DEVOTED IN DEATH (IN DEATH #41) BY J. D. ROBB – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: J. D. Robb
- Language: English
- Genre: Thriller / Suspense
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- Size: 2 MB
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The first kill was an accident. Mostly.
All they wanted was a nice car—it didn’t even have to be
fancy—because their piece of shit truck shuddered, wheezed,
then let out a death rattle just after they’d crossed over into
Arkansas from Oklahoma.
It was Ella-Loo’s idea how to go about acquiring a new ride. She’d
always had ideas, and dreams along with them, and since meeting Darryl
she’d come to believe those dreams would come true.
She’d been working in a cowboy bar in Dry Creek, a place many who
lived there considered the armpit of Oklahoma as it sat on a curve of a
desolate spit of land where the Panhandle cornered into Texas. None of her
dreams had come true; and, in fact, the man she’d been with—that son of a
whore Cody Bates—had given her a black eye and split her lip open before
he’d left her flat on the ground in front of the very bar she now worked.
She knew she was made for better things than serving up beer and rotgut
whiskey to cowboys and the hard-eyed women who dogged them. She was
made for better than pulling in extra giving blow jobs or quick bangs in the
bathroom stall or the cab of a pickup to men with beer breath and no
ambitions beyond the next ride.
The better walked into Rope ’N Ride one fateful night in the person of
Darryl Roy James. She knew, the minute she laid eyes on him.
He was the one. What had been missing. What she needed to complete all
she was and could be.
Later she would tell him how when he came through the fake saloon
doors, light—red-gold as a sunset—had glowed around him. His bright hair
had shimmered with it, and his eyes—blue and clear as lake water on a
postcard—had glowed.
And she knew all she needed to know.
He wasn’t like the others, nothing like the barn-smelling, ass-grabbing
sort that frequented the Rope ’N Ride.
He had something.
After a brief, intense mating dance, after he’d all but nailed her to the
stall door in the bathroom, then again against the wall outside the break
door, he’d told her the same.
One look, he’d said. Like, no sooner looked than loved. That was from a
book. From Shakespeare. Darryl had read some Shakespeare—Slick Willy,
he called him—while getting his high school diploma courtesy of juvenile
detention in Denton County, Texas, where he’d run off to find his fortune at
sixteen.
He’d walked out of juvie at eighteen, into a job at his mother’s
boyfriend’s garage. Darryl had a way with engines as some had a way with
horses. Barlow, who nagged Darryl to distraction, said if he spent as much
effort on the job as he did dreaming about being somewhere else, he’d be a
rich man.
But Darryl had never seen the point in working himself to death when
there were so many other ways to get what he wanted. And taking it from
somebody else was the best way he knew.
Still, since he didn’t want to go back to jail, he stuck it out for the
lifetime of nearly three years.
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