In a Heartbeat

by Rita Herron

  Her father studied Brad for a long moment. “Let me make some calls. If this will help find the killer, I’ll do everything I can.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Langley.” Brad stood and shook his hand. “We’re still trying to figure out the connection between the victims. I thought Darcy Mae Richards might have worked at First Peachtree, but that wasn’t the case. But I just learned that Joann Worthy volunteered at a small private hospital in Buckhead.”

  Frown lines creased Langley’s face. “You think he’s choosing all hospital staff, even volunteers now?”

  “I don’t know. But two of the victims have been nurses, and Joann was a volunteer. There has to be some significance to that.”

  Her dad’s jaw went rigid, his gaze level with Brad’s. Lisa stood silently by, aching for him to hug her. But he simply gave her an odd look, then turned and went back to his work, his dismissal a reminder of the distance between them. She had disappointed him when she’d become a victim. It was as if he’d shut down his heart and written her out of his life.

  And she had no idea how to make things right.

  * * *

  LIAM CLOSED HIS EYES, squeezing them tightly shut as the door closed and Lisa walked out with Agent Brad Booker. A mixture of anger and pain knifed through him. Brad Booker was not good enough for his darling daughter.

  Of course, no man was.

  But there was something between them. He’d sensed it at the trial four years ago, but had hoped it had ended when Lisa moved away.

  Dark shadows of the approaching night deepened his sour mood, threatening to take him back to that depressed time of the trial.

  But he forced them aside, letting an instant replay of Lisa’s childhood float through his crazed mind. Lisa as a baby with her mother rocking her in the cradle. Her first birthday party, when she’d dug her fingers into the chocolate cake and smeared it all over her pretty face. They’d laughed and videotaped the scene, then played it year after year on her birthday. And then that adorable Little Miss Magnolia pageant. Right before her mother had died.

  He’d wanted so badly for Lisa to continue those pageants. Had always encouraged her to seek the limelight.

  But she had been so shy.

  And so damn trusting.

  Now the dark shadowy memories gripped him. The humiliation of watching Lisa in that courtroom, describing the vile things White had done to her. He hadn’t wanted her to testify. To have to endure that pain and suffering.

  For other people to stare and look at her in horror.

  But White hadn’t been horrified. No, he’d been smug. Proud of his sadistic accomplishments. During the trial, he’d gawked at Lisa as if he intended to come back and finish what he’d started.

  But he hadn’t.

  Liam had seen to that.

  Fuck William White’s memory.

  He wouldn’t waste a minute feeling guilty for that sick son of a bitch.

  Especially seeing Lisa now. She’d changed since the kidnapping. Had withdrawn into a shell even more. Given up dreams of beauty pageants. Of a medical career. Run off to the mountains to hide.

  He hated what White had done to her.

  Knowing that another killer was out there using White’s MO made Liam feel as if a scalpel had been dug into his skin, tearing and rooting away layers of blood vessels and tissue, ripping through cartilage and severing bone. He had been so helpless to do anything when she’d been abducted. So damn helpless.

  For a man who’d saved hundreds of lives, brought people back from the brink of death so many times and given them hope for life, it was torture standing idly by while his own daughter had been trapped in a five-foot-four-inch coffin.

  He would never forgive himself.

  The only momentary reprieve from guilt had come the day White had died. The instant Liam had felt the life drain from the man, a peace had washed over him.

  But now the kidnappings were happening all over again. The Grave Digger had returned from the dead.

  But why? And who was it?

  What if Liam couldn’t keep Lisa safe this time?

  Perspiration poured down his back, and he lifted his head, wiped his face with a handkerchief, then went and flicked the air conditioner down another notch, again contemplating the way Booker looked at his daughter. The man had it bad.

  But Liam knew things about Brad Booker that would shock his little girl.

  His own indiscretions suddenly charged back. Who was he to judge?

  He’d crossed the line more than once since her abduction.

  But he’d had good reason.

  William White’s disgusting face flashed into his mind. Again, Liam saw the photos of Lisa taken from that goddamned burial spot, and he spat out a curse. Hell, he’d do it all over again if he had to.

  Fueled with vengeance and anger, he picked up the phone to find out everything he could on Vernon Hanks, his supposed accident and plastic surgery. Liam also knew a judge who owed him big time. He might be able to unlock sealed records if there were any to find.

  The name Darcy Mae Richards echoed in his ears as he made the phone call, and his chest tightened, his heartbeat accelerating. He had to learn more about her job at St. Jude’s and Joann Worthy’s volunteer work. If it was possible…

  No. He squashed the disturbing thought. Surely, he hadn’t set the wheels in motion for the copycat killer to resume White’s crimes.

  God wouldn’t be so cruel and punish him that way a second time….

  * * *

  BRAD STEELED HIMSELF against any emotion as he strode into the interrogation room holding Dennis Hooper, Darcy Mae Richards’s fiancé. The police had questioned the man twice, but Brad didn’t have total faith in the locals, so he’d finally decided to interrogate Hooper himself.

  He scrutinized the man’s slumped posture and body language, his anguished expression, the nervous way he kept pressing a finger to his temple.

  Brad was usually a pretty good judge of character. Sometimes he could tell if a perp was innocent or guilty just by studying him through the two-way mirror before he even spoke to him.

  This man wasn’t acting. He really loved his fiancée.

  But Brad couldn’t let emotions affect his interrogation. What if he was wrong? If there was one copycat, there was always the chance there might be two.

  “Mr. Hooper, I’m Special Agent Brad Booker.”

  The wiry-haired man looked up, his eyes red, his skin blotchy. “I’ve already told the police everything I know.”

  “Suppose you tell me again.”

  Frustration washed over his bony features. He was gangly, in his early twenties, with a choppy haircut, close-set eyes and a cleft chin. He was also missing the tip of his third finger on his right hand.

  His prints would be unique. Not that the investigators had found any at the crime scenes so far.

  Brad flipped a wooden chair around and straddled it. “When was the last time you saw Darcy Mae Richards?”

  Dennis heaved a breath. “Like I told the other cops, we had lunch the other day.”

  “You’re a student?”

  He nodded. “I’m in grad school. Bioengineering.”

  A medical background would definitely give him an advantage if he wanted to commit a crime. Then again, Hooper didn’t seem like a misfit, so he didn’t exactly fit the profile. “How long have you been engaged to Darcy Mae?”

  “About six weeks.” He choked up for a second, then cleared his throat. “I gave her a diamond on her twenty-fourth birthday. That was two weeks ago.”

  Brad’s jaw tightened. “And how was your relationship since?”

  Dennis worked his mouth side to side, then stared down at his hands. “It was good. We were planning the wedding. She…was so excited. She wanted a church service.”

  “And you?”

  “I just wanted to make her happy.” He bowed his head against his folded hands, emotions overcoming him.

  Brad stood and pivoted for a second, giving him time to compose himse
lf, more certain every second that he wasn’t guilty.

  “We have estimated that Darcy Mae disappeared sometime between 8:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. Where were you?”

  “In my lab,” Dennis said. “I was supposed to meet her, but the class r…ran over.”

  Again he choked up, and Brad moved toward the door. He had to verify the man’s story.

  “Do you think she was kidnapped by that Grave Digger?” Dennis asked.

  Brad squared his shoulders, the man’s emotions stirring up his own. He was almost convinced this guy was innocent now. And he knew exactly how it felt to be sitting in his place, imagining the worst, seeing images of the woman he loved in trouble.

  Brad couldn’t allow the man to see that he sympathized, though.

  The same way he couldn’t reveal his feelings to Lisa.

  Especially after seeing her father again. Lisa’s relationship with her dad needed mending. She was hurting. And more than anything, he wanted her to be happy.

  And Brad would only stand in the way of that reconciliation.

  Dennis caught him by the arm before he could exit. “Please, Agent Booker, you have to find her. Darcy Mae’s everything to me. I d-don’t want her to die….”

  * * *

  DARCY MAE DID NOT WANT to die.

  She had been begging God all day to save her. But as each hour passed, her courage and faith waned. It was so quiet and isolated in this box. Her arms and legs had gone numb from attempting to maneuver sideways, and her body had sweated so much that she knew she must be dehydrated. She’d even tried to wiggle enough to lift her hand and lick the sweat off her fingers, hoping the salty dampness might soothe her dry, parched throat. But just as she’d read in the paper, he’d built the coffin to fit her shape, giving her no room to move.

  If only she could convince him to release her for just a few minutes, maybe she could find some way to escape.

  She’d lost track of time, but figured he’d been gone now for hours. How much longer would he leave her here? She tried to remember how long he’d kept the other victims. Had it been two days? Three?

  The door suddenly screeched open, and a shudder rippled through her as footsteps thundered across the wooden floor. Her stomach clenched as the box began to move. He was dragging it outside.

  That could only mean one thing. He was taking her to the woods to bury her. She’d seen the photos of the other mounds of dirt where the women had been left.

  Horror swept through her. She couldn’t go like this. She had a wedding to plan, babies to have and take care of. And poor Dennis…what would he do without her?

  Although she thought she’d cried all her tears, a sob welled in her throat, and she screamed holy terror. But somewhere in the distance, a train chugged and blew its warning call, drowning out the sound.

  And when she heard a car door open and felt herself being lifted, her hope for being rescued died.

  Resigned to her fate, she closed her eyes and began to whisper the Lord’s Prayer, begging him to take her quickly up to heaven, where the angels would welcome her home.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THROUGH THE TWO-WAY mirror, Lisa studied Dennis Hooper’s behavior during the interrogation. She wasn’t an expert on romance by any means, but she recognized true love when she saw it, and this man loved his fiancée. Loved her so much he was broken up inside and barely holding together. If Darcy Mae survived, would the two of them be able to recover from the trauma of her ordeal and move on with their lives?

  Then again, Lisa hadn’t been that good of a judge of character where William was concerned….

  Dennis Hooper dropped his head into his hands and began to cry—heartfelt, soulful sobs that wrenched his body. Yes, he did love Darcy Mae.

  A sliver of envy wormed its way inside Lisa’s heart.

  What would it be like for a man to care for her like that? So unconditionally…

  Not like her father, who approved of her only when she did everything his way. When she was beautiful. But she couldn’t be that beauty-queen child. And she’d had to stand up to William.

  Because his so-called love had been about total possession and power.

  Not a real love, filled with respect and longing and hunger.

  Brad appeared in front of her and her pulse kicked up, a tingle of desire and yearning igniting within her. He looked haggard and exhausted from the long hours that accompanied his job; riddled with worry. She sensed a loneliness that she’d never recognized before, a depth of sadness that shook her to the core.

  He was an honorable man, a protector. One who put his life on the line to save others. A man who had rescued her and held her, comforting her and giving her hope during the darkest hours of her life.

  She was falling deeper in love with him. So deep there was no turning back. Maybe there never had been. But she couldn’t fight her feelings.

  She didn’t even want to. She wanted to reach out, gently move the hair back from his eyes, soothe the tension from his brow and hold him all night. She wanted to lie naked with him and whisper sweet nothings until dawn, and forget that the rest of the world existed for just a little while.

  But did Brad want her? Would she be making a fool out of herself if she proclaimed her love?

  Maybe she should just show him….

  “Let’s go.” Brad’s pace picked up as he stalked toward the car.

  Lisa practically jogged to keep up with him, but didn’t complain. Outside, the steamy night scalded her instantly, the lack of a breeze draining the air from her lungs. Poor Darcy Mae. Was she struggling for her last breath now?

  Shaking with fury at the image of another innocent woman in the ground fighting for her life, she slid into Brad’s car. The ride to his cabin was filled with cloying heat and a strained silence.

  Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to break the tension, get him to talk and open up. He seemed to be falling deeper and deeper into the well of guilt. “What do you think about Dennis Hooper?”

  Brad raked a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t think he’s the killer.” He hesitated. “Besides, his alibi checks out.”

  She nodded. So her instincts had been right. Maybe she was learning to read people better.

  The lake seemed eerily quiet as they drove the winding road to Brad’s cabin. The sun had disappeared, taking with it the relentlessly pounding heat, but the air still carried the scents of dry earth and sweaty skin. A small fishing craft had settled in a cove nearby; the sound of a boat motor rumbled in the distance. During the day, water-skiers, fishermen and vacationers raced to the lake for relief and recreation, but tonight, the body of water looked like a deserted mirage of colors and light. The mutt ran to her side of the car, and Lisa climbed out and petted him, then followed Brad inside the cabin. She ached to talk to him, but he quickly checked the rooms, then changed into a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt, left food and water out for Beauregard, grabbed his boxing gloves and headed down to the tree where she’d watched him punch out his frustrations the other night.

  Knowing he needed time alone, she watched him go, struggling over whether to join him by the lake or go to bed. But if she lay down, images of Darcy Mae in that wooden coffin would haunt her.

  Needing something to calm her, she found a bottle of wine open in the refrigerator, poured herself a small amount in a goblet from the cabinet, then stepped outside in the sultry heat to listen to the night sounds. Once again she was struck by the quiet outside tonight. Even the animals seemed to be asleep. Either that or they were so exhausted from the heat they didn’t have the energy to move or come out into the night.

  “What do you think, Beauregard?” Lisa asked as she sat down on the porch with the wine. She scratched his head, and he stretched out beside her, content. “Do you think Brad has room in his life for both of us?”

  The dog looked up at her with big, sad eyes, and she laughed and sipped the wine. As he slumped down to sleep beside her, she stared through the trees at the wat
er, the temptation to take off her clothes and jump in, to feel the refreshing coolness of it lapping against her body, almost irresistible. When she’d been lying inside that box with the heat engulfing her, the sweat coating her arms and thighs, she’d closed her eyes and imagined being able to sink herself into a pond or mountain stream, had imagined what the cool water would feel like tingling her skin, giving her renewed life.

  The sound of Brad grunting as he punched the bag drifted through the darkness. The raw pain and frustration echoed in the air as he slammed his fists into the bag over and over. In her mind, she saw the anguish on his face. The blood dripping from his hands as they had the time before.

  Unable to fight her need any longer, she retrieved a towel from the kitchen, then walked down the embankment toward him. Brad had taken care of her once, just as he took care of others and that homeless dog.

  Tonight he needed someone to take care of him.

  * * *

  BRAD SENSED LISA BEHIND him before she actually appeared. He’d been a bastard for not talking to her on the way home, but he’d reached the end of his patience with this case. And the temptation to take Lisa in his arms, make love to her until reality disappeared, at least temporarily, had been almost too strong for him to resist.

  So, just as he’d done for the last four years, he’d resorted to pounding out his anger and adrenaline on the punching bag. He swiped the back of his arm over his forehead to stop the sweat from rolling into his eyes, and slammed his fist into the center of the bag again. And again. And again. Each time a myriad of women’s faces flashed in his mind. Joann Worthy’s. Mindy Faulkner’s. Darcy Mae Richards’s.

  Lisa’s.

  God, he couldn’t stand it if this psycho got his hands on her. He’d lived through it once.

  He couldn’t survive it a second time.

  Blood began to seep through the edge of his boxing gloves and trickle down his arm. He ignored it and punched the bag harder, every breath he took a reminder that he still lived on, while a psycho brutally murdered women around him. And there was nothing he could do about it.