Crazy for You (Loco, Texas Book 1) Page 4

“Can you give a description?” Gunn broke in.

  Finn stopped moving, hoping they didn’t notice as Deana shook her head. “It was dark, and he had a black hood over the top half of his face. His voice was really raspy, though, like he smoked. His lips were thin, and he was probably about five-nine. He wasn’t very big, but he was strong.”

  Finn caught her shiver and wished he had a jacket to slip over her shoulders. Flipping the notepad closed, he reached toward her, but, catching Gunn’s raised eyebrow, just patted her shoulder reassuringly. “We’ll look for him. Meanwhile, maybe you should head home? Get some sleep?”

  “No, I can’t. They need me at the Haunted House. They’re already shorthanded,” Deana argued.

  With a smile, Finn, knowing he was going to get shit from Gunn, handed her the shoes she’d dropped. “Fine, I’ll walk you. Smart move ditching the skyscrapers, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She kept her eyes downcast as she took the heels and seemed very interested in the dirt by her bare feet and Finn’s smile dissolved. Why wouldn’t she look at him?

  “Well, since you have this, I think I’m going to go patrol. Catch up with you in a few?” Gunn wiggled his eyebrows at Finn behind Deana’s back.

  Finn punched Gunn in his gut when Deana wasn’t looking, then led Deana back toward the gym, ignoring the coughing laughter behind him.

  Deana was quiet, and he didn’t like it. One thing Deana had never been with him was silent.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” He slid his hand up to cup her elbow, noticing that her limp seemed worse. Are you in a lot of pain?”

  She didn’t answer right away. It wasn’t until they were almost to the back entrance when she said, “He thinks I’m lying.”

  “What?” Finn’s voice rose with indignation. “He does not. Why would he think that?”

  “Come on. When is the last time Loco had a knife-wielding maniac stalking its citizens? He thinks I’m out of my mind.” She stopped outside the door and crossed her arms, a protective gesture he hated. What had happened in the last eight years to make Deana so closed off?

  He faced her, staring down into her sad expression, and wanted to make her smile. He wanted her to laugh the way she used to, that belly laugh that was almost indecently loud but infectious. He wanted her to be happy again, because the Deana he’d seen so far had no joy. Only anger, pain, and sadness.

  Maybe he’d been thinking too much lately about his own unhappiness, and that was why Deana’s misery was getting to him.

  “Isn’t the town called Loco because one of the original town founders went crazy and killed a bunch of people?” He brushed an escaped pink curl back behind her ear.

  She snorted at him. “No, that’s just a ghost story teenagers tell their younger siblings to make them pee their pants, although they usually add that he comes alive every Halloween and starts offing people.”

  “Hmmm… So is it the water? Does it make people crazy?” His gaze drifted toward her lips, still teasing him with their fire-engine red color. How were they still so bright?

  Her lips split into a wide smile. “Legend says that the founders called it Loco because people who settled here were crazy. Between the Callahan Brothers Gang and the Banditos, the men who raised cattle here had a hard time keeping cows, let alone convincing a woman to move here. Before too long, men outnumbered women three to one, and I guess from there, the people that stayed were just loco in da cabeza.”

  He returned her smile and touched his finger to her lips. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

  “What?” she asked, her smile dimming.

  “That smile. I haven’t seen it all night.” Gently, he ran the digit over the plump flesh of her bottom lip, relishing the soft whoosh of breath over his finger.

  Her eyes widened. “I guess I haven’t had a lot to smile about.”

  Stepping into her, he dipped his head. “Well, honey, that’s a damn shame.”

  His mouth brushed hers softly, savoring her. She leaned toward him, and he gathered her close, kissing her like she was honey on a biscuit and he wanted to capture every last drop of her sweetness.

  The clearing of a throat had Finn lifting his head to stare into the disapproving eyes of an older man with a silver handlebar mustache.

  “Miz Sawyer, we have been waiting for you to arrive.”

  Finn didn’t even try to stop her as she spun around, spluttering, “Principal Thornton!”

  “If y’all are done, do you think you might step inside?”

  With a mumbled good-bye, Deana practically ran for the door, and Finn caught one last scowl from the tight-ass in the white butcher’s apron. The red on the front of Principal Thornton looked an awful lot like blood; the guy acted more like he should be a tax auditor for Halloween than a homicidal meat cutter.

  Finn headed back to the main stretch of booths, and while he absently nodded and smiled at the people around him, he let his mind wander back to Deana’s mystery attacker. Was it a crime of opportunity? A Halloween prank?

  Deana’s words haunted him though. “He said he’d been waiting a long time for me.”

  If it had been planned and Deana was the target, the guy might try again. She was going to need a protective detail.

  And here he thought he’d escaped the crazies when he left Atlanta.

  Chapter Four

  As he watched the cop round the corner, he was tempted to attack now, to just run across the alley like a berserker and punish the cocky son of a bitch for touching what was his.

  His gaze shifted toward the closed door. Little Red, with her bright hair and shy countenance. Deana. She was an outsider. Like him. She would understand him. She would love him.

  He just had to get her alone to tell her how much he admired her. She didn’t deserve their ridicule.

  Neither did he, for that matter.

  For years, he had moved around, always invisible to those around him. Until he’d found her.

  Rubbing the blood from his nose, he winced at the pain her knee had caused. She shouldn’t have hit him. His dick still ached from the pain she had caused.

  She’d have to pay for that. She’d have to learn her lesson.

  As he slowly backed into the shadows, he started to sing, “Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood…”

  Whistling the rest of the song, he went to clean up. He had several hours before she would be done. Then she’d find out just what happened when you didn’t respect the wolf.

  Chapter Five

  Deana endured the long lecture from Principal Thornton about proper costumes and conduct for a teacher, and then proceeded to change into her haunted house costume. The red gash across her neck made her look like the victim of a decapitation attempt. As she stared at the angry makeup in the mirror, she thought about the gleaming knife and the man in the hood.

  Closing her eyes, she silently chanted, Think of something else. Think of anything else.

  Finn’s smile. Finn’s kiss. Finn’s hands on her body. Okay, so her happy thoughts were all about Finn. So she had feelings for him. They were hot, smexy feelings of lust and wanting; they had nothing to do with liking the man.

  Which is why you were worried about his safety? And you’re still all warm and gooey from his comment about wanting to make you smile?

  Deana stood up, arguing with herself about why there was nothing wrong with appreciating the attentions of an attractive man. Even if that man had ripped her still-beating heart from her chest and stomped on it.

  You were teenagers. All teenagers are idiots.

  Just as she took her position in the tiny room with the flickering lights, a group of said teenagers came in, laughing and screaming as they saw her. Suddenly, she jumped at them, and they ran, making her smile.

  On and on it went, scream, jump, and run. Deana’s throat started feeling scratchy, and she grabbed a sip of water every chance she got.

  It wasn’t until after she scared her thirtieth group of kids that a thought struck her.
>
  Everything awful that happened tonight led me back to Finn. Could it be a sign to give him another chance?

  A hand fell on her shoulder, and she jumped.

  “Sorry, I’m just your relief. You can go and enjoy the festival if you want,” the next slasher victim said with a smile.

  “Thanks, I think I will.” Deana gratefully headed back out to the locker room they had designated as the changing room, greedily downing the rest of her water bottle.

  After she closed and locked the door, she started to take off the long white sack dress covered in corn syrup. Standing in her panties and bra, she grabbed a package of baby wipes and cleaned off the fake blood.

  A noise outside the door alerted her that someone wanted in. “Just a minute.”

  Having gotten most of the red goop off her neck, she squeezed back into her costume, and shoes, checking herself in the mirror one more time before opening the door.

  “It’s all…”

  She looked back and forth down the hall, but there was no one there.

  “Yours? Hello?” She stepped out into the hall, but something caught her foot, and she flew forward, hitting the wall hard with a smack.

  As she slid to the ground with a wince of pain, she twisted around to see what had tripped her up.

  There was a brown burlap sack in front of the door, a white piece of paper pinned to the side. Reaching out, she ripped the paper off and read it.

  Tonight.

  It was then she saw the dark liquid leaking through the porous holes of the sack, and the metallic smell of real blood drifted up her nostrils.

  Tentatively, she flipped the sack open…

  And started screaming.

  * * *

  Cursed. She was definitely cursed.

  Deana had spent her whole life explaining away all the truly terrible things that had happened to her, not really believing in curses and bad luck, but those days were over. In the last few hours, she’d been attacked with a knife and found a dead cat outside the locker room. A dead black cat.

  She knew it wasn’t Salem because the cat had been missing Salem’s extra toes. But still…

  It might not mean anything. It might just be a sick prank.

  But she knew, deep down this was personal. This was the curse.

  Curses could be broken, though.

  The full moon overhead helped illuminate the quiet street of Willow Lane, where Miz Velma had lived for most of her life. The houses were older, modest, with small yards and front porches that contained potted plants, wind chimes, and rocking swings. It was also where Deana had lived before she’d gone off to college and her mother had remarried.

  Moving along the houses, she saw a few straggling trick-or-treaters ahead, but no one approached the fourth house on the block, where Miz Velma lived. The porch light was off, no decorative pumpkins adorned the steps, and the last group of children passed by laughing, oblivious to the shadow of the woman in the window.

  Deana stopped on the other side of the fence, looking at Miz Velma’s dark shape bent over like she was reading a book. Overwhelming guilt and sadness made her heart pound harder. She’d avoided Miz Velma for fourteen years after what she’d done. Was she the reason there were no more decorations on the little white porch?

  Miz Velma used to love Halloween. She would go all-out on dressing up, decorating, and even buying the good candy. She’d spend hours carving those intricate pumpkins and placing them out for display.

  Like the one Deana had destroyed.

  Was this crazy? Probably. She was obsessing over a pumpkin. Miz Velma probably didn’t care anymore. There was no curse. She was just nuts.

  So why was she standing there, about to confront Miz Velma as if she was the Wicked Witch?

  Deana was jarred from her inner rant by a huge black dog’s ferocious bark as it jumped up onto the fence next to Miz Velma’s gate. When it snapped its jaws at her, she stared at its sharp, gleaming teeth and the top of her spine tingled with unease.

  She looked up and down the street, even behind her at the cluster of trees at the edge of the neighborhood. Without taking her eyes from those trees, she reached over to unlock the gate, ignoring the dog and everything else but—

  A hand grabbed her wrist, and she screamed, wrenching her hand back and swinging around to face her attacker.

  “Good gracious, Deana Sawyer, is that you?”

  Breathing hard, Deana faced Miz Velma with her hand over her heart. “Miz Velma, you scared me to death.”

  Miz Velma’s dark eyebrows shot up her forehead in surprise. “I scared you? I looked outside, wondering what Fluffy was barking at, only to find a lone figure standing at my gate.”

  Deana’s eyes flickered to the neighbor’s dog, who was sitting quietly now behind the fence.

  Who would name a dog that big Fluffy?

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Miz Velma, but I was wondering if we could talk?” Deana asked urgently.

  Miz Velma watched her from behind the clear lenses on her glasses, as if trying to read her mind. “I suppose, although it is very late.”

  “I know, but it won’t take long, I promise.”

  Still studying her almost suspiciously, Miz Velma finally nodded. “All right then.”

  Deana came through the gate, and as she followed the older woman up the steps, she noticed a slight hunch of her shoulders and a hitch in her step that hadn’t been there before. She’d seen Miz Velma around town since the “incident” but hadn’t really taken note of the changes before. When Miz Velma reached the bottom of her steps, Deana stuck her hand out to help her.

  “Thank you, dear.” Miz Velma slipped her hand through Deana’s arm, leaning on her as they hobbled up the porch steps. The extra weight didn’t feel great on her sore ankle and feet, but Deana didn’t complain. Miz Velma reached out to open the door, and as soon as they stepped inside, Deana started rubbing her arms to get some feeling back. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until the blast of heat from Miz Velma’s furnace hit her exposed skin.

  “Land sakes, you must have completely lost your noodle running around here like that,” Miz Velma ranted.

  “Miz Velma—”

  “I mean, honestly, Deana, you look like a common hussy—”

  “Miz Velma—”

  “And good Lord, child, what in the blazes did you do to your hair?”

  “Miz Velma!” Deana shouted, interrupting her tirade.

  Miz Velma blinked her wide, rheumy eyes at her. “Why are you yelling at me? You’re behaving rather oddly, Deana.”

  “Miz Velma, I need to apologize about the pumpkin,” Deana said quickly.

  “Pumpkin? What pumpkin?” Miz Velma cocked her head in confusion.

  “The one I busted on Halloween when I was eleven. I’m really sorry, and I am begging you to forgive me and take back the curse, because honestly, I just can’t—”

  “Curse? What in the world are you babbling about, Deana Sawyer?” Miz Velma faced her with an outraged hands-on-her-hips stance.

  Deana took a deep breath and nervously ran her hands over her hair. “When I was eleven, I smashed one of your jack-o-lanterns, and you said I’d always be a clumsy girl and never fit in. And you were right. I’ve had nothing but bad luck for years, but you see, I don’t want to keep paying for one bad choice. So can you just un-mojo me or something?”

  Miz Velma shook her head sympathetically. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m afraid I was transferring my own frustrations onto you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I have been the odd woman in this town all my life, and I just happened to be having a worse day than usual. I used the pumpkin smashing to vent my own insecurities and rained them down all over your head.” Miz Velma reached out to take her hand and confirmed, “You were never cursed, Deana, especially not by me.”

  “But…then why don’t you decorate anymore? Or hand out candy?”

  Miz Sawyer went over to her chair by the window and slowly sat down
. Once she was settled, she held up her gnarled and spotted hands. “Because my arthritis got so bad, I can hardly hold a book, let alone carve a pumpkin. Plus, I won’t say that I haven’t enjoyed the quiet the last several years.” The smile she gave Deana was kind as she said, “I know that the good people of Loco think I’m a witch, have since I was nineteen and stopped going to church and following my father’s rules. All I wanted was the freedom to decide what to believe or whether I wanted to believe anything. It wasn’t long, though, before the whispers started.”

  Deana remembered the whispers, the strange books Miz Velma would read sometimes. Swallowing hard, she asked, “But…are you? A witch, I mean?”

  Miz Velma’s smile grew in her weathered face, making her eyes almost disappear in a sea of wrinkles. “No, not in the strictest sense. I’m Wiccan. I just have a different set of beliefs than you, but I don’t cast spells or anything. That can bring you bad luck.”

  “But…if it wasn’t…” Deana stuttered in frustration before exploding with, “You don’t understand. It’s awful. Broken noses, tripping and falling all the time. I’m a walking accident! I must be cursed. There’s no other explanation, because I cannot be this…this broken, crazy disaster.”

  Miz Velma waved her hand sadly, inviting Deana to sit down. “Maybe on some level, your guilt cursed you. You seem to be holding on to this one event for so long. I think it might be about time to let it go and just be happy. Believe me, darlin’, if I was going to curse someone, there are a number of people in this town more deserving than you.”

  Deana was tempted to break into hysterical laughter and shook her head. “I knew it wasn’t you. It wasn’t a curse. I wanted it to be so that I wouldn’t have to be this big, klutzy mess.”

  Miz Velma patted her hand. “Sometimes it’s just about accepting ourselves, honey. It took me a long time to stop worrying what other people thought about me and start living my life for me.”

  * * *

  He should have snatched her when he had the chance.

  He had followed behind her after the haunted house as she moved along the sidewalk, that short fluffy skirt twitching back and forth.