Can't Bear To Run (Kendal Creek Bears, #1) Page 3

  Before he could answer with a witty retort, she handed him the receiver. “Creighton’s on.”

  Dax winced as the old bear on the other end wheezed loudly, and spat. “Daxon Mark,” he said, in his thick, almost unintelligible accent. “What can I do ya for?”

  “Listen, Jack,” Dax said, “I just heard from Wyatt. Apparently, he’s got some ‘plans.’”

  “Huh,” Creighton grunted. “I guess he’ll be trying to take the town over again?”

  “Can’t slip anything past you,” Dax said. “To be honest, I have no idea what he’s planning, but given his track record, it’s not going to be easy to deal with.”

  “I hear that, son,” Jack said with another splort following. “If we’re lucky, he’ll get bored and move on again.”

  Dax laughed shortly. “Yeah, well, I doubt that somehow. But listen, I’m going out of town for a few days on, uh, business. Fletch and Rollins will be on the horn if you hear of anything that needs attention.”

  “Business, huh? You chasin’ tail somewhere? You know, ol’ Jack Creighton used to be one helluva stud back in the olden days. Mayhaps I could teach you a couple lessons on bagging a—ow!”

  Creighton’s voice became slightly more distant. “Damn it all, Loretta, why’d you throw your shoe at me?”

  “His mate hit him with a shoe,” Dax deadpanned with his hand in front of the receiver’s mouthpiece. “What the hell did I ever do to deserve this?”

  Fletch smiled.

  “Anyways,” Jack said, voice back in Dax’s ear, “you be careful out there. You might be able to pick up a small tractor, but that won’t do you no good if someone gets the jump on you. If’n Wyatt really is wantin’ to knock you off your block, it’d be a lot easier wherever it is you’re goin’ than back in clan territory.”

  “Yeah,” Dax said. “I will.”

  He closed his eyes, and leaned his huge head back against the wood-paneled wall of Kendal Creek most luxurious office space. All he could think about is finding that girl. He knew it was a one in a billion shot, but he had the distinct impression he’d go insane if he didn’t. “I guess that settles it,” he said. “I’m going to go to Denver, I’m going to get roaring drunk, and I’m going to listen to music no one has cared about since the 90s.”

  “Jeez,” Fletch said. “That sounds about like someone came up with a list of ‘Everything Daxon Likes’ and then made a concert out of it.”

  Smiling, Dax nodded. “Yeah, it kinda does, huh?”

  “Have fun,” she said. “And make sure you get back in one piece. I’m not sure this town would survive Wyatt’s meddling without our alpha.”

  “I will, and I promise,” Dax said. “Hell, you never know. I might come back with a mate. Can’t ever tell.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Fletch said.

  As the big bear tromped out of the office, she watched him leave, and then watched the door swing shut. “I guess stranger things have happened though. Right?”

  -4-

  When it Rains, It Pours

  When the phone rang, I was on it like a coked-up chicken on... well, whatever coked-up chickens like. The past two days had been a flurry of excitement, the sort that only comes when a person’s mind is made up to do something half radical and half crazy. My decision was certainly both of those.

  “Karen?” I asked as I picked up the receiver.

  “Jeez, you a little excited?” she was giggling. Hearing that sound took me back to before Dan turned on the asshole mode, when life was good – like I hoped it would be again soon.

  “Yeah well, things haven’t been so great around here for a while. Seeing you guys is going to be incredible.” I was almost vibrating with excitement, but I couldn’t possibly tell her what I was planning. I’ve seen enough TV cop shows to know you never do that. “Getting out of the house is a rare treat.”

  She didn’t respond to that, probably because no sane person would know how. Dan was so good at covering up all of his cracks and faults with outsiders that she couldn’t possibly know what he’d spent the last couple of years doing to me.

  “Dan coming?”

  I thought for a second. How could I answer that? Why no, I’m planning to clock him with a baseball bat and drop him in a river before we go out. Don’t worry though, he’s fine with it. “Nah, I think he has to work. Or something. Anyway, nah it’ll just be me.”

  “Good,” she said, which struck me as slightly strange. “Not that... I mean...”

  “Don’t worry about it. He can certainly come on a little thick.” Normally, I’d expound on how he was a good guy, just a little strange sometimes, but not this time. I was through defending him to everyone on earth. He didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve me.

  “Okay, well, see you at five?”

  “Actually let’s make it a little later? Maybe six? I’ve got,” I coughed, “just a thing I need to do.”

  “Yeah sure,” she said. “You want us to pick you up?”

  No, I don’t want you to see the blood, I thought. Like there would be any blood. Like my stupid plan was even going to work in the first place. “I’ll drive up there. Finnegan’s, right?”

  “The one and only. I hope you get your throat pipes all lubed up, because I’m going to make you sing the worst shit in the world tonight.”

  I laughed, relieving my nerves with a tiny shot of a break. I looked over at the couch where my Louisville Slugger had been set since Dan left that morning. That gave me another breath of relief. And then, I thought about Mister Mystery. God, why can I not get him out of my head? I must be crazy. Must be.

  “Sounds good,” I said, more than a little distracted. “See you then.”

  Before she could answer, I hung up and grabbed my bat. Everything else was ready. As soon as I was done, I was heading to see Karen and Matt, and then I was gone. Where I was going, I wasn’t sure. What I was going to do? Not a clue at all. But I did know that I was going to get the hell out of Dodge as fast as I could and go until I couldn’t go anymore.

  The feel of warm, smooth-turned wood in my hand reassured me with its heft. Of course, that all depends on this working anyway, which I still hadn’t managed to convince myself it would. Doubt began to flood my brain, but I shook my head. I didn’t have time to worry, didn’t have the luxury of indulging in fear and terror. I knew what I had to do if I was ever going to have a life again. Swallowing back the bile, I checked the clock. It read seven past four.

  “An hour, give or take. Are you sure you’re ready for this, Raine?” I asked myself, in the way I always do to check my own nerves.

  Heavy tires outside caught my attention.

  Oh shit, he’s early. Why is he early? He’s never, ever early. But there he was, tromping up the front walk that he refused to edge. I heard the dead grass crunch under his boots and squeezed the bat. Okay, just hold on. Just a few more seconds and it’s all over.

  Improvising has always been one of my strong suits. It’s just something I can always manage to do in even the direst of situations. There was one time, for instance, I filled an entire essay booklet with utter bullshit in a history class I’d almost forgotten I had. It wasn’t anything exciting – just rambling about the injustice of colonialism or something – and I didn’t fool anyone. But the professor was so impressed with my random knowledge that he looked at the essay with just enough of a squint to claim it made sense, and gave me a C+.

  That had been the proudest moment of my improvisational life to date. Cold-cocking a brutal husband though, that’s something else entirely. Just like I’d decided, I took my place behind the door, where I knew he wouldn’t see me.

  My blood ran cold as I heard him fiddle with the deadbolt, and when it slid back from the doorframe, I listened to the rhythmic thump of my pulse inside my head. Chilly rivulets of sweat ran down either side of my face. I smelled his cologne before he came into view. How he managed to keep smelling like Aramis Classic through a day of manual labor, I’ll never understand, but withou
t exception, he always did. The thought that he’d been cheating on me for half our life together – which was coincidentally when he started smelling like a men’s clothing store – hadn’t occurred to me somehow.

  His hand, which was clean of any dirt or grease, was the first bit of him I saw as he passed through the door. Just like I planned, he didn’t bother to look behind him as he walked into the kitchen, but he was trying to be stealthy. Instead of his normal pounding, stomping steps, he was being as subtle as someone like Dan knows how to be.

  Why would he bother with the stealth? I mean, he didn’t have any clue of what I had planned. He couldn’t – no one did, not even Karen. Curious as I was, it didn’t matter. The more I thought and considered and fiddled around, the more likely I was to drop the bat and give in once more.

  Gritting my teeth, I simply refused to let that happen.

  I heard the scratch of a chair against the hardwood in the kitchen. Of course you can’t pick up a chair, just have to scratch up the floor. Already barefoot, because I’m always barefoot if I have a choice, I crept into the kitchen with complete silence.

  He was eating. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. There was a pan of enchiladas in front of him – the ones I’d made the night before and that he refused to eat because he said they were too greasy. There he was, chowing down on the whole pan of cold cheese-filled tortillas. Too greasy, my ass, I thought.

  Squeezing the handle of my trusty bat, I felt the slightest tug as my skin slid over the wood. Just a few more seconds, count to three, Raine.

  One.

  Two. Dan took another bite, a shovel-held forkful of enchilada went into his mouth. Some of it dribbled down the side of his face.

  Three.

  I swung as hard as I could, aiming at the ridge on the back of his head.

  Thunk.

  It was like the entire world stopped spinning. Dan straightened up in his seat, but didn’t turn around. “Raine?” he asked, his speech slurred a little. “These enchiladas are no... no... no good?”

  I fought back against the urge to hit him again. This wasn’t rage, it wasn’t an execution... okay well maybe it was a little like an execution, but I really hoped I wouldn’t have to hit him again.

  He stood, pushing back from the table and knocking the old Amish chair backwards. One of his legs faltered, but he managed to catch himself on the end of the table. Turning around, I saw that one of his eyes had gone googly in his skull and the other was staring off at nothing.

  “You’re done with me,” I snarled, my body trembling. “I’m done being kept under your thumb.”

  Dan started laughing. A rattling, taunting sound with a certain frailty to it. I pulled back to hit him again, aiming right at his left temple. But before I swung, he started to jibber. The laugh turned to gasped breaths, and then he went to one trembling knee. Reaching out for me, Dan grabbed ahold of the waist of my jeans. His weight tugged at them so heavily that I had to back up and push him off to keep him from pulling me to the floor.

  Shaking my head unconsciously, I started to myself tremble.

  “I did it,” I said as he fell into a formless heap, like a spineless jellyfish, at my feet. “I killed you, you son of a bitch. You can’t ever hurt me again.”

  I circled him, watching for any sign of movement, any sign of life. He had none. Dan just lay there, motionless and helpless and, I thought, dead as a damn doornail.

  Poking him with my toe, I lifted his shoulder and then dropped him back to the ground with a thud. It occurred to me that I should probably check for a pulse, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Somehow, I managed to distance myself from what I’d done. I managed to convince myself that he wasn’t actually dead, dead, he was just really unconscious.

  I was going to take him somewhere, leave him there, and by the time he came to and got back to the house, I’d be long gone. I never wanted to kill him, not really I don’t think, but he’d pushed me to the brink of my coping ability and far beyond. I thought I saw a twitch of life leaving his body, but wasn’t sure.

  Either way, I just couldn’t check for a pulse.

  All of a sudden, my thoughts began to rush a million miles an hour. Should I call the police and say he’d come after me and I clocked him good in self-defense? It was plausible enough – I mean there was only the one time I called the cops on him, but hey, that’s enough, right?

  But no, if I called them, they’d put one and one together. I know that they always investigate spouses in cases like this, and I’m sure they wouldn’t be fooled by a dumb story about Dan coming after me. I couldn’t exactly figure out why, but I knew they wouldn’t.

  “No,” I told myself, talking just to have sounds in the air besides my own breaths and the pounding in my chest. “No, keep to the plan, keep to it. I made a plan, and it’ll work,” I told myself. “It’ll work... because it has to work.”

  I poked him again with my toe. “It has to work.”

  It was easier to get Dan’s limp form into the wheelbarrow I’d stashed in the pantry than I thought it’d be. Getting him into the back of his pickup? Not so much, but I managed.

  Sitting in the front of his rusted, ancient Ram, I laughed for a moment. I stared into the rearview and watched myself.

  My face twisted, my lips curled, and the bitter laughs turned to desperate sobs.

  -5-

  Just the Facts, Ma’am

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m no stranger to police procedurals. Hell, once upon a time, I even tried out for the Boston PD, but fell about two minutes short of making the mile-long run in time. I’ve stared at hours of Dragnet, I’ve shaken my head at CSI and told unfortunate co-viewers about the inaccuracies.

  But when you’re driving down a road with someone in the back of a truck? Shit gets real, and quick.

  The emotions running through me made a lot more sense in retrospect than they did at the time. I wasn’t panicked – wasn’t even scared, really. I didn’t have any regret, or feel bad for what I’d done. The only thing on my mind was that I needed to do something with all of this before I ended up on the news headed to the slammer.

  Funny thing about all that.

  I hadn’t ever considered jail until just then. Didn’t even cross my mind. I’d been so fixated on getting free from Dan’s increasingly paranoid, desperate clutches that reality hardly seeped in. As I hit a bump, and he kind of flopped around in the bed, thudding against the side that aforementioned reality started sinking in. Big time.

  The thing is, I’m not entirely sure why. After all, Dan didn’t have any family, didn’t have anyone he particularly cared for... or who cared about him. And him just up and vanishing wouldn’t have been the strangest thing in the world. Hell, he did it all the time, only to show up a few days later with a hangover and a sour attitude.

  Just as I was starting to sink into that particular rabbit hole, my phone buzzed and I grabbed it, answering to have something to distract myself from my own feedback loop.

  “Raine?”

  It was Karen. Thank God it was Karen.

  “Hey what’s shakin’?” I asked, as casually as a person possibly can with a limp body in the back of a pickup.

  “Not much,” her voice was a little taut, a bit strained. It took a second to pick up on, but when I did, I couldn’t forget it. “Just seeing if you were still coming out tonight.”

  I checked my watch. “Oh shit!” I yelped. “Sorry, I totally lost track of time. I had no idea it was so late.”

  “No worries,” she laughed. “It’s just karaoke night, don’t get upset about it.”

  Something about the way she said that clicked in my brain. “Oh,” I said, “I’m not upset, I just didn’t mean to stand you guys up.”

  “Don’t even give it a thought. We’ll be at the bar whenever you can swing by. I take it Dan’s not coming?”

  I snorted, on accident. “Uh, no,” I said. “He kinda took off earlier. I don’t really know where he went, but... well yeah, he does t
his sometimes. Goes camping or something.”

  That sounded like just about the lamest line of bullshit I’ve ever dropped. Still though, no matter how much, how badly, I wanted to tell the truth that just wasn’t in the cards. Not yet anyway. And after all – it was something that happened plenty of times.

  “Right on,” she said. “Well hey, see you when you get here?”

  I gulped, hard enough that it was probably audible. “Yeah,” I managed. “Won’t be long, probably a half hour or so.”

  The line went dead, and just as it did, I realized what I’d just said. I had a half hour to dump a body.

  Holy shit that’s a thing to come to terms with.

  I had a body in the back of my husband’s truck. My husband’s body.

  My hands were shaking so hard I could barely keep a grip on the slick, old wheel. The rubber was all gone where he gripped it, and the metal underneath was rusted and patchy with hand oil. I squeezed harder, peering into the darkness to try and decide just what the hell I was going to do.

  That’s when it hit me.

  Camping.

  It was like a rush of fresh air after being under water for a few seconds too long. He did go camping a lot, and almost always did it without taking me along. He needed the time to himself, you know, because his life was so damn bad.

  Just thinking about that got my blood roiling again, and buried my fear.

  Dan also nearly always went to the same place. A little inlet in the woods not too far from our little suburban town, with lots of drops and lots of fairly deep rivers. A guy, out in the woods by himself, drinking a little too much and falling in? Much stranger things happen every single day.

  With my mind set in stone, I pulled over to the shoulder of the highway and turned the aging truck around with a significant amount of creaking and groaning. Assuming everything went right, I would be at the bar in a little under a half hour.