Sam remained confused about how the afterworld worked, but he was sure that Anna Carmen’s acts of selflessness reflected her earthly love for her sister—which Cici felt as strongly.
Not even death broke some bonds.
“Thank you,” he murmured into Cici’s hair, but he spoke to her twin and the God Cici still managed to believe in with such fervor.
58
Cici
At such moments, I don’t think about all the misery, but about the beauty that still remains. ― Anne Frank
* * *
Jeannette awakened with no memory of her ordeal from the moment after Clint managed to overpower her.
“He wasn’t in the Bronco—I don’t know how he got out. The door was shut…” She closed her eyes. And her voice was raw with emotion. “He came at me from behind, arms around mine and over my chest before I ever saw him coming,” she said, her voice dripping with self-directed scorn.
To Sam and Cici’s surprise, when Bresdeen arrived at Jeannette’s bedside, harried and hollow-eyed, he opened his arms and she fell into them, tears spilling down her cheeks in thick rivulets. Her body shook and heaved for long, painful moments before she began to calm. Cici hoped the lack of memory meant the repercussions of Jeannette’s trauma weren’t as deep-seated as some of the other women Cici counseled.
Once Jeannette assured them she was well, Sam maneuvered Cici to the ER.
“I want to see Marietta,” Cici complained.
Sam grunted. “After your injuries are taken care of.” Exasperation dripped from his tone, but he held Cici gently as she hop-walked toward the nurses’ station. Within a few moments, a kindly nurse with a short, sleek white bob led Cici to an examination room.
“Gurule,” she said. “Any relation to Sandra?”
“My mother,” Cici said. Tears pricked her eyes but she blinked them back and smiled at the woman. She smiled back.
“I knew her well. Lovely woman.”
She chattered on about her and Cici’s mother’s teenage years while she cleaned and bandaged Cici’s wrists. Cici sat for another X-ray, and that took a while to have read. At least her ankle wasn’t worse, but neither was it better.
“Rest,” the nurse said with a soft pat on Cici’s good knee. “And take your pain pills.”
Sam smirked at her from the chair in the corner. He rose and helped Cici into the wheelchair the nurse suggested for the ride to Marietta’s room.
The teen lay still, her chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. Both Marietta’s mother and sister Lorena promised to let Cici know when she could talk to the teen.
Sam refused to let Cici out of his sight, even to shower and change.
“Want to go home to shower?” he asked, concern tightening his features.
She hesitated but then nodded. “Will you stay with me? I…I really don’t like water anymore. It scares me.”
Shame caused her cheeks and neck to heat, but Sam caught her chin and tilted her face up. “I’ll be there, close as you want me, the whole time.”
Cici was more than okay with that. She needed Sam as close as he needed to be to her. And she needed the physical connection to help her heal from the night’s pain.
They arrived back at the hospital around four in the morning. Sam made Cici sit in a chair where he could keep an eye on her while he went to talk to the hospital staff about Clint Rudder. He settled into the spot next to her and stretched out his legs, groaning.
“We’ll have to talk to him more once he’s awake. They stitched him back together, and his jaw is reset.”
“I can’t believe I broke his jaw,” Cici mumbled.
Sam took her hand and squeezed. “I, for one, am very glad you did.”
She snorted but also felt a tiny smile play at the corner of her lips. Sam set her palm on his thigh and placed his atop her hand.
“Seems our theories were pretty spot-on. Not that they did us much good,” Sam said, his tone dry and the anger directed at himself evident as his hands began to shake.
“He’s been raping women for years. None of them came forward,” Cici reminded him. “Up until Patti, there were no witnesses and no bodies.”
“I hate that. I absolutely hate that he got away with those crimes for so long,” Sam said, his lip curled in anger and disgust. “And I hate more that he ended up targeting you and Jeannette.”
“No, Sam.” Cici leaned her head against his shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for that. How could you know that the catalyst would be putting his half-brother in jail?”
“We should have done a more thorough investigation,” Sam said. “I missed Clint.”
“He had a different last name, you said,” Cici replied.
Sam wasn’t willing to accept her excuses for his mistake. “If I hadn’t—”
Cici shifted so she could clasp his face in her hands. “You cannot and do not bear responsibility for Clint Rudder’s rampage alone. He and his brother are not good people, but they were loyal to each other. The DNA you collected from Marietta, Jeannette, and the house will match other rape kits.”
“But we should have known—”
“Shayne Rudder claimed he worked alone. His brother attended university in Las Cruces when you put Shayne away.”
Sam’s jaw remained locked, as if he was unwilling to concede to her logic—or to her comfort.
“Why the cat?” Cici asked.
“That one’s easy,” Sam said, snapping out of his reverie and refocusing on Cici. “Women like cute cats. And the cat seemed to like women. He used it as a lure but also to watch them. get a feel for their schedules."
"The camera," Cici said.
Sam nodded.
“Did you find any more bodies?” she asked, changing the subject.
Sam shook his head. “But we haven’t finished at the dams. Got sidetracked by the ambush at the church and then your place.”
He shifted and stretched out his legs, wincing. Perhaps his muscles, like hers, protested the length of the day.
“Do you think you will?”
Sam scratched his chin. “Yeah, I do. And there’ll be others. Though, from the evidence so far, Kelli Vander Keck appears to be his first victim.”
Cici closed her eyes, her body shivering in an effort to eliminate the feel of Clint Rudder’s touch, even his gaze.
“Either we’ll get him to confess or we’ll keep searching the area until we’re sure there aren’t any more bodies,” Sam said, his voice low with promise. “I don’t want to leave any of these women’s parents clinging to non-answers.”
He meant like Kelli’s. Cici sucked in a breath and nodded. “Thank you.”
A tall, athletically built man with graying hair and a hawkish nose came out to the waiting room where Cici and Sam sat. She’d changed into a soft pair of leggings and a tunic, covered in one of her knee-length cardigans, this one in maroon boiled wool. The outfit was cozy, but she still shivered.
Dr. Ahren introduced himself as the attending physician. “Mr. Rudder is awake. We’re withholding more pain medication than ibuprofen until you speak to him.”
She glanced at the wall clock. How it could only be four-thirty was beyond her. She seemed to have lived a dozen years in the past eight hours.
“I’ll come with you,” she said, sensing Sam’s hesitation.
“Absolutely not,” Sam said in a tone she’d never heard before. When he turned to face her, she saw the stark pain deep in his eyes, but also the anger and violence welling up there.
“Then I’ll stay out here, so I don’t give you a reason to hurt him worse.”
Sam smirked. “Pretty sure you did plenty of damage, tiger.”
Cici shrugged, not liking the sick emanating from her gut. Even on the mesa, she’d understood she was alive because of her unwilling partner’s continued protection. Today, though, she’d taken care of herself.
I hope you’re proud, Sterling.
She’d never know, but she liked to pretend he was smiling
with benign smugness at her, saying she definitely had the potential for a life of lethality despite her naiveté that lead her toward seeing the best in people. Maybe his assessment was true…or maybe Cici was having to face the fact there were fewer good people in the world than she wanted there to be.
She really didn’t like either of those scenarios.
“Please wait here,” Sam asked.
Cici’s mouth flattened but she nodded. Evan ran into the room, more disheveled than Cici had ever seen him—wearing sweatpants, an old UNM sweatshirt and tennis shoes with laces flopping, and scooped Cici out of the chair, hugging her to his chest.
His heart beat fast, hard, and his breathing jagged. “Dammit, Cici.” His voice cracked. “I’m not losing you, too.”
“Ease up, Evan,” Sam said, his voice sharp. “She’s injured.”
Evan released her but his hands rested on her shoulders. “He didn’t…”
Cici shook her head. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from flowing.
“I have to go in, talk to the guy. You’ll stay with Cee?”
Evan’s facial features rearranged so he looked both solemn and determined. “I swear on my life she will not leave my line of sight.”
Sam sighed, shaking his head. “I’m upset about what happened, but I think it was inevitable. And good luck with keeping her where you want her.”
“I called Mrs. Sanchez. She’s on her way, too,” Evan said.
Sam’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction as they met Cici’s. “Well, now, I see why you think you’ve got her under control then.”
Cici grimaced, but joy spread through her at the idea of seeing her secretary/mother figure.
“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” Evan muttered, flopping down into one of the vinyl-coated chairs and tugging Cici down with gentle but insistent pressure into the seat next to him. “You were gone, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”
His eyes landed on hers. “You always think, if you’re there, you can prevent things. Reality kind of sucks.”
“I’m okay,” she said. “And I’m sorry I scared you. How are Mona and Rodolfo?”
Evan heaved out a sigh. “Handling all this better than I am.” At Cici’s look, he shrugged. “They’re fine. I gave them each a bone, which they were still gnawing on when Sam called to tell me you were here.” He scowled. “I don’t like you so caught up in all this criminal activity, Cee.”
“Neither do I,” said Mrs. Sanchez. Her sensible white shoes made no noise as she approached. “Nor do I like getting out of bed in the middle of the night, Reverenda. I had to find clean stockings.” Her frown cratered as her aged face lined with worry, her eyes too bright. She must be thinking about her daughter-in-law and grandson, the ones who weren’t as lucky as Cici.
Cici held the older woman in a tight embrace. Mrs. Sanchez nearly smothered Cici before she let go. Cici fell back into her chair, lightheaded, while Mrs. Sanchez opened her large tote and pulled out some containers with foil-wrapped bundles inside.
“I planned these for your breakfast before the sermon, but you need something now.”
Cici swallowed back the saliva pooling in her mouth. “What are they?”
“Fresh tortillas with chicharrones and guacamole.”
Both she and Evan moaned even as they struggled to get the lid off. Then, in tandem, they grabbed a warm bundle wrapped in tin foil. Cici unwrapped hers, whimpering at the smell.
“Where is your Samuel? He and I need a word,” Mrs. Sanchez said, her gaze darting around faster and lighter than a sparrow’s feet.
“In with the suspect,” Cici said around a bite.
“He’s the killer not just a suspect, right?” Evan asked before he ripped off a huge chunk of tortilla with his strong, white teeth. “Christ. Oops, sorry ladies. Mrs. Sanchez, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Mrs. Sanchez dipped her head, accepting the compliment with all the grace of a queen.
Evan and Cici chewed.
“What I don’t get is how you knew him by a glance and the rest of us couldn’t place him,” Cici said, setting her tortilla in her lap. The chicharrones were rich and crisp and delicious, but Cici’s stomach still twisted.
Evan licked his lip. “I’m not like you and Sam or Anna. I didn’t come from a comfortable background of money and influence.” When Cici started to protest, Evan raised his hand. “I’ve fought and clawed my way into a good life, a wealthy one where I can own things that mean so much less because your sister isn’t there to share them with me. But…” he blew out a breath. “I do that by defending some of the scum of the earth. I’m well aware of who those people are and what they’re capable of.”
“What does that have to do with this terrible woman-hurting killer?” Mrs. Sanchez asked. She’d settled herself in the seat across from them, spreading out her skirt, her posture perfect.
“I study faces, watch quirks, look for tells when people are lying. Kind of like what Sam, the police do. And Shayne Rudder was one of the biggest liars of all. It’s not hard to memorize a person when you spend weeks on end preparing for trial. I had way more contact with him than Sam, or even you, Cici, at the prison. And, it just so happened his half-brother acts remarkably like him. Remarkably. Those are some strong genes.”
“Clint hurt many people. Shattered families and lives,” Cici said. She picked at the tortilla, wishing she could eat it, wishing she could do more, especially for the victims.
She raised her head. “I want to set up a sexual assault victim’s group. But more than just a group. I want to create a place they can come, talk, get help. And if the police won’t listen, then we advocate for them. The only reason Rudder will get life is for killing those women, not for luring them in and assaulting them.”
Evan reached over and clasped his hand over Cici’s. She’d shredded the tin foil. Her fingers unclenched and she drew a breath.
“I’ll help. Pro bono. To create cases for trial, if that’s what the women want.”
Mrs. Sanchez shifted in her seat. When Cici looked at her, she said, “Of course I’m going to be involved. I come to your church because you’re a fierce warrior for justice, much as the arch-angel Gabriel must have been, smiting out evil in his day. And the sad reality is, we all know at least one woman who has been abused. If she cannot stand on her own, we will stand with her. And the church will definitely want to give more to ensure we care for these needy. I’ll let the members know I’m watching who donates to the cause.”
Mrs. Sanchez rose from her chair and patted Cici’s cheek in that way only older women can get away with. “Instead of thank-yous I do not need, eat. You need sustenance after your ordeal. And I want to talk to your man.”
She marched off toward where Sam exited a room down the hall, a police guard standing at attention next to the door.
“So much for her moment of female empowerment,” Evan said with a snort. He grabbed another bundle. “How come you haven’t shared her cooking with me?”
Cici ignored his question, a frown tugging at her brows. “I wonder what she’s saying to Sam.”
Sam glanced over, gunmetal eyes assessing her. He winked. Then, he gave his attention back to the stout harridan berating him.
“You’ll find out when he’s ready to tell you,” Evan said just before he took a big bite from his tortilla.
59
Sam
I feel safe in the midst of my enemies, for the truth is all powerful and will prevail. ― Sojourner Truth
* * *
The interview went surprisingly well. Sam took the uniformed officer in with him, a new hire from Bernalillo whom Sam didn’t know, as a witness—and backup in case Clint once again became violent.
After reading Clint his Miranda rights, Sam showed Clint his digital recording device and explained he would be taping the conversation. He turned it on, gave his name, the date, time and the pertinent facts of the case.
“How many?” Sam asked.
/> Clint turned his head. His jaw was swollen. He sported double blackening eyes. His nose had been reset but it was slightly crushed and red and puffy. His forehead bore a white gauze patch taped on. The doctor informed Sam that underneath were twenty-two stitches. The back of his head, where Cici hit him the second time, bore twenty-seven. Sam felt a profound, nearly vicious pang of pleasure at Clint’s injuries.
Cici had protected herself. She’d ensured this man was captured and that his injuries were a slight, outer manifestation of what his living victims had and would face for years to come.
“I don’t keep count,” Clint muttered. His words were muffled, as if his mouth were stuffed with cloth.
“So far, we have seven open rapes, plus the five women you murdered, plus abducting and aggravated sexual assault of an underage teen, plus abduction and aggravated sexual assault of a federal officer, plus abduction and attempted assault of a reverend, plus attempted murder, plus assault of a federal officer with a firearm—”
With each charge, Clint seemed to shrink inward. “Yeah, I get it. I’m in trouble.”
“You’re facing multiple life sentences. In federal lockdown. None of this state stuff with classroom learning like your brother. You’ll be in the cellblock specifically designed for the most brutal offenders.”
Clint winced.
“You’re not going to get a better deal—there’s too much evidence against you. But you might get a lesser cell block. If you give me what I want.”
Clint lifted his gaze to Sam’s. Sam swallowed down the rage bubbling in his chest. He had to stay focused and calm. But, damn, he wanted to drive his fist into Clint Rudder’s face and re-break his nose.
“So what I want—I want information,” Sam said. “Why, how many, where. And how could you?”
Clint remained silent, his face cast away from Sam’s probing look.
A Revelation of Death Page 23
