“There must be at least four or five hundred people here,” Jack said as he cupped Cathy’s elbow. “Did you drive or ride with Lorie?”
“I rode with Lorie.”
“I could give you a ride home.”
“Thank you, but I’m going from here to Wednesday night services,” she told him. “I’d planned to ride with Seth and his grandparents.”
Jack nodded.
“If you’d like to go to church with me…” she offered.
“I’ll pass.” He eased his hand away from her arm.
Donnie Hovater spoke directly to Jack. “Hello, Deputy Perdue. Good to see you and Sheriff Birkett and the other lawmen here tonight.”
Jack didn’t reply, just nodded again.
“Cathy, would you and Seth like a ride to church?” Donnie asked.
“I…uh…” She glanced at her son, who had his arm draped around Missy Hovater’s shoulders. “Yes, thank you. I’m sure that will be fine with J.B. and Mona.”
“We’d love to see you at church again,” Donnie said to Jack.
“Yeah, sure. You never know when I might show up.”
Cathy wondered if she had imagined the competitive glare the two men had exchanged.
“Are there any updates on the case?” Cathy asked, hoping to defuse any tension between Jack and Donnie.
“None that I can discuss,” Jack replied.
“I’m sure y’all are doing everything you possibly can,” she said.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Donnie said. “But we really should get going. I imagine, considering this crowd, that traffic is going to be a nightmare leaving here.”
“Call me,” Cathy told Jack, her voice little more than a whisper. A part of her longed to go with him, to forget about everything and everyone except Jack and the way she felt about him.
“Yeah, sure,” Jack said before he walked away.
Donnie came around from the back of the pew and called to his daughter. “Missy, honey, Seth and his mom are riding with us.” Then he turned to Cathy. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
She fell into step alongside Donnie, but she kept track of Jack as he made his way through the horde of people ahead of them. Before they reached the front steps, she saw Jack walking across the road to where his car was parked. He didn’t look back, not even once.
Was he angry with her? Disappointed? Hurt? It was difficult to tell exactly what Jack was thinking or feeling.
Jack shouldn’t matter so much to you, she told herself. You have enough problems to handle without adding a love affair with Jackson Perdue into the mix.
After an hour-and-a-half church service, followed by the congregation’s own prayer vigil for Bruce Kelley, Seth left with his grandparents, and Donnie insisted on driving Cathy home. Missy had remained in the car while he walked Cathy to her door, and she’d been sure he would have tried to kiss her if his daughter hadn’t been with him. If only she could feel half the attraction for Donnie that she felt for Jack, it would make her life far simpler. J.B. and Mona would approve of Donnie. Even now they were beginning to think of him as an honorary member of their family. And she suspected that Seth would approve of her dating Donnie solely because he reminded them both of Mark. Not that the two men were by any means identical, just similar.
Perhaps, in time, she could learn to care for Donnie. After all, when she’d married Mark, she hadn’t been in love with him, nor had he been in love with her. She had learned to love him, and they’d had a good life together.
But could she settle for less than being passionately in love for a second time in her life?
No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She deserved more.
Even if she lived the rest of her life alone, it would be better than settling for less than real love.
As she unbuttoned her lavender silk blouse, Cathy kicked off her black sandals in the bedroom before walking into the bathroom. She placed the blouse in the dry-cleaner pouch she kept hanging on the back of the door. Then she stripped out of her dress slacks and peeled off her bra and panties. Feeling hot and sticky, she looked forward to a nice lukewarm shower, something to relax her and cool her off before bedtime. Temperatures were already in the low nineties, and the humidity was horrendous for this early in June. It wasn’t even officially summer, but in Alabama, summertime weather often hit in late spring.
Twenty minutes later, scrubbed clean, her hair damp and her pajamas on, Cathy headed for the kitchen. During her marriage to Mark, she had adhered to his teetotaler philosophy, but while living in Birmingham during her recovery, she had discovered the pleasures of a glass of good wine. Although not a connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination, she knew what she liked. She loved a crisp, white Zinfandel and happily poured a glass from the bottle she kept in the refrigerator.
When the doorbell rang, she glanced at the wall clock. Ten-thirty. Not late by most people’s standards, but certainly past the hour for visitors. Had Donnie taken Missy home and returned? She hoped not. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt his feelings, but she couldn’t encourage him.
She set her glass on the kitchen table and ran through the house to the bedroom. After grabbing her housecoat off the foot of her bed, she slipped into it, rushed to the front door and flipped on the porch light. The moment she recognized her visitor, she opened the door to him, her heart doing a crazy little rat-a-tat-tat number.
“Evening.” Jack stood on the porch, the overhead lamp turning his light hair to burnished gold.
“You’re stopping by sort of late, aren’t you?” Dear God, Cathy, was that the only thing you could think of to say?
He looked her up and down, taking in her damp hair and her sleeping attire. “I guess I should have called first.”
“No, it’s all right. Really.” She eased back a couple of feet and invited him in with a sweeping hand gesture.
“I could have phoned you with the news, but…well, I thought it best to tell you in person.” He stepped over the threshold.
Cathy’s heart stopped for a millisecond. “What’s wrong?”
He closed the door behind him, then looked her square in the eye. “Mike called me about ten minutes ago. Reverend Kelley died tonight, less than an hour ago.”
“Oh God, no.” Emotion welled up inside her. How foolish of her to believe that a prayer vigil attended by hundreds of people could actually keep Bruce Kelley alive.
“It’s probably better this way,” Jack said. “The guy was in horrible shape. He couldn’t have made it much longer, and he was suffering in the worst way.”
Cathy swallowed. “Mark suffered.”
“Ah, honey, don’t.”
When Jack reached out and pulled her into his arms, she went without protest, gladly letting him hold her close. Encompassed within his strong embrace, she felt safe. Her every instinct told her that this was where she belonged. With Jack, the man she had once loved more than life itself.
Chapter Twenty-two
Jack wasn’t sure if his motives for coming here tonight to tell Cathy about Bruce Kelley’s death were totally unselfish. Maybe somewhere deep inside him, he had believed that she’d need a shoulder to lean on; maybe he’d hoped she would turn to him for comfort. Hell, he wasn’t sure of anything except at this precise moment, there was nothing more important to him than the woman he held in his arms. Cathy. His Cathy.
Damn it, man, she hasn’t been your Cathy in nearly seventeen years, if she ever was, even back then.
She’s mourning the man who replaced you in her bed and in her heart. She’s crying for Mark Cantrell. She’s hurting because she’s remembering how much he suffered before he died.
Jack couldn’t move, could barely breathe. All he could do was hold her and let her cry it out. While she trembled, sobs racking her body, he rubbed her back soothingly and pressed his cheek against the top of her head.
God damn it, he hated seeing her like this.
He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, just a f
ew feet from the front door, Cathy secure in his arms. Finally, she lifted her head from his chest and gazed up into his eyes. His body tightened. His gut clenched painfully.
“You loved him a lot, didn’t you?” Jack didn’t know why the hell he’d asked her such a stupid question. Wasn’t the answer obvious?
“No.” The one word erupted in a hoarse gasp. She shook her head gently and lowered her gaze.
He cupped her chin between his forefinger and thumb and tilted her face so that she couldn’t avoid looking right at him. “Want to tell me about it? Why you married him, why you had a nervous breakdown six months after he died, why you’re still mourning him?”
“Does any of that really matter?”
“Apparently it does, at least to you.”
“I don’t want to talk about any of that. Not tonight. And I don’t want to discuss Mark with you. It’s not fair to you or to his memory. He was a good husband, a good father, a fine human being. It wasn’t his fault that…” She turned her head and pulled away from Jack.
He followed her as she fled, catching up with her when she stopped abruptly in the middle of the living room. He came up behind her, mere inches separating their bodies, but he didn’t touch her.
“You’ve got to know that I don’t want to hurt you,” he told her, his voice low and husky. “I heard somebody say once that when a man wants to fuck a woman and wants to protect her at the same time, then he’s in love. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it sure is how I feel.”
She whipped around and faced him, her eyes wide, her expression filled with longing. “I haven’t been with anyone. Not since Mark died.”
“If you’re still not ready…if the time isn’t right, I’ll understand. But I swear, honey, I’m about half out of my mind wanting you.”
“Oh, Jack.”
She all but flung herself at him, flying straight into his waiting arms. “I don’t care anymore if it’s the right time, if I’m ready, if I’ll regret it in the morning, if all you want is sex. I just plain don’t give a damn.”
Her face glowed with the brightness of her smile, and that beautiful smile lit up his whole world, a world that had shrunk to include only the two of them.
Jack lifted her off her feet and up into his arms. He practically ran toward her bedroom. The door stood wide open. A single bedside lamp glowed dimly. The covers had been turned down, and her bed welcomed them.
When John Earl went into the kitchen for a late evening snack, intending to cut himself a piece of Ruth Ann’s homemade pecan pie, he was surprised to find his mother-in-law sitting at the table, a mug of hot tea cupped in her hands. She glanced up at him as he entered the kitchen, and they exchanged weary smiles. Faye knew that he tolerated her presence in their home for Ruth Ann’s sake. He tried not to blame her for what had happened to Ruth Ann, but if Faye had stood up to her husband…If, if, if.
“You’re up late,” John Earl said.
“I was restless,” Faye replied. “Those sleeping pills don’t help much any more. I thought some tea might help. What about you? I thought you and Ruth Ann went to bed right after we got home from church.”
“She did. She’s been asleep for more than half an hour. But I couldn’t get that delicious pecan pie off my mind, so I sneaked back down here for a piece.”
“Why don’t you sit down and let me get you some pie and fix you a cup of tea to go with it?” Faye suggested.
“Thanks. That would be nice.”
Just as Faye downed the last drops of her tea and scooted back her chair, the sound of agonized screams echoed down the back stairs and into the kitchen.
“My God, that’s Ruth Ann.” Faye started toward the stairs.
John Earl moved quickly and dashed ahead of her. He took the steps two at a time and reached the partially open bedroom door before Faye was halfway up the stairs.
John Earl flung open the door and ran into the room. There in the semi-darkness he saw Ruth Ann thrashing about in their bed, her eyes closed, her dark hair disheveled, her arms flinging back and forth as if she were fighting off an attacker. Dear Lord, help her. His poor, sweet Ruth Ann could not escape the nightmare that had haunted her all their married life. It had taken years for the nightmares to subside from a few times each week to only occasional unwanted visits. But recently, with two more clergymen murdered—burned to death—those old dreams had resurfaced.
John Earl hurried to his wife, called her name as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to pull her gently into his arms. “Wake up, Ruth Ann. It’s all right. You were only dreaming.”
She beat on his chest, whimpering incoherently.
“It’s John Earl, sweetheart. Open your eyes. You’re safe. No one can hurt you.”
When he heard movement behind him, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Faye standing just inside the doorway. He shook his head.
“Can you understand what she’s saying?” Faye asked, a concerned look in her sad eyes.
“No, not this time.” He gave his mother-in-law a warning glare, silently cautioning her. The three of them knew the truth, knew what Ruth Ann had endured at the hands of her cruel father. If not for their daughters overhearing her and asking questions, it wouldn’t matter what she said in the throes of her subconscious nightmare memories.
“I’ll go to my room and leave her to you,” Faye told him. “In the past, whenever I’ve tried to calm her, I’ve only made matters worse. She needs you. Only you.”
He ignored Faye’s final comments and focused all his attention on his wife. It took several more tries, with him saying her name and reassuring her that she was safe, before she opened her eyes and recognized him. When she did, she gazed at him like a lost child, tears trickling down her cheeks.
“I’m having those dreams more often,” she said. “They’re getting worse. And they seem so real. It’s as if I’m reliving what happened over and over again.”
He took both her hands in his. “I wish there was something I could do. But I can’t change the past, and I can’t stop the Fire and Brimstone Killer. Even the police seem unable to stop these brutal murders.”
She squeezed his hands. “Oh, John Earl, don’t you see? In my heart I know that I’m as guilty of murder as the person who killed Mark Cantrell and the others.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, sweetheart. There is no comparison whatsoever. You were the victim, not the perpetrator.”
Ruth Ann closed her eyes as if she could block out the memories by shutting out the light. “He didn’t scream, you know. He didn’t make a sound. He was asleep, a drugged sleep. And the house burned down around him.”
“I know. I know.”
She opened her eyes and stared right at John Earl. “If I had it to do over again…That’s the terrible part. I don’t think I would do anything different. I would still let him die. God forgive me.”
A soft, quiet voice calling to him alerted John Earl that Ruth Ann’s screams had awakened their elder daughter.
“Daddy, is Mama all right?” Charity asked.
“Oh mercy,” Ruth Ann whimpered. “Go talk to her, explain that it was just a stupid nightmare.”
John Earl eased her backward until her head rested on the down pillow. Then he rose to his feet and turned to face his daughter. Correction, his daughters. Felicity stood directly behind her older sister, both girls peering into the room, their eyes filled with questions and concerns.
He walked out into the hall, shooing them back as he closed the bedroom door. “Your mother had a nightmare. She’s all right now.”
“She’s been having a lot of nightmares lately,” Felicity said.
“She used to have them all the time when we were little,” Charity said. “You just don’t remember.”
“You two go back to bed. Everything is all right,” he told them as he moved in between them and placed one arm around Charity and the other arm around Felicity.
“She’s worried about something bad happening to you, isn’t she?”
Felicity asked. “She’s afraid the person who killed all those other preachers might try to kill you.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” he agreed. “You know what a worrier your mother is.”
“You need to convince her that nothing bad is going to happen to you, not like what happened to those other men,” Charity said. “You’re a good man, Daddy. God will take care of you.”
He leaned over and kissed Charity’s forehead. “Yes, He will. And He’ll take care of your mother, too. So stop worrying. Go to bed and get a good night’s rest. Everything will be better in the morning.”
John Earl wanted to believe what he’d said, but if Ruth Ann continued to have the old nightmares, things would get worse instead of better.
Jack set Cathy on the edge of her bed, leaned down and slowly pulled her pajama top up and over her head. She lifted her arms, closed her eyes and savored the moment as the cool air touched her nipples and hardened them to tight buds. When she heard his indrawn breath, she opened her eyes and found him kneeling in front of her, his gaze on her throbbing breasts. She wanted to scream “Touch me,” but she couldn’t get the words past the knot in her throat.
Mark had wanted her to talk during sex, something she found difficult because she’d been so afraid she would call out Jack’s name. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Jack and the way she’d felt when they had made love.
Don’t think about Mark. What I had with him has nothing to do with what’s happening now. This is all about Jack and me. I don’t have to dream that it’s Jack making love to me. The dream has become a reality.
When she reached for him, intending to unbutton his shirt, he grabbed her hands, brought them to his lips and kissed them. She shivered. And before she realized what he was doing, he had unbuttoned his shirt halfway and then dragged it up over his head and tossed it on the floor.
“Might as well get a good look now, honey. It’s not a pretty sight.” He turned slowly so that she could see his chest, his side and then his back. “The scars from Nolan’s beatings are nothing compared to what that explosion did to me.”
Silent Killer Page 26
