by Mary Burton
The weight of him didn’t scare her nor did it make her want to scream. She’d always feared her first real sexual encounter would be difficult because of the rape, but this felt so different than the last time. Deacon’s touch was as gentle as Josiah’s had been violent.
Garrison suckled her breast. She arched into him.
Her response encouraged him to reach for the snap of her jeans. He unfastened it and stroked the pink fabric of her panties. She grew wet.
With her help, he pulled off her pants and tossed them on the floor. Raw sexual need darkened his eyes as he kissed the panties and pushed his finger under the elastic. He teased her most intimate center, stoking a desire in her she’d never felt before. “Please,” she whispered.
He pressed his lips to her ear and kissed her gently. “Please what? ”
“More.”
“You’re sure?”
This time his voice sounded strained, as if backing off wouldn’t be nearly as easy, but she trusted that he would if she asked. And that made her want him more.
“Yes.” This time when she reached for his belt buckle, he didn’t push her hands away. Instead he watched as she undid the pants and pushed them down over his hips.
When she touched his hardness, Garrison swallowed and a vein in the side of his neck pulsed. He quickly reached in his pocket and pulled a condom from his wallet. He slid it expertly over his erection and then came down on top of her. As he kissed her, he pulled at her panties. Fabric ripped but neither cared.
She opened her legs and he straddled above her. He hesitated, poised at the edge of her, and when she raised her hips, he pushed into her.
He filled her so completely. She tensed, expecting pain, as her body stretched and molded to him. He held steady, kissing her on the lips but not yet moving inside of her. When the tightness eased, he started to move slowly and steadily.
Sensations built inside of her, and when he reached down to touch her again and stroke her softness, her desire bubbled over. She wrapped her legs around him and took all of him. He stroked faster, and in the next second she arched and welcomed his release.
He collapsed against her and rested his face in the crook of her neck. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on their bodies. Their racing heartbeats mingled.
Finally, he rolled on his side and pulled her against him. He cupped his hand over her breast and she nestled her bottom against him. Neither spoke, savoring the union they just shared.
Finally, his hand moved from her breast to the star-shaped scar on her shoulder. He traced it. Kissed it.
“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again,” he whispered.
Giddiness bubbled in Lou. The plan was coming together. Soon all those who’d needed to be punished would be dead. And Donovan, well, he was about to get the story of his life.
The deadweight of Donovan’s body proved a bit of a struggle but finally Lou dragged him from the house to the waiting van. No doubt the embers in the basement haven had dimmed by now, but it would take little effort to stoke them and get them burning hot once again.
When the haze cleared from Donovan’s brain, his head snapped up in a quick jerky movement. A dry mouth and a pounding headache had him instantly craving a soda and aspirin. “Shit.”
He opened his eyes to a near-dark room. He sat in a chair, his hands tied to the arms. A swell of panic rose up through him and threatened to chase away rational thought. He’d been in bad spots before, like when the drug dealer he’d interviewed had decided he didn’t like the tone of his questions and had tried to jam a knife in his gut, or when a killer-for-hire had threatened to shoot him. Each of those times, he’d been able to talk his way out of trouble.
And he’d do it now.
Donovan glanced down and realized he’d pissed on himself. The ropes that held him to the chair arms had rubbed raw red rings.
Again the panic seared. He cleared his throat. “Hey.” His voice sounded like sandpaper against metal. He sniffed and raised his chin. “Is anyone there?”
His only answer was the drip, drip of a leaking pipe.
“Hey, I know you’re there. I can hear you!” He couldn’t hear but he could bluff. “Talk to me.” Talk to me. I can reason my way out of anything but you’ve got to talk to me.
A soft moan rose from a shadowed corner.
“Hello!” A thrill of excitement snapped against his nerve endings, making him sit just a little straighter. “Who is it?”
This time the moan was louder and more desperate. The sound reminded him of an animal dying in a trap.
“He’s going to kill us,” a woman said.
A chill scraped down Donovan’s back. “Who? Who?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” She started to sob softly.
Donovan jerked at his ropes. “Stop crying. It’s not going to help.”
“You don’t know what he’s going to do to you.” Her words sounded like a whimper.
“What do you mean? ”
“He’s going to burn you.”
Donovan’s pulse thrummed in his neck. “What?”
“Just like he did me. He’s going to burn you.”
Shit. Terror scratched at his insides, leaving him feeling more helpless. He didn’t want to be afraid. He wanted to be the tough-as-nails-reporter he’d led the world to believe he was. Digging below the fear, he searched for a shred of anger that he could cling to—anger that would give him the power to get out of this. At least angry, he could hang on to a semblance of control.
It frustrated him that he couldn’t see her. “Who are you?”
For a long moment, she didn’t answer. “Kristen Hall.”
“Kristen Hall? You were one of the girls who testified against Eva Rayburn.”
Her laugh was weak, half hysterical. “He said you’d be asking me questions. I’m supposed to give you the story of your life.”
Donovan let his head fall forward. “Yesterday, I’d have been thrilled to talk to you.”
“I’m supposed to tell you everything.”
“And then what?”
“He’s going to kill us.”
Donovan jerked against his bindings. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say. ”
“I have to tell. I have to tell or it will be worse.”
He’d spent his professional career looking under rocks and trying to get to the next story. Every time he’d been hungry for more information. He needed to know. Now, he was so afraid to ask. And yet, a lifetime of habits wouldn’t let go. “What are you supposed to tell me?”
“I killed Josiah Cross.”
“What?”
“I was pregnant with his child. I was afraid of what he’d do when he found out.” She paused. “He was a monster. I couldn’t spend my life shackled to him.”
“Why not just get an abortion?”
“I couldn’t.” Emotion choked her voice. “But I could kill Josiah. I let it slip that Eva would be alone at the house. I knew he’d come. He hated her.” A soft bitter laugh rumbled in her throat. “He often talked about bringing her down a peg.”
How many times had Donovan set someone up for a story? Still, what Josiah had done to Eva … he couldn’t have done that, could he? “She was bait?”
“Yes.”
“He raped her. Brutalized her.”
She didn’t respond for a long time and he thought she might have passed out.
“Tell me!” Connor shouted.
“I saw her lying on the floor,” Kristen continued finally. “She’d passed out, but I thought she was dead. Josiah looked worried. He always panicked when he went too far with someone. I knew I had a few minutes so I slipped in through the side door and hit him with the poker. He died right away.”
“And you set the fire?”
“I freaked when I saw all the blood. I ran out back where Lisa and Sara were waiting. I stripped to my underwear while Sara got gasoline from the shed and dumped them on my clothes. Lisa got spare clothes from her car. As Sara dumped gasolin
e on my clothes I struck a match and tossed it on the heap. It caught immediately and spread to the house so fast. The place was in flames in seconds.”
“Christ. You lied about it all.”
“Yes.”
“Where’s the kid?”
“My mother took him. Gave him away.”
In that moment, floodlights flipped on, bright and harsh. Donovan winched, closing his eyes and ducking his head from the glare. Seconds passed before he lifted a lid and let in a bit of light. Slowly, he opened his eyes more until he became accustomed to the light.
In an instant he regretted the light.
Directly in front of him was the woman, Kristen, shackled to an ancient brick wall, her arms above her head and her legs anchored to the floor. She wore no shirt, only a lace black bra and designer jeans. No shoes and toes that looked like they’d been manicured were chipped and covered in dirt. Above the waistband of her jeans were four clear burns. Stars. All circling her navel.
Tears had pulled the mascara down her pale cheeks in black streaks and her red hair was a wild, knotted mess. She stared at him with green eyes that registered resignation.
Donovan swallowed, at a loss for words. He could barely look at her. She disgusted and scared him.
Tears streamed down Kristen’s face. “I didn’t want anyone to know about the baby. The Cross family would have turned him into a monster.”
Donovan shook his head. “Who is doing this to us?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it Eva?”
“I don’t know.” For a moment her knees buckled and her legs folded. Only the manacles that bound her hands held her up.
She’d passed out or worse, died. Fear exploded inside of Donovan. He didn’t want to be left here alone. “Kristen! Kristen! Wake up. Wake up.”
For a long moment Kristen didn’t move. Her breathing was so imperceptible that he thought she might have died. She hung lifeless like a puppet on strings. And then she raised her head and looked at him.
“Kristen! Kristen! Wake up! Why am I here?” He jerked at the ropes, unmindful of the pain the twine caused his raw skin.
“The articles you wrote.” The words wheezed from her lips.
“The articles I’ve written?”
“Yes.”
His mind shuffled through the articles. “I was harsh on Eva in the latest piece and a decade ago.”
Kristen nodded. “I remember the old articles.”
“It has to be Eva. She has to be doing this.”
Kristen stared at him. “She’s punishing us for our sins.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong. I was doing my job. I didn’t sin!”
Kristen was silent for a moment. “She thinks you did.”
The lights went out.
Chapter 20
Tuesday, April 11, 3:15 P.M.
After Garrison left Eva at Angie’s house, he drove directly to Micah Cross’s estate. A housekeeper greeted him and escorted him back into the main room where he and Cross had met before. Garrison moved toward the hearth, a Price yearbook tucked under his arm. A fire crackled inside.
“Detective,” Micah said from the doorway. “Another visit?”
Garrison turned. “Mr. Cross. Thank you for seeing me.”
Cross’s demeanor was cool, reserved to the point of withdrawn. “What can I do to help you? ”
Garrison smiled. “I had a few more questions about your brother.”
The welcoming hint in Micah’s eyes faded. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
“Your brother was a pretty big deal in college.”
“He was. Played football. Did well academically.”
“I understand he dated a girl named Kristen Hall.”
“Maybe. He dated a lot of women. Girls like a good-looking guy.”
“Kristen would have been special. I understand they went out for several months.”
Micah pulled an imaginary thread from his pant leg. “If you say so.”
“So you don’t remember her?”
“The name escapes me. But if you have a picture, maybe I’d recognize her.”
Garrison opened the yearbook. “As a matter of fact, I brought the yearbook from your brother’s senior year.”
“Very efficient of you.”
Garrison opened the page to the picture featuring the Rising Stars. “Any of these girls look familiar?”
“I know Eva Rayburn. Hard to forget her.” He seemed to study the other photos. “I know the faces. And I recognize Sara. Which one is Kristen?”
“The redhead.”
“If you say so. Where is this leading? It’s starting to sound like I need an attorney.”
Garrison wanted this interview to remain light and easy so Micah didn’t marshal attorneys to shut down the questions. But keeping it light wasn’t as easy as usual. A very primal part of him wanted to tell Micah to stay the hell away from Eva, who didn’t need reminders of the man that had raped her. “I’m just gathering background information, Mr. Cross. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“I don’t understand. My brother died over a decade ago. The case was solved. Closed.”
Garrison smiled. “You’ve read about the murders in the paper?”
“Those women that were stabbed? Sure. Poor Sara.
I still can’t believe she’s dead. But what does that killing and the other one have to do with me or Josiah?”
“Two of the women were in this picture. Lisa Black and Sara Miller.”
“You asked me about Kristen Hall. Is she dead?”
“She’s not answering her cell.” Garrison shifted tactics. “You went to see Eva. Why?”
“To let her know there were no hard feelings.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Look, I want to put the past behind us. After Josiah died my father was never the same. But I got on with my life. I wanted her to know that.”
Garrison often learned more about people from the words left unspoken. “Your brother’s death must have been doubly hard seeing as you’d already lost your mother. Car accident, wasn’t it?”
“Of course, it was hard.” Micah tensed as if struggling with anger.
“Was your father upset about your mom’s passing?”
“Of course. They were husband and wife.”
“According to many, he had many girlfriends not long after her death.”
“They didn’t have the best marriage. And Dad deserved a life.”
“Tell me about the car accident. ”
“It was out west in Colorado. She’d gone out there with friends. A spa getaway weekend from what Dad told me. The car she and her friends were driving skidded off the road and into an embankment. Mom was killed instantly.”
“That would have been twenty years ago.”
“Nineteen years in May.”
“Her death must have been so hard on you and Josiah.”
“We managed to put our lives back together. Dad called us the Three Musketeers. But when Josiah died, Dad just couldn’t rebound. He became obsessed with Josiah and honoring his memory.”
“I saw the Cross house at Price. And your brother’s portrait.”
“Did you also see the Cross wing on the library? Or the additions to the football field made in my brother’s honor? ”
Was that jealousy woven around the words? “Missed that. Have you been back to Price lately?”
“No. I’m not so fond of the place.” Micah slid his hand into his pocket. “I don’t see what all this has to do with these murdered women.”
“Just trying to piece it all together. Do you have a picture of your mother?”
“No. Dad burned them all.”
“He burned them?”
“Yes.”
“Says a lot about their marriage, don’t you think?”
“They never shared the details of their marriage with me.”
Garrison sensed Micah was holding back. But what? “Until this case is closed, would
you do me a favor?”
“If I can.”
“Stay away from Eva Rayburn. ”
Micah cocked an eyebrow. “You sound overly protective of her, Detective.”
“Good.”
Donovan lost track of time in the dark. He didn’t know if it were day or night and he didn’t care. The woman had grown silent. He’d called out to her but she no longer answered him even with her pitiful moans. He feared she’d died.
“Kristen.” Donovan wanted her awake, wanted to know that he wasn’t in this damn basement alone. He didn’t want to die alone.
His bindings had rubbed his wrists raw and now each time he moved his skin burned and bled. So he’d learned to be still. However, hardest to ignore was the thirst. It had started off as annoying but with each passing minute it grew stronger until now that was all he could think about.
Water. Drinking something.
The lights came on and he found himself again wincing at the intense glare. He braced but didn’t raise his head to see the woman on the other side of the room. Looking at her churned his gut.
A door opened and he cracked his lids so that he could finally see who did this to him. For several tense seconds, his vision blurred and he couldn’t make out who stood in the doorway. Then slowly his pupils constricted.
A slim man stood before him and immediately it pissed off Donovan. Hell, he could have taken the guy in a fistfight. To know such a weakling had taken him ramped up his anger and bitterness. Gotten the best of by a troll.
His bearded captor wore dark baggy jeans, a black hooded jacket, gloves, sunglasses and what looked like a gray wig. The lunacy of this whole situation triggered a second of hysteria. How could he have landed in such a bad dream?
Donovan moistened his dry lips. He could get anyone to talk and he knew if he could get this son of a bitch to talk he’d find away to get his ass out of here.
A smile would be forced but Donovan figured if he could just sound casual and relaxed that would be enough. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’m the one who has been sent to see that you atone for your sins.”
The figure turned from him and moved toward Kristen. He pulled out a knife. The sharp blade caught a glint of the light as their jailer raised the knife over his head and plunged it into Kristen’s body.
