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The satisfying sweetness of the chocolate filled Leslie’s mouth while she scooped the last dregs of ice cream from her bowl. The tick of the icemaker in the fridge was her only companion in the darkened kitchen. She relished the time alone after the commotion of the game. With her parents off to bed, and her sister still not back, enjoying her favorite snack in peace was the perfect ending to a rather satisfying evening.
Her mother had been cordial to Derek during and after the game—awakening a smidgen of hope in her heart for their relationship. Beau was about to become an FBI most wanted fugitive, or at least on his way to a well-deserved suspension, and Halloween was almost here. It was the one holiday she and Dawn had always enjoyed together. Maybe this year they would get one last chance to celebrate it before leaving for college.
The bang of the garage door shutting roused her. Soft voices drifted down the hallway to her spot at the breakfast bar.
She put her spoon down and waited to see who had accompanied Dawn home.
A pair of blue eyes set against a porcelain face poked out from under a girl’s gray hoodie. Bangs hid her diminutive smile.
“Taylor?” Leslie stood from her stool. “What are you doing here?”
She took in her unshapely clothes and lack of makeup—not at all what she expected from a former cheerleader. But nothing Taylor had done lately struck Leslie as ordinary.
“I asked her to spend the night.” Dawn set her bag on the breakfast bar. “We got to talking after the game, and she told me a few things about Beau.”
Leslie picked up her sister’s bag and handed it back to her with a scowl. “I think half the girls at St. Benedict could tell you a few choice things about Beau.”
Taylor shifted her purse on her shoulder, hiding her eyes from Leslie. “People don’t understand how dangerous he is. He’s sick, profoundly disturbed. Your sister needs to stay away from him.”
Leslie recognized something in her voice—the same terror she’d experienced with Beau.
“What did he do to you?”
Taylor twisted her fingers together, her eyes darting about the kitchen.
The girl’s frantic movements told Leslie something bad had happened to her. But what?
She stepped forward. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. But when you’re ready ...”
Taylor sucked in a deep breath. “Thank you.”
The plonk of Dawn’s duffel bag hitting the floor made Leslie jump. Her sister seemed oblivious to Taylor’s distress.
“I’ll leave you with Leslie while I take a shower.” She unzipped her bag and pulled out her pompoms. “I’m soaked through from the rain and I’ve got to dry these out before they wilt.” She shook the pompoms and a few droplets of water settled on the stone floor.
Leslie, for once, was grateful for Dawn’s cluelessness. She didn’t want her to hear something distressing. She’d been through enough.
Before Dawn went across the den to the stairs, she glanced back at Taylor. “You can tell my sister your wild tales about Beau. I’ll bet she will love telling me ‘I told you so’.”
Dawn hurried up the staircase, but Leslie could tell her sister knew something was wrong. Running out of a room when conversations got heated or too emotional had been Dawn’s coping mechanism for years. Leslie was the one expected to handle the tough stuff; then she would give Dawn a watered-down version of the news to spare her the emotional upheaval. It was something she had always done for her sister—another way to protect her.
Once she heard Dawn make it upstairs, Leslie pointed to her ice cream bowl.
“Want some?”
Taylor nodded. “Yeah, that would be good.”
Leslie took her time getting the carton of chocolate ice cream out of the freezer and selecting a bowl for Taylor. While scooping a large serving, Leslie eyed Taylor’s clothes.
“You going for the grunge look there or is this more hip-hop?”
She pulled at her hoodie as if trying to hide her curves. “I like to be comfortable.”
Leslie pushed the bowl of ice cream across the breakfast bar. “Not too long ago, you were like Dawn, wearing your cheerleading uniform to class whenever you could, keeping your hair down, not up and hidden away.” She put the top back on the ice cream carton, her heart breaking for the lost little girl. “What happened to you?”
Taylor picked up her spoon, keeping her eyes on her bowl. “I’m okay.”
Leslie returned the ice cream to the fridge and then went back to the counter.
Taylor dipped her spoon into the chocolate mound in her bowl.
Leslie was certain if she didn’t get Taylor to open up, something bad was going to happen. But to do that, she needed the girl’s trust.
Her hands folded on the counter, Leslie searched for a way to make Taylor know that she understood her fear.
“Beau has been harassing me for months. Ever since the night at the river when I turned him down. He’s never let me forget it.” Her lower lip quivered, anxiety crushing her chest. “He says he’s going to take me to The Abbey and make up for the night I should have been his. He says sexual, ugly things to me.” Leslie clasped her hands together, squeezing hard. “The worst part is, no one believes me. I think Dawn is coming around, but there’s still a part of her not willing to let go of Beau. Crazy huh?”
Leslie sniffled, biting back her tears.
Taylor said nothing as she traced designs in her bowl with her spoon. “He’s a bad, bad guy.”
The voice didn’t sound like her. It was colder, deeper, and for Leslie, a bit sinister.
“Beau has had a lot of girls there. And I know he has hurt some of them.”
A numbing cold rose inside Leslie. “Hurt? What do you mean?”
Taylor continued to swerve and weave her spoon in the bowl, the eerie sound carried throughout the kitchen.
“I mean raped.”
Leslie gripped the edge of the counter, digging her nails into the gray granite. “How do you know this?”
Her eyes were dead. There was no sadness, no terror, no fear in Taylor’s face, just overwhelming hatred.
“I was at the river. Beau noticed me. I thought he was interested. And then he took me to his special place. That’s what he called it. There was nothing special about it.”
The subdued, unemotional way she spoke scared the living shit out of Leslie. She covered her mouth, infuriated.
“Oh, God, Taylor, no.”
Taylor’s flat expression never changed. She didn’t even shed a tear.
“It went on for quite a while. He beat me, raped me, and when he was done, he told me he would get my father fired from his new job at the brewery if I said anything to anyone.”
Leslie wanted to puke. Why didn’t she notice the changes? The clothes, the withdrawal from friends and school? It was the pattern of sexual abuse she had read about before, even seen in her own behavior, but had not recognized in someone she knew.
I’m an idiot!
She ran through the agencies she had heard about. The ones who helped rape victims. She had to make sure—
“The funny thing is, the whole time he was hurting me, I kept thinking what did I do? What did I do to deserve this? Was it something I said, something I did, the way I looked? I kept asking myself why.” Taylor dipped her spoon into the ice cream and brought it to her lips. She put the small portion in her mouth. The emptiness in her face lifted, and she smiled. “This is good.”
Leslie’s tears trickled down her cheeks as she watched the broken girl eat her ice cream. The barbarity of what she had endured, coupled with something associated with the pleasures of childhood, tore her apart.
“We have to get you help.” She reached for her hand.
Taylor pulled away. “No. I don’t need help. What I want is revenge.”
* * *
From her spot at the top of the stairs, Dawn gripped the banister and suppressed her scream.
His special place. It had to be the cells. The same place he had taken her countless times before to make love.
Tears streaked her cheeks as she absorbed what Taylor had endured. Her humiliation and anger blended with Dawn’s. She had loved Beau and trusted him. What kind of monster was she for loving such a sick guy?
Taylor’s soft voice and the matter-of-fact way she had told her tale eventually sucked the strength out of Dawn’s legs. She sank to the plush carpet and held on to the banister, crying in silence, not wanting to wake her parents or let Taylor know she had eavesdropped.
“Do you know of any other girls he has done this to?” Leslie asked in the kitchen.
Dawn held her breath, waiting for Taylor’s answer.
“Yes. There are more.”
The unvarnished delivery of the news sent Dawn curling into a ball.
You have to do something!
The strength returned to her limbs—so did her resolve to get even with the psychotic asshole who had destroyed the lives of so many. She could almost hear Leslie scolding her to leave Beau for the authorities. But Dawn couldn’t do that. She felt responsible for what had happened to Taylor, her sister, and his other victims. Leslie couldn’t protect her anymore. She would find a way to make Beau Devereaux pay for what he’d done, and make sure he never did it again.
* * *
The breeze coming off the water teased Beau’s hot skin as he fumed about his situation. The loud music set up by his picnic bench wasn’t helping. And the students from St. Benedict and Covington High around him made him sick.
Assholes!
His run through the brush to find whoever had been watching him as he’d let Andrea drift away haunted every second. He also couldn’t stand listening to the constant retellings of Marty Evans’ Hail Mary pass. A few mentioned Beau’s sweet toppling of Kramer Wilson, but everyone hailed Marty the hero of the day.
If that little asshole gets my place on the roster at Tulane, I’ll kill him.
The loss of his dream bothered him the most. How had everything turned to shit so quickly?
He knew why.
He pictured Leslie drifting down the river in place of Andrea and smiled. That had been the one highlight of his evening. Killing Andrea had given him a rush; even disposing of her body had been a thrill. What if he could recapture those moments with Leslie? But he would have to be careful. He’d gotten lucky with Andrea. He’d have to meticulously plan for his night with his dream girl.
The party, the game, and the loss of his future didn’t seem so important anymore. Andrea’s death had given him an odd sense of purpose. If he could kill her, what else could he do?
“You okay, dude?”
Josh kept his distance. He’d never realized the little dweeb was such a pansy ass.
“I’m fine.” He sipped his bottle of water.
Josh took a brave step forward. “You scared the piss out of everyone on the field tonight.”
“Not to mention that referee.” Mitch rubbed his chin, hiding a grin. “You clobbered him.”
Beau eyed two attractive girls in very short skirts strolling past. They didn’t have Leslie’s shade of hair color or her effortless way of moving. They wouldn’t do.
“It was an accident. I never meant to hit the guy.”
Josh had a seat next to him, cradling his beer. “Coach Brewer doesn’t buy it. What do you think the school will do?”
School? How could he be bothered with something as mundane as school? He’d entered a whole new level of the game with Andrea’s death. How would Biology and English Lit help him carry out all the deliciously wicked visions popping into his head?
A group of laughing girls came scurrying onto the beach dressed in tight jeans with fitted tops. Beau licked his lips, sizing them up, but the surge of sexual attraction he’d felt before wasn’t there. He found himself more interested in their necks. Each girl he pictured with his hands around their throats, recreating the rush he’d gotten from killing Andrea. It was like a drug. He wanted to get high again.
Self-control in all things.
First, he had to get Leslie out of his system. After her, the world was his.
“Sounds like Marty pulled out a great end to the game.” He recapped his water, already bored with the party.
“Yeah, he was fantastic.” Mitch eased his arm back, imitating the quarterback’s Hail Mary pass. “You should have seen it.”
Beau squeezed the bottle. “I should congratulate him.”
“Are you serious?” Josh didn’t sound convinced. “We figured you’d be furious about his game.”
He gave them his practiced smile, the one he used to charm everyone. He had grown so far beyond their simple minds—they would never be able to comprehend his ability.
“Hey, I’m a team player. I’m over it. I just want the best for everyone.”
The roar of a bonfire catching and the crackle of the wood filled the air. A cheer went up among the partygoers; the party had hit its stride.
Three girls dressed in Covington High T-shirts and jeans had a seat on the other end of the bench.
“Do you know those girls?” Mitch asked.
He found one of them somewhat tempting. With slim hips, flaxen hair, and pouty lips, she reminded him a little of Leslie.
Yeah, this is what I need.
His ringing phone distracted him.
He stood and retrieved his cell from his back pocket. Dad showed up on the screen. Beau didn’t bother to answer. Whatever he wanted, he wasn’t interested.
Just when he was about to slip the phone back into his pocket, he received a text message.
Get your ass home now. No excuses.
“Something wrong?” Mitch asked.
He slipped the phone in his back pocket. “I’m gonna have to take off. It’s my old man.”
Mitch winced. “Yikes. That ain’t gonna be good.”
Josh patted his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the girls on the bench. “Maybe he didn’t hear about you nailing Kramer yet.”
Mitch chuckled. “Gage Devereaux? Are you kidding? He knows everything that goes on in this town.”
Not everything.
Beau nodded to his friends. “I’ll see you guys later.”
He slipped away, hustling to get back to the parking lot. His old man never texted him, never checked on him. The fact that Gage had contacted him meant he was pissed. Beau may not have given a damn about his father, but he needed to kiss his ass to keep getting his money.
He opened his car door, and another ping rang through the air.
If you are not in the door in ten minutes, I’m coming to get you.
He started the car, cursing his father under his breath. It would seem his night was about to take a turn for the worse.
* * *
Beau steered his car along the drive, the bright lights of the house glaring into the darkness surrounding the property. Shadows teased him as he headed to the garage. He swore he saw Andrea’s face in the gloom, serene and lifeless, as it had been when the river had taken her away.
When he entered the back door of his parents’ home, Gage was there. His thick arms—carved by years of weightlifting—folded across his broad chest, his dark eyes smoldering.
“Where were you?”
He dropped his duffel bag on the ground, knowing he couldn’t con his father like everyone else in the town. He needed to play it real.
“At the river. I wanted to apologize to my teammates.”
His father’s cold-blooded expression never altered. “After that stunt you pulled on the field, you should have come right home!”
“You heard, huh?”
His father pounced, wrenching his arm. “What have I told you time and again? People are watching us, they’re watching you. That stupid lapse of judgment is all some will need to question your integrity, your state of mind. How hard have we worked to keep you focused, to keep people from seeing who you really are? And you blow it on a stupid football game.”
Beau yanked his arm away. “It wasn’t a stupid football game. And it was an accident. I never meant to hit the guy. I lost my grip on the ball. How many times can I apologize for a mistake?”
“You expect me to buy that bullshit?” He threw his hand in the air, his voice black with anger. “I’ve watched you, studied you. I know what you are capable of, and everyone in this fucking town is going to find out, too. Do you know what that will do to our business? To our reputation? You can’t walk around reacting to everything and everyone without thinking your actions through.”
Beau sagged against the hallway wall, crushed. “Is that all this means to you? A loss of revenue? You don’t care that I’ve lost my shot at Tulane, do you?”
“You never had a shot at Tulane!” Gage slammed his hand inches away from his face. “That scout was there as a favor to me. He looked at your numbers, watched some films on you before he came to the field and wasn’t very optimistic about your chances. You never had what it takes to make it in college ball, but I was trying to give you a chance. A chance you blew.”
He tingled all over as he considered his father’s betrayal. Beau knew his father was a scheming, ruthless businessman, but he’d never dreamed he would use the same tactics on him.
You bastard!
Gage pushed away from the wall. “Perhaps now you can settle into your studies, concentrate on going to LSU, and put football behind you.”
He charged up to his father. “But I don’t want to give up football.”
Gage rested his hand on his hip, shaking his head, appearing more frustrated than angry. “You’re off the team. Brewer won’t take you back. He called me after the game. That’s how I knew about Kramer. He suspects you threw that ball on purpose. I know you did. So there will be no more football. We’ll find other ways for you to handle that problem of yours without playing sports.”
His insides boiled. For years, he had listened to his parents whisper about “his problem.” But Beau never saw his anger as an issue. It made him stronger and better than the other losers at school. And as he pictured Andrea floating away in the river, he knew his bouts of madness had given him another gift—purpose.
He rubbed his hands together to hide their twitching from his old man. “What about baseball in the spring? I always play shortstop.”
Gage ran his hand through his hair, his heavy sigh permeating the tension in the air. “Right now, you’ll be lucky if the school doesn’t expel you for that stunt. Ms. Greenbriar called me, too, after the game. I had to do a lot of apologizing to keep her appeased. She plans on having you do community service and volunteer work for the school.”
A flurry of expletives was on the tip of Beau’s tongue, but he held back. He had a part to play.
“I understand.” He picked up his duffel bag. “I’ll do whatever they want.”
“No more trips to the river.” Gage snatched the keys out of his hand. “You’re grounded. You’ll work at the brewery on weekends and after school. Until you prove to me you have a handle on your behavior, you will live under my thumb.”
Beau took the news with a somber nod. He was about to head up the hall when his father stopped him.
“Aren’t you going to ask about the guy you hit?”
He’d never even considered the line referee. He did not give a damn about the man.
“How is he?”
Gage gripped his keys. “He’s got a concussion. I picked up the tab on his ER visit, which you will work off at the brewery. I’m going to put you in the shipping department under Kramer. You can apologize all you want to him when you’re there.”
He gritted his teeth. So be it.
If he had to kiss every nobody’s ass in St. Benedict, he would climb his way back to the top. And once there, Beau would make sure every living soul who had brought about his downfall would pay an agonizing price.
