face and she sure as hell didn’t want to leave any behind. She popped a piece of peppermint gum in her mouth and climbed out of her vehicle.
Victim was Richard Stark, an English professor at ULH, and even more important, the university president’s son. In a college town like Harmony, that was as close to royalty as you could get.
Miranda breathed deeply, her gaze on the brick two-story and the crime-scene tape stretched across its entrance like a clown’s freakish grin, beckoning: Don’t be afraid.… Come inside, see what thrills await.
Miranda slammed the car door and started up the walk. Gerald LaRoux, fresh out of the academy, manned the door. Judging by his greenish pallor, this was young LaRoux’s first murder.
He straightened as she approached. “Detective Rader,” he said and held out the log.
She signed in, then met his eyes. “How’re you doin’ tonight, LaRoux?”
“Hangin’ in there, Detective.” He handed her Tyvek booties. “Chief said you’d need these.”
That meant blood, blood spatter, or other biological evidence. No wonder LaRoux was green around the gills. “It’ll get better,” she said. “You get used to it.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what they say.”
She took the booties. “Cap’s with the vic?”
“Yeah. Master bedroom. Through the great room and to the right.”
The chief met her at the bedroom door. Buddy Cadwell, a fireplug of a man, broad and thick but short, filled the doorway despite his lack of height. He exuded confidence and sheer strength of will.
So it had to be the lighting, because Miranda could have sworn the thirty-year veteran of the force looked shaken.
“What’ve we got?” she asked, bending to slip on the booties.
He cleared his throat. “Stark was stabbed several times in the chest, his throat was slit, and he was—”
He bit it back. She glanced up from the booties. “And what?”
He hesitated, as if searching for the right word. “Let’s call it dismembered.”
It took her a moment to find her voice. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“That’s all I’m going to say. I want to get your take, unvarnished.”
“Gotcha.” She fitted on her gloves. “What about Jake?” she asked, referring to her partner, Jake Billings. “Is he on his way?”