by Mallory Kane
“I’m impressed that you requalified in firearms so soon,” Decker had said. “But I won’t have a vendetta. Detective Barbour was your friend. You won’t be able to maintain the detachment you need to find this killer.”
Jack had calmly reminded Decker that he hadn’t given Jack the nickname the Ice Man for nothing. Jack was known for keeping his cool, no matter what the situation.
What he didn’t tell Decker was that he’d made a promise to himself the day he’d watched his mother die at the hands of her ex-husband, his stepfather. Even though he’d been only thirteen, he’d known from that moment what he wanted to do. He’d devoted his life to stopping violence against women wherever and however he could.
He flexed his stiff shoulder, then pulled a tin of aspirin from his jacket pocket. He dumped three into his hand, tossed them into his mouth and swallowed them. Not easy without water.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Holly said, digging into her voluminous purse. “Were those aspirin? They’ll eat right through your stomach.”
She handed him a half-empty bottle of water. “Drink all of it.”
Jack took the water and drank gratefully, a little disconcerted by her attention and concern. He looked at her sidelong and found her watching to be sure he finished the water. He’d like to say it was annoying, but the truth was, he could get used to it. He’d never really had anybody to worry about him. Even his mother had been too busy working or going out to concern herself with a kid.
Dismissing thoughts of his mother, he settled back and considered what he knew about the case.
The Division’s profiler, Eric Baldwyn, had provided Jack with a personality sketch of the UnSub, FBI shorthand for an unidentified subject. Eric was a strange guy, but he was the best profiler Jack had ever worked with. He had an uncanny knack for nailing a subject’s quirks and oddities, and his profile had made the difference in more than one case.
Jack would keep in touch with Eric throughout the case, working with him to isolate the most likely suspects in this worst kind of stalking case. Most stalkers never turned deadly, but Jack knew from painful experience that some could.
Eric had told him the UnSub fit the classic serial-killer profile in many ways. He was almost certainly male, probably relatively young, late twenties or early thirties. If he wasn’t young, then he was emotionally immature, an underachiever in a job that didn’t make a lot of demands on him.
Eric also thought the killer’s fascination with Holly may have begun years ago, perhaps even in childhood, and that his erotomanic obsession had developed over a long period of time.
Thanks to Eric, Jack already had many pieces of the puzzle. Most of it fit with Jack’s own experience. What he didn’t have was the most important piece. He didn’t know what that piece was, but he knew where it was. The vital information that would lead to the killer was locked inside Holly’s brain.
He looked at the lovely young woman sitting beside him. He probably knew almost as much about her as anyone in her hometown. Her uncle had seen to that. Virgil McCray had given Jack a terse but vivid image of Holly. One that made more sense now that he’d met her. He hadn’t been able to reconcile McCray’s description with the photo he’d sent.
“Holly takes care of everything around here,” Virgil had said. “There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for her family or her friends. Everybody loves her. We depend on Holly.”
She looked like someone who could be depended upon. She had a determined lift to her chin, a hint of compassion and caring in her eyes.
But Jack needed more than the view of her that her family and friends saw. He needed to get inside her head, understand her from the inside, see people the way she saw them, look at the town through her eyes.
He had worked a couple of cases of women who’d killed their husbands or lovers, so he knew he couldn’t completely discount Holly as a suspect. His gut instinct told him she was no killer. He never went by his gut, though. In his line of work, logic and facts told the tale. He’d wait for the facts.
Jack almost felt sorry for her, because he’d seen something else in her wide-eyed gaze. A determined innocence. He hardened his heart. Sooner or later she had to face the truth. It would fall to him to strip away that innocence.
He didn’t realize he was staring at her until she squirmed, then lifted her chin.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice full of strain.
He frowned. He could already see that she was not going to sit back quietly and let him do his job. Maybe it was time she understood the depth of the danger she was in.
“Tell me, Holly Frasier.” He braced himself and fixed her with the stare that had unnerved more than one suspect. “Who keeps killing the men who love you?”
Chapter Two
Jack got the reaction he’d wanted from his bald statement. Holly’s face drained of color and she lifted a trembling hand to her mouth.
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”
She shook her head.
He pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and patted his shirt pocket. “Got a pen?”
Her shocked gaze was still on him. He waited. After a couple of seconds she groped blindly beneath the seat and dug into her purse. She came up with a pen.
“No, keep it,” he said, handing her the notebook, turned to a blank page. “I want you to make me a list of every man you’ve ever gone out with.”
“Every man— You think someone I dated killed Brad and Ralph and—?” Holly’s brain reeled. Her heart pounded painfully against her chest. Jack’s calm, matter-of-fact attitude was more disturbing than her great-uncle’s worry or Danny’s tentative questions.
She gave a little laugh, trying to ease her tension. “It’ll be a short list.”
He didn’t react. “That doesn’t matter. The names on it do. Most stalkers are former lovers or boyfriends.”
“St-stalkers?” The word sheared her breath. Her body felt flash-frozen. Danny had talked about an obsessed admirer, but nobody had ever said the word stalker.
Jack nodded without speaking.
Her hand shaking, Holly took the notebook and tried to make her fingers work. “Everyone since my husband died?” she asked.
“Every man ever.” Jack watched Holly as she bent over the paper and wrote. She was quaking so badly that the paper fluttered, but she didn’t falter.
When she finally handed him her list, it was short, as she’d said it would be, but he was impressed. It was extremely neat and methodical. He liked that. She’d listed the names in one column, and in the next column she’d indicated who each was, and when and for how long she’d dated him.
He studied the names. First on the list was her husband Brad, whom she’d dated through high school, then married. Jack knew Holly had been married for six years before Brad was killed. And she’d dated Ralph Peyton for eleven months before he disappeared. His name was second on her list.
Then she’d listed three names Jack hadn’t seen before.
“Tell me about Gil Mason.”
Holly sat with her hands twisted in her lap. “I dated him for a short while, several months after Brad’s death. He’s the pastor of the Baptist church. Married now, with a beautiful little girl.”
“Earl Isley? The insurance salesman?”
“I only went out with him once.”
Jack saw her hands tighten. “Does he call? Do you see him?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Of course, we run into each other. Everyone does in a small town like Maze. And he’s Uncle Virgil’s insurance agent, and mine.”
Jack made a note. It might be normal to “run into each other” in Maze, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Every tidbit of information was important, until he could prove that it wasn’t.
He reread what she’d written beside the third name and his neck prickled. Now this was important. Donald Sheffield had asked her out a number of times, until she’d
finally refused to go out with him again. He’d moved to Jackson several months ago, but he still called her occasionally.
“How often does this Sheffield call?”
She shook her head. “Not that often. Maybe once every couple of months.”
“Why did you quit dating him?”
“I’d only been out with him a few times, and he started making assumptions, like we were a couple. He was new in town and he seemed lonely. I never should have gone out with him in the first place.”
Jack winced at the words he’d heard so many times before. Classic stalking personality, and classic victim response. He sat up straight, reining in his gut reaction of anger. “This type of behavior can be indicative of a particular type of stalker called an erotomaniac,” he explained, tapping the paper. “Persistent. Keeps calling. Won’t take no for an answer. He thinks you two have a relationship.”
Beside him, Holly shivered. “But we don’t.”
“Now, who have you left off this list?”
She frowned at him. “Nobody. That’s everyone I’ve dated. I told you it would be short.”
As she spoke, the whir of the plane’s engines changed and the flight attendant’s voice came over the loudspeaker. They were about to land.
“You’ve left off at least one name, maybe more.” Jack held up his hand as she stiffened. “Not on purpose. But this is important. You have to consider everyone. You may not have thought of your encounter as a date, but he did. You think about it, and when another name occurs to you, tell me immediately.” He closed the notebook and slid it into his jacket pocket. He’d call Quantico as soon as they landed, and have background checks run on these names. He had a killer to catch.
BY THE TIME HOLLY pulled into her driveway twelve hours later, she was done in, mentally and physically. How had Jack crammed so much into one day?
He’d dragged her off the plane in Memphis and rushed her off to Chancery Court, where a marriage license and a judge awaited them.
“You’re not suggesting that we really get married?” she had asked in horror, drawing odd looks from the other happy couples.
Jack had pulled her into his arms and whispered in her ear. “If anyone checks, I want everything in order, including the record of our marriage. Especially the record of our marriage. In a small town like yours, word would spread like wildfire if we were living in sin.”
Shaken more than she wanted to admit by both his words and his warm embrace, Holly did as she was told—signing forms, repeating words, saying “I do” at the appropriate time. At some point Jack slid a ring on her finger, and gave her one to slip on his. Matching rings. He was full of surprises.
Then they raced back to the Memphis airport, where a small jet waited to fly them down to Jackson. By the time they picked up her car from long-term parking, Jack was stiff and quiet. His exhaustion was obvious in his white, pinched lips and his sunken eyes. When she’d suggested that he try to sleep while she made the hour’s drive to her house, he didn’t object.
She pulled into her garage and reached for the driver’s side door. The new wedding band knocked against the door with a metallic click, an undeniable reminder that, at least for the moment, she was connected to this stranger by the most intimate of bonds. She glanced over at him. He was awake, his gray eyes soft and heavy-lidded.
“Honey, we’re home,” she said.
He straightened and flexed his shoulder, then climbed from the car. “Pop the trunk and I’ll get the bags,” he growled, his voice gruff with sleep.
“Thanks, dear.” Holly opened the door into her kitchen and was greeted with the smell of old food and the blare of music peppered with gunfire from the living room.
“Damn,” she muttered.
Jack came in behind her. “Go back to the car,” he commanded, setting the bags down quietly. “I’ll check it out.”
To her horror, he reached behind his back and pulled out a big gun.
“Whoa! Hold on, cowboy.” She grabbed his arm. “It’s my sister.” She looked up at him. “Tell me you’re not going to be waving that thing around town. Not very subtle, honey.”
He scowled at her. “Never grab an armed man.”
She held up her hands. “No problem, sir.”
He holstered his weapon, but when she started toward the living room, he stopped her. “I’ll go first. Where’s the light switch?”
“It’s just Debi,” she insisted, gesturing to the left.
He reached around the doorframe and snapped on the lights.
“Sheez!” Popcorn flew everywhere as Debi jumped up, scrambling for the remote control. Her hand closed around it and the din of ominous music and gunfire stopped. “You scared me to death, Hol! What happened to you? You’re late.”
Debi’s hair, which was the same dark brown as Holly’s but enhanced by a deep red rinse, was messily twisted into a pile on top of her head. She wore a droopy T-shirt over leggings, and her face, bare of makeup, was shiny and pretty, if thin.
“And it’s midnight and you’re still up,” Holly countered. “Don’t classes start tomorrow?”
“Oh, baby, who’s this?” Debi had spotted Jack. “Mmm, did you bring me a present, Hol?”
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, Holly thought, intoning the mantra that never seemed to work for her. She cringed as Jack slid his arm around her.
JACK FELT THE RIGID SET of Holly’s shoulders. He squeezed gently. He’d pulled her close to demonstrate their relationship, but her brittle tension made him want to give her something—he wasn’t sure what. Not reassurance. At this point he didn’t have any for her.
“I’m Holly’s husband,” he said, watching the sister’s reaction.
“Husband!” Debi repeated, her jaw dropping. She glanced from Holly to Jack and back. “Husband? You’ve got to be—”
As the concept sank in, her features changed from shock and interest to resentment. Her face shut down and anger flashed in the brown eyes that were so much like Holly’s.
Jack raised a brow. Her reaction seemed a little over the top. Where had that anger come from? And why?
“Um, y-yes,” Holly stammered. “Jack O’Hara, this is my sister, Debi McCray. Debi, Jack.”
Debi stared at her sister for a beat, then turned to Jack. “So you go out of town for two weeks to a seminar and come back with a husband, and a hunky one at that.” She held Jack’s eye but spoke to Holly. “Don’t you think that’s kind of dangerous?”
Jack released Holly and leaned against the door frame with his arms folded. “Dangerous?” he drawled, giving Debi a bland half smile as he analyzed her body language and her tone of voice. “Come on. I’m nice, once you get to know me.”
Debi laughed uneasily and rooted around under the couch, fishing out a pair of Birkenstocks and a nearly empty microwave popcorn bag. She tossed the bag onto the coffee table and slid her feet into the shoes. Grabbing a book from between the couch cushions, she headed toward the door.
“I don’t mean dangerous for her,” she tossed back at him.
He straightened.
“Debi…” Holly’s voice held a note of warning, but her sister ignored her.
“I mean dangerous for you,” she said to him, flashing a dazzling smile. “You should’ve checked things out before you jumped into marriage with both feet. My sister seems to have a bad effect on men.” She opened the front door and paused dramatically.
“They die. Watch your back, Jack.” She waved at Holly. “Glad to house-sit for you, Hol. Anytime.”
As the front door slammed, Jack glanced at Holly, curious to see her reaction to her sister’s hostility.
Her face was set, her lips pinched. She looked at the door, a worried frown on her face. When she realized Jack was watching her, she drew her mouth into a crooked grin and sighed.
“Little sisters, what are you going to do?”
“She doesn’t know about your stalker?”
“No!” She gave him a warning look. “I don’t want
to frighten her.”
“I take it she doesn’t know about us either.”
“Of course not. Uncle Virgil told me not to tell anyone.”
Jack nodded, satisfied. She took instructions seriously and literally. That would make his job easier.
She picked up the popcorn bag and a glass with one hand and straightened the remote control and a couple of magazines with the other, then headed for the kitchen.
Jack followed and found her fumbling with the garbage bag ties, her hands shaking.
“Give me that,” he said. He took the bag out to the garage. When he came back in, she was putting a stack of dirty dishes into the sink. She looked up, her amber-brown eyes glimmering with a touch of the sadness he’d seen in her photo. It tugged at a place inside him that he thought had turned to stone years ago.
Holly was different from many stalking victims he’d dealt with. For one thing, she was alive, he thought wryly.
Most stalking victims were all too aware of the danger that followed them everywhere. Holly’s stalker had deliberately not revealed himself. Consequently she was trying very hard to pretend her life was normal. From the little he’d seen of her, she obviously spent a lot of energy hanging on to all the control she could grab.
As much to wipe the sadness from her face as to gather information, he asked bluntly, “What’s going on with your sister?”
“Nothing you need to be concerned about.” Holly turned away from Jack’s icy, knowing gaze to run hot water into the sink. She didn’t want to get into her relationship with her younger sister. Especially not tonight. She was too tired. He could whip out his suspicious microscope and study her friends and family tomorrow.
“I’m concerned about everything that concerns you.”
Holly sighed. “You obviously don’t have any brothers or sisters.”
He didn’t answer. She took that as a no.
“Debi was only four when our parents died, so she hardly remembers them. To her, I’ve always been the mother figure. She resents me telling her what to do. She’s a kid.”
