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His hooded eyes seemed to darken from turquoise to deep cobalt. “Nothing would make me happier than if we made a baby.”
“Given your current marital status, that’s a complication I’m sure you don’t need. We should have been more careful. I had no right to…”
“Shh.” He brought his lips to her temple. “No regrets. I’ll call you later.” He pulled her close for one last lingering kiss before excusing himself and lamenting he’d be spending his Saturday crawling through a damp basement to sweat pipes. Sprinting down the stairs, he waved goodbye and bounded out the door.
Jenna watched as he jogged to his truck. As it pulled onto her street and sped away, she sunk into a familiar pit of remorse. “Jenna Welles, what the hell is wrong with you?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
There were few early risers in Cromline on Saturday Eric noticed as he drove down the main street. A man and woman, dressed straight from an athletic catalogue, jogged into the gourmet shop.Designer coffee to go with the designer running gear.
He turned off the avenue and crossed a small side road that led to the even smaller rural country road and Ina’s. He fiddled with the radio, and after finding a static free station he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. Euphoria would be a word lacking in intensity if he were to describe his feelings.
Cruising slowly along, his mind was filled with nothing but thoughts of Jenna—holding her, kissing her, loving her. He took no notice of the trill of birdsong or the tall tufts of spring green on the road’s shoulder. He took no notice of the train whistle in the distance or how bright and blue the sky was. He took no notice of the rusted truck hanging back but following at every turn.
On the wooded lane close to Ina’s, the pickup barreled forward. It made a screeching circle and cut him off. Slamming on the brake Eric stopped just in time to avoid it. The near collision barely registered when his door opened, and a pair of hands grabbed him and threw him to the ground.
****
Willy Parks almost stabbed himself affixing his badge to his shirt while running out the door. The radio clipped to his shoulder crackled at his ear. “Chief, your suspect’s pickup truck was on Redbud Road all night.”
“All night? Shit,” Willy cursed. “Is it still there?”
“Negative, pulled away five minutes ago.”
He hurried to his police cruiser and revved the engine, and then sped in the direction of Ina Cumming’s house.
****
Tumbling into the dirt, Eric looked up into the ugliest face he had ever seen. Pock marks shone white over a red veined complexion, and teeth were gapped like broken spokes on a wheel. Before he had a chance to roll away, the man’s foot caught him squarely in the ribs. He let out a grunt and tried to shake off the pain as he heard the stomping of more footsteps behind him.
“I got his wallet. He’s got a pile of cash in it.”
“Bonus! Now let’s finish this. A couple more busted ribs will send the message.”
Eric rose to his knees, but a boot to the cheek sent him back into the dirt. He drew his legs into his chest and slammed his attacker away with his feet. He didn’t, however, have enough time to maneuver away from the second man who was wielding a baseball bat. As Eric attempted to stand, the bat landed hard at his side.
White hot pain spread through his body as he heard the snapping of ribs. Groaning, he braced for more, but his assailants took a beat to admire their work. While steeped in childish laughter, neither one noticed Eric rising. He punched one, and the hard crunch to the jaw made the man loosen his grip on the bat. As it rolled under his feet, he fell to the ground. Eric spun around and caught the other one with a hard elbow to the teeth. The two well-connected blows only bought him seconds of time before both men were on their feet and approaching.
Eric wheezed as breathing became an effort. At least two ribs, he figured, were broken. He gawped air and a fight or flight measure of adrenaline rushed through his blood to halt his pain. The provisional numbness allowed him to throw a few more punches and run to his truck. Just feet shy of it, the two men tackled him to the ground, and Eric could do nothing more than try to protect whatever parts of his face and body were the most damaged. He threw punches wherever he could.
“This was supposed to be an easy job,” one of the men said. He huffed and panted hard. “Baldwin never said anything about this guy being such a brawler.”
“Shut the fuck up, you idiot! Crap, now we’re going have to kill…”
The man stomped over to the bat lying on the ground. He walked back slowly, swinging it through the air for practice. Eric, whose ears were ringing, and eyes narrow slashes, saw at least four bats coming toward him and made one last effort to get up. A siren wailed, and the men jumped into their truck and sped away. Eric folded back down onto the ground as everything went black.
The sharp tang of ammonia wafted into his sinuses. He roused quickly, the pain jolting him awake as suddenly as the pungent vapor. A face loomed close, distorted by the red light flashing rhythmically across it.
“What the hell happened here?” a cop demanded.
Eric struggled up onto his elbows and spat a mouthful of blood at the ground.
“Mugged. I don’t suppose you plan on going after them.”
“You got some ID?” the cop demanded more than asked.
Eric winced as he tried to stand. “They took my wallet.”
