“Kristy, Kristy, Kristy,” his face reddened. “Are we back to her again?”
Lynne’s stomach coiled into a nauseated knot. What if he’d hurt her, molested her? Or worse. The idea of playing along with him was lost in those thoughts as terror took over. She wrenched out of his grasp and ran through the house screaming Kristy’s name. His footsteps pounded behind her. He didn’t say anything, but she knew she wasn’t going to get away from him. She reached Kristy’s room and flung open the door. “Oh, my God . . .” she whispered.
Her child was tied to her bed, blindfolded and her mouth duct-taped shut. Blood from her nose had dried into a trickle. A swollen blue bruise marked her check. Lynne gasped. She could see Kristy’s chest rise and fall, and was thrilled to see her begin to squirm at the sound of her mother’s voice. Lynne rushed to her and yanked off the blindfold and tape. She started to untie the ropes.
“Mama, no!”
Lynne turned around to see the frightening stranger behind her, his face in a purple rage. His eyes focused into angry slits.
“I told you she was fine,” he growled.
“You mother fucker!” she screamed, and her fist shot out. He grabbed it and stopped it before it ever connected, but she brought her knee up and got him in the crotch.
“You bitch! You ungrateful bitch!”
Lynne turned back to Kristy, pulled the ropes from her as hard as she could with a strength that she never knew she had. She grabbed her child’s hand, and while the psycho was hunched over, groaning in pain, they ran from the room. Nearing the front door, she screamed, hoping someone would hear her. As she reached out for the handle, she felt a heavy hand grab her from behind. Kristy screamed. He turned toward her, backhanded her and sent her flying across the room, where she hit her head smack against the brick fireplace.
“Kristy!” Lynne screamed. She knew her baby had probably been knocked unconscious by the blow. That would be the very least. Lynne knew that as surely as she knew right then that her world would never, ever be the same. A fist slammed into her cheekbone and she stumbled backward.
“I cannot understand you women!” he yelled. “I’ve had it with this shit!”
As Lynne tried to regain her balance and reach her child, he grabbed her and threw her to the ground, pinning her beneath him.
Over the next hour and a half she lost consciousness several times as she was forced to submit to obscene cruelties she didn’t think anyone could ever live through. And she was right. As she took her last breath of air, she prayed to God that when her child’s head had connected with the bricks on the fireplace that she’d died instantly. Because worse than what she’d had to suffer physically at the hands of the madman hunched over her was feeling the death of her soul at the thought that he might do the same things to Kristy. That he would torture her precious baby girl.
Let my daughter be dead already. Please let her be dead.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Holly fretted about what to wear. She changed three times before deciding on a sleek black dress, something that she had bought a couple of years ago for her dad’s retirement party. It was far more expensive than anything she usually bought. The bodice was tight fitting and lined with corset boning, the neck cut in a square line that was low enough to draw interest, but not so low as to appear cheap. She put on a pair of pumps, and after spending extra time on her makeup and hair, she was as ready as she’d ever get. She hadn’t had a date in years. The last time she had gone out, at her mother’s pleading, had been disastrous when the man she had dinner with made a few lewd suggestions about her handcuffs.
She had later told her mom as politely as possible that her best friend’s son was anything but a gentleman.
This was a whole different ball game. She liked Brendan, and her nerves fluttered within like they hadn’t since . . . well, since meeting Jack. Yes, those same butterflies had flown around in her belly when she’d met her future husband. Had she known the torment and heartache that marriage was to lead to, she’d have walked the other way. Maybe not. No, she wouldn’t have. Their marriage had been wonderful. Together they had created a dream of a child. But now she carried the deep mark in her heart left not only by his death, but by the violence of that death.
The doorbell rang and she shook off her morbid thoughts. Chloe beat her to the door, but knowing the rules, didn’t open it. She whispered, “You look soo pretty, Mommy.”
“Thank you, Chloe.” She opened the door to see Brendan standing there with a bouquet of pink roses and lilacs. He had remembered their conversation at Thanksgiving about favorite flowers when she had told him that she absolutely loved how fragrant lilacs were. “Wow! Thank you.”
Brendan handed her the flowers. Maddie bounded past the two of them. Meg followed her. They had agreed that the girls should stay at Holly’s for the evening, especially since Meg was Chloe’s new babysitter.
They quickly scattered to the back of the house.
After putting the flowers in a vase, Holly turned to look at Brendan. “Thank you again. They’re lovely.”
“And so are you.”
She knew she was blushing, but it felt pretty damn good. “You look wonderful yourself.” He did look great, dressed in a cream colored turtleneck with a nice pair of khaki slacks, topped by a tan suede sport coat.
After Holly explained the ins and out of the house to Meg and wrote down her cell number, they left for dinner.
Over a bottle of Beaujolais and a delicious French appetizer that Holly couldn’t pronounce, much less spell, she found herself relaxing. Until Brendan brought up her past.
“I assume you were married?”
Holly nodded and took a long sip of wine. Did he have to go there? “I was.”
“Well? I’ve told you all about my ex.”
“Not really. And do we really want to talk about the past?” She didn’t want to lay the truth on him yet. Once she did, she knew his smiling eyes would turn sympathetic, and the glittery feelings that were starting to come over her would quickly fade. She didn’t want to give up that lovely feeling, not yet. But he insisted on pressuring her to talk. “If you must know, my husband died when I was pregnant with Chloe.”
“Oh.”
Yep, there they were. The sad eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Now you do, and now can you see why I don’t want to talk about it?”
Brendan looked taken aback, possibly even hurt. “I’m a good listener, you know. I’ve traveled a rough road myself at times, and it seems to me maybe you should talk about it.”
“I’ve talked and talked about it.” That was a huge lie. Thinking to herself and talking to someone else were two totally different things. “Trust me, it’s in the past, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s time to move on.”
Brendan nodded. “I am not convinced, Detective Jennings, and if you ask me, I think you’ve been running from this for some time. Why get so defensive if it’s truly in the past?”
“Do you like discussing the people you’ve loved and then seen die?” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and reached across the table for the bottle of wine. He beat her to it and poured her another glass—this time only half full. Where was the chauvinism coming from? Was he pulling a power trip on her? Because if that were the case, she’d have to say Sayonara, bud.
“No, I suppose not, but there is a part of us that has a need to speak of the dead, especially the ones we loved, especially with someone who cares about us.”
“Listen, it’s our first date. I like you, and I know we’ve spent some great times together in the last few days, but I’m simply not ready to go there with you. I’m not ready to discuss Jack yet. Maybe sometime in the future.”
Brendan smiled. “I like that.”
“Like what?”
“That you indicated we might have a future. And I also like that you’re willing to say how you feel and tell me when to back off. But I still think you need to talk about your h
usband. Okay, maybe not now, but if we are going to have a future, then we should have that talk. Because, lady, I haven’t felt my heart beat so hard against my chest in ages at the sight of a woman, and I’m not saying that just because I’m feeling this nice vintage here . . .” He pointed to the bottle of wine. “What I’m saying is, if we’re going to plan on spending some quality time together, Holly Jennings, maybe consider a relationship . . . I want to be certain there are no ghosts sleeping with us.”
An image of herself lying in bed next to Brendan crossed her mind, and the tough cop needed to look away, blushing furiously. What did a woman say to that? She was at a loss for words, for Brendan was absolutely right. If she went to bed with him tonight, Jack’s ghost would be right there with them. Damn it! How had Brendan so skillfully figured her out, sunk into her skin and bones, reached into her soul?
The truly frightening thing was, not even Jack had made her feel so alive and so like a woman. This man had a charisma, an energy that shouted at her to take a chance for a change. Working over dead, decaying bodies was a cinch, but a man with a heart and soul—and she had a pretty good idea he also had a pretty good package between his legs—scared the living shit out of her. Yes, she was gonna have to get out of this and fast, because if she didn’t, this was going to lead somewhere. The wine made her giggle out loud at the thought. Because who really gave a shit if it did lead somewhere? What was she so damn scared of? The answer to that was what she and Brendan would eventually have to talk about. But for now, all she wanted to do was drink wine, eat gourmet food, and look at that delicious face.
“What is so funny?” he asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
They finished the wine and dinner, the rest of the conversation light, warm, easy. Way too comfortable. A long walk on the beach brought them around to the topic of their children once again.
“Are you chilly?” he asked, reaching for her hand.
“Maybe a bit.”
He draped his coat over her shoulders and then brought his arm around, squeezing her close. Wow, did that ever feel good.
“So, Chloe really likes Maddie, and the two of them are pretty funny together. Have you ever watched them play Barbie? Very entertaining.” Chatter, chatter, chatter. Keep talking, girl. The night is getting old like you, and he’ll have to take you home soon.
But was that what she truly wanted?
“Hmmm, yes. And did you know that the girls love to watch Peter Pan?”
She looked at him, not sure what that meant.
“Yes, they do, and I’ve watched it with them a few times. And I have a favorite line in that movie.”
“Really?” Okay, he had to be drunk.
“I love when Peter says to Wendy, ‘Boy, girls talk too much.’ And she says, ‘Oh, they do?’ Peter says, ‘Yes they do.’ I have to agree with Peter on this occasion. The difference is that if Peter were a smart boy, he would’ve kissed Wendy to shut her up. Now, I like to think I’m a smart man, or at least have some sense, so right now I’m going to kiss you. And it’s not just to shut you up, but it’s also because I want to. Would that be okay with you?”
Holly nodded and said, “Then why don’t you shut the hell up and kiss me?”
Brendan did just that. He leaned in and kissed her squarely on the lips. At first it was a sweet, tender kiss. Slow, nice, simple. But as the waves crashed onto the shoreline beside them, the kiss grew heated, intense. Lips separated and passion filled them. Brendan pulled her into him tightly. Delicious warmth came over her as a chill of excitement joined it, every nerve ending awake and alive. Her stomach twisted into wonderful nervous energy as she felt something hard against her thigh. She knew exactly what that was. She pulled away, and stared into his eyes. A flood of passion and energy passed between them, neither one of them looking away, but taking in everything about each other. It was the ocean that broke the intensity as a large wave crashed on the shore, spraying them with freezing water.
“Oh,” Holly exclaimed and jumped back, then began to laugh.
“I’ll say,” Brendan replied. He took her by the hand and they ran for the car, where he quickly flipped on the heater.
Madonna’s voice from the radio sang about dying another day. Changing to a jazz station, Brendan drove away as Sade whispered thoughts of perfect love. Ah, so much better.
Brendan came to a stoplight and they both giggled like teenagers when they looked at each other, neither of them with any idea of what to do or say. It was better than being a teenager. Kids were afraid because they didn’t know what to do. As adults, Holly knew they both had a very good idea about what to do. The nervousness between them came from pure lust. Or maybe . . . God, she hated to think it but couldn’t help it, maybe something even deeper than lust was causing the wetness between her legs.
The front light was on when they pulled up to the house. Still giggling, Holly managed to unlock the door. The sight before them when they walked through the door touched both their hearts. Meg was asleep on the couch with both her sister and Chloe curled up on either side of her. Holly’s chest almost hurt as she sucked in her breath. It was at that moment that she knew. Crazy as it sounded, crazy as it felt, this man, these girls, all of it was meant to be a part of her life with Chloe.
She took a blanket from the hall closet and covered the girls while Brendan mixed them a nightcap. She popped back to her room and saw that her computer was blinking with new e-mail, and the answering machine on her private phone line showed several messages. Screw it. She was having none of it tonight. Tonight was her night with Brendan, and if she wanted to be a normal woman with normal needs instead of a cop for one night, then by God, so be it. Nope, let someone else deal with it tonight.
She walked out of her room wearing a pair of new yoga pants and a J. Crew sweatshirt, ignoring the blinking lights, and headed back to the family room. Brendan was seated in a chair across from the girls, watching them sleep, and Holly wondered if he also felt the connection. That this night could be the beginning of something big for all of them. She hated thoughts like that, but this one filled her mind, and no matter how impractical she told herself the idea was, she couldn’t shake it. So for now, with the intoxicating mixture of alcohol and Brendan, she was gonna make this last as long as possible.
Taking him by the hand, she escorted him into what she fondly referred to as her library. It was actually little more than a few rows of books stacked in an antique book case, a chaise lounge to read and relax upon and a small TV set inside an armoire for those nights when she and Chloe agreed to not disagree about what to watch.
“So what do you want to do?”
He shrugged and grinned. They sat down together on the lounge and made out like the kids they were acting like, learning all the lines and curves and scents of each other’s bodies, reveling in their joy with each other. With the children in the next room, they stopped shy of being too indecent and cuddled in each other’s arms. Holly pulled a crocheted blanket up around them. Before long Brendan’s rhythmic breathing fell into sync with Holly’s, and they were fast asleep.
Some time shortly after three in the morning the jarring ring of a telephone woke Holly. At first she grumbled and ignored it, thinking she might be dreaming, or that it was a neighbor’s phone ringing. Fat chance.
“Holly, Holly.” Brendan’s soothing voice woke her, although it sounded alarmed at the ringing.
“It’s okay, probably the station. I’m sorry.” She left the den and answered the phone on the kitchen table. “Jennings,” she muttered.
“Holly, we’ve tried to reach you for a couple of hours, but got nothing.” It was Maureen. “We tried your pager and cell. I know how you hate to have us call the house because of Chloe, but we had no choice.”
“Uh-huh.” The one night she wanted to run away from it all, turn it off, let someone else run the show . . . She knew they were about to call her in. It had better be something big.
“What is it?”
; “He’s struck again.”
Holly was now wide-awake. “No.”
“Not only that, but we’ve got a survivor.”
“Dear God! Can she ID the perp?”
“Nope. She’s in a coma. It’s pretty bad, Holly. He was especially angry this time around. They must’ve fought him off as best they could, because he didn’t even have time to get them out of the house.”
“Hopefully, he left us some trace. Address?”
Maureen gave it to her.
“State Street? State? What was the number again?”
“735 State.”
The number rang a bell, but Holly wasn’t sure why. “Do you have the names of the vics?”
“Lynne and Kristy Greene. The mom was Lynne. She’s DOA. Kristy has been flown to Children’s. A friend of the mom’s came by to surprise her late last night, I think hoping for a rendezvous. He said that he had some tickets for a concert for her. He found them. He’s real shaken.”
Holly almost dropped the phone. She was speechless.
“Holly? Holly? Is something wrong?”
“I’ll be right there.” Yes, something was very wrong.
Holly knew Lynne and Kristy Greene.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Holly changed from the sweatpants into a pair of jeans, leaving the sweatshirt on. There was no time to even consider something more appropriate; her crew needed her, and quickly. Brendan was brewing a cup of coffee for her as she went into the kitchen. The girls were still asleep on the couch, but Meg was starting to stir.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. Can you . . . ?”
He held up the palm of his hand. “No need to even ask. If you’re not home when the girls get up in the morning, I’ll take ‘em to The Hash House for a bit of breaky and then we’ll go from there. Don’t worry about it. I only have to make a quick run into the shop in the morning to check on the animals. Meg can look out for the girls. If you need to come home and crash, I’m sure we can entertain ourselves. Go do your job.”
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