Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle

by Lisa Jackson

  “What kind of info?”

  “Vehicle ownership, specifically he’s lookin’ for a dark van, if anyone who works at the college owns or has access to one. With Louisiana plates. Probably domestic and full sized, I think, not a mini. Claims someone was following Kristi Bentz. She’s a student there, and Rick Bentz of the New Orleans PD’s daughter.”

  “What’s her involvement?”

  “I think she’s playing amateur detective.”

  “Just what we need,” she grumbled. “And how is McKnight involved?”

  “He’s her professor. Friend.”

  “More?”

  “Probably.”

  “Great,” she said, thinking the Bentz girl was more likely than not in the way.

  “McKnight also wants background checks on some of the professors and staff who work at the college.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “He thinks one of his colleagues is involved?”

  “I got the info from DMV, but thought you might want to work on the staff as I’ve got a few days off while my ex is in the hospital—knee replacement. I’ve got the boys. I’ll be back on Friday.” He handed her a sheet of paper with a list of names and another with five vehicles, potential matches. He gave her a quick rundown of what had happened to Jay and Kristi Bentz.

  Portia couldn’t help the first tingle of excitement that ran through her blood. For over a year she’d sensed there was more going on than students at All Saints becoming runaways. Now, at least, someone seemed to agree with her.

  “I’ll be checkin’ in with ya,” Crawley said, poking a finger at her nose. “And don’t screw it up, okay? I got a half-rack riding on this.”

  “Do I get some of that?”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “Connect the dots and I’ll buy you a real drink. What do you drink? Cosmopolitan? Daiquiri?”

  “Martini straight up. Three olives.”

  “A woman after my own heart.”

  “Just what I wanna hear,” she said, already taking off her coat and settling in for what was bound to be a long, but promising night.

  Elizabeth rarely visited.

  It was an unwritten rule: he would go to her. Always.

  The last time she’d shown up in his private quarters was over a year earlier, but now she was pacing along the edge of the pool, light from the underwater fixture giving the water a bright aquamarine glow, the reflection casting shifting bluish shadows on her pale, flawless skin. Dressed in a long black coat and boots, she walked from one end of the room to the other.

  Vlad finished doing his laps, refusing to interrupt his routine, even for her, then hoisted himself from the pool.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said, naked and dripping, allowing the cool air to caress his skin. He’d hoped to spend some time in the freezer with Ariel and Karen Lee, aka Bodiluscious, after his workout, but obviously he would have to change his plans.

  “We have to work faster,” Elizabeth said, glaring at him as if whatever was wrong was his fault. “We agreed to collect more and it has to be soon.”

  “What happened?”

  “Other than the arm being discovered?” she sneered. “I have sources in the police department. That was careless, Vlad. When you dispose of the…corpses, you need to take them far away. Out of the parish. Out of the state.” She whirled on him, her anger visible in the snap of her eyes, the flare of her nostrils. “For God’s sake, what’s wrong with the damned Gulf of Mexico? They could be used to feed the sharks…never found. People fall off boats and are never located again.”

  As if it were that easy to dispose of a body.

  “The gator incident was unfortunate.”

  “And stupid! What’re the chances of the rest of the body showing up? Or the other ones?” She was shaking and it was all he could do not to put his hands on her and try to calm her, but he knew from past experience that touching her now, while she was dressed, not in her murky bath, would infuriate her further.

  “They can’t link the arm to us.”

  She stared at him as if he were a cretin. “Do you even watch TV? What”—she made air quotes—“‘they’ can do is very sophisticated. Maybe not CSI sophisticated and certainly not so quickly, but sophisticated nonetheless. With enough time, oh, yes, they can link that damned limb to whichever girl it belonged to and eventually to us!” Scratching her long neck thoughtfully, Elizabeth, ever restless, kept up her pacing, then stopped short as she caught her reflection in one of the mirrors he’d placed in the room. Her fingers curled in on themselves until she realized what she was doing, that she might mar her skin with her scratching. Momentarily distracted, obsessed with her image, she also took in several deep breaths and made her face a calm mask once again. The lines of consternation and frustration between her brows and around the corners of her eyes smoothed, and the expression of seething fury disappeared.

  “We have to step things up. Immediately.” She said, more evenly, “You know what to do. We’ve planned for this day, I just wish it hadn’t happened so soon.” Sighing, she shook her head, her dark hair sliding across her shoulders. “This Friday,” she said with a note of wistfulness. “It will be our last performance here.”

  “And then?”

  She arched a perfect brow. “We start over, of course. We just need to get enough blood to last until we settle somewhere else.” She seemed to have chased away her anger with thoughts of a new future, a new place, new young, supple bodies. “But for now, we must concentrate.”

  She crossed the cavernous room to his desk alcove and saw that he’d already strewn campus ID pictures across the top, photographs of those he thought most worthy. Leaning one hip against the desktop, she quickly slid aside those she deigned not pretty enough, or supple enough, or fresh enough. She hesitated over a few and clucked her tongue at opportunities missed.

  In the end three pictures remained. “These are the ones,” she said, and he stared down at the beautiful girls in the pictures. Each was a younger, more vibrant version of Elizabeth.

  The center photograph was of Kristi Bentz.

  “Three will be difficult.”

  “Then you’ll just have to hone your skills, won’t you?” She smiled at him, a careful, poised grin that showed few lines. “If you can’t get them all, at least be certain you get the Bentz girl.”

  All too gladly, he thought.

  “And remember, these”—she swirled a finger over the photographs—“are just the ones we need for their blood. There are others who have to be disposed of as well.”

  Of course he knew what she was talking about: the clean up. Getting rid of those who could ruin them. That thought was more than pleasant. He couldn’t wait to get rid of them. They’d been pains in the neck from the get-go.

  They deserved to die.

  Had been asking for it.

  Vlad, with Elizabeth’s blessing, was only too happy to oblige.

  Dr. Grotto’s office was in the lower level of the massive building housing the English Department, down a staircase to a corridor in the north wing. This section of the building, separate from most of the classrooms, was quiet. Empty. No students or faculty wandering the halls. Most of the office doors, with their frosted glass windows, were shut and vacant, no light shining through the opaque panes.

  Kristi screwed up her courage as she headed down the corridor, her sneakers silent, not making a squeak. So she was finally going to confront Dr. Grotto, one-on-one. She wasn’t certain exactly how she was going to play this, but her mind was cranking out possible scenarios:

  An innocent, just asking about her assignment, hinting about some kind of cult?

  Straightforward, as if she were an investigator with the police department?

  Coy? Flirtatious? Hoping to elicit information while stroking his ego?

  Stomach acid burned up her throat at the thought.

  Play it by ear, she told herself, though her nerves were tight as piano wires, her apprehension growing with each step. She checked her pocket: her cell
phone line was open, but muted, and hopefully Jay would be able to hear all of her conversation, even though he might not like it. She hated relying on him, but decided not to be a fool. Grotto could be dangerous. She had no idea how her professor would react if he thought he was caught.

  She reached the corner and, hearing voices, partially muted but loud enough for her to decipher, realized an argument was blazing.

  “I’m telling you, this is dangerous,” a woman was saying, her voice rising with emotion. Kristi stopped dead in her tracks.

  Lucretia?

  “You have to stop.” Yes, it was Lucretia and she sounded desperate. Kristi chanced peering around the corner and saw that the hallway was empty.

  “I know what I’m doing.” Grotto’s voice. Angry. Deep. Coming from behind a door that was cracked just a bit, so little that they probably didn’t realize it was open. Heart thudding, Kristi sneaked along the wall, getting closer.

  “Don’t you see they’re using you? For the love of God, Dominic, get out now. Before it’s too late.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know something horrible is happening. Something evil. And…and I hate what it’s doing to you. Please, Dominic, get out now. We can leave. No one will ever know.” Lucretia was scared.

  Panicked.

  Kristi cringed inside at the thought of how much mental abuse her ex-roommate would take, for what? This creep that peddled vampirism?

  “‘No one will ever know?’ That’s ironic coming from you,” he sneered, his voice heavy with accusation. “Since you’re the one who opened your mouth.”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “One that I have to fix.”

  Kristi could barely hear over her own thudding heartbeat. They were talking about her! About Lucretia’s original request for Kristi to check into some kind of vampire cult.

  “I was worried! About them! About you!” Lucretia was nearly hysterical. “About…about us!”

  “You should have thought about that before you decided to talk to your friend.”

  “She’s not my friend,” Lucretia said quickly.

  “A cop’s daughter, for crying out loud. And not just any cop, but a homicide dick. Homicide, Lucretia. As in murder. What the hell were you thinking?” Grotto was really mad now, his voice rising. “The last thing we need is any more attention from the damned police.”

  “I—I just thought she could help.”

  “How? By exposing everything? Jesus Christ, Lucretia, you’re supposed to be an intelligent woman. But talking to someone so close to the police, drawing attention to me, asking for help when you don’t even understand what’s going on?”

  “Dominic, please—” Lucretia’s voice broke and Kristi almost felt sorry for her.

  “I told you it was over,” he said more quietly, like a death knell. The declaration sounded cold and heartless, much worse than if he’d screamed at her, if there had been some tiny bit of feeling in his voice.

  “You…you don’t mean it,” she said, sniffing.

  Get over him, he’s a stone-cold loser, Kristi thought, inching closer to the doorway. Sexy yes, but cruel, and obviously mixed up in something dark and dangerous, ultimately illegal, something to do with the missing girls, quite possibly murder. She wondered how she herself could face him after this.

  Lucretia tried to defend herself. “I—I told her you were…innocent. Persecuted.”

  “But she didn’t buy it, did she?”

  Silence.

  Damning silence.

  “Now I have to deal with her. I’ve tried to avoid her since the beginning of the school year, ever since I realized who she was, but she’s relentless and”—he drew a breath—“she’s coming to see me in a few minutes. On some pretense about her assignment.”

  “Don’t meet with her,” Lucretia pleaded softly.

  “I have to. So, go. Now. She’ll be here any minute. Use the back, in case she comes early. And call me in about twenty minutes. I’ll use the excuse to cut the meeting short.”

  “Oh, no, please, Dominic—”

  “Leave, Lucretia. Get the fuck out. Before you ruin everything for me.”

  She gave a little squeak of protest and Kristi started backing up, faster and faster, down the length of the hallway. Her heart was racing, a cold sweat running down her spine. There was no place to hide, no closet to slip into, no stairway she could climb. She had to pretend that she’d just arrived and hadn’t overheard the argument. She reached the corner, backed around it and waited, running in place, already coming up with an excuse for being late.

  In the distance, she heard a door bang shut and assumed that her ex-roommate had taken her ex-lover’s advice and fled through the entrance that led to the back of campus, near Greek Row and away from the quad. A few other students came down the stairs and Kristi headed back up, plucking the phone from her pocket as she stepped outside. “You there?” she whispered, all the while jogging in place.

  Jay didn’t answer.

  She realized then that the call had been dropped. “Great.”

  It didn’t happen often, but when it did it was always, it seemed, at an inopportune moment. Just like in the commercials. Quickly she redialed Jay.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded, sounding frantic.

  “Couldn’t you hear?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind, I’ll fill you in later.”

  “I’m on my way over there.”

  She searched the darkness, looking toward the library, but didn’t recognize him in the groups of people hastening from one building to the next.

  “Wait. I haven’t gone in yet. Grotto had company. I’ll tell you about it later. Where are you?”

  “Just leaving the library.” She squinted and recognized him hastening down the wide steps. He walked briskly under the security lights toward the English Department. Lamplight caught in his hair and she saw his expression was hard and intense.

  “Good, then you can wait inside the doors of the English Department.”

  “Unless you want me closer. Like on the other side of the door to his office?”

  “Only if you hear me say, ‘I’m in trouble.’ Then you can play Rambo to your heart’s content.”

  He was now close enough to her that she knew he was looking at her. She gave him a little wave, then hurried into the brick building once more and down the steps. Before Jay could argue, she hit the mute button again, tucked the phone in her pocket and, glancing up at the clock in the hallway, noted that it was almost ten minutes after her scheduled meeting. No time to lose. Not if she wanted to catch Grotto. Kicking it up a gear, she hurried down the hallway, half running, as if she were trying to make up for lost time.

  Rounding the corner, she spied Dr. Grotto at the door to his office, locking up. Dressed in black slacks, T-shirt, and jacket, holding his briefcase in one hand, he looked ready to split.

  “Oh! Dr. Grotto, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said in a rush, hoping her cheeks were flushed. “I had a phone call from my dad, and he held me up.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s just a little overprotective.” Breathlessly she managed an apologetic smile. “I had to tell him I had an important meeting with you to get him off the phone.”

  “Unfortunately, I, too, have another meeting,” Grotto said. Probably a lie, but she had no choice but to let it slide.

  “I just need to talk to you for a minute or two. Really.”

  He studied her for a second, then unlocked the door again, straightening to his full height of six-two or-three. “I was about to give up on you, but I suppose I can spare one minute.” His voice was calm, evenly modulated, as if he hadn’t recently been a part of an intense argument.

  He made a big show of checking his watch, trying to make her feel bad about being late, obviously already coming up with excuses to cut out of their meeting as fast as possible.

  Fine. She’d make it quick.

  “Have a seat.” Waving her into
a small rolling desk chair, he settled into a worn leather chair on the other side of a small black writing table and snapped on the desk lamp. The entire room was cramped, little more than a closet with a window cut high into the wall and a computer desk crammed into one corner. A bookcase covered one wall, every shelf filled to capacity with information on vampires, ghosts, werewolves, and anything the least bit paranormal.

  “So, what can I do for you?” He folded his hands over the desk and stared at her with an intensity that, she suspected, was supposed to make her squirm. It did. His eyes were deep set and mesmerizing, his face all bladed angles, his mouth so thin it appeared a crease in a strong, sharp-cut jaw. A handsome man, he seemed used to banking on his looks and size to take control of the conversation.

  She decided to play it straight. Kind of. “I wanted to talk to you about some of your students.”

  He cocked his head, his hair glistening black in the lamplight. “It’s against the policy of the college to give out information about anyone. I assume you know that.”

  “I’m talking about the ones who’ve gone missing,” she said. “You remember? Dionne Harmon, Tara Atwater, Monique DesCartes, and Rylee Ames? All of them, while they were students here, were enrolled in your class on vampyrism.”

  “I said I wouldn’t discuss them.”

  “I’m just talking about their curriculum,” Kristi forged on. “They were all English majors. They had many of the same classes. Yours was one of them. It’s a very popular elective.”

  “The most popular elective in the department,” he agreed with a taut smile, his white teeth stark against his swarthy skin. He seemed to relax a bit. Except for the tiny, telltale tic that had developed near one eye. “Maybe even on campus.”

  “Even more than History of Rock and Roll.”

  “I couldn’t say. Is this going somewhere, Ms. Bentz?”

  “You were one of the last people to see Dionne Harmon alive.”

  He froze. “Are you saying she’s dead? Did they find her body?” His cool facade cracked and something akin to panic washed over his face. “Dear God, I didn’t know.”