NightWind 1st Book: HellWind Trilogy Read online

  She felt an aching in her heart she couldn’t explain and a sense of devastation so complete it brought a pounding to her temples.

  “Who were you talking to, Lauren?”

  She jumped, spinning around to see her mother peering at her with a steady evaluation. There was a look on the older woman’s face that made Lauren ill at ease.

  “No one, Mama. Just someone playing a joke.” she tried to smile, but her lips felt frozen. “What are you doing today?”

  “Was this someone a man?” her mother probed. A hateful sneer drew the woman’s lip up. “Are you seeing some man, Lauren?”

  She shook her head. “No, Mama. I’m not seeing anyone.” She fumbled with a button on her blouse. “You know I’m not seeing anyone.”

  Maxine Fowler studied her daughter’s flushed face and took note of the way Lauren wouldn’t look directly at her. She looked down to the girl’s nervous fingers that were toying with a loose button and her gaze sharpened. “Don’t lie to me, girl,” she snapped. “I don’t hold with lying, you know that.”

  “Who would I see, Mama?” Lauren asked, her eyes coming up to plead with her mother. “I’ve never had a date in my life.”

  Maxine sniffed. “It’s just as well that you haven’t.” She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and blotted her face. “Men are the devil’s work. There’s not a one of them what’s worth a plug nickel.” She stuffed her handkerchief back into her purse and closed it with a snap. “You’ll do yourself a favor by staying clear of them all.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Lauren answered, wondering how her mother could possibly think any man would find her attractive enough to ask out.

  But he had, a little voice whispered to her.

  “I hear tell that Montes woman’s in the hospital. Ruptured uterus, I hear.” Maxine Fowler picked up a romance novel and turned it over to read the back cover.

  Lauren’s brows shot up. “I didn’t know why she was admitted. Mrs. Yelverton didn’t say.”

  “That’s what comes of having to please a man,” Maxine grumbled as she put the romance novel on the counter and began to fumble in her purse for the money to pay for it. “There’s no telling what them Spanish men do to their women. Only the good Lord knows how he constructed such heathens.”

  Lauren winced. “Mama, I’m sure Juan didn’t cause Inez’s problem.”

  “What do you know of it?” her mother snapped. “You, who’ve never had to endure the vile touch of a brutish male like I did!” Her stare turned as cold as glass. “You know as well as I do, missy, that given the chance, men will defile even their own offspring!”

  Acute shame washed over Lauren and she looked away from her mother. It had been a long time since any mention of Lauren’s father had been made, even longer since her older sister, Joanne, had come up in conversation. It had been thirty-eight years since that horrible night. Thirty-eight years since Joanne Fowler had hanged herself from the rafters in the family barn.

  “Don’t do to speak of it,” Maxine mumbled. “Best no one ever know what Brewster did to his own child.” She squinted darkly at her daughter. “But it taught you a lesson about men, didn’t it, missy?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “At least something good came of it then.” Her mother handed the money to her daughter and took up her purchase. “I didn’t come in to buy something. Just wanted to see if you knew anything about that Montes woman, but since you don’t, I reckon I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’m glad you stopped by, Mama,” she said, coming from behind the counter. “I had hoped you’d at least call me yesterday.”

  “Whatever the heck for?” her mother asked, surprise lifting her thinly plucked brows. “I don’t call unless I’ve got something to say.”

  Lauren felt a twinge of hopelessness flit through her, but she tried not to let her sadness show. “I just like to hear from you, Mama.”

  “Well, don’t be expecting me to call you up just to chit chat. That ain’t my way Annie Lauren.” Maxine tucked her romance novel under her arm and left. She passed Karla and Beth on the sidewalk and stopped to talk to them, no doubt finding out all she could about Inez’s condition.

  “Your mother’s such a nice woman,” Karla told Lauren when she came into the store. “Too bad you don’t have her personality.”

  Lauren was thankful she didn’t.

  He watched her from across the street as she left the shop and headed for the little sandwich shop where she ate each day. His gaze followed her into the shop then slid to the bookstore. Inside, he saw the other three women laughing and talking, and when he concentrated, heard what they were saying.

  “Lauren just isn’t fitting in, Lou,” the prettier of the two women, the one called Beth, was saying. “The customers don’t like her and she just plain doesn’t do a good job.” She flung her hand toward one of the aisles. “I found three books out of place over in the gardening section just this morning.”

  He heard the older woman cluck her tongue in sympathy.

  “I just can’t let her go without good cause, Beth. She’s been here almost three years.”

  “Three years in which you’ve received numerous complaints about her,” the red-haired woman, Karla, grumbled. “If you’re going to keep her on, Louvenia, at least make her stay out of the shop until closing time where the customers won’t have to put up with her incompetence.”

  “Better yet,” the blond-haired Beth put in, “just have her come in at closing and do her work. She’s a stock girl; let her stock at night.”

  “I don’t see that she’s really such a problem with the customers,” the older woman argued. “She certainly was a help to that nice gentleman yesterday.”

  “Oh, come on!” Beth snapped. “Couldn’t you see what she was trying to do?”

  His attention narrowed dangerously.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t,” the older woman answered.

  “We did,” the red head smirked, looking to the other girl with a quick nod of conspiracy. “She was practically all over the poor man. You could see it took all his manners not to say something.”

  A strong right hand clenched into a powerful fist as he listened.

  “I got the impression he was quite smitten with her,” Louvenia said. “He certainly couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.”

  “You didn’t see his face!” Beth announced. “At one point he looked over at me as though asking for help. I would have gone to the poor man’s rescue, but Lauren turned and gave me such a vicious stare I positively couldn’t move!”

  The mailman walking up the street on his rounds paused, hearing the low growl of fury that rumbled from the throat of the dark-haired man standing under the awning of Summerton’s pharmacy. As the man’s cold, savage stare slid toward him, the mailman moved quickly on, a faint trace of fear crinkling along his spine.

  “I saw her on the phone last evening when I passed the store,” Karla reported. “I’ll just bet you she was trying to find out his phone number so she could call him.”

  “And I bet she did call him,” Beth put in. “If you ask me, the woman’s nothing more than a closet slut!”

  With a hiss of rage, he pushed away from the wall and started across the street. His eyes were glowing embers of lethal intent and his jaw was set and thrust forward with purpose as he ground his teeth together. He barely heard the horn that blew at him as he crossed the middle of the street. His gaze was locked on the book store and the three women inside.

  “Mr. Cree?”

  He turned, surprised to hear his name called and saw the Realtor who had sold him his house hurrying toward him. He cursed beneath his breath, let his jaw relax and forced the anger from his face.

  “I thought that was you!” Allan Turnbridge laughed as he thrust out his hand. “I was just about to come out to see you.”

  He took the man’s proffered hand, hating the feel of it in his own, letting it go as quickly as manners would allow. “Is something the matter?” he asked. “I was under
the impression the papers were all in order.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t anything about the house!” Allen assured him. “I was just coming out to see if you were settling in and to invite you to a little dinner party I’m giving. Being new in town, it would be a chance for you to meet the town’s folks.”

  “I don’t usually—”

  “Of course you may bring a date, if you like,” Allen injected, seeing the way his companion’s dark gaze darted to the bookshop as Beth Janacek came out the door. “Have you met Beth?” he asked, and before he could get an answer, he called the young woman over. “Beth? Come here, darling! I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”

  If he had had a dagger in his hand, he would have gladly plunged it into the Realtor’s throat, but instead, he stood there as the introductions were made and the simpering bitch reached out a hand to him. He had no choice but to take her hand in his. A strong wave of revulsion ran down through his arm and he felt sick to his stomach as she smiled at him.

  “Mr. Cree was in the shop just yesterday, weren’t you? Did you find everything you needed?” Beth cooed at him.

  “Yes,” he answered, a muscle working in his lean jaw. He had a strong urge to wipe his hand on his trousers. The smell of her flesh was sickening.

  “I’ve just invited Mr. Cree to a party Olivia and I are giving tomorrow evening. If you’ve got nothing planned, maybe you’d like to come, too, Beth.” The Realtor beamed, proud of his ploy as he looked from one of them to the other.

  “I’d love to!” she agreed. “It might be a little hard finding a date on such short notice, but...” Her coy smile lifted to the dark man beside her.

  “Oh, you aren’t ever without an escort!” Allen laughed. He nudged his companion with a skinny elbow. “Beth was Miss Milton, weren’t you, darling?”

  “That was a long time ago, Allen!” The woman giggled.

  He opened his mouth to decline the invitation, but at that moment, he became aware of Lauren Fowler coming out of the sandwich shop behind him. He half-turned, his full attention on her. The scent of her filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply.

  “Oh, please say you’ll come, too, Mr. Cree,” he heard the blond woman simpering. “I’m sure everyone is just dying to meet you.”

  Syntian saw the Realtor glance at Lauren, frown then look at the blond. Something mean passed between them in that look and he felt a resurgence of his anger. “I would be delighted to accept your invitation, Mr. Turnbridge,” he found himself saying through clenched teeth.

  “Please, call me Allen.” The Realtor clapped him on the back. “If you don’t have a date, maybe you could drop by and pick up Beth.”

  “I have someone I will be bringing with me,” he said, cutting off the man and gaining the stunned surprise of the blond.

  Allen Turnbridge blushed. “Well, good then.” He cast an embarrassed look at Beth. “We’ll see you at our place at seven?” At his companion’s absent nod, he ducked his head and headed for the sandwich shop, wanting to get away from an embarrassing situation.

  “Anyone I might know?” Beth asked, somewhat annoyed that this glorious hunk of a man could have met someone so quickly.

  He smiled nastily. “Oh, yes. Yes, you do,” he said before nodding to her. He turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him.

  Lauren looked up from her book when the doorbell rang. She frowned. No one ever visited her, not even her mother. She laid the book aside and went to answer the door. She was even more surprised when she recognized Steve Keller, the delivery boy from Hatcher’s Florist, looking back at her through the screen door.

  “Hello, Steve,” she said, pushing open the door. She’d babysat for him when he was a little boy.

  “Just wanted to see if you was home,” the teenager said before he turned on his heel and tripped lightly down the steps.

  She watched him slide open the door to the delivery van and reach inside. Her puzzlement grew as he straightened up, a large bouquet of white roses in his hands.

  “Those can’t be for me!” she gasped as he brought them to the door.

  “I wouldn’t have delivered them here if they weren’t.” He thrust the bouquet out to her. “Here.”

  She took the arrangement of plush white roses and looked at Steve. “If you’ll wait, I’ll get you a tip.”

  With a shrug of disdain, the boy turned on his heel. “He already paid me.”

  “Who?” Lauren asked. “Who paid you?”

  “If it ain’t on the card, the man don’t want you to know.” He was back in the van and pulling away from the curb before Lauren could reply.

  She became aware of someone watching her and turned. Her next door neighbor, Henrietta Malone, was eyeing her with ill-concealed curiosity. The woman’s face was glowing with speculation.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Malone,” she called out, but the old woman didn’t answer. Instead, Henrietta clumsily turned and hobbled into her house on the aluminum walker that enabled the old woman to get about.

  Feeling foolish for having tried still one more time to get Mrs. Malone to acknowledge her greetings, Lauren went back inside the house, closing the door behind her.

  She placed the bouquet of roses on the dinette table and took the florist’s card from the holder. Even before she opened it, she knew whom it was from.

  The card read: Forgive me. I meant you no disrespect. And it was signed: Syn.

  Could she have been wrong about him? She tapped the little card against her lip. Had she misinterpreted his actions? If so, she owed him an apology. The man was new in town, did not know her, had no idea of the contempt with which the rest of the town held her. Perhaps he was all that he appeared to be—a friendly man trying to make friends in a new place. She felt even more foolish than she had when her neighbor had not answered her hello.

  Lauren touched the petals of one silky white rose, bent to inhale its soft fragrance. She counted the roses. There were two-dozen long-stemmed buds in the green glass vase. Never having a reason to purchase flowers before, Lauren had no idea how much the bouquet cost, but she had a notion they weren’t cheap. Mr. Cree’s extravagance was not lost on her. If he felt he had needed to apologize to her, she could at least acknowledge it.

  Making up her mind, before she lost her nerve, she went to the telephone and dialed Directory Assistance.

  “Directory assistance for what city?” came the bored female voice.

  “Yes, Milton, please. Do you have a listing for Mr. Syntian Cree? That’s C...r...e...e, I believe.”

  The phone rang a long time before she lost her nerve and hung up. Maybe it was just as well he hadn’t been home. She hadn’t known what she would say to him. “Thank you for the lovely flowers,” seemed so trite. “I’m sorry I was rude,” sounded better, but neither really was what she wanted to say.

  She tried again twice more that evening, but there was never an answer. Maybe he’ll call me, she thought as she turned the linens back on her bed. Maybe he’ll want to make sure I got the flowers, that I’m not angry.

  But the phone never rang.

  His dark gaze gleamed as he entered the house. He heard her gentle breathing leading him to her. His footsteps were sure, silent, on the thick carpeting. A hiss of sound made him stop, scanning the room until he saw the chatoyant glow of a feline’s eyes regarding him from the foot of the bed. He held out his hand and the animal lunged at him, jumping into his arms with ease. He stroked the cat’s thick fur, nuzzling his face in the shiny coat, listening to the deep resonance of the cat’s purr then put it down on the floor, pointing one long finger to the opened door. The cat meowed softly in disappointment, rubbed against his leg then trotted obediently from the room. He turned his attention to the sleeping woman.

  The need inside him was building. His shaft strained against the restriction of his trousers. His palms itched to touch the female body before him; they were slick with a thin coating of moisture as he rubbed his fingers together. He caught her female scent and his n
ostrils flared; it wasn’t a pleasant smell, but it excited him. He moved to the side of the bed.

  Karla Cooper sighed in her sleep and turned over on her belly, kicking the covers from her long legs. Her arms wrapped around her pillow and she murmured in her sleep.

  “Syn,” she sighed, smiling against the pillowcase.

  He wasn’t at all surprised to hear his name on the woman’s lips, yet the single syllable sounded obscene coming from her; sounded almost as bad as the word from which it had been taken.

  “I’m here,” he said in a deep, hypnotic voice.

  His knee pressed into the mattress and he straddled her hips. He pulled up her nightgown until her naked flanks were gleaming in the soft moonlight filtering in through the lace curtains of her bedroom.

  He heard her sigh as his hands moved on her, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of her buttocks. He squeezed her, rubbed her, parted the cleft of her rump.

  “Syn,” she sighed once more.

  He leaned down, putting his lip to her ear. “Shall I take you, Karla?” he whispered seductively.

  “Yes. Yes!” she answered in her sleep.

  “You must ask me to take you,” he whispered.

  “Yes, my love,” she sighed.

  He straightened up, staring at the slack profile of the woman lying beneath him. Even in the shadows of the room he saw her clearly for his night vision was as acute as any other nocturnal predator’s. He watched as she ran her tongue over her lips, anticipating his entry.

  “Yes, oh yes,” she moaned as his finger slipped inside her.

  Slowly he withdrew his finger. His hand went to the zipper of his trousers and freed his throbbing member. He positioned himself, feeling her lift to better accommodate him. He smiled. “What do you want me to do, Karla?” he asked.

  “Take me, Syn,” she begged, her hips writhing beneath him. “Take me!” He gripped her hips in his hands, his fingers splayed under her hipbones, the better to position her.

  Then Karla screamed.

  And screamed.

  And screamed.

  Chapter Three