Cold Blooded

by Lisa Jackson

  Bentz had added three deceased people to Olivia’s list. Chandra and her grandparents Virginia and Montcliff Dubois. There were another set of grandparents he hadn’t tracked down, uncles, aunts, and cousins that he intended to call. Any blood relative, though why he thought there might be a genetic connection to the killer, he wasn’t sure. It just made some kind of sense to him.

  What about half-brothers? Half-sisters? If Bernadette had been married so often, surely Olivia had a couple of half-siblings tucked away. And Reggie could have spread his seed around. He could have any number of offspring.

  Shit. The list could go on forever, and Bentz wanted to nail this guy by his balls before he hurt anyone else. Before he figured out that Olivia Benchet was witnessing what he was doing.

  Thoughtfully, as the sports anchor switched from basketball to football stats and the Saints’ chance at the Super Bowl, Bentz drew a question mark by the name of Chandra, Olivia’s only sibling. Something wasn’t right there. Call it a hunch or intuition; he sensed there was more to the story.

  As there was with the burned house where the victim was found. The department had started sifting through people who had inquired about the duplex, but so far nothing had clicked.

  They needed a break and soon.

  His pager beeped. Bentz looked down at the readout and recognized Olivia Benchet’s number. He tensed. She wouldn’t call unless it was important. Unless it was trouble. In one motion, he hit the mute button on the TV and grabbed the cordless phone and punched in her number.

  She picked up before the second ring. “Hello?”

  “It’s Bentz.”

  “He’s hunting again,” she said and her voice was shaking.

  “What?” Bentz was on his feet, reaching for his jacket, sidearm, and keys.

  “I … I felt him again. And he’s hunting. Right now.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice tight. “I just caught glimpses. But he’s out there tonight and he’s following some girl. I couldn’t see her face. It was too damned dark, but … oh, God, he wants her. He’s conflicted about taking her tonight or waiting. I don’t know what that means, but I’m afraid he’s going to kill her tonight. Unless we can stop him.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Make sure your doors are locked tight. I’ll be right over. As soon as I’m on my way, I’ll call back on the cell.” Bentz was already out the door as he hung up. Before he reached the first floor of the apartment building, he’d strapped on his shoulder holster and jammed his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.

  Shouldering open the door, he dashed to his parking space and was on the street within five minutes. He placed a quick call to Montoya, left a message, then tore up the streets to the freeway. Once heading out of town, he dialed Olivia. “It’s me,” he said as he blended into the thin stream of Saturday night traffic. “Now, start from the beginning. Tell me what you saw.”

  “I was here alone and … I just looked into the mirror, and it sounds crazy, I know, but I was suddenly not seeing my reflection, but something beneath it. It was like I was looking through another set of eyes. His eyes.” She sounded calmer than when she’d first called him, but she was still frightened. He listened to what happened, told her to hang tight, and floored it.

  Her house was usually more than half an hour away. He made it there in twenty minutes, his Jeep bouncing down her lane as his tires flung mud from the rutted lane. Leaves danced across his windshield and across the swath of his headlights. His chest was tight, his mind racing. A few days ago, he wouldn’t have given the woman the time of day and now he was driving like a maniac, worried sick for her safety, assuming what she was seeing was the truth.

  Through the trees he saw her cottage, warm patches of light glowing through the windows. As the Jeep slid to a stop, she flipped on the porch light, flung open the door, and the dog shot out to bark, run in circles, and lift his leg while she stood on the porch. Bentz’s pulse, already pounding, skyrocketed. God, she was beautiful with those long legs and wild hair and worried eyes. He unfolded himself from the car, jogged to the porch, and as he clambered up the two short steps, she flung herself into his arms.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said, smelling of jasmine, and he held her for a minute, longer than he should have.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes … I think so … come in.”

  He let his arms drop and noticed that she flushed a bright shade of scarlet, as if she was embarrassed by her emotional display. She whistled to the dog, who sped into the house and made a beeline for the kitchen. Olivia locked the door, then motioned toward a short bookcase with a worn, leather-bound Bible sitting on the top shelf. Mounted on the wall over the bookcase was a mirror with a beveled edge and dark frame. “This is where I saw it,” she said, looking into the glass and swallowing. Bentz, standing behind her, saw nothing more than their reflection, him standing over half a foot taller than she.

  “And now?”

  “Nothing. Just you and me.” Her eyebrows drew together. “But it was dark,” she said, and reached to the wall to switch off the overhead light. Instantly the tiny hallway darkened. Again they gazed into the mirror, and Bentz heard her swift intake of breath, watched as she stared into the mirror. She tensed, and he touched her lightly on the shoulder, hoping to offer her strength and support. “There’s nothing …” she said at last, relaxing. “Nothing.” She shook her head and sighed. “I should have known, this isn’t something that I can call up, it just happens.” She shoved her hair from her eyes and caught his gaze in the darkened glass. “I’m sorry. You came all the way out here for nothing.”

  “Maybe not. Let’s go over it again. Maybe if you talk it through, show me exactly what happened, we’ll learn something.” He offered her a bit of a smile and she turned, her arm brushing his chest, the scent of her perfume tantalizing.

  “If you think so.”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Neither do I,” she admitted. “I guess we may as well give it a shot.” She started up the stairs and Hairy S sped up ahead of her. “I was up here.”

  The old steps creaked as he climbed. All the while he tried not to watch her round little rump as she ascended or the way the denim stretched tight over her buttocks. He forced his eyes to the upper floor, which consisted of a short hallway, small bath, and two bedrooms tucked under the eaves. He caught a glimpse of the larger room that faced the rear of the house. A four-poster sat in the middle of one wall and French doors led to a verandah. The rest of the furniture consisted of a bureau and desk. Olivia led him to the other bedroom. It was smaller and cozy, filled with a twin bed, a small sofa, a bureau, and a desk where a laptop computer was set up. Textbooks filled a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. “I was here. Doing some research,” she explained, “and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, then I went downstairs …” Again he followed her, this time watching her sun-streaked hair bounce as she made her way to the first floor, “… and as I passed by here …” She looked into the mirror again, her fingers reaching forward as she touched the cover of a Bible resting on the top of the short bookcase. “… I felt something.” She shivered as if experiencing a chill. This time he didn’t touch her, but let her gaze into the glass, to recreate what she’d felt, to try and reconnect with the monster who was stalking the streets of New Orleans.

  He didn’t know when he’d started believing her, but against his deep-rooted skepticism she’d found a way to convince him that somehow, some way, she had a connection to the killer.

  It was his job to figure out how.

  “I don’t feel him,” she whispered. “He’s gone.” Shaking her head and sighing, she turned to face Bentz. “But I did. Tonight. I felt him tonight.”

  “I know.” He looked into her eyes and something deep inside him shifted. A wall he’d worked so hard to erect began to crumble. She was so earnest here in the half-light that filtered into the hallway from the living room. Her
gold eyes were clouded with worry, the skin over those high cheekbones stretched taut with concern.

  “You believe me?”

  “I believe you saw something, yes. I don’t know what it was or what it means or how it happens, but in some way, Olivia, I think you’re linked to the murderer.”

  “Dear God,” she whispered. “How?”

  “That’s what we’ve got to figure out.” He wanted to comfort her. To wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. To press a kiss upon her crown and even brush one across her lips. But he didn’t. Despite his conflicting emotions, he restrained himself. He was too involved as it was.

  To his surprise, she took the initiative and, standing on her tiptoes, pressed a featherlight kiss against his cheek. “Thanks for coming,” she said hoarsely then, as if embarrassed all over again, cleared her throat. “Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the living room. “And I’ll buy you a beer.”

  Hairy S hurried down the steps. Bentz settled for some kind of flavored coffee and sat on one corner of the couch while Olivia curled up in the other corner. The dog hopped onto the cushion between them and circled three times before plopping down. Bentz asked dozens of questions. She answered, but he learned nothing. “You have no idea who he is or the identity of the woman he was chasing?”

  “No … I only saw her back, but she was jogging and I got the impression she was young. He followed her through some alleys that I didn’t recognize, past huge, well-kept mansions and across a busy street toward a business district. Again, I didn’t recognize anything,” she admitted, concentrating. “The woman hurried into a bar and I caught a glimpse of neon lights—a pink martini glass.”

  That was something. But not much. “There are hundreds of bars around here.”

  “I’m not even sure it was New Orleans.”

  “Then where?”

  “I don’t know.” They sipped coffee and he asked her question after question, trying to make her think about the vision, about her family, about her “gift.” He got nowhere. His cell phone blasted and he picked it up.

  “Got your message,” Montoya said. “What up?”

  Bentz explained and Montoya swore under his breath. “So it looks like we’re gonna have another one.”

  “Let’s hope not. She didn’t witness a murder this time. Just a hunt.”

  “That’s enough,” Montoya muttered. “Has she ever seen a hunt before?”

  “No. I asked her that.”

  “So now she’s getting more peeks. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she’ll pick up on something before he strikes again.” Montoya was finally buying her story as well. But then he had to. It was all they had to go on.

  Bentz hung up, asked a few more questions, and assuring himself that she had calmed down and that the house was secure, decided he had to leave. “Call me anytime,” he said as he walked to the door.

  One side of her mouth lifted. “I will.”

  “And really, get an alarm system.” He reached for the doorknob, then hesitated. “I’d feel a lot better about it.”

  “Are you worried about me, Detective?” she asked, amused.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Because I’m the only witness you’ve got?” She was teasing him, flirting with him.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” he said, and watched as she raised a dubious brow. “That and the fact that I’d hate to see anything happen to that cute ass of yours.”

  She laughed. “What about the rest of me?”

  “Goes without saying.”

  “You’re a real charmer, aren’t you, Bentz?”

  “I try my best.” He opened the door, hesitated again, and then, knowing he was making one of the worst mistakes of his life, muttered, “Oh, hell,” and grabbed her again. She let out a gasp as he bent down, kissed her hard, and lifted her off her feet. She was breathless as he set her down. “Don’t mess with me, Benchet,” he said with a wink. “And lock the damned door behind me.”

  Olivia was left with her head spinning. She watched him climb into his Jeep, then closed the door and threw the dead bolt. Sagging against the aging panels, she wondered why she’d baited him, why she’d flirted with him.

  Because you’re lonely and scared, and Rick Bentz is sexy as hell. She heard the sound of his Jeep’s engine roar to life then fade as he drove off. The house seemed suddenly emptier. No longer cozy.

  You can’t be falling for him, she told herself. No way. No how. It’s just that you’re terrified and he’s a big man, a strong man, someone you can lean on.

  That had to be it. And yet when she touched her lips with her fingertips, she relived that breath-stopping kiss and realized with a sense of doom that she was lying to herself.

  If she didn’t watch it, she’d imagine herself in love with Detective Rick Bentz and that would only spell disaster.

  Kristi was midway through her second beer and pissed as hell. She’d found some friends in the bar and pretended that she wasn’t mad, but she was, and when she saw Brian wending his way through the tables to their booth, she turned and made a point of staring out the window.

  “Don’t look now,” Marianne whispered from the other side of the booth as she took a drag on her cigarette, “but I think someone’s here to eat some crow.”

  “Good. I hope he chokes on the feathers.”

  “Give the guy a break. Hear what he has to say,” Jennie said, grabbing a handful of pretzels.

  “Kristi?” Brian’s voice was deep. She felt his fingertips on her shoulder and jerked away. “We need to talk.”

  Still steamed, she angled her face toward him and sipped her beer. “About?”

  “Why I was late.”

  “You weren’t late. You didn’t show.”

  “I did. Just about five minutes after you left, according to your roommate. I figured I might find you here.”

  “How?”

  “It’s the local hangout.” He was leaning over slightly. His face was wet. He smelled of musky aftershave and rainwater. “My car broke down.”

  “You could’ve called.”

  “The battery ran down on my cell. It died when I called roadside assistance for someone to come jump me.”

  “There are pay phones.”

  “I didn’t think I’d be that late.” He glanced past her to her two friends, who were swallowing smiles and staring at him unabashedly. “Come on … let me take you to dinner.”

  “I think I’d better stay here.”

  He gave her the ghost of a smile. “You’re really going to make me suffer for this, aren’t you?”

  “You deserve it.”

  “Just give me a chance to make it up to you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Marianne stubbed out her cigarette. “Give the guy a break, Kristi.”

  Kristi’s eyes narrowed on her friend.

  “Tell ya what,” Brian said, “I’ll take you on at pool or darts. Your choice. If I win, we go to dinner.”

  “And if I win?” Kristi asked.

  “Then you choose the punishment.”

  “That might be dangerous,” she teased, warming up. He was just so hot. “I have a pretty wild imagination. You could be humiliated.”

  Something sparked in his sexy eyes. “Then maybe I should lose on purpose,” he said and she laughed.

  “Okay, you’re on.” She drained her beer and felt a little lightheaded as she got to her feet.

  “Watch out,” Marianne warned. “Kristi’s really good.”

  “So am I,” Brian assured her as she made her way to the dart board and grabbed a handful of darts.

  She had the weird sensation that someone was watching her, someone besides her girlfriends. She glanced around the bar and saw no one really staring at her. Oh, there were a couple of guys playing pool who glanced up and winked at her and she was afraid the bartender was studying her as if he suddenly questioned her fake ID, but no one sinister. Still, she couldn’t shake the eerie sensation. “But there is one thing.”

 
“Yeah?”

  Brian clamped steel-tough fingers around her wrist. She hadn’t realized until then how much bigger he was than she. “One rule.”

  “So now there are rules? Great. Okay, what is it?”

  “If I lose, and I don’t intend to, you can’t ask me to change your grade in Zaroster’s class. I like you, but I’m not going to screw up my life over this, okay? You’re on your own in philosophy.”

  “Oh, darn, and I thought this was my big chance to score an A.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Fine, but anything else goes?” she asked and his fingers loosened a bit, the tips rubbing against the inside of her wrist.

  “That’s right,” he said, that wicked light in his eyes flaring again. “Anything at all.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bentz spent Sunday morning working on the case. He’d checked with the department, and though there had been a gang-related knifing on the waterfront, and a hit-and-run out by the airport, no one had reported another murder that would suggest Olivia Benchet’s private killer was on the loose again.

  But then she hadn’t witnessed a murder, only someone stalking a woman.

  He’d also run down some leads, called people who had viewed the house on Bayou St. John where the murder had been committed and checked the people visible on Carl Henderson’s video against the list of witnesses who’d viewed the fire. Three people on the video, a young couple and the guy in the shadows, hadn’t been identified. Everyone else was accounted for.

  The Lafayette Police had talked to Reggie Benchet and were faxing a report, but so far, there was no indication he’d been in New Orleans during the time of the last killing—they were still checking his alibi.

  Bentz had created a list of sign companies specializing in neon lighting and another of bars in the area. Maybe someone would remember a pink martini glass, though Olivia’s recent vision had nothing to do with any murder.