Riptide

She was cold, so cold her teeth would soon be chattering. This lovely man who’d seemed so kind, so gentle-he was crazy, probably he’d been born crazy.

“Melissa was only eighteen, Tyler. Both of you were too young to run off.”

“No,” he said. “I was ready. I believed she was. She was faithless. She would have left me, just like A

How many other women had he believed to be faithless? How many others had he killed, then hidden their bodies? Becca looked around for some sort of weapon, anything, but there was nothing. No, she was wrong. There were about half a dozen bricks stacked against the gaping open wall, about six feet away from her.

She took a step sideways.

He said thoughtfully now, “I think I’ll bury you close to A

“I don’t want to be buried there,” she said and took another step. “I don’t want to die, Tyler. I haven’t done anything to you. I came here to be safe, but I wasn’t ever safe, was I? It was all an illusion. You were just waiting, waiting for another woman to love, to possess, to imprison so she’d want out and then you could kill her, do it all over again and again. You need help, Tyler. Let me call someone.” She took another step toward the bricks.

He began walking toward her. “I would rather have held you close, Becca. If only-”

There was the sound of a car pulling up outside.

“The sheriff’s here,” Becca said quickly. “Just listen. It’s over, Tyler. The sheriff won’t let you hurt me now.” She took another quick step to the side. Three feet, just another three feet. Tyler looked up and frowned when he heard a car door slam. He cursed even as he ran toward her, his hands outstretched, his fingers curved inward.

Becca leapt toward the pile of bricks, went down on her knees, and grabbed one. He was on her then, his hands around her neck, and she slammed the brick against his shoulder. His fingers tightened, tightened, and his face was blurring above her. She raised the brick again, brought it upward slowly, and he twisted just as she heaved it toward him. It struck his face and he howled with agony, and his fingers loosened for just a moment. She gulped in air and struck again. He sent his fist against her head, and she saw blinding flashes of light, felt the pain sear through her head, knew she couldn’t hold on. She was losing and she would die because she wasn’t strong enough. She tried to raise the brick again but she just couldn’t.

“You faithless bitch, you’re just like all the rest of them!” His fingers tightened around her neck.

Sheriff Gaffney yelled, “Let her go, Tyler! Let her go!”

Tyler was heaving now, his fingers strong, so strong, tighter and tighter now and she knew she would die.

Then there was a shot. Tyler jerked over her. His hands fell away. She blinked and saw him turn slowly to face Sheriff Gaffney, standing in a cop’s stance, his Ruger P85 pistol held tightly between his hands. “Get away from her, Tyler. Now! MOVE!”

“No,” Tyler said and lunged for her again. Another shot rang out. Tyler fell on top of her, his face beside her head. Dead weight, oh God, he was now dead weight.

“Hold on, Ms. Matlock, and I’ll get him off you.”

Sheriff Gaffney pulled Tyler away. He’d shot him once in the head and once in the back. He gave Becca a hand up. “You okay?”

She was shaking, her teeth chattering, her throat burning, Tyler’s blood all over her, and the healing burn on her arm was throbbing fiercely. She smiled up at him. “I think you’re the most wonderful man in the whole world,” she said. “Thank you for coming in the house. I prayed and prayed that you would see all the lights on and come in.”

“I heard little Sam crying,” Sheriff Gaffney said.

“Hello?”

A small, thin voice. It was Sam and he was standing at the top of the basement stairs.

“Oh, no,” Becca said. “Oh, no.”

“I told him to wait in the kitchen for me. Damn. Okay, I’ll get Rachel over here. Can you pull yourself together, Ms. Matlock? We’ll go upstairs and you can take care of little Sam until Rachel comes. He loves Rachel a whole lot, you’ll see. Just keep hanging in there, ma’am.” He shook his head, then said, “Jesus, I knew Tyler killed his wife, just knew it in my lawman’s gut, you know? But he also killed poor little Melissa twelve years ago. I wonder how many other women he’s killed who rejected him.”

Becca didn’t want to know.

Adam was stretched out on the sofa in his living room, a soft pillow under his head, a light afghan pulled to his waist, so relieved that Becca was back safe and sound, staying in his house, her stuff scattered around, all at home now, that all he could do was grin. He didn’t want her to leave, not ever. He heard her moving about in his wonderful, fully equipped, very modern kitchen, making him a healthy snack, she’d said.

The house was cool since he’d had the good sense to install central air conditioning when he’d moved in. Soon, he thought, he’d get that ugly green tile out of that second-floor bathroom. Another four days and his energy would come roaring back and he’d head right down to the tile store. The master bedroom was sort of stark though, with just a big black lacquer bed and a matching black lacquer dresser, a couple of comfortable black and white chairs, and a good-sized closet, nearly walk-in, he’d said to her, lots of room for both of their clothes.

He’d had big plans for the bed the night before, about two hours after she’d gotten back from Riptide, and even though he couldn’t move a whole lot and his flexibility was nearly nil, and he’d tended to moan from pain as well as pleasure, it hadn’t mattered. She’d simply taken charge. He nearly shook the afghan off now just thinking of how she’d looked astride him, her head thrown back when she’d screamed out his name. And then she’d just fallen over on him and the pain had nearly made him yell again. But he’d just lain there, silent, holding her against him as best he could, stroking her smooth back, and then she’d slowly straightened, frowned at the sight of his rib, all yellow and green now, and said, “I nearly killed you, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”

“Kill me again,” he’d said, and she laughed and kissed him and kissed him again and again, and loved him until he’d yelled again, this time not from any pain in his damned ribs.

He felt good. He had plans for that bed again today, maybe in just about an hour from now. He was stronger today, maybe he’d be able to do a bit more moving around. He hadn’t been able to get his hands and mouth everywhere he’d wanted to last night. Ah, but today. His fingers itched, his mouth sort of tingled. And what about tomorrow and the next day? Maybe he’d just keep her in the bedroom until they had to leave for the church to get married, then right back here again. It sounded really fine to him. He wondered what Becca thought about mirrors everywhere.

She brought him some iced tea and a plate of celery stuffed with cream cheese. She sat beside him and fed him between kisses.

He realized suddenly that there was something different about her, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Then he realized what it was-she was hiding something from him. And her eyes, something different there-he realized, finally, that it was shock. Well, he supposed that nearly burning to death on the roof of her father’s house would leave its mark. Or realizing that a man she’d really liked was in actuality a madman. Or just maybe, he thought, his mouth tightening, that madman, Tyler McBride, had, in fact, hurt her or tried to, and she hadn’t seen fit to tell him.

He ate another celery stick, eyeing her, then said, his voice all suspicious, his brows lowered, “You swear you didn’t lie to me? You swear that there was no real trouble up in Riptide?”