“We have followed every inch of the news,” he said. “So, a couple. Amazing. Boston is full of couples. Sadly, we’ve also had our share of very bad people. The Boston Strangler. There was Alfred Gaynor, though that was out in Springfield. In recent history? Bombers. But even then, how do you see such a killer? With a couple... I see how people might not notice a nice young couple following them, but...how in God’s name to you find out who they are? Do you start stopping every duo on the street?” He swung around to stare at Vickie, caught with a dish of slivered-almond green beans in her hand. “And you! What is it—how are you figuring out where these bodies are, and, Vickie, if you can do that, why can’t you figure out who is doing all this and have these men arrest the crooks?”
“I, uh...Dad!” she protested. The dish landed hard on the table. “You’re asking me? You and Mom are scholars—always with history. How do you think I come up with all this?”
She faced her father down pretty darned good.
He lifted his hands—and looked at his wife.
“We’re just scared, that’s all,” Lucy said softly.
“Mom, we’ve established that,” Vickie said. “And everyone is going to be scared until these people are caught. So, we’re working as hard as we can in that direction.”
Lucy looked from Jackson to Griffin. “I know we’re coming across badly. We all know that your quick reactions years ago probably saved Vickie’s life,” she said. “And I guess...”
Her voice trailed. She looked at Vickie’s father.
Philip wagged a finger at Griffin. “You just don’t leave her. You just don’t leave her—not even for a minute. Do you understand?”
Of course, it was really very serious.
And he nodded solemnly.
“Sir, I will not leave her.”
Philip leaned back and looked at his wife. “So, we’re fine. I told you, they’re slee—told you they’re together. I think they wanted to be before. I suppose this fellow does have some ethics.”
“Dad!” Vickie protested.
“Vickie, dear, really, we’re not living in the Dark Ages!” Lucy said.
“Well, let’s get it all on the table. My point here is that, if you’re together anyway, don’t make it any kind of a part-time deal. You watch her. You don’t let anything happen to her,” Philip said.
“That goes for you, too, Jackson Crow,” Lucy said.
“Special Agent Crow is married,” Philip said.
“He’d better still lay down his life for my daughter!” Lucy said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jackson said.
Vickie groaned, flushing to a brilliant shade of crimson.
“He’s got a wife,” Philip said.
“This is what we do,” Jackson told him quietly. “Angela would expect me to do no less.”
There was silence for a minute. Griffin wasn’t at all sure what to say.
Philip solved that for him. “Your intentions better be honorable!”
“Absolutely, sir,” Griffin said.
“Well, we really should eat,” Lucy said. “Mr. Crow—how’s your scrod?”
“Delicious,” Jackson said. “The best I’ve ever had.”
Vickie looked over at Griffin and shrugged.
Dinner went on; the conversation veered from Massachusetts to Virginia, DC and the West; scrod and clam chowder and grits and tacos.
“Apple pie for dessert,” Lucy announced. “Cradle of Liberty and all—American as apple pie!”
And so they enjoyed dessert and coffee, and then Jackson rose, thanking the Prestons for their hospitality and the delicious food—and once again avowing that one of them would personally be with Vickie at all times.
“And for the love of God! Take her to a shooting range. I was actually a crack shot with our skeet group years and years ago,” Lucy said. “I’ll bet she can be pretty good.”
Both of Vickie’s parents hugged her tightly.
Then, to Griffin’s surprise, they hugged him. And then Jackson.
They headed back out on the street, to the car.
“So what now?”
“It’s late. Bed. And we start again tomorrow.”
“Bed,” Griffin couldn’t help but repeating, adding solemnly, “with a rather strange blessing from your parents.”
“No, no, no,” Vickie said.
“I just made a promise!” Griffin protested.
“Yes. No. I mean, what about George Ballantine? What else did Chrissy say to you? She really suspects her husband?”
“Let’s get somewhere. I don’t want to talk about this on the street,” Jackson said.
“My apartment,” Vickie said.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Vickie was seated on her sofa, legs curled beneath her. Jackson was in the chair across from her.
Griffin was standing by the front window, looking out between the drapes.
“So?” Vickie persisted.
“It was strange,” Jackson said. “Chrissy was so nervous and speaking so quickly—she was afraid Noah would come back down. She said George was behaving very weird—ever since they’d come home from the hospital. He’d leave early for work, and he’d call and say he was going to be very late. She called his office last night, and he wasn’t there.”
“So, he may be stepping out. Midlife crisis, something like that,” Vickie said.
Griffin spoke, still looking out the window. “She wants very badly to be hypnotized. She’s thinking maybe she did hear or see something right before she was struck on the head. If she’s hypnotized, she thinks she might know. As it is, she and George are sleeping apart.” He turned to look at Vickie. “She’s sleeping with her door locked. And she’s afraid he’ll eventually realize she’s not just suspecting him of an affair—she’s suspecting him of being a murderer, of trying to murder her.”
“But...when Aldridge broke into the house years ago, they were both at a dinner. There were witnesses.”
“Aldridge was evidently in the house before they ever left,” Griffin said.
“Oh, no, no. I can see a man and a wife having problems—and we all know husbands have killed their wives and vice versa, but Noah was in the house! They both adore Noah. He was a miracle for them,” Vickie protested.
“We’re not telling you what is or isn’t, Vickie. Just what Chrissy said,” Griffin reminded her.
“And,” Jackson said quietly, “we’ve already informed Detective Barnes and our local contacts—Ballantine will be watched now.”
“Watched—and followed,” Griffin added.
“Can’t be, it just can’t be,” Vickie said. “Noah... This would be devastating for him. I mean if George proves to be guilty in any way...”
“It’s a long shot,” Griffin said. “At the moment, we can’t let anything go.”
“He had nothing to do with Aldridge being in his house, I’m certain. Even if Aldridge had gotten in before he and Chrissy left that day. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. He loves Noah,” she insisted.
“And you’re probably right,” Jackson said.
Griffin came and hunkered down before her. “Vickie. We’ve still got nothing. We’ve got the dead, and we’ve got those we’ve managed to save. We think there’s a connection between the murders that happened years and years ago, but what, we don’t know. We believe a man and a woman are pulling this off together. We pull on every thread, no matter how fragile.”
Jackson stood. “I’m heading out. I’ll see you in the morning. Chrissy is coming to the station first thing. I figure you want to be there?” he asked Vickie.
“You bet,” she said.
“No kids tomorrow?” Griffin asked.
“Next up will be the aquarium, two days,” she said.
; Jackson left and Griffin walked around, checking her windows, securing the door. Vickie watched him. “Is there still a man on the outside? I wonder what he thinks.”
Griffin laughed softly. “Well, here’s the good news—what he thinks doesn’t matter. I have your parents’ blessings. Go figure on that one!”
“I will admit they took me quite by surprise. But then again, they’re ‘not living in the Dark Ages, you know.’”
She smiled and turned, heading into the bedroom, stripping in a leisurely manner. She heard him follow, heard the gun and holster go down on the bedside table, and then he swept her up, and they fell, laughing, onto the bed.
It was still a wonder.
She was still in awe. Touching him was amazing.
Feeling his touch in return was the greatest eroticism she could imagine...
No, she’d never imagined something so wonderful, something that combined such combustion and fire and vitality with...
Such emotion.
It was new, of course. All new. And yet she was certain she’d never tire of him. Maybe when they were older. Or if they were exhausted after nights with a sleepless baby or running around after toddlers or...
She was way, way, ahead of herself. Of everything. And yet...
He lay beside her, arm draped over her naked torso. And she realized his eyes were open and he was watching her. He tenderly smoothed back a lock of her hair, fingers brushing over her cheek as he did so.
“It’s amazing,” he said.
She lowered her head quickly, suddenly a little afraid. She had now touched all this, known all this. Before it had been a back-burner dream, a memory of longing.
And now it was real.
“Well,” she said softly, afraid to be too serious. “We...this...us together... is, after all, blessed in a very strange way. Fate, maybe? Oh! Or, did you just mean me? I’d like to think I’m good. Well, no, I’m a liar. It’s just instinct. It’s just...”
He swept atop her, lifting her face, meeting her eyes.
“People are lucky in life sometimes. They meet each other—it’s right. And sometimes they meet each other but the time isn’t right. When they’re incredibly lucky, somehow, times goes by, and they meet again, and then they’re very, very lucky in life.”
She realized she was trembling when she reached up and touched his face.
“I’m incredibly lucky,” she whispered. “And when I’m with you...”
“Everything else goes away,” he finished softly.
“But it’s always out there, isn’t it? How do you do this...day after day? Always?”
“I’m good at it. And we save lives. And...now...there’s you.”
She didn’t want to take that any further. Not at that moment. She didn’t want to know anything about his past relationships or love life; there had certainly been one.
But at the moment, she couldn’t even remember her own.
Because the past just didn’t matter.
He lowered his head and kissed her slowly and tenderly, and the warmth and scent of him swept around her. The kiss was soft and gentle and seemed to speak volumes...
And then, of course, it changed. And it was passionate and as demanding as the one she returned, and then their hands and lips were all over one another’s bodies and they made love again.
When she slept that night, she didn’t know if she dreamed...or if an angel in white did drift silently into the room where the two of them lay tangled under their covers.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the ghost seemed to murmur.
“Darlene,” Vickie murmured, saying the name aloud.
“I will find you!” the ghost whispered. And then she faded.
At Vickie’s side, Griffin stirred, but did not wake.
When morning came, Vickie was left to wonder once again if she’d been dreaming, or if the ghost of Darlene Dutton had stopped by, determined it was a bad time, and disappeared.
She hoped the ghost would come again.
Darlene had been the killers’ first—they might not have been as organized. They might have made mistakes.
There was something...just maybe, Darlene might remember.
* * *
Chrissy Ballantine arrived at the station accompanied by a burly security man who had been hired by her husband.
The company was legit; Hard Core Security had high ratings by every possible measure.
Griffin knew for sure, because he verified all the information they’d received from headquarters, just as he’d made a point of researching Donald Baugh, one of the two men assigned the duty of watching over Chrissy and the Ballantine house.
Baugh had no problem sitting in the antechamber, drinking coffee and reading, while Chrissy joined him and Jackson, Detective Barnes and Vickie in the conference room. Baugh didn’t even seem curious as to exactly why Chrissy was there; apparently, he hadn’t been given instructions to question Chrissy’s actions. His only job was to follow her and keep her safe.
According to Chrissy, she and Baugh—or Carl Lumley, the second man from Hard Core Security hired by her husband—went together to bring Noah to school in the morning.
They went together to pick him up in the afternoon.
They talked about it in the conference room while waiting for Lenora Connor.
“I feel good about the protection detail. The men are quiet. They call at night several times just to check on us, even though they’ve watched all the while. They watch over Noah and me, of course. My husband, George, is convinced no one would come after him. He’s a man. And, of course,” Chrissy said, “he’s right. These people have only gone after women. And girls who have barely become women. My heart so aches for Darlene Dutton. She was so young—and praying she might find something in life.”
Chrissy still seemed nervous.
“I have been so privileged, in so many ways, I can’t imagine life for that poor child. Not that I wouldn’t have given anything we ever had if it could have...could have given me back Dylan!” she said in a whisper.
Griffin glanced at Vickie. She walked over to Chrissy and gave her a hug. “I know how much he loved you,” she said.
Chrissy nodded and then frowned. “But you never knew him. We lived in New York before—before the accident.”
“I’ve seen his pictures—the way he looks at you in family photos. And I know how Noah adores you, Chrissy,” Vickie said.
“And we all die in the end!” Chrissy said. “So, you think I’ll get to see him again?”
“Definitely,” Vickie told her with conviction.
Chrissy smiled and Lenore Connor walked into the room with nice timing. She was calm and very pleasant, speaking easily with Chrissy and setting her at ease. She explained she didn’t care if Chrissy sat or lay down, just as long as she was comfortable.
There was something just amazing about the woman’s tone of voice, Griffin noted, admiring her ability. The rhythm and cadence of her tone were more soothing than many a sedative, he was certain.
He realized everyone else in the room breathed, opened their eyes, and looked at one another now and then—all to keep from falling beneath the woman’s spell themselves.
“First, Chrissy, we’re going to go back a few years. It’s winter. You and your husband are going to a business dinner. Do you remember anything special about that night?”
“It was cold,” Chrissy said.
“And the dinner?”
“With Mr. and Mrs. Schwartz. Barney Schwartz is a banker.”
“And the house, what about the house that night, Chrissy?”
“Noah was playing...even little, he had imaginary friends. He was so delightful. He laughed so very often. I hated to leave him. I hated to leave at all. But...we had Vickie. She was good with Noah. Noa
h loved her. It was all fine. It was all fine until...”
She broke off; her eyes were closed, but her brow was puckered with a serious frown, and she was evidently distressed.
Lenore gently set her hands on Chrissy’s. “It’s all right. It’s in the past. You’re safe. Noah is safe.”
“They called us. We went straight to the police department. Noah was there and I held Noah and I was grateful, of course, that Vickie was okay, but... Noah. Noah was what mattered.”
“Your husband was with you all the time?” Lenore asked her.
“At dinner, yes...not before. He...came home just about an hour before it was time for us to get ready and go to dinner.”
“Was he different in any way? Concerned, anxious?”
“No, just...in a rush.”
“Okay, Chrissy. It’s okay. Noah was fine. Vickie was fine. But then, just a bit ago—you weren’t so lucky. You were buried alive in your own cellar. You’re fine now—you’re safe. But do you remember being buried?”
“I couldn’t move—I could barely breathe. I felt the world pressing down on me. I saw blackness, so much blackness...and earth. I could smell the earth. Musky. The scent was so strong.”
“What happened before that, Chrissy?”
“I was in the kitchen. I don’t know. There was something. A little noise. I don’t think it even registered in my mind. George...”
Lenore glanced over at Griffin. He gave her a small nod.
“What about George?” she asked gently.
“He often comes quietly into the kitchen. He likes to come up behind me, slip his arms around my waist. I thought it was George. I was sure it was George. I was evening smiling...and then...”
Chrissy stopped speaking, her voice breaking away in a whimper.
“And then?” Lenore said.
“The pain! The pain.”
“Your head—you were struck in the head. You probably fell. Do you remember any scents, and sounds, people speaking, voices?”
“A woman,” Chrissy said. “I think...”
“Yes?”
“I think she’s the one who hit me. And someone whispered it had been too hard. And she said no, and really, what difference did it make? And he said I wouldn’t know the darkness, wouldn’t fear the coming...and then, then I smelled the earth, I felt such a sensation of the earth. And darkness, terrible ebony, such darkness and a miasma...death.”
Dying Breath--A Heart-Stopping Novel of Paranormal Romantic Suspense Page 22
