by Karen Rose
He was starting to see the parallel. “Tough little sheltie.”
“Yeah. They’d already bought their kids another dog, so they said I should keep her. So I did. It makes a difference, not walking into an empty silent house every night. There have been a lot of nights she sits up with me at three a.m. when I can’t sleep. She’s a good dog. I’m lucky to have her.”
“Sounds like she’s just as lucky to have you.”
“There you go, being kind again.”
“Susannah, tell me why you can’t have sex.”
She sighed, heavily. “All right. I can, but not the regular way.”
“What do you consider the regular way?”
“This is so embarrassing,” she muttered, and he had pity on her.
“Missionary, you mean?”
“Yeah. But I can’t do it. I can’t . . . look at a man. During.”
“You mean, during sex?”
“Yeah. It’s like I’m trapped. Not enough air. I panic.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair. “After everything you’ve been through? I’m not surprised. So during your . . . encounters before, how did you do it?”
She laughed self-consciously. “Not facing them.”
He drew a careful breath, determined she would not know how that turned him on. “That’s all? That’s your only problem?”
“No. Just one of them.”
“What are the others?”
She made a strangled sound. “It has to be . . . unconventional. Has to be. Or I can’t.”
He frowned. “Susannah, does anything you do hurt?”
“Sometimes. But only me. Nobody else gets hurt.”
He closed his eyes. “So you like it . . .”
“Rough. And I hate that,” she said fiercely.
Have mercy. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but she went on in an explosion of angry words.
“I hate needing it that way. I hate that that’s the only way . . .” She stopped, trembling.
“The only way you can come.”
She dropped her chin to her chest. “It’s wrong. It’s not normal.”
“And by needing, and wanting it, then doing it that way, you got your friend killed.”
“I’m not that complicated, Luke.”
Oh, yes, you are. He scooted back, his legs apart. “Come here.”
“No.”
“You don’t have to look at me. Come here. I want to show you something, and if you don’t like it, I won’t ever mention it again. I promise.”
“You promised before,” she grumbled, but she stood.
“Now sit. No, don’t look at me,” he said when she would have turned around. He pulled her to sit between his legs. “Look over there.” He pointed to his dresser mirror. “Look at you. Don’t look at me.” He put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’m dressed. You’re dressed. Nothing’s going to happen here except this.”
He pulled her hair back and kissed her neck, her quick intake of breath sending shivers prickling over his skin. “It’s just you and me and the mirror,” he said.
“This is silly,” she said, but she tilted her head to give him better access.
“Does it hurt? Do you feel panicked?”
“No. Not really. Just stupid.”
“Just relax. You think too much.” He kissed his way down the side of her neck, then ran his tongue along the curve of her shoulder. “Don’t I do that better than Thor?” She laughed breathlessly. “You have a very long neck,” he murmured in her ear. “This could take awhile.”
“But you . . . You can’t be . . .”
“Enjoying this? Susannah, I’ve got my arms around a beautiful woman who thinks I’m sinfully sexy and she’s letting me kiss her neck. What more could I want?”
“Sex,” she said flatly, and he laughed.
“I’m not that kind of guy. You have to buy me a drink before I hit you a home run.”
In the mirror he saw her close her eyes. “I can’t believe I told you this.”
“I’m engaging. Besides, you were ready to tell someone. I’m just glad it was me. I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me.”
“I know,” she said seriously, and he had to take a moment to control himself, to keep it slow and nonthreatening when he wanted to gobble her whole.
He’d started on the other side of her neck when his cell phone buzzed, making them both jump. He held her, flipping open his phone with one hand. “Papadopoulos.”
“It’s Chase. I need you back here.”
Luke straightened and let Susannah go. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Lots of stuff,” Chase said. “Get in here as fast as you can. And bring Susannah.”
Luke pocketed his phone. “We have to go,” he said to Susannah. “Chase wants you to come. You should probably change your clothes. I’ll walk the dog and then we can go.” He had his hand on the doorknob, then decided to take a chance. From deep in his closet he pulled a dusty box and set it on his dresser. “You’d be surprised what’s normal and what’s not, Susannah,” he said, then clicked his tongue. “Come on, Darlin’.”
Susannah sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the box for a full thirty seconds before giving in to her curiosity. It obviously had not been opened in some time. She struggled with the lid, then stared when it finally budged.
“Goodness,” she murmured, lifting out a set of fur-lined cuffs. There were all kinds of toys in the box. Some she’d used before. Some were tame, some lame, but all enticed her on a level that made her ashamed. But . . . She frowned, dropping the cuffs back into the box and replacing the lid.
Her heart was racing to beat all hell as she changed her clothes quickly. He hadn’t been repulsed. He shared her tastes. But that doesn’t make it right. Does it?
He knocked on the door, startling her. “Are you . . . decent?”
He’d chosen the word carefully, she knew. “You can come in.”
He did, glancing at her, then the box. Without a word he put it back in the closet. “Let’s go. It’s time to get back to work.”
Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 1:45 a.m.
Susannah paced outside the door to the conference room. Luke had been in there for twenty minutes and with every minute her dread climbed. She’d only had to look at Chase’s face when they’d arrived to know something was very wrong.
The door opened and Luke came into the hall. There was no smile on his face. “We’re ready for you,” he said, then took her hand. “Let’s just get it over with.”
She hesitated before she walked into the room. All those people in there would know. So? After Gretchen’s press conference tomorrow the entire world will know.
But these people know about Darcy.
It didn’t matter anymore. There could be no more secrets, she thought as she entered the crowded room. Chase was there, and Talia and Chloe. And Ed Randall, who she’d met at Sheila Cunningham’s funeral. And to her surprise, Al Landers. He patted the empty chair beside him while Chase introduced the team members she hadn’t yet met—Pete, Nancy, Hank. Mary, the psychologist.
Uh-oh. They’d brought in the shrink. It had to be bad. “What’s happened?”
“A lot,” Chase said. “But a few of the things directly affect you, Susannah.”
“Chloe and I sent someone to question Michael Ellis,” Al said. “Darcy’s murderer.”
“You talked about doing that this morning. So what did Ellis say?”
“Nothing,” Chloe said, “which was odd. He’s serving twenty to life and was offered a deal that would take a few of those years off his sentence, but he wouldn’t say a word.”
“After six years, he’s still terrified,” Al said. “But, the man has a tattoo.”
“The swastika with the bent edges,” Susannah said.
Chloe nodded. “On his thigh. But that wasn’t the most interesting part.” She slid a photo across the table. “This is one of the photos from Darcy’s autopsy.”
Susannah’s stomach twisted in dread, knowing what she’d see before she looked at it. It was a close-up of a woman’s hip. “The brand,” she said. “She had one, too.”
“You mentioned the brand when you were giving your statement this morning, and I remembered it from the pretrial papers,” Al said. “I wanted to confirm before I told you.”
“Did this come out in the trial?” Chase asked.
“Ellis never went to trial,” Al said. “He took a plea. The police held the brand back in case other victims were found. They didn’t want any copycats using the brand.”
“So this was all an elaborate setup?” Susannah asked, incredulous. “Somebody killed Darcy just to get to me? Why? I’m not that important.”
“You are to somebody,” Chase said. “Important enough to stage this assault seven years to the day from the first one. Someone who knew you wouldn’t come forward.”
“This is unbelievable,” Susannah said, shaking her head. “Who would do this?”
“Hold that thought,” Chase said. “Ed?”
“We recovered a number of hair samples from the bunker,” Ed said. “We’ve been running DNA and found something we didn’t expect.” He slid two profiles in front of her.
She studied them both. “These two people are related,” she said. “Right?”
“Siblings,” Ed said. “One of those samples belongs to Daniel.”
Susannah was stunned. “Are you saying that Simon was there?”
“Philly PD faxed Simon’s profile,” Ed said. “This isn’t him. Actually, this is a she.”
“But I never went into the bunker,” Susannah insisted.
“The hair wasn’t yours,” Luke said quietly. “It was short and blond.”
She tugged her long, dark hair. “So we have a sibling that we don’t know about.”
“That’s the way it looks,” Ed said. “We wanted to know if you knew of one before we asked Daniel. This could be a shock to him.”
Susannah’s heart was racing. “I don’t know of one. It’s a shock to me.”
Luke cleared his throat. “Ed also ran mitochondrial DNA. No common maternity.”
“So my father had illegitimate offspring.” Susannah blew out a breath. “Why am I not surprised. I have a half-sister out there somewhere. Shit.”
“It could be a motive, Susannah,” Luke said. “For Darcy, for everything.”
Susannah closed her eyes. “So I have a half-sister who hates my guts enough to do all this? To taunt me with DRC license plates and shoot people who . . .” Her eyes flew open. “Oh my God. The woman in black at Sheila’s graveside.”
“One of Chase’s agents found her on the video,” Luke said.
“Just a glimpse,” Chase said. “Not enough to see her face through the black lace. She appears to be a woman, not a man.”
“Not Bobby or Rocky,” Susannah murmured.
“Are you all right?” Luke asked.
“Yes and no. I mean, I’m not sure if it helps to know I have had some sadist plotting my life like this. I mean, I thought Simon was bad.” She rubbed her forehead. “I have a half-sister,” she said, still stunned. “That my father had an affair isn’t all that shocking, but . . . I wonder if my mother knew.”
“Who would know if she did?” Al asked her.
“Angie Delacroix,” Susannah said instantly. “If my mother knew, she might have told Angie. They were friends. As much as my mother was friends with anyone.”
“The lady who owns the beauty shop,” Luke said. “Let’s go talk to her.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight,” Luke said. “This woman was in that bunker. She was involved somehow with Granville and Mansfield. If she’s not directly involved in the disappearance of the girls, she has to have known they were there.”
“Maybe she was being tortured, too. Maybe she was a victim, too.”
“It’s possible,” Luke said. “Except that the woman in black likely killed Kate Davis.”
Chase hesitated. “We think the man who assaulted you is involved, may even be Rocky or Bobby. We want you to sit with a police artist. We have one waiting.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
Luke walked her to the door. “You were wonderful,” he said quietly. “The police artist is right there.” He pointed to a woman who sat quietly in a chair. “When you’re done, go to my office. I’ll be with you as soon as I can, then we can see the hairstylist.”
“All right.”
Luke closed the conference room door. “That went better than I anticipated.”
“She’s been through hell,” Al said, visibly upset. “I hate to leave her, but I have a major trial starting Monday morning. I have to fly back to New York today.”
“We’ll be with her,” Luke said. “Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Al,” Chase said. “You’ve been a huge help. Have a safe flight back.”
“You’ll take care of that other thing we discussed?” Luke asked, and Al nodded.
“You bet. I’ll call you with the details.”
“What details?” Chase asked when Al was gone.
“Something for Susannah,” Luke said. “It’s personal.”
“I guess she’s entitled to something personal,” Chase said ruefully.
Luke sighed. “Now to deal with the rest of it. We’ve got three dead witnesses who might have led us to Granville’s partner. Nancy?”
“It was not a pretty sight. I found Chili Pepper at his girlfriend’s house. They were both dead, throats slit. Crime lab is still there, looking for leads.”
“Thanks, Nancy,” Chase said. “Hank, what about Helen Granville?”
“The ME found the ligature marks around Helen’s neck didn’t match the rope. She was strangled with something thinner, then strung up and made to look like suicide.”
Luke rubbed his forehead. “So the man hired by Granville’s partner to torch his house is dead. Granville’s wife, who might have known the partner, is dead. And the nurse who might have seen Granville’s partner is dead. This just sucks.”
“Granville’s partner is tying up loose ends,” Chase said. “Granville’s wife is dead. Davis’s wife could be next. Pete, have you found the Davis woman and her kids?”
“No, but I did find this. I got the video from three of the gas stations where Mrs. Davis made those phone calls to Kate Davis’s cell phone. Garth’s wife doesn’t show up, but this guy does.” He tapped the photo of a burly man with a grizzled beard standing next to an eighteen-wheeler.
“He’s a trucker,” Luke said, and comprehension dawned. “He’s got Garth wife’s cell phone. Does he have Garth’s wife and kids, too?”
“I’ve got a BOLO out for this guy,” Pete said. “Nothing yet, but if he’s on the interstates, some trooper is going to see him sooner or later.”
“Let’s hope it’s sooner,” Chase said.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found,” Mary McCrady said from the end of the table where she’d been silently listening. “If she believes her children are in danger . . . A mother will go to great lengths to protect her young.”
“It’s possible,” Chase said, “but we won’t know till we find her. What about the mistress, the one who works at the airport?”
“Kira Laneer. I haven’t talked to her yet,” Hank said.
“What about the nurse?” Luke asked. “Have we found anything among her effects?”
“Cell phone, keys, her tracking badge, all in her purse,” Chase said, pointing to a plastic bag on the table. “They’re in there.”
“Only her prints on the phone,” Ed said slowly. “Wait.” He pulled on a pair of gloves and took the nurse’s cell phone from her bag. “There is something. This phone number. She got a call at 8:20 yesterday morning. This incoming call is from the same number Granville called just before everything went to hell on Friday.”
“Granville’s partner,” Chloe said. “He called her. Was he threatening her?”
“ ‘It was Bob
by,’ ” Luke quoted softly. “Bobby threatened her, then killed her.”
“So who is Rocky?” Pete asked.
“Could it be the same person?” Nancy asked. “Rocky sounds like a nickname.”
“Here’s the list of Dutton Bobbys,” Chase said, referring to the list Luke had made earlier that evening. “We’ve got Bobbys, Roberts, Bobs, Robs . . .”
“Pass it over,” Chloe said, then blinked in surprise. “Congressman Robert Michael Bowie? His son, Robert Michael Bowie, Jr. Rob Davis, Garth’s uncle.”
“The congressman’s son’s about the same age as Granville and Mansfield,” Ed said. “I met him when I processed his sister’s room after she was killed by Mack O’Brien. He was cooperative, but then we were investigating his sister’s murder and not his private affairs. The congressman himself is older. Maybe sixty. But he’s in good shape.”
“Good enough to slit the throats of two people half his age?” Nancy said.
“He could have paid someone,” Hank argued.
But Luke was thinking about the Dutton residents he’d reviewed to compile the Bobby list. He’d consciously discarded one name in particular earlier, but now . . .
“Could Bobby be a woman?” Luke asked, and everyone stilled. “The woman in black killed Kate Davis. She was physically in the bunker. She’s involved.”
“But . . . Bobby’s a man’s name,” Germanio said.
Luke looked at Pete, whose expression said he’d just come to the same conclusion.
“Mrs. Garth Davis,” Pete said slowly. “Her name is Barbara Jean. Bobby Jean.”
“Ed?” Luke asked. “How tall was the woman in the video?”
“Five-ten with her running shoes on,” Ed said.
“Same as Mrs. Davis,” Pete said.
For a long moment, nobody said anything. Then there was a frantic knocking at the door and a second later it opened, Susannah standing in the doorway, her open laptop in her hands, her eyes bright and energized. “I found her.”
“Who?” Luke said. “Bobby?”
Susannah blinked. “No.”
“Where’s the police artist?” Chase asked.
