Naked Truth

by Tami Lund

  “Hey, I never—” Thankfully, Jack cut him off before Jerry could say something that would make a terrible situation even worse. It was bad enough she had to figure out how to explain that her ex had apparently never signed the divorce papers. To admit he hadn’t cheated on her, when she’d been weaving that same yarn for three years now …

  “I think I need clarification on the ex concept,” Jack said. His voice was barely above a snarl. His eyes were on Kennedy, boring into her as if he could make her talk by sheer force of will. She knew he wanted to hear one particular thing, but unfortunately she couldn’t lie to him.

  She waved her hand in Jerry’s direction. “I guess we’re still married.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I’ve widened the search on the wig purchase,” Cullen said. “Every town in which Danny’s show has stopped since the murders started, plus the town right before, just in case.”

  Jack said nothing, just continued to stare at the images shifting and moving on the screen in front of the wall.

  “The necklace is a dead end. Three different jewelers confirmed that it’s at least ten years old, maybe more. And it was a mass-produced piece. I think the wig is the best line we have right now.”

  Still, he did not respond.

  “Now that our cover’s blown, I went ahead and sent agents out to interview the dancers. We’re also working on identifying each club-goer on the security tape, so we can start bringing them in for interviews, too. Something’s got to give now.”

  Jack lifted a Styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee, took a sip, grimaced, and replaced it on the table.

  “Kennedy’s pregnant.”

  That jerked him out of his stupor. “What?” he asked, staring at Cullen. Jack had been operating in a fog these past few hours. A result of lack of sleep and his emotions running far too high.

  Married. Kennedy was still married. He knew she had an ex-husband, although he’d been under the impression that it had been just that: an ex. But after he’d stormed out of her house and gone straight to the office to run her through the FBI system, he saw it, right there in black and white on the computer screen.

  Technically, she was still Mrs. Jerry Coster. While she’d filed for divorce three years ago, her husband had never responded, and she’d either not realized or simply hadn’t cared. Who the hell knew what she was thinking? Certainly not Jack.

  He was clueless. He’d actually thought she might possibly be interested in him, for more than just a good time. For … for what? What had he been hoping for?

  Did it really matter? He couldn’t have it, that was for damn sure. The woman was married to another man. Jack didn’t do married women. He may have precious few morals when it came to women, but that was definitely one of them.

  Especially a married woman from whom he wanted … more.

  “What the hell’s going on, Jack?” Cullen demanded. “You’re a goddamn zombie right now.”

  “I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours,” he muttered.

  “Bullshit. That’s not the problem. Temporary lack of sleep comes with the job. What the fuck is going on?” Cullen repeated, sounding not unlike Jack’s father when Jack had screwed up as a teen and had been reluctant to admit to it.

  He raked his hand through his disheveled hair and pushed out of the creaky office chair to pace over to the window. He stared down at the tourists mingled with locals who hurried along the sidewalk below, racing against the threat of impending rain. Dark clouds hung low in the sky, the wind had kicked up, and the promise of a torrential rainfall was heavy in the thick, muggy air.

  “She’s married,” he finally admitted, the words torn from his lips. It was almost painful to say them out loud.

  Cullen looked completely baffled. “Who? Our perp? Are you that certain it’s a female?”

  He shook his head. “Kennedy. She’s still married. They never got a divorce.”

  “So—Oh. Oh shit.”

  “Yeah. Oh shit. The first time I fall for someone, and she’s fucking married.”

  “Sabrina never told me.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Sabrina doesn’t know. Goddamn it,” he swore and whirled around to glare at the scenes from last night that were still playing across the screen hanging from the ceiling. Something caught his attention, and he stood stock still, staring for several seconds.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, and he all but dove for the laptop computer attached to the projector. He pressed a few buttons, rewound the video, and then he froze the image.

  “That woman,” he said, pointing at the screen. “Does she look familiar to you?”

  Cullen studied the frozen, grainy footage. “Maybe,” he admitted. He walked closer to the wall, continued to study the image. “What are you seeing?”

  “The hotel. Where Ranger was killed.”

  “The housekeeper. The one who was so freaked about cleaning the room. So she likes to go to strip shows. I don’t know if you noticed, but there are a lot more old ladies at those shows than makes me comfortable, frankly.”

  Jack was only half listening. He was focused on the laptop, pulling up the security video from the night before last, searching for something … “There,” he announced triumphantly. He froze the video and pointed at the screen hanging from the ceiling. “It’s her.”

  Cullen cocked his head and studied the image. “Hair’s different,” he remarked. “A wig?” He shifted his eyes shifted, caught Jack’s and held.

  The woman on the screen was older, probably in her fifties, maybe sixty. In this particular shot, her hair was short, dark, and wavy. Her makeup was simple, although she’d lined her lips outside the lip line. She wore a simple, flowered sundress and low-heeled sandals, and carried a brown handbag.

  “Check out the night before,” Cullen demanded.

  Jack immediately complied. For the moment, his love life—or lack thereof—was forgotten, as he honed in on the case. Anticipation thrummed through his system, working better than the strong chicory coffee that cooled in the Styrofoam cup at his elbow.

  “Holy hell,” Cullen said an hour later. “It’s the same damn woman. She must have a dozen wigs.” He pulled the computer away from Jack and tapped the keys, pulling up the FBI database and instigating a search.

  “Let’s see if she pops.”

  She did, but not because she had a criminal past.

  “Marie Maloney,” Cullen read from the computer screen. “Fifty-one years old. Never married, although she had a daughter at age twenty-four. Get this,” he said, the excitement clear in his voice. “The father’s type of employment? Exotic dancer.”

  Jack whistled. “No shit. Did he do her and dump her, and then refuse to own up when she told him she was pregnant?” he mused.

  “Sounds like a strong possibility to me. It gets better. The father of her child died under suspicious circumstances when the child was two. Marie was questioned and cleared. Death was determined to be a result of a home break-in gone bad.”

  “How’d he die?”

  “Multiple stab wounds to the back.”

  “That’s a whole lot of coincidence.”

  “The coincidences just keep coming,” Cullen said grimly. “The daughter died at age twenty-five. Just about two years ago.”

  “Cause of death?” Jack prompted, getting into the rhythm they’d shared for ten years now.

  “Knife wounds. All to the abdomen.” Cullen’s face was grim when he turned the laptop so he could see the picture on the screen. It was of a dark-haired woman, lying in a bathtub filled with red liquid. There were blood splatters on the tile, the shower curtain. Her lifeless body was floating in the water, one hand hanging over the side of the tub.

  “She was in the tub,” he said. “And she was pregnant.”

  “Son of a—”

  “Yeah. Time to call Danny Diamond.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “What was her name, Danny?”

  It took them two hours to get Danny to FBI headquarters so
they could question him. The warrant for Marie Maloney had already been issued. They had enough evidence even without questioning him. This conversation would simply seal the deal nice and tight, as perfectly as a murder rampage could be closed down, at any rate.

  An agent from the Oklahoma regional office was on his way to Marie’s home in a suburb of Tulsa, although Jack doubted he would find anyone there. He was convinced Marie was still right there in New Orleans, planning her next attack.

  They’d already checked with the hotel where Marie had pretended to be a housekeeper. They had hired her through a temporary service, and, not surprisingly, the information she’d given the agency had turned out to be phony. Jack and his partner didn’t know where she was holed up in New Orleans, but they were both anticipating going to the club that evening and apprehending the killer before she could cause any more harm.

  “Shannon,” Danny said. He sounded confused. “Shannon Maloney. It was a suicide, guys. I found her. I didn’t kill her.”

  “Sounds like someone thought you did at one point.”

  “Of course they did,” Danny snapped. “Local cops get a call from the owner of a male stripper revue telling them his twenty-five-year-old pregnant girlfriend’s dead in the bathtub, what do you think they’re going to assume?”

  “But you were cleared.”

  “Three hundred people vouched for the fact I was at a club, managing my show, during the time of death. I didn’t do it. I loved her. I wanted to marry her. I told you, I was willing to give it all up for her, to become some stupid working stiff at a normal job to make her happy. Well, to make her mother happy, anyway. Shannon didn’t care that I managed a bunch of strippers or that I used to be one myself. I’m telling you, I didn’t do it.”

  He knew Danny was telling the truth. If not from reading the file on Shannon’s death, then from his voice, his eyes, and his face when he insisted he loved the woman. For the first time in his life, Jack understood a bit of what Danny was feeling. Because he could relate, he finally relented on the hard cop routine. “We know you didn’t. But we do think her murder is connected to your dancers’ murders. And her own father’s, actually.”

  Danny looked confused. He shook his head. “She wasn’t murdered. They determined it was suicide. She was home alone at the time. I had a solid alibi, and she didn’t really have any other friends. The only other person she was close to was her mother, and that woman treated her like a frigging princess. Her dad died when she was two. Shannon didn’t even remember him. She killed herself because she was so distraught over being pregnant and my lifestyle; because she knew her mother would be upset.”

  “So you think she hadn’t told her mother about the baby yet?” Cullen asked.

  Danny shrugged. “I didn’t think so at the time, but I guess actually she did know. The only time I ever saw her mother was at Shannon’s funeral, and she was a mess, howling, crying, and carrying on. I felt bad for her, but when I tried to approach her, she was so angry that I ended up walking away. I do remember her talking about the baby, though. She accused me of killing her first grandchild.” Jack shot Cullen the look that said, “Don’t tip our hand just yet.”

  “What’s this all about? Where’s the connection? Shannon was a good girl. And she’s dead. How could she be connected with my boys’ murders?”

  Jack ignored his partner’s imploring look and slid a file folder across the table before flipping it open. Inside was an eight-by-ten photograph of a pretty brunette with curly hair and a wide, happy smile. Danny’s eyes widened as he sucked in a breath.

  “Shannon.” His right hand stroked the picture. “Ah, Shannon,” he whispered, his voice cracking with unshed tears. “Why’d you have to go and give it all up, baby?”

  “We don’t think she did, Danny,” Cullen said grimly. Jack pushed the photograph to the side. The one underneath was of her mother. The photo was roughly five years old and, they presumed, sans a wig. She had dark hair, just like her daughter, cut into a shoulder-skimming bob. Her eyes were wide, large. She had a pug nose, full lips. There was no question that she had once been as pretty as her daughter.

  “That’s her mother. Can’t remember her name …”

  “Marie?” Cullen prompted.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Shannon said if the baby was a girl, she wanted to name it after her mother. I told her Marie was a middle name not a first name, and maybe that’s why her mother was so possessive—because her name was confused. Shannon always thought my lame jokes were funny.” He stroked the picture again.

  Would Jack react the same way if—God forbid—something happened to Kennedy? The regret and sadness, coupled with the agony of not being allowed to have something so fleeting and precious.

  Love.

  “We don’t think it was suicide, Danny,” he repeated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We suspect her mother killed her, probably because she was dating you and got pregnant with your baby.”

  Danny was not easily swayed. “It was a suicide,” he sputtered. “I found her in the bathtub. It was horrible.” He shuddered. “Besides, her mother was crazy about her. The woman treated her like she was a fragile doll that could break at any moment. She wanted only the best for Shannon; that’s why she hated the fact that we were dating.”

  “She was twenty-five when she died,” Jack said, picking up the photo of the pretty brunette. “Quite an age difference between you, don’t you think? You’re older than her mother.”

  Danny shook his head. “Age didn’t matter to us. We were in love. Shannon always laughed about it; she said the guys her age were too immature. And I like to think I can compete with any of them when it comes to keeping myself in shape.” Danny puffed out his well-toned chest.

  “We suspect her mother may have killed her. And her father. And your dancers,” Cullen explained. “Did she ever tell you anything about her father?”

  Danny’s face had gone white under his fake tan. “Shannon said her father was killed in a home invasion when she was two. Her parents were never together. He was a dancer, a stripper. I remember she was real nervous about telling her mom about me because of it. Said her mom had a real hang-up over men in general, but especially strippers. You think she really killed Shannon? And my boys?” Disbelief was slowly shifting to shock.

  “We found records of psychiatric treatment in her background. She appears to have a very obsessive personality. Feels the need to eliminate things that don’t fit into her world.”

  “I loved her daughter. She loved her daughter, as far as I could tell. Why would she kill her?”

  “Probably because you loved her, I’m guessing,” Jack said grimly. “Our theory is that she was afraid of history repeating itself. From what we’ve dug up so far, Shannon’s father was just in it for a good time. He had no interest in raising a family, being a dad, being a husband. We believe he made that clear right from the beginning, but Marie kept pestering him, kept trying to pressure him into being a part of Shannon’s life. One of our guys managed to talk to a woman who was interviewed when he was killed. According to her, they had recently started dating, and it was getting serious. She said they had just started talking about moving in together, and two days later, his house was broken into, and he was killed.”

  “You think Shannon’s mother did it because she found out he was serious about some other chick,” Danny guessed.

  “Yeah. That’s our theory right now. We’ll have a better idea once we have Marie in custody.”

  “So she killed her baby daddy because he fell for someone else. She killed Shannon because she fell for me. So why isn’t she coming after me? Why my boys?” He gripped the edge of the table.

  “We don’t know why,” Jack said. “We have a couple of theories, but we won’t know for certain until we apprehend her.”

  “What are your theories?” When neither agent immediately spoke, Danny smacked his palm onto the table. “Damn it, I have a right to know. These boys have died on my watc
h. I promised them money and fame and women, not death before thirty.”

  He could tell by the way Cullen rapidly tapped his pen against his leg that his partner didn’t want to go into any more detail. But Jack figured the guy had a right to know. He had always been more forthcoming than Cullen, which was funny, really, considering the last couple weeks he’d spent with Kennedy. Where would they be now if they had only talked openly, even just once?

  “One of our theories is that she’s trying to get her revenge by destroying your mode of living. Maybe, in her fucked-up way, she thinks she can shut down the entire exotic dance industry. Or maybe she just wants to get at you. Like I said, we won’t know until we talk to her.”

  Danny’s hand balled into a fist, and he slammed it onto the table, causing everything on top to jump. A water bottle rolled to the floor. A half-empty cup of coffee overturned, and pale brown liquid streamed across the table. All three men ignored it.

  “I loved her, damn it. Shannon was happy. We both were. What right did that woman have to take that away from us?”

  She hadn’t had any right. And they were going to make sure she was locked up so that she never hurt another person again.

  Tonight.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Something was wrong. They’d checked the tapes, they’d shown her picture to all the other dancers and the bouncers. Marie Maloney had been at every single show since Danny’s Diamond Dancers came to town more than a week ago. It didn’t make sense that she wasn’t at the club tonight.

  “She couldn’t possibly know we’re on to her,” Jack muttered as he once again scanned the crowd of cheering, screaming women from behind the stage where he and Cullen were hidden, out of the patrons’ view. Tonight, they were straight-up FBI agents, waiting for their suspect to make an entrance so they could close this case and go home. Cullen planned to lock himself and Sabrina into their house together for the duration of the weekend. Jack planned to go to his empty home and do … nothing. Probably, he’d just sit on the couch for three days, watching sports on television, drinking beer, and eating pizza. What the hell else did he have to do?