Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  Although Bernie had given him free rein as the lead detective in the Preston murder case and the Hardy missing person’s case, she had asked him to make sure she was included in everything.

  “I think I can learn a lot from you, Jim,” she’d told him. “And I’m not too proud to admit that fact. You’re probably better qualified to be sheriff than I am, but this is Adams County and my last name is Granger.”

  He admired her honesty, admired her for having the guts to speak so bluntly. But he thought maybe she was selling herself short because she kept comparing herself to her father.

  As if thinking about her had brought her to him, Jim heard Bernie’s voice in the outer office. She was talking to John Downs, asking him for an update on the Thomasina Hardy case.

  “Have you and Ron questioned everybody you know of who traveled County Road One-fifty-seven between six and seven-thirty last night?”

  “Yeah, there were only half a dozen people that we could find,” John said. “And none of them remembers seeing Thomasina, except old man Hammonds remembers meeting a car fitting that description around six-forty, right before he crossed the Sunflower Creek bridge. He said that the best he could tell the woman driving was alone.”

  “Where’s Ron now?” Bernie asked.

  “He’s over at Taylor’s Wrecker Service, waiting around for those crime scene fellows Charlie Patterson sent over from Huntsville to finish up with Thomasina’s car.”

  Jim shoved back his chair, stood and walked across the room. When he opened the door, Bernie and John turned around and looked at him.

  “Afternoon,” Bernie said.

  Jim glanced at the wall clock above the outer door. Five-thirty-five. “It’s nearly evening.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get over here sooner, but my day has been wild. After this morning’s press conference, I had to meet with Jerry Dale; then Lisa has been fending calls all day from local citizens concerned about the fact we’ve had two abductions in such a short time span. And just when I thought I might escape and come over here, Robyn breezed in with the invitations to Mom and Dad’s fortieth wedding anniversary party, which she was supposed to have sent out a week ago.”

  “Your folks have been married forty years?” Jim’s own parents hadn’t made it to their fortieth anniversary. His dad had died a month shy of their thirty-fourth.

  “Is the party a surprise?” John asked.

  “Yes, they’ve been married forty years,” she replied to Jim. “And they’re still very much in love. Imagine that.” She glanced at John. “No, the party is not a surprise. You don’t honestly think we could keep a secret like that from Brenda Granger, do you? My mother expects something special, and if she didn’t know for sure that Robyn and I were planning an extravaganza for her and Dad, she’d suspect something and start searching for answers.”

  John laughed, but before he could lead Bernie off into some idle chitchat, something Jim had learned John was very good at doing, he motioned to Bernie with a nod of his head, indicating for her to come into his office. He backed up the nonverbal invitation by saying, “If we’re going to leave here before midnight tonight, we should get started on that profile we need to work up as soon as possible. The sooner we send it off, the sooner we’ll see results.”

  “Oh, sure thing.” Bernie patted John on the arm as she passed him. “Tell Cathy not to make any plans for two weeks from Saturday. Y’all will be getting your invitations to the big bash tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be there.” John grinned. “You know Cathy and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  As soon as Bernie entered Jim’s office, he closed the door behind her. “I have the VICAP report, and it looks like there were four almost identical abduction and murder cases, with a possible fifth.”

  “In Alabama?”

  Jim shook his head. “Two in Georgia, one in Tennessee, one in North Carolina and another in South Carolina. All within the past five years.”

  “I’ve never done a profile matrix before,” Bernie said. “Except in theory at the class I took at Quantico.”

  Jim pulled a chair around the side of his desk and aligned it next to his, then indicated for Bernie to sit. “You take my chair.”

  After she sat in the big swivel chair, he sat and scooted his chair closer to hers, then picked up the yellow legal pad lying on his desk. “As you know, it’s a matter of developing a picture of the criminal and his crimes, connecting the dots to see what fits together.”

  “Okay.”

  “We start with asking and answering those six all-important questions.”

  Bernie’s eyes widened. “Who, what, when, where, how and why?”

  He clicked his tongue and grinned at her. “I knew you were a smart girl.”

  Shaking her head, she laughed.

  “What?” he asked guilelessly. “Ah … it’s not politically correct to call you a girl, huh?”

  “I don’t mind, but some female officers do.”

  “I’ll try to remember that. But I’m glad you don’t have a thin skin.”

  Bernie cleared her throat. “So we start with the question of who.”

  “Yeah, who are the victims?” Jim asked.

  “Our three are all young, attractive women in their midto-late twenties.”

  “Hmm … And what else did they have in common?”

  “Thomasina Hardy teaches at Adams County Junior College, Stephanie Preston was a student there, and Jacque Reeves had been a student several years ago.”

  “It could be a coincidence that they all had a connection to the college, but we won’t rule out that fact being important.” Jim glanced down at the legal pad. “Were you aware of the fact that all three women had dark hair and brown eyes?”

  “No, not really. So, they were all young, attractive brunettes.”

  “Young, attractive, popular brunettes.”

  Bernie snapped her head around and looked directly at Jim. “Popular?”

  “Translated that means women who have dated a lot of different men.”

  “Okay. The answer to our who question is young, attractive, popular brunettes.” Bernie counted off each adjective on her fingers. “We need to find out if that description fits those four or five women you came up with through VICAP.”

  “I’ve put in calls to two of the lead detectives, starting with the ones in Georgia, since they were the most recent. I expect to hear from them no later than tomorrow sometime. In the morning, I’ll contact the ones in the other states, too.”

  Bernie nodded.

  “There are two parts to the who question,” Jim said. “Who are the victims was part one.”

  “And who is our killer is part two.”

  “What type of killer is he?” Jim looked directly into Bernie’s brown eyes. Brown eyes flecked with dark gold. Odd that he’d never noticed her eyes weren’t a true brown the way Robyn’s were. But then again, he’d never been this physically close to Bernie.

  “Our guy plans out the details,” she said. “He stalks the woman, which he probably sees as courting her. Then he kidnaps her, rapes her and kills her. Since rape is a crime of power and control and not one of passion, I’d say that is what motivates him.”

  “I agree.”

  “He’s an organized, power/control-oriented killer.”

  “That leads us to the question of what,” Jim said. “What was the cause of death in our two murders? Was there any deviant sexual behavior? Is there anything unusual about the murders?”

  “He slit both women’s throats. He tortured and raped them repeatedly. And as for anything unusual—I’d say the courtship is unusual, the gifts and notes. But what really sets Stephanie’s and Thomasina’s cases apart from the norm are those frightening S&M sketches.”

  Jim wrote hurriedly, jotting down all the information as he and Bernie continued discussing the case. When did the crime occur? Were the dates significant? And where did the crimes occur?

  “All three victims were abducted, but it doesn�
��t seem any of them put up a fight, so that indicates they knew and trusted their abductor,” Jim said.

  “Well, the how and why of the actual killings are simple. The how is that he slit their throats with a sharp knife, and if we can’t find Thomasina soon, that will be her fate.” Bernie sighed heavily. “As for the why—only God knows.”

  “We’ve got enough information here for me to go ahead and send it to Derek Lawrence,” Jim said. “I’ll fax everything to him before we leave this evening.”

  “How did you manage to get a former FBI profiler, who now works independently, to do a profile for us for free?” Bernie leaned back in the swivel chair, crossed her arms under her breasts—her full, nicely rounded breasts, Jim noticed—and pinned Jim with her questioning gaze.

  “I have an influential, wealthy friend who has used Derek Lawrence on other cases and he just called the guy and asked him to do me a favor.”

  “Hmm … Must be nice to have a friend like that. Mind telling me who he is?”

  Jim shrugged. “Griffin Powell.”

  “Your old teammate, the Griffin Powell?”

  Jim groaned. “No, please don’t tell me that you had a major crush on Griff the way ninety percent of the girls and women in the South did when we were playing ball at UT.”

  Bernie smirked. “As a matter of fact …” She laughed. “I did not have a crush on Griffin Powell. But I’m as curious as everyone else about where he went and what happened to him during those ten missing years of his life. All the newspapers and magazines, as well as every radio and TV station in the South, have all speculated about him, about why he disappeared and how he earned his fortune.” Bernie leaned toward Jim. “Do you know?”

  Jim noted a distinctly sweet, flowery smell and realized Bernie must be wearing perfume. That was something else he’d never noticed about her. She didn’t seem the type to wear perfume.

  “Nope. I’ve never asked him and he’s never volunteered the information,” Jim replied.

  “Oh, I see.”

  “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” He suddenly realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. Damn!

  “Ah … er … I’m not wearing perfume.” Bernie seemed startled and confused by his inappropriate question.

  Jim forced himself to laugh, hoping humor would get him out of the situation his stupidity had gotten him into. What on earth had possessed him to notice gold flecks in Bernie’s eyes or to ask her about her sweet scent? “Hey, somebody in this room smells like flowers and it’s not me.”

  “Flowers?” Bernie’s eyes widened; then she smiled. “Oh, I know what it is. It’s this new hand lotion that Mom bought for me.” She held her right hand under Jim’s nose. “Is this what you smell? It’s something called Vanilla Jasmine.”

  He grasped her wrist and held her hand in place, took a whiff, and grinned at her. “Yep, that’s it. You know, that hand lotion is some mighty powerful stuff. You’d better not use too much of it the next time you’re around Raymond or he’s liable to sweep you off your feet.”

  Bernie’s smile vanished. “I’ll have you know that I am not the least bit interested in Raymond Long. He’s a very nice man, and I’ve known him all my life, but there is nothing between us. Not in the past before he married and moved away from Adams Landing. Not now that he’s divorced and back home running his father’s hardware store. And not in the future. Not ever. Besides, he’s gaga over Robyn, just like all you men are.”

  “Are you lumping me in with all men?”

  Narrowing her gaze, she looked right at Jim. “Only when it comes to what type of woman interests you.”

  “And you think you know what kind of woman interests me, do you?”

  “You can’t help yourself. Robyn has that effect on all men, and you are a man.”

  “Guilty as charged. I am a man. I appreciate a good- looking woman as well as the next guy. And Robyn is a looker. But I don’t like sharing my woman. I tend to be the possessive type. And your sister seems to enjoy playing the field.”

  “Robyn will eventually settle down when the right man comes along.”

  “Yeah, she probably will.” He thought about Mary Lee, who was now married to her Mr. Right, Allen Clark. “But I’m not that man. Not for Robyn.”

  Bernie grinned. “Don’t tell her that. There’s nothing she likes better than a challenge. If she hasn’t already seduced you, then finding out you’re not interested … Shit. I can’t believe I’m sitting here warning you about my own sister. Whatever’s going on between the two of you is none of my business.” Bernie scooted the chair back and stood. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Want one?”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Jim said. “Why don’t we finish up here, then go over to your folks’ house and pick up Kevin. I’ll take you two out for dinner. My treat. You name the place.”

  Bernie’s smile widened. “I have an even better idea. Why don’t you pick up Kevin and you two come over to my house for dinner? I’m not as good a cook as my mother, but I can grill some steaks and pop some potatoes in the microwave.”

  “Well, come on, woman, let’s fax that profile to Derek Lawrence and close up shop for the evening.” When he stood, she moved away from him as if she thought he was going to touch her and didn’t want him to. He lowered his arm, realizing that he had intended to put his hand on the small of her back.

  Okay, Sheriff Granger, I get the message. And you don’t have anything to worry about from me. I’m not going to hit on you. I want us to be friends. That’s all. Just good friends.

  He had stripped off her clothes and then bathed her. She hadn’t fought him, and now she wondered if maybe she should have, but she’d been too terrified at the time. Too disoriented. Too confused. She had no idea where she was and saw no means of escape. He had told her that he loved her, that he knew she loved him and wanted to please him. Not knowing what he wanted to hear, she had neither agreed nor disagreed.

  “I’m taking care of your personal hygiene for you this time,” he said as he brushed her hair. “But from now on, I’ll expect you to do it. Do you understand?”

  She nodded her head weakly, every muscle in her body taut, every nerve rioting, as she sat quietly—obediently—in the wooden chair.

  He reached down, clamped his hand around her jaw, his fingers and thumb biting into her cheeks, and glared directly into her eyes. “When I ask you a question, I expect a verbal answer. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I … understand.” Her voice trembled.

  He smiled and went back to brushing her hair. “You have beautiful hair, Thomasina. Long and lustrous and so dark it’s almost black. Your hair was the first thing I noticed about you. And then as I studied you, I realized how truly lovely you are.”

  Fear ate away at her like an insidious poison, building gradually, increasing with each passing moment of bondage. And despite the fact that he had unbound her feet in order to undress her and take her to the shower to bathe her, she was his prisoner in every sense of the word. Trapped not only in this tomblike room, but by her own terror.

  When he bathed her, he had touched her intimately. He’d lingered over her breasts, scrubbing her nipples until they were almost raw. And when he’d washed between her legs, he had slipped his fingers inside her.

  “Please,” she’d begged him. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

  “Oh, Thomasina. I promise I won’t tease you too much before I give you what you really want.” He had then concentrated on her clitoris, rubbing the washcloth over the sensitive nub until she thought she would scream.

  “No … no …”

  “What’s the matter, darling? Can’t you come without my being inside you?”

  He had laughed and moved on to finish her bath.

  Thomasina had no idea what time it was, but she felt fairly certain that it was Friday, the day after she’d been abducted. He had left her here overnight—wherever here was. Left her alone in the semidarkness of what she believed to be a subterranean room, a bas
ement of some sort. There was a bed, a table, a chair, and what appeared to be an unfinished bathroom, with a shower, sink, and commode, surrounded by a four-foot-high concrete block wall. The wall separated the bath from the room, but provided no privacy whatsoever.

  “There, all finished,” he said. “You’re ready now.” He held out his hand to her.

  She stared at his hand, which seemed large and powerful and frightening.

  He frowned. “Never hesitate, Thomasina. If you do, I will see it as a rejection and be forced to punish you.”

  Her hand shot up and into his of its own accord, prompted by her innate survival instincts. She had to do whatever was necessary in order to survive.

  He smiled. “Come with me.”

  She stood and followed him as he led her to the small bed in the corner. Please, God, help me. Help me!

  “Lie down,” he told her.

  She obeyed his command.

  You could fight him. You could hit him and scream and scratch him. You could hurt him. But you can’t stop him. He’s larger and stronger. And you have no weapon.

  And you can’t escape. There is no way out.

  Do as he says. Obey him. Pacify him. And maybe …

  “What did I tell you about hesitating?” He growled the words through clenched teeth.

  She hurriedly lay down on the bed.

  “You’re learning,” he told her. “But that’s twice you’ve hesitated.”

  Lying there, her mind crying out silently, her heart pleading for mercy, Thomasina closed her eyes and waited for her punishment. She heard him grunting, moving about, and wondered what he was doing, why he hadn’t acted immediately. She had expected a slap or even a hard punch of some kind.

  Then she felt the side of the bed give and sensed him hovering over her. He was going to rape her and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  “Open your eyes, darling.”

  She opened her eyes instantly and stared up into the handsome face of a madman.

  With a swift, subtle survey, she scanned his body. He was naked, but not aroused. His penis hung limply, the tip brushing her left thigh.