Faces of Evil [2] Impulse

by Debra Webb

  She had run away from Birmingham all those years ago because she could never be the best here. She was just a poor kid from foster care, doomed to mediocrity. Katherine Burnett had never let her forget that. Then, twenty some odd years later she ran back after her first true failure at the Bureau.

  Part of her still wanted to believe that the failure to bring down Spears wasn’t her fault. That she was one-hundred percent correct about him. But maybe she wasn’t. Maybe the failure was all hers. The fear of failure had sent her running again.

  Just like Spears or his protégé, the lookalike, was scared of failure so he was making mistakes. Acting illogically. . . acting on impulse.

  Determination filled her.

  Maybe she didn’t have this case figured out yet, but she refused to be afraid of that. . . of failure.

  Jess rinsed her toothbrush. She stared at the woman in the mirror and gave her a message. “Not this time.”

  She didn’t need to be the best anymore and she damned sure wasn’t running.

  Jessie Lee Harris was here to stay and she would stop this evil.

  Dan stood outside the guestroom door. He should have told Jess straight up what the deal was, but he’d needed to do that when they were alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Harper. Hell, Harper was one of the best detectives he had. Not to mention he would be working in Jess’s unit. Decisions related to her position now and later should not influence his opinion of her. And, right now, Harper was emotionally compromised.

  Since the shooting when Wells took that bullet intended for Harper, Dan had watched the two grow closer and closer. He didn’t have a problem with that building relationship unless it interfered with their work.

  So far that hadn’t happened.

  But Wells was a victim in this case. If Harper wasn’t such a damned good cop he wouldn’t even be on this case in any capacity. His oversight of the evidence gathered and working as liaison with the search commanders was invaluable.

  Still, if push came to shove, Harper might break under the emotional stress. This whole situation between Jess and the Bureau was highly charged and incredibly sensitive. The Bureau, more specifically OPR, wasn’t going to give up the witch hunt until satisfied that they were in the clear.

  If Dan didn’t help her protect herself, Jess was going to be the one burned at the stake. For Christ’s sake, look at the way she’d put herself out there by making that statement to the press. She wasn’t thinking clearly.

  He rapped on the door.

  It opened immediately as if she’d been standing on the other side waiting for him. Knowing her, she probably had been.

  “Are you going to give me a chance to explain?”

  She stared at him a moment, arms crossed over her chest. She’d scrubbed her face clean of make-up, taken off her glasses, and traded that killer dress for a tee and lounge pants.

  “I was already in bed. It’s late.”

  Sure enough, she’d thrown the covers back but that didn’t mean a thing.

  “You’re up now.”

  “Fine. It’s your house. Suit yourself. Explain.”

  “I’m not shutting you out, Jess. But if Gant suspects for a second what we’re up to, he’ll make life seriously miserable for you. Detective Wells’ life is at stake here and both our careers are as well. We have to walk a fine line between playing nice with the Bureau and doing what we both know is right.”

  Arms still crossed, suspicion still clouding her face, she asked, “You won’t keep anything from me?”

  “Why the hell would I keep anything from you?” That ticked him off. “I need you on this. We’ve known each other most of our lives. How can you not trust me?”

  Hadn’t they worked this part out already? Shortly after she came here to advise on the case that had his whole department baffled, they’d butted heads about the past. He’d thought they talked it out. Apparently not.

  She looked away. “I want to trust you completely. But the truth is, part of me just can’t.” She shook her head. “I’m genuinely sorry I feel that way, but that’s just the way it is.”

  As tired and emotionally drained as he felt after Andrea’s abduction and this damned Spears case – not to mention the memories and feelings just being around Jess again evoked – he’d doubted anything else could damage him today.

  But her words managed to do just that.

  “All right then.” He felt at a loss as to what to say next. “Goodnight.”

  He left it at that. Nothing he said would change her mind.

  Maybe he’d made a mistake thinking there was still something between them. Twenty years was a long time. A gap that spanned that wide wasn’t going to be bridged in a few days.

  Maybe not in another two or three decades.

  But if misunderstandings and further damage to their tenuous relationship was what it took to keep her safe. . . then so be it.

  10

  Southpointe Circle, Hoover, 2:00 a.m.

  Chet Harper sat in his SUV. He’d been sitting here trying to work up the nerve to get out for five minutes or so.

  The streetlights showcased a picture perfect neighborhood. Nice, landscaped lawns. Proud two-story homes. Vehicles tucked into garages for the night. No scattering of cars cluttering the curbs.

  In this world all was as it should be.

  And it was late. Too late to wake his ex-wife. Too late to see his son. But he needed to see him. To watch him sleep for just one minute and to smell his little boy scent.

  Sherry wouldn’t understand. She never understood anything about Chet or his work. Why the hell had he ever believed they could make it as a couple? They’d had nothing in common. As a high-powered executive at a research corporation, she’d had no respect for his work. The long hours. The risks.

  You could do better, Chet. Your pay sucks.

  He stared at the dark house. Nice neighborhood, great school district, well above a mere cop’s salary, even with the promotion to detective sergeant.

  The house his wife paid for. Not a day had passed without her getting in a dig about his pay and the long hours. Every moment he had resided within those walls he had been reminded that the house was her accomplishment. Not his.

  But it had been his home with his son, no matter that the place had been just one more nail in the coffin of his marriage.

  Now another man lived there.

  The new guy had built a tree house in the backyard. He’d gotten Chet’s son a dog when Sherry had refused to allow a dog on the property, much less in the house, when she was married to a measly cop.

  Chet opened the driver’s door and got out. Somewhere down the street a dog barked. He eased the door closed and moved up the walk. His heart thumped harder with each step.

  He shouldn’t have come. At the steps leading up to the front door, he hesitated. If he knocked or rang the bell the dog would bark. He didn’t want to wake his son. Not for this. His own selfish needs.

  Tired, he sat down on the top step.

  He’d lost any semblance of a normal life with his son two years ago. Maybe Sherry had been right when she said Chet’s life would never be normal as long as he was a cop.

  But the life he’d had, he’d cherished.

  Waking in the middle of the night and being able to go to his son’s room to watch him sleep. Watch him breathe. Waking him in the mornings, his hair all mussed and his eyes still heavy with sleep. Those moments had been precious to Chet. He missed that time with his boy.

  The door behind him opened.

  Chet shot to his feet and turned, prepared for a clash with the new husband.

  “What’re you doing out here at this hour?” Sherry, clad in her favorite cotton gown, stood in the open doorway, the springer spaniel at her feet, tail wagging.

  For one moment the memories of all the times he’d unbuttoned those tiny pearl buttons and pushed that worn thin white gown down her body held him captive. How had they lost their way and gone so far down the wrong path?


  Didn’t matter. . . she had moved on and so had he.

  The newer memories of Lori in his arms had his eyes burning again.

  Chet held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She puffed out a breath. “You didn’t. I have a huge presentation tomorrow and I’m still fine tuning.” She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “Tough case.” He shrugged. Might as well tell the truth. “I just needed to be close to Chester.” He backed down a step. “It was a bad idea.”

  A moment passed.

  He was sure she would send him on his way, after telling him what a selfish bastard he was.

  “Come on in. I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting any sleep tonight anyway.” She stepped back in invitation. “Might as well share in our misery.”

  Startled, Chet cleared his throat to buy time to find his voice. “What about William?”

  “He’s in Chicago. He won’t be back until tomorrow.” She laughed. “Today, I mean.”

  Grateful she hadn’t been in the mood for a scene, Chet crossed the threshold.

  “You need coffee? I’m on my second pot.”

  Man, she was in a generous mood. He was almost afraid to breathe since one wrong move or word could awaken her I-hate-your-sorry-ass attitude. “No, thank you. I’d just like to sit with Chester for a few minutes if that’s okay. I won’t wake him.”

  “Sure.” Sherry closed and locked the front door. “Stay as long as you like.”

  So, maybe he was hallucinating. He stared at her a moment just to be sure before turning away.

  She stopped him when he started down the hall. “Chet, are you sure you’re okay?”

  He managed a nod. “Just a tough case,” he repeated.

  “Understood.”

  She headed back to the kitchen and he walked quietly up the stairs. Chester’s room was the first on the right. The door was ajar. He didn’t like it to be closed all the way. The kid was still afraid of the dark.

  Chet eased the door open and entered his son’s world of Shrek and Spiderman. A nightlight glowed, providing just enough illumination to chase away the unknown lurking in the darkness. Chet stood at his son’s bedside for a long time, watching him breathe, his dark hair sticking up from the tossing and turning he’d obviously done before surrendering to sleep. Chet wouldn’t smooth his hair for fear of waking him. Chester was about ready for a trip to the barber shop and his first real haircut, not the little trims his mother gave him. Chet would take him where his father had taken him as a boy.

  He wanted everything for his son. Not mountains of toys and gadgets, but happiness and a safe home. He had learned the past two years that those two things were all that really mattered.

  But there were so many evil bastards out there like the one who had taken Lori. Was there such a thing as a safe life anymore? Could he possibly hope to protect his son?

  He sure as hell hadn’t protected Lori.

  Like she would have allowed him to protect her. Chet smiled at that, his lips quivering in spite of his best efforts to be strong. Lori would kick him in the ass and tell him she could protect herself. All she needed was a little back-up.

  His jaw clenched, he would find a way to give her that back-up.

  Hang on, baby.

  He moved quietly to the rocking chair in the corner. The same one they had used to rock Chester when he was a baby. Eventually it would have to go. The older the boy got the more independent he became.

  The natural course of life.

  Chet lowered into the rocker. His body – his soul – was so damned tired.

  And he was terrified.

  He knew plenty about this Player. . . this Eric Spears. But it hadn’t felt so damned real until he had seen the Howard woman sprawled on that bed, abused and defeated and far too close to death.

  He’d seen victims in worse shape. The visible damage done to her was not so devastating in the scheme of things. And dead was dead, no matter the condition of the body. But knowing the man who had done those evil things to Belinda Howard had Lori. . . that was nearly more than Chet could bear.

  As much as she fought getting involved with him, he knew she wanted to be with him. He’d felt it both times they had been together. She had stronger feelings for him than she wanted to admit.

  God knew he had strong feelings for her.

  He couldn’t lose her. He closed his eyes, tried to hold back the tears. What bad ass cop cried like this? He fought harder, his body trembling with the effort. The hot, salty affront came any way.

  Then he prayed. He prayed for his son to be protected from evil. . . and he pleaded for Lori’s life. He prayed she would be strong. And that somehow she understood how very much he loved her.

  Then he set the rocker in motion and he prayed for the relief sleep would bring.

  11

  Lori heard voices.

  Wake up!

  The fog was so thick she couldn’t find her way through it. She needed to swallow. Couldn’t. Her mouth felt so dry.

  Open your eyes!

  Lori moistened her lips. Wished for a drink of water. It was so hot. . . and stuffy. Made it hard to breathe.

  Her lids cracked open the tiniest bit. She tried to open her eyes fully but the lids were too heavy to move. Her tongue felt thick. . . fuzzy.

  Harsh words echoed around her.

  Who was shouting? A man, she decided. But she couldn’t make herself care enough to force her eyes open. Why was he shouting?

  Why couldn’t she wake up?

  Images flooded her brain. . . the naked woman. . . blood. Her mother and sister bound and gagged. Her eyes flew open.

  Her heart rammed against her ribcage. Warehouse. . . she stretched her right foot in a slow circle. . . chain.

  Spears!

  Her muscles bunched to push her body up from her face-down position on the grimy concrete floor.

  She froze. Listened again to the voice or voices.

  One by one she relaxed her muscles and slowed her breathing. She needed to assess the situation before she made Spears aware she had regained consciousness. She didn’t dare move until she had a handle on the situation.

  “You’re always right, aren’t you?”

  Spears’ voice.

  Who was he talking to?

  “Whatever I do, it’s never good enough. Three years I’ve devoted to you and it’s not enough.”

  Was he on the phone?

  She would need to turn her head and face the other direction to see him. . . and whoever else was there. Not a risk she was willing to take just yet.

  Listen, Lori. Calm down. No sudden moves to draw attention. Was someone else here with Spears besides her and the dying woman? Another victim?

  She didn’t know how long she had been asleep but the woman was probably dead by now. She’d lost too much blood. An ache pierced Lori’s chest. She had been helpless to provide any real assistance to the woman.

  Get all the static out of your head! Just listen!

  “She’s not listening!”

  Lori’s heart stumbled to a near stop. Had she said that out loud? She moistened her lips again. She didn’t think so. Lie still. . . lie perfectly still.

  “What else do you want me to do? Obviously I don’t yet have her full attention. But I will soon, you have my word. Yes, yes! This is my mess!”

  She had to see who the hell he was talking to. The conversation sounded as if it was about Jess. He’d asked Lori if she thought he had Jess’s attention. Holding her breath, she started to move her head. . . one slow fraction at a time until she was facing the opposite direction.

  She tensed. He had his back to her.

  “You didn’t have a better plan,” he argued. “You’re angry because I took the lead.”

  Whoever he was talking to, Spears was angry, his voice accusing. With his back turned to her, she dared to lift her head and look around. There was no one else. . . the crates and nothing else except the two chairs. Her gaze lit on the
chair with the puddles of blood on either side.

  Where was the woman?

  Lori’s heart started to race.

  “Yes,” Spears roared. “I will make it happen.”

  Lori dropped her head back to the floor and froze.

  He started to pace.

  She didn’t dare keep her eyes open more than a crack.

  “No. I absolutely can do this.”

  His hands were all over the place as he spoke. On his hips. Waving around in the air. Everywhere but holding a cell phone to his ear. But there was no one here. Who the hell was he talking to? Was he using a Bluetooth? She squinted to see if there was anything in or around his ear. Not on this side.

  He turned to pace back the other way.

  Nothing there either. At least nothing that she could see. Was he arguing with himself?

  “I know what I have to do and I will do it.” He stopped. Exhaled a big breath. “You see? You’re not good enough and he knows it.” He kicked one of the chairs.

  Lori jerked as it skidded across the floor.

  He seemed to compose himself for a moment. She couldn’t be sure about before, but he was definitely talking to himself now.

  He calmly removed his suit jacket, folded it neatly and placed it on one of the crates. He braced his hands on his hips and stared at the chair where the woman had been before he sent Lori off to la-la land.

  Then he faced her.

  She shut her eyes.

  Too late! Too late! a voice in her head screamed.

  “Ah someone’s awake.” He walked toward her, each step sending her heart rate climbing higher and higher. “Don’t try to fool me, Lori Doodle. I know you’re awake.”

  She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t open her eyes.

  He crouched down, denim rubbed against denim. “Were you listening to my conversation?”

  Don’t react. Maybe he would think he had imagined her eyes closing.

  He fisted his fingers in her hair and jerked her head up. “I’m speaking to you, detective,” he screamed in her ear.

  She ignored him. Didn’t even flinch.

  He stood, dragging her up with him. Strong fingers clamped down on her bare upper arms and shook her hard. “Do not ignore me!” he roared.