by Lisa Jackson
She lay in the middle of the tub, the water lapping over her perfect body, the sound of drips from ancient pipes the only noise over a soft gentle rush of air within an old ventilation shaft.
Elizabeth.
Flawless white skin was visible in the ripples, round, rose-colored nipples sometimes breached the ever-moving water, only to pucker with the cold. A dark thatch of curls was stark against the alabaster white of her slim, long thighs. No tan lines were visible, no age spots dared darken her perfect complexion. Her hair, black as night, was caught with a bloodred clip and held atop her head.
Though her eyes were closed, he knew that she was aware of him. It was always so. Always had been. Theirs was a bond that started early in life only to grow and strengthen with time.
She’d known of his fascination with her even as a child. She had molded him into what he’d become. The process had been long, taken years, and yet, he suspected that Elizabeth had seen his weakness the first time she’d laid eyes upon him and had understood his needs. Though she’d been a child of seven, and he only five, she’d set about weaving her web upon him and he’d wanted her so desperately—still wanted her—he’d done everything she’d suggested.
Willingly.
Eagerly.
His IQ brushed genius.
Hers was higher.
A fact he never forgot.
Nor would she let him.
She allowed him his infidelities, encouraged him, even sometimes watched him, but she knew, they both knew, that he was hers. Forever bound to do her bidding. He hid little from her, but tonight he would have to tread lightly. He would not let it be known that Mathias, the weakling priest, was balking. He would not mention that Lucretia, the slut, was having second thoughts and confiding in Kristi Bentz, the cop’s daughter, who now claimed she could see danger before it was apparent, that she witnessed it in the color of their skin, as if the blood had drained from their bodies.
Prophetic?
He wondered…if she looked in a mirror, would she see her own pale image staring back at her?
But for now, he would forget.
For now, he would concentrate on Elizabeth.
Her eyelids raised just a fraction, enough that he saw reflections of the candles in the exposed slits but not enough that he could read any emotion that might betray her feelings. The room was cold, only a piece or two of furniture pushed into the corners, a small bed, a kerosene lamp upon a table, a few books, always the latest books about her namesake, stacked neatly on the table, mirrors abounding. He saw his own reflection in the looking glasses, refracted images that caught his every move.
“I thought you’d come tonight,” she said.
Was there any doubt?
Without a word, he walked to the raised tub and sat upon the marble ledge. The scents of lilac and magnolia rose with the steam from the warm, clear water. She let him touch her, allowed his fingers to slide up the length of one thigh, but when he tried to explore further, to enter her most private of spaces, she snapped her legs shut and brushed his hand away. “Ah-ah-ah,” she said in that throaty voice he found so wickedly intriguing. “Not yet.” But he knew that she was as ready as he was, that her blood ran hot and wild within her.
“Not yet,” she insisted, as if to convince herself that it was not yet time, a time she dictated. “You brought more, didn’t you? From your hunt?”
He stared at her. Surprised at her nearly ESP like qualities.
“You think I don’t know about the stripper?” Sighing, she clucked her tongue.
“You set the rules,” he reminded her, surprised that she had read his mind, had known whom he’d taken.
Her face drew into a little pout. “But a stripper? Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so. No.” She touched her pointed chin with one wet hand. “I know we are getting low, that we need a refill, but a stripper? Remember, this is an intellectual, as well as a physical experience.”
That, he doubted. She could rationalize all she wanted, come up with lofty excuses, even reasons, but he’d faced the truth: they both enjoyed the search, the hunt, the kill. It was simple. She was into torture more than he; he was into pure, primal, sexual pleasure. Hurting and wounding wasn’t necessary for him. Her sadism wasn’t infectious; he had no real use for it unless it heightened his sexual experience. He got his thrills in the lovemaking and the death.
He wanted to argue that “Blood is blood,” but knew better, so he held his tongue as she deliberated, obviously tempted.
“Use what’s left of the others,” she finally said.
“Then we’ll be out. You’ll have to wait for your next fix.”
“You think this is a drug, that I’m an addict?” A smile curved her perfect lips and it was all he could do to restrain himself from taking her now, before they went through their ritual. But he would wait.
“Do I think you’re an addict?” he asked. “Absolutely.”
She didn’t disagree, just cocked her head, exposing the long length of her neck, the curve of her throat. “Maybe so, but I don’t want my addiction to be tainted, now, do I? Bad blood? I think not. I’ll wait.” She was toying with him now, amused that he was challenging her. “What is it they say? ‘Patience is a virtue’?”
“I think it’s ‘All good things come to he who waits.’”
She corrected, “Or she who waits.”
“Or she.”
“For now, though, there is no waiting. The moon has risen, the timing’s right.”
“Agreed.” He knew what he had to do and what was to come. His heart beat a little faster as he reached for the knob on the top of the tub, the one attached to an iced cooler that he so diligently kept filled. After priming the pump, he twisted the tap. It squeaked a bit as he opened the valve slowly and saw her expectation in the pulse at her neck and her white, glistening teeth sinking into her lower lip.
Slowly, in an uncoiling ribbon, the blood began to flow. Ice cold and thick, it spread its dark stain into the clear water, a plume of thinning red that dissipated and curled.
When the first drip of the dark liquid caressed her skin, she sucked in her breath, her abdomen shrinking, her eyes closing with the ecstasy, for she believed, like the woman whose name she had taken, that cleansing with the blood of other younger, more vital women would elongate her life, keep her skin clear and flawless, and renew her vitality.
A bloody fountain of youth.
Was she mad?
Or a visionary?
He didn’t care which. Either way, she gave him a purpose to hunt, to kill, and he could convince himself that the thrill he felt while taking a life was for the ultimate good. For her. And as for madness, had he not questioned his own sanity at times? Did he not struggle with reality and fantasy? But then, he knew, the line between madness and genius was thin and frail.
He was, without question, her dedicated disciple.
Her tongue flicked upon her lips as the water chilled.
Soon she would be ready. She was already letting out those soft, sexy moans that were his signal. His nostrils widened and he drank in the scent of the aromatic water, the blood, and his own rising lust in this dark cavern.
Soon she would invite him into the tub. Her legs were opening and she was beginning to draw in quick little breaths.
Soon he’d fuck the living hell right out of her.
He reached for his belt and let his pants fall to his ankles. Kicking them aside, he unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes never leaving her. His erection was thick, his need running hot through his veins, the water over her body now murky and red. He stepped inside and lowered himself against her, expecting her to welcome him, for her nails to dig deep into the muscles of his back.
Instead she tipped her head upward so that she could breathe against his ear. “The next one,” she said hoarsely. “When you take the next one, I want to go with you. And it won’t be some aging pole dancer who works for dollars stuffed into her thong! It has to be someone smarter, cleverer,
more vital. Not someone whose life has already been drained from her. I should never have agreed to your ‘lessers.’ If they are indeed less, I don’t want them.”
“There are only so many I can take from the school,” he protested.
Her beautiful features twisted into a sneer. “Do I have to do everything myself?”
“Of course not.”
But she wasn’t dissuaded. “I will come out with you; I will see that she’s worthy.”
“You’ve already helped me pick them,” he reminded her. Elizabeth, too, had sorted through the pictures of the students at All Saints.
“I should never have agreed to the lessers.” She was seated upright now, glaring at him as the bloody water drained over her exposed skin, running in red rivulets from her shoulders, over her breasts, to the dark pool surrounding her.
Oh, how he longed to lap up that tangy sweetness.
But she wasn’t in the mood. “Don’t you get it?” Elizabeth demanded, hands rising from the scarlet depths. “That’s why this isn’t working, why my skin hasn’t improved. The blood of those whores is tainted, lacking life.”
“They weren’t whores.”
“Then where did you find them?”
His jaw tightened but he bit back a sharp retort, not allowing her to bait him about his previous life, one that she knew intimately. Only she knew his real identity, only she could ruin him.
Only she could make him complete.
“Of course you can come,” he said.
“I wasn’t asking! It’s not your decision. Remember that!” Mollified, she settled into the bloody water again.
This was new. She’d never ventured out for a kill. But then she was always evolving, never content to let things stagnate or become routine. And truth be told, he was a little concerned about the girl who would next give up her life. Once she’d been so avid and zealous about being a part of their inner circle. He’d approached her and she’d leapt at the chance to belong, to connect with someone. Now, however, he sensed she was nervous. Wary. Unsure.
He might have to change his routine a bit to ensure her compliance. Elizabeth wouldn’t like that. It would be best if he acted alone.
“You’re certain about this, that you want to be a part of it?” he asked again, and Elizabeth smiled cruelly up at him, her eyes in this half-light dark and unreadable.
“Of course.” Her red lips twitched a bit as the now warm, bloody water swirled around her. “I thought you understood. The next time, I intend to watch. Not just the mating, but the surrendering of her soul. The sacrifice.”
CHAPTER 18
“Christ Almighty!” Jay stared at the tiny vial and shook his head. “What in God’s name is this?”
“It’s Tara Atwater’s blood,” Kristi said with conviction. She eyed the angling bit of glass as if it were a precious, though cursed stone, and her stomach curdled as she thought about how or why the blood within it had been extracted. “I’d bet my life on it.”
“Then we have to take it to the police.” He transferred the delicate chain carefully from his hand to hers. “And you have to own up to what you’ve found out.”
“There’s still no proof of murder.”
“I know, but it’s a police matter.” He rubbed at the beard stubble on his jaw and wondered what the hell they’d stumbled onto. “You think this is what whoever was in your apartment was looking for?”
“Maybe. They didn’t take anything.”
“Then the place will have to be dusted for prints.”
“Can’t you do it? You’re the police. You work with the crime lab.”
“Not if you want to nail the bastard, whoever the hell he is. We’ve got to do this by the book.”
She sighed. “They’ll take my notes. Confiscate my computer. Check me out.”
“Probably. I called a friend in the Baton Rouge PD. He gave me the name of a detective I think will help us. Portia Laurent. Seems as if she’s taken an interest in the missing girls and thinks they might have come to bad ends.”
“Finally. Someone who doesn’t believe the cock and bull about all of them being runaways. Now if I could give her something more…then maybe they’d work with me.”
The doorbell suddenly pealed and both Kristi and Jay reacted. “I’ll get it,” he said. Through the peephole, Jay spied a teenager with long hair, bad skin, and a nervous tic causing him to wink. He was carrying a flat box in an insulated pack.
“Pizza’s here,” the kid called.
Jay looked at Kristi and they both laughed. He opened the door, paid for the pizza, tipped the kid, then threw the dead bolt. Meanwhile, Kristi was careful with the vial, placing it in a plastic sandwich bag and carefully setting it on a cotton towel in the kitchen. It creeped her out, thinking it held Tara’s blood, but she didn’t want Jay to see how she felt.
“Before we call the cops, I’m backing up all of my files,” Kristi told him around a piece of pizza, her eyes inadvertently straying to the vial. She was having a certain amount of trouble swallowing. “Not only for my homework and personal stuff, but for everything about the case.”
Jay nodded, wondering if they were sitting in the middle of a crime scene. The box of pizza was placed between them on the daybed while Bruno watched their every bite, hoping for any spillage. He, at least, was unaffected by the discovery of the necklace and vial.
“So why was the vial hidden?” Kristi asked, dropping the remains of her slice back into the box. “Or, was it just forgotten?”
“Hidden. The necklace was pushed into a crack near the wall.”
“Why hide it? Some of the girls who have them—and as far as I know, it’s just girls—wear them openly.”
“You think Tara hid it herself?”
“Who else?” Kristi asked. She wiped her fingers on the paper napkins that came with the pizza, then pushed herself upright and walked to the desk. Once there, she began transferring information to a small pocket-sized jump drive. She chewed on her bottom lip as she worked. “If we’re going to the police and Detective Laurent, then I guess we’ll have to call Dad.” She made a face at the thought. “He’ll have a fit, of course, but at least he’ll make sure none of my stuff is ruined or lost.”
“You’re willing to suffer through his lectures?” Jay asked, closing the pizza box and disappointing Bruno.
“It’s not as if I’m not used to it.”
“In the meantime, as I said, I’ll camp out here.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do.” He was positive.
“But—”
“Admit it, Kris, you want me to stay.”
“Oh, please.” His arrogance knew no bounds, even though he was partially right.
He wasn’t intimidated. “You still want me.”
She made a strangled sound. “Y’know, I’m fine. It’s better if you just go.” Snagging her jump drive from the computer, she capped it with more force than necessary and stuffed it in a small pocket in her purse.
He shrugged, making no move to leave.
“I can’t believe you said that,” she added.
“You’re still thinking about it.”
“Jay, so help me…” She cut herself off as she walked to a closet, where she found a sleeping bag that had seen better days and a tattered throw pillow with the stuffing exposed, compliments of Hairy S., Kristi’s stepmother’s scrappy little dog. Jay watched her with a knowing air that really chapped her hide. She should just toss him out. But he was right in one regard, damn him: she didn’t really want to be alone.
But she did not want him.
“If you’re staying, you’ve got the chair. You can use the coffee table for an ottoman.” She tossed him the pillow and sleeping bag, then stopped for a moment, regarding him seriously.
“What?”
“Just to be clear. I need one more week before I tell Dad or Portia Laurent what’s up. By then, I should have more information for the police, but if we go to them with what we know now, my hands wil
l be tied. To Detective Laurent and the Baton Rouge PD, I’ll just be Rick Bentz’s daughter playing amateur detective. To Dad, I’ll be risking my neck again and he’ll freak.”
“He should.”
“I need some time,” she stressed.
“I can’t give you any, Kris.”
“Sure you can. It’ll ultimately make the case stronger.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. It’s you who has doubts.”
“We should both have doubts,” Jay retorted. “There’s a lot we don’t know. We’re just surmising, Kris. Let the police handle it.”
“I’m only asking for a week. No one seems to have cared about these girls all this time. One…week.” Crossing the room, she walked up to him, only stopping when the toes of her shoes touched his.
Jay tried not to be affected but he smelled some kind of soap mingled with sweat on her skin. Her flesh was so near to his, and in this light her hair was shot with streaks of red. It was a potent combination. Craning her neck to look up at him, Kristi offered the faintest of smiles, that little, sexy grin that always cracked his armor.
“Please, Jay, it’s important. You can keep the vial and all of Tara’s things, if it makes you feel better. But give me a few more days, one lousy week.”
“And then you’ll cease and desist?”
“Then I’ll take a back seat to the cops.”
Oh sure. Like that was her style.
“It could be dangerous.”
“I won’t do anything stupid.”
That, he didn’t believe. “Kris—”
“Come on,” she begged.
He felt it then, that little twinge of desire when he looked into her wide eyes, watching her pupils, dark and large, as they pleaded with him. Damn the woman. She knew what she was doing to him. His gut tightened and deep inside the wanting began, a light tattoo beating inside his skull, a wave of heat expanding within his chest. Desire grew as he caught a glimpse of the slope of her cheekbones, the intelligence in her gaze, the quirk of her lips.
“You’re trying to seduce me into this,” he stated flatly, trying to keep a rein on his emotions.
“That’s just plain insulting.”
