Blood Ties by Lori G. Armstrong Page B
Authors: Lori G. Armstrong
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Women Private Investigators, Crimes against, Indians of North America, South Dakota, Murder Victims' Families
Ads: Link
that drunken, blurry state she’d claimed. So, why had she lied?
But what if she had recognized a voice? Or two? Th e
112
voice of my rapist haunts me still. Was that weasel-dick Charles LaChance right when he’d claimed Shelley had known her attackers? Who else had Shelley “shared” with?
Was the information important enough to kill?
“Jules?”
His voice startled me and the lipstick tube veered off course. “What?” I dabbed at the red smear on my chin.
“Th
ought I lost you for a minute there.”
“Sorry, not so good at multi-tasking when I’m deep in thought.” I wiped away a mascara smudge from under my left eye. “You and I both know that Shelley was keeping something from us.”
“What about Meredith?”
My hand stilled. “You can’t possibly believe Meredith is capable of killing her sister?”
“No, not that.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw and raked a hand through his hair; his grooming ritual complete, lucky dog. “But her angry blast of shit didn’t hide my gut feeling that she knows something, but doesn’t trust us.”
“Would you? If you were fi fteen and your world had crumbled? By the way,” I pointed the lipstick tube at him,
“she didn’t seem so aloof to me.”
“You bring out the best in people, baby.”
I puckered and pressed my lips together. “Any more smudges?”
“Yeah.” He stared at my mouth. “Right here.”
113
His thumb delicately rubbed the sensitive skin under my bottom lip, fi ring every neuron. His breath, warm and sweet, fl owed over my cheek. Something indefi nable lurked in his gaze. Something I did not want to deal with tonight.
“Th
anks,” I murmured.
“Anytime,” he said. “Maybe Meredith isn’t aloof, but even you have to admit that she’s unstable.”
“She’s grieving, Kev. Of course she’s unstable. I still think our best bet is good ole’ Dickhead.”
Kevin didn’t smile at my attempt at humor. Instead, he cupped my face in his palms, turning my head back toward him.
“What if we’re both wrong? What if Samantha was a random victim? What if we never discover where she spent the missing two weeks?”
I didn’t respond because Kevin wasn’t expecting a specifi c answer. It helps him to work things out, out loud.
I wanted to off er whatever assistance I could, but I’d been rebuff ed once, so I subtly removed my chin from the tempting warmth of his hand.
Money, cigarettes, and my ID tucked into various pockets: I was ready to roll. “Well, then, it’s up to us, Scully, to uncover the truth.” I grinned, hoping to lighten the mood.
He
fi nally smiled back. “Fine, Mulder, we’ll do it your way. Still, I don’t see Jimmer’s vehicle. With our luck . . .”
“Our luck is bound to change, right? What else could 114
possibly go wrong tonight?” I patted his gun for reassurance.
Kevin’s groan reverberated through the dark night air as we exited the car. “You know I hate it when you say that.”
The mixture of cigarette and pot smoke blasted me in the face when we stepped into Fat Bob’s.
While a bouncer checked our IDs, I checked out his tattoos. I’d fl irted with the tattoo idea the year after I graduated from high school, seeing the markings as rebellious, a bold statement of originality. Th
e concept lost its appeal
when I realized a tattoo wasn’t unique if everybody had one. Here, everybody had one.
Th
e bouncer making change had a black and red snake curling around his wrist, traveling up his bulging bicep. Every time he fl exed, the body of the snake fl owed like water. Cool trick. Th
e snake’s head looked to be in
the middle of the bouncer’s massive chest, hidden under a ripped and faded black Harley Davidson T-shirt. Even though I hated snakes, I stepped closer, hoping for a peek at the rest of the workmanship.
116
An overgrown sow dressed in pink bulled her way beside him.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” she snorted, slanted eyes hidden in
But what if she had recognized a voice? Or two? Th e
112
voice of my rapist haunts me still. Was that weasel-dick Charles LaChance right when he’d claimed Shelley had known her attackers? Who else had Shelley “shared” with?
Was the information important enough to kill?
“Jules?”
His voice startled me and the lipstick tube veered off course. “What?” I dabbed at the red smear on my chin.
“Th
ought I lost you for a minute there.”
“Sorry, not so good at multi-tasking when I’m deep in thought.” I wiped away a mascara smudge from under my left eye. “You and I both know that Shelley was keeping something from us.”
“What about Meredith?”
My hand stilled. “You can’t possibly believe Meredith is capable of killing her sister?”
“No, not that.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw and raked a hand through his hair; his grooming ritual complete, lucky dog. “But her angry blast of shit didn’t hide my gut feeling that she knows something, but doesn’t trust us.”
“Would you? If you were fi fteen and your world had crumbled? By the way,” I pointed the lipstick tube at him,
“she didn’t seem so aloof to me.”
“You bring out the best in people, baby.”
I puckered and pressed my lips together. “Any more smudges?”
“Yeah.” He stared at my mouth. “Right here.”
113
His thumb delicately rubbed the sensitive skin under my bottom lip, fi ring every neuron. His breath, warm and sweet, fl owed over my cheek. Something indefi nable lurked in his gaze. Something I did not want to deal with tonight.
“Th
anks,” I murmured.
“Anytime,” he said. “Maybe Meredith isn’t aloof, but even you have to admit that she’s unstable.”
“She’s grieving, Kev. Of course she’s unstable. I still think our best bet is good ole’ Dickhead.”
Kevin didn’t smile at my attempt at humor. Instead, he cupped my face in his palms, turning my head back toward him.
“What if we’re both wrong? What if Samantha was a random victim? What if we never discover where she spent the missing two weeks?”
I didn’t respond because Kevin wasn’t expecting a specifi c answer. It helps him to work things out, out loud.
I wanted to off er whatever assistance I could, but I’d been rebuff ed once, so I subtly removed my chin from the tempting warmth of his hand.
Money, cigarettes, and my ID tucked into various pockets: I was ready to roll. “Well, then, it’s up to us, Scully, to uncover the truth.” I grinned, hoping to lighten the mood.
He
fi nally smiled back. “Fine, Mulder, we’ll do it your way. Still, I don’t see Jimmer’s vehicle. With our luck . . .”
“Our luck is bound to change, right? What else could 114
possibly go wrong tonight?” I patted his gun for reassurance.
Kevin’s groan reverberated through the dark night air as we exited the car. “You know I hate it when you say that.”
The mixture of cigarette and pot smoke blasted me in the face when we stepped into Fat Bob’s.
While a bouncer checked our IDs, I checked out his tattoos. I’d fl irted with the tattoo idea the year after I graduated from high school, seeing the markings as rebellious, a bold statement of originality. Th
e concept lost its appeal
when I realized a tattoo wasn’t unique if everybody had one. Here, everybody had one.
Th
e bouncer making change had a black and red snake curling around his wrist, traveling up his bulging bicep. Every time he fl exed, the body of the snake fl owed like water. Cool trick. Th
e snake’s head looked to be in
the middle of the bouncer’s massive chest, hidden under a ripped and faded black Harley Davidson T-shirt. Even though I hated snakes, I stepped closer, hoping for a peek at the rest of the workmanship.
116
An overgrown sow dressed in pink bulled her way beside him.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” she snorted, slanted eyes hidden in
Similar Books
