But he wasn’t the killer. She was more convinced of that than ever. Selma Haverstein was wrong. Elliot was wrong.
This man may have broken the law, he may have made some mistakes, but he was no killer. In her heart, she’d known that all along.
“Come on,” she urged. “I’ll help you get inside.”
With his lips pressed tightly over clenched teeth, he nodded. And together, they wrestled him through the kitchen door and into the house.
He leaned up against the kitchen counter and loosened his hold on her shoulders.
But Jess didn’t let go of him, wouldn’t let go of him. She held him tightly, arms wrapped around his waist, pressing her body close to his.
“Jess,” he said softly, with such wonder in his voice. His arms went back around her, slowly, tentatively.
She looked up at him, letting all of her love for him show in her eyes. He inhaled sharply as he saw her face.
Pulling his head down toward hers, Jess kissed him.
It was a perfect kiss.
Slow and sweet, with an undercurrent of passion, it was filled with a love that would stretch beyond eternity. It carried a promise of things to come, of a lifetime of sharing—
It was a promise neither of them could keep.
He slowly, jerkily, pulled away from her, as if that single act cost him all that he had left.
“I love you,” Jess said simply, and his eyes filled with tears.
He’d taken out his brown contacts, Jess realized. His eyes were brilliant blue and they held more than a trace of desperation.
It was time to say goodbye.
Jess let go of his hand, reaching down to pick up her purse. She opened it and took some money from her wallet.
“Here’s eight hundred dollars,” she told him, holding it out to him. “I know it’s not a lot, but I know your money was all in your apartment and…”
Rob looked down at the bills in her hand, knowing with a flash of disbelief that she’d emptied out her savings account for him. For him. What had he done to deserve this woman’s love?
He’d given her nothing but evasive answers and half-truths, and still she loved him enough to make such sacrifices for him.
“Take it,” she whispered.
“No.” He shook his head. “Thank you, Jess, but I’ve got enough money. I never use banks. I had cash hidden all over your house—most of it in your garage. So I’ve got plenty. I even left some behind for you. It’s in the top drawer of your bedside table… I wanted you to have it. And, if the FBI doesn’t find it, there’s still some cash in my apartment. It’s inside the control panel of the microwave.” He smiled at the look on her face. “Yeah, they’ll probably find it. But if they don’t, I’d like you to keep it.”
Slowly, she put the crisp hundred dollar bills back in her purse. “I don’t want your money.”
“Consider it the rent I owe you. You can pay Frank back.”
Frank. They both thought of him at the same time. He was tied up in Jess’s living room, his hands and feet uncomfortably bound together….
“I should go,” Jess whispered. “It’s getting late. I have to pick up Kel…and untie poor Frank….”
Outside, lightning lit the white beach as the storm moved even closer. The wind knocked over an aluminum-framed beach chair out on the deck and they both jumped.
Jess’s eyes were dark pools in her pale face. Rob could see uncertainty and sadness on her face, and he longed to see her smile. But there was nothing left to smile about. The only thing left for them was the pain.
Rob knew without a doubt that a very large part of him was going to die when she turned and walked out that door. He also knew the longer their goodbyes lasted, the more her leaving would rip into him, tear him open—and there’d be no chance of recovery.
And he knew without a doubt that she would feel the same.
He leaned forward, pulling her face toward him, kissing her fiercely, his lips hard and unyielding. She barely had time to respond before he pushed her away.
“Go,” he said, his voice harsh.
“Rob—”
“Please, Jess. Go, and don’t look back. Go home and untie Frank, and fall in love with him. He’s a good man. He can give you all the things that I can’t—”
“I don’t want Frank! I told you that before—”
“This FBI agent then! What’s his name?”
“You mean Parker Elliot?”
“Elliot, yeah—”
“Come on!” Jess said, angry. “I’m not going to be able to just forget you, as if you never existed….”
“Jess, you’ve got to move forward—”
“No—”
He slammed the palm of his hand down on the kitchen table with a deafening crash. “Yes, dammit. Jess, will you please leave! Now! Quickly, because this is killing me!”
She grabbed her purse and fled toward the door. But when her hand touched the knob, she stopped and looked back. “You made me a promise,” she said softly, tears overflowing and streaming down her face. “You damn well better keep it, Connor.”
And then she was gone.
He heard her car whine as she backed out of the driveway. He heard the tires squeal in her haste to get away.
Outside the window, lightning flashed and this time the thunder was a deafening roar. The skies opened up and it rained, large heavy drops that hit the roof with enough of a racket to raise the dead.
Yeah, he’d promised Jess he’d come back and find her when he was done running from his demons, when he was finally free. But he’d never be free. All his promise had done was give her hope. And he’d have to carry that with him, too, on top of all his guilt and regrets. Every night before he went to sleep, he’d have to live with more than just his burning love for her. He’d have to live with knowing she was thinking about him, waiting for him to walk through her door.
Waiting for something that could never be…
He put his head in his hands, knowing that he had finally paid the ultimate price for his sins.
Chapter Nineteen
Selma Haverstein walked into Elliot’s office without knocking.
“I’m done,” she announced. “I’ve interviewed both of them.”
Elliot had taken off his jacket and tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He stood up as she entered, and she saw he’d even untucked his shirt from his pants. His hair stood on end, as if he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly.
The effect of his disarray was charming. Selma had a sudden clear vision of Parker Elliot at age ten on his way home from church. But seeing him like this was also disturbing. The man was obviously exhausted. She suspected he hadn’t slept in days. And she knew he wouldn’t sleep until they caught the Sarasota Serial Killer.
“And?” he said, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
“And nothing.”
He sat down behind his desk, his disappointment obvious. He ran a tired hand across his eyes. “Yeah, I knew that.” He sighed.
Selma leaned over the desk, her face worried. “Parker, dear, I think you should call Jess. When I spoke to her on the phone before, she was so absolutely sure her ex-husband was the killer.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” Elliot’s eyes narrowed as he looked across his desk at her.
The older woman sighed, her normally cheery round face full of anxiety. “I have a feeling that Jess knows where Rob Carpenter is.”
His eyes were instantly flinty. “And you waited until now to tell me that? Dammit, Selma…”
“It’s only a feeling, Parker. I have no evidence to base it on, no facts….”
“I’ll take one of your feelings over ten facts any day,” Elliot said shortly. He turned around, searching for his jacket on the back of his chair. It had fallen off, onto the floor. He found it and quickly pulled his little notebook out of the breast pocket. As he flipped through the book, he picked up the telephone, stuck it between his ear and his shoulder, and dialed four quick numbers.
He hung up the phone, staring at the page in his notebook where he’d scribbled Jess’s telephone number. “I’ve got two numbers for Jess,” he said. “And I’m damned if I can remember which is her home.”
Selma moved behind his desk to look over his shoulder. “That second number is out on Siesta Key. She told me she sometimes works out there and stays over someplace—her parents’ beach house, she said. Try the top number first.”
Elliot already had the phone back against his ear. “It’s busy,” he stated. He disconnected the line and dialed another number.
“Yeah,” he barked. “Get me through to Johnson.” He glanced at Selma. “He’s sitting out in front of Jess’s house— Yeah, Johnson, this is Elliot. Look, I need you to get a message to Ms. Baxter for me.” Silence. He frowned. “What time was that?” He looked at his watch. “Okay, look, if she comes back, bring her down here, and don’t take no for an answer. Thanks.”
He met Selma’s eyes. “She left her house over two hours ago—to pick up her kid at the baby-sitter’s. Why don’t I believe that?”
“Maybe you should try the other number,” she urged. “In case she’s there.”
He nodded and dialed.
HE SAT VERY, VERY STILL, anticipating, playing it through over and over and over in his mind.
He could feel the spray of blood, hear the sigh of her windpipe….
He could picture her eyes dark with fear and pain.
Yes, sir.
He didn’t mind waiting.
This was going to be very good.
JESS COULDN’T TELL if the windshield wipers weren’t working right, or if the blur was simply from the tears she couldn’t keep from falling.
She pulled into Doris’s driveway at ten minutes after ten and wiped her face with a tissue, then loudly blew her nose. She took a deep breath, hating to face the bright lights and Doris’s inquisitive eyes.
Just do it, she thought. Do it and get on home.
ROB STEPPED OUT of the shower and stared into the bathroom mirror. For the first time in over eight years, he allowed himself to look, really look into Connor Garrison’s blue eyes.
But something was different. Gone was Connor’s cocky, devil-may-care attitude. Instead, the blue eyes held caution, reserve, determination to survive. Eight and a half years on the run will do that to a man, he supposed.
Eight and a half years…
He’d only been Rob Carpenter for one of those years, yet he already mourned the loss of this particular identity more keenly than any before. He’d changed his name and his job and his past six different times, and he’d never felt as if he were leaving anything behind. He hadn’t even felt this bad when he’d turned his back on his life as Connor Garrison.
Maybe because when he gave up his life as Connor, he’d really had nothing important to give up. His apartment had been a rat hole, despite the amount of money he paid in rent each month. He had no family—his father didn’t count—and his neighbors wouldn’t have hesitated to turn him in for the mob reward that was posted on him, dead or alive.
What, really, had he given up?
A silly dream of being a great writer. Big deal.
His freedom.
Freedom to live his life without constantly looking over his shoulder, without being afraid that someone would recognize him and try to collect that reward.
Freedom from guilt. He closed his eyes against the sudden vision of Janey, lying in a pool of blood, fear and disbelief in her eyes as she bled to death in his arms….
He shook his head, erasing the picture.
That was why Rob Carpenter had to disappear. That was why he had to give up Jess, even though it was killing him to do it. Because there was no way he would ever let her die like that. No way.
Sure, maybe she and Kelsey could go with him. He’d make sure they’d be safe. But a life on the run was no life at all. He knew that too damn well.
The phone rang, suddenly, shrilly, cutting through the sound of the rain and the rising wind.
Rubbing his wet hair with a towel, he limped painfully into the kitchen, and stared at the phone.
The house was supposed to be empty.
Jess’s parents were out west somewhere visiting relatives or something, weren’t they?
So who would be calling?
Jess?
His heart beat harder.
But he didn’t dare pick it up.
After four rings, the answering machine clicked on, and Jess’s recorded voice spoke. “Hi! We’re not here, leave a message at the beep!”
“Jess, this is Parker Elliot,” came a man’s voice. Lightning crackled and thunder boomed, and Rob stepped closer to the answering machine so he could hear. “Please call me. It’s imperative that we talk.” There was a moment of silence, as if Elliot were listening to someone else speaking. “Yeah, uh, Jess, Selma thinks I should just leave this message, so… We pulled both Ian Davis and your neighbor, Stanford Greene, in for questioning, and neither of their prints matched our killer’s. That pretty much leaves Carpenter—”
A woman’s voice took over the phone. “Jess, I think you know where Rob is, and dear, it’s important that we talk to you as soon as possible. Please call.” She left the number.
There was a click as the line was disconnected. The answering machine beeped and was silent.
Rob stared at the telephone.
There was something wrong. There was something very wrong.
What was it Jess had said about the evidence the police had against him? Blood in the back of his car and some fibers. Right. And fingerprints. Whoever the killer was, he’d been inside his apartment.
Jess said there were six sets of prints from the apartment, and one of them matched the killer’s. Kelsey’s, hers, and four others. His. Ian’s. Stanford’s.
And Frank’s.
Oh, God.
Frank.
KELSEY WAS ALREADY asleep, so Jess borrowed an umbrella from Doris and carried her daughter gently out to the car. She put Kel into the back seat, managed to get a seat belt around her small waist, then let her sag, like a rag doll, until she was lying across the seat. She covered her carefully with the blanket, aware that the rain falling on her back and legs was cold.
Lightning struck nearby, with a loud roar of thunder sounding almost simultaneously, and she hurried back to return the umbrella.
The rain fell faster and the wind gusted, blowing the water horizontally, and directly into her face. She was soaked as she got into the car, and she sat there for a moment, just dripping.
Finally, she started the car and headed for home.
ROB HUNG UP the phone. Busy. Her line was busy.
Quickly, he dialed another number.
“Yeah, hi, I’m at 2786 Midnight Pass Road, and I need a cab right now,” he said.
“I’m sorry sir,” a nasal voice replied. “All of our taxis are tied up at the moment. We can get someone out there in… ninety minutes.”
He swore. “Please, it’s an emergency— It’s a matter of life and death.”
“If it’s an emergency, sir,” the voice said calmly, “call the police.”
He hung up.
Call the police.
If they put him in prison, he was a dead man. But he’d gladly trade his life for Jess’s.
Thunder roared again, and he quickly pushed the message button on the answering machine, fast-forwarding until he found the telephone number the woman had left.
He punched the numbers into the phone.
A man answered, his voice tired. “Yeah.”
Rob’s mouth was dry. “Is this Parker Elliot?”
“Yes, who’s this?” The voice was sharper now, more alert.
“Look, I need your help. Jess is in trouble. She’s heading back to her house, and the killer’s in there, only she doesn’t know it’s him
and—”
“Who is this?”
He closed his eyes. “It’s Rob Carpenter.”
He could hear the mad scramble on the other end of the phone. There was a click, and a woman’s voice came on. It was the same woman who had left part of the message for Jess.
“Rob? My name is Selma…”
“Please, you’ve got to help me. He’s going to kill her—”
“Who is going to kill her?”
“Frank Madsen. He’s in her living room. Please, don’t let her go home.”
Elliot spoke. “Where are you?”
“That doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Rob.” Selma’s voice was soothing. “We can help you, dear, if you just tell us where you are.”
They didn’t believe him, he thought, feeling a surge of panic. “Look, Jess thinks her ex-husband is the killer, but he’s not. Stanford’s not, I’m not, so that leaves Frank. And—” He broke off, staring at the telephone, realizing that he’d virtually handed them his location. It wouldn’t take Elliot long to realize he’d overheard the message on the answering machine at the beach house, if he hadn’t figured it out already….
Oh, God…
“Talk to me, Rob,” Selma said. “We want to help you.”
ELLIOT GOT DOWN to the parking lot and out to his car in less than forty-five seconds, talking on his cellular phone the entire time.
The adrenaline that coursed through his body felt good, really good. They had that bastard now. He’d painted himself into a corner and there was no way he could escape.
He spat out the orders, setting up the roadblocks, calling in the local and state police to help, calling any available units out to Siesta Key.
Hell, he called the unavailable units. Why bother keeping Johnson out in front of Jess’s house when they had the killer’s location pinpointed on Siesta Key?
Elliot pulled out of the parking lot into the driving rain, his tires squealing on the wet pavement.
JESS STOPPED at the side of the road as the rain became so heavy that it obscured her vision. Impatiently, she tapped the steering wheel with her fingers, wishing that she was home, hoping that she’d be able to persuade Frank not to call the police until the morning. She didn’t think she could handle the countless questions, the inquisition that was sure to follow.
No Ordinary Man Page 23
