Murder Deja Vu

shouldn’t have had to learn.”
    She met Frank’s gaze. He wanted her to ask, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
    “He told you about his first week?”
    Dana’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t expect him to bring that up, but she’d learned that Reece and Frank said straight out what they thought and felt. “Yes. He held back some of the more graphic stuff, I think, but he told me enough.”
    “Those cocksuckers.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Lana’s made me clean up my mouth, but I’m afraid some bad stuff still slips out.”
    “I’ve heard worse. I married a man who thought cocksucker and motherfucker were perfectly acceptable words. Even in front of our children.” She buried the fleeting thought of how her sons must feel about their mother on the run with an accused murderer.
    “See this?” Frank pointed to the scar across his throat. “Two of those same cocksuckers that took Reece came after me. Revenge.” Frank raised a finger, taking time out for a few slow breaths. “They bided their time, then snuck up on me like a bunch of snakes ’cause they could never take me in a fair fight. But Reece came up behind the one who sliced me and jammed his fist in the guy’s kidney. My boy had some heft to him back then. He’d lost some weight, but he weighed more than he does now. I was bleeding like a stuck pig and—”
    Frank held a handkerchief over his mouth while a fit of barking coughs overwhelmed him. Lana rushed in from the kitchen with a glass of something. “Here, drink.”
    Frank swallowed a gulp, then pushed it away. “God, that stuff is vile.”
    “It’s good for you. Ukrainian remedy. Drink.”
    He did, and it calmed the hacking. Handing back the drink, he said, “See what I have to put up with?” Lana turned to leave, but Frank caught her arm and pulled her down to kiss her. “Lady Macbeth. But I love her.”
    Lana blushed and put the glass on the side table. She turned on the oxygen and placed the nasal cannula in Frank’s nose. “Don’t argue.”
    “See, Dana, I’m a lucky man.”
    “Yes, I believe you are.”
    He struggled to reposition himself. “Where was I?”
    “Are you sure you want to go on?”
    He spoke through a slow, twisted smile. “Now or never.”
    “Okay, then. You were bleeding like a stuck pig.”
    “Yeah, right. So the other son of a bitch swiped a blade up Reece’s side.”
    “Oh—” Dana couldn’t muffle the gasp. Now she knew why Reece never told her how he got the scar.
    “Reece didn’t quit until he took down that bastard too,” Frank went on. “He learned fast. He’s quiet, but you know what they say about still waters.”
    Yes, Dana knew from the beginning that Reece’s feelings ran deep from the beginning.
    “Your man holds his anger inside, where it festers. But when it erupts, it’s something to see. It erupted that day. Blew like Mount St. Helens. He ripped off his shirt and pressed it to my throat. Blood poured out of him, but he kept on like he didn’t have this gaping slice down his torso.” Frank sighed. “We both almost died that day. Quarter inch more, and that asshole would have nicked my carotid artery. If it wasn’t for Reece, you’d be in someone else’s house right now.”
    Dana started to say something when the doorbell rang. Frank and Lana exchanged glances.
    “Who the hell is that? It isn’t Reece.” Panic crossed Frank’s face. “See who it is.”
    Lana’s eyes darkened. She pressed the intercom button, hesitating. “Um, yes?”
    “Police,” the voice announced. “We’re looking for Frank Vance. We have a warrant to search the premises.”

Chapter Twenty-Six
A Little Feather Ruffling

    Harold County, North Carolina

    C larence woke late. His head felt like a bowling alley resided inside. All the liquor he had poured into his body the night before wasn’t sitting well in the light of day. He remembered going to his room and crashing as soon as his head hit the pillow. He’d call Jeraldine after he brushed his furry teeth and injected a pot of coffee directly into his vein. If he’d called last night, he wouldn’t have made much sense. It had been years since he’d drunk that much, and he wouldn’t do it again anytime soon. He checked his cell. Jeri hadn’t called him either. Maybe she didn’t speak to her source. He called room service and ordered coffee and a couple of slices of dry wheat toast.
    He needed to research Harry Klugh. PI, my ass. Stroud made it sound