Goldie closed her eyes and swallowed hard. The attack had lasted just one night, but her fear of the dark would last a lifetime. “I think I can do that. Once I got on the main road, I figured out where I was. I was so afraid he’d come after me, I didn’t remember much about how I got back to town. But I did. Ross made me file a police report, but I…I didn’t give them a lot of details. I was still reeling, you see.” She picked at her gold nail polish and kept her head down. “So they still have no idea where the place is. I told them I’d been kidnapped and couldn’t remember much.”
She would help the Wentworths all she could. If she could keep him from doing this to someone else, she knew she could redeem herself. But she would never look at people, or herself, the same way. Any innocence that had remained within her was gone now and had been replaced by fear and distrust.
Suddenly a big, warm hand covered hers and squeezed lightly. “I doubt he’ll be taking anyone else back there, but we may be able to find evidence that will lead us to him. I’m just glad you got away, Goldie. We both are,” Charles said softly. “Okay, we’ll need to head out now. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
Goldie knew him well enough to know he wasn’t the sentimental type, so she was touched that he cared about whether she lived or died. The thought that she’d barely escaped a serial killer terrified her. The thought that he was still out there, terrified her even more. The last thing she wanted to do was to ever go back to that hellhole, but she wasn’t about to be the cause of someone else’s death because she was too afraid to do what needed to be done.
Charles excused himself and crossed the room to speak to her boss, informing him that Goldie would be leaving due to a prior commitment. He reached for his wallet, looking Ross in the eye as he peeled off five crisp one hundred-dollar bills that looked like they’d just come off the press.
“Goldie’s leaving early. Here, this should cover the money she would have made tonight.” There was only a nod from Ross, who fully understood that Charles wasn’t asking his permission. Men like Charles Wentworth III weren’t accustomed to hearing the word no.
Melanie and Goldie were already waiting by the door. As the three of them walked to the SUV, Melanie leaned in so only her husband could hear her. “That was sweet.”
“I’ll be paying her, too,” he answered his wife quietly. “She still has bills to pay.”
Charles pressed the key fob and they all got in the SUV. After several minutes of silence as he navigated the city streets, he reluctantly shared his thoughts. “I’ve debated telling you this, Goldie, but the police found another body. They think she died sometime after you escaped.”
The gasp from the backseat was audible, complete with a dramatic hand gesture to her neck as she absorbed the news that she hadn’t been able to save anyone but herself. Goldie leaned back in the seat and looked out the window, her eyes vacant and unfocused. Nothing like a heaping dose of survivor’s guilt to make her feel like more of an outcast than she already did.
“What did he take from you?” Charles looked in the mirror as he waited for an answer.
Besides my peace of mind? She shook her head, thoroughly disheartened. “I can’t find my dad’s Zippo lighter. I kept it after he died even though we weren’t all that close. He always wanted a daughter. Guess I wasn’t good enough or close enough,” she said with a flippant wave of her hand, in an obvious effort to cover the pain of being born different.
“Trophies like that are going to help us catch this bastard.”
“Who was she? The body, I mean? Who did he kill?”
“A prostitute.” Charles left out the part about watching the woman’s death on the flash drive. He wanted her to be aware that she was still in danger, but he didn’t want to terrify her.
“Okay, turn here. Right, turn right!” There was an urgency in Goldie’s voice, as if missing the turn would dash any hope of catching the killer.
The sound of the tires going over a dirt road brought the realization they were far enough away from civilization to be in serious trouble if the guy was still here and armed.
“Did he have a gun?” Charles asked quietly.
“He wasn’t armed from what I could tell. Then again, I was so drugged he didn’t need to be.”
“Probably a date rape drug.”
“Well, it wasn’t his first rodeo, that’s for sure. The bastard probably buys it in bulk.”
They got out of the SUV, each closing their door as quietly as they could.
“It’s this way. Damn it, I should have worn different shoes.” Goldie couldn’t help but think about Queen Bee’s knight in shining armor and the way he’d rescued her and her shoes. She shook her head with a frown as they ventured into the nearby woods. It was odd, the things that popped into your head when you were under stress.
Goldie wondered if she’d ever have someone to protect her from the monsters that lurked in the shadows. Despite her jealousy, she was still happy that her friend had found love. It gave her hope that there was love out there somewhere for her, too.
She focused on the task at hand and soon found the thin panel of wood that had been so carefully concealed beneath a carefully strewn mound of grass and leaves. “Here it is,” she said excitedly, kicking the brush from the crude wooden door.
“Don’t touch it.” Charles moved her off to the side and pulled his Glock from his holster. Goldie hadn’t noticed it until now.
He jerked the wooden door back and yelled down into the hole even though he knew the man was long gone. Melanie couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for her husband who was more than capable of protecting both women. He went in first and quickly confirmed the space was safe for the women to enter.
The same musty smell hit Goldie’s nostrils, bringing back the memory of her nightmarish ordeal. She would never look at a basement or a cellar the same again.
The three stood in silence. There on the wall was a note, crudely held in place by the business end of a broken steak knife.
Charles read the words aloud, his voice flat. “You’re too late. Ha ha.”
Chapter Thirty Four
“We know he did this! Let’s just go arrest the bastard and shut this case down,” Rene said in a frustrated tone.
Her partner looked over and smiled. They were parked outside the suspect’s home in an unmarked police car. “You know it doesn’t work like that. If we go in too soon the guy’s going to get away with murder. Is that what you want—for him to get away on a technicality?”
Rene rolled her eyes even though she knew he was right and she’d never hear the end of it if things played out like that. It would be an ‘I told you so’ nightmare. “I see why he does it and I see why you give the guy so much leniency. But following the rules sucks.”
He smiled at the petulance in her voice. The partners were in sync enough for him to know she was referring to the vigilante Black Rose, a.k.a. Charles Wentworth III. It was true: year by year, he did give Charles more latitude. It was a secret he and Rene shared. He figured, it was the two of them against the world. Anything else was politics and promotion. Rene was right: following the rules was frustrating. But he gave Black Rose as much space as he could.
“We should retire, David. Just disappear.” She looked at him with a pleading expression. If the FBI ever found out David and Black Rose were friends, it wouldn’t just be the end of his career. It would mean hard time in federal prison. He would never last in prison surrounded by the killers he’d helped to put away.
He smiled again at her calling him by his first name. She rarely did, unless he had his head between her legs as she screamed his name. The thought made his smile widen and his cock stir to life.
“You know how it is. Every time I get close to retiring, another case comes up.” The statement was his best defense against leaving the only way of life he had ever known. What the hell was he supposed to do with himself if he retired? He didn’t know how to live a normal life. He’d be miserable.
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“Well, you’re not leaving me here by myself. When you retire, I’m taking early retirement.” She jerked her head around to glare at him. “Sometimes I think you won’t retire because you’re protecting Black Rose.”
“I won’t deny it. I have no desire to slow down and the man needs someone looking out for him.”
His admission and the fact that he was being honest with her about a difficult subject softened her heart toward him. She of all people understood the compulsion to protect someone you loved. It was how she felt about him. Her head jerked up and she nudged him as she pointed. “Look, he’s leaving. Why aren’t we following him?” She nodded toward Brian Reed, the man they believed to be the infamous Mummy Man.
“Because we have more important things to do. We’re breaking into his house. He’s not going to be triggered again this soon. I’m counting on him letting the need to hunt build up over the next few days,” he replied. She knew he was right. It would take a few days if not more for the craving to conquer and kill to reach the boiling point. So they waited until he was gone and pulled up behind some trees that would provide cover until they were ready to leave.
“How are we…”
At the back door the question wasn’t halfway out of her mouth before her partner bent down and lifted a flowerpot. With a grin, he held up the key that was hidden there. His mischievous smile made him look ten years younger.
Rene rolled her eyes but couldn’t stifle the smile that curved her lips. How could you love somebody more with each passing day? Even serial killers could be so predictable, hiding the keys that protected everything they held dear beneath flowerpots.
When they entered, they were shocked to find that the place didn’t look like a dump at all. The house was old, probably something left to him by a mother who never suspected her son was a psycho, or who turned a blind eye out of love for her only child.
“If you move anything, for God’s sake put it back,” Rene said.
“You took the words right out of my mouth. This guy doesn’t live like a typical bachelor. He’s so tidy, he’d be sure to notice anything out of place.” The house wasn’t just tidy; it was impeccable, unlike the outside that looked aged and in need of repair.
Rene followed her partner into the living room. “Shit. He must not entertain much. Look at that. He doesn’t even bother to hide it.” She pointed at the coffee table; more specifically, at the intricate display beneath the glass top.
“Here, put these on,” he said absently, his gaze fixed on the table as he handed her a pair of the disposable gloves he always kept on hand in his suit pocket.
Photographs. One woman’s eyes held terror as she looked at the camera. Another was defiant while another wept. “Shit. That’s Evie,” Turner muttered. Evie was the only one who looked like she was so high that she had no idea of her plight.
Turner marveled at the intricate display hiding in plain sight. Rene was right, he probably had no friends with all of the dark secrets he held. People with secrets like his couldn’t afford to be social butterflies.
“Let’s check his bedroom. That’s where he’ll keep the most intimate of his trophies. I think we’ve got enough to put out an APB on this guy and haul him in. He’ll be rotting in jail before the sun comes up.”
Turner went completely still. Only the ticking of his clenched jaw betrayed the emotions churning inside the hardened lawman. He raised empty eyes to hers. “Are you really willing to trust that the justice system will do what needs to be done here?”
Rene frowned and stepped toward him, then stopped short. “David. What do you mean? This is what we do.”
“It won’t be enough, Rene. You know it and I know it. We’re sitting on a treasure trove of evidence, and it still won’t be enough. We could catch the guy with his arm raised in the air bringing down a knife and it wouldn’t be enough. There's always that one juror, that one moment of rookie stupidity at a crime scene, that one technicality that will let this guy walk so he can go out and kill some more.”
He put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor as she shook his head. When he looked up, his eyes gleamed with hardened resolve. “No. When it comes to this guy? It’s got to be a sure thing. The only way to get rid of this scum is to…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t finish the sentence. They both knew the fucker needed to die.
Rene said nothing but headed straight for the large antique dresser, opening drawers in quick succession, and carefully looking under the perfectly folded clothing. When she didn’t find anything there, she headed for the matching chest of drawers against the opposite wall. The third drawer down, she hit pay dirt. “Well, hell. Look at this.”
The drawer was compartmentalized in sections, and in each section were his trophies from each of his victims. “Don’t touch anything,” he said, although he knew she knew not to disturb the evidence.
“It’s Evie’s necklace,” was her only reply, spoken in hushed tones.
“And a Zippo lighter.”
“He has everything so organized. He’s proud of it.”
“He is. And he seems to think he’s too clever to ever get caught,” Turner said with a nod of his head, then carefully closed the drawer and stepped away, his mind racing with thoughts of the things to be done. One phone call would be all it took to bring the wrath of God raining down on Brian Reed. But then what? “Time to go.”
Chapter Thirty Five
If Goldie had learned anything in life, it was how to survive. Going back to that hellhole with Charles and Melanie the night before had dredged up a lot of old, painful memories. She presented a happy façade when she was at the club, especially when she was on stage, but it was getting harder and harder to maintain.
Being different meant keeping secrets. Keeping secrets meant being alone. It was easier keeping all the lies straight that way, but it was lonely. Some might say otherwise, but there is one need all people share: to be loved unconditionally. The burden of secrecy eventually had worn Goldie down.
It had started when he was a child trying on his mother’s shoes. Then he became intrigued with how easily makeup could change him from being a he, to a she. Then the idea of wearing women’s panties under his clothes became appealing. He would sit at his desk in school with a secret smile when he thought about the red silk panties under his jeans.
It had been a happy secret until the day he was discovered in his feminine underwear in the locker room at sixteen and been beaten severely. That was when he had learned the saying about sticks and stones was a fucking lie. Words did hurt. Words like faggot and homo cut him to the core.
It was his last day of school. He’d had no way of knowing it would be the last day he ever went home. His father had nearly killed him when the school called to report the locker room altercation and the reason behind it. His mother had wrung her hands but hadn’t stopped him. What was a mother good for if she couldn’t keep her kids safe? One good thing about going transgender was that he would never have to find out. He vowed at a young age: no kids.
She had stumbled across Shady Ladies by chance. She’d been walking the streets of Louisville all day. It was raining as she stood beneath the awning of the bar. When the door opened, she quickly walked away but not before looking back at the man who stood there frowning at her. Ross had followed her, eventually stopping her by grabbing her arm. He had looked down in horror at the bruises and cuts there, illuminated in all their mottled glory beneath a streetlamp.
“You poor thing. What the hell happened to you?” As he took in her bruised and battered face and the way she swayed on her feet, his eyes were full of compassion. It was the first time Goldie had ever had anyone look at her with such acceptance. She knew in that moment that she’d found a friend.
He didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled her into the bar and back into his office. She watched him from the chair by his desk as he pulled a first-aid kit from a cabinet. He knelt in front of her and opened it, retrieving the supplies he needed. He asked her
again what had happened.
“Who the hell did this to you, kid?”
Goldie spent the next fifteen minutes giving him the condensed version of what it was like to be a woman in a man’s body. It was a story Ross knew all too well.
“Well, love, fate has seen fit to bring you to the right place. I have an apartment you can live in, a job you can work while you’re underage. And, even better, my lawyer is a fucking shark. I keep him on retainer so we’ll go ahead and get you emancipated. You never have to be afraid again. I promise, you’ve found a place where you belong.”
At first Goldie worried that he might be a sugar daddy who would expect sexual favors for her to earn her keep. She figured that even being subjected to a sugar daddy’s demands would be better than being at home. But eventually she discovered that Ross was nothing but a caring soul.
He kept every promise he ever made to her. After she was emancipated it was legal for her to work in the bar. Ross had taken care of her until the day she was of legal age. They shared a bond because of all they’d been through but it never went past that. Though they loved each other, they weren’t in love. He was like the father she’d never had; the father she should have had.
Love had eluded her all her life. She didn’t want to grow old and become a hateful, embittered drag queen. Why did love that came naturally for so many others elude her? She had never known what unconditional love was. Through a string of one-night stands and broken promises, she was no further along in life now than the night she had cowered in the pouring rain under the awning of Shady Ladies.
“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”
“Oh! Hey, girl,” Goldie exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise as she met Queen Bee’s gaze in the mirror.
“What has you so deep in thought?” Queen Bee asked as she cocked her head to the side and rested her hands on her hips.
Mommy's Dearest (Black Rose Book 3) Page 12
