Until then, he would stay vigilant, biding his time until the killer exposed himself again so that Holden could finally put his anxiety to rest.
Eileen shifted in her sleep, nestling herself in the crook of his arm and pressing her warm behind against Holden’s groin. Arousal flared inside him, but it could wait. He put his arm around her, his palm resting on her lower stomach. For now, his greatest desire was to go back to sleep, grateful that she was safe in his arms.
Chapter 26
The Tilt of the Scales
Eileen wasn’t usually prone to fits of whimsy, but for a few moments, as the sunlight gilded their bodies like a golden statue of immortal lovers, she allowed herself to imagine a future with Holden. An honest future, not characterized by half-truths and false ideals of who they really were. She bit her lip and stilled when Holden stirred, pressing his chest against her back. The gentle thudding of his heart against her shoulder blade resonated as a steady reassurance of the life they could have together.
Eileen knew what it was to have her reality thrown into question, the truth of who she thought she was broken open and declared null. She had shed the lies of her old life, created a new identity from the vestiges that remained and given herself a new name: Eileen.
Now, as she lay next to Holden, she wondered how he would react if she told him the truth. Would he accept that she had hidden who she was for a chance at a better future? Her night on the street might pale in comparison if Holden knew what happened before that, if he found out her true identity.
Holden sighed in his sleep, cradling Eileen to his chest before he kissed her and mumbled, “Good morning.” A nervous smile crossed her lips; she didn’t want to give him up. Eileen gritted her teeth, the same way she had on the night they met. Losing Holden was not an option. She would tell him who she really was, maybe after work over a quiet home-cooked meal. But little did she know that the night she’d planned would never come.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, after Holden had taken Eileen home to collect her vehicle and get ready for work, they drove both cars to Buckworth Street. To her surprise, the parking lot behind the funeral home was almost full. Paul’s corpse van was parked between his Camaro and a long green sedan. Directly across from Paul's group, Dorothy Greaves’ brows were knit together in confusion as she got out of her car with her handbag dangling on her wrist. Clifford was also there, standing next to the body van, his jaw squared as though ready for battle.
Eileen parked and looked across at Holden. If his steering wheel was alive, it would have hollered for blue murder as Holden’s brutal grip left ten indentations pressed into its slim form. She got out of her car, wondering what fresh hell Paul had concocted so bright and early on that otherwise perfect morning.
“What do you want now?” Holden growled at his brother.
Paul merely nodded to the caucasian man next to him who stepped forward and said, “Mr Holden Davis, I’m representing your brother in the matter of the equitable distribution of property entrusted to Davis & Sons for preservative preparations.”
Clifford squinted. “Christ, I hope you ain’t paying him by the syllable.”
Holden squeezed his bottom lip with his teeth. “That’s what this shite is about? Some power ploy to get half of the bodies that your frightened ass can’t even embalm?”
Paul bristled and glanced at the lawyer who went on, “Mr Davis, your father’s will was explicit: the funeral home is one entity and, as such, there should be greater parity.” He reached forward and offered Holden a stack of papers which Holden merely raised an eyebrow at before Clifford took them on his behalf. Clifford read them for a moment and then said, “We got five bodies insides…explain how you plan to share them equitably, as this overpaid thesaurus suggests.”
Paul grunted. “Give me three and you keep the rest.”
Holden looked fit to burst. “Paul, that’s not how you share bodies, especially since you haven’t done a single thing to solicit business or pay the bills.”
Paul’s eyes flicked toward Eileen and a smirk crossed his lips, “My brother, we’ve shared bodies before and you didn’t seem to mind.”
Eileen’s handbag swung in a wide arc, landing on the left side of Paul’s head with a crack that made everyone in the car park wince. Her fists weren’t far behind, but Clifford grabbed onto her and whispered, “He deserved it, but be cool; too many witnesses.”
The bag’s buckle left a long bloody scrape on Paul’s cheek that speckled his white shirt with crimson dots. He touched his face gingerly, his eyes looking daggers at her as he rasped. “Let’s get the police and come back. I suspect Holden’s little whore just made a much better case for me.”
Eileen looked down at the blood that dappled her handbag. Somehow it didn't seem like enough. She'd had sex with him willingly, it was true, but she felt like he'd been raping her since then with his leering looks and nasty verbal barbs...today had been the last straw. Paul's convoy drove away, leaving Eileen, Holden, Clifford and Dorothy standing in the morning sun as traffic eased its ways along Buckworth Street.
“Boss, don’t worry, we gonna deal with all of this.”
“Deal with it how?” he fumed.
Dorothy cleared her throat, a sound like water over gravel, as she delicately injected herself into the conversation. “I hate to trouble you during this difficult time, but I’m a tad short on embalming supplies. Could I beg a boon of you so I could be on my way?”
Holden stomped to the door and threw it open. The others followed like creatures in the slipstream of an angry sea monster.
“Give her what she wants, Clifford,” Holden directed as he
