by Rita Herron
But he’d carved him open just as the women had.
Then the third day he’d risen from the dead.
The new soul drove him forward.
And he’d come back for them all. Only they hadn’t recognized him. No one had. But he had frozen images of each of them in his mind.
Joann, Mindy, Darcy Mae. Lisa.
It always came back to Lisa.
He had wanted her way back when.
He had never stopped loving her.
He had come back from the grave to get her.
And she would be his.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LIAM LANGLEY’S HANDS shook with the effort not to choke Vernon Hanks, the temptation to end the man’s life warring with his conscience. Booker had done a number on the man, beaten him until his face was swollen and discolored.
Begrudgingly, Liam realized he owed the agent thanks. Too bad Booker hadn’t finished off Hanks. From what he knew, Booker could be a pretty cold killer. Until White had come into his life and destroyed his daughter, Liam had never understood the pleasure in the kill.
Now he did.
Seven days and nights of pure torture while he’d waited on the cops to find Lisa, agonizing minutes of not knowing, of wondering what kinds of things that sick man was doing to her. Of imagining her helpless, hurting, lying in that homemade grave, dying of thirst and lack of oxygen. Of being terrified that she was dead and gone forever.
White should have died the same way. But White had had it easy.
And Liam had known then that White’s life had to count for something. That he deserved to die.
Just like Vernon Hanks did now.
The machinery keeping him alive droned in the deafening silence, the steady drip of the IV a reminder that it would be so easy to feed Hanks a death serum. Liam unknotted his fists, then shoved his right hand into his pocket to remove a hypodermic just as Hanks’s eyelids fluttered. A cold sweat exploded on Liam’s neck. If he was going to do this, now was the time.
Hanks’s eyes were opened at half mast, mere slits between the swollen purple-and-blue bags cradling his irises.
“You tried to kill my daughter,” Liam said coldly.
Hanks narrowed the slits, obviously disoriented.
“Give me one reason I should let you live.”
“I…I wouldn’t hurt Lisa.” He paused, wheezing for a breath. “I love her….”
Liam’s hand moved, gripping the hypodermic tighter, but the door squeaked open.
“Liam?”
He froze, Gioni’s silky, worried voice washing over him. “I knew I’d find you here.” Her footsteps padded toward him, and she pressed one hand to his back. “What are you doing?”
He lifted his shoulders slightly, his gaze locking with Hanks’s as the man struggled to stay conscious.
“He attacked my daughter last night.” Liam slid the hypodermic back inside his pocket. “The police think he’s the Grave Digger.”
Hanks shook his head from side to side, his eyes rolling up in his head, then closing as if he couldn’t fight the battle any longer.
“Leave me for a minute,” Liam said quietly.
“No.” Gioni stepped around to face him, then captured his hands in hers. “You have to let the police handle this, Liam. Let them do their jobs.”
“But you don’t understand.” His voice cracked with emotions. “This man tried to hurt my daughter, and I didn’t protect her. He doesn’t deserve to live—”
“That’s not your decision,” Gioni said in a low voice. “Don’t let him destroy who you are, Liam. You’re a healer, a saver of lives.”
“It’s too late,” he replied, his chest swelling. “I crossed the line with White, and I can’t go back.”
“That was different,” Gioni said. “Just think about it, Liam. What would Lisa want you to do?”
* * *
CURTIS THIGS LOPED from the bathroom into Chartrese’s bedroom, buck naked and feeling randy. He had punished Chartrese for threatening to phone the police.
And now he had her right where he wanted her.
She’d recanted her accusations. Pleaded and begged for him to forgive her. And spread her legs for him time and time again.
It was funny how a man got used to jerking off in prison. But when he had a prime, juicy piece of woman to sink himself into, the hand job held no appeal.
Maybe this time he’d make Chartrese use her mouth. Deny her the satisfaction of holding his cock inside her until she pleasured him.
Teach her that he should always come first….
A laugh rumbled from his chest at the double meaning.
He rubbed at the scar on his chest, then watched Chartrese push the tangle of hair from her eyes as she studied him from the unmade bed. The top sheet lay on the floor, a quilt dangling from the foot of the bed where he’d kicked it off in his haste to drag her beneath him.
Her big eyes looked up at him, terrified. She was wondering if he was the Grave Digger. His dick twitched and grew thicker. He liked that fear in her eyes. That respect she gave him.
Not like that pansy-ass, White. He hadn’t been able to get it up with the women.
Curtis Thigs didn’t have that problem. At least not with Chartrese.
Granted, he’d lost it a few times in his life. And those women had suffered for it.
Just as White had made them pay for not being able to please him.
He stalked toward Chartrese, then stopped in front of the bed.
She twirled a strand of that fire-engine-red hair around a finger. “You want to go again, honey?”
He grinned. Chartrese might have considered leaving him while he was in the joint. But he was back now. And she was a quick study.
“Yeah, baby.” He threaded his fingers in her hair, then dragged her head down toward him. She made a whimpering sound, then crawled to her hands and knees and closed her mouth around his length.
Seconds later, a pounding at the door jarred him, and he froze, his hand still pressed to Chartrese’s head. He ignored the sound, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, willing the noise to stop. But the pounding grew louder.
He cursed, pushed Chartrese back on the bed and ordered her to stay. Then he grabbed his jeans, shucked them on and strode toward the door to get rid of the intruder. When he opened the door, he realized he’d made a mistake.
“Curtis Thigs?”
He muttered another curse. This guy had FBI written all over him.
“Special Agent Manning.” The fed flashed his badge. “You’re under arrest for violation of parole.”
“What?”
“You failed to show up for your parole meeting. I’m taking you in.”
“Since when does the goddamn FBI care about me and my parole officer?”
“Since you became a suspect in the copycat Grave Digger killings.”
“Curtis?”
He glanced back and saw Chartrese standing in the doorway, belting a robe.
“This is bullshit, baby.” He gestured toward the bedroom. “Stay right there. I’ll be back soon.”
He grabbed a shirt off the edge of the chair, then went with the agent, planning his story in his head. Chartrese would give him an alibi for the past week, he was sure of that.
In fact, if she knew what was good for her, she’d lie for him without him even having to ask.
* * *
BRAD TRIED TO PERSUADE Lisa to rest, but the conversation with her father had upset her, and she’d been pacing the small den ever since. Her strained relationship with Liam Langley disturbed her more than she wanted to admit. He wished her father could see that and make things right.
Brad would help her if he could.
But Liam Langley would never accept him. Just as his parents and those foster parents never had.
The fresh bruises he’d gotten from beating Hanks mocked him with the realization that Lisa’s father was right about him. His hands were too dirty to touch Lisa again.
His phone ran
g, and he rushed to answer it, hoping it was the hospital, that Hanks had awakened and confessed. Then he could put this case to rest.
Ethan’s voice echoed over on the line. “I heard you caught Vernon Hanks.”
“Yeah.” Brad scrubbed a hand over the rough stubble on his jaw. “He attacked Lisa.”
“No confession?”
“Not yet.”
“I lucked out tonight, too. Curtis Thigs is in custody.”
“You’re shittin’ me?”
“No. He’s at the precinct right now being booked for parole violation.”
“Did you get a chance to question him?”
“Yeah, but no confession either. Claims he has an alibi for the nights the women were killed, that his wife will verify his statement.”
“Damn it. At least hold him twenty-four hours.”
“Done.” Ethan hesitated. “Listen, Rosberg said something about Hanks maybe setting up White’s death.”
“Yeah, it looks that way.”
“Thigs admitted that a couple of the brothers in the joint had been buying drugs from Hanks. Apparently he gave them prescription painkillers he’d received after his surgeries, and they were getting high.”
“And the trade-off?” Brad asked.
“According to Thigs, they were supposed to take care of White.”
Brad whistled. “So, it’s looking more and more like Hanks is our perp.”
“Either way, at least both our prime suspects are in custody. Sooner or later, one of them will confess.”
Brad hung up and glanced at Lisa. He hoped to hell they did have the killer. Or Lisa still wasn’t safe.
* * *
LISA COULDN’T SLEEP. Long after she’d hung up the phone, her father’s comment gnawed at her. Hadn’t she learned anything from William?
Yes, she’d learned not to trust men. She’d hidden away from life. She’d shut herself off from a future.
But she was still alive. She’d been lucky. Given another chance. The other victims hadn’t.
And she couldn’t let them down—she had to make that chance count.
“Lisa, are you all right?”
Brad’s husky voice skated over her raw nerve endings. Soothing. Sultry. Evoking desire.
But she felt so dirty from Vernon’s touch. And then the stifling heat and stench of Darcy Mae’s grave site.
“Lisa, please lie down for a while. You need some rest.”
“So do you.”
Brad merely shrugged. She ached for him to come to her, hold her, make love to her, but he made no move.
“I’d like to shower first,” she said softly, wishing he would join her.
He simply nodded and turned away, busying himself making coffee. She couldn’t push him now, not with Darcy Mae’s death so fresh. But she wouldn’t give up on Brad Booker, either.
Resigned to give him time, she ducked inside the bedroom, but the sight of her clothes still strewn across the white comforter sent a shudder through her. She couldn’t wear those things, not after Vernon had touched them.
She stripped and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water and soap cleanse her of the stench of death, then she shampooed her hair and rinsed it, scrubbing her scalp to ease the tension. Finally, she towel dried her hair and wrapped another towel around her. After combing through the wet strands, she went into the den, where Brad stood at the French doors, breathing in the fresh air. Lisa could hear waves rippling against the shore from a boater who had headed out to fish.
She strode forward, hesitating a fraction of a second when he stiffened, then reached up and placed her hand on his back. “Brad?”
“Go to bed, Lisa.”
She closed her eyes, willed her courage to remain. “I…can’t sleep in that room. Not now.”
His head jerked toward her. Anguish darkened his eyes, but understanding filled them, too.
“Take my bed,” he said in a husky voice.
“Lie down with me,” Lisa whispered. “You need some rest, too.”
He swallowed, his eyes slanting downward, lingering a second on the towel around her. She felt her nipples tighten, the familiar stir of desire bubbling in her stomach.
“I have to clean up first.” His voice sounded harsh, but she understood the need to wash away the dirtiness of the night. He lifted a finger to the damp ends of her hair, brushed them away from her cheek. Her breath hitched in her throat.
But he pulled back, then turned and strode into the bathroom. Lisa leaned against the open doorway, inhaling the sultry air as the sun rose in its glory. Today would be another scorching one. The blistering heat would kill more grass, cause more flowers to die.
But if Vernon was the copycat killer, then maybe this streak of violence would end and no more women would lose their lives.
Still, she couldn’t shake her gut feeling that Vernon wasn’t the killer, that he had been sincere in his denial of the crimes. But as her father had reminded her with William, she hadn’t believed he was a killer at first, either.
Not until she’d found those clippings of the women’s fingernails, and he’d taken her as one of his victims….
* * *
SOMETHING WAS BOTHERING Liam about the victims.
He’d accessed all of Vernon Hanks’s medical files, which had made him start thinking about Lisa’s comment.
Hanks didn’t have the heart of a killer.
Liam had read some research on the criminal mind in med school, had always been fascinated by the discussion of whether criminal behavior was inherited or learned. When White had gone to trial, he’d studied the man’s medical records as well as his psychological profile. For some morbid reason, he’d wanted to try to understand why the man had murdered four women and almost killed his own daughter.
White had been traumatized and abused as a child. If he had genetic problems, they hadn’t shown up. A severe injury, trauma to his head, had caused his bipolar disorder. Coupled with that and the abuse he’d suffered, he’d become a full-fledged sociopath.
But what if the tests had been wrong or inconclusive? What if White had some genetic abnormality that had predisposed him to become a serial killer? Liam had heard various views on the possibilities, seen data supporting the theory….
He stared at the photo of Darcy Mae Richards in the paper, tapping his memory banks. Darcy Mae had worked at St. Jude’s…was it possible?
With a sense of foreboding tightening his chest, he picked up the phone and dialed a colleague of his at St. Jude’s.
As the questions formed in his mind, he shuddered. They couldn’t be true.
Because if they were, then he had not only crossed the line with White, but he had set the wheels in motion for him to be reborn and kill again….
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
VERNON WAS IN the hospital. Curtis Thigs was in custody.
And Lisa was lying in Brad’s bed, where she felt safe for the first time in years. Safe, free and full of hope.
Brad emerged from the shower, a towel knotted at his waist. Lisa had thrown on one of his shirts to sleep in, and rolled the sleeves up, but the shirt still swallowed her whole.
“I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed it from your closet.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes hooded, then hunger flared. “You look good in it.”
She rubbed her hand along the open neckline. “It smells like you.”
He closed his eyes for a brief moment as if exerting control. “God, Lisa.”
She pushed the covers aside, waited for him to open his eyes, then patted the bed beside her.
Droplets of water glistened on the dark mat covering his bronzed chest, and his damp hair had fallen over one eye, giving him a rakish look. He pushed it back, then seemed to lose the battle with his ironclad control and walked toward her. Her breath caught in her throat as he lowered himself on the bed beside her. But instead of lying down, he simply reached out and stroked her hair from her cheek, then traced a finger down her arm. “Go to sleep, Lisa. Y
ou have to be exhausted.”
“So do you.”
“I’m used to it. It’s my job.”
Lisa pressed her palm over his hand. “Even FBI agents have to rest once in a while.”
“Just rest,” he said in a thick voice. “We’re both too wrung out to know what we want.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head, and she accepted his comment, but only because she refused to beg. And he was right. Her limbs and body ached from fatigue. She was exhausted. Maybe they’d sleep, then talk about the future.
If there was going to be one between them.
He surprised her then by sliding down beside her. Then he took her in his arms. She cuddled against him, the throes of sleep tugging at her. Brad pressed a kiss to her temple, then rubbed slow circles on her back, his breathing deep and heavy. She needed more, to have him naked and sliding against her skin, but her eyes refused to stay open. She savored the feel of his hands on her back, of his leg as he wrapped it over hers, of the way he turned her spoon-style against him and hugged her close as she fell asleep in his arms.
* * *
BRAD LAY FOR A LONG TIME simply looking at Lisa as she drifted to sleep. He inhaled the scent of her freshly washed hair spread across his pillow, smiled at the small movements she made as she cuddled next to him, enjoyed the tingle of desire that ripped through him as the shirt she wore slid up and her bare butt brushed his thigh.
God, he wanted her—so badly he could hardly stand it. Ached to caress her silky skin and kiss every inch of her, tease her until she cried out his name and begged for more.
And then sink himself inside her until he reached her core, a place where he could erase the dark shadows that had dogged him forever.
Was this what it felt like to love someone?
He honestly didn’t know. Had never felt this way for a woman. Had no idea what being in a long-term relationship meant.
Had no intention of forcing her to live in constant danger just by association with him.
She whimpered and moved closer to him, and he tightened his arms around her, resigned to the fact that this delicious moment would have to last him for the rest of his life.
