Beverly Barton Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  The smell of mildew and mustiness permeated the entire room and everything in it, which wasn’t much. A metal bed, a chair, and a desk. He made her sit at the desk to eat when he brought her food, which he did almost every day. At first she had refused to eat; but then he had punished her, telling her that he would not allow her to starve herself to death.

  The first time he raped her, she’d fought him; but she soon learned that the harder she fought, the more severe the punishment. He never tortured her to the point where she passed out. At least not yet. Just enough to derive pleasure from her screams. Sometimes he would rape her with a bottle or a wooden phallus before climbing on top of her. And he liked to bite her. She had his teeth prints all over her body, as well as dozens of small burns from where he’d pressed lighted cigarettes on her skin. Most of the burns were on her buttocks and breasts.

  He had raped her so many times, tortured her so often, that there was nothing else in her mind, no room to remember her life before this madman had kidnapped her. It wasn’t that she had given up easily or that she hadn’t hoped and prayed to escape. She had climbed those stairs leading to the outside world numerous times, beaten on the door and cried for help. But there was no help for her. No hope of being rescued. There was nothing ahead for her except more of the same.

  She wanted to die. Longed to die. It was the only way she would ever be free of him. But there was nothing in this room she could use to aid herself in committing suicide, so all she could do was hope that he would tire of her soon and kill her.

  The lock on the door clicked. Stephanie’s body tensed and her mind screamed silently as she stood there, frozen to the spot, knowing the monster would open the door and come down the steps.

  Listening, her eyes focused on the bottom of the wooden staircase, she heard his footsteps. Slow and steady. Not rushing. Taking his time.

  “Good evening, Stephanie,” he said, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

  “Is it evening?”

  “Yes, it’s nearly eleven o’clock.”

  He gazed at her, studying her from the top of her disheveled hair to the tips of her bare toes. Without being told, she knew what he expected, what he demanded of her. She was allowed to wear nothing except a black silk robe, and only when he wasn’t there. With numb, trembling fingers, she undid the tie belt and peeled the robe from her shoulders. It fell to her feet, puddling on the floor like a soft, black cloud.

  “My lovely Stephanie.”

  He came to her, took her by the hand and led her to the bed. Without being told, she lay down, parted her thighs and held her arms open to him.

  “Always so willing to please,” he said. “I love that about you.”

  “I love you.” She told him what she knew he wanted to hear. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. Please, darling, make love to me.”

  He quickly shed his clothing, as always very eager. What would he do to her first? He had to inflict some type of pain before he could become aroused enough to rape her.

  But apparently not this time. When he stood over her, his eyes wild and his breathing hard, she saw that his penis was already erect.

  “Turn over,” he told her.

  Knowing what he intended and that it was useless to protest, she turned over onto her stomach. She waited for the first blow, but there was none. Instead, his hand caressed her buttocks. Tenderly. And then she felt him as he crawled on top of her. She held her breath. He rammed into her. She whimpered in pain. He rode her with a fury, coming within minutes. Still embedded inside her, he kissed her shoulder, then grasped her hair and jerked her head up off the pillow.

  He’d never done this before so she didn’t know what to expect next. Suddenly, she felt something pressing against her neck, just below her chin.

  “Do you want me to set you free, my darling?” he asked.

  And then she realized that he held a knife to her throat.

  No, please don’t kill me, a part of her begged silently. That tiny part of her consciousness that longed to live, longed to believe that there was still hope. But the terrified, tormented part of her who couldn’t bear to suffer any longer said aloud, “Yes, please. Please set me free.”

  And with one quick, deep slice of the sharp blade, he ended their relationship.

  Chapter 2

  Despite living in a new place, sleeping in a different bed, Jim had rested soundly. Thanks to prescription pain medication. It would have been easy to get addicted to the stuff years ago, and God knew he’d come shamefully close a couple of times. But if he’d fallen prey to drug addiction, he might as well have kissed his life good-bye. He was forty, with a couple of bad knees, unmarried, unattached, could barely make ends meet and had to struggle to sustain his father/son relationship with his only child. And here he was on this sunny, clear-blue-sky Thursday morning dreading starting a new job, one that anybody would see as a demotion for a guy who’d been a detective on the Memphis police force.

  He parked his seen-better-days Chevy pickup truck in the area of the courthouse parking lot designated for the Adams County Sheriff’s Department. After getting out and locking the doors, he glanced around at the other vehicles and grunted. Then he chuckled to himself. Figures, he thought. There wasn’t another vehicle as old and dilapidated as his. One particular car caught his eye as did one SUV. The car was a late-model white Mustang convertible with the top down. Whoever owned the sporty little ride must have felt confident that it wasn’t going to rain today and that nobody would dare mess with his car. He figured the owner to be young—possibly thirty or less—and single. A guy who liked the way he felt when he was behind the wheel of a car other men envied. His guess was that a guy like that usually had a pretty, bosomy gal with him, a looker he could show off the way he did his car.

  When Jim passed by the SUV, he’d noticed it because it was clean as a whistle, as if it had just been washed. He knew for a fact that it had rained in Adams Landing very recently, because of the mud puddles he’d seen driving in yesterday. Pausing for a couple of seconds, he looked inside the neat-as-a-pin black Jeep Cherokee. The carpet was clean; the seats and floorboards were void of any clutter, except for a closed black umbrella. Whoever owned this SUV was probably a neat freak, somebody who needed to control every aspect of his life, saw things in a linear way, needed his ducks in a row.

  Admitting to himself that he was stalling, Jim ended his vehicle inspections and headed toward the side entrance that led into the north wing of the two-story building. Like so many other towns across America, especially in the South, the Adams County courthouse stood in the middle of town, like the center of a box, with streets crisscrossing in the four corners. The white columned entrance faced Main Street. Two large, age-worn statues of Alabama Civil War generals presided over the green lawn on either side of the brick walkway leading from the city sidewalk to the front veranda. The back of the courthouse faced Adams Street, directly across from the post office, which was flanked by Long’s Hardware and Adams Landing Dry Cleaners. The side-porch entrance to the sheriff’s department faced Washington, a treelined street boasting the local library on the corner of Main and Washington and the county jail on the corner of Washington and Adams. An antique shop and a radio station, both housed in old Victorian painted ladies, sat side by side between the library and the jail.

  Taking a deep breath of fresh morning air, Jim squared his shoulders, opened the door and walked into a long, wood-floored hallway. The minute he entered the building, he saw the sign protruding sideways from atop the door frame of the first door on the right: SHERIFF. As he approached the office, he noted that the door stood open, as if inviting people to come inside and make themselves at home. He had no more than stepped over the threshold than an attractive young woman, in the typical brown and tan Alabama deputy uniform, walked toward him, a smile on her face and a cup of coffee in her hand. Slender and blonde. Not pretty, but cute. With short, bright pink fingernails.

  “Hi, I’m Deputy Holly Burcham.”
She transferred her coffee cup from her right to her left hand and held out her right hand to Jim.

  He took her hand, shook it, and replied, “I’m Jim Norton.”

  She smiled warmly. “Thought you were.” She glanced at the wall clock. Seven-forty-two. “You’re early.”

  “I wanted to make a good impression,” he said, only halfway joking. “First day on the job and all.” He offered her a closed-mouth smile.

  “Well, come on in and get a cup of coffee and meet a few people.”

  Holly issued him not only a verbal invitation, but a physical one as well. She took his arm, smiled at him flirtatiously and hauled him over to the coffeemaker placed in a corner across from a large desk Jim assumed belonged to the sheriff’s secretary.

  After Jim untangled himself from Holly, he removed a Styrofoam cup from a stack on the table, poured the coffee almost to the rim and took a sip. The brew was amazingly good.

  “Lisa makes great coffee,” Holly said.

  Jim’s gaze followed Holly’s as she looked directly at the small, attractive black woman who had just sat down behind the desk. She glanced up at Jim and smiled.

  “Lisa, meet Jim Norton, our new chief deputy for the criminal investigative division,” Holly said. “Jim, this is Lisa Wiley, Bernie’s administrative assistant.”

  When Lisa smiled, Jim noted how pretty she was. Probably close to forty. Ultrashort bronze red hair. Slender, small boned, with large black eyes and flawless tan skin.

  “Welcome to Adams County,” Lisa said. “I hope you’ll like it here. I’m sure you’ll enjoy working with Bernie. She’s the best.”

  “Thanks.” Jim took another sip of coffee. “Has the sheriff come in yet?” He glanced around at the workstation where the “road deputies” did their paperwork for their shifts. There were four deputies already here, and to a man they were sizing him up. He didn’t get any specific type of vibes from the officers, neither negative nor positive. He figured most of them would wait and see if the hotshot from Memphis turned out to be a regular guy or a smart-ass.

  “Of course she’s here,” Lisa replied. “Bernie’s usually the first one in and the last one to leave. Let me tell her you’re here.”

  Lisa rose from her desk, walked to the closed half-frosted glass door and knocked, then opened the door and announced, “Sheriff Granger, Captain Norton is here.”

  Jim waited to be invited in, wanting to make sure he started this job off on the right foot. Working for a woman was a first for him, and since he wasn’t the most politically correct guy around, he wasn’t sure what would or wouldn’t offend a lady sheriff.

  “Please send him in,” a feminine voice replied. He liked the sound of her voice. It wasn’t a little girl coo or a nasal whine or a deep, throaty warble. It was strong and commanding, yet Southern soft.

  “Go right on in, Captain Norton.” Still smiling, Lisa stepped out of the doorway to allow him entrance.

  The rank of captain wasn’t necessarily the norm for the position he’d taken here in Adams County, but for a lawman with fifteen years’ experience, it wasn’t unheard of by any means. Getting the rank and the pay that came with it had been one of Jim’s stipulations for taking this job. What no one knew was that he’d have taken the job regardless.

  “Call me Jim,” he told the secretary as he headed for the open door of the sheriff’s office.

  “Call me Lisa,” she said quietly as he passed by her.

  When he entered the room, the woman behind the massive old wooden desk stood tall and straight, her gaze directed toward him.

  “Please close the door and come on in,” she said.

  He followed her instructions, then stood about four feet away from her, catercorner to her desk, and waited for her to proceed. They stared at each other for at least a minute.

  So this was Sheriff Bernadette Granger. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Maybe someone older and tougher looking. Of course, he hadn’t expected a gorgeous babe, which Sheriff Granger definitely wasn’t. The lady was tall—he’d guess around five-nine or -ten—big boned and sturdy. His mama would have called her rawboned. She wore brown lace-up leather flats; brown, department-issue slacks; and a white button-down shirt. An acrylic ID badge was clipped to her shirt pocket. She wore her medium brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, the tip even with her shoulders, which meant she had really long hair. A pair of small gold hoops dangled from her ears, and her only makeup consisted of a peachy lipstick and blush. Not exactly pretty, but the features were good, the face appealing. And the lady was above all else as neat as a pin.

  The black Jeep Cherokee is hers.

  “Have a seat.” She motioned to one of the two chairs flanking the front of her desk.

  Jim took the one on the right. After he sat, she sat.

  “First, let me tell you how pleased I am to have you as part of our team. You come highly recommended, and we feel fortunate that you’ve chosen to join the Adams County Sheriff’s Department.” She paused, as if waiting for a response, and when he remained silent, she continued, “Our criminal investigative division is staffed with five investigators. A couple of the men on the team applied for the chief deputy position, but I can assure you that neither man will be a problem for you. Both Ron Hensley and John Downs are true professionals.”

  Jim knew that most sheriffs were equal parts politician and lawman, some more politician than anything else. Sheriff Granger certainly knew how to be diplomatic, a chief tool in any politician’s arsenal of weapons. But he would reserve judgment until he got to know the lady better. As for Deputies Hensley and Downs, Jim’s guess was that one or both of them would hate his guts on sight. Nobody liked to be passed over for a promotion.

  “I’m sure I’ll have no problem with any of the deputies,” Jim said. It was a bold-faced lie and they both knew it.

  Sheriff Granger smiled. He liked her smile. It was genuine. His gut instincts told him that the lady was the same—a no-nonsense, no-frills, what-you-see-is-what-you-get woman. “After you take care of the necessary paperwork and we issue you all the usual paraphernalia, I’ll go with you over to the jail and show you your office and introduce you to the others in your department.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “After that, I’ll show you around Adams Landing, and then take you to lunch. Our DA, Jerry Dale Simms, will be joining us. He’s looking forward to meeting you. You’ll like Jerry Dale. Everyone does.”

  “It’s very nice of you, Sheriff Granger, to take the time to escort me around personally. I appreciate it.” Okay, why were the sheriff and DA taking him to lunch? Not that he minded, but it puzzled him.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “You’re wondering why the sheriff and DA would take a new chief deputy to lunch, aren’t you?” She laughed. “To be honest, Jerry Dale is eager to meet former UT running back Jimmy Norton.”

  Jim grunted, then chuckled. “Hmm . . .”

  She stood and held out her hand across the desk. “Welcome to Adams Landing.”

  He reached out and took her hand in his and exchanged a cordial shake. Her handshake was strong and self-confident, and the entire time she looked him right in the eyes. Man-to-man, so to speak. Yet there was nothing masculine about Bernadette Granger.

  “Holly will show you around the office, introduce you to others and once you’re squared away, we’ll head over to your office.”

  Understanding that he had been dismissed, Jim nodded, got up and headed for the door. Just before grasping the doorknob, he paused, glanced over his shoulder and said, “I’m a pretty straight shooter. I’m not a game player and I’ve made my share of mistakes. I’m not always the most diplomatic guy or the most politically correct. So if I ever say or do anything you consider out of line, just let me know.”

  Her expression changed. The smile vanished. “You can be sure that I will. I tend to be straightforward and somewhat outspoken, so you’ll never wonder where you stand with me.”

  He nodded again
, then opened the door and left her office. He had no more than closed the door behind himself than Deputy Holly Burcham sashayed over to him, all smiles and fluttering eyelashes.

  “Come on, handsome. I’ve been designated as your tour guide.”

  Any man would find Holly attractive. And he was, after all, a man. But the last thing he wanted was to get involved with a fellow officer, especially right off the bat. He needed time to feel his way around, to get the lay of the land, before even thinking about a personal relationship of any kind. All he wanted was to make a success of this job and strengthen the ties to his son. Only two goals. And he suspected neither would be easy to accomplish.

  Bernie sat quietly behind her desk, mulling over her brief conversation with her new chief deputy. Twenty years ago, when Jimmy Norton and Griff Powell had been the golden boys of UT football, she’d been just a kid, but being a tomboy and doing anything to gain her father’s attention, she’d watched all the college and pro games with her dad. She remembered Jimmy Norton more than any other player, probably because she’d had a silly schoolgirl crush on him. Yeah, she and how many hundreds of other pubescent and teenage girls in the South? She’d kept a picture of him on her bulletin board alongside one of Tom Selleck as Magnum PI, a TV show she and her dad had never missed. So, truth be told, she was almost as starstruck as Jerry Dale was over Jimmy Norton.

  But she had to remind herself that she was no longer a kid with a crush on a guy she’d never met in person, and Jim Norton hadn’t been a superstar athlete in nearly two decades. Okay, so the guy was still panty-creaming good looking; actually, maturity sat well on his broad shoulders. He was still tall and lean, and she suspected that his body was muscular and toned beneath his clothes. She had to admit that for a couple of minutes while she’d been looking him over, she had pictured him stark naked.