by Brenda Novak
“I won’t put up with her bullshit. I just want you to know that.”
“You promised,” she said again.
He scowled. “I don’t want to hurt you or anyone else, but…you’d better tell her not to provoke me. Okay?”
With a curt nod, she went back to cooking, and he fantasized about how peaceful and pleasant it would be if he had Latisha all to himself and didn’t have to worry about her nasty sister. It wasn’t as if he could marry Latisha—how would that look? He had some pride. But, for the time being, she was better than nothing.
He thought of Mary McCoy. His ex-girlfriend was the woman he really wanted. But that relationship was riddled with risk. If they were going to have a chance, he’d have to convince her to cut all ties with her past. If he could make her believe a friendlier version of what had happened the night Emily and Colton died, it was possible. He could say Colton was playing with his gun, accidentally killed his mother and then freaked out and shot himself. He could claim to have staged the crash because he knew the authorities would look at him before anyone else, and he didn’t have an alibi.
But even if she bought that, letting go of her family and friends wouldn’t be easy. He should know—it’d been difficult even for him. And after what Pam Wartle had told him, he was beginning to wonder if he could trust Mary. Whenever he brought up his real name, she didn’t indicate that she’d heard about the deaths of his wife and stepson. Yet Pam had told him that his nemesis had dogged anyone and everyone he’d ever known.
Had Sebastian contacted Mary? If so, why hadn’t she mentioned it during their discussion of Malcolm Turner? It was natural that she would, wasn’t it? Anyone would…
Opening his laptop, he logged on and checked his buddy list. Mary wasn’t online. But she’d sent him an e-mail.
You on for this weekend? I can’t wait.
I have a surprise for you. A sample of what you can look forward to. I want to overnight it so you get it immediately. Where should I send it?
Love, Mary
“‘Where should I send it?’” he muttered.
“What?” Latisha asked.
He waved her off. Mary’s question seemed innocuous. But was it really? Why would she be so interested in couriering him a package if she was planning to see him this weekend?
What is it? he wrote, then deleted the message before sending it and sat there brooding. How could he determine whether or not she was telling him the truth, whether or not she was trustworthy? There had to be a way….
He chewed his fingernails while he tried to think. He could call her work, ask the nurses if she’d ever mentioned Sebastian. But he doubted they’d open up to a total stranger. He could call the house and pretend to be Sebastian, see how she reacted, but she might recognize his voice….
Then, Malcolm had it—the perfect plan. He’d send her an e-mail from Sebastian, see if they’d been in touch. He knew Sebastian’s e-mail address, didn’t he? They’d exchanged a few messages when Emily and Colton were alive. He couldn’t use that exact account because he didn’t have the password, but lots of people had more than one e-mail address. After dinner, he’d create a new account using a variant of Sebastian’s name—with the same server, if possible—and send her a message as if they’d already spoken. Something like, “Hey, any word from Malcolm?” That generic a question could mean today, yesterday, in the many months since contact had first been made. In this situation, less was definitely more.
If she wrote back demanding to know who he was and how he knew Malcolm, he’d trust her. And if she didn’t, if she wrote back and said, “I haven’t heard since asking for his address,” Malcolm would set up the meeting she’d been angling for—and kill them both.
Fifteen
The florist turned out to be a bust. Pretending to be Wesley Boss wanting to double-check the billing address he’d provided with his credit card, Sebastian had spoken with Love in Blooms. But the manager there merely confirmed the P.O. box.
As he ate some more of the Chinese takeout he’d picked up for dinner, he tried to come up with other ways to track Malcolm and, as usual, thought about the charred body. It’d been found in Malcolm’s car, which was discovered the day after Emily and Colton were murdered. Did Malcolm kill a drifter, whose corpse he used for that purpose? Did he “borrow” a freshly buried body from some remote cemetery? Or did he pay off a mortician? If Sebastian could turn up a lead on that body, he might be able to tie it to Malcolm. But he’d spent the first two months of his investigation working that angle and had found nothing.
The murders had been carefully choreographed. That was probably what bothered Sebastian the most. While eating and sleeping in the same house as Emily and Colton, while playing the part of caring husband and stepfather, he’d been taking steps to end their lives. He’d slept with Emily, knowing he was going to kill her.
Maybe Sebastian hadn’t liked Malcolm. But even after all this time it was hard to imagine the man he’d known, any man with a regular upbringing and a regular job, as that cold-blooded. Especially a cop.
How could Malcolm live with himself? Did he realize what he’d done? Or care about the people he’d hurt? Look at the humiliation he’d brought his own family….
The telephone jolted Sebastian out of his thoughts. Dumping what was left of his dinner in the trash, he got his cell phone from the desk. He’d already heard from Mary while he was at the restaurant, waiting for his food. She’d called to let him know she’d sent the e-mail from her work account notifying Malcolm of the package and requesting his address.
This was her again. “Hello?”
“How’s it going?”
“Not bad,” he said, but he was feeling restless. He suspected it was because of Jane. He’d been thinking about her all day, fixating on the fact that he’d made love to her twice and still hadn’t seen the tattoo on her breast. “Have you received a response?”
“Not yet. That’s what I’m calling to tell you. I just got home from taking the boys to their hockey lessons and checked my work account. Nothing.”
“It probably won’t come until later this evening.”
“I won’t be around. I’m heading out. Some of the girls at work are getting together for dinner and a movie.”
This was unusual. Mary was such a dedicated mother she didn’t allow herself to leave the boys very often. “I’m sure you could use the break. Do you have someone to watch Brandon and Curtis?”
“I’ve got a sitter lined up.”
“Sounds like you’re all set.”
“I am, but…I’ll check in with you when I get back, okay?”
They’d developed such a routine it was difficult for her to pull away. She acted as if she felt almost as responsible to him as she did to her kids. But now that he could communicate with Malcolm directly, he didn’t need her to be in contact as much as before. “Don’t worry about it. Go have fun. You can e-mail me when you get home, and if I’m awake, we’ll talk. Otherwise, we’ll catch up tomorrow.”
“What are you planning to say to him tonight?”
“The usual.”
“Should I expect more flowers?”
“Who knows what to expect from Malcolm? That’s the problem.” He said goodbye and disconnected, but before he could put down his phone, his mother called. She’d found Malcolm’s hateful note in his home office and would overnight it to the handwriting expert in the morning.
Sebastian wasn’t sure this would have a big payoff, but some proof was better than none. He’d collect whatever he could. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Sebastian?”
He brought the phone back to his ear. “Yes?”
“What would Malcolm want with two teenage girls?”
The rain had stopped but the chilly air and early darkness made it seem later than it was. Sebastian had kept his coat on while he ate, but was finally warm enough to take it off. “I’m afraid to guess.”
“If he’s raped them or…or tortured them, he can’t let them go. He
’d know the value of a witness.”
Sebastian regretted telling her about Gloria Rickman’s sisters. He talked with Christa often, shared most things with her, but the kidnapping had upset her so much he should’ve left that out. Knowing Malcolm had already killed two people made the possibility of more murders all too plausible.
Fortunately, he hadn’t told Mary, or he doubted she’d want to go out tonight. “I’ll find him,” he said.
“Now you don’t have any choice,” she responded. Then she was gone.
Releasing a deep sigh, Sebastian threw his phone on the bed and signed on to the Internet as Mary. It was time to strike up another conversation with Malcolm, see if he could get him to talk a little more about his new “roommates.” But Malcolm wasn’t on and Jane called a few minutes later.
“I’m going back to the casinos to talk to the dealers who work the night shift, so I need another picture. I gave the one I had to an employee who promised to go over the security tapes for us.”
“You don’t have to stay home with your daughter tonight?” he asked in surprise.
“She went back to my in-laws’. I felt it was best. I’ve already spoken to the dealers who work the day shift. I figured I should check with the night-shift staff, and the sooner the better.”
“Of course. You want to stop by to get another picture on your way?”
“Unless you’d like to come along,” she said.
“Where are you planning to start?”
“Thunder Valley. I want to hit Cache Creek later, once the nightlife really gets rolling, since it’s our best bet.”
He didn’t need the promise of her tattoo to tempt him. Wanting to find Malcolm was enough. But Sebastian knew he’d be lying to himself if he pretended, even for a moment, that he didn’t think of that tattoo whenever he thought of Jane. “I’m in,” he said. “Where do you live? I’ll pick you up.”
It was nearly midnight when Mary got home. Fortunately, she’d caravanned with a friend who gave her babysitter a lift so she wouldn’t need to drag her kids out of bed. That was nice. These days, Mary found herself grateful for the slightest kindness. She’d never dreamed being a single mom would be so hard.
Her boys were safe and sleeping soundly. That was a relief. But it was also a relief to get a break from the drudgery of daily life. She needed to have more fun. The movie had been a chick flick, the perfect let-it-all-out-and-cry movie, and she’d done just that. Her eyes felt swollen, which made her eager to take off her makeup. But she was even more eager to see if anything had happened with Malcolm and Sebastian in her absence.
She hesitated as she walked past the flowers on her dining room table. Should she throw them out? She didn’t want flowers from a man who’d murdered his wife and stepson. But she left them where they were. They didn’t commemorate reconnecting. They were more like funeral flowers, marking the death of the positive image she’d once had of her first real boyfriend.
Saddened by the memories of holding hands while walking down the hallway of their old school, attending prom together and cruising down Main Street, not to mention their more intimate moments, she muttered, “How could you?” and sat down in the kids’ homework room to sign on to the computer.
She checked her work account first. She wanted to be able to tell Sebastian whether or not Malcolm had responded.
Sure enough, Malcolm—or “Wesley”—had sent her a brief note. He didn’t provide his address but he seemed to be intrigued. Give me a hint. What are you sending?
She didn’t answer right away. She switched over to her regular account—it wasn’t currently in use or she wouldn’t have been able to sign on—and saw a message from Sebastian. It came from a different account, not his regular one, but he’d just set her up with a new account so she figured he’d created a new one for himself, too. This one included his full name: [email protected].
With a click, she opened it. Hey, any word from Malcolm?
Hoping he was still up, she tried to instant message him at both addresses, but he wasn’t online so she decided to reply to his e-mail and go to bed. They could talk more tomorrow.
Malcolm responded, she wrote. He wants to know what’s in the package, but he didn’t leave an address. I’ll reply, see if I can get it out of him, okay?
Sleep tight. I’m glad you got to bed early for once.
Mary
Yawning, she sent it, then went back to her work account and replied to “Wesley.”
It’s something you gave me a long time ago. Interested?
Love and hugs—Mary
Maybe if he thought those flowers had given him away, that she was beginning to realize who he really was, he’d drop the charade and agree to meet.
It was impossible to be with Sebastian and not think about what’d happened between them earlier. Jane had known that their previous intimacy would be a problem, but she didn’t want to be alone all night, driving from casino to casino. Latisha’s father had been leaving hateful messages on her voice mail, claiming she couldn’t be working hard enough if she hadn’t found Latisha by now. In the last message, he’d even accused her of giving priority to the white victims she was trying to help.
Jane didn’t know how to respond to that. She wanted to find Latisha and Marcie as much as he did, but the color of her skin had convinced him otherwise. And part of her did feel guilty—not because she wasn’t doing her best but because she didn’t know how to do any better.
“It’s nearly one o’clock. How are you holding up?” Sebastian asked as they pulled out of the parking lot at Red Hawk.
Since they hadn’t come across anyone who recognized Malcolm’s picture, not particularly well. The fatigue dragging at her heels made it difficult to keep going. She and Sebastian hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, and she’d been on her feet all day. But she had to finish canvassing the casinos. She wasn’t about to call Gloria or Luther and tell them she had no more to go on now than she did yesterday. Besides, there was only one more place to visit, and it was the one that mattered most.
“Knowing Malcolm Turner, when would you expect him to gamble? During the day, in the afternoon, or at night?”
“I have no idea. This Malcolm Turner isn’t the Malcolm Turner I thought I knew. Even if he wasn’t the nicest guy, I believed he cared about Emily and Colton. I believed he hated me, but that he’d do the right thing because he was a cop.” He shook his head helplessly. “This person—this man who could kill with impunity—he’s as much a stranger to me as he is to you.”
He adjusted the heater while she stared at Malcolm’s picture. “It’d be nice to finally catch a break, wouldn’t it?”
“We’re doing everything we can, Jane. You’re going to have to accept that this might not happen fast or you’ll run yourself into the ground.”
He should know. He’d been searching for more than a year. But it really wasn’t the long hours that were getting to her. It was the what if questions that chased each other around and around in her mind. What if she wasn’t a good enough investigator to be handling this case? What if she or the police didn’t get to Latisha and Marcie in time? How would she deal with that? What if she was pregnant? How would she tell her friends and in-laws—and Kate? Would she ever tell Sebastian? It hardly seemed fair to burden him with her mistake. But it didn’t seem fair to make his decisions for him, either.
Then, as she grew more tired, there was another what if question that kept presenting itself. What if she went home with him tonight? What if she allowed their relationship to turn into a full-blown affair for the duration of his stay in Sacramento?
But she had no business even considering that, much less acting on it. She’d told Sebastian she couldn’t get pregnant, which meant she couldn’t let him touch her again. If there was a next time, he’d see no reason to use a condom, and a repeat performance would significantly increase the risk of destroying everything she’d created—her new life, her sense of security.
She must have doz
ed off as they drove because the next thing she knew, Sebastian was gently shaking her shoulder. “We’re at Cache Creek, Jane. I’m going to go in. You wait here.”
Maybe he liked being large and in charge, but she had to admit he was always willing to carry the heavy end, always willing to do more than his share. Oliver had been so different, more like an indulged little boy who expected her to make all the sacrifices.
When Sebastian covered her with his coat, she wanted to close her eyes and drift away again. But letting him take care of her somehow weakened her resistance to him.
Forcing herself to return his coat, she sat up. “No, it’ll be quicker if we both go. You must be tired, too.”
“Jane—”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “You’ve got your copy of Malcolm’s picture?”
“Listen to me. Running yourself ragged isn’t going to help.”
She arched her eyebrows at him. “I can do it if you can.”
His lips were compressed in a straight, unhappy line. “Suit yourself.”
As soon as they passed into the casino, Jane looked for the security guard she’d met earlier, but she couldn’t find him. No doubt his shift had ended.
Sebastian touched her arm. “You take that side, I’ll take this one.”
Hoping she was doing it subtly enough, she stepped out of reach. The attraction she felt grew stronger when they stood close together. “Okay.”
“Maybe you should get a cup of coffee first.”
“Are you kidding? Then I’ll be up for the rest of the night. This won’t take long.”
She strode purposefully off, but when she glanced over her shoulder to see if he’d done the same, he was still standing there, watching her. “What?”
“Nothing,” he muttered and disappeared into the crowd.
Covering a yawn, Jane headed to the closest table, which turned out to be a blackjack table. She’d been to so many casinos and spoken to so many people, she expected another negative response. But this time when she flashed Malcolm’s picture, she saw immediate recognition on the dealer’s face.
