The Perfect Smile
Page 1
t h e p e r f e c t s m i l e
(a jessie hunt psychological suspense—book 4)
b l a k e p i e r c e
Blake Pierce
Blake Pierce is author of the bestselling RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes fifteen books (and counting). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising thirteen books (and counting); of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising six books; of the KERI LOCKE mystery series, comprising five books; of the MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); of the KATE WISE mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the CHLOE FINE psychological suspense mystery, comprising six books (and counting); and of the JESSE HUNT psychological suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting).
ONCE GONE (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #1), BEFORE HE KILLS (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 1), CAUSE TO KILL (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 1), A TRACE OF DEATH (A Keri Locke Mystery—Book 1), and WATCHING (The Making of Riley Paige—Book 1) are each available as a free download on Kobo!
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2018 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright hurricanehank, used under license from Shutterstock.com.
BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCE
A JESSIE HUNT PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES
THE PERFECT WIFE (Book #1)
THE PERFECT BLOCK (Book #2)
THE PERFECT HOUSE (Book #3)
THE PERFECT SMILE (Book #4)
THE PERFECT LIE (Book #5)
CHLOE FINE PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES
NEXT DOOR (Book #1)
A NEIGHBOR’S LIE (Book #2)
CUL DE SAC (Book #3)
SILENT NEIGHBOR (Book #4)
HOMECOMING (Book #5)
TINTED WINDOWS (Book #6)
KATE WISE MYSTERY SERIES
IF SHE KNEW (Book #1)
IF SHE SAW (Book #2)
IF SHE RAN (Book #3)
IF SHE HID (Book #4)
IF SHE FLED (Book #5)
IF SHE FEARED (Book #6)
THE MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE SERIES
WATCHING (Book #1)
WAITING (Book #2)
LURING (Book #3)
TAKING (Book #4)
STALKING (Book #5)
RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES
ONCE GONE (Book #1)
ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)
ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)
ONCE LURED (Book #4)
ONCE HUNTED (Book #5)
ONCE PINED (Book #6)
ONCE FORSAKEN (Book #7)
ONCE COLD (Book #8)
ONCE STALKED (Book #9)
ONCE LOST (Book #10)
ONCE BURIED (Book #11)
ONCE BOUND (Book #12)
ONCE TRAPPED (Book #13)
ONCE DORMANT (Book #14)
ONCE SHUNNED (Book #15)
ONCE MISSED (Book #16)
MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES
BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)
BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)
BEFORE HE COVETS (Book #3)
BEFORE HE TAKES (Book #4)
BEFORE HE NEEDS (Book #5)
BEFORE HE FEELS (Book #6)
BEFORE HE SINS (Book #7)
BEFORE HE HUNTS (Book #8)
BEFORE HE PREYS (Book #9)
BEFORE HE LONGS (Book #10)
BEFORE HE LAPSES (Book #11)
BEFORE HE ENVIES (Book #12)
BEFORE HE STALKS (Book #13)
AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIES
CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)
CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)
CAUSE TO HIDE (Book #3)
CAUSE TO FEAR (Book #4)
CAUSE TO SAVE (Book #5)
CAUSE TO DREAD (Book #6)
KERI LOCKE MYSTERY SERIES
A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)
A TRACE OF MUDER (Book #2)
A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3)
A TRACE OF CRIME (Book #4)
A TRACE OF HOPE (Book #5)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
PROLOGUE
When Gabrielle got back to her two-bedroom rented house in Studio City, it was almost five in the afternoon. She’d spent most of the day at the beach with a guy she’d been seeing. It was fun—her date had rented a cabana at the Annenberg Beach House in Santa Monica and the food and adult beverages were kept constantly flowing.
But now she felt crispy from the sun and slightly uncomfortable from the endless snacking. She knew she couldn’t have too many afternoons like that if she wanted to keep her body in the kind of shape that made other guys pretend not to stare when she sashayed by.
As she opened the glass front door of the house, she admired her reflection. She might have felt bloated but she still looked great. Her long dark hair had a windswept quality from the continuous ocean breeze. Her deeply tanned skin might be smarting but at least it was glowing. And in her platform sandals, she topped out at well over six feet tall.
When she got inside the house, she could immediately hear Claire, her friend and housemate, engaged in a heated phone conversation. She made a token attempt to ignore what was being said before giving in to curiosity.
“We can’t see each other anymore,” she heard Claire say and then pause for the inevitable negative reaction. After a few seconds of silence, she responded to whatever the other person had said.
“It’s just not a fit,” Claire replied calmly, with a firm but apologetic tone. “It would be best for both of us to simply move on.”
Gabrielle smiled to herself. She was pretty adept at these kinds of breakup calls. But Claire was an expert. She always managed to let the guy down easy, making him think that it was her insecurities and not the greener gr
ass of the next guy that was the issue.
But this time, it sounded like the process was a bit bumpier. Claire’s soon-to-be-ex was slightly audible, even multiple rooms away. After what sounded like a tirade during which her housemate remained silent, Claire finally responded in a quiet but forceful voice.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said. “But this can’t come as a surprise. You knew it was a possibility from the very first time we were together. I’ve always been up front with you. This is my decision. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be for you. Goodbye.”
When she was certain the call was done, Gabrielle poked her head into Claire’s room.
“Everything okay?” she asked. “That sounded a little rough.”
“It comes with the territory,” Claire replied, sounding tired. “You know that as well as I do, Gabby. Some people tend to get a little…attached.”
“That sounded like it was teetering on the line between attachment and stalkerish. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” Claire admitted. “I’ve got a guy picking me up at seven. That only gives me two hours to get ready. I’d rather focus on that.”
“You and me both,” Gabrielle said. “I shouldn’t set up two dates for one day. I’m wiped out from the beach. And now I’ve got to go clubbing until two a.m. My calves are going to be screaming tomorrow.”
“Tough lives we lead,” Claire said with a lopsided grin.
Gabby smiled back. She liked her friend most when she was like this: playful and self-deprecating. It made it hard to get jealous even if Claire was gorgeous—a petite, blonde-haired, busty, sun-kissed Southern California goddess. Just a shade over five feet tall and hovering around 100 pounds, she was dynamite in a tiny package. But it was when she let down her guard that her charm really shined through. Only a few guys ever got to see that side of her.
“Listen,” Gabrielle said. “How about we take a break tomorrow—just you, me, some mimosas, and something binge-worthy?”
“That sounds awesome,” Claire said. “I could really use some downtime. Everything feels so heightened these days. I wish people would chill, you know?”
“I do. So tomorrow is officially Gabby and Claire’s Day of Chill. Deal?”
“Deal,” Claire agreed. “At least until six. I have a dinner.”
Gabby gave her an incredulous look but she couldn’t keep a straight face and they both burst out laughing.
CHAPTER ONE
For about the fourth time in the last hour, the same thought passed through Jessie Hunt’s head.
I hate this place.
“This place” was an official WITSEC safe house. Though she despised being in the sterile tract home with US Marshals always around, she couldn’t really argue that it wasn’t necessary. After all, it had been less than two weeks since she escaped an attack by her murderous serial killer father, Xander Thurman, who had been hunting for her for months.
And just days after that, his most ardent admirer, another killer named Bolton Crutchfield, had escaped from a psychiatric prison facility, along with four other dangerous prisoners. Two had been captured. But in addition to Crutchfield, two others were still on the loose.
So Jessie wasn’t in a position to quarrel when Captain Roy Decker, her boss at LAPD, ordered her to do whatever the marshals with the Witness Security Program instructed until the situation was resolved. And that meant essentially living under house arrest while she was on a mandated leave of absence from her work as a forensic profiler.
She wasn’t even technically a witness in a pending trial. But because of the imminent threat to her life, her work in law enforcement, and her connection to both the LAPD and the FBI, an exception had been made.
Until her father and Crutchfield were captured or killed, she was stuck. She spent her days following case updates online, broken up by frequent, near-frenzied workout sessions and self-defense training that did little to mitigate her stir-craziness.
The ten-week training program she’d recently taken at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, had provided her with effective fighting skills and new profiling techniques. But it hadn’t taught her how to deal with the crushing boredom of being housebound for twenty-four hours a day.
The house itself was perfectly nice, located on a quiet residential block in the West Los Angeles neighborhood of Palms. In the late-spring mornings, she sipped her coffee and watched parents walk their children to the elementary school a few blocks away.
The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, where it could be more easily secured and protected. But that meant there wasn’t much to see most days. Usually around mid-morning, she’d go outside for a swim in the pool, which was covered by a large tarp, theoretically for shade but actually to undermine the prying eyes of neighbors.
Things were even worse now that Kat had left. For a few days her friend had been allowed to stay at the house as well, in part because authorities feared Bolton Crutchfield might come after her too. After all, Kat Gentry had been head of security at NRD—short for Non-Rehabilitative Division—the facility at the Department State Hospital-Metropolitan in Norwalk that Crutchfield and the other prisoners had escaped from. There was concern that some of them might want payback.
But when Kat mentioned she might take a long trip to Europe to clear her head, the marshals leapt at the idea as both a way to keep her off the radar and to reduce their security costs. Jessie still recalled their conversation from several days ago.
“Don’t you think this is kind of running away from your problems?” Jessie had asked, realizing the question would likely put her friend on the defensive.
Kat looked at her quizzically. Even before she replied, Jessie knew she’d made a mistake. After all, Katherine Gentry was a former Marine who still bore the shrapnel scars from an IED explosion on her face. She had maintained a lockdown facility housing some of society’s worst until her most trusted lieutenant, Ernie Cortez, had betrayed her, enabling the escape. She was tough as nails and Jessie knew it.
“I think I’m entitled to a little personal time,” Kat said, refusing to defend herself beyond that. “If I thought the marshals would let you, I’d suggest you come with me.”
“Believe me, I’d love that,” Jessie replied, relieved her friend hadn’t been more defensive. “But the truth is, until my father and Crutchfield are caught, I’m not going to sleep easy, no matter what continent I’m on. Once we come up with a plan to catch these guys, I’m all over it. I need to finish this so I can have some kind of life.”
“It doesn’t seem like there’s much of a plan in place,” Kat noted wryly.
“Nope,” Jessie agreed. “And don’t think that hasn’t been on my mind. The only saving grace is that I know my father is too injured to come after me just yet. When I last saw him, he was jumping out a fourth-floor window, and that was before he was injured already in the stomach, shoulder, and head. He’s going to be out of commission for a little while.”
“But Bolton Crutchfield won’t be,” Kat reminded her. “He’s perfectly healthy and raring to go. And he has…assets at his disposal.”
Kat didn’t elaborate beyond that but she didn’t need to. They both knew what she meant. In addition to the two escapees he might have at his disposal, there was also Ernie, Kat’s former second-in-command at NRD.
While Kat was attending the funeral ceremony for Jessie’s adoptive parents, Ernie, an imposing physical specimen at six foot six and 250 pounds, murdered multiple NRD security officers, then released Crutchfield and the others. It was days afterward that the FBI was able to uncover what never showed up in the background check Kat had conducted when hiring him.
When Ernie was eleven years old, he’d spent a year in a juvenile psychiatric facility after stabbing another kid multiple times in the abdomen with a screwdriver. Luckily for him, the other boy survived.
Ernie served his time without incident. After his release and a family move, he had no further problems. His juvenile
records were sealed when he turned eighteen. With no other red flags on his record, all that remained was a sterling resume in the US Army, followed by stints as a private security contractor and a prison guard at a supermax prison in Colorado.
If Kat had access to his psychiatric records from the juvenile detention center, she would have learned that the medical personnel viewed him as a sociopath with an amazing facility to control and hide his violent predilections.
The final line of his release papers read, “It is the opinion of this physician that subject Cortez poses a continuing risk to the community. He has learned to conceal his desires but it is likely that at some point, soon or perhaps well in the future, the same psychiatric issues that led to his placement at this facility will reassert themselves. Unfortunately, our current system makes no accommodation for that possibility and requires that he be released forthwith. Follow-up treatment, while not mandated, is highly recommended.”
No further treatment occurred. When Ernie became a guard at NRD and began interacting with Bolton Crutchfield, a master manipulator, he fell under his sway. But he never let on, continuing to do his job and interact positively with the co-workers he would eventually kill.
Kat blamed herself for all their deaths, though there was no way she could have anticipated them. Jessie had tried multiple times to assuage her guilt, to no avail.
“I’m a forensic profiler who is trained to pick up things like sociopathic tendencies,” she’d said. “I interacted with him on over a dozen occasions and I never once suspected him. I don’t see how you could have.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kat insisted. “I was responsible for those officers’ safety and for keeping those inmates secure. I failed on both fronts. I deserve the blame.”
That conversation was three days ago. Now Kat was somewhere in France, unaware that the Marshal Service had requested that Interpol assign an undercover officer to tail her for her own protection. For her part, Jessie was stuck lying on plastic pool furniture within shouting distance of freeway traffic. She had no one to talk to, hardly any privacy, and little to keep her mind from going to dark places. In the more self-pitying moments, she felt like she was being victimized all over again.