Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle

by Lisa Jackson

  He crushed his wife to him, drank in the smell of her and wanted to break down and bawl like a baby. “She’ll be okay,” he said and realized it was his mantra, that if he said it over and over long enough, he’d believe it.

  Kristi had been in surgery for three hours…and he hadn’t heard word one. He didn’t know the extent of her injuries, just understood that it was bad. Real bad.

  Images of her life floated through his brain, and he couldn’t even consider what his life would be without her. They’d been through so much together, good times and bad. Sometimes it had been them against the world, other times it had been them against each other.

  He knew now that Adam Tennet had been hired by the department and never should have been. That the guy had sailed through all the tests given him and somehow made it in, literally falling through the cracks in the system to gain employment with Bonita Washington’s crime scientists. He was a whiz kid who had fooled everyone. He’d been with the department less than a year and had managed to set his sick, twisted plan into motion.

  Was it over now? All the sickness that had come out of Our Lady of Virtues Hospital? Was it truly and finally over?

  Only if Kristi survives, because if she doesn’t this will be your curse for the rest of your life.

  He squeezed Olivia hard and fought the tears as he twined his hands in his wife’s lustrous hair.

  “Have faith,” she whispered as the doors to the operating rooms swung open and a woman not much older than Kristi walked through. Wearing surgical scrubs and a grim expression, she approached.

  “You’re Rick Bentz?” she asked, and Bentz felt his insides shatter into a million pieces.

  “Yes.”

  “Your daughter’s had a tough time of it but she’s a fighter. We lost her twice during surgery, but we were able to get her heart started again.”

  He felt the blood drain from his face as the doctor rattled off the injuries Kristi had sustained and the procedures she’d suffered through. Essentially what it all came down to was that one bullet had hit her in the gut, rupturing several organs, all of which had to be surgically repaired. Another bullet had ricocheted and scraped across her temple, and there was a possibility of brain damage.

  “But she’ll live?” Rick said.

  “We’re doing our best.”

  The doctor left, and Rick slid into a chair. He cradled his head in his hands. “This is my fault. My being a cop, that’s the cause.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “Like hell.”

  “Bentz!” Olivia’s tone brooked no argument, and when he looked into her eyes, he felt a kind of solace. “She needs you to be strong now. Believe in her. Believe in yourself.”

  He looked away and cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said huskily, though he wasn’t certain he could do everything she told him. “So, when did you get so smart?”

  One side of her mouth lifted in a tiny smile. “I think it was around the day I agreed to marry you. Yeah, that’s when it was. Come on, Detective, let me buy you a cup of coffee. You look like hell!”

  “I love you too.”

  “I know it.” She laughed, and damned if he didn’t feel better. Somehow they’d get through this. And the doc was right. Kristi was a fighter.

  “I don’t want to spend a night here,” Eve protested from her hospital bed, but Cole wasn’t listening. He stood at the window, the night backdropping him. It was late, the hospital was hushed and comfortable, but she’d had enough of being a patient to last her a lifetime.

  “It’s just for observation. You were lucky the bullet didn’t hit any arteries or veins or bones.”

  “Just a helluva lot of muscle.” She was going to be sore for a long time and it looked like a lot more physical therapy was in her future. But she really couldn’t complain, not with Kristi Bentz battling for her life.

  “So it’s really over?” she asked.

  He nodded. “It looks like Adam had been gunning for you for a long time. He just needed a psycho who knew you to do most of his dirty work. There was electronic equipment hidden in the mattress of Ronnie’s bed, little speakers and a small receiver. I’ll bet they find the transmitter at Adam’s place.”

  “I don’t want to think about him.”

  “Good idea.” He leaned over the railing and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Why don’t you concentrate on me?”

  “You know, Counselor, I might just do that,” she said and reached upward to wrap her arms around his neck. “I wasn’t kidding back at the asylum. I do love you.”

  “Well, then, darlin’, as soon as they release you from this place, you can show me just how much.”

  “You’re on, Counselor,” she said around a yawn. “You are definitely on.”

  EPILOGUE

  Three months later

  Limping, still using a stupid cane, Eve walked into the hospital room where Kristi Bentz lay comatose. She was breathing on her own, and the doctors expected her to awaken. But so far it hadn’t happened.

  Rick Bentz sat at his daughter’s side, reading aloud to her as he had every day since the incident. He looked up over the tops of his reading glasses but didn’t smile.

  “I thought I’d spell you,” Eve said. “How is she today?”

  “Better, I think.”

  “Good. That’s good.” She managed a smile and didn’t say aloud that she didn’t believe him. Kristi looked the same to her, lying on the bed, barely moving.

  As Bentz made his way down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee, Eve took Kristi’s hand. “Now tell me,” she said, feeling a lump in her throat as she stared at the beautiful, serene woman who was her sister, “How are you really doing?” She linked her fingers with Kristi’s, though there was no response. “Well, let me fill you in on what’s happened. You know I met Abby, and we get along great. I haven’t connected with Zoey yet, but that will probably happen in a few months because Abby and Montoya have set a date. Do you hear me? They’re getting married this June. You have to come to the wedding. They’re counting on it.

  “And, uh, what else? Oh, well…I guess we made it official, too. Cole moved in. So far, fingers crossed, we’re getting along.…Even your dad and Montoya have decided he’s an okay guy; at least that’s what they tell me.…Well, speak of the devil.”

  Cole appeared in the doorway only a few steps in front of Abby. They talked for a while, including Kristi in the conversation, but of course, she didn’t respond.

  It seemed so wrong.

  But then there had been a lot of wrong in the last few months. They didn’t see her eyes flutter beneath her lids and missed the fact that one of her fingers twitched. They had no idea Kristi was dreaming.

  But Kristi saw the images, weird, distorted pictures of people she knew going about their daily lives, running errands, walking dogs, shuffling paperwork, mowing lawns, cooking, or whatever. All in vibrant, incredible color.

  The image today was of her father. He was riding with Montoya in a cop car. The sirens were shrieking, the lights flashing bright, the radio crackling. They screeched to a halt in front of a Gothic-looking house and jumped out of the vehicle.

  Crack!

  A bolt of lightning sizzled from the sky, splitting the lone tree in the yard. Both men ducked instinctively, and, when it was over, they straightened. Montoya looked the same, but Bentz’s color had faded to black and white. Though he still climbed into the car with Montoya, his color didn’t return and he fell over, bleeding black blood onto the street.

  Rick Bentz was dead.

  “Kristi? Can you hear me?”

  Who was that? Olivia?

  “Kristi?”

  She tried to talk, but only a tiny croak escaped her lips. God, her mouth tasted terrible. And every muscle in her body ached.

  “Did you hear that? She’s responding! Call the nurse!” Olivia’s voice pierced Kristi’s thick brain. It was as if she were thinking in a bog, her brain mired in quicksand.

  She blinked. Her eye
lids felt as if they were cracking.

  “Oh my God, she’s waking up! Kristi!” Olivia’s voice broke with emotion. “Kristi!”

  Kristi forced one eye open then squeezed it shut against the bright light. She felt a pain in her gut and her head and heard footsteps walking quickly toward her.

  She tried to open her eyes, and this time, wincing and blinking, she was able to fixate, though the images were a little blurry.

  Slowly her eyes came into focus.

  She was in a hospital, lying half propped up and Olivia was standing over the bed, tears shimmering in her eyes. On a table were several baskets of brightly hued flowers: gold black-eyed Susans, blue bachelor’s buttons, pink carnations, and yellow roses.

  “Oh honey!” Olivia cried, her blond hair falling over her shoulder. “Bentz! Look who’s awake!”

  Kristi turned her head to the doorway where her father stood. She gasped. Her blood turned to ice water as fear shot through her.

  Backdropped against the smooth green hospital walls, Rick Bentz had no color. His skin and hair and clothing were in shades of black, white and gray. Just like in her dream.

  “Thank God,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. But as his gaze dropped to her bed sheets they reflected no light. He ran to her and held her tight. “Kristi,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Oh, honey.” Tears rained from his eyes, dampening the bedsheets, but Kristi couldn’t feel them. And the arms that held her so tightly felt weird, almost weak. The side of her father’s face was gray as death.

  It was an omen, she was certain of it.

  Kristi felt like she might throw up. She’d had the dreams and realized now that they weren’t dreams at all; they were glimpses into the future.

  In a heartbeat she knew that Rick Bentz was doomed.

  Her father was going to die, and he was going to die soon.

  LISA JACKSON

  LOST SOULS

  KILLING PATTERN

  Kristi picked her words carefully. “I think whoever’s behind the girls’ disappearances is into something really dark. Evil.”

  “Evil?” Jay repeated.

  She nodded and he saw her shiver. “I think we’re dealing with something so vile and inherently depraved that it might not even be human.”

  “What are you saying, Kris?”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of research. On vampires.”

  Jay laughed. “Okay. You had me going there.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “So whoever’s behind the girls’ disappearances believes in vampires. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “What I’m saying is this guy believes in vampires or maybe he believes he’s a vampire. I don’t know. But a person like that, Jay? someone deluded or obsessed…They’re dangerous. This guy is dangerous.”

  A whisper of something slid over Jay’s skin. Fear? Premonition? “Maybe you’ve let your imagination carry you away,” he said, but she could hear the uncertainty in his voice…

  Books by Lisa Jackson

  SEE HOW SHE DIES

  FINAL SCREAM

  WISHES

  WHISPERS

  TWICE KISSED

  UNSPOKEN

  IF SHE ONLY KNEW

  HOT BLOODED

  COLD BLOODED

  THE NIGHT BEFORE

  THE MORNING AFTER

  DEEP FREEZE

  FATAL BURN

  SHIVER

  MOST LIKELY TO DIE

  ABSOLUTE FEAR

  ALMOST DEAD

  LOST SOULS

  LEFT TO DIE

  WICKED GAME

  MALICE

  Published by Zebra Books

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank everyone who worked on this book. As always, my insightful editor, John Scognamiglio, helped with the book from the time it was a germ of an idea. With his help I was able to make a vague concept into a complete plot, and I can’t imagine how many hours he spent on the manuscript. Before the finished book ever reached New York, my sister, author Nancy Bush, helped with the editing and compiling of the manuscript—a daunting task, believe me. Behind the scenes, a legion of people helped with the research and promotion. I can’t thank them enough: Ken Bush, Alex Craft, Matthew Crose, Michael Crose, Kelly Foster, Ken Melum, Roz Noonan, Ari Okano, Joan Schulhafer, Mike Seidel, Larry Sparks, and Niki Wilkins. If I’ve forgotten anyone, my apologies. Can I blame it on the age-thing?

  Author’s Note

  For the purposes of this story, I’ve bent some of the rules of police procedure and also created my own fictitious police department in the city of New Orleans.

  PROLOGUE

  All Saints College

  Baton Rouge, Louisiana

  December

  Where am I?

  A rush of icy air swept across Rylee’s bare skin.

  Goose bumps rose.

  Shivering, she blinked, trying to pierce the shifting darkness, a cold dark void with muted spots of red light shrouded in a rising mist. She was freezing, half lying on a couch of some kind and…

  Oh, God, am I naked?

  Was that right?

  No way!

  Yet she felt the soft pile of velvet against the back of her legs, her buttocks, and her shoulders where they met the rising arm of this chaise.

  A sharp needle of fear pricked her brain.

  She tried to move, but her arms and legs wouldn’t budge, nor could she turn her head. She rolled her eyes upward, trying to see to the top of this freaky dark chamber with its weird red light.

  She heard a quiet cough.

  What?

  She wasn’t alone?

  She tried to whip her head toward the sound.

  But she couldn’t. It lolled heavily against the back of the chaise.

  Move, Rylee, get up and friggin’ move! Another sound. The scrape of a shoe against concrete—or something hard—reached her ears. Get out, get out now. This is too damned weird.

  Her ears strained. She thought she heard the softest of whispers coming from the shadows. What the hell was this?

  Her insides shriveled with a new fear. Why couldn’t she move? What in the world was happening? She tried to speak but couldn’t utter a word, as if her vocal cords were frozen. Frantically, she looked around, her eyes able to shift in their sockets, but her head unable to swivel.

  Her heart pounded and, despite the chill in the air, she began to sweat.

  This was a dream, right? A freakin’ nightmare, where she, immobile, was positioned on a velvet lounge and naked as the day she was born. The chaise was slightly raised, it seemed, as if she were on a weird stage or dais of some kind, and surrounding her was an unseen audience, people hiding in the shadows.

  Her throat closed in terror.

  Panic swept through her.

  It’s only a dream, remember that. You can’t speak, you can’t move, all classic signs of a nightmare. Calm down, shut this out of your mind. You’ll wake up in the morning….

  But she didn’t heed the suggestions running through her mind, because something was off here. This whole scene was very, very wrong. Never be
fore when she’d been terrorized by a nightmare had she had the insight to think she might be dreaming. And there was a realness to this, a substance that made her second-guess her rationale.

  What did she remember…oh, God, had it been last night…or just a few hours earlier? She’d been out drinking with her new friends from college, some kind of clique that was into the whole Goth-vampire thing…no, no…they insisted it was a vampyre thing. That old-fashioned spelling was supposed to make it more real or something. There had been whispers and dares and blood-red martinis that the others had insisted were stained with real human blood. It had been some kind of “rite of initiation.”

  Rylee hadn’t believed them, but had wanted to be a part of their group, had taken them up on their dares, had indulged…and now…and now she was tripping. They’d laced the drink, not with blood, but with some weird psychedelic drug that was causing her to hallucinate—that was it! Hadn’t she witnessed the hint of hesitation in them when she’d been handed the blood-red martini and twirled the stem in her fingers? Hadn’t she sensed their fascination, even fear, as she’d not just sipped the drink but tossed it back with a flourish?

  Oh, God….

  This initiation—which she’d thought had been a bit of a joke—had taken a dangerous, unseen turn. She remembered vaguely agreeing to be part of the “show.” She’d drunk the fake “blood” in the martini glass and yeah, she’d thought all the vampire stuff her newfound friends were into was kind of cool, but she hadn’t taken any of their talk seriously. She’d just thought they’d been screwing with her head, seeing how far she would go….

  But within minutes of downing the drink, she’d felt weird. More than drunk, and really out of it. Belatedly, she’d realized the martini had been doctored with a potent drug and she’d started to black out.

  Until now.

  How much time had elapsed?