Jolie parked in the garage then lingered in her car. God, that young man had to be the same age as her, and now the kid was dead. What Ian had done to the McIntire community during his reign of terror was horrible, but what she saw today … a shudder racked through her.
“Don’t think about it, Joles. That’s not your worry.” She sighed and released the steering wheel.
This latest murder wasn’t her worry. As she’d explained to Xavier—she hoped he didn’t forget it after their hot and bothered make-out session—Sarah was her focus. Sarah and Grace. Deep in her gut, she knew once she found Sarah, they could clear Xavier of Clint’s death. Despite what Sheriff Hamilton had told her today about Xavier’s DNA being found on Clint in places that could prove that he killed the other man, Jolie could not equate the man she was getting to know as a cold-blooded killer.
Hold your horses, there. Don’t forget he was a marine and trained to kill in combat. Not to mention those added skills as a boxer and fighter.
Even still, the man who had spent what felt like five minutes torturing her mouth and teasing her body with his hands was not a man to end another’s life without justifiable cause. At least not in her mind.
She’d debate the merits later. Right now, she stank and wanted a cold shower. Gathering the few items she’d taken with her, she exited the car and headed inside. The chill of the AC blasted her damp running clothes and gave her goose bumps.
Halfway to her bathroom, and that desired shower, she heard a pounding at her door. Fear snatched at her mind with its razor-sharp claws, and she dropped the things in her hands. Then instinct kicked in, sending her lurching to her bedroom and the gun safe, where she retrieved her weapon. She slipped back along the hall, passing the kitchen and dining room as her rude visitor pounded, again, the door rattling on its hinges under the blows.
“Jolie, open this godforsaken door!”
Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? He didn’t have a key to the house, thank heavens. Tiptoeing back to the hallway, she picked up her dropped phone and called Mom, who answered on the second ring.
“Mom, please come and get Dad. He’s beating on my front door.”
To prove her right, he pummeled the poor wood, hollering for her to answer.
“Honey, what’s going on?”
“I can’t talk about it, but if you don’t get here and calm him down, he could have another heart attack.”
“I’m on my way.”
Jolie cringed as her father continued his assault on her door and her ears. She could not and would not talk with him in this condition. Lifting a trembling hand, she pressed her fingers to her eyes, shocked when they came away wet. What was happening to her? What was happening to her family?
“Open this damn door, girl, or I’ll go find that asshole and beat him down.”
Her frozen limbs thawed with a surge of heat pulsating through her. With a tight grip on her sidearm, she stalked to the door. Between blows, she released the lock and flung wide the barrier keeping her father out.
“You lay one hand on that man, and I’ll bring the wrath of God down on your head.”
His face was beet-red, and he was breathing heavily. His gaze flicked down, froze on the gun in her hand, and then slowly rolled back up. “You’d pull a weapon on your father?”
“I’ll arm myself any time someone comes banging on my door threatening people.”
“Let me inside. We’re going to discuss your behavior today.”
Something snapped inside, and like she was in some out-of-body experience, she lifted her pistol in a ready stance. “You’ll do no such thing. Father or no, if you pass that threshold, I will be forced to defend myself and my property.”
“You’ll what?”
“You heard me. I will not talk or discuss anything with you while you’re in this state of mind.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
Jolie relaxed her shoulders, shifting her stance. “Believe it.”
Her mother’s vehicle pulled into the drive next to her father’s truck. Mom barreled out of the car. “Eli, what are you doing?” She paled when she spotted the gun and came to a sudden halt. “Jolie, what’s ... ”
“Mom, please take Dad home. He’s already caused enough grief and headaches, as well as assaulting a disabled veteran today. He needs to leave. Now.”
“What the hell do you mean I assaulted a disabled veteran?”
Jolie glared at him. He really needed to get it through his thick skull who she was taking about.
Mom inched up the sidewalk, eventually slipping in next to him. In the moment that her arm linked with his, realization dawned on his face.
“The bartender?” He practically choked on the words.
“Yes, Daddy. Xavier Hartmann. He’s a former marine MP who lost his right leg to an IED. And in your holier-than-thou wisdom, you came up and shoved him, causing him to fall. It’s a damn miracle he didn’t get up off the ground and throat-punch you, because he’s also a trained fighter.”
“Eli, you didn’t!”
All the fight left her father’s body. He sagged against her mother. “I didn’t know.”
“Hardly anyone knows. He doesn’t want people to treat him any differently. Why don’t you chew on that tonight, Dad? And while you’re at it, locate a new personality. I’m beginning to understand what drove Ian to become a killer.” She nodded to her mother. “Mom, I’ll call you later. Good night.” With that, she lowered her weapon and swung the door shut. It closed with a loud bang, rattling pictures on the wall.
Once she was out of her parents’ view, Jolie sank to the floor and gagged. She’d pulled a gun on her father. She’d done the exact thing Ian had.
But she hadn’t squeezed the trigger.
Pushing the offending object away from her, she curled up in a ball and sobbed. Dad had pushed her to the brink. Turning her into a person she never wanted to be.
A person capable of doing harm.
• • •
Three hours later, Jolie sat at her desk once more, going through the newest reports people had called in, claiming they saw Sarah. She’d done this to get her mind off of the incident with her dad, but the mind-numbing reading material wasn’t doing a good job. She kept reliving that moment when she lifted her gun and trained it on him.
It was done and over with; she had to get past it. Dad had brought it on himself, after she’d warned him several times. Hopefully, Mom would manage to talk some sense into him. But Jolie could keep on with the wishful thinking. This was Mr. Big Shot Retired Sheriff Eli Murdoch. When he got a bee up his kilt, the whole world paid for it.
Rubbing her eyes, Jolie groaned, leaning closer to her desk. She had to forget about this and push on. Shuffling reports around, she pulled out one particular call. Poor Jennings. She had wanted to chew glass when she took all those hysterical calls from residents claiming they saw villains lurking outside their homes, ready to kill them, after the massacre of a prominent Eider family. But this call stuck out; it was from a man who had been driving by The Golden Slipper and swore he saw the exact car the sheriff had asked people to keep an eye out for.
That rat-infested strip bar, again.
What was up with this joint? It was mentioned in Grace’s file, too. It was the location of the place in conjunction with the missing girls that bothered her. The Golden Slipper was out in the middle of nowhere—on purpose—and far off the beaten path for what these girls would have normally done in their everyday lives. But it certainly warranted looking into.
The strip bar was definitely a place to have Xavier on hand as a bodyguard. Rumor had it, it wasn’t just the clientele you had to look out for, it was the strippers as well. Con liked to tell the story of Nic walking into their dressing room and asserting her dominance, which went over with the stripper in charge about as well as a feral cat getting a bath. If Jolie was going to walk into that den of sin, she wished Nic could go with her. But seeing as the other woman was a new mother, t
hat wouldn’t be possible. So, Xavier it had to be.
Jolie’s gaze slid to the pad she had made notes on the night before. She wanted to break out into tears over the first item she had circled repeatedly:
Talk to Dad about the Maddox case.
After today, how could that be possible?
She jolted at her phone’s buzz against the desktop. Swallowing hard, she pushed down the tension in her muscles and picked up the sleek phone. The number didn’t register. As it buzzed a second and third time, she racked her brain for who it could be. It wasn’t a local number. Better to just answer and find out.
“Hello?”
“Deputy Murdoch?” a gravelly, distorted voice asked.
“Who is this?”
“Are you looking into the disappearance of Grace Maddox?”
Her blood froze in her veins. “Who are you?”
“Answer the question,” the caller snapped.
Jolie clenched the phone to stop the shaking in her hand. Only four people knew what she was doing, and none of them would call her like this. Would they? She’d misjudged her brother and, as it had been so vividly pointed out to her tonight, her father, too. Jolie closed her eyes and willed herself to answer in a steady voice.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“What do you want?” she asked, slowly rising out of her chair.
“You’re treading on dangerous ground.”
“And so are you by harassing a police officer like this.”
A jaded chuckle tore away any bravado she’d gathered. “Deputy, this is no game. But if you insist on continuing, I’d look very hard at the former sheriff.”
“You do realize who you’re talking to?”
“I’ve seen the things that have gone on. I know you’re torn between family and new loyalties, but the decision belongs to you. Which one would you choose?”
“Since when does a civilian have the right to tell an officer how to run an investigation?”
“You’ve been given a task. A word to the wise: I’d follow through.” A click followed the statement, then nothing.
Jolie sank into her chair, letting her hand flop into her lap. The caller hadn’t threatened her, but why did it feel like she’d been given a ransom demand and if she didn’t pay up, all hell would break loose?
Placing her phone on the desk, she let her hand linger over Grace’s file. Was the key to figuring out the present sitting in the past? It nauseated her to think that Dad had something to do with any of it, but too many questions of her own pointed at him.
Chapter Eighteen
Faulty memory or not, Xavier was a sucker for a pretty face. This was a bad idea a thousand times over. He knew he couldn’t deny Jolie her request, especially when she mentioned where she wanted him to meet up with her.
The Golden Slipper.
This place boasted a high-class atmosphere, but it was nothing more than a rundown farm store that had more patchwork than class. It reminded him of the stories the older marines would tell about the hovels and hooches they had visited during their deployments in South Asia or Germany. Though the red-light district of Germany looked better kept than this dump.
Because of the overcast skies and the heavy scent of rain in the air, he’d driven his truck. He parked near the exit lane; though it meant he had farther to travel over gravel to get back, it provided a clean getaway if the option presented itself. Jolie exited her squad car when he started for the building, joining him halfway across the lot.
“Why are we here?” he asked.
“I’m following up on a tip. And something else that came up in Grace’s file.”
He caught her shoulder and eased her to a halt. “What did you find in Grace’s file that would bring us here?”
“There’s a woman here at The Slipper who might be connected to Grace. I want to see if she’s still here or if she’s gone, and if anyone remembers anything about this.”
“That’s a long shot. Why don’t you focus on the follow-up?”
“Are you sure?”
The inexperienced investigator was back. What was Hamilton thinking sending her out here like this? Or did the sheriff know she was here?
“Murdoch, why isn’t Con here with you? This is his job. Or, for that matter, where’s Sheriff Hamilton?”
She avoided his gaze and rubbed circles on her leather duty belt. “I told you last night, they have their hands full right now.”
“Try again.” His bark made her head jerk up.
“Need I remind you you’re still a civilian and there are things I can’t tell you?”
He leaned down until he was almost face-to-face with her. “Good luck in there. I’m going home.” He executed an about-face in perfect military fashion and took one step forward.
Jolie latched tightly onto his arm, her nails digging into his skin. “Xavier, please.”
“Seriously?” He turned back to her. “One, we both know this shouldn’t be done, ever. Two, if I’m putting my ass on the line worse than it already is, you better give me a damn good reason. Three, you’re a cop. Stop begging, and stand up to opposition. Right or wrong, you’re the authority, and if you don’t assert some of it, you’re going to fail horribly.”
“Don’t you think I want to be that kind of person? I have years of shit to work through to reach that goal.”
“Then keep your father out of your life.”
She inhaled, her chest rising and falling. “I probably did that last night.”
“What do you mean, probably?”
“He showed up at my house, beating on my door, threatening me, and I pulled my service weapon on him.”
Breathless, Xavier gaped for a moment then slowly nodded. “I wouldn’t have expected that, but good for you.”
“There was nothing good about it. I wanted to throw up.”
“Keep that in mind every time you think about shooting someone.”
It was her turn to gape before she shook her head. “Can we just get this over with?”
An ominous rumble of thunder punctuated her request. Xavier glanced up. A wall of darker clouds marched across the sky.
“What happened yesterday to suddenly put both departments in such a desperate situation that they need their star witness and/or suspect to aid you?”
“Don’t you listen to the news?”
“Don’t care, and don’t have time to waste on half-truths and dramatics.”
Jolie gnawed on her lip. If she didn’t spit it out, he was gone in three … two …
“There was another murder.” She practically vomited the words.
His body stilled, like the blood had refused to stream through his veins. A murder? And they didn’t come pounding on his door, accusing him.
“Who was it?”
“We don’t know yet. It looked like the person I was chasing the day before who got away in the car you remembered seeing Sarah in.”
“Do you have a picture?”
Thunder rumbled louder, closer.
Slowly Jolie pulled out a photo from her breast pocket and held it up. “It’s the autopsy. The body was … not pretty.”
“Murder and violence never is.” He took the photo and examined the ghostly face. This was a young man, too young to be dead. “Cause of death?”
“Multiple stab wounds. You know that trick some experts do where they put an assistant on a spinning wheel and throw knives at them, missing by centimeters to impress people with their accuracy skills? Well, this killer didn’t miss.”
Xavier lowered the picture, holding it out for her to take back. “Fuck me.”
“Oh, it gets better. The killer made sure the victim got it in particular parts.”
He had to restrain himself from cupping his nads and groaning in empathetic pain. A cool wind kicked up dust from the gravel lot and peppered them like shrapnel.
“We better get inside,” Jolie said, turning to the building and stepping quickly to the door.
Xavier took one la
st peek at the skies, an ugly mass hovering over Eider, and followed her into the club. They were greeted by the stench of years of stale cigarette smoke, body odor, and the hint of marijuana. If he hadn’t smelled worse in his lifetime, Xavier might have gagged.
Jolie made a beeline for the bar, garnering the interest of the heavyset, overly tattooed man standing behind it. By the slit-eyed looks she was getting, it wasn’t good interest. Keeping pace with her, he didn’t allow her to get more than a stride in front of him. His gaze slid back and forth between the bartender and the few men who were either avoiding work or just didn’t give a damn. He was always assessing, never letting his guard down, because the moment he did, someone would die.
A crack of thunder overpowered the thumping noise they called music rattling the walls. Xavier tensed. This was not a good day to be doing this.
Jolie hiked her tiny frame onto the metal rail running along the bottom of the counter and leaned over the top, pointing first at the barkeep and then crooking her finger. Those tight uniform pants, bent over as she was, were making a few of the bolder patrons crane their necks to get a better view. Growling, Xavier shifted to block her bum from the peepers, giving them a middle finger salute. The pervs quickly averted their gazes, returning to the half-baked twig dancing in the far corner.
“Whatever you got the complaint about, we ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” the keep said as he slapped his beefy hands on the shelf on his side of the counter.
“I’m not here about a complaint.” Jolie laid out a picture of a car. “Have you seen a car like this here in the past few days?”
Pig-eyes slid to Xavier. “Who’s the muscle?”
“None of your business.” She tapped the photo. “Have you seen the car?”
Without looking away from Xavier, the man picked up the photo, then gave it a cursory glance and flicked it back to Jolie. “Ain’t seen anything like it.”
“How do you know? You didn’t even look at it.”
“Cop, when I say I ain’t seen it, I ain’t seen it.”
Xavier tucked his fists into the crooks of his elbows as he crossed his arms, doing his best to refrain from reaching across the bar and grabbing the jackass by the throat.
Sins of the Father Page 15
