Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle

by Lisa Jackson

  She dropped any idea of heading to the gym this morning. Her workout could wait.

  And she still had three hours before she would have to even think about getting ready for work. There was plenty of time to run out to the convent and get back in time to hit the shower and fly to the office. Her dad would kill her, of course, be mad as hell that she showed up, but with the crowd of reporters that were no doubt already gathering around, she’d blend right in. He was just no damned help…yet. She planned on changing that and soon. In the meantime she already had a leak in the department, a cute guy who, after a few drinks, could be counted on to give up something. True enough, he was just trying to get her into bed, and they both knew it, but still, he would let a few things slip.

  If her dad didn’t come through, and he wouldn’t, she could count on her friend.

  For now, though, she needed to get out to the scene and fast, learn what she could firsthand. There would be news crews at the convent and lots of loose chatter. And she was a cop’s daughter, trained in the art of observation. Her father had always been over-protective, forcing her to learn to observe her surroundings and be prepared at all times for a potential attack or kidnapping. He’d paid for self-defense classes and had insisted she run with a whistle and can of pepper spray when she was jogging. But most of all he’d taught her to watch everything that was happening around her. He was a damned freak about it, always believing that someone he’d sent away to prison might get out and seek retribution by harming Kristi.

  But, as she’d proven before, she knew how to handle herself.

  And after that time she’d been abducted, she’d taken her father’s advice more seriously and had redoubled her efforts in the martial arts and weaponry. As her computer-geek friend had once told her, “You’re one badass dude…or is that dudette?”

  Whatever.

  Digging in her closet again, she came up with a battered Marlins baseball cap then located her sunglasses in her purse. She crammed the cap onto her head, pulled the brim down low. Next she slid the shades onto the bridge of her nose.

  Checking out her reflection in the mirror mounted over her bureau, Kristi figured her dad might not even recognize her.

  And if he did, so what?

  The last she heard, it was still a free country.

  The half-dead nun was lying on his bed, stripped of her clothes and moaning softly. Irritating him. She was waking again, and that was a mistake. Hadn’t the Voice said to kidnap her, kill her, then dispose of her? Hadn’t God’s instructions been precise as to what He wanted?

  Yet the Reviver had improvised.

  He’d driven her to his little cabin in the woods rather than to the spot God had indicated.

  And she was still alive.

  Because he’d let his emotions run away with him. While he was still on an incredible high from the first killing, he’d decided that he was able to make his own decisions, that he was the Reviver and could decide who would live and who would die. But that was wrong. God would be very, very angry. Perhaps punish him. Even take away his promise of deification. He had to work quickly. To cover his mistake.

  God is all-knowing. And he’s furious. That’s why he hasn’t spoken to you. You are already being punished! Agitated, he stood in front of the fire, the last number—111—gleaming upon his body near the others. He stared at the words he’d spent so many hours inscribing into his flesh, feeling the sting of the needle, the bite of the first little puncture. And now there were so many fresh ones with scabs.

  “Oooh,” she moaned.

  Revived.

  Brought back from the brink of death…only to sink into oblivion forever. He thought about decorating his body with her information but decided he would have to wait. The ritual was always the same…. The engraving was to take place after the killing.

  Not always, though. You’ve broken that rule…. Look into the mirror. At your reflection. What do you see?

  He saw her name. Eve. Etched into his skin, reminding him of her. He traced her name with one finger, rubbing his skin over and over, imagining the needle pressing into her firm flesh, puncturing her, deeper and deeper, faster and faster, the sweat on their bodies mingling as he reverently and indelibly made her his.

  His blood thrummed. Eve. Eve. EVE!

  He’d broken his own rules because of her, but this…this inconsequential nun was different.

  He turned and saw that she was awake, her eyes round with terror, her voice gurgling in panic behind her gag.

  “Viv,” he whispered, and she visibly cringed in the firelight, her pale body cast in gold.

  She was shaking her head, silently screaming, “No.”

  In a way, he felt sorry for her—the sinner—and he walked back to his altar, found his rosary, and carefully twined the blood-red beads through her bound fingers. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked, but he knew she was already, in her mind, seeking comfort in the prayers.

  Then he went to work.

  CHAPTER 22

  What had she done?

  Eve opened a bleary eye and rolled over, expecting Cole to be lying beside her. What felt like hours of intense, glorious lovemaking hadn’t been a dream. She was sore in all the right places to remind her that last night, while still on medication, she’d practically seduced Cole Dennis!

  But the bed was empty, and as she turned to one side, pain ripped down her shoulder.

  Oh yeah.

  That.

  She looked down at herself. All she was wearing was a sling.

  “Great,” she mumbled, climbing out of bed and catching sight of her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. It was worse than she’d thought. Inwardly groaning, she noticed her bruises, messed hair, and sunken eyes. Either she’d had a really good time last night or a really bad one.

  So where was he?

  Maybe he’d already taken off.

  That would be good. Very good. She couldn’t get involved with him again. Not unless she wanted to play emotional suicide.

  Face it, Eve. You are already involved.

  Cringing at the thought, she heard Cole singing off-key, the atonal melody floating up the stairs along with the warm scent of coffee. Just like old times. As if they’d never experienced a horrid rift where they’d almost ended up in the courtroom, when she’d been certain he’d tried to kill her and he’d thought she was sleeping with another man.

  And poor Roy had ended up dead.

  “I’m living a soap opera,” she said, grabbing her robe, then heading barefoot to the second floor, where she locked herself into the bathroom, showered quickly, tossed back half a dose of pain pills, and towel-dried her hair. A slash of lipstick and the tiniest bit of mascara was all she could manage before she slipped on her robe, tightened the cinch, and nearly tripped over Samson on her way down the stairs.

  “Watch out,” she warned the cat, then followed him to the kitchen, where bacon was sizzling in a frying pan.

  Cole was at the sink.

  Having the audacity to look chipper and hale.

  Pouring coffee and scrambling eggs while a platter of hash browns steamed on the counter.

  “You went shopping?” she asked as her grandmother’s old toaster clicked and two pieces of only slightly burned toast popped up.

  “Just to the local market.” He cast her a glance and grinned wickedly, reminding her of the night before.

  Bastard!

  But her stupid heart rate skyrocketed despite herself. Damn the man, he knew what he did to her, and he took advantage of it. Even now, in the crummy jeans and T-shirt, facing away from her, slapping butter on the toast, he was sexy as all get out. His jeans hung low, his shirt stretched over his shoulders, and every once in a while she caught a glimpse of his smooth, muscular back as the hem of his shirt shifted.

  “Like the view?” he asked, not even turning around.

  She flushed. “The view’s fine.”

  “Better than fine.”

  “Way to be humble.”

&nb
sp; He looked over his shoulder. “What do you mean? I was talking about the yard,” he said, hitching his chin toward the window, where the magnolia tree was visible. But his slow-spreading smile told her differently.

  “You are a miserable piece of work, you know that?”

  “I’ve been called worse.” He found a cup, rinsed it in the sink then poured coffee into it. “Sleazeball, scumbag, jackass, you name it.”

  “Lawyer?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one too.” He added a little cream to the coffee then placed it in front of her.

  “You’re trying your best to be charming, aren’t you?”

  “Just doin’ what comes natural.”

  “Yeah, right.” She blew across her cup and tried to ignore how comfortable it felt here, in her house, with Cole. She’d been alone these last few nights, had told herself that’s what she wanted, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  “Look, Cole, about last night…”

  “Hmm?”

  “What we did was…wrong.”

  “According to whom? The sex police or the Kama-Sutra squad?”

  “Not funny,” she said, but her lips twitched a bit.

  “Kinda funny.”

  “Don’t derail me here, I have a point.”

  “Which is?”

  “We can’t act like horny teenagers.”

  He turned to face her, his hands braced against the counter, his eyes boring into hers. “Your memory about the events might be a little fuzzy and disjointed, but mine is clear, and basically, I said ‘No’ and you kept pushing.”

  She held up a hand, remembering how it all came about.

  “You seduced me, not the other way around. I tried to be noble, but you were having none of it.”

  “Okay, yeah, I know—”

  “So just enjoy it. Chalk it up to a great experience.”

  “But it won’t happen again?”

  Now he smiled. “That, I can’t promise. And, judging from your actions last night, neither can you. Don’t even try to tell me it was all the meds, okay, cuz I just don’t buy it. I was there, darlin’, and in my right mind. I remember it all. Vividly.”

  She dropped her gaze, felt the back of her neck grow warm.

  “Don’t worry about it, okay? I think we have much bigger problems.”

  She couldn’t argue that logic. “True. But in the light of things, I guess I need to call my lawyer and have the restraining order against you lifted.”

  “That might help.” He slid a plate of scrambled eggs with cheese, hash-brown potatoes, and crisp bacon under her nose. “Here ya go. Dig in.”

  “What, no parsley sprig?” she asked, though the food looked so good, her mouth watered.

  “They were fresh out at the local market,” he quipped then set his plate on the table and handed her a paper towel and utensils. “No napkins either. But apples.” He pointed to a basket on the counter.

  “You’re slipping,” she charged, taking the fork, knife, and spoon from his outstretched hand.

  “No doubt. Now”—he gestured toward her plate with a finger—“eat. Then we’ll discuss who gets to call the police and tell them about the doll and the old hospital.”

  She bit into a piece of toast. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “I know. But we have to.”

  “After breakfast.”

  “Definitely.”

  The eggs were delicious, the bacon smoky and crisp, the potatoes divine. Eve had just decided she could get used to Cole pampering her when the phone rang.

  “I don’t even want to know,” she said with a sigh. Then, seeing her brother’s number flash on the caller-ID screen, she braced herself. “Hello?”

  “Eve? It’s Anna.” Her sister-in-law was breathless. “Have you heard from Kyle? He, uh, he hasn’t been home, and when I did reach him on his cell, he said he was in New Orleans!” She sounded undone as she took a deep drag on her cigarette. “Can you believe it? He never even asked me if I wanted to come down with him, didn’t so much as come home or pack or anything. Just left, apparently, on the same damned day you did!”

  “I didn’t know,” Eve said, and in a heartbeat the warm domesticity of the few minutes before evaporated.

  “He said he was going to see you…. Remember, I told you that he’s interested in the will? Look, if he shows up, have him call me, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m packing some things, not just my own, but for the big jerk too. I’ll leave in a few hours, and I’ll be down there sometime tonight, depending on traffic. But please have Kyle call me.”

  “If I hear from him, I will.”

  “Thanks.” Anna Maria let out a long sigh. “I don’t have to tell you we’ve been having some problems, but, unlike your brother, I think the best way is to face them and talk about them, not run away from them. Look, I’ve got another call coming in.…Have Kyle call me. Love ya, bye!”

  She hung up, and Eve was left holding the phone. “My sister-in-law,” she said, setting the receiver into its cradle. “My brother’s in town. I guess he never went back home after I left Atlanta.”

  “Why?”

  “She didn’t say, but, believe me, I quit trying to figure out my family a long time ago.”

  He snorted. “Join the club. Now, I think we should call the police and tell them about what we found.” He grabbed the backpack and pulled out the file on Faith Chastain. “After we look at this.”

  Eve nodded with more than a little trepidation then scooted her chair back and scrounged in a few drawers with her good arm before coming up with two notepads and pens. “My guess is that the police will want to keep this.” She tapped on the file with a finger.

  As she sat at the table again and started reading, he refilled their coffee cups then pulled a chair up next to hers.

  It was weird, really, reading all the different notes, some typed, others handwritten, all regarding a woman who had suffered several nervous breakdowns, who’d battled depression, and who’d seemed to hallucinate. Nurses, psychiatrists, psychologists, and even some of the clergy had added to the file. Nowhere was there mention of a pregnancy or birth.

  “Maybe this is all wrong,” Eve said, shaking her head. “I mean, what are the chances that I’m Faith’s daughter?”

  Before Cole could answer, the doorbell pealed.

  “Expecting someone?” Cole was already walking in his stocking feet toward the front of the house.

  “At eight-thirty in the morning?” she asked, right behind him. “I don’t think so…. No, wait! Anna said that Kyle was on his way.”

  “I think he’s here,” Cole said.

  She peered around him, and through the narrow window flanking the door, she spied her oldest brother. Big and grim, he stared back at her through eyes that never seemed to smile.

  Her heart sank.

  “And he’s not alone,” Cole said, his voice terse and cool.

  Eve caught a glimpse of Van standing off to one side, sporting an Arizona tan, smoking a cigarette, and looking nervous as a caged cat.

  Both her brothers.

  Here.

  Now.

  The morning just took a turn for the worse.

  “No comment,” Bentz said, brushing past a reporter as he made his way to the cruiser. The crime scene, roped off and already being processed, was exactly what he’d expected, and as usual he’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach when he’d viewed the body, still lying in the courtyard, bloody number drawn on the wall, an un-sightly tattoo scrawled upon her forehead, blood staining the edge of her wimple from white to red.

  He’d managed to hold onto his morning’s coffee and ask a few questions before he discovered that the batteries in his pocket recorder had died.

  The story was that Sister Odine, on her way to the chapel, had discovered the Mother Superior’s body. She’d called 911 and then, because she’d met him last fall, phoned Bentz as well. A deputy from the sheriff’s department had stopped by, and
once he’d called in the homicide, Bentz was notified a second time, just before he’d pulled up to the convent.

  Now he found an extra set of batteries in the glove box and headed back inside. The press were too close, and he barked at a couple of deputies to push the reporters, cameramen, bystanders, and vans back farther down the lane leading to the convent. It was light now, the day promising to be sweltering. He was already sweating.

  Another reporter approached him, a thirtysomething woman with a toothy smile, salon-streaked hair, and intelligent eyes. “Detective, please, if I could just have a minute. Recently there were three murders, all similar, and all connected to the Our Lady of Virtues campus. Could you comment on any link to the crimes? Do we have another serial killer on the streets?”

  Bentz stopped under the glare of the camera’s lights. “I have no comment at this time. But I’m certain the public information officer will issue a statement later today. Until then, there’s really nothing I can say.”

  “But the public has the right to know what’s going on.”

  “A statement will be issued.” He kept walking, leaving the reporter without any answers. He tried to keep his cool, but the press and the damned bystanders, gawkers who fed on this type of grisly crime scene, aggravated him to no end.

  “Keep them back,” he said to a deputy as he made a sweeping gesture to the news crews and bystanders. From the corner of his eye, he saw a slim figure of a woman in a baseball cap who looked familiar. He looked more closely and recognized his daughter standing in a crowd of onlookers. She was looking straight at him but now turned away.

  What the hell did Kristi think she was doing? If he weren’t so damned busy, he’d march over to the crowd and tell her to go home, go to work, go anywhere, but go away. For now, though, he had a job to do.

  Christ, what a mess!

  Bentz strode back through the gates and along a path to the convent itself. In the garden area, Bonita Washington moved carefully over the crime scene with gloved hands and booties on her shoes. “We’ve got a real sweetheart with this one,” Washington said as she nodded toward the frail nun’s body. “Santiago, make sure you get a shot of the tattoo on her forehead.”