Five miles outside Platte City, Nebraska
Friday, October 24
Nick Morrelli wished the woman beneath him wore less
makeup. He knew it was ridiculous. He listened to her soft
moans — purrs really. Like a cat, she slithered against
him, rubbing her silky thighs up and down the sides of his
torso. She was more than ready for him. And yet, all he
could think about was the blue powder smeared on her
eyelids. Even with the lights out, it remained etched in
his mind like fluorescent, glow-in-the-dark paint.
"Oh, baby, your body is so hard," she purred in his ear as
she ran her long fingernails up his arms and over his back.
He slid off her before she discovered that not all of his
body was hard. What was wrong with him? He needed to
concentrate. He licked her earlobe and nuzzled her neck,
then moved down to where he really wanted to be.
Instinctively, his mouth found one of her breasts. He
ravished it with soft, wet kisses. She moaned even before
his tongue flicked at her nipple. He loved those sounds a
woman made — the short little gasp, then the low moan. He
waited for them, then wrapped his tongue around her nipple
and sucked it into his mouth. Her back arched, and she
quivered. He leaned into her, absorbing the shiver, her
soft, smooth flesh trembling against him. Normally, that
reaction alone would immediately give him an erection.
Tonight, nothing.
Jesus, was he losing his touch? No, he was too young to be
having this problem.After all, he was four years away from
forty.
When in the world had he started keeping track of his age
by its distance from forty?
"Oooh, lover, don't stop!"
He didn't even realize he had stopped. She groaned
impatiently and began moving her hips up and down, slowly,
with a sensuous rhythm.Yes, she was definitely ready for
him. And he was definitely not ready. Just once he wished
women would use his name instead of baby, lover, stud
muffin, whatever. Did women worry about yelling out the
wrong name, too?
Her fingers twisted into his short, thick hair. She yanked
hard, the streak of pain surprising him. Then she pulled
his face back to her breasts. In the dim light, he noticed
that the triangle of tanned skin was crooked. The point
overlapped onto the underside of her breast. What was
wrong with him? A beautiful blonde wanted him. Why didn't
her breathless anticipation arouse him? He needed to
focus. It all felt too mechanical, too routine.
Nevertheless, he would compensate again using his fingers
and tongue. After all, he had a reputation to maintain.
He began the descent down her body, devouring her with
kisses and nibbles. Her body squirmed beneath his touch.
She was writhing and gasping for breath even before his
teeth tugged at her lace panties. He kissed his way to the
inside of her thighs. Suddenly, a sound stopped him. He
strained to hear from under the bedcovers.
"No, please don't stop," she groaned, pulling him back
into her.
There it was again. Pounding. Someone was at the front
door. "I'll be right back." Nick gently pushed her hands
away and stumbled out of bed, disentangling himself from
the sheets and almost tripping. He pulled on jeans as he
checked the clock on the nightstand — 10:36.
Even in the dark, he knew every creak in the staircase by
heart. Out of habit, he found himself tiptoeing, though
his parents hadn't slept in the old farmhouse for over
five years.
The knock was louder and more insistent now. "Hold on a
minute," he called out impatiently, yet relieved by the
interruption.
When he opened the door, Nick recognized Hank Ashford's
son, though he couldn't recall his name. The boy was
sixteen or seventeen, a linebacker on the football team
and built like he could move two or three players at a
time off the line of scrimmage. Yet, tonight, as he stood
on Nick's front porch, the kid slouched with his hands
stashed in his pockets, eyes wild and face pale. He
shivered despite the sweaty forehead.
"Sheriff Morrelli, you have to come…on Old Church Road…
please, you have to…"
"Is someone hurt?" The crisp night air stung Nick's bare
skin. It felt good.
"No, it's not…he's not hurt…Oh, God, Sheriff, it's awful."
The boy looked back toward his car. It was only then that
Nick saw the girl in the front seat. Even looking into the
headlights, he could see she was crying.
"What's going on?" he demanded, sending the boy into a
speechless, arm-crossing dance, shifting his weight from
one leg to the other.
What stupid game had they been playing this time? Last
week, the night before homecoming, a group of boys had
played chicken with a couple of Jake Turner's tractors.
The loser had tipped over into a rain-filled ditch,
pinning himself under the water. The boy was lucky he had
escaped with only broken ribs and the flimsy punishment of
sitting out two football games. "What the hell happened
this time?" Nick found himself yelling at the shivering
linebacker.
"We found…down off Old Church Road…in the tall grass. Oh
God, we found…we found a body."
"A body?" Nick wasn't sure he believed him. "You mean a
dead body?" Was the boy drunk? Was he stoned?
The boy nodded, tears filling his eyes. He scraped the
sleeve of his sweatshirt across his face and looked from
Nick to his girlfriend, then back to Nick.
"Hang on a minute."
Nick stepped back inside, letting the screen door slam
behind him. They had probably imagined it. Or maybe it was
an early Halloween prank. They'd been out partying. Both
of them were probably stoned. He pulled on his boots,
bypassing socks, then grabbed his shirt from the sofa,
where it had been taken off him earlier in the evening. He
was annoyed to find his fingers shaking as he buttoned the
front.
"Nick, what is it?"
The voice from the top of the stairs startled him. He had
forgotten about Angie. Roused from bed, her long, blond
hair was ruffled and floated around her shoulders. The
blue eye makeup was hardly noticeable from this distance.
She wore one of his T-shirts. It was transparent in the
hallway's soft light. Now, looking up at her, he couldn't
imagine why he had been relieved to leave her.
"I've got to check something out."
"Is someone hurt?"
She sounded more curious than concerned. Was she only
looking for a bit of gossip? Something to share with the
morning coffee drinkers at Wanda's Diner?
"I don't know."
"Did someone find the Alverez boy?"
Jesus, he hadn't even thought of that. The boy had been
missing since Sunday, gone, taken before he began his
newspaper route. "No, I don't think so," Nick told her.
Even the FBI was certain the boy had more than likely been
taken by his father, who they were still trying to locate.
It was a simple custody battle. And this was simply
teenage kids playing tricks on each other.
"I might be a while, but you're welcome to stay."
He grabbed the keys to his Jeep and found Ashford sitting
on the front steps, his face buried in his hands.
"Let's go." Nick gently yanked a handful of sweatshirt and
pulled the boy to his feet. "Why don't the two of you get
in with me."
Nick wished he had taken time to put on underwear. Now, in
the cramped Jeep, the stiff denim scraped against him
every time he put the clutch in and shifted. To make
matters worse, Old Church Road was filled with ruts from
the rains of the week before. The gravel popped against
the Jeep as he weaved from side to side, avoiding the deep
gashes in the road.
"What exactly were you two doing out on this washboard?"
As soon as he said it, he realized the obvious. He didn't
need to be seventeen to remember all the benefits of an
old deserted gravel road. "Never mind," he added before
either of them had time to answer. "Just tell me where I'm
going."
"It's about another mile, just past the bridge. There's a
pasture road that runs along the river."
"Sure, okay."
He noticed Ashford wasn't stuttering anymore. Perhaps he
was sobering up. The girl, however, who sat between Nick
and the boy, hadn't said a word.
Nick slowed down as the Jeep bumped across the wood-
slatted bridge. He found the pasture road even before
Ashford pointed it out. They bounced and slid over the
dirt road that consisted of rutted tire tracks filled with
muddy water.
"All the way down to the trees?" Nick glanced at Ashford,
who only nodded and stared straight ahead.As they
approached the shelter belt, the girl hid her face in the
boy's sweatshirt.
Nick stopped, killed the engine, but left on the
headlights. He reached across the two of them and pulled a
flashlight from the glove compartment.
"That door sticks," he said to Ashford. He watched the two
exchange a glance. Neither made any attempt to leave the
Jeep.
"You never said we'd have to look at it again," the girl
whispered to Ashford as she clung to his arm.
Nick slammed the car door. Its echo sliced through the
silence. There was nothing around for miles. No traffic,
no farm lights. Even the night animals seemed to be
asleep. He stood outside the Jeep, waiting. The boy's eyes
met his, but still he made no motion to leave the Jeep.
Instead of insisting, Nick pointed the flashlight toward
an area down by the riverbank. The stream of light shot
through thick grass, catching just a glimpse of rolling
water. Ashford's eyes followed. He hesitated, looked back
at Nick and nodded.
The tall grass swished around Nick's knees, camouflaging
the mud that sucked at his boots. Jesus, it was dark out.
Even the orange moon hid behind a gauze of clouds. Leaves
rustled behind him. He spun around and shot a stream of
light from tree to tree. Was there movement? There, in the
brush? He could have sworn a shadow ducked from the light.
Or was it just his imagination?
Nick strained to see beyond the thick branches. He held
his breath and listened. Nothing. Probably just the wind.
He listened again and realized there was no wind. A shiver
caught him off guard, and he wished he had brought a
jacket. This was crazy. He refused to be suckered by some
high-school prank. The sooner he checked it out, the
sooner he could be back in his warm bed.
The squashing sound grew louder the closer he got to the
river. It was an effort to walk, pulling each foot out and
carefully placing it to avoid slipping. His new boots
would be ruined. He could already feel his feet getting
wet. No socks, no underwear, no jacket. "Damn it," he
muttered. "This better be good." He was going to be mad as
hell if he found a group of teenagers playing hide-and-
seek.
The flashlight caught something glittering in the mud,
close to the water. He locked his eyes on the spot and
quickened his pace. He was almost there, almost out of the
tall grass. Suddenly, he tripped. He lost his balance and
crashed down hard, with his elbows breaking his fall. The
flashlight flew out of his hand and into the black water,
a tunnel of light spiraling to the bottom.
He ignored the sting shooting up his arms. The sucking mud
pulled at him as he pushed himself to his hands and knees.
A rancid smell clung to him, more than just the stench of
the river. The silvery object lay almost within reach, and
now he could tell it was a cross-shaped medallion. The
chain was broken and scattered in the mud.
He glanced back to see what had caused his fall. Something
solid. He expected to see a fallen tree. But not more than
a yard away was a small, white body nestled in the mud and
leaves.
Nick scrambled to his feet, his knees weak, his stomach in
his throat. The smell was more noticeable now, and it
filled the air, stinging his nostrils. He approached the
body slowly as if not wanting to wake the boy, who looked
asleep despite those wide eyes staring up at the stars.
Then he saw the boy's slashed throat and mangled chest,
the skin ripped open and peeled back. That's when his
stomach lurched and his knees caved in.