by Rita Herron
“Lenora, once the crime unit arrives, I’ll take you home.”
Her eyes flared with determination. “No, do what you need to do to find him.” She pointed to the trash and the wrappers. “It looks like he may have altered his appearance.”
Micah nodded. “In prison, they cut his hair. Our computer team can run his picture through our program to show how he might look in different disguises, with different hair and facial hair. Then we’ll show it on the news.”
Lenora wiped perspiration from her forehead. “Did he leave the knife he used to kill her?”
Micah scanned the small bathroom. “I don’t see it anywhere. He probably took it with him.”
“To use again,” Lenora said through clenched teeth.
Micah couldn’t argue with that point. He used his phone to capture several photographs of Cissy’s body, focusing on details of the way she was lying, the blood pools, and her clothing which was strewn across the bathroom.
He looked in the trash and saw Simpleton’s prison jumpsuit and photographed it as well. “He didn’t even try to cover his tracks.”
Lenora grimaced. “He wants me to know he’s coming.”
Micah gripped her arms. “Look at me, Lenora. He may come after you, but I won’t let him hurt you again. I promise.”
Lenora’s lower lip quivered. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Micah.”
She was right. But he had to make her feel safe.
“I will keep this one,” he said softly.
Her gaze met his, emotions darkening her eyes. She wanted to trust him; that was obvious. But she also understood the kind of monster they were dealing with, and if Simpleton found a way to get Micah out of the way, he might trap Lenora again.
He couldn’t let that happen. He had to stay focused.
He dropped his hands and took a step away, needing the distance. Becoming personally entangled with Lenora would only cloud his judgment.
“I’m going to look around, see if I can find any sign where Simpleton was headed.”
“Probably to find another victim. You know he always takes three women.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure Cissy counts. The MO is different.”
“Because he knew her,” Lenora said.
“Maybe. She might be different to him because she actually did love him.”
Lenora’s stomach rolled. “You’re right. He tried to force us to say that we loved him. But when the other women did, he grew enraged, called them liars and killed them.”
“Cissy was a means to an end, not part of his sick demented MO. He wanted to get rid of her quick and fast.”
Lenora inhaled a deep breath. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll help.”
He removed two pairs of latex gloves from his pocket, tossed one to her, then yanked on the other pair. “Look for her purse while I search the desk and kitchen. If you find something, let me know, and we’ll bag and tag it to send to the lab. But be sure to put everything else back where you find it.”
Lenora nodded, pulled on the gloves then ducked into the closet in search of the purse. Seconds later, she came out empty handed. “Judging from the unopened boxes in the closet, Cissy had an addiction to the shopping channel. But her purse isn’t in there.”
“Check the den and kitchen.”
She disappeared into the other room while he strode over to the small desk in the bedroom corner. No computer or cell phone. A quick scan through the drawers turned up nothing but unpaid bills and a dry cleaning stub.
“I found her purse,” she called.
“Is there a cell phone in it?”
“No.”
Dammit, Simpleton probably took it. Although he’d be too smart to use it. Because he knew they’d check Cissy’s caller ID log and text history. Was there something on there he didn’t want them to see?
He’d ask forensics to pull her phone records and examine them.
“Go through her purse,” Micah said as he stepped into the den. “Look for an address book, notes, anything that might give us a clue where he’s going. The name of a motel, another friend who might be helping.”
“I’m looking.”
Micah opened the refrigerator and found a cheap bottle of wine and two steaks. Cissy had obviously planned a celebratory romantic dinner, but Simpleton had had other plans. He spotted a grocery receipt on the counter and skimmed it. Ahh, she’d also bought beer which Simpleton obviously had taken.
He closed the refrigerator, then looked inside the cabinets and found tacky orange flowered dishes that looked like they’d come from a yard sale along with mismatched chipped coffee mugs.
A basket on the counter held junk mail and unpaid bills. He thumbed through them, deciding Cissy must have been a hairbreadth away from being evicted. A convenience store receipt confirmed that she’d bought two burner phones, so she’d probably given one to Simpleton to take with him.
Then he hit pay dirt. He found a receipt for a pickup truck and a tag, both paid for in cash.
A siren wailed, and he realized it was probably the crime unit so he told Lenora he’d be back, then stepped outside the apartment to meet them. His phone was ringing, so he swiped to answer it.
“Hardin, it’s Lt. Roper. We found out what kind of car Cissy Cornwell owned. A white Toyota sedan.”
“It’s in the parking lot,” Micah said. “But I found a receipt for a black pickup truck. My guess is that’s what Simpleton’s driving.”
“Give me the details, and I’ll issue an APB.”
Micah recited the license number, well aware that Simpleton might remove or disguise the tag, but hoping that the make and model would be enough to catch the police’s attention on the road.
It would be a miracle if they caught the asshole before he killed again.
He just wished he believed in miracles.
Lenora felt as if she was violating Cissy’s privacy by searching through her purse, a cheap vinyl, oversized orange bag that was packed with junk. Yet the woman had helped a cruel madman escape prison so he could wreak havoc again on innocent women’s lives.
Had Cissy not understood how brutal and violent the man was? Hadn’t she read the papers and seen the list of his victims?
If so, how could she possibly have aided in his escape?
She pulled out a comb, hairspray, and perfume along with a red wallet. She opened it and glanced at Cissy’s driver’s license. The woman was only twenty-nine, but the cigarettes she found inside explained why she looked older and the reason for her yellowed teeth. Two lighters and matches from a bar that sounded vaguely like a strip joint were at the bottom of the bag.
Micah had said Cissy was a hairdresser, but she could have moonlighted as a waitress, stripper or . . . prostitute.
She laid each of the items she removed on the coffee table. A fire engine red lipstick. Compact. Make up bag with eyeliner, blue eyeshadow and enough rouge to paint a clown’s face.
Next, she discovered a stack of envelopes wrapped in a rubber band. She pulled them out, expecting to see bills, but when she looked at the return address, she realized they were from the state prison.
Her stomach churned as she opened the first one and began to read.
Dear Cissy,
I am so grateful to find you, my love. You are such a special woman. Each night as I lie on my cot, I think of how beautiful you are, how delicate your face is. How tender and soft your skin will feel when I finally touch it.
I dream about you every night now. Dream of the two of us kissing and holding each other. Of long walks in the moonlight. Of long nights where we make love and hold each other until dawn.
Seeing you is like seeing the sunshine that I miss so much. I can’t wait until I’m free and we’re together.
Love always,
Robbie
Lenora’s hand shook
as she dropped the letter. Her pulse pounded as she opened another one and read it. More of the same. Loving words and promises, tender thoughts and dreams of gentle touches, memories Simpleton proclaimed to want to make with Cissy. Even love poems he’d carefully copied in some kind of script writing that looked elegant and lovely.
Not at all like the ugly monster beneath that façade.
With each letter, Lenora grew increasingly angry. Simpleton had completely conned Cissy into believing he’d been victimized, that she’d told lies about him, that he’d been falsely imprisoned.
Then Cissy had helped him and gotten her throat slit for doing so.
The bastard deserved to die.
She wanted to rip the letters into a million pieces and burn them, but common sense reminded her they were evidence.
And that she was supposed to be looking for something to help them track down Simpleton.
She carefully placed the letters back in their envelopes for the crime team, then dug in the purse once again and found a small black book. She opened it and skimmed the pages, but all the names listed were men.
Clients? Not from a hair salon . . .
Had Simpleton known she was a hooker on the side? If he hadn’t and he’d discovered it when he escaped, it might have triggered his rage.
Not that she believed that the man had loved Cissy. No . . . he was incapable of love.
He had coldly used Cissy then discarded her just as he did all the women in his life.
Micah filled the crime unit in on what he suspected had happened, then led them inside Cissy’s apartment.
“I’ve looked for a computer and cell phone but didn’t find one. Simpleton left his prison uniform in the trash, but we need to process it for forensics just to confirm it was his.”
“Did you find the weapon?”
“No.” Micah gritted his teeth as Lenora looked up at him from the couch. Her expression looked tormented, but he decided not to question her until they were alone. After all, technically she shouldn’t have been handling evidence.
One of the techs collected the purse from Lenora.
“He snowed Cissy with love letters,” she said in a whisper so only Micah could hear.
“He’s a sociopath,” Micah murmured. “He changes faces like a chameleon.”
Lenora nodded and crossed her arms, and Micah turned back to the CSI team.
“The body is in the bathroom.” The ME appeared, and Micah led the way.
“She’s been dead only a few hours,” he said. “We haven’t found a computer or cell. Pull her phone records and let me know what you find.”
The ME knelt to examine her. “You’re right. Body’s still slightly warm.”
He didn’t need the doctor to tell him cause of death. She’d bled out within minutes from the knife wound.
“I’m going to drive Lenora home,” he said. “Look for something that might indicate where Simpleton’s going next.”
The CSI nodded, and Micah stepped back into the den. “Come on, Lenora. Let’s go back to your place.”
She followed him outside to his SUV, unusually quiet.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said softly as they settled inside.
“I saw him kill before,” she said as if the sight of Cissy’s dead body hadn’t bothered her.
“I know,” he said. “But that’s supposed to be behind you.” And they both knew Simpleton’s escape had resurrected the memories.
“It’s hard for me to imagine that Cissy fell for his act,” Lenora said as he drove toward her condo. “She had to have seen the news. Heard what he did to all those women.”
And to her.
Micah’s jaw twitched. “Some people are so lonely they only see what they want to see.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Micah praying that the police spotted Simpleton’s pickup and pulled him over so this nightmare could end for Lenora before it got worse.
A siren blasted the air. Robert cursed as he looked up and saw a police car racing up behind him. Blue lights flashed and twirled, the lights nearly blinding him.
God dammit. He checked his speed. Under the limit. He hadn’t run a stop sign, and there weren’t any red lights in this lone stretch of highway.
Someone knew that he was driving this truck.
Fucking Cissy. He’d told her to throw away receipts, bills, anything that left a paper trail. But the stupid cunt obviously hadn’t listened.
It was a good thing she was dead, or he’d kill her.
The police car roared closer, and he veered onto a side street and sped up, weaving around two other cars that were drag assing along. He spotted another road up ahead to the right and skimmed the side of the VW as he passed, sending the driver toward the embankment. The VW spun out of control, causing the Jeep behind it to crash into its side, and he swung onto the other road just before the police car met up with the crash.
He whooped with joy when he saw the police car slow to see if the drivers were okay. Then he sped up and flew down the highway singing Joy to the World.
Images of Nan Purcell flashed in his head, and he clenched the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip as his cock hardened. Nan had sat behind Lenora at his trial. Nan had been Lenora’s best friend since high school, and they’d roomed together in college.
But Nan had looked up at him, and he’d seen the doubts in her eyes. She didn’t know whether to believe everything Lenora said.
She was drawn to him.
A smile tilted his lips as he remembered the file he’d obtained from another inmate who’d been paroled. It had burned in the diversionary fire at the prison, but he’d memorized every detail in it.
Nan was a financial planner. Traveled a lot. She lived alone.
He would have her tonight. That prim and proper, shy little lady was going to learn what it was like to be with a real man. What it was like to be loved.
What he’d done to Lenora.
But he’d wait to end her sorry life until Lenora was there to watch.
Listening to Lenora’s pleas to save her friend would be his revenge. Then they would both have to die.
Micah scanned the parking lot of Lenora’s condo, half expecting to see the pickup Simpleton was driving but also knowing the man was smart and might park away from the complex and walk—rather sneak—inside.
Streetlights illuminated the lot, and he noticed two security cameras in opposite corners. She led him to her unit, a two-story with pansies in flowerboxes flanking the doorway.
Her hand shook as she unlocked the door, and he followed her inside, glad he kept a duffel bag of clothes and toiletries in his vehicle because he sure as hell didn’t intend to leave her alone tonight.
A low light from a lamp on a side table enabled her to enter without totally being in the dark. After being held captive for so long, he wouldn’t be surprised if she slept with a light on.
She turned to him in the foyer. Polished wood floors stretched across the large combination living room kitchen which was modern with a breakfast bar and white wooden stools. The room was painted a soft yellow, making it look airy and cheerful. “Thanks for driving me home, Micah.”
“I’m not leaving you until Simpleton’s back in prison,” he said, determined she understand that he meant to keep his promise.
A slight seed of panic flared in her almond-shaped eyes. “That’s not necessary, Micah. I have a security system.”
“I know, but I’m still not leaving.” He gestured toward the sofa. “Now I’d like to check out the rest of your condo before you turn in.”
“Micah—”
“Please,” he said in a gruff voice. “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
She sighed, absentmindedly removing the clip holding her long blond hair at the nape of her neck. The gesture was so
feminine and erotic that he had to draw a deep breath to keep from running his own hands through the silky looking strands that fell around her shoulders.
“All right.” She led him to the stairs, and he followed her, noting the simple western landscapes on the wall.
“There are two bedrooms,” she said, “although I use the second one as an office. There’s a foldout couch in there.”
A nice guest room, but he intended to stay downstairs in case Simpleton tried to break in. He glanced inside and saw nothing amiss. A desk with a laptop on it, bookcases with dozens of magazines and boxes labeled neatly, all related to her business. Samples of fabrics, photographs of flowers, wedding gowns, bridesmaids’ dresses, lists of vendors and charts that she appeared to use to organize themed weddings.
She slipped into the master suite, a large space painted white with blue and green bedding on a brass bed. A club chair dominated the corner, and French doors opened to a terrace outside.
“This is my favorite part of the condo,” Lenora said softly.
She opened the doors to a terrace with a wrought iron table, lounging chairs, and a hot tub. Stars glittered in the clear night sky, the moon beaming down on the porch offering a radiant glow as it shimmered over the woods behind the condo.
Lenora’s face softened, her tension dissipating slightly. This was obviously the place she came to escape. A throw blanket lay on one of the chaises along with a pillow, and he realized that she probably slept out here sometimes.
To avoid the closed-in spaces and the nightmares?
He’d known soldiers who’d suffered PTSD from being confined during war. Some admitted they slept on the floor or outside because they needed air and space.
He hated Simpleton for taking Lenora’s peace away from her. He wouldn’t let the monster do it again.
Just letting Micah into her private sanctuary where she’d never brought a man, made Lenora feel exposed. Raw.
Needy.
For the first time in a long time, her heart fluttered with awareness, and she wondered what he thought of her home.
