“Son of a bitch,” Walt said.
“Oh, it gets even better,” Joe said.
“He went to Vanuatu.”
“Vanwhat?”
“Vanuatu,” she said. “It’s an island nation in the South Pacific.”
“What the—” Walt started.
“Oh, it gets even better,” Joe said.
“Among other things to recommend it to someone like Benton,” she said, “is that it doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the US.”
32
That night we did another sting operation with Erin jogging around and Walt, Joe, and I following her.
Though there were far fewer walkers and runners out and about than before, there were more people. Reporters continued to roam about, their TV trucks and vans humming in the background, their headlamps and camera lights illuminating the cold, windy night.
Like the committed cop she was, Erin ran off and on for a few hours, though it was cold and she had worked all day at a stressful job.
As it approached ten, I radioed the others. “Let’s call it for tonight. Erin’s done enough. I don’t think the killer’s out here.”
“Maybe if we leave,” Walt said, “he’ll kill a reporter.”
“He ain’t shown no signs he’s willing to use his powers for good,” Joe said. “That’s just wishful thinking.”
“You okay, Erin?” I asked.
“Yeah, just cold. And tired. Tired and cold. Glad we’re calling it.”
“Jog over to the inn,” I said. “I’ll follow you there and get you some hot chocolate while you change. Walt and Joe, since I’m going to the inn anyway y’all can go ahead and go if you want to.”
I followed Erin over to the inn and parked, waiting a few minutes to walk in after she did.
“I’m so glad you ended it when you did,” she said. “Don’t know how much more I could have taken.”
“You should’ve said something.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m a girl. I can’t ever be the first to stop anything.”
“Shit, I should’ve thought of that,” I said. “Sorry. I should’ve ended it sooner. We need to come up with a secret code so you can tell me what you need.”
“Thank you, John. That’s . . . that would be great.”
“I’m disappointed in myself I didn’t think of it before.”
She shook her head. “None of that.”
“You have time for a drink?” I asked. “I could call Summer and get her to meet us in the bar.”
Summer was off tonight and waiting for me in her room.
“I’d really love that, but right now all I want to do is fall into bed.”
“You want to stay here so you don’t have to drive or do you want me to drive you? Summer can follow in my car and drive me back.”
“That’s so sweet, but I only live a few short miles away. I’ll be fine.”
“Would you call me and let me know when you get there?”
She nodded. “Sure. Thank you.”
Though I had a key, I knocked on Summer’s door and waited.
She opened it looking sleepily sexy in a classic rock T and jogging shorts.
“Hurry inside, it’s cold,” she said.
I did.
“Why’d you . . . Why didn’t you use your key?”
“Knew you were in here. Didn’t want to barge in on you.”
“I gave it to you because I wanted you to be able to come and go as you like.”
“Thanks. I know. And I appreciate it. But when you’re here . . . I just . . . it’s your room. Just being respectful.”
This was the first night she had been off since I started staying here and it was odd and awkward for us to both be in the room at the same time.
“Would you rather me stay somewhere else tonight?” I asked.
“Why’re you being so . . . of course not.”
“Just making sure. You’ve been so generous with your room, but I don’t want to intrude or—”
“You’re being silly. I want you here. I’ve made it obvious.”
I tried not to read too much into what she was saying, but couldn’t help but wonder exactly what she meant.
You think too much, I told myself. You worry about the wrong things. Give it a rest. At least for tonight.
“Okay. Thank you. Mind if I jump in the shower? I’d like to warm up and freshen up.”
“Help yourself. Act like it’s yours, please.”
33
He worked like a man possessed. He had to.
Everything had to be ready, had to be right.
Now everyone was watching . . . and boy did he have something for them to see.
This one was for them. Well, mostly for them. Okay, maybe just partially for them. He was going to enjoy it—maybe not as much as the others, as the ones that were just his, but plenty.
He loved his work. Even the preparation. Getting everything just right—the wood, the rope, the water, the ice, the tape, the gun, the knife—and of course he always had to have his mask on, his human suit.
It was going to be a long night, but well worth it. Just wait. Wait ’til the people beheld the unveiling of his work.
Wait until she did.
He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face, that unmistakable moment of recognition, and then all that followed—the begging, the pleading, the bargaining, the resignation, the terror. Made him hard just imagining it.
And this time he was going to show them all just how hard he could get. He’d read a report in the paper that theorized that he was impotent since there had been no sign of rape. He’d show them just how potent he really was.
Though this one was for the little people down below, the inept cops, the reporters, and the frightened masses, he was going to savor every second of it, get as much out of it as he could. Drink it in like fine wine poured out as a drink offering.
She was waiting for him when he arrived. A big wave. A wide smile. Happy to see him.
He had to go out and get the others. This one willingly came to him.
When he got out and walked over, she actually hugged him.
Wow. The human suit holds.
He should have put this one on long ago.
Think about all you could’ve gotten up to over the years.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you doing this,” she was saying. “I know some people don’t understand, but . . . I’m just doing my job. But you get it, don’t you? We have to stick together.”
“Oh, you and I are gonna be linked together forever.”
“Huh? I don’t—What’re you. Wait. No. No. Not you. Not you. It can’t be.”
34
A short while later when I walked back into the room after my shower, Summer was standing there near the end of the first bed naked.
I stopped and gazed at her, taking every inch of her in. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Come here,” she said, holding her arms out to me.
I quickly closed the distance between us and took her in my arms.
We embraced for a long moment.
Then began kissing.
Eventually I worked my way down her neck, across her collarbone, along her shoulders and upper arms, and to her exquisite, pear-shaped breasts.
As I did, she began unbuttoning my shirt and unzipping my jeans.
I was so turned on I was finding it difficult to breathe.
When she shifted to take my shirt off, she took her breasts away from me, and I immediately experienced separation anxiety.
Grabbing my open jeans and underwear, she shimmied them out over my erection and down to about my knees. When she stood back up she placed both her small hands on my chest and shoved me backwards and I fell onto the bed.
Once I was on the bed, she pulled my jeans and briefs the rest of the way off and took me in her mouth.
It felt as good as any sensation my young self had ever experienced, but it wasn’t long before my mind kicked on and
I began to be inundated with thoughts and the feelings that followed them.
At over twenty years my senior, Summer had no doubt been with many men in her forty-something rotations around the sun. Not just young men like me, but fully grown, fully filled-out men. I suddenly became self-conscious about my body. I was too skinny, too pale, too—and how did I compare size-wise to all the others?
Could I please her? Did I know enough? Would I be good enough? Could I last long enough?
Stop it. Turn off your mind and just enjoy this. Let go. Relax. Don’t think about anything, just feel how good it feels.
I tried to. I really did.
But the insecure questioning that led to self-consciousness was nothing compared to pangs of guilt I began to experience.
I pictured Susan alone in the bed we had shared up until a week ago.
We weren’t a good fit and it wasn’t working between us, but I couldn’t help but question whether I had subconsciously or not accelerated our breakup in hopes something like this would happen.
I reached down and took Summer’s head in my hands, lifting and tilting it up toward me.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry, but . . . I just can’t.”
“Why?”
“I just can’t.”
“Your body says otherwise.”
“I just got out of a relationship. It’s too soon. I’m too . . .”
“Hey, it’s okay. I understand,” she said.
Scooting up next to me, she laid her head on my shoulder and put her arms around me.
“You’re a sweet young man, John Jordan.”
I didn’t feel sweet. I felt frustrated, embarrassed, and pathetic. I felt guilty for being here and guilty for stopping.
I had let Susan and Summer down.
I was trying to be a man and failing miserably.
“It is too soon,” she said. “And I’m sorry. I should’ve thought better . . . a young man as sensitive and kind as you . . . and a thinker like you are . . . of course it’s too soon. Do you want us to get dressed or can we lay here like this for a few minutes?”
“Is that a trick question?” I said. “Don’t dare cover up your beautiful body.”
“Mine’s starting to show my age,” she said. “You’re the one with the amazing young body.”
“That’s sweet.”
“I’m not being sweet. Let me tell you something . . . I believe you . . . what you said about it being too soon, but if you’re just saying that not to hurt my feelings . . . if I’m just too old and . . . for you . . . I understand.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Her forty-something-year-old self had insecurities just like my twenty-year-old self.
“Listen to me,” I said. “I swear to you that that’s not it. This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. You’re so beautiful. And your body . . . You’re stunning. You saw how turned on I got—how turned on I still am. This is about my own guilt and insecurity and nothing else. I’m just sorry I let you down.”
“You didn’t—you haven’t let me down. Not in any way. All you ever do is restore my faith in the male of our species.”
We talked for a short while longer, mostly continuing to reassure each other, then fell fast asleep.
In my dreams Jordan was still alive. She and I had adopted Martin Fisher and were living in a small apartment in Decatur.
I was impossibly happy.
In quick, uneven, jump-cut succession we were cooking dinner together, dancing in the kitchen, reading Martin a story before bed, making love in our own bed after a Sunday afternoon nap.
I woke with tears of happiness streaming down my cheeks and woke Summer up by making love to her.
Our groggy, passionate union was both sweet and intense and free of guilt, insecurity, and self-consciousness—all things that would no doubt creep back in later. But for now it was an exquisite, divine union.
Later, as we fell back asleep in each other’s arms, I whispered, I’m sorry to Susan.
Both in spite of everything and because of it, I slept peacefully and soundly—until the loud banging began on the door early the next morning.
35
I jerked awake.
Waking Summer in the process.
Banging on the door.
I reached over and grabbed my gun off the nightstand.
“What is it?” Summer whispered.
“I don’t know. Wait here.”
I jumped out of bed and into my jeans and shirt, not bothering to button the shirt.
Rushing over to the door, I unholstered my weapon.
“John, it’s Erin. Wake up.”
I looked through the peephole and saw Erin Newman standing there alone.
I unchained, unlocked, and opened the door.
“What is it?” I said. “What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got another one,” she said. “She’s still alive.”
“Where?”
“Up on the mountain. Dangling there like she could fall at any minute.”
“Let me get dressed real quick. Come in.”
She stepped inside and I started getting dressed.
“Frank told me to call you at home,” she said. “Didn’t know if you wanted him to know about . . .” she glanced in and nodded toward the dim hotel room behind me. “I told him we worked late last night and you decided to stay here. Bud said there wasn’t money in the budget for that. I told him you had a friend comp the room.”
“Thanks, Erin. I really appreciate that.”
Summer peeked out from the corner. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
After quickly getting dressed, I rushed into the bathroom and washed my face and brushed my teeth, then drank some water from the tap.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s go.”
“Be careful,” Summer said.
She had wrapped the bedspread around her and stepped into the little alcove to give me a kiss goodbye.
“And hurry back to me.”
Erin and I ran down the steps and across the courtyard and around to the front of the inn, our breaths visible in the cold morning air.
Day was breaking over to our left, casting a mountain-shaped shadow to our front and right.
Everything was damp and dew-covered. And frigid.
Frank and Bud were standing there with walkie-talkies and binoculars.
Both men were on their radios.
As we approached, Frank handed me his binoculars without missing a beat in his conversation.
Erin pointed up to a place to the left side of the north face and I followed her finger with the binoculars.
There on the sheer cliff of the north side, Daphne Littleton was hanging from a large, three-strand, twisted manila rope.
Her hands were held above her head, bound at the wrists, a piece of the same rope wrapped around her ankles.
She was naked and her shivering body was lying against the cold, wet granite rock face.
The rope that wrapped around her wrists and held her in place ran up to the top of the mountain, disappearing behind a pile of boulders and a small stand of trees—one of the few spots on the giant rock where there were any.
It was difficult to tell from this perspective, but I’d guessed that the small plot of trees, bushes and rocks—the only one visible on the top of the mountain—was a half a mile or so from the famous Confederate carving.
“Is he behind the rocks?” I asked. “In the trees?”
“Yeah,” Erin said. “I saw part of his arm before I went in there to get you.”
“Then we’ve got him,” I said.
“Yes we do.”
Though shivering in the cold wind, it was obvious Daphne was trying not to move. She was saying something but I couldn’t make it out. And her face was a mask of pure terror. Eyes wide and wild, tears streaming down her frozen face to her quivering chin.
“Okay,” Frank said when he finished talking on the radio. “We’ve got a sky lift operator
on his way in to take us up. The four of us will go up in it. Walt and Joe and several other GBI agents and Bobby Meredith and other park police are going to spread out around the perimeter and or start up the mountain. Got more cops on the way. And APD is scrambling a helicopter over here as quick as they can. This early . . . shouldn’t be anyone but him on the mountain. We’re blocking the entrances and exits. No one out. Only law enforcement in. Just us and him now. Let’s go get the bastard.”
“Has he communicated in any way?” I said. “Asked for anything?”
He shook his head. “We’re concerned he’ll drop her as we approach, but . . . don’t feel like we can just stand down here watching, doing nothing.”
I nodded. “He’s gonna drop her either way,” I said.
Erin nodded. “She’s already dead. Best we can hope for is catching him.”
“God, I hope not,” Bud said, stepping over to us. “Surely we can do both.”
“We’re gonna try,” Frank said. “We’re just being realistic about the odds of a killer like this really even giving us the chance to save her.”
“Then why do it like this?” Bud said.
“Why wait and give us the chance to—”
“He wants an audience,” I said.
“He’s risking getting caught to have one,” Erin added.
“Then let’s make it worth his while and catch his ass,” Bud said.
36
We ran across the street and parking lot to Skyride Plaza.
One of the most popular attractions at the park is the high speed Swiss cable cars that shuttle groups of visitors to the mountain’s summit and back down again. The view from the top of the mountain, which includes the city of Atlanta skyline and the Appalachian Mountains in the distance, is breathtaking, but the sights provided by the floating-on-air ride up are just as stunning.
While waiting for the operator to arrive, we stepped on the back of the platform beneath the huge damp metal structure and steel cables and attempted to get a visual on Daphne again, but the tall pine trees to our left obscured most of the mountain and blocked our view of the area where Daphne was hanging from.
Blood Stone (John Jordan Mysteries Book 17) Page 11
