Lisa Jackson - Wicked Game

“That’s a good question,” Renee said.

“It’s been twenty fucking years,” Tamara snapped. “I don’t know what you expect us to say to you, Renee. You’re, like…falling apart. And you’re the smart one! You’re really starting to scare me.” She shot Becca another look. “You look scared, too.”

“It’s…disturbing,” Becca said. “I don’t know what happened to Jessie, but the police’ll figure it out.”

“What if something happens to us before they do?” Renee asked.

“Nothing’s going to happen to us,” Evangeline said, her voice an unconvincing whisper.

“I have to run.” Tamara, with a wave of her hand, headed out the door, leaving a swoosh of cold air in her wake that sent a little shudder up Becca’s spine.

Renee stared at Evangeline, who gazed back almost defiantly. “Nothing’s going to happen to us,” Vangie repeated as the door slammed shut.

Renee turned to Becca. “Be careful,” she said, then picked up her purse and coat as well.

“I’m a part of this investigation,” Gretchen Sandler stated flatly, her palms spread on Mac’s desk as she stood in front of him. “Your latest after-hours attempt to get me out of the picture is…at the very least, amateurish.”

It was dark, but then it felt like it was always dark this time of year. Mac knew his partner was pissed at him and didn’t much care. She, like many before her, would hang around for a couple of months, maybe even years, but soon enough she would get one foot on his back and another on the next rung to success and catapult herself forward. He was more interested in when the autopsy report and DNA would land on his desk, and if an artist could do facial reconstruction on her skull if there was no DNA match. Twenty years ago, DNA was in its infancy as far as law enforcement went, but it was available, and there were hair samples from a brush of Jessie’s follicles intact, that were being tested.

He knew in his gut the girl found in the maze was Jessie, and her parents suspected it, too. They might not want to talk to him, but he’d heard the weary acceptance in their voices nevertheless.

Mac still felt his partner’s presence at his desk. “D’Annibal ask you to keep an eye on me?” Mac didn’t glance up as he reread his notes on Jarrett Erikson. The guy was the slip-periest eel in the barrel and the least forthcoming. What a bastard.

“I-am-your-partner.”

“Could you say that a little slower? I’m not quite catching it.”

“You can be as big an asshole as you want. I’m still part of this investigation.”

Mac gazed into her sharp blue eyes, then leaned back in his chair. No point in a stare-down. “Okay, so I’ve talked to most of the guys of the group.”

“I need to be with you when you interview anyone else. You need another perspective.”

“You have been talking to D’Annibal. Perspective. That’s one of his favorites.”

She moved sharply and Mac automatically flinched. He’d been around enough perps to sense a threat in a hairsbreadth. But Gretchen just twisted like a robot, then stormed away to her own desk, which was behind his and halfway across the room. She’d been seated closer to him once, but it had left her away from the rise and fall of gossip that other detectives and cops engaged in. She might be universally disliked, but she was going to be in the center of the action, by God. Hanging out with a has-been like Mac wasn’t going to cut it.

He gazed down at his list. There were checkmarks and notations beside the names of the Preppy Pricks he’d already re-interviewed. Nothing much had come from those meetings other than a feeling that they all universally disliked him and that they were reluctant to give anything away. He probably deserved that. He’d pretty much squeezed them through the wringer back in the day.

The only ones he hadn’t met with yet were Hudson Walker and Zeke St. John. He hadn’t started on the girls-women-of the group yet. He hadn’t learned much from them twenty years earlier and he didn’t expect to learn much now, but you never knew. He paused over each of their names.

Tamara…Renee…Evangeline…Rebecca.

He circled Rebecca’s name, feeling something stir in his memory about that one. She was different. A bit of an odd duck. But there was just something about her, something he couldn’t quite remember. She wasn’t Jessie’s closest friend, but she seemed the most like her in ways he couldn’t quite analyze. “What is it you know?” he said aloud, staring at the old picture.

“What?” Gretchen called from the other side of the room, as if he were addressing her.

“Nothing.”

“Damn you, McNally. Don’t leave me out.”

As usual, Mac didn’t respond.

Becca had driven about two miles from Java Man when her cell phone jangled and she saw Hudson’s number on the screen.

“Hey, there,” she greeted him warmly. “I heard the police have started calling.”

Hudson made a sound of annoyance. “Bound to happen. McNally called me and we talked on the phone, but he still wants to interview me in person. That’s probably in the cards.”

Becca thought of Renee and the investigation that had led her to the coast. “I suppose we’ll all have to talk to him.”

“When can I see you?” he asked.

“I just happen to be free right now,” she said and smiled as she turned on her blinker and slid into the slower lane.

“Can I talk you into pizza at my place?”

“You just did. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She clicked off, a grin on her face, and turned west onto the Sunset Highway to Laurelton. Traffic was thick through Beaverton and out to Hillsboro, but by the time she cruised into the area known as Laurelton, it had thinned to nearly nothing. She headed toward Hudson’s and when she turned down the gravel drive she was met by welcoming lights. She hurried up the steps and rang the bell.

Hudson called, “It’s open,” and Becca pushed the front door handle and entered. Leaving her coat on the hall tree, she walked toward the kitchen where the smell of tomato sauce, garlic, and onions beckoned.

“Hi,” he said, a slow grin stretching into place. Hudson was also in jeans, and he had on a chocolate corduroy shirt, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. They stared at each other a moment, then were in each other’s arms. She started laughing and couldn’t stop and he grinned at her.

Then he suddenly bent her over his arm so that her hair was almost sweeping the floor and he pressed his lips hard and hot against hers. She clung to him for fear she might fall backward, but opened her mouth when his tongue slipped between her teeth and the deepest part of her started to tingle.

She let out a low moan and he lifted his head. “Missed you,” he said.

“Missed you, right back.”

“Pizza can wait,” he said, blue eyes intense.

“Yes…” Becca murmured as he swept her off her feet and carried her up the stairs to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them as they fell together on the bed.

There wasn’t much more conversation after that. They yanked at buttons, flies, and zippers, and once the clothes were tossed aside, came together hot and fast. Hudson kissed her in all the places that made her go crazy, touching her intimately, sometimes gently, other times a little more rough, and she returned the favor, surprising him by exploring his body with her fingers and lips.

“God, Becca,” he finally muttered as he could stand the torment no more. Flipping her onto her stomach and holding her bare breasts in both hands, he slid into her and made love as if he’d never stop. She closed her eyes as she clenched around him, her spasms echoing his as he collapsed, sweating and breathing hard.