by Karen Rose
“I wasn’t sixteen.”
“Daniel, did you know Simon was involved in the rapes of all those girls?”
He hung his head again. “No. Not when he was alive. Not until he died.”
“See? You didn’t find the pictures until he died, less than two weeks ago.”
He shook his head. “No, when he died the first time.”
Alex frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Eleven years ago my mother found those pictures. We thought Simon had been dead a year.”
Alex’s eyes widened. Eleven years? “But Simon wasn’t dead. He’d left home.”
“True. But I saw the pictures back then. I wanted to tell the police, but my father burned them in the fireplace. He didn’t want the bad publicity. Bad for his judgeship.”
Alex was starting to see. “How did you find them in Philadelphia if he burned them?”
“He would have made copies. My father was a careful man. But the point is, I didn’t do anything about it. I didn’t tell a soul. And Simon went on unchecked for years.”
“What would you have told, Daniel?” she asked gently. “ ‘My father burned some pictures, so I can’t prove anything’?”
“I suspected for years that he was dirty.”
“And he was a careful man. You really wouldn’t have been able to prove anything.”
“I still can’t prove anything,” he snapped. “Because men like Frank Loomis are still covering their own asses.”
“What did you say to him tonight?”
“I asked him where he’d been all week. Why he wouldn’t answer my calls.”
“And where was he?”
“He said he’d been looking for Bailey.”
Alex blinked. “Really? Where?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. He said it didn’t matter, that she wasn’t in any of the places he checked. I told him if he wanted to make things right, he’d help us find her versus running around half-cocked himself. I told him that if he really wanted to prove himself, he’d make right what he did thirteen years ago. He’d set the record straight on Fulmore and come clean on who he was protecting back then. Of course he denied he was protecting anyone, but that’s the only way I can square what he did in my mind. Frank set a man up for murder. That whole trial was one colossal cover-up.”
“And you’ll show that, when you get all Simon’s friends in a room and they all start pointing their fingers at each other. It’ll fall like dominoes.”
He sighed, most of his rage spent. “I can’t get them to turn on each other until I know who’s doing this killing now. And I can’t move on that person without giving a warning to Simon’s group of degenerates. I’m in a catch-22 from hell.”
She went to him then and smoothed her hands across his chest and up his back. “Let’s sleep, Daniel. You haven’t had a full night’s sleep in almost a week.”
He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in eleven years, Alex,” he said wearily.
“Then it’s time to stop blaming yourself. If I can, you can.”
He leaned back and met her eyes. “Can you?”
“I have to,” she whispered. “Don’t you see? I’ve lived my life just skimming the surface, never digging deep enough for roots. I want roots. I want a life. Don’t you?”
His eyes flashed, intensely bright. “Yes.”
“Then let it go, Daniel.”
“It’s not so easy.”
She pressed a kiss against his warm chest. “I know. We’ll deal with it tomorrow. For now, let’s go to sleep. In the morning you’ll be able to think clearly. You’ll catch this guy, then you can put all Simon’s friends in a room and let them tear each other apart.”
“Will you stitch them back together after they tear each other apart?”
She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “No way in hell.”
He smiled his half smile. “God, you’re sexy when you’re ruthless.”
And that quickly she wanted him. “Let’s go to bed now.”
His brows lifted, detecting the change in her voice. “To sleep?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “No way in hell.”
Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 11:15 p.m.
Mack lowered his camera with its telephoto lens when the shade on Vartanian’s bedroom window came down. Damn, just when it was starting to get interesting. He wished he could have heard the conversation between Vartanian and Alex Fallon, but his listening device had a range of only a hundred yards and didn’t let him listen through walls. Two things were clear—Vartanian was still furious with Frank Loomis and Vartanian and Fallon were about to be joined at more than the hip.
The evening had been most illuminating. Mack hadn’t expected to see Frank Loomis waiting in front of Vartanian’s house. Apaprently, Vartanian hadn’t expected to see Loomis there either. Loomis was under investigation and worried about it. So worried the high and mighty sheriff had swallowed his pride and asked Daniel to intercede on his behalf. Mack rolled his eyes. Daniel, of course, was too ethical to do such a heinous thing, but he was just loyal enough to have been tempted.
As intelligence went, it didn’t come much more valuable than this. Between the botched hit-and-run and the ransacking of her house, Fallon was on her guard and Vartanian wasn’t letting her out of his sight. So I’ll bring them to me. He now knew exactly how he’d bait his trap. Desperation plus a little loyalty, mixed with the hint of Bailey was a combination they’d find irresistible.
He looked over his shoulder to where Delia Anderson lay in the back of his van, wrapped in a blanket and ready for disposal. He’d dump Delia, then get some sleep before he had to hit his delivery route. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.
Chapter Twenty-two
Atlanta, Friday, February 2, 5:50 a.m.
The phone woke him. Beside him, Alex stirred, burrowing her cheek into his chest, her arm hugging his waist. It was an incredible way to wake up.
Daniel squinted at the clock, then at the caller ID, and his heart began to race as he reached across Alex’s warm body for the phone. “Yeah, Chase. What is it?” Alex slid off him onto her side, blinking quickly to full alertness.
“The tail we put on Marianne Woolf called. She pulled out of her driveway and flipped him the bird. She’s off somewhere, alone in her car. He’s right on her bumper.”
A spurt of fury burned inside his chest. “Dammit, Chase. What part of stay inside and lock your doors and windows did one of these women miss? And what’s Jim Woolf thinking, letting his wife do his dirty work for him? How the hell can they jump when this guy snaps his fingers? He murdered Jim’s sister, for God’s sake.”
“Woolf may not know his wife’s on the move. He’s still in lockup. He doesn’t get his bail hearing until this morning.”
“She could just be going out for a jug of milk,” Daniel said without much conviction. “Or having a clandestine affair.”
Chase grunted. “We should only be so lucky. Get moving. I’ll have the tail call you.”
Daniel leaned over Alex to hang up the phone, then leaned in to kiss her mouth. “We have to go.”
“Okay.”
But she was warm and fluid and responding to his simple morning kiss, so he took another, blocking out the world for another few minutes. “We really have to go.”
“Okay.”
But she was lifting to him, her hands in his hair, her mouth hot and hungry, and his heart was suddenly thudding to beat all hell. “How fast can you get ready?”
“Including a shower, fifteen.” She surged against him, impatient. “Hurry, Daniel.”
Pulse pounding in his ears, he drove himself into her wet warmth and she climaxed with a low, startled cry. Three hard thrusts later he followed, shuddering as he buried his face in her hair. Her hands stroked up his spine and he shuddered again. “Are you sure they have grits in Ohio?”
She laughed, a sated, happy sound, and he realized he’d never really hea
rd her laugh like that. He wanted to hear it again. “And scrapple,” she said, then stretched around him and smacked his butt. “Up with you, Vartanian. I want the shower first.”
“I am up,” he muttered, unwilling to withdraw yet, needing another minute before facing what he feared he’d find in yet another ditch. But he lifted his head and saw her sober smile and knew she understood. “I have two showers. You take the master and I’ll take the one in the hall and we’ll see who’s ready first.”
Warsaw, Georgia, Friday, February 2, 7:15 a.m.
He’d been ready first, but not by much. He’d only been waiting at the front door for three minutes when she rushed down his stairs, perfectly coordinated, light makeup on her face and her wet hair in a neat French braid. She would have been faster, she’d insisted, if she hadn’t had to pull all the price tags off her new clothes.
Now Daniel threw a backward glance over his shoulder as he walked from his car to the ditch where Ed already waited. From the front seat of his car Alex gave him a little wave and an encouraging smile and he felt like a first-grader on his first day of school.
“Alex looks better this morning,” Ed said.
“I think so. I took her to Leo’s target range after we left Bailey’s and let her take it all out on a paper target. That and a good night’s sleep seem to have helped.”
Ed lifted a brow. “Amazing what a good night’s sleep will do for you,” he said mildly, and Daniel met his eyes with a half smile.
“That, too,” he acknowledged, and Ed nodded once.
“We moved Marianne Woolf back past the police tape,” Ed said, pointing to where the woman stood snapping pictures with her husband’s camera. “We made sure we strung the tape really far back.”
“What did she say?”
“Unprintable. That woman’s a piece of work.”
Marianne lowered her camera, and from more than a hundred feet away, Daniel could feel her glare. “I don’t understand that woman.” He turned his attention to the ditch. “I don’t understand this perp.”
“It’s the same,” Ed said. “Blanket, face, key, hair around the toe, everything.”
It was a shallow ditch and Malcolm Zuckerman from the ME’s office was well within earshot. “Not everything,” Malcolm said, looking up at them. “She’s older. She’s had a face-lift and collagen injections to her lips, but her hands are wrinkled and tough.”
Daniel frowned and crouched at the ditch’s edge. “How old is she?”
“Fifties, maybe,” Malcolm said. He pulled the blanket away. “You know her?”
The woman had well-teased yellow-blond hair. “No. I don’t think so anyway.” Daniel looked up at Ed in consternation. “He broke pattern. Why?”
“Maybe he tried to get at all the younger ones and they were too careful to be caught alone. Or maybe she’s important to him.”
“Or both,” Daniel said. “Go ahead and bring her up, Malcolm.”
“Daniel?” Alex asked from behind him.
Daniel abruptly turned. “You don’t want to see this, honey. Go back to the car.”
“I’m sure I’ve seen worse. You look upset and . . . I got worried.”
“It’s not Bailey,” he said, and she relaxed a little. “It’s an older woman this time.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know. Stand back, they’re bringing her up.”
Malcolm and Trey lifted the stretcher out of the ditch and laid the body on the open body bag they’d stretched on the gurney. Behind him, Alex gasped.
Daniel and Ed turned in unison. Alex was standing rigidly still. “I know her. It’s Delia Anderson. She rented me the bungalow. I recognize her hair.”
“At least we know where to deliver the bad news.” He looked at Marianne Woolf. She’d once again lowered her camera, but this time in shock. “And we need to keep Marianne quiet.” He lifted Alex’s chin and studied her face. “Are you all right?”
She nodded brusquely. “I have seen worse, Daniel. Not often, but I have. I’ll go back to the car and wait for you. See you later, Ed.”
Ed was thoughtful as they watched Alex walk back to Daniel’s car. “I’d ask if she had a sister, but that would be in really bad taste.”
Daniel managed to choke back what would have been a startled laugh. It was one of those moments civilians didn’t understand. When the burden got so heavy, dark humor was the only nonaddictive, non-destructive release. “Ed.”
“I know.” Ed glanced at Marianne. “You deal with the bitch, I’ll deal with the ditch.”
This time Daniel couldn’t hold back the chuckle, but dropped his head so nobody could see him smile. When he looked up he was serious.
“I’ll go deal with Mrs. Woolf.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ed was muttering when Daniel walked away.
Marianne was crying. “Marianne, what the hell are you doing here?”
Marianne’s eyes flashed fury despite the tears. “That’s Delia Anderson.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve sat next to her at Angie’s Beauty Shop every Thursday for the last five years,” Marianne snapped. “Nobody has a bouffant like Delia.”
“We’ll have to confirm her identity,” Daniel said. “Why are you here, Marianne?”
“I got a text tip on my cell.”
“You’ve been in communication with a killer.” Daniel said the words slowly, hoping by some miracle they’d sink in. “The killer of your husband’s sister.”
She sneered. “I don’t know that. He never said, ‘I killed them, go see.’ ”
“Just ‘Go see where there happens to be a freshly killed body.’ ” Daniel rolled his eyes. “I don’t see the difference, Marianne.”
Her chin lifted. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”
“Why are you and Jim doing this? Please help me understand.”
Marianne sighed. “Jim’s dad ran that paper for years. It was his life—a sweet little small-town paper where the biggest news was the high school football scores. Jim always dreamed it could be more, but his father wouldn’t let him try. When his father died, Jim took over, retooled everything. I know you think it’s stupid . . .” Again her chin lifted. “But it’s his dream. He got offers from some big-city papers for this story, and it’s a story that needs to be told. He’s in jail, so I’m telling it until he’s out.”
Daniel wanted to shake her. “But you’re letting a killer use you.”
She lifted her brows. “Aren’t you? You can’t say that this case and this killer haven’t gotten even more attention because you’ve been investigating.” Her voice became grand. Mocking. “The great Daniel Vartanian, son of a judge, brother of a serial killer. But Daniel has risen above it all, sworn protector of truth, justice, and the American way.” She cocked her jaw. “It’s enough to bring a tear to your eye.”
Daniel stared at her, stunned. “What about Lisa? Don’t you think she deserves more than this?”
Marianne actually smiled. “Lisa would be the first one cheering me on, Daniel.”
He stared, completely taken aback. “I don’t understand you.”
“No, I suppose you don’t. I guess that’s why it’s a good thing we still have the Bill of Rights.” She popped the memory card from her camera and glanced up at the barrel-chested agent who’d been her tail. “I’ll go with Tiny here and make you guys a copy of the pictures. It’s what Jim told me to do if I got caught.”
“Can you at least refrain from printing anything until we’ve notified the Andersons?”
Marianne nodded, her disdain gone for the moment. “Yes. On that we can agree.”
Atlanta, Friday, February 2, 8:50 a.m.
“So how does this woman connect?” Chase demanded. Ed had stayed at the crime scene, Talia was interviewing rape victims, and Hatton and Koenig were still at Peachtree and Pine searching for Crighton. Luke sat next to Daniel at the team room table, absorbed in whatever was on the screen of his laptop.
“She used to work at the Da
vis Bank in Dutton,” Luke said. “It’s on her real estate website. She lists Davis Bank as a lender for qualified home buyers.”
“That doesn’t seem motive enough to kill her,” Chase said doubtfully. “What have you found out about Jared O’Brien’s family?”
“Only what I was able to glean from the Internet,” Luke said. “But you’re gonna like it. The O’Briens used to own the Dutton paper mill. Larry O’Brien had two sons. Jared was the oldest and went to Bryson Academy. He was the same age as Simon. From the yearbooks it appears Jared was quite the ladies’ man. He was homecoming king and prom king during his graduation year.” Luke passed them a copy of Jared’s yearbook picture. “He was a handsome guy. Jared’s younger brother was Mack. Mack was nine years younger.” He paused and lifted his brows.
Daniel sucked in a breath. “Then he went to high school with Janet and the others.”
“At the beginning, yes,” Luke said, “but if you check the yearbooks, Mack transferred to the public school some time between his junior and senior years. He was too young to be on any of the lists of males Simon’s age and he didn’t go to Bryson Academy during the years we checked on the murdered women. Larry O’Brien, the father, died of a heart attack about a year after Simon died the first time. Jared, as the oldest son, took over the mill. There aren’t a lot of public records, but there seem to have been a lot of people out of work, so it doesn’t seem like Jared was a stellar businessman.”
“Kate said he was a drunk,” Daniel said. “I know he had a record. I had Leigh run him—Jared O’Brien was arrested for DUI twice in Georgia.”
“Jared disappeared the year Mack was a junior in high school,” Luke said. “The mill goes belly-up because Jared spent all the money, and the mill gets bought out by guess who?”
Chase sighed. “Who?”
“Rob Davis.”
Daniel’s mouth opened. “No way.”
“Way,” Luke said. “The father’s widow, Lila O’Brien, declares bankruptcy a few months later.”
“And Mack transfers to the public school.” Daniel lifted his brows. “The timing works. The O’Briens must not have gotten much from the sale if Mack had to transfer.”
