by Lisa Jackson
And that scared him to death.
Eve was still staring at the bed as he propelled her into the closet. “Pack a bag. We’re not staying here tonight. There was no forced entry, Eve,” he added as he found an overnight bag and handed it to her. “Someone has a key to your place.”
“No one does,” she argued, opening an overnight case.
“Wrong. I have a key, remember?” Cole pointed out. “You gave it to me when we were talking about marriage.”
She nodded.
“Does one of your neighbors have one too? To check on the place when you’re out of town? What about your brothers? You never changed the locks when you moved in, did you?”
“No, it was Nana’s house.”
“And who did Nana trust with her keys? A housekeeper? Maybe a gardener? Her best friend?” He pulled a couple of shirts off hangers and dropped them into the open overnight case.
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly. Come on. Pack. The police won’t like it that we were messing around in here, but they can just deal.”
She glanced at the bed one last time then tossed in underwear, a pair of jeans, and two pullovers. “This is insane,” she whispered under her breath, and he agreed as they headed to the bathroom, where she scooped up a makeup kit.
Cole grabbed Eve’s laptop on the way out, and they were heading out the door when they heard the first sirens screaming in the distance.
For the first time in a long, long while, Cole Dennis felt relief that the police were on their way.
Montoya snapped his cell phone shut then clicked off the television. “Gotta go,” he told Abby as he found his wallet, sidearm, and badge.
“Where?”
“Trouble at Eve Renner’s.”
Abby’s head jerked up. “Is she all right?”
“I think so, but I’m not sure.” He scooped up his keys. “Doesn’t sound like anyone’s seriously hurt. I’ll find out when I get there.”
“I’m coming with you,” she declared as she grabbed her purse.
“No way in hell. This is police business.”
“And she might be my sister.”
“‘Might’ being the operative word.” He was already halfway to the door. “I don’t know what’s going on over there, but you’re not coming with me.” He shot her a stern look, his dark eyes serious.
“You can’t stop me.”
“Sure I can. Don’t interfere, Abs.”
“I’m coming, damn it.”
“Oh for the love of God, I don’t have time for this. Stay. I’ll call you.”
She looked like she wanted to fight further but just gestured for him to go.
Montoya flew out the door, and Hershey whined after him.
“I know,” Abby told the dog determinedly as she petted the animal’s broad head. “Don’t worry. We’re going too, just not with him.”
She waited until Montoya had roared off. Once his taillights had disappeared around the corner three blocks away, she whistled to Hershey and headed outside. As Hershey bounded onto the porch, she locked the door behind her and cut across the grass to her Honda. “Come on,” she said, unlocking the hatchback.
The dog jumped into the backseat, and Abby sped away. She knew that Eve lived in the Garden District, and in a matter of minutes she was driving along St. Charles Avenue, then cutting past stately old manors until she saw the flashing lights of police cars in front of a grand Victorian complete with turret. Reuben’s Mustang was double-parked nearby. This had to be it. Curious neighbors wearing pajamas, or shorts and T-shirts, had already wandered onto their porches or huddled together on the curb. Somewhere down the street a dog barked, and Hershey gave up an answering woof.
“Shh. Be good,” Abby warned. “I’m gonna be in enough trouble as it is.”
She parked a block away. Then, leaving the windows cracked, she locked the car and jogged to the Renner house. There were people clustered around outside. One officer was roping off the area, another taking names of anyone who tried to cross. A van with crime-scene techs had arrived, and just turning down the street was the first news van on the scene.
Abby approached from behind the garage, away from the porch, where Montoya was talking with Bentz, Cole Dennis, and Eve Renner, who stood surprisingly close to the man she’d once accused of trying to kill her. Abby had seen pictures of Eve, of course, and had even jokingly said to her sister, Zoey, that Eve could have been a member of their family, but it had been a passing thought. She’d also seen pictures of Eve in the newspapers and in sound bites on the television when Roy Kajak’s murder had been front-page news, but not until now, seeing Eve in the glow of the porch light, watching her talk with Montoya, did she get it. In the semi-dark, Eve looked so much like Faith Chastain it was downright spooky.
She must’ve been blind not to see it earlier.
Before Montoya looked her way, she pulled her cell phone from a pocket of her purse and speed-dialed her sister in Seattle.
Zoey answered on the third ring. “Hey, hi!” she said, recognizing Abby’s number. “What’s up?”
“I’m at a crime scene, and I’m looking at her now.”
“Crime scene?”
“I think everything’s cool. I don’t know what’s happened yet, but I’ll let you know when I find out.”
“Like I would care? Wait a sec. Who are you looking at?”
“Eve Renner, and I gotta tell you, Zoey, if Eve isn’t our sister, she should be. She’s the spitting image of Mom.”
“I thought that was your claim to fame. Everyone used to say you looked so much like her it was eerie. You were crowned with that particular honor.”
Abby was still staring at Eve. “I think I just lost my tiara.”
“Really?”
“A definite resemblance, Zoey. Definite.”
“But no DNA test results back, right?”
“Not yet.”
“If she is our sister, this is going to be really, really weird. Does Dad know yet?”
Abby thought of her father, Jacques, wasting away in an assisted-care facility, battling cancer and emphysema, and Charlene, his second wife, who was a basket case from trying and failing to care for her once-robust husband. “I don’t think we should tell him until we know for sure. Same with Charlene. She’ll spin out of control and could end up in the care facility with him.”
Zoey snorted. “It’ll never happen. But agreed. Let’s keep this to ourselves until the DNA comes back.” There was a pause. “So…does this woman—Eve?—does she look anything like Dad?”
Abby studied Eve’s features—high cheekbones, small, straight nose, short, curly reddish hair. Then she imagined her father’s face and build. “No,” she said with a certainty that made her stomach twist. “Not a thing.”
“Dear God,” Zoey whispered. “You don’t think…I mean, is there a chance that she could have been fathered by him?”
Abby shivered, her mind winding down a dark chasm of memories. Faith Chastain had not been faithful to their father, either by design, because of her frail mind, or because she was forced to do abominable acts while a patient at Our Lady of Virtues. No one knew for certain what abuse she had suffered.
“Let’s not go there,” Abby said into the phone.
“But what if she’s our half sister and that sick, twisted psycho is her father. What then?”
“Zoey! Shhh! Let’s not borrow trouble!”
“Okay, fine. Then you tell her she’s the daughter of a psychotic killer.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“Well, brace yourself. I have a feeling our odd little dysfunctional family is about to get a helluva lot odder and, if possible, even more dysfunctional.”
“I think I’m going to talk to her.”
“Go for it. And while you’re there, give my love to Sis, would ya?”
Abby ignored Zoey’s sarcasm as she hung up. It was now or never. Too bad it was a crime scene. She had to know. Had to. Steeling herself, she
walked up boldly and found Montoya still talking to Eve and the man next to her, a man Abby had caught glimpses of on newscasts and in the local paper, the “scumbag” Montoya had tried like hell to convict for Royal Kajak’s murder. Abby knew all about Cole Dennis. At least all the bad stuff.
Montoya must’ve seen her in his peripheral vision because he turned suddenly and, if looks could actually kill, Abby would have been six feet under from that one, black glare. “Excuse me,” she said boldly and stuck out her hand. “You must be Eve Renner. I’m Abby Chastain.”
The Reviver watched from the shadows.
As close as he dared.
The police were filming; he saw their cameras clicking off pictures of anyone who stepped a little too close to the crime scene. He had to be careful. There were still traces of blood on his clothes and in his truck. He couldn’t risk getting caught. Not when there was more work to do.
He saw her in the porch light.
Small, beautiful, standing close to Cole Dennis as another woman approached, someone he couldn’t recognize, as her back was to him. But it didn’t matter. All he cared about was Eve.
Only Eve.
His back teeth ground together as he saw her shake the woman’s hand then familiarly touch Dennis’s arm and whisper in his ear. Dennis responded by placing a comforting arm over her shoulder and pulling her even closer against him.
His insides twisted at the display of affection.
In front of the cop.
In front of him.
In front of God.
He waited, half expecting the Voice to come to him, to note the blasphemy, to instruct the Reviver on how to deal with the situation. Please, he silently begged. Let me kill him first and then Eve…when the time is right.
He didn’t dare pray for a few minutes alone with her, for the time to do what he wanted with her, to force her to kiss him, stroke him, lick him as he suspected she licked Cole Dennis. Oh, he’d known they were rutting, had seen the light in the tower room and smelled the scent of their dirty, vile sex. It had floated to him on a breeze, over the fragrances of freshly mown grass and magnolia blossoms. He imagined how it was between them and let his mind wander.
It was Dennis who tempted her.
Dennis who enticed her into sinning.
Dennis who tore off her clothes, exposing those perfect breasts with nipples that needed to be suckled. Dennis who brazenly poked and prodded her sex, burying his face in the dark curls at the juncture of her legs. Dennis who tasted her, nipped at her, bit her, then mounted her roughly, driving hard into her until she gasped in fear and revulsion, joining with her in a frenzied passion spawned by Lucifer, one that she no doubt regretted and feared.
The act was not only a rape of her body but a rape of her soul.
God would never have blessed so base a union.
Because of Dennis, Eve was a jezebel. A whore. A slut. There was no love in their sex act, only lust.
With the Reviver, the lovemaking would be pure. Ordained by God. A way of salvation for Eve before she paid the ultimate price for her sins and faced the Father herself.
Give her to me, he thought wildly, for the moment forgetting that he was close to the crime scene, that he was taking a chance by lingering. Please, please, please, give her to me. Tonight. Oh, it had to be soon! The Reviver ached for her so badly. His cock was rock hard as he just stared down the road and fantasized about her body…. If God would only talk to him now!
But the Voice only reached him when he was in his cabin, lying upon his bed, thinking of Eve. No other time did any of the voices fill his mind. Even the little nasty voices; they came to him only at night, interrupting his sleep, gnawing at his brain. So God wouldn’t answer him now. And yet he prayed. Please, Father, he silently begged, making a quick sign of the cross over his chest. Speak to me, tell me what You want. I am Your servant, and I want to do Your bidding, but I need to know what it is You want of me—
“Hey, ya got a light?” a voice boomed beside him, and he jumped, looking up sharply to find a man standing next to him. So caught up in his fantasy and prayers, he hadn’t heard anyone approach.
His heart pounded and instant sweat soaked his body as he tried to find his voice. He willed his cock to relax. The man, a Latino who looked to be in his midthirties, a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, didn’t appear to notice as he waited for a response.
The blood! This idiot of a neighbor will notice the blood! Leave, now!
Shaking his head, the Reviver backed away. He could not be seen. Did not want to use his voice.
“I wonder what went on down there?” the guy said, then turned to another man who was walking quickly toward them.
The Reviver nearly pissed his pants as he realized the person approaching was a cop. In full uniform. Staring straight at him and the Latino neighbor. Big, black, and bold, the policeman approached.
“Hey, gotta light, man?” the stupid neighbor asked the uniform.
Quick as lightning, before the cop could get a good look at his face, the Reviver ducked through a hedge then moved swiftly across a shadowed lawn. He didn’t check to see if either man was following him, the cop or the would-be smoker. He just moved rapidly and quietly, circumventing the Renner house, cutting through yards and alleys, winding his way to the parking lot of a restaurant where he’d left his truck.
He was breathing hard as he reached the edge of the lot, nervous sweat nearly drowning him. He smelled the metallic odor of blood on his clothes and mentally chided himself for being so reckless.
He cast a glance over his shoulder and saw a movement in the shrubbery skirting the lot. The cop, athletic as hell, was on his tail.
No! He hadn’t come this far to lose it all.
He sprinted to his truck and heard a sharp “Hey!” as he climbed behind the wheel and reached under the seat for his Glock.
It was too late to bluff his way out of this one; the cop would probably get his license plate if he tried. He rolled down the window, and, as the cop approached, he looked outside, his hand on his gun. Easily he clicked off the safety. “Is there a problem, Officer?” he said through the open window.
“Just get out of the truck. Real slow.” The cop’s sidearm was drawn, barrel aimed at the open window. He had a microphone strapped to his shoulder, and his nametag read Officer L. J. Tiggs. It was only a matter of seconds before Tiggs would call for backup, if he hadn’t already. “And show me your hands,” the policeman ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “Keep ’em up. High.”
The Reviver moved as if he planned to do as he was ordered. In a millisecond he raised his left hand then jerked up his right arm and fired point-blank at Tiggs.
Blam!
The cop went down in a heap.
CHAPTER 27
“Excuse me, you must be Eve Renner. I’m Abby Chastain.” Eve, standing next to Cole, turned her head to spy an athletic-looking woman somewhere in her thirties approaching, hand extended.
So this is the woman who might be my sister, the woman who’s engaged to Detective Montoya, Eve thought, trying to shake off the absolute terror that wanted to keep her in its sharp talons.
“Nice to meet you,” she said lamely, as nothing else came to mind. They shook hands, and the movement reminded her that her arm was still in a sling.
The woman, Abby, was beautiful, and yes, Eve thought, there might be a resemblance. She couldn’t help staring then quickly dropped her hand and forced her gaze back to Montoya, who was glaring at his fiancée as if he wanted to wring her neck.
“This is a crime scene,” he said to her.
“I know, but I wanted to meet Eve.” Abby managed a cool smile for Montoya. Then her gaze returned to Eve. “I know there’s a chance that we might be related…sisters. I knew it would be awkward, so I wanted to break the ice.”
“In the middle of an investigation,” Montoya reminded her through lips that barely moved.
“I got it,” she said. “You want me to leave.” To Eve, she
added, “I’ve got to go, but if you ever want to talk to me, have coffee or a glass of wine, just give me a call.” She reached into her purse, grabbed her wallet, and slid out a card. “This has my business and cell number on it.”
“Thanks,” Eve said.
Montoya was seething, his jaw rigid as steel.
Abby blew him a kiss. “See ya later, honey.” And then she was gone, walking swiftly up the street.
Muttering oaths about hardheaded women under his breath, Montoya watched her leave, his gaze lingering for half a beat on her butt. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess we were about done anyway.”
“So we can go now?” Cole, too, was watching Abby leave. But he drew his gaze back to Montoya. “Eve’s not staying here another night. Not until the locks are changed.”
“Good idea,” Montoya said grudgingly. “Let me know if you can think of anyone who might have written that note, someone who’s out to get you.”
Cole didn’t flinch.
Montoya guessed the jerk was thinking his biggest enemies were on the force. Well, truth to tell, Cole Dennis probably wasn’t too far off base.
“I’ll call if I think of anything.”
Yeah, right, Montoya thought, checking his watch. Where the hell was Bentz? When the call to the Renner place came in, Montoya phoned him first, and Bentz said he was on his way. If that son of a bitch was taking time to get himself laid as Montoya had suggested, he’d wring the guy’s thick neck himself. But then, that wasn’t like Bentz. Reaching for his cell phone again—
Pop!
Montoya stiffened. He motioned to another officer standing by the porch. “Was that a gunshot?”
