by Debra Webb
When the room fell tomb-quiet, Polly realized she’d stuck her foot deep into her mouth. Her face flushed.
Kale groaned.
“And how would you know this, young lady?” Peter demanded.
“I...I...ah,” Polly stammered.
She looked to Kale for help. No way was he getting in the middle of this.
“Don’t you ever go back to that house again,” Ellen ordered. “Why, there was a nine-one-one call over there just yesterday.”
Newton’s radar visibly rose. “Someone sick?”
“No,” Ellen said, dragging out the vowel. “Matilda’s mother claimed someone had broken in and taken some of her personal belongings, but she refused to say what exactly they took.”
“And you think that’s...not quite right,” Newton suggested.
Ellen shrugged. “We all know there’s nothing in that shack anyone would bother with except what she couldn’t report.”
“Drugs?” Newton speculated.
“That’s what folks say,” Peter said with a somber nod. “It’s a very bad situation.”
“She lives on West Street,” Kale explained. “That was the call that held up Karen yesterday.”
“Polly,” Newton said, “where does Alicia go to church?”
Polly slid into the chair across the table from their guest. “Methodist. Same as the Harveys. Why?”
“Just curious.”
The topic of discussion shifted. Grateful, Kale went back to watching the lady from New York. As she smiled and nodded at his father’s every comment about the weather and life in general, Kale got the distinct impression that something about Matilda’s circumstances had struck a chord with her.
He didn’t know a lot about her history, but he had a feeling that tough, city-gal exterior was just a shield she used to protect herself. Most likely he was overanalyzing. She lived her life, trusted her instincts, and went after what she wanted with no regard to rules, social or otherwise. Somehow he was attracted to that. Quite possibly because she would be gone in a few days or a couple of weeks. There was no risk...no expectations. Just the possibility of amazing sex.
What man still breathing wouldn’t be attracted to that?
Ellen set the steaming pot of beef stew in the center of the table. The rolls came next. She took her place beside her husband and sighed. “Kale, say grace and let’s feed this girl. She’s wasting away right before our eyes.”
Kale reached for his sister’s hand, then for Newton’s. She stared at him, then at his hand, and finally put hers in his. He smiled. She looked away. He wondered at that. Did the lady not like to be touched? Or did prayer unsettle her? More mystery to nag at his curiosity.
When all hands were joined, he offered the blessing, adding a plea for the safe return of Alicia Appleton and an extra outpouring of strength and courage for her family.
“Amen,” his father announced. “Now, Sarah, you’ll see what beef stew is supposed to taste like.”
Polly launched into a series of adolescent tales about the kids in school, particularly Alicia Appleton and Jerri Lynn Pope. Ellen gently scolded her from time to time for being less than sensitive toward her peers. Kale’s father shook his head and pointed out regularly that Polly was not to be sending text messages during dinner. Each time she would feign obedience and pretend to put her cell phone away. Kale wasn’t fooled. Like most teenagers, the girl was glued to that phone. She could probably text with her toes.
Newton interacted with his family, but watched and listened more than she talked. Absorbing, assessing, analyzing. He wished he had an inkling of what was going on inside that head of hers.
Chances were he would never know.
The lady kept her secrets, and she would be gone soon.
Just yesterday he’d dreaded her arrival.
Now he couldn’t exactly say he looked forward to her leaving.
At times, life could sure twist a guy’s balls.
Hard as he tried, he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering back to the investigation. How could anyone be so warped as to cut out a person’s heart? The idea that the killer from twenty years ago had never been caught seemed even more horrific given that detail. Kale considered the idea that Valerie Gerard had been murdered so heinously by someone she knew and his chest tightened. As crazy as it sounded, that idea made the act all the worse.
As much as he wanted to believe, his optimism that Alicia would be found alive was losing oomph fast.
◆◆◆
After wine and the homemade chocolate layer cake his mother had insisted they all had to try, Kale helped Newton with her coat. She said her goodbyes to his folks, even got a hug from Polly.
“I’ll walk you out,” he offered.
That she didn’t protest surprised him. She usually made no bones about her ability to take care of herself. Not tonight. She led the way across the porch and down the steps.
At her car she turned to face him. “Thanks, Conner. Tonight was nice.”
“My sister’s a little kooky,” he admitted.
“Your sister is sweet and hilarious.” Newton smiled. “She speaks her mind. I like her.”
That smile, the one he hadn’t seen until tonight, did things to him he wasn’t sure Sarah Newton intended. Man, when her lips parted that way…amazing. They kept his attention lingering far too long. When he met her gaze she was watching him…the way she had been watching his family all night.
He swallowed, yearned to…no. No. No. Not a good move.
“It’s really not that complicated, Conner.”
An alarm echoed in his head. “What’s not that complicated?” Busted. Again.
“If you want to kiss me, just do it. Life’s too short to spend it wondering if you should have, could have, or if you ever will have the chance again.”
The lady read minds, did she? “I don’t usually—”
“Gimme a break, Conner.”
Before he could put together a witty comeback, she grabbed him by the face, pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him. His body reacted in ways his brain had no chance in hell of catching up to. He didn’t even want to try.
She kissed him fast and furiously. It was over way too soon.
“See.” She licked her lips. “That wasn’t so hard.”
Whatever he should have said, he didn’t. He threaded his fingers into that silky hair he’d been dying to touch all damned night and he kissed her back. Slower, deeper. She tasted a little like sweet chocolate and tart wine. Mostly she tasted like soft, hot woman.
He leaned into her. She reclined against the car and her soft curves cradled his rigid frame.
This kiss was never going to be enough.
Her palms glided down his chest, one sliding around his hip to pull him closer.
“This...”—he gulped the cold air—“is going to sound like a seriously bad line, but your place or mine?”
“You didn’t get your coat,” she reminded. Her knee inched between his thighs. Higher. Higher.
He groaned. “I’ll...ah...come back for it.”
“Hop in.”
She reached behind her and opened the driver’s side door. Sliding behind the steering wheel and across the console, she settled into the passenger seat.
He got in, started the engine. “Where to?”
Her eyes were closed, those lush curls crushed against the headrest. “I don’t care. Just go.”
He roared out of the driveway and headed toward his place. That was closer than the inn.
At the first intersection, he turned onto Main.
She was watching him again. Not analyzing this time, savoring...maybe devouring.
“Just park somewhere,” she urged, her hand skimming his thigh.
He took the next left, pulling into Bay View Cemetery. Shit. Why did he turn here?
“There’s no parking here after dark,” he explained, his voice thick with need. Dammit. “I should—”
“Stop talking.”
She was coming
across the console before he got shifted into park. He didn’t argue. He shoved the gearshift forward, hit the switch, and turned off the headlights.
“Seat,” she ordered.
He reached around her and down, pulled the lever to send the seat sliding as far back as possible. She pulled the recline lever, pressed him downward. Without another thought or even a breath his hands were under her dress, caressing those sleek thighs and that perfect, tight ass.
Her fingers trailed up his fly, then down. His found their way to hot, damp panties.
“Condom,” she murmured.
Shit. “Wallet.”
She dug into his pocket, pulled out his wallet. When she had the condom in her hand he snagged it, ripped it open with his teeth.
“Hurry,” she urged.
He slid the condom into place and she sank onto him with a satisfied sigh.
Her lashes fluttered downward. She whimpered this little sound that made him crazy. He wanted to kiss her again, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop touching her. Minutes of soft groans and silent urgency later and she sagged against him until their breathing slowed and the cold started to invade the car.
Before he could think of something profound to say, she raised her head, looked at him. He couldn’t read her eyes in the dark, but he felt her tension. Not the kind they’d just shared, either.
“Don’t get any ideas, Conner.” She pulled free of him, taking his breath, then slid across the console and righted her clothes. “For me, that’s it. No relationships, no attachments period. Just sex.”
A little disoriented by her sudden about-face, he righted himself and zipped up. What the hell did he say to that?
Totally at a loss for words, he fired up the engine and backed out of the cemetery.
By the time he’d reached his parents’ house he’d managed to pull together a reasonable response. “I shouldn’t have let things get out of control. I don’t do casual sex, Newton.” He parked her car next to his Jeep and turned to face her. This time he could see her eyes in the dim glow of the dash lights. “That won’t happen again.”
She shrugged. “Fine by me.”
“Fine,” he snapped back, but the word was lost to the sound of her slamming the door.
He sat there a moment then got out. It was her car. She walked around him, got behind the wheel and drove away.
He watched her taillights fade in the night.
Yep. People from New York were definitely nuts.
Or maybe he was the crazy one.
Chapter 19
The Overlook Inn, 10:50 P.M.
Barton watched from the window as Sarah Newton parked her car, then hurried inside. He stayed in the shadows on the far side of the lobby as she rushed up the stairs. He touched his cheek and fury tightened his lips.
There was no reason for her to stay in Youngstown now.
She should have left today.
But no. She wasn’t finished ruining lives.
He shuffled across the lobby, around the reception desk, and into his office. He closed and locked the door. For a full minute he stood staring at his desk.
What did he do now?
If she wouldn’t leave...
With a burdened breath he ambled behind his desk and dropped into the chair.
What the hell did he do?
His hands shook as he unlocked the desk and reached into the bottom drawer on the left. He withdrew the journal and held it in his hands without opening it.
He didn’t have to open it.
He knew the words by heart.
. . . the first plunge of the knife split the porcelain flesh and blood bloomed forth like a river of crimson...the heart quivered . . .
Barton shuddered. Squeezed his eyes shut. Tried to stop the words. But they would not go away...they were permanently etched in his brain.
...the tip met bone and he was forced to grind and slide sideways until the blade sank deep into muscle and tissue...each plunge of the knife sent blood gushing, spilling onto the cold stones...yet he did not stop...not until he was done...
...and they were both dead...
Dear God...what had he done?
Chapter 20
2313 Beauchamp Road, 11:30 P.M.
Jerald peered through the powerful lens of the telescope, surveying the chapel and the woods that surrounded it like a natural fortress.
Half an hour ago the police officer charged with overseeing a local youth group’s prayer vigil at the chapel had climbed the stone steps and walked the length of the structure several times. Eventually he had sought the warmth of his cruiser. Jerald presumed the officer would remain for a time to ensure none returned with mischief in mind.
Jerald stepped away from the telescope. It was almost midnight and he was tired.
...you can’t watch every minute.
Sarah Newton was right. He couldn’t keep a constant vigil. Jerald sighed. That was someone else’s responsibility now. But he could protect his own.
He moved quietly to the second floor. The door to his daughter’s room was open, the television blaring at its sleeping audience. A smile touched his lips as he neared her bed. He loved her so very much. Until she’d come into his life he hadn’t known it was possible to feel so thoroughly connected to another human being.
She slept so peacefully. Worry tugged at his heart. He wanted her to have a rich, full life. Unburdened by his weaknesses. As if on cue his hands trembled, felt numb.
Whatever it took, he reaffirmed, he would protect his daughter and his wife.
He slipped from her room, closing the door behind him. He would keep those he loved safe...no matter the cost.
Down the hall he paused at the double doors leading to the master suite. Still closed. His wife remained angry with him. They had argued again over what was best for their daughter.
He walked away, chose a guest room for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time he and his wife had taken a night apart. After more than two decades of marriage it wasn’t so unusual to need space. It was the subject of their disagreements that grieved him so deeply.
She would never understand.
This was a situation Jerald would have to handle alone.
No one would understand.
Except...perhaps Sarah Newton.
Chapter 21
Midnight
Hours passed before it was clear to proceed.
The cold finally had gotten to the inept cop hanging around and he’d gone home.
Five minutes more and tonight’s work would be complete. Fear and remorse would paralyze them all. Efforts to find the killer would intensify.
The bitch whimpered.
“Shut up!”
Stupid, stupid, snobby bitch.
The needle pierced her right eyelid. The nylon thread slid easily through. Pull tight.
Last stitch.
Very nice.
Six stitches each. Neat. Not nearly as much blood as the lips. Or maybe the pills had helped.
Another disgusting moan.
Fury ignited. “I know how to shut you up.”
One, two, three, four carefully prepared pieces. Everything had to be exact. Even in the near darkness, the jewels glittered.
“Now. To crown the queen.”
Tug the mouth open. The bitch had better not bite.
“This is the last time you’ll ever be beautiful.”
One, two pieces tucked deep inside.
The dying bitch coughed. Gagged.
“Don’t you puke on me!”
Three, four. Done.
Shove the mouth closed. Press the tape into place.
“Perfect. Now comes your punishment, you bad, bad girl.”
After having lain long minutes on the stone floor, the knife was cold.
Raise it high. Thrust it deep. Over and over.
The wounds gushed, spouting crimson and making the excitement build and build and build with each precisely numbered and placed plunge into smooth, flawless flesh.
And then the message they would all see.
The blood was hot. Formed the letters as if it had been made for just this purpose.
Sit back and assess the work, no mistakes.
“Perfect.”
Soon it would be done.
Gazing across the treetops a triumphant smile formed. “Now who’s the devil?”
They would all see.
But their eyes would deceive them.
Exactly as planned.
Chapter 22
717 High Street, Sunday, March 1, 6:00 A.M.
Christopher Mahaney’s hands shook as he lifted a mug to his lips.
Father, forgive my sins. Give me peace, heavenly Father.
For days Christopher had silently chanted that petition over and over. Still he felt no peace.
Rather, each day, the turmoil inside him continued to surge, increasing in intensity.
His hand wobbled. Coffee sloshed onto his skin. He plunked the cup onto the counter.
“Father, forgive me...” His urgent whisper faded into silence. He closed his eyes and begged for mercy.
How much longer could he bear this immense cross?
Hadn’t he been punished enough?
The sin was not his alone. They had tempted him. Drawn him to the darkness...to the evil sins of the flesh.
“You’re up early.”
Christopher whirled around. Met his wife’s accusing gaze. His heart lurched, ached. He tried not to hold her partially responsible. Had she been any kind of mate, perhaps his gaze would not have strayed...perhaps he would not have failed the test. Now she insisted that he protect her. Protect the niece he’d been forced to support. Fury twisted deep in his blemished soul.
He should go. Pray for forgiveness for his selfish thoughts. This was not the time to place blame or to resent his responsibilities. This was the time for action...for seeking guidance.
“I’m going to the chapel to pray.” He’d only just made the final decision. That Valerie’s body had been placed there was a sign. Christopher must pay attention to the signs.
