Silent Killer

by Beverly Barton

  “I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.”

  “Oh, I see. Just where are you? I hear a lot of background noise.”

  “We’re at the Catfish Shack. We just ordered dinner.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Lorie said. “Please don’t do anything stupid just because you’re upset.”

  “Don’t worry about me. And don’t wait up.”

  “You didn’t take your purse,” Lorie reminded her. “That means you don’t have a key, but it doesn’t matter, because I’d have waited up for you regardless.”

  “See you later.” Cathy ended the conversation and handed Jack his phone. “Thanks.”

  “I guess Lorie was worried about you,” Jack said.

  “She’s a good friend.”

  “I always liked Lorie back when she and Mike were together.” Jack shook his head. “Damn shame about those two. I’d have laid odds back then that by now they’d be married and have a houseful of kids.”

  “Life seldom works out the way we think it will. Fate can play some cruel tricks on us.”

  “You’ve had it awfully rough, haven’t you, honey?”

  She looked into his eyes, and their gazes locked. He reached across the table, clasped her hand and held it tenderly.

  “Discussing the past or anything unpleasant is off-limits tonight, okay?” She couldn’t bear to think about Mark and how he had died—how, for the entire length of their marriage, she had cheated him. And she certainly didn’t want to talk to Jack about how she had spent this past year at Haven Home.

  “Sure thing. Tonight we’ll pretend that God’s in His heaven and all’s right with the world.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on, Kit-Cat, let’s dance.”

  Kit-Cat.

  Cathy’s heartbeat accelerated. No one else had ever called her Kit-Cat. It had been Jack’s pet name for her that long-ago autumn when they had been lovers.

  She rose to her feet and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Without a moment’s hesitation, she went into his arms. He held her close, but not too close, their bodies almost touching. And then she closed the narrow gap between them as she laid her head on his shoulder.

  Chapter Nine

  Where man’s laws fail, God’s laws do not. No one is above the wrath of the Lord Almighty. Sinners must be punished. God’s law demands retribution.

  What I have done, I have done in the name of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior. He has given me this holy duty to stop the evildoers from defiling His name. These wolves have hidden themselves in sheep’s clothing and have preyed on the weak.

  “And I will punish the world for their evil, and the wicked for their iniquity.” Isaiah 13:11. I hear You, Lord. I know there are others who must be punished. I will find them and destroy them.

  Sitting here alone in my room, I gaze out the window at the stars and wonder if heaven is out there, far away, beyond the moon and stars. Or is heaven another dimension, not a part of the universe as we humans know it?

  I long to be in heaven, to walk the streets paved with gold, to hear the angels sing, to sit at God’s feet and know His goodness. Who I am here on earth will not matter in heaven. All my burdens will be eased, all my heartaches soothed, all my sins forgiven.

  I must not cry. Tears serve no purpose. I must be a strong soldier for the Lord. I must fight the good fight if I want to receive my eternal reward.

  I have sent three wicked men to the fires of hell. I know that Satan has marked their names in his book of eternal damnation.

  Mark Cantrell—adulterer; Charles Randolph—thief; and Brian Myers—pedophile.

  I will not stop until I have done all within my power to rid the world of such perverted evil. And God will be pleased with all that I do. He will transform me from a child conceived in sin, born in shame and degradation, the living proof of man’s evil, to a place of honor at His side. I will be purified by His power.

  Show me the way, Lord. Take my hand and lead me to the others who must be punished.

  Jack figured he was a fool, because only a fool would play with fire. And that’s just what Cathy Cantrell was—hot and dangerous. She had no more idea now than she’d had all those years ago just what kind of effect she had on him. Yeah, him and the male sex in general. She possessed a kind of womanly sweetness that made it damn near impossible for a man to resist her.

  He’d had his share of women over the years, but there had been only one he’d never forgotten. Maybe it was because he had been her first. Or maybe it was because he’d honest to God been in love with her. When he’d first found out that she’d married someone else, he’d been as mad as hell. But he hadn’t held on to his anger and bitterness. He had learned that it didn’t pay to judge others unless you walked a mile in their shoes. He figured Cathy had had her reasons for marrying someone else, for giving up hope, for not waiting for him to come back. And he knew that that reason could have been as simple as her falling out of love with him and in love with Mark Cantrell.

  He’d spent the past hour watching Cathy as she devoured their greasy meal. She’d eaten with gusto, as if she were starved to death. And she’d downed several glasses of beer, which probably was the reason she was smiling now. A couple of times, when she’d licked her fingertips, his racy thoughts had given him a hard-on.

  “Want dessert?” he asked, forced to talk loud to be heard over the din of conversation, laughter and music pounding from the old jukebox.

  Laughing, she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her stomach. “I don’t know where I’d put it. I’m stuffed.”

  He glanced at the nearly empty pitcher on the table. “I could order some more beer.”

  She groaned. “I’ve had my limit. Actually, I drank more beer with dinner tonight than I’ve drunk in years.”

  “What about some coffee?” He was trying to find a way to keep her here for a while longer. Food, drinks, conversation, whatever would persuade her not to go.

  “Maybe some decaf later.” She scooted back her chair and stood. “What I want right now is to dance.” She held out her hand.

  Dance with Cathy again? Cheek to cheek. Bodies pressed together.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Grinning, she shook her head and clicked her tongue. “You aren’t afraid to dance with me again, are you?”

  He rounded the table, took her hand and led her onto the crowded dance floor. She slipped into his arms as naturally as if she’d done it a thousand times. He pulled her close. She was soft and warm. When she laid her head against his shoulder, he pressed his cheek against her silky hair.

  If she were some other woman, a woman he’d just picked up here at the Catfish Shack, he would maneuver her out of the door and to the nearest bed as quickly as possible. But this was Cathy, and unless he missed his guess, she still wasn’t the type of woman who had casual sex. And if he were a different kind of man, he would take advantage of her vulnerability. She was working hard at trying to have a good time. He understood why. He’d been there. More than once. She was holding on for dear life, the control over her emotions hanging by a mere thread, that modicum of control not easily achieved or maintained.

  “If you need to talk, I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener,” he said, his lips brushing the tip of her ear.

  When she shuddered involuntarily, he clenched his teeth. Her reaction probably wasn’t anything personal. He figured she hadn’t had sex since she lost her husband.

  “Who told you that you were a good listener?” She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. “One of your many women?”

  Jack chuckled. “Well, actually, the only woman who told me I was a good listener was my sister, Maleah.”

  Cathy smiled. “How is your sister? I heard she lives in Knoxville now. Is she married? Does she have children?”

  “Maleah’s still single. I guess after witnessing the horror of our mother’s second marriage, we’re both gun-shy when it comes to wedded bliss.”

  “All marriages aren’t lik
e that. Your parents’ marriage wasn’t.”

  “What about your marriage? Were you happy with Mark Cantrell?”

  Cathy’s smile faded as she glanced away, her gaze focusing on something over his shoulder. “Mark was a good man, a good husband and a good father.”

  Yeah, he’d figured as much. After all, the man had been a preacher. Cathy’s husband had been one of the good guys. But she hadn’t said they’d had a good marriage, that she’d been happy.

  “If it bothers you to talk about him…”

  “It doesn’t. Not anymore. But I’d just as soon not talk about the past, not tonight. I spent nearly a year talking to my therapist at Haven Home in Birmingham. I’m pretty much all talked out.”

  One jukebox selection ended and another began, “Love in the First Degree” by Alabama. Even though the rhythm was upbeat, they continued dancing at a slow, clinging pace.

  “Been there, done that and have a T-shirt that reads Graduate of the Psych Ward.” He splayed his hand across the small of her back and pulled her closer.

  They stared at each other, and he figured she saw her own pain and guilt and loneliness reflected in his eyes. And a similar steely determination to maintain sanity at any cost. He suspected she sensed that they were kindred spirits. He knew he damn well felt it.

  “I guess you heard about what happened to me last year when Reverend Randolph was murdered,” she said.

  Jack nodded.

  “This time, I didn’t fall apart. I won’t fall apart. Not ever again. I have to be strong for my son.” She broke eye contact.

  Jack reached down, cupped her chin and tilted her face upward. “Why don’t you tell me about your son? What’s his name?”

  “Seth. We named him in honor of Mark’s younger brother, who died when he was only a few days old.”

  “That was a nice thing to do.”

  “It pleased Mark and his parents. Mark was so good to me. I wanted to make him happy.”

  Did he make you happy, Cathy? “Seth’s an only child?” Jack asked.

  “Yes. And I love him more than anything in the world.”

  “It’s good for a kid to know he’s loved like that. Your son’s a lucky boy to have you for his mother.”

  “I’m the lucky one. Seth is a wonderful boy. He’s good and kind. He’s smart, makes good grades in school and has never given us a moment’s trouble. And he’s a handsome boy, if I do say so myself.”

  He liked the way her face lit up when she talked about her son. The love she felt for the boy was there in her expression, in the glow of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes.

  “I suppose he reminds you of his father.”

  Jack felt her tense and wondered why. Damn it, why had he gone and mentioned Mark Cantrell when Cathy had been so happy talking about her son?

  “Actually, Seth is more like me,” she said. “He even looks like me.”

  “Then I believe you when you say he’s handsome.”

  That comment brought a smile to her lips.

  Another oldie came on the jukebox: “Young Love” by Sonny James.

  Jack wondered if she remembered that this song had been playing the first time he brought her here and they had danced together. Right before the song had ended, he had kissed her for the first time. That had been a lifetime ago. They had been two different people then.

  Cathy pulled out of his arms. “I think it’s time for me to go. I don’t want to keep Lorie up too late.”

  He grabbed her hand. She stopped, turned around, looked at him and said, “Yes, I remember.”

  He reached out, circled her neck with his other hand and lowered his head. God, what he’d give to relive that first kiss, to feel the way he’d felt that night, to know she felt the same way.

  “Please don’t,” she whispered.

  “Cathy?”

  “Not yet. Not tonight. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to handle the way you still make me feel.”

  He lifted his head and released her. “You’re right. We’re practically strangers. We need to get to know each other all over again, don’t we?”

  “We will. I’ll be working with your contractor and you as you restore your house. We’ll see a lot of each other.”

  “Yeah, I guess we will. But…what if I asked you for a date? What would you say?”

  “I’d say that I’m not going to rush into anything, not with you or anyone else. I’ve only recently become my own woman, and I need time to get my bearings. My life is a brand-new unexplored territory.”

  “Sounds like we’re in the same boat,” Jack told her. “I just ended a long career in the Rangers, and I’ve moved back to Dunmore and started a new job. I’m taking things one day at a time, getting used to my new life.”

  “How about taking me home now?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Jack?”

  “Huh?”

  “Thanks for tonight. It was just what I needed.”

  “You’re welcome, Kit-Cat. Glad to be of service.”

  She squeezed his hand and smiled. He felt ten feet tall and twenty years old again.

  His hot breath fanned her neck, moved across her collarbone and swept across her breasts. She lay beneath him, her body rigid with fear and revulsion. His mouth pressed against her breast, surrounding her nipple through her cotton pajama top.

  Please, God, make him stop. Don’t let him hurt me again. I’d rather die than endure what he’s going to do to me.

  His hand slipped inside her pajama bottoms and cupped her intimately.

  Tensing, she held her thighs tightly together, fighting his probing fingers.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he told her, his voice a dark, evil whisper. “But if you force me to hurt you, it will be your own fault.”

  It’s not my fault. It’s not. I don’t want this. I hate you. I hate what you do to me.

  He forced his hand between her legs.

  Tears lodged in her throat, tears she would not shed. No matter what he did to her, she would never cry, not ever again.

  His fingers thrust into her. She bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. But in her mind, she screamed and screamed and screamed.

  John Earl leaned over the bed and grasped his wife’s trembling shoulders. “Wake up, Ruth Ann. Wake up, honey.” He shook her gently.

  Her eyelids flew open, and she stared up at him, her gaze filled with terror.

  “It’s all right,” he told her as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You were having a nightmare. That’s all.”

  Shivering uncontrollably, she nodded and reached out for him. He took both of her unsteady hands in his, brought her cupped hands to his mouth and kissed the tips of her fingers.

  “You’re safe.” More than anything, John Earl wanted to erase that expression of fear from Ruth Ann’s beautiful dark eyes. He never saw that look except after she had one of those horrific nightmares. She seldom had them now; as a matter of fact, it had been well over a year since the last one.

  She pulled her hands from his and eased up in bed, then offered him a reassuring look. “Did I wake you? If I did, I’m sorry.” Her gaze scanned over him, apparently noting that he was wearing his pajama bottoms.

  “I wasn’t asleep,” he said. “I was sitting up over there reading”—he indicated the chair by the window—“when I heard you whimpering.”

  “I was screaming. Inside my head. Begging God for help.”

  “Hush now. Hush.” John Earl pulled her into his arms and stroked her back. “Don’t relive it. Let it go, sweetheart. Let it go.”

  She gasped, then began to weep quietly. He soothed her with his touch and loving words, praying for God to help him comfort her.

  In the first few months of their marriage, the nightmares had plagued her every night, but eventually they had become less frequent until he thought they had finally gone away forever. And then Mark Cantrell was killed. Burned alive as Ruth Ann’s father had been burned alive on that long-ago night when someone had s
et fire to their home.

  Ruth Ann lifted her tear-stained face and looked directly at him. “Sometimes I wish I knew for sure who set that fire, but then, when I think about the possibility that it might have been—”

  “It wasn’t. You know it wasn’t.”

  “That’s just it—I don’t know. What if I’ve always known and just blotted it out?”

  “Ruth Ann, I thought we agreed years ago that neither you nor your mother knows who set the fire that killed your father. It serves no purpose to do this to yourself.”

  “But what if…if…” She brushed the tears from her face, took a deep breath, grabbed John Earl’s upper arms and held on tightly. “What if the person who set fire to our house and killed my father is the same person who killed Mark and the Lutheran minister and the Catholic priest?”

  “Merciful Lord, do you honestly believe that’s possible? Is that what has you so upset, why you had another one of those nightmares?”

  “Tell me that I’m wrong.” Her nails bit into his biceps. “Tell me I have no cause to worry.”

  He pulled loose of her tenacious grip, held her hands between them and said, “You’re wrong. You have no reason to worry. I’m safe. You’re safe. Your father’s death nearly twenty years ago has nothing to do with what happened to Mark or the others.”

  I am right, aren’t I, dear Lord? Please, let me be right.

  “You don’t have to walk me to the door,” Cathy said when Jack offered to help her out of the car, but she took his hand all the same.

  If two weeks ago someone had told her that she would have dinner with Jackson Perdue at the Catfish Shack, she wouldn’t have believed it possible. But not only had she shared dinner with Jack, she had laughed with him and danced with him. And he had helped her hold back the memories that threatened her hard-won sanity, memories of the day Mark had died.

  Jack had been true to his word. He had given her what she had told him she wanted—not to think about what had happened today or a year ago or eighteen months ago. She had desperately needed to forget about all of it, just for a little while.