Eternal by V. Forrest (new reading TXT) 📗

she cried out in surprise as her head hit the metal panel and bounced. The nice bandana biker dude had suddenly turned mean.

Chapter 8

“So what do you think?” Stacy swung his hand in hers as they exited the movie theater and turned onto the sidewalk. “Daddy’s offer to rent the country club is tempting. We could have so many more guests, but Jamaica was our dream.” She squeezed his hand. “I don’t know that we should give up our dream so Mommy can have her bridge club come to our reception.”

Glen tightened his hand around Stacy’s, pulling her up short to prevent her from stepping off the curb as the light changed and cars shot forward. As he waited for the crosswalk to clear, he studied the crowd around him. He’d been doing some research online about decapitations. He had assumed such a violent crime had to involve a drug-induced rage. How else could one human do such a thing to another? But he’d read the files on several cases of decapitation that had taken place in the U.S. in the last thirty to forty years and often the crime was quite methodical. Planned out with definite purposes.

Last night, Glen had considered calling Fia, just to check in. But then he thought better of it. Check in about what? They really had no information to exchange and it wasn’t as if she was dying to hear from him.

He’d been thinking about Special Agent Fia Kahill all week. They hadn’t exactly hit it off. Even once they got past the jurisdiction issue, she’d been so prickly with him. So damned…unyielding. On just about everything. And so protective of everyone in that weird little town of hers.

She was wound pretty tight. Even for an FBI agent.

The WALK sign lit up and Stacy took off, still holding Glen’s hand.

“I think the cost would be the same,” she chatted on. “I mean, sure, we’ve got the plane tickets and the hotel and all, but the whole package for the cabana wedding at that one hotel is only five hundred dollars. Can you imagine just what the catering bill would be at Daddy’s country club?”

Glen flexed his fingers; Stacy was holding too tightly. Despite the hour, it was still hot out and her little fingers were sweaty. He didn’t want to hold hands, but it wasn’t worth getting into an argument over. Not after they’d already disagreed about where to have dinner and what movie to see.

Glen supposed he’d been feeling a little uptight himself since his trip to Clare Point. He just couldn’t get the images of the beheaded postmaster out of his mind. He kept thinking that someone would not commit such a grisly crime just to get a deposit bag with less than two hundred dollars in it, which was their best motive right now. Their only motive.

He wondered if the money was just a cover. What if it was about a piece of mail? The two canvas bags of mail found in the post office, both incoming and outgoing, had been sent to D.C. and looked over before they were sent out. There was nothing out of the usual there. Of course if the killer had taken what he was looking for, there wouldn’t be any evidence, would there? He and Fia had discussed that possibility, but had come to no conclusions. At this point, it was still all speculation.

“So I told Daddy, we’d go ahead and meet with the event planner at the club, just to see what he has to say. What do you think?”

Glen checked his watch. It was late. He’d met Stacy at nine-thirty for dinner because he’d wanted to put a few extra hours in on the computer before leaving work. Then she’d wanted to go to a movie. He’d just wanted to return to work, or go home, have a Diet Coke, and flip on his laptop. The movie had been painfully long; a chick-flick comedy which, in his book, was worse than anything in the unrequited-love or dying-of-cancer genres.

It was almost 2 A.M. and the streets were beginning to thin out. Last call had already come and gone at the bars.

He rubbed his eyes. He was tired. Not getting enough sleep. He shouldn’t have agreed to a midnight movie. What was he thinking? Stacy only worked part-time. She had nowhere to be tomorrow. He’d wanted to get to work early. He always liked to get into the office early when the bull pen was still quiet and he could think.

“Glen?”

He looked down, realizing that was the second time she’d spoken his name. They were standing outside her apartment building. He hadn’t noticed how many blocks they had walked. “I’m sorry.” He took his hand from hers and flexed his fingers. It was too hot a night to be holding hands.

“Did you hear a word I said?”

“Country club or destination wedding in Jamaica? You decide.”

“Oh, baby.” She lifted up on the toes of her sandals and kissed him. “You’re coming up, aren’t you?”

He hesitated.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered in his ear. “You haven’t come up in days, not since you got back.”

Sometimes it was just easier to let the current sweep you along than to fight it. He let her lead him through the front doors.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Fia demanded, shoving the guy back. Bandana Biker Boy was heavier than she was by a good sixty pounds, but she was taller and she bet she could leg press more than he could. Surely he didn’t think he could take her on? Surely he didn’t think she was just some poor, unsuspecting chick in a Versace skirt?

“This how you treat a lady?” she asked him. “Back off!”

“Lady my ass,” he grumbled, reaching out and grasping her neck between one plump thumb and forefinger.

She was really going to be pissed if he broke the Czech crystal choker Fin had brought her back from Europe last