Free Reilly 13 - Dreams of the Dead by Perri O'Shaughnessy Page A

Ronnie was right. She should get a less nasty job.
    “If you saw him again, would you know him?”
    “No, like I told the cops.”
    “You didn’t say that to protect yourself? Not that I would blame you a bit. Hell, if he saw you—”
    “I guess there’s that chance. I’m blanking him out, okay? I don’t want to see his face. If I ever did.”
    “You’re shaking. You’re fine, babe. You’re with me.”
    “I’m cold.” She snuggled closer. It was midnight, but she was too messed up to sleep yet.
    “Do you believe he saw you? Do you?”
    “I don’t know.”
    He pushed his body so that every inch could match up to hers. “I’ll keep you warm. You’ve got Ronnie watching out now. I know you’re upset, but don’t worry. We’re in this together forever.”
    Oh, she had waited her entire life for Ronnie! When she considered all the losers and abusers, well, she was glad she had made it this far, to a man who appreciated her as much as she appreciated him. She smelled him, the mix of sweat, wine, and cologne, and tried to fit her curves to his hard edges.
    Squeezing in close, he pressed against her, this time not to fit, but to intrude. Brenda realized they were going to have sex again if the hints from his body told her anything, and she felt happy about it.
    “Say it. ‘Ronnie, you’re the best,’” Ronnie demanded, pushing from the rear, harder, and she knew what would happen next, knew it with a mix of shame, terror, and desire.
    “You’re the best!”
    “Damn straight! Is this okay?”
    “Yes! No! Stop that! I have to tell you something!”
    “Sure, babe, tell, can’t wait to hear, c’mon—”
    “He left money!”
    “Huh? Who!”
    “Him! On the bureau. Twenty dollars! In the tip envelope!”
    “Hallelujah!” Ronnie said, not a bit put off.
    “I didn’t tell you—I want to—ouch!—give it to Isaiah!”
    “DNA,” Ronnie said. “The envelope. Prints. The money.”
    “No! I want the money!”
    “Honey. Ahh. God, that feels good.” Long pause. “Look. He killed a girl.”
    “This is no time to be discussing—ooh! Ooh!”
    Brenda tried to wriggle away but Ronnie had her where he wanted her. He pinned her down, saying, “I’m not letting you out of my sight. You gonna tell the cops or do I?”
    “Don’t you dare.”
    “I’m gonna.”
    Brenda moaned. Ronnie always said her moans sounded like a spring wind in Kentucky caverns, loud and batty.
    “I’m gonna, I’m gonna.”
    “You’re the one I’m in danger from! Ah! Ah! Ah!”
    “That’s right. Don’t forget how good this feels. And this. Do you like this?”
    “No, no, no.”
    “Ooh, I love it when you moan.”
    “Ronnie, oh!”
    “We’ll give it a couple days, but we have to give it to the cops. I insist.” Flipping her onto her back, he loomed above her in the dim light. For the next few minutes, she welcomed his lust; she welcomed the enveloping arms of oblivion, forgetting all about the sad body she had seen and smelled in the hotel bed.
    She moaned again, louder. He better not ask any more questions. He could read it in the mornin’ paper. He could hear it on the radio.

CHAPTER 7
    I consulted my watch. The luminous dial told me it was 6:30 a.m., dark, temperature twenty-three degrees, clear and icy on the street where I waited near the Minden bus stop.
    Here Brenda Bee usually caught the bus up the mountain to her cleaning job five days a week. Although I’ll never know exactly what she saw at Prize’s, I recall her eyes flickering at the sight of me. That scared me. I slept little, after that, reliving the whole mess and the fact that there was a witness.
    I waited by the side of the road. Today the crowd arrived and left but she was a no-show so far. I thought, Brenda’s running late. She’ll be here any minute. I had done my homework: her shift started at eight in the morning. Her commute up to the mountains took a long time. She seldom missed a day. She needed the money.
    I had already consumed