Dark Hearts. Sharon Sala
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psychiatrists later, he and PTSD had an unsettled truce, and the burn scars on his body looked like melted plastic. Except for the occasional visits his family made to Atlanta to see him, he communicated with them by phone. He lived for work and very little play, and on this particular day, he was trying to catch up on rest after a six-day stakeout.
Although it had been raining with soggy persistency for more than six hours, Sam was sound asleep inside apartment 4B, stark naked and belly down on the king-size bed with his cell phone in one hand and a handgun in the other.
In his dream, he was making love to Lainey. His fingers were tangled into the mane of red hair fanned out around her face, and he was hard as a rock and so deep inside her he couldn’t think. He could hear her short, breathless gasps as he pushed deeper into her, pounding harder until she suddenly arched up beneath him and wrapped her legs around his waist. He felt the climax roll through her and was about to come with her when he began hearing his brother cry out, calling his name. He turned to look for Lainey and she was gone. Then the tone of Trey’s voice changed to one of terror.
Help me, Sam, help me!
I’m here, Trey, I’m here! Where are you? What’s wrong?
Then Sam began hearing music. Someone was playing “Amazing Grace.”
And then he heard his brother scream.
Sam woke abruptly, bathed in sweat and shaking. It took him a few moments to realize he’d been dreaming and his phone was ringing.
He glanced at the time as he rolled over onto his back and answered the phone without checking to see who was calling.
“This is Jakes.”
“Sam, it’s me.”
Sam frowned. Trey had been in his dreams and now he was on the phone? Sam didn’t like coincidences. And because his voice was still husky from sleep, the anxiety in his gut made him sound angry.
“What the hell’s wrong?” he said.
Trey started to cry, and Sam sat up with a jerk and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Talk to me, brother.”
“Mom’s dead, and Trina is hurt bad.”
Sam grunted. It felt as if someone had just walked up behind him and coldcocked him with a baseball bat. His ears were ringing, and he couldn’t breathe. An ugly little voice in his subconscious was whispering, Dead. Dead. Everyone’s dead.
He thought leaving the land of blood and sand would get him away from so many people dying, but death had come into his family. How could that be? The room began to spin as Sam lowered his head to keep from losing it.
“Sam? Sam! Did you hear me?”
Sam wasn’t sure he could speak, and when he finally did, his voice cracked with the shock of an overwhelming grief.
“Yes. You said Mom was dead. She can’t be dead.”
Trey was struggling with his own emotions, but hearing the heartbreak in his big brother’s voice hurt on a whole other level. “She is, buddy, she is.”
“Oh, my God.” Sam was starting to shake. He had to focus. “Was it a wreck?”
Trey knew this was going to send his brother over the edge, but it had to be said.
“No, Sam, she was murdered. We believe she was killed for something that happened when she was a teenager. Come home. I need you. I’ll explain it all after you get here.”
Sam’s voice went from shock to rage.
“Teenager? Are you kidding me!”
“No. We’re almost certain it has to do with the night she graduated high school, but beyond that it’s just supposition.”
“How can you be sure?” Sam asked.
“Do you remember the story of Mom being in that bad wreck the night she graduated?” Trey asked.
Sam frowned. “Slightly. Why?”
“There were four people in that wreck, and three of them lived. In the past two months, two of the survivors have been murdered, and the killer tried to make both deaths look like accidents. Until today, Mom was the only one still living.”
Sam’s hands were shaking. “Why—”
“We don’t know, and now that Mom became the third victim, they’re taking me off the case even though one of the murders happened in my jurisdiction. That’s why I need you,” Trey said.
“I’m on my way,” Sam said, and hung up the phone, but he was pissed.
Three victims? Why hadn’t he known this was happening? Why hadn’t they called him?
He grabbed a suitcase from the back of his walk-in closet and threw it on the bed as reality reared its ugly head. Why would they call him? By his own actions he’d shown them he wanted no part of Mystic. It made him sick to think of Trey knowing Mom was in danger and not knowing how to protect her. Even worse, he couldn’t imagine how frightened his mom must have been as her classmates were being killed.
Then he remembered a couple of recent phone calls from her that he hadn’t returned. What if that would have made a difference in her living or dying? He wasn’t sure how to live with that question.
Suddenly his belly rolled and he headed for the bathroom. He got as far as the sink before the feeling of nausea passed. He splashed some water on his face and then leaned forward, staring at his image in the only mirror in the house. He would never hear his mother’s voice again, and that was on him.
He grabbed a towel to dry his face, then went to the bedroom to get dressed. He was sick at heart and feeling so guilty he could hardly focus as he began to pack.
The last thing he packed was an overcoat. At this time of year, there was no way to predict what the weather would be like in the mountains. He grabbed the suitcase, and then stopped to get his brown leather jacket out of the hall closet, settled a Stetson the color of dark chocolate firmly on his head and headed for the door. His handgun and ammunition were in the outer pocket of his suitcase, and his cell phone and charger were in his jacket pocket.
He got on the elevator with a heavy heart and rode it down to the lobby. He made one last stop at the front desk to inform the security guard he would be gone for an indeterminate time, and headed for the covered parking garage.
It was still raining, suitable weather for someone trying to hide tears, as he dumped his things inside his SUV and slid behind the wheel. His belly growled, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. His head hurt, another reminder that he hadn’t had coffee. But it would take more than coffee and food to ease the pain in his heart.
He drove from the parking garage and out into the downpour with his wipers on high. Alone in the car, with nothing but memories for company, he quit fighting against the tears and let them fall.
He had so many memories of his mom that he hadn’t thought of in years: her teaching him how to fillet a fish because his dad was never home long enough to do it; crying with him when he didn’t make the baseball team the year he turned ten; teaching him how to waltz so he could ask Lainey to the prom; the cookies fresh from the oven that were always on the kitchen table when he and his siblings came home from school. He remembered the winter it was so cold that all their water pipes froze and waking up to see his mom sitting in front of the kitchen sink with a hair dryer on high, trying to thaw the pipes and cursing a blue streak with no apologies. She’d been their rock. What in holy hell had she witnessed in her youth that got her killed? And why now?
He glanced up in the rearview mirror and caught a quick glimpse of the shock in his eyes.
“I swear to God, Mom, I will find out who did this to you and Trina, or die trying,” he said, and headed north out of Atlanta. It had been a long time coming, but Sam Jakes was going home.
* * *