Red Tide (Siren Publishing Classic) (25 page)

“I’ll take a cheeseburger, please. Rare. With an order of fries and a Diet Coke.”

She took his order and practically scurried back to the bar.

This was interesting. Dangerous, but interesting. As a rule, he never selected employees because their absence was generally quickly detected. It also increased the risk of someone spotting him. But this girl was the one. Her every action spoke victim as clearly as the bruise on her face branded her one.

Under different circumstances, he would gladly teach the man who beat her a lesson. But not now, when the need burned brightly inside him. There was never an excuse for such brutality. Tactics of brute force were for the weak of mind and skill. A man who beat women had to prove his superiority with his fists. John, secure with his manhood, never felt the urge to do that. He never viewed himself in the same class with batterers.

He was a hunter, his kills quick and clean.

He watched her work. Her name was Melody, and she jumped every time someone called her name to pick up an order. She brought his fresh drink. When she placed a coaster on his table, he reached out and gently took her hand, examining an ugly purple bruise on her right forearm. He looked up at her. This was the moment of truth.

“That must have been a bad accident. Your arm and your cheek.” Relentlessly, he stared directly into her eyes.

Melody’s face flushed bright red, but she made no attempt to pull away from him. She nodded, speechless.

He let the silence hang in the air between them for a long moment. Then, “Boyfriend or husband?”

She didn’t answer at first. He turned her hand over, palm up, and softly stroked it with his other hand. She cringed, but still did not pull away. He was wrong about her age. If she was twenty-one, it was a miracle.

Melody whispered, “Boyfriend.”

“Why are you with someone who would do this to you?” He never broke eye contact with Melody, and was amazed the young girl didn’t pull away. She still held the serving tray, forgotten, in her left hand. The abuse must have started a short time ago. It was still a strange, new, unpleasant thing to her that she wanted to end, not an accepted price of love.

“My parents hated him. They told me if I moved in with him, not to come back.”

“How long has he beat you?”

With this question her eyes left his and dropped to the table. “It’s the second time. The first time he promised he wouldn’t do it again. He promised this time, too,” she quickly added.

“How long have you been with him?” The more questions she answered, the more she amazed him.

“Three months,” she softly answered.

That was the key. She wanted out, wanted back to her parents, but saw no other choice right now.

Pride goeth before a fall.

He patted Melody’s hand and sat back, releasing her. “When do you get off work?”

Melody remembered the tray and placed his glass on the coaster in front of him with a shaky hand. “Eleven.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.” She stood there, apparently not wanting to move.

Right on the money.

He leaned forward again and took a sip of his drink. “You deserve better than this, Melody. You know that, don’t you?”

She silently nodded.

“Did you drive here tonight?”

She nodded again.

“I can help you, if you let me. He’ll never beat you again.”

Hesitant hope flashed in her eyes. She was naive and trusting. Desperation did that to a person.

John glanced at his watch. “I’ll meet you at the north entrance of Church Street Station at a quarter past eleven. I’ll wait five minutes.”

“Melody, order up!”

She turned to the kitchen window at the end of the bar and waved, then back to John. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

He winked at her, and she scurried away to collect her order, which, it turned out, was his. She brought it to him, flashed him a hesitant smile, and went back to work.

John watched her work. He noticed she would sometimes touch her right hand, as if to assure herself the earlier contact really happened. He finished his meal around ten o’clock and ordered one final thing before leaving.

A bag of boiled peanuts.

Mitch parked under Ed’s house and exchanged brief greetings with the two deputies stationed there. She knew Sam Caster would give her hell for leaving the way she did, but it’d been worth it. She grabbed her duffel bag and locked the truck. Pete bounded downstairs, and she took a moment to pet him before slowly climbing the stairs. She still felt stiff and sore from the day before.

Ed held the door open for her, immediately taking her duffel and kissing her on the lips. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

A delicious smell from the kitchen set her stomach growling. “Have you been busy?” She paused her trek to the kitchen when she spied Margarita’s big cage occupying a corner of the living room formerly reserved for a large, potted ficus tree. The macaw was bouncing up and down on top of it.

“Mommy-bird! Mommy-biiiirrrrd!”

Mitch turned to Ed, laughing. “What army did you get to help you move that thing?” The iron cage sat on rollers, but it was difficult for one person to lift and carry its bulky weight.

He smiled, proud of himself. “Ron helped me.” He frowned, worried. “I hope you don’t mind.”

She put her arms around his waist and kissed him. “No, I don’t mind at all. It’s a very sweet gesture. I’m sure Margarita appreciates it, too.”

At the sound of her name, the macaw climbed to the front of her cage, where she bobbed her head up and down and laughed.

Ed chuckled. “I’ll put dinner on the table. You go spend some quality time with your daughter.”

“I want to go through that stuff I got from the computer—”

“It’ll wait.” He grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips. He kissed them. “Right now, I want you to stop thinking about John Tyne and go play with your damn bird.” He smiled. “Then you can play with me. Or I’ll play with you. Or we can play with each other.”

Mitch giggled and went over to the cage, offering her arm to the bird. She climbed onto Mitch’s arm and immediately snuggled up on her shoulder against her neck. Mitch played with Margarita until Ed called her over to the table.

He served up a savory beef stroganoff with a corn casserole on the side. When they finished, he banished her to the living room with Pete and Margarita, refusing to let her help with the dishes.

“Oh. Three reporters called while you were gone,” he yelled out from the kitchen.

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head while loading the dishwasher. “You ought to see your answering machine at the house. When I was over there, it was maxed out. We had about thirty calls at the shop, too.”

“Sheesh.” Mitch stretched out on the sofa. “That’s crazy.”

Ed carried two bowls of flan into the living room and handed one to Mitch before sitting down on the end of the sofa. He pulled her feet in his lap. “You’re telling me. Even CNN’s picked up the story.”

Mitch groaned. “When it rains, it pours.”

“Oh, Sami and Matt called. They offered a place to stay, if you want it.”

Mitch shook her head and took a bite of the delicious homemade custard. “No. I’m not going to run.”

He frowned. “Yeah, that’s a pretty hard thing to do if you’re dead, sweetie.”

Mitch leveled her gaze at him. “He’s not stupid enough to try again. He’s already drawn too much attention to himself.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“No, I can’t, but I’m not going to run from him either. If I have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, then he’s won just as sure as if that bomb had got me.”

* * * *

He sighed, knowing she was right and feeling helpless that he couldn’t protect her.

They watched TV for a little while, Mitch dozing off and on. Wanting her to get some rest, he let her sleep until the news came on. They quickly channel surfed between the network affiliates, watching the almost identical stories. When they ended, Ed patted Mitch on the leg.

“Ready to go to sleep, hon?”

She smiled. “I’m ready to go to bed, but I don’t know how much sleep we’ll get.”

He leaned over and kissed her on the lips, an ear-to-ear grin plastered to his face. “Oh, baby. That sounds like a winning idea if I ever heard one.”

They made slow, unhurried love, cherishing every moment of it. Later, their passion sated for the night, they cuddled in each other’s arms and talked.

“Mitch, I don’t want to push you or rush you in any way. But I’m going to tell you how I honestly feel. I love you, and I don’t ever want to lose you.”

She shivered with pleasure and snuggled closer to him. “I love you, too, Ed. And if you think I’m going anywhere, you’re sadly mistaken.”

She heard him sigh. He nibbled her ear. “I bet Susan wouldn’t be very happy right now.”

Mitch thought about her parents. “Mom’s spinning in her grave right now.” She sadly smiled. “Daddy’s probably grinning ear-to-ear, though.”

“Ray never was much for worrying about what the neighbors thought.”

Silence settled over them. Mitch listened to the sound of Ed’s breathing as it grew slow and steady. She thought he was asleep when he startled her by speaking.

“You know, I’ll never tease you about forgetting things again. I never thought being forgetful would ever save your life.”

That chilling thought brought goose bumps up on her skin. If she hadn’t forgot her purse…

Mitch burrowed deeper in Ed’s arms. “I know.”

The night was breezy, tempering the stifling ferocity of the humid air. In the east, over the horizon, thunder rumbled, the last remnants of late-afternoon showers that split and spread and missed the Orlando area. John moved his car a block closer to Church Street Station, but still out of sight of their meeting spot. He knew of a small motel on State Road 50, close to Mascotte. Tonight would be the happiest night of her life.

John felt a twinge of pride while walking back to their meeting spot as he munched on the bag of peanuts. He would be able to bring a little bit of joy into her miserable life.

The irony that it was the last night of her life did not escape him.

Melody arrived at ten after. He hung back in the shadows of a bar across the street to make sure she’d come alone. At a quarter past, he crossed the street and approached her.

“Hello, Melody.” He smiled and offered the bag of peanuts.

“Hi.” She smiled and tentatively reached into the bag.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he said. “I’m glad you did.”

The girl blushed and stared at the ground. “I almost didn’t. But Tim called to check up on me after you left. He said he was going out tonight and wouldn’t be home until late. Or early, however you want to look at it.”

John let the pause grow before he asked, “I take it Tim is your boyfriend?”

She nodded. “He was drunk. He sounded mean. He never used to be like this.”

“You don’t even know my name. How do you know I’m not some psycho killer?”

Her head snapped up. “I don’t. But you’ve got kind eyes.” She shrugged. “Besides, if I stay with him, he’ll kill me. I know what happens to women with men like that.”

John wished Mitch was there to hear the girl. One of Mitch’s parting comments to him several years prior had been about how cold he was, especially his eyes.

“Do you have a lot of stuff at your place?”

“No. It’s just an efficiency over near the fairgrounds.”

“Can you pack quickly?”

Hope flooded her face as she nodded. “Just my clothes and a couple of things. Not much. Maybe an hour at the most.”

He motioned for her to follow him. He walked down the block, to a darker, more secluded area. Turning his back to the street, he pulled out his wallet, removed five twenties, and handed them to her. “I want you to pack, quickly. Don’t call anyone now, there’s time for that later. Leave no trace of where you’re going, no note, no nothing. Just pack and leave.” He told her the name of the motel on 50. “Get yourself a room there and check in under the name ‘Melody Charles.’ I’ll stop by at one o’clock to make sure you got there okay. In the meantime, I’ll make a few calls of my own. I think I can get you a better job than waiting tables in a bar.”

Melody’s face clouded. “What kind of job?”

His laughter surprised her. “I’ve got a buddy who runs a temp agency. He always needs secretaries, clerks, that sort of thing. I’ll explain your circumstances. I’m sure he’ll find you something.” Her face cleared, and he thought she was near tears. “You graduated high school, didn’t you?”

“I finished two years at UCF. I was going to be a physical therapist. When I moved out, my parents stopped paying my tuition.”

“Then it’s safe to say you can answer a phone, take messages, type, maybe some computer work?”

She nodded. “I can run a computer.”