He didn’t reply and she stood, facing him dead on. “What are you trying to say, Rick Wells? That nothing I have said or will say is credible? Is that it?”
He didn’t answer. His silence hurt.
She tipped her chin up a fraction more. “If you want to walk out that door now, go on. No harm done.”
“No. It’s just that-Damn.” He looked at the ceiling. “I wanted to believe you. I want to believe in you.”
“You still can.”
He returned his gaze to hers, expression naked with pain. A lump formed in her throat and she struggled to breathe past it. “Why, Rick? Why did you want to believe in me?”
He didn’t answer and she waited, chest tight. Aching for him.
He turned away and crossed to the door. He rested his hand on the wooden frame. “I know what it’s like to lose…everything,” he said finally, not looking at her. “I know what that feels like. I know what it can do to you.”
His voice thickened. “Three years ago I had everything,” he murmured. “A wife and son, both of whom I adored. A career I loved.”
The woman and boy from the photographs, Liz realized.
“I lost her first,” he continued. “Ovarian cancer. Then Sam…he-”
Rick choked on the words. Liz remained silent, giving him time to collect himself, his thoughts. He needed her to listen.
“After Jill died, we moved back here. Val gave me a job on his team at the KWPD. It was hard but we-” Rick looked over his shoulder at her. She saw that his eyes were red. “We had to go on, right? Me and Sam. We were going to be okay. We had each other.”
Liz hugged herself, knowing what was coming next. Not the details, of course, but the essence. She wished with all her heart that she could change his next words, though such wishes were futile.
“We hadn’t been here that long. One night two coked-up thugs broke in. They had guns…I slept with my service weapon under my pillow. Shots broke out.
“Sam was five. He woke up. He was frightened. I heard him call out for…her. Even though she had been gone a while, when he was really scared, he cried out for her. Sometimes at night…I still wake up and hear him. He-”
His voice broke. Liz went to him. She took him in her arms and held him. He bent his head to hers. He trembled.
Seconds ticked past. His trembling ceased. He met her gaze.
“I shot him, Liz. My bullet. Ballistics proved it was my bullet that killed him.”
Liz squeezed her eyes shut, aching for him. How did one rebound from that? How did one pick up the pieces and move on?
“It should have been me. I wish it had been.”
She brought a hand to his mouth. “Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true.” His eyes filled with tears. “I loved him so much.”
Liz cupped his face in her palms and brought his mouth to hers. She kissed him softly at first, offering the only real comfort she could. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his mouth. “So very sorry.”
She moved her mouth to his cheeks, his eyelids, his chin and neck. With a soft moan, he slipped his arms around her, drawing her closer, fitting himself to her.
Their mouths met again, this time deeply. His tongue found hers. She felt his growing response to her touch. A thread of fear wound its way through her. She hadn’t intended for this to happen. It wasn’t smart. Or cautious. She didn’t know if she was ready.
She hadn’t been with anyone since Jared.
And he had betrayed her.
Liz shut her mind to the fear. Smart or not, she wanted to be with this man.
Liz broke the kiss and met his eyes. “Come with me.”
She caught his right hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom. There, wordlessly, they undressed one another and sank to the bed. Their mouths met first and for long moments they kissed, not touching in any other way.
Soon, the pressure of their mouths alone wasn’t enough and Liz became bolder. She ran her hands over his shoulders, then chest. She liked his body, the feel of it under her palms-the swell of muscles, the texture of his skin, the subtle angles.
Liz skimmed her hands over his hips and abdomen, then lower. He sucked in a swift breath as she found and held him.
She would have liked to show restraint. To have held back and let him lead. But that wasn’t the way she felt. She wasn’t a game player, never had been. She saw a flaw, she pointed it out. She saw inequality, she worked to fix it. She wanted something, she went after it. Those weren’t ladylike qualities. They didn’t make her mysterious. During their divorce, her ex-husband had thrown those up at her as a reason he had strayed.
But she couldn’t change who she was.
So it was she who straddled him. She who drew him inside her. And she who increased the pace to a heated frenzy.
But it was Rick who, as their passion peaked, took charge. Rick who, with a final, deep thrust, claimed her for his.
For long moments, they lay quietly, unmoving as their hearts and breath slowed, as their flesh cooled. As the seconds ticked past, their silence became heavy, awkward.
He broke it first. “I don’t know quite what to say.”
She swallowed hard, understanding, feeling the same. How could she explain that he had comforted her as much as she had him? That his passion had revived her. That his sounds of pleasure had restored her confidence in her ability to please a lover. She felt alive again. Desirable. Totally female.
She’d thought Jared had killed her ability to feel those things.
Her lips curved up, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from her. “I’m not sorry, you know. I refuse to be.”
“Did I say I was?” Chuckling, he rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. “What kind of man do you think I am? Mind-blowing sex never goes in that category. It doesn’t work that way.”
They fell silent again, though this time without the awkwardness of earlier. After a time, Liz met his eyes. “What did Lopez say when you told him about the Horned Flower?”
Rick didn’t answer immediately, and she knew. “Your friend thinks Mark did it. Right?”
“He thinks there’s more than probable cause there, yes.”
“Of course, he’s the same one who thought Naomi Pearson ran off,” she said softly, but with an edge of bitterness.
“I owe Val my life, Liz. After Sam’s death I wanted to give up. Without Val, I would have.” He looked away, then back. “He’s my oldest friend. And he’s a good cop.”
“A good cop? Really? You could have fooled me. He hasn’t called one right yet.” He remained silent and she pressed on. “What about the Horned Flower, Rick? What about my sister’s drawing and Tara’s tattoo?”
“What about them?” he retorted, voice tight. “As Val pointed out, Tara could have shown your sister the tattoo and then your sister sketched it in her notes. Tara could have gotten the tattoo during the time she was in your sister’s care and-”
“But none of that explains what the symbol represents…I think it represents this group Mark told us about. I think my sister was scared of them. I think the Horned Flower is the group she mentioned in her phone message.”
“That’s all well and good, Liz. But what proof do you have?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “It may represent some underground group here on the island. But there’s a second victim now, Liz. And I have a hard time believing this group of teenagers is responsible for killing not only Tara, but Naomi Pearson, too.”
Eyes burning, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She didn’t know what or who to believe. Rick made a lot of sense. She had worked out the scenario of why the Horned Flower had killed Tara, but why Naomi Pearson? It didn’t make sense.
But she believed in Mark. She believed in her sister. Rachel had uncovered a conspiracy. She had been afraid for her life.
“What if you’re wrong, Liz?” Rick asked. “What if there’s no Horned Flower and no conspiracy? What if Mark is guilty?”
She squeeze
d her eyes shut a moment, then turned her face to his. “But what if I’m not?”
CHAPTER 33
Sunday, November 18
8:00 p.m.
Rick entered the Hideaway, his thoughts filled with Liz and what had occurred between them. The sex had been incredible. They fit together in a way new lovers rarely did-there had been no awkward moments or ill-timed moves. No sense of having to try to please the other; pleasing had come naturally.
A swell of denial rose up in him. Rick swallowed hard against it. And against the guilt that followed.
Jill was dead. What had occurred between him and Liz hadn’t been cheating.
Then why did it feel as if it had been?
Visual memories of Jill and Sam, their lives together, filled his head, one after another. The day Sam was born. His first birthday party. The adoring way he’d looked up at Rick when he tucked him into bed each night. Jill, the day they were married, looking like an angel in white lace; the first time they made love. Her laughing at his and Sam’s nightly horseplay.
Beautiful memories. So sweet they hurt.
But not unbearably. Not anymore.
“About time, Rick,” Margo called from behind the bar. “We were about to send out a search posse.”
“That’s right,” Libby chimed in, grinning. “I just hope you were having a good time.”
He supposed mind-blowing sex could be categorized as that.
Damn, he felt like a teenager caught in the act.
He reached the bar and forced what he hoped was a casual grin. “You girls were able to handle this crowd without me?” He shifted his gaze to the nearly empty barroom. “Wow, I’m impressed.”
“Smart-ass.” Margo emptied her tip jar, quickly counted the bills, then dumped the coins into her change purse. “And now you can handle it without me.”
He touched her arm. “I appreciate you staying so long today, Margo. I owe you one.”
“I like that.” She tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder, smile sassy. “I’ll make sure I collect when you least expect it.”
“Anything I should know?” he asked as she hooked her purse strap over her shoulder.
“Val called. He asked when you were coming in. I told him I wasn’t certain, but tonight for sure.”
Rick frowned. “What time was that?”
“Half an hour or so ago.”
“He say what he wanted?”
“Nope, but he asked me about that kid who used to work for you.”
“Mark?” Libby asked from the other end of the bar where she was chatting with a Hideaway regular. “What does he want with Mark?”
Margo shrugged her shoulders. “He wanted to know if I’d seen him. How could I? I don’t even know what he looks like.”
“How about you, Libby?” Val called from behind them. “You know what he looks like. Have you seen him?”
Rick turned. His friend stood a couple feet behind them, Carla at his side.
Val closed the distance between them. “So, Libby? Have you seen Mark?”
She shook her head. “Not since…since we last worked together. Why?”
Val ignored her question and Rick narrowed his eyes. Standard interrogating procedure. The two weren’t here to pay a social call.
“And when was that?” Carla asked.
“I don’t remember exactly.” Libby looked at Rick, alarmed. “Do you?”
“Not offhand. I could check, if it’s important.”
“Maybe later.” Val turned to Margo. “Before you go, take a look at this.” He handed her what appeared to be a printout of Mark’s driver’s-license photo. “Have you seen this man?”
Margo studied the photo a moment, her expression altering subtly. She shook her head and handed it back. “Nope. That’s the kid you’re looking for?”
Was she lying? Rick drew his eyebrows together. If so, why?
“Sure is. Keep that,” he murmured as she made a move to hand the printout back. “Call me if you see him.”
She agreed, wished them all a good evening and headed out. Rick watched her a moment, puzzled, then turned back to Val and Carla. He motioned to the bar stools. “Take a load off. I’ll fix you both a drink.”
“No thanks. We’re here on official business.”
“May I ask what kind?”
“We’re trying to locate Mark Morgan. Is he here?”
Rick bristled. “You know he’s not.”
“Really? And how would I know that, Rick?”
Their gazes met and held, Val’s challenging. Rick didn’t back down. “He’s not here.”
“Have you seen him recently?”
“No.”
“How about Ms. Ames? Has she seen him recently?”
“How would I know?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Carla jumped in, voice tight. “We know you were there tonight.”
Rick froze. From the corner of his eye he saw Libby glance his way. He looked from Val to Carla then back. “Am I being tailed?”
Again Val ignored his question. He glanced down the bar toward Libby and the regular, and back at Rick. “We’ve issued a warrant for Mark Morgan’s arrest.”
Rick stared at his friend, stunned. “You must be joking. Two hours ago-”
“Two hours ago we didn’t know what we do now.”
“And what is that?”
“As you very well know, I can’t tell you that.”
They had found hard evidence, obviously. Whatever it was, it was solid enough to base an arrest warrant on.
Val motioned to a secluded table at the far corner of the bar. “You have a minute to talk?”
Rick nodded and looked at his employee, who seemed oblivious to their conversation. “Libby,” he called. “Bar’s yours.”
The three crossed to the table and sat down. Val began without preamble. “How do serial killers choose their victims?”
“Most often by opportunity. A coed is hitchhiking at the worst possible moment. A young gay man meets the wrong gaze across a crowded bar. A child is unattended in the wrong place at the wrong time. The very randomness of the perpetrator to victim is what makes serial murders so difficult to solve.”
“But not all serial killers operate that way. Gavin Taft didn’t.”
Rick searched his memory. “Taft chose carefully, it was part of the thrill. He hunted for the perfect kill. He established a relationship with the victim first, even if only a superficial one.”
“We found evidence at Mark’s rented room that strongly links him to Tara’s murder. We’ve also learned he had a relationship with Naomi Pearson.”
“What kind of relationship?”
“They went to the same church. They were in a Bible-study group together. They were friendly.”
“This is Key West. Lots of people are.”
“True, but he was friendly with two women who are now dead.” Val paused, pursing his lips, as if weighing his options. “I did a little checking into Mark’s past. He was known to have an explosive temper. To be extremely jealous. He put another teenager in the hospital for looking crosswise at his girlfriend.”
“Mark did that?” Rick leaned back in his chair, stunned.
“He’s been traveling for two years. I’m checking the places we know he’s been, looking for similar crimes.”
“The religious aspects of the crime fit as well,” Carla offered. “I found a Bible in his room. He had a number of passages marked, real fire-and-brimstone, vengeance-is-mine Old Testament stuff. According to people who knew him, he was a major Bible-thumper.”
Rick sat back in his seat. He moved his gaze between the two, smelling a rat. “Why are you telling me this? I seem to recall being told to butt out. Rather recently, as a matter of fact.”
“We have reason to suspect that Liz Ames might be his next target.”
“Liz? You’re stretching, buddy.”
“Am I?” Val leaned toward him. “Look at the way he contacted her. Out of the blue. With some crazy story about
a cult and his being in danger. Did that ever ring true to you?”
Val didn’t wait for an answer. “Why did Mark contact Liz? To establish a relationship with her. To engage her in the hunt.”
For the space of a heartbeat, Rick couldn’t breathe let alone speak. When he found his voice, he asked, “What do you want from me?”
“She’ll tell you if he contacts her again. We need you to let us know when that happens.”
As Val very well knew, no way would she call the KWPD. She considered them the enemy.
After their earlier conversation, and despite the great sex, he wasn’t so sure she’d even call him.
“Think about it, Rick,” Val murmured, pushing away from the table and standing. “Liz Ames’s life could depend on it.”
CHAPTER 34
Sunday, November 18
Midnight
Liz awakened suddenly. She looked around her bedroom, disoriented, heart pounding. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, in fact she still wore the shorts and T-shirt she had thrown on after Rick left. She had hoped Rick would call. Or Mark.
They had both been so strongly on her mind, she hadn’t believed she would be able to sleep.
Liz shifted to get a look at her bedside clock, and the book on her lap slipped to the floor, landing with a thud. She made a move to retrieve it, then froze.
A sound came from the other room, a scuffling noise. The kind a cat or dog might make if trapped in a closet.
Problem was, she didn’t own a pet.
Swallowing past the lump that formed in her throat, Liz slipped quietly out of bed. The noise came again, this time louder.
Liz shook her head. She was imagining things, for heaven’s sake. Letting her imagination run away with her. Still, she crept forward, her every sense on the alert.
She reached her bedroom doorway and peered through. She had left a single light on in the living room and another in the kitchen, the one over the sink. Both sent a soft pool of reassuring light spilling into the hallway.
Nothing looked out of order. She hesitated, listening. She heard a moped pass on the street below, caught the sound of distant laughter and a car door slam.
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