Her Only Salvation Page 12

  House of Pain screamed through the speakers and the crowd went insane, whooping and hollering, hands raised to the ceiling as they jumped in the air excitedly. “What,” Luke shouted, leaning in closer.

  Terri chewed her bottom lip and waved him on. Nothing important. “She said she thinks you’re hot,” Cathie shouted ever so helpfully as she returned to the bar. She pinched his rear end as she passed, and Terri suspected that maybe she’d been sipping the special brew too.

  Luke’s only reaction was to smile brazenly. He said, “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

  Terri feigned offense. “Well, gee, thanks so much.” She stuck out her tongue at him and hit the floor, filling in for Sara while she took her break.

  The night flowed smoothly, and so did the booze. As the evening wore on, the feel of the room grew more relaxed as its occupants grew increasingly inebriated. Taking advantage of the lull, Terri decided to take her break. The incredible relief of slipping out of the toe-pinching shoes was indescribable. She sighed, slumping down on the old, battered couch and closing her eyes. With the door to the locker room closed, the persistent thumping beats of the music became a soothing backdrop to the sounds of her steady breathing. She could feel exhaustion creeping over every muscle and fiber of her body and knew that she would have to force herself to get up soon before she couldn’t get up at all.

  Cranking her neck around, she checked the clock hanging over the door. Only one more hour, she promised herself, then forced her aching muscles into action. Talking her body into moving was nearly impossible, however, and when she finally managed to get to her feet, she could have sworn she’d aged twenty years.

  Retrieving her purse, she dug around in the bottom, past lipstick and little bottles of hairspray and lotion, until she finally felt the soft fabric of the small change purse. Luke had two vending machines installed earlier last year, one for drinks and one for snacks. Counting out two dollars in change, since the machine tended to malfunction and eat her dollars, she punched the buttons for a diet Coke and a bag of Sunchips. For the most part, her appetite was pretty nonexistent, but she thought it was better to eat something than nothing at all.

  When she was finished, she crumpled the bag and waited out the clock, enjoying the rare moment of silence. Then it was back to work again.

  It was nearing three in the morning, closing time for the Sunset, when she arrived back on the floor. Numerous patrons had already left, leaving a few stragglers behind weaving their own pattern of dance out on the floor. Luke was closing down the bar alongside Sara, while Cathie and Marianne, who had seniority, were preparing to leave. That left the seasonal help out on the floor to clean the tables and tidy up.

  Terri grabbed a rag and got to work wiping glasses and arranging them neatly on the shelves. Occasionally, she would take a head count, willing the feeble drunkards to leave so they could lock the doors. Luke’s personal code of conduct was to be as nice and generous as possible, which meant he didn’t so much as shove people out the door as he gently nudged them in the right direction. Eventually, he abandoned the bar, approaching the DJ. They exchanged words she couldn’t hear but understood nonetheless. When he turned back, the music died down to a low murmur and Luke spoke to those who remained.

  “Alright, everyone! Bar is closed for the night. Please collect your belongings. If you still have drinks to pay for, you can settle your tab with Terri.” He pointed in her direction and she moved behind the register to await the flow of traffic. “Ray will be checking everyone at the door on the way out. Anyone who appears to need it will be leaving in a cab, which is waiting in the parking lot.”

  There were a few grumbles, but the people who frequented the club often knew the policy well, and those who didn’t would find out soon enough. Terri spent the next fifteen minutes ringing people out. When the last person passed through the exit door, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I am so glad this night is over,” she said, bracing her hands on the counter.

  Luke was busy turning chairs and placing them on the tables to make room for the staff to clean the floors. “Ditto. Why did I let you talk me into this again?”

  “Because I am a genius,” Terri said haughtily.

  “Can’t argue with that. I think we made more money tonight than we have all month.”

  “Hey, boss,” Ray interrupted, appearing from one of the back rooms. “I’m heading out. You want me to lock up?”

  Normally, Ray was one of the last to go, but Luke had given him permission to leave early on Saturdays so he could rest up for his Sunday sermons. “Go ahead and take off,” Luke said, placing another chair on a table. “I’ll lock up behind you.”

  Terri counted the drawer and packaged the money into a small zippered bag to be dropped in the bank’s safe deposit box on the way home. Luke was right, they had made a substantial amount of money tonight, but she didn’t think it accounted for an entire month’s earnings.

  When she was finished with her task, and there wasn’t anything left to do but wait until the floors were cleaned, Terri hopped up on the counter and inspected her manicure. The polish was chipped in a few corners and nearly gone on one nail, but she didn’t really like mint green anyway, so she started picking the polish off, one small chip at a time.

  “Well, everyone is gone,” Luke said sometime later.

  Terri looked up, surprised to have gotten so lost in her own idle thoughts to not have noticed, and glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, the floors were sparkling. “The DJ hasn’t left yet?”

  “I paid him for a full ten hours,” Luke stated. “There’s still five minutes left on the clock.” He held out his hand to help her down. “Want to take a quick spin with me before we call it a night?”

  “You mean dance?” Terri said, bewildered.

  “That’s the idea.”

  She didn’t say no, and Luke took her silence as a yes. As she followed him onto the dance floor, the music grew steadily, and the serene voice of someone she didn’t recognize hit her ears. “Who is this?”

  “No idea,” Luke said, pulling her close. They swayed to the soft music and Terri rested her head on his shoulder, allowing herself to absorb the moment, to feel the simplicity of it. It was amazing how something so small could be so significant. They’d shared a kiss, more than once, but somehow this was the closest she and Luke had ever been.

  A twinge of sadness tugged at her heart. She and Randy had shared moments just like this one, little snippets of time when everything seemed right with the world, when only the two of them existed. Where had it all gone so impossibly wrong? Even though she knew, she wished it could have been different. Instead, she was hiding in fear from the one person who was supposed to love and protect her.

  Her throat constricted and she swallowed convulsively, trying to keep the tears at bay. She was tired of crying, had done enough of it to last a lifetime. As if sensing this, Luke squeezed her tighter to him. She grabbed onto him, grabbed onto the security he offered. If she was brave enough, this could be the start of a new beginning.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Detective Young sat in his chair with his feet propped on the corner of the desk. Through the glass windows surrounding his office, he could see the police station was in full swing, the officers working like busy little bees. A perp had been brought in a few minutes ago and was chained to one of the benches along the far wall. He thrashed uncontrollably, looking like an epileptic, and shouting that he was an angel sent to do God’s bidding. If he had a nickel…

  Sitting in the station for a couple hours was almost better than watching a movie. The action was great, the drama superb, the only problem was the food sucked. At least the coffee was decent, but that was because he picked his up at the little shop on the corner instead of drinking the sludge they brewed in the break room.

  Young tapped the end of his pencil on the desk, using the rhythmic beat to get his mind back on track. The Lefebvre case was kicking his ass. As of now, the kid
was still comatose and he had no leads, other than a late model blue pickup truck, to go off of. He wished people could remember license plates as well as they did every detail down to the second of what happened at a scene. Did they even realize how many late model blue pickups there were in this city, let alone the country? The numbers made his head pound.

  He had no choice but to go the old fashioned route with this one, which basically consisted of stabbing around in the dark and hoping you nicked something. So far, he had questioned the club owner, Luke Reed, and over the past few days he paid visits to each of the wait staff on his payroll aside from one. Terri Cunningham, Caucasian female, late twenties, blonde hair, green eyes, married, though divorce was pending.

  Slipping into his blazer, Detective Young strode out of the office.

  ***

  It only took ten minutes to reach the Cunningham residence. As the detective got out of his unmarked and hiked up the short drive, he noted that the neighborhood was clean and well-maintained. The little ranch house fit right in with its nondescript white siding and box hedges that had grown shaggy with neglect. There was a truck parked in the driveway and he performed a visual sweep of it on his way up. It was newer, a little dusty from the recent rains and the vanity license plate reading RNMOVR gave him a chuckle. Curious, he stopped to look through the windows.

  The interior was covered in dark grey upholstery, a few papers lay balled up on the floorboard of the passenger side and an empty McDonald’s cup laid sideways on the dash.

  “Can I help you?” a strong male voice asked from behind him.

  Detective Young turned around with a casual smile on his face to find a tall, blonde gentleman standing there with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes narrowed, waiting for an explanation. He experienced a brief moment of recognition, feeling like he might have seen him somewhere before, but he couldn’t place him. With all the people that he came into contact with each day, though, it wasn’t surprising that he might feel that way. Shelving that thought for the moment, the detective pulled his wallet and flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Howard Young with the TPD. I’m looked for Mrs. Terri Cunningham.”

  Usually, a person had one of two reactions: either they perked right up at his mention of being a detective and got all cheery and helpful, or they turned suspicious and cold, a defense mechanism when they had something to hide. This guy had one level, and it seemed to be locked on cold and suspicious.

  “Terri’s not home right now,” he said sternly.

  Howard Young wasn’t one to be intimidated, not after some of the types of people and situations he’d experienced in his years with the force, but he knew when someone was trying to intimidate him. Standing as tall as his five-eleven frame would allow, Howard drew back his shoulders and presented the impenetrable wall of confidence he was known for. “I see. Do you know when she will be home,” he pressed.

  “Soon enough,” the man replied.

  Howard nodded, looking past him at nothing in particular. The noonday sun caused him to squint, and he cursed inwardly, realizing he had left his sunglasses on his desk back at the department. Finally, he said, “Could you tell her I need to speak with her as soon as possible?”

  The man tilted his head. “She in trouble?”

  “No, nothing like that. Just a case I’m working on that I need to ask her a few questions about.” Howard stuffed his hands in his pockets, took another look around, and then shrugged. “Well, I won’t keep you.” He started back down the drive. Then, less than two steps later, he stopped and turned back around. “Detective Howard Young,” he reminded. “You’ll tell her?”

  “Sure,” the man said, his words and body language stiff.

  Somehow, he doubted that. Howard smiled anyway. “Good, thanks.” He began to leave, then turned back again. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Randy,” Randy said stonily.

  “Randy,” Howard repeated. “Boyfriend?”

  Randy’s lips pressed into a firm line for a moment before relaxing again. “Husband,” he snarled. Clearly, Howard had hit a sore spot, which happened to spark the detective in his blood.

  Howard’s eyebrows rose to reflect his surprise. “Husband? Didn’t I read somewhere about a pending divorce,” he said as if to himself.

  “We’re reconciling,” he said with a cocky lift of his lips, forming a disingenuous smile.

  “Ah.” Howard just stood there a moment, looking Randy in the eyes. It was a tactic he often employed to see if the person would falter, but this man appeared as immovable as a mountain. Finally, he took what information he had and started back down the drive to his car. “You have a good evening, Randy,” he called back as he opened the car door. “And don’t forget to tell your wife I stopped by.”

  Randy’s glacial glare followed him down the street until he rounded a corner, severing visual contact. One thing that made Howard Young an excellent detective was that he was persistent and always followed his intuition. Right now, his intuition was flashing like a neon sign. Something about that whole situation was off, and he would bet his pension that Randy Cunningham was the problem. There was something about him that screamed malicious intent, and Howard immediately took a dislike to him.

  What he wanted to do was head back to the station and run this Randy character through the system, see if anything popped up, but he had to focus on the task at hand: tracking down Terri Cunningham. That meant he needed to pay another visit to Sunset Black.

  ***

  Randy kicked the door shut behind him, fury igniting his blood like wildfire in his veins. A detective! No doubt this was about that kid he’d introduced to the grill of his truck. That would just figure, he thought angrily as he paced the room like a caged animal. It would be just his luck that a washed-up detective like Young would tear his world apart over some insignificant punk who’d never been taught boundaries, just when he was putting the pieces back together. Just who did he have to kill to catch a break around here?

  It was like the universe was working against him. First his life fell apart, and then his own wife turned on him, shacking up with another man and forcing him to take extreme measures to get her back. It was like one big carnival ride that he wanted off of immediately.

  His phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts, and Randy hurried to pick it up. Whoever was on the other end would determine which it would be, catch or kill. “Yeah,” he barked into the phone.

  The voice he heard was music to his ears. “I found her.”

  The corners of Randy’s lips stretched into a grin. “Tell me everything you found out.”

  A heavy sigh came down the line, as if the man hired to do the tracking was preparing to share something big. Randy braced himself. “She’s staying in a home about twenty miles out on Route 23. It’s set off the road and covered by trees, so it isn’t easy to find unless you know what to look for.”

  “Who’s she staying with?” Randy demanded, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it anyway.

  “She’s staying with a man. He owns the home and the surrounding property—”

  “I don’t want his stats,” Randy snapped. “Just tell me who he is.”

  “Abridged version it is,” the tracker said, not the least bit affected by Randy’s tone. “Luke Reed, age thirty-two, no kids, never been married, and, you’re gonna love this,” he said with a smile in his voice, “he’s the owner of that club you said your wife worked at.”

  Randy’s fist balled at his side while the other crushed the phone. “Good work. I’ll need you to give me everything you have, addresses, layout, everything.”

  “Absolutely, man.” Randy found a paper and pen and started writing everything down, even constructing a rough map from the specific directions he gave. When he was finished and about to hang up, the man asked, “So when do I get paid?”

  “Take it up with Jerry,” he said, and with a simple press of a button, ended the call.

  Armed with such enlightenin
g information, Randy set about putting his plan in motion. As he went into the bedroom to retrieve the tote he’d packed with everything he would need, he couldn’t help feeling exhilarated.

  He ran a quick check of his supplies, noting that everything was there. He still needed to shower and shave so he could look his best. It was a reunion, after all! One year had passed since they were last together, and Randy was feeling the effects of such a long separation. He wanted his wife back, and he was willing to do anything to see to it that she came home with him.

  He was furious that she was staying in the home of another man, of course, and her boss no less, but he knew he needed to set his anger aside, at least for a short while, so he could remind her how much they needed each other. Another man wasn’t what she needed. What she needed was Randy, who had always been there for her since she was a freshman in college.

  He could still remember the day they first met. He was a beat cop, fresh out of training, when the call came down the wire that there was a loud party with underage drinking going on in an off-campus house. His unit and one other responded. When he burst through the door, eager to knock heads, he laid eyes on a wide-eyed girl no older than twenty. She held a plastic cup in her hand, her lips parted in preparation to take a drink, but her eyes were on him. In that moment, they were both lost, and he couldn’t help himself. He let her off with a warning. After that, he moved heaven and earth to find out everything he could about her, and his efforts paid off. He got the girl, the job, and the house with the white picket fence. They were living the American dream. Then she went and ruined everything by getting pregnant.

  He went blind with rage, something he always had difficulty with, and they ended up in an altercation. She lost the baby a few days later, but there was no telling what caused it. Most women had several miscarriages during their lifetime without the mother ever knowing it, said her doctor, and he chose to believe her. He bought her flowers and tried to comfort her, and they made up, marking the pattern of their marriage from that day forward.