Chapter Eight
Detective Rick Gimbal stuffed the remainder of his sausage, egg, and cheese croissant in his mouth and then wiped his greasy fingertips on his shirt despite knowing it would earn him the hairy eyeball from his wife when he got home. Washing the sandwich down with a gulp of coffee – good coffee, not that black sludge masquerading as a beverage in the station break room – he headed for his desk amidst greetings from some of the uniformed officers.
The station was always busy, always something going on, and if you didn’t focus, you would quickly find yourself too distracted to do much of anything. Raised voices, a couple barks of laughter, phones ringing, and the low buzz of chatter… Rick had never been great at focus, not like his partner. Janet was a master of the focus, all Zen and shit, Christ, there could be sirens blaring, bombs going off, and she’d still be on task. He envied her that. Actually, he envied a lot of things about her. She was a crack shot, could take men twice her size down on the mats without seeming to break a sweat, and her instinct in the field was the stuff of legend. Sometimes it pissed him off how she could constantly show him up, if that was her goal, lucky for him, the thought hadn’t occurred to her. But when it came right down to it, there was no one he’d rather have at his back when shit hit the fan.
Spotting her close cropped black hair over the top of her computer monitor, Rick sauntered over and planted an ass cheek on the corner of her desk but Janet’s dark brown eyes never moved from whatever had her enthralled on that screen. “Morning, Sunshine.”
No greeting, not even a grunt in acknowledgment just straight to the facts. “I think I have a possible lead on the Duncan murder.” Hell, the woman was like a dog with a bone – great for a detective, bad for his ego.
Rick turned to look at the monitor and when he couldn’t get a good visual he stood and leaned in. Damn eyes. Pretty soon he’d be needing reading glasses, and wasn’t that just a bitch? Getting old was hell. Blinking, he tried to bring the wavering lines into focus, squinted and frowned. “Chad Emery? Wasn’t he the guy found floating in Otter Creek last month? I thought his case was ruled a mugging – what does it have to do with Stanley Duncan?”
Janet leaned back in her chair and pinned him with a look. “When we interviewed Duncan’s ex-wife, something she said bothered me.” Pulling up another window on the screen, Janet pointed to the notes for the recent interview with the ex-wife and tapped the relevant area with a fingertip. “See here? She said that she had been at a support group meeting earlier that evening and then she had gone home and gone to bed.”
Minimizing the screen, Janet pointed out the interview with Chad Emery’s widow. “That reminded me of Mrs. Emery’s interview. She also claimed to have been at a support meeting the night her estranged husband was killed and then dumped in the creek.”
Rick straightened up, his back cracking loudly in protest of the bent position. “Coincidence?”
“You know I don’t believe in that.”
Janet pointed her finger at the screen again, “And look here, while Duncan and Emery are lightyears apart in the income and social strata, they both have multiple domestic disturbances in their records. Duncan’s ex had a restraining order against him, and Emery’s neighbors had called the cops on him several times – the officer responding even noted that he suspected spousal abuse though the wife wasn’t talking. Not to mention the deaths both happened on a Thursday night, almost exactly a month apart, and both women gave the same doctor’s name to verify their presence at the therapy: Doctor Danielle Hillary.”
“So… what? These women are getting their payback and using this Doctor to vouch for them?”
Janet pursed her lips and lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “Maybe.” Leaning back in her chair, Janet’s eyes met his, her eyes so intense they seemed to bore straight through his skull. “Or someone in that group is enacting some vigilante justice. Either way, it looks like I’ll be attending the next meeting.”
Lily watched the sunset from her high perch in a tree. Sprawled out on the solid strength of a thick branch she thought about staying in this form forever. Hunt, eat, sleep, and repeat for the rest of her days. Life would be so much simpler. Perhaps she would even eventually forget what it was like to be in skin; letting her higher brain functions devolve into pure animal instinct. Wouldn’t it be nice to forget?
What had started out as such a wonderful discovery – that kiss! For the first time ever, she’d actually experienced arousal with another person instead of just the fantasies in her own head. But the moment had collapsed under the sheer weight of her memories as images from her past had bombarded her relentlessly, renewing the pain and humiliation that she would have thought dulled by the passage of time.
God, to think how eager her younger self had been, how excited to be chosen as mate to Hank Kramer. As the pride leader’s son, he had been the most sought after male in the Everglades pride. Handsome, strong, smart, charming, and with a smile that had made her weak in the knees, Lily had actually considered herself lucky – beyond lucky – to have caught the attention of such a male.
She remembered waiting for him in bed after their mating ceremony. She had been so incredibly excited to find out what sex would be like, to experience it with a male like him… She had been so sure it would be perfection – exactly like it was described in her favorite romance novels. The reality was absolutely nothing like she had pictured. Hank had been drunk when he’d joined her in bed and had almost immediately passed out from his overindulgence. Foolishly, Lily, in her disappointment, had chosen to wake him with kisses, caresses, and encouraging words. She’d gotten her wish only in that he did in fact wake. From there, he’d rolled on top of her, pushed her knees roughly apart, and without even a kiss, had thrust inside of her unprepared body. Reacting to the painful intrusion, she had pushed against him and attempted to close her knees. With a sound of disgust, he’d shoved her knees wide once more and then held her down as he thrust, grunting and sweating on top of her until he finally found his release and once again passed out. Lily had silently cried the whole time.
As if that hadn’t been bad enough, the next day, sore and disillusioned, her cheeks had burned with humiliation as he had laughingly paraded her in front of his buddies, crowing about how hot she had been for him, a wildcat in bed panting for his cock, if his nose hadn’t told him different, he would have sworn she was in heat…
And mated life only went downhill from there. Lily had been blamed for every little thing, compared to other females and found wanting, constantly watched, if not by him then by one of his cronies, publicly belittled, and made to feel like she was walking on eggshells in her own home. And since he was the future pride leader, no one would help her, no one would intercede on her behalf. She had been trapped – death, seemed to be her only way out – and since she was far from suicidal, preferably his death.
For years, she had dreamed of killing that male. She had imagined his death by her hand at least a hundred times, but when the death blow had been dealt, it had been her sweet, gentle, baby sister, Daisy who had wielded the weapon, bashing Hank Kramer over the head with a frying pan as Lily lay helpless on the floor, her vision dimming by degrees as her mate had attempted to choke her to death.
Relief had been her first emotion once vital oxygen had returned to her system, closely followed by fear. This death had been no accident, could never be passed off as an accident, and both she and Daisy would be executed for the murder according to the archaic laws that still ruled the pride. They had but one option: to run north where the feline populations were near non-existent. Better to risk possible death by a pack of wolves than certain death surrounded by those who were supposed to be family.
What amazed Lily the most, was once they’d discovered the safety afforded by the pack in their new home, and things had settled down to a normal routine, the resentment started to steadily creep into her brain. She loved her sister, more than anything in this world, but Lily couldn’t seem to stop the thought thatsheshould have been the one to kill the bastard.Shewas the one he hurt,shewas the one who had endured for so long, and her right to vengeance had been snatched from her. And the thought persisted even now: Maybe if she had been the one to kill him, she would have had the closure she had needed to put this behind her and heal. Maybe if she had been the one to end her torment, she wouldn’t have tossed Christian off of her as she did earlier. Maybe they would have spent the day making love, rolling around in the grass, under the sunshine, with him showing her the true joy of sex instead of the pain and humiliation. And didn’t that just make her feel like a piece of shit… Way to pass the buck for her own damage.
Pushing her belly up off of the branch, Lily stretched and easily jumped down to the ground. If she truly wished to heal then what she needed to do was attend the next support meeting and use it for its intended purpose. With a renewed sense of hope, she trotted toward her cabin.
The scent of food had Lily lifting her head to sniff the air. There, in front of her cabin door, was one of the white take-out bags from the diner with something written in black marker on the front. Taking a quick scan of the area to ensure she was alone, Lily approached slowly. The scent of tonight’s special, salmon, wild rice, and steamed vegetables made her stomach growl with hunger and a nudge with her nose assured her that the meal was still warm, but the words written on the bag had her heart leaping with anticipation:
You need to keep your strength up for our rematch – C
That bear… but this time, the thought was laced with a new found fondness. Carefully gripping the bag with her teeth, Lily trotted into the cabin and shifted back to skin. Rereading the words, a grin spread across her face, feeling so much lighter knowing she had something to look forward to. Yes, next Thursday she would go back to her support group and use it for the therapeutic qualities intended; she’d listen, she’d participate and maybe even tell her story. It was high time she took responsibility for her own mental health, put Hank Kramer in the ground where he belonged, and allowed Lillian Oremun to finally live.
