Sweet Dreams 2(112)

No one had lived up at that house for years.

Or at least they thought no one had.

Dalton was a good kid, everyone liked him, especially Tonia. Jim-Billy spent a lot of time in that bar and he’d noticed the way she’d looked at him. She’d crushed on him huge, always trying to catch his eye. Jim-Billy figured her clothing got scantier and her flirting got flirtier as she got more desperate to make an impression or make him jealous.

But Dalton wasn’t interested, not in her, not in any of the girls. He’d flirt but that was it. Hell, Izzy had been working there less than three months and that kid got laid practically every night. Jim-Billy knew all about it. Izzy was young but he wasn’t as good-looking as Dalton so he bragged, a lot.

Not Dalton.

Young, good-looking guy like that? That wasn’t right.

Jim-Billy had never thought anything of it.

Never.

Until now.

Now he had Laurie and he was going to hurt her. Hurt her like he hurt Tonia. Like he hurt Neeta. Like he hurt that pretty, sweet hippie chick.

And Laurie was Tate’s Elise. He had Jonas, so she wasn’t his everything, but that didn’t mean she didn’t make up half his world.

Once half of your world was torn from you, you could live to be a hundred and never build it back up.

Never.

And Tatum Jackson was a good man. He didn’t deserve Jim-Billy’s life, going home alone to a cold bed every night and staying awake remembering what it felt like when his bed wasn’t cold when he slipped into it, when he never felt alone, even when he wasn’t with her.

And he was going to do something about it.

He knew he should call the cops, or even call Tate, but he didn’t have a cell phone.

And he didn’t have time.

Someone had to get to Laurie.



Tate

“It’s a federal investigation, Jackson,” Chief Arnie Fuller said through the phone.

“Yeah, it is, Arnie, that don’t mean you can’t send your boys out to look for her while you wait for Tambo to get his ass here from Denver,” Tate growled back.

“We fuck that shit up, we got federal heat, we don’t need federal heat,” Arnie shot back.

“No, Arnie, you don’t need federal heat. You don’t need the Feds gettin’ more in your business than they already are. You don’t think Tambo’s already got your fuckin’ ticket?” Tate returned.

“Fuck you, Jackson, you were always a pain in my ass,” Arnie retorted.

“You aren’t fuckin’ me, you wait two hours for Tambo to get here. You’re fuckin’ Laurie. In two hours she could bleed out of multiple stab wounds, some of ‘em in places, I swear to God, you sit on this, you’ll feel ‘cause I’ll make certain you see jail time, you asshole, and a cop in lockdown will get all sorts shoved up his ass,” Tate promised.

“Go to hell, Jackson,” Arnie snapped then disconnected.

“Fuck!” Tate barked.

“I take it we got no support from the Carnal PD,” Wood noted, his voice vibrating with anger.

Tate’s eyes went to his friend.

“Got your .38?” Tate asked Wood and Wood’s eyes narrowed on him.

“Tate,” he said, his voice gentling.

“Didn’t want to leave the house armed, Jonas would see. Need a gun, Wood,” Tate stated.

“You think –?”

“I asked,” Tate cut him off, “do you got your .38?”

Wood sucked in breath. Then he jogged to his office. By the time he jogged out of the office to Tate’s Explorer, Tate was behind the wheel, the SUV was idling.

Tate’s head turned to him when he swung in.

“Got it?” he asked.

Wood handed over the .38 and Tate noted Wood had a nine millimeter. Tate took the .38, released the clip, studied it a split second, jammed it back in and then leaned forward so he could slide the gun in the back waistband of his jeans.

Then he put the truck into reverse and sped backwards out of his parking spot in front of the garage.



Lauren

He’d cleaned the knife of my blood on the mattress and then cut the length of my hair off with it, cutting it at my shoulders, getting started, the rest would go later, I knew. He was shoving my hair into a new baggie when it happened.

The door flew open and Jim-Billy was there.

I was so shocked, and thrilled, and hopeful, thinking Tate would come in next, my whole body bucked, apparently violently because, surprisingly, the rusty pipe my hands were tied to at the radiator pulled clean away from the wall.

“What the –?” Dalton gritted out, getting up, whirling, armed with the knife.

It hurt like hell, pain slicing through the wound at my side, but I had to get up, I had to get out of there. I sat up, yanked the gag from my mouth, leaned double and went for the ropes at my right foot.