by Sandra Brown
“I doubt it was,” Drex mumbled. A trickle of sweat slid down over his ribs. “She’s a looker, okay? What of it?”
“What of it is, you like to look,” Gif said.
“I confess. But this lady is married, remember?”
“Gif and I remember fine,” Mike said. “Question is, do you?”
No one said anything. Drex wasn’t about to defend himself when he hadn’t done anything inappropriate. Unless lusting counted.
It was Gif, in his mediating role, who asked, “What are they like together, as a couple?”
“Comfortable. For all the attention he showered on Elaine, he was solicitous to Talia.”
“Were they affectionate?”
“A kiss on her cheek. His hands were on her shoulders when he gave her a turn at the wheel. She kissed the back of his hand when he served her chocolate mousse. I think she must be a chocoholic. She eats Nutella straight from the jar.”
“So do I,” Mike said.
“Yeah, but I doubt she finishes the jar in one sitting,” Drex said. He knew sure as hell that Mike wouldn’t look like Talia licking the spoon clean. Which Drex had fantasized. In detail. In slow motion. With sound effects.
Gif asked, “You didn’t get a sense that she was afraid of him?”
“Not in the slightest.”
There had been that moment when she’d looked down at her wedding band and turned it around her finger. And here I am. She’d spoken so softly, the words were almost inaudible above the wind. Her expression had been, what? Not fearful. Not wary. Wistful?
Maybe. Or maybe that was the emotion Drex had wanted to see. His pals would probably conclude that, so he didn’t mention it. Instead, he pitched his idea. “I don’t know if or when I’ll be with them again to observe. Elaine mentioned another get-together soon, but that could mean tomorrow or a month from now. The only way I’ll learn what they’re like alone together is if I plant a bug.”
“I’m a freaking genius,” Mike said around a groan. “I knew you were going to say that.”
“Drex, you can’t,” Gif said. “Rudkowski would shit.”
“It’ll be good for him. I’ll bet he’s been backed up for years.”
“This is nothing to joke about.”
“You’re telling me. Rudkowski has known about the discovery of Marian Harris’s remains for three months. Did he inform me? No.”
“For your own good.”
“I’ll decide what’s for my own good. And what would be for my own good right now would be to eavesdrop on the couple next door.”
Mike harrumphed, his way of saying that it was a foregone conclusion that Drex would break the rules and do it, and that trying to dissuade him was pointless.
Gif wasn’t ready to give in. “If you’re caught—”
“I’ll take my chances. It’s worth the risk. It was before. But now, knowing what he did to Marian Harris? Yeah. It’s worth the risk.”
“Are you sure, Drex?”
He said, “If it’s him—”
“Big if.”
“—and if we nail him—”
“An even bigger if,” Mike said.
“—then it’ll be more than worth it.”
“No matter the personal cost to you?” Gif said.
“No matter the personal cost to me.” In the ensuing silence, he felt the weight of their disapproval. “Guys, he has victimized eight women. Eight that we know of. My mother may not have been his first. Don’t think about the consequences to me. Think about those women. Think about Marian Harris trying to claw her way out of that crate.”
“We get it, Drex,” Gif said. “But you’ll be breaking the law.”
“I’m aware. But you won’t be. If I’m caught, I’ll take full responsibility. You have my word on it.”
“That’s not what concerns me,” Gif said.
“Well, it concerns me big time,” Drex said. “I won’t let you two be blamed. Not by Rudkowski or anyone.”
After a lengthy silence, Mike heaved a heavy sigh and asked Drex if he needed any equipment shipped to him.
“No. I brought it with me.”
“So this idea didn’t just pop into your head.”
Drex didn’t respond.
“How do you plan to plant it?” Gif asked. “Where inside the house? When?”
“All TBD. I’ll keep you posted.”
He hung up before they could try further to talk him out of it.
The eyeglasses Drex wore were a prop. So was the ream of typing paper on the kitchen table next to his computer. Alongside the stack of blank sheets were the couple hundred pages of rubber-banded manuscript that had been typed by a woman in his office. Her name was Pam something. The text had been taken directly from a historical paperback novel set during the Civil War.
When he approached Pam with the request, she’d regarded him dubiously. “What do you want it for?”
“Something I’m working on.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “You can’t share?”
“Not yet.”
She’d thumbed through the yellowed pages of the paperback. “What about typos? Does it have to be perfect?”
“No. In fact, a mistake here or there would be good. I’ll be marking it up.”
The single mother of two had a deadbeat ex. She’d agreed to do the transcription for three dollars a page. When she delivered it, Drex had given her a hug and a fifty-dollar bonus.
He marked up the pages with red pencil, dog-eared some of the sheets, dripped coffee over several, left puckered water rings on others.
Now, his setup looked very “writerly,” should anyone be surreptitiously observing, which he sensed someone was.
While seated at his computer as though working on his book, he was actually reading additional material excavated by Mike. Marian Harris’s parish church had held a memorial mass. After the forensic pathologist had completed his examination and turned his findings over to the authorities, her remains were cremated and placed in a vault in the church cemetery.
Although her will had specified allocations for various charities, there was nothing in the coffers to bequeath. The only asset not liquidated prior to her disappearance had been her yacht. As stipulated in her will, it was sold at auction, the proceeds gifted to the parish.
Drex hadn’t asked Mike to research all that, but he was grateful to him for doing so. Marian Harris hadn’t been confined forever in that shipping crate. Drex took some comfort in that.
But not much.
He wanted the son of a bitch who’d done that to her. With an instinct that was almost feral, he felt he had found him.
Throughout the evening, lights in the house across the lawn came on and went off. Shadows moved across window shades. Drex watched Jasper make himself a sandwich. He ate it at the kitchen table while perusing the Sunday newspaper. He saw Talia switch on a light as she entered a room upstairs.
He got only a glance before she shut the door behind her, but he saw that her hair was messily piled on top of her head, and that she had changed out of the oversize white linen shirt and wide-legged pants she’d worn on the cruise.
When they were on deck, and the wind had struck her just right, it had blown aside the fabric of her shirt, affording Drex a glimpse of a white tank top with skinny straps, a fragile-looking collarbone, an oh-so-slight suggestion of cleavage above the snug tank.
Nothing had actually been revealed. Which had been as frustrating as hell. Also as erotic. He’d wanted to unwrap her and explore the tantalizing terrain his imagination had mapped out.
Evening descended into night. Shortly after ten o’clock, he set aside his eyeglasses, folded up his computer, and turned out the lights inside the apartment. But he stayed at the window. He watched and waited until the house across the way remained dark for half an hour.
As he slipped out of the apartment and down the exterior staircase, his pistol was a reassuring pressure against the small of his back.
Jasper, sitting in the deep s
hadows of his screened porch, watched Drex ease through the door of the apartment, close it silently behind himself, and quickly descend the stairs. In total darkness. Even though there was a light fixture mounted on the exterior wall at both the top and bottom of the steep stairs, which Drex had referred to as killers.
He reached the ground without mishap. He didn’t go to his car. Instead, he made a hard right turn and moved along the far side of the garage and eventually out of Jasper’s view. Moments later, he reappeared from behind the garage at the opposite corner.
Jasper didn’t move or do anything else that would give away his presence, watching as Drex continued along the back boundary of his lawn, moving parallel to the house, staying in sight except for those seconds when he was swallowed by a deep shadow or blocked from view by a tree trunk.
And, one of those times, he didn’t reappear. He remained behind the trunk of the largest tree on the property.
Jasper lunged from his chair and barreled through the screen door. With long, rapid strides, he covered the distance between him and the tree. He almost collided with Drex has he stepped out from behind it. Jasper clicked on the flashlight he’d brought with him and aimed it directly into Drex’s face. “What are you doing?”
Drex rocked back on his heels. “Jesus, Jasper. You scared the shit out of me.”
He smiled his boyish smile. It had made Elaine’s heart go pitter-pat. It made Jasper suspect that it was artificial and aptly employed whenever it suited him.
Currently it was meant to distract him when Drex reached behind his back with his right hand. He raised his left to shield his eyes from the flashlight’s beam. “I thought you were probably in bed by now.”
“I ask again, what are you doing out here?”
“Look, man, I’m sorry. I—”
“What have you got?” Jasper directed the light down, and leaned around to try to see what Drex was concealing behind his back.
Drex took a hasty step backward.
“What’s in your hand? Let me see.” Jasper thrust out his left hand, palm up.
Drex hesitated, then brought his hand from around his back and dropped a dead mouse into Jasper’s palm. Jasper yanked his hand back. The mouse fell to the ground.
“I would have waited till morning to throw him out, but he was stinking up the apartment.”
Jasper reigned in his temper as well as his rapid breathing. “Where were you taking it?”
“That community dumpster in the next block? I thought I’d throw him in that. Save him rotting in our trash cans at the curb. I guess I should have gone the long way, used the street. I opted for the shortcut across your yard. I’m sorry as hell I bothered you.”
“I didn’t know it was you,” he lied. “All I saw was a tall, dark figure,” Jasper said, forcing a smile. “If you take a shortcut again, you should identify yourself.”
“I didn’t think I’d be seen.”
“Oh, I’m always watching.”
They held each other’s gaze for several beats, then Drex bent down and picked up the lifeless mouse by the tail. Holding it between them, he gave a jocular shrug. “Guess I won’t need a cat, after all.”
Jasper chuckled.
“Well, good night.” Drex started off.
Jasper let him get only a few yards away before calling out, “Hold it.”
He turned.
“Take this.” Jasper walked forward and passed him the flashlight.
“Thanks. There wasn’t one in the apartment.”
Jasper smiled. “What are neighbors for?”
When Drex returned from depositing the mouse in the dumpster, he took his third shower of the day and went to bed, pulling the sheet only to his waist. The fan, aimed directly at him, hummed from the side of the bed.
His mission that night had been to get a different perspective of the layout of the Fords’ house, in an attempt to figure out a way to get inside. From behind the tree, he’d been using the zoom on his phone’s camera to try to spot security devices on windows and doors. When Jasper had burst from the house like a man possessed, he’d had no choice but to brazen it out.
Fortunately, he’d thought to take along the dead mouse as his excuse for being in Jasper’s backyard, should he be caught. He didn’t believe Jasper had bought the excuse entirely. But they’d played out the scene as though he had. It hadn’t been easy for Drex, make-believing with a man whose heart and mind were darker than he’d initially thought.
He still didn’t know how he would breach the castle, but he had come away knowing that Jasper was vigilant to an extraordinary degree. Meaning that Drex would be damned lucky to succeed in planting just one bug. He wished he could plant one in every room.
But even if he could manage that, there were some areas he’d rather not infiltrate. Mainly the bedroom shared by Jasper and Talia. He didn’t think he could stomach listening in on an intimate conversation or, God forbid, lovemaking.
He believed that Jasper was the man he sought. Which meant that Jasper’s rich, successful wife was in jeopardy. But until every element of doubt had been erased, until Drex had irrefutable proof that Talia was living with a man who had buried another woman alive, he couldn’t risk warning her.
He wouldn’t call in the cavalry with Rudkowski leading the charge. That would spell certain disaster. Rudkowski, who didn’t know the definition of finesse, would bungle it, give them away, and then God knew what Jasper would do. It chilled Drex to think of it. He was dealing with a personality that had a very sharp tipping point, one who was in control…until he wasn’t.
His short-term goal was clear: maintain his cover while keeping Talia safe from the man she lived with. He would do whatever he could to prevent her from becoming victim number nine and meeting a fate like Marian Harris’s. He was committed to protecting her life, regardless of how she looked.
But she looked like Talia Shafer, and he would be lying not only to his friends but also to himself if he didn’t admit that her appeal upped his level of commitment to spare her life. If Jasper Ford was who he suspected, seeing him brought to justice would no longer be sufficient or satisfying. Drex wanted to engage in mortal hand-to-hand combat. He wanted to eviscerate him.
Of course he acknowledged that such macho thinking was juvenile, stupid, and dangerous. If he went at Jasper Ford for any reason other than getting justice for eight women, he would be in hock with Rudkowski for the rest of his life.
Beyond that, allowing emotions to call the shots was a recipe for disaster. Emotions messed with a man’s mind. They either weakened his resolve or made him so determined, he grew reckless. One misstep, one reflexive reaction or unplanned remark could expose his playacting. Because Jasper would be watching. A single mistake, no matter how slight, could lead to failure. Worse, it could lead to Talia’s death.
Sure as hell, Weston Graham, aka Daniel Knolls, aka Jasper Ford would be at the top of his game, staying cool, playing it smart.
So must Drex be.
But, God, that was going to be difficult when he couldn’t rid his mind of Talia’s brandy-colored hair, the skin that tended to freckle, the gray eyes that bespoke intelligence and goodwill, but also hinted at an irresistible elusiveness.
The loose-fitting clothes she had worn on the yacht hadn’t been provocative or revealing, but Drex had imagined the shape inside them to be compact and sweet. When she’d talked about desiring chairs that conformed to the human body, he’d desired to have her human body conforming to his, her bottom nestling against his middle, seeking the perfect fit, finding—
Christ!
He slid his hand beneath the sheet. He was hot. He was hard. He was going to hell for coveting his neighbor’s wife. He would burn for committing whatever the biblical term was for the sin of sexual self-gratification.
He wasn’t deterred.
Chapter 6
Bill Rudkowski entered his office carrying a sixteen-ounce thermal container of coffee in one hand, his briefcase in the other, and the imperish
able chip on his shoulder.
He wasn’t overly fond of mornings in general, but he downright despised Mondays. He greeted his assistant with a brusque nod. “Anything?”
“Everything needing your attention is on your desk.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“Guessing by your glower, I’m thinking your team lost yesterday.”
“They suck.” He entered his private office and kicked the door shut with his heel.
On his desk was more paperwork than he wanted to tackle before he’d finished his coffee. Once fortified with caffeine, and resigned to it being the beginning of another week, he started working his way through the pile.
He sorted the callback messages according to levels of urgency, scrawled his illegible signature on documents requiring it, and scanned updates on several active cases. When done, he spun his chair around to his computer and booted up.
The third email in his in box drew his attention immediately because of the name in the subject line. Marian Harris.
A case number followed her name. There was an attachment. The brief message in the body of the email read: I thought you might want to see this again, too. It was signed by an individual he had never heard of, a Deputy Randall Gray. His official contact info was that of the sheriff’s department, Monroe County, Florida, but he had included his cell phone number.
Rudkowski opened the attachment. He recognized the photograph as the one taken aboard Marian Harris’s yacht during a cocktail party at sunset. Following her disappearance several months later, everyone in the snapshot had been identified, tracked down, and interviewed by Key West PD, the sheriff’s office, and/or FBI agents.
Rudkowski, who had closely monitored the case, had requested colleagues in south Florida to keep him in the loop of their investigation, since the Harris woman’s mysterious disappearance bore similarities to other unsolved missing person cases with which he was familiar.
The case cooled and then went cold. Two years, give or take, had passed.
He had heard nothing further until her body was discovered, roughly three months ago. It had been a grisly find. Because of the swampy environment in which she’d been buried, her body was badly decomposed. It had yielded no clues as to who had nailed her inside the crate. The bloody claw marks on the inside of the lid indicated the unsub was a sicko of the lowest order.
