Four Letter Word, page 21
Jake swallowed, and his chest heaved as his breaths came faster upon each other. Almost as fast as her own.
“Izzy.” His voice was now a whisper that she felt more than heard over the wind and surf.
“Yes?” Her body ached to be near him. Please.
One hand drifted up to her face, cupping her cheek. “Izzy, I’m in love with you.”
Her heart was pounding so ferociously, she wasn’t entirely sure she heard him. “What?”
“I love you.” He cleared his throat, his voice more confident as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I knew it before I left for Monterey. I waited for your texts every day, hoped to catch you at night so we could chat back and forth, checked my phone if I woke up at two a.m. in case I’d missed a message from you.”
“You love me.” Izzy didn’t believe her ears. She needed to repeat the words out loud, giving Jake time to refute them.
“Yes.” His gaze faltered. “But you kept talking about leaving, this plan to go to Italy and never come back. I’d never see you again, so I tried to protect myself. I should have told you the truth and not just vanished. It was a douche move.”
“It was,” Izzy said, and this time it was her turn to laugh. “It really was.”
Jake reared back. “Now what’s funny?”
“Maybe you had to disappear. It hurt so badly. I tried to ignore it, but I missed you.” She smiled into his deep brown eyes. She never wanted to blink. “And then I saw you on the boat last week, and I knew…I knew why I wanted to punch you in the face.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you did look like you wanted to rip my ears off.”
Or kiss you. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way.”
“Yeah?” His body inched closer.
“I love you too.”
Jake bent his face to hers, his lips hovering an inch away. She could feel his breath on her face, the pounding of his own heart in syncopation with hers, a hormonal drumline beating out a pattern between them. His hesitation lasted only an instant, but the anticipation was delicious, and when Izzy finally felt his lips against hers, she wanted to devour him.
Her lack of experience didn’t matter, as instinct kicked in. Jake snaked one hand into her hair, holding her head in place as their bodies crashed together. She looped her arm around his neck, heaving herself up so her body could be closer to his, pressed against him, no room for daylight. His lips were on her chin, her cheeks, her eyelids, arms encircling her, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more of him. Needed more. The storm was gone, the cold spray from the waves, the damp sand, even the bracelet, the reason they were out there in the first place—everything vanished. All Izzy could see and hear and feel was Jake. And she wanted all of him.
Izzy wrapped her legs around his torso while he supported her weight with his thick arms. He kissed her more deeply, his tongue desperate to be inside of her. Then he sank to his knees and pulled away, looking her in the eyes.
“We should…go slow,” he panted.
Izzy shook her head. She’d been going slow for too long. “I want you.”
“I don’t want you to regret—”
“My entire life has been a regret,” she said, feeling for the first time how like her mom she truly was. “Things not done, things not said. I’ll regret not being with you right now.”
He stroked her face again. “You’re so beautiful.”
“I love you.”
That was all Jake needed to hear. He inhaled her as they kissed, then gently, gradually, he lowered her to the sand. His hands were tentative, seeking permission as they caressed her body, but Izzy didn’t want tentative. She’d almost died twice in the last twenty-four hours. She wanted to live every moment like it might be the last one.
She closed her eyes and moaned as Jake eased his body on top of hers, pushing her shirt up to her collarbone. His lips moved tantalizingly slow, kissing her stomach every few inches as he eased upward, until suddenly he stopped.
His body went rigid.
But not in a good way.
In a scary way.
Izzy’s eyes flew open. Jake was looking out over her head, down the far side of the dune away from the beach. His jaw was slack, his skin sickly yellow. “Jake, what’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer, just continued to stare. She arched her head back and was just able to catch a glimpse of what had struck dumb fear into him.
Sticking out from the sand at the bottom of the dune behind them was a boot.
Attached to a leg.
Attached to a body that looked very much like Hunter’s.
IT WAS IZZY’S TURN TO COMFORT JAKE.
They’d pulled their clothes back into place and rushed down the dune. Hunter’s face was buried in the sand, and before Jake even touched the body, Izzy knew he was dead. The pose was unnatural, one arm flung wide, no attempt to shield his mouth and nose from the suffocating granules, but it wasn’t until Jake tried to move him that they discovered the bloody aftermath of a dozen stab wounds in Hunter’s chest.
Jake had called 911 immediately, which was impressive. Izzy wasn’t sure she’d have been that functional if it had been Peyton lying in the sand, and though Jake’s hand shook in hers while he gave directions to the emergency dispatcher, Izzy admired his ability to think calmly and rationally in the face of a personal tragedy.
As soon as the call had ended, Jake’s arm had slumped to his side and he’d just stood there, staring at the lifeless remains of his best friend. Hunter’s pale skin was practically white, and the stitches he’d received at urgent care had blackened, making the scene even more macabre. Izzy knew if they stared at Hunter’s corpse any longer, they’d never get the image out of their minds.
She’d taken charge then, gently guiding Jake back down to the beach, making sure they trod the same path they’d made on the way up the dune just in case there was any evidence to preserve. Her years of obsessively listening to murder podcasts was coming in handy.
Once the police arrived and they’d given a statement, Izzy and Jake headed back to the parking lot, where they sat hand in hand on the open tailgate of Jake’s pickup truck, blankets draped over their shoulders by a kind but ultimately impotent EMT who’d turned his attention to them rather than Hunter while police officers and forensic scientists combed the area. Normally, Izzy would have been deeply interested in their tactics, but now she only had one thing on her mind: Jake. And making sure he was okay.
As they waited in silence for someone to tell them what to do, Izzy felt the darkness intensifying around them. One glance at the black clouds overhead told her that the Storm of the Century was almost upon them. The authorities must have sensed it as well because the frenzy of activity on the beach shifted into high gear as investigators tried to gather as much evidence as they could before the storm wiped the beach—and the crime scene—clean.
Izzy shivered beneath her blanket at the memory of Hunter’s body left abandoned in the sand. If they hadn’t stumbled upon him, would he ever have been found? Judging by the ferocity of the waves at low tide, there was a good chance that a storm surge would swamp the dunes entirely, washing Hunter out to sea. His disappearance would be one of those cold cases Izzy followed on Murder Will Speak, and Peyton and his family would have been left forever wondering what happened, a wound that would never heal.
Not that learning your son or boyfriend had been murdered was some awesome thing. But at least, eventually, there would be closure.
As long as the police found the killer.
“Elizabeth Bell and Jake Vargas, correct?” A sheriff’s deputy rounded the back of the pickup truck, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his parka. He was about Izzy’s dad’s age, that indeterminate range of adulthood that put him somewhere between forty and elderly, with a few grays cropping up in his light brown beard and crinkles in his pale, freckled skin around his mouth and forehead. His brown eyes were red-rimmed and watery, which could have been the result of the biting winds on the beach or perpetual insomnia.
“Izzy,” she said after Jake didn’t respond. She squeezed his hand, as if to say, I’ve got this.
“Deputy Porter.” He nodded. “You discovered the body?”
They’d already given their statement to another officer, but Izzy sensed Deputy Porter’s authority. “Yes.”
He arched an eyebrow. “While…”
Izzy didn’t appreciate the leading edge to his tone, as if he was insinuating some wrongdoing on their part. Not that she wanted to admit that they were making out on the freezing cold beach as a massive storm rolled in. She nodded to the metal detector that lay in the bed of the truck behind them. “I lost a bracelet here. Jake was helping me look for it before the storm.”
Deputy Porter’s eyes flitted down to Izzy’s pants and UGGs. “In your pajamas?”
Before she could respond, Jake raised his head. “She was in the hospital last night,” he said, tone steely. “She almost died from carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“And then felt the pressing urge to come out here and search for a bracelet?”
Jake squared his shoulders. “Yeah.”
A wry half smile cracked the right corner of Deputy Porter’s mouth. “All right, calm down, son.” His eyes shifted back to Izzy. “You’re Taylor Bell’s sister.”
She nodded briefly, not that Deputy Porter needed the confirmation. He certainly hadn’t phrased it as a question.
“And you work for Mike Bixby?”
Unlike Izzy, Jake didn’t bother to confirm the deputy’s statement that he worked for Hunter’s dad. “I was Hunter’s best friend.”
That was the cue Deputy Porter had been waiting for. The smile vanished, and he was all business. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last night.”
“When exactly?”
“I left his house around eight. He was home with his parents.”
“And he didn’t mention that he was going to meet anyone? A girlfriend, maybe?”
Izzy was about to pipe up with Peyton didn’t kill him! when she caught the deputy’s eyes flash in her direction. She bit her tongue. He was baiting her.
“No,” Jake said with a firm shake of his head. “He took some of the pain meds he got from urgent care after they stitched up his face and was going to bed early.”
Deputy Porter nodded, and Izzy sensed that Jake’s story confirmed what he’d already heard, perhaps from Hunter’s parents. Izzy winced as she imagined what they must be going through. Their only child. Murdered and dumped like trash.
“And do you know who gave him those cuts?” Deputy Porter continued. “Who might hold a grudge against him?”
“Yes!” Izzy blurted out. She couldn’t help herself. She knew no one but Jake believed her, but there was only one person who would have done this. “Alberto Bianchi.”
Deputy Porter cocked his head to the side. “Is that the Italian kid who’s staying with you?”
“I don’t think he’s actually Italian,” Izzy said. She wasn’t holding back anymore. Someone needed to stop this monster.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s barely spoken a word of Italian since he got here,” Izzy said. “And he was on the same flight the FBI thought the Casanova Killer took out of San Francisco, and I think they arrested the wrong guy.”
Deputy Porter blinked. “How did you know about the flight?”
Agent Michaels’s card was back in Izzy’s bedroom. She would just have to convince Deputy Porter that she was telling the truth. “Agents Michaels and Stolberg came to my house yesterday, asking questions. They definitely thought Alberto was a suspect. I know you arrested Greg Loomis, but I’m telling you, Alberto is dangerous.”
“What makes you think so?”
“We weren’t searching for my bracelet,” Izzy said. She watched Deputy Porter’s eyebrow raise a fraction, just like Agent Michaels’s had. Was that a move they taught in law enforcement training? “Alberto gave my best friend a bracelet at the bonfire Friday night. Hunter ripped it off her wrist and tossed it into the dunes. That’s what we were looking for.”
“Why?”
“Because Agent Michaels showed me a photo of an earring Daniela Margolis was wearing when she was murdered. A matching bracelet was missing from her body. I’m pretty sure that’s what Alberto gave Peyton.”
Deputy Porter stared hard at her for what felt like five full minutes but was probably more like five seconds. He was assessing her, trying to gauge whether or not she was full of shit. Izzy knew the FBI agents’ names and that they’d traced the Casanova Killer to Eureka from San Francisco, but that information could have been leaked, and she could only hope that the sincerity on her face and earnestness in her voice sold her story.
Finally, Deputy Porter turned away, pacing around the side of the truck as he opened up a channel on his walkie-talkie. “Dutch, can you send a patrol around to the Bell house? Yeah, I know we’re stretched thin, but make this a priority. Uh-huh, that’s the address. Pick up an Italian exchange student named Alberto Bianchi and bring him down to the station.”
Holy shit. He believed her?
Deputy Porter paused, listening, but Izzy couldn’t make out what the other voice was saying. He clicked his tongue in response. “I know, I’ll take the heat. Just call it a hunch.”
“I hope you’re right about this,” he said, flashing his eyes at Izzy as he made sure the zipper on his jacket was hiked all the way up to his neck. “Arresting a foreign national could be my ass.”
“I am.” Izzy was surprised by how confident she sounded. That was new.
He grimaced; then without another word, Deputy Porter strode toward the beach, where a forensics team member waited for him.
“You did it,” Jake said. His smile was sad, his eyes tired. “He believed you.”
“I’m as much in shock as you are.”
“You don’t have enough faith in yourself, Izzy.”
She certainly wouldn’t argue that point with him. Between the burden of her ever-present fear and lack of self-confidence, she’d never taken a firm stance on anything, always second-guessing herself and deferring to a stronger personality like her mom, her dad, or Peyton.
Oh shit.
“Has anyone told Peyton?” she asked with a start.
“I don’t know.”
“I should do it.” Izzy didn’t want to be the one to break such horrific news, but if you couldn’t shoulder that burden for a best friend, what kind of friendship even was it?
Jake nodded in understanding. “I’ll take you.”
She eyed the ongoing investigation on the beach. It didn’t look like things would be wrapping up anytime soon. “Do you think they still need us?”
“I can’t imagine why.” Jake slid off the tailgate of his truck, searching for someone to ask. “I’ll find out, and then we can—”
“Hey, Miss Bell!” Deputy Porter appeared from nowhere, trotting across the wet sand.
“Yes?”
“Wanted to let you know that we sent a patrol over to your house. Spoke with your mom.”
“Okay.”
“She told us that Alberto Bianchi wasn’t home.”
JAKE EASED HIS PICKUP TO A STOP IN FRONT OF PEYTON’S house. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
No. “She needs to hear it from me.”
“Izzy.” He placed his hand over hers on the bench seat, grazing her skin with his thumb. “I want you to know that you’re stronger than you think you are.”
Strong. Izzy had never really thought about herself that way. She was the youngest sibling in a house full of boys. She’d never won a single bout of wrestling, earned an academic award, or single-handedly beaten the state champs in debate team like her brothers had all done. But she knew Jake was talking about something deeper. Izzy was emotionally strong. Possibly the only member of her family who was.
When she really thought about it, Jake wasn’t wrong. She’d been trying to keep her family together for years, trying to keep her mom together for longer than that, and while Taylor was the righteous brother, Parker the smart one, and Riley the likable Bell, Izzy had been the linchpin. She made sure everyone felt important and valued and cared for.
But who was looking out for her?
Not Taylor, who was busy with Martina and his firefighter career. Not Parker, lost in his own breakup and hiding in academics. Not Riley, because, well, he was Riley. Not her dad, who was increasingly checked out, spending long hours at work sites rather than at home in a tense house that made him uncomfortable. Hell, he hadn’t even shown up when she was in the hospital.
And in a way, not even her mom. It was clear from the last week that this whole Italian Scheme was more about Elizabeth Bell than about Izzy. But Izzy had gone along with it. Why? It was the first tangible opportunity she’d ever had to escape. To move away and start fresh. Decide who she wanted in her life and who she didn’t. Alberto or not, it had in some ways been the perfect plan up until a few hours ago.
Because there was one person in Eureka who was looking out for Izzy, one person who cared about her unselfishly, who didn’t want her to change, and who didn’t want her to go.
“Thank you,” she said. As she gazed into Jake’s dark brown eyes, Italy vanished.
Rain fell steadily as they trudged up the walkway to Peyton’s house. Her mom answered the door, and one look at Jeanine’s red eyes and drawn face told Izzy that she was too late: her friend had already gotten the terrible news.
Peyton was on the sofa in the living room, knees hugged to her chest. A box of tissues sat beside her, and a small pile of used ones littered the carpet at her feet. She wore no makeup, a rarity for Peyton, or at least no traces of it were left after hours of crying. Her eyes were puffy, lids swollen and red, and she breathed through her mouth as if her sinuses were clogged from a heavy cold.
She teared up the moment she saw Izzy and Jake at the door. “You came.”
“Of course.” Izzy rushed to Peyton’s side, hugging her around the shoulders. She felt her friend heave a sob, then force herself under control.
