Читать книгу Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 23
ОглавлениеHe had left Thomasina weeping. The stupid cunt. She thought that by being compliant and meek, she could fool him. But he wasn’t fooled, not in the least. She didn’t love him the way he needed to be loved, the way he deserved to be loved. She was like all the others, nothing more than a beautiful whore who lied as easily as she breathed. She told him she loved him and begged him to make love to her, but she was as big a disappointment as Stephanie had been. And Jacque. And …
Why was he doomed to suffer, to believe he’d found true love, only to have his hopes dashed? But he wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t. He was more determined now than ever to find the perfect woman, his perfect mate.
He had found her once, years ago, his perfect girl.
Even now, her name was like music to his ears. Soft and sweet and beautiful. He had loved her, been obsessed with her, would have died for her. She had promised him her heart and her body.
No! Stop thinking about her. Don’t remember what happened. Remembering hurts too much. It will rip you apart all over again.
He had to forget the past and concentrate on the here and now. For her sake and his, he had to set Thomasina free. And he had to do it soon. In the beginning, he’d had such high hopes, such fabulous dreams of what it would be like for them. He had wanted her to be “the one.” Everything about her had seemed so right. She was young and pretty, with lustrous dark hair and a bewitching smile. And she was very popular. All the guys liked her, wanted her, dreamed of fucking her. But she didn’t want any of them. Not the way she wanted him. She’d been waiting for him, longing to be with him, had accepted all of his little gifts, each a special token of his affection.
She loved him.
But she didn’t love him enough to give him everything he needed. She tried, but she had failed over and over again. Maybe it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t satisfy him, even though he satisfied her completely. He knew he did. She told him so. She liked all the things he did to her and always begged him for more.
Lies. All lies!
They had lied to him. Every single one of them. They had promised him everything, but never gave him enough. They’d always held something back.
But next time would be different. Wouldn’t it?
He parked, got out and locked his vehicle. She lived only a few blocks away, a quick and easy walk, especially if he went down the back alleys. At this time of morning when it was still dark outside, no one would see him. She didn’t have a security alarm, didn’t even have deadbolt locks. Getting inside her house should be easy. She would still be asleep. If he was very quiet and very careful, he could go inside, find her bedroom and watch her while she slept.
Maybe she sleeps in the raw.
His dick twitched.
As he hurried up the alley, he imagined what it would be like with her. She wouldn’t disappoint him. He felt sure that she would know how to please him in ways none of the others had. She had flirted with him, teased him, made him silent promises with those sultry looks she gave him.
You can watch her, but you can’t touch her. Not yet.
No, he wouldn’t touch her, wouldn’t begin their courtship until he ended things with Thomasina. He wasn’t the kind of man who betrayed one woman with another. With the others, he had known within a couple of weeks that their relationship wasn’t going to work out the way he had hoped. He and Thomasina had been lovers for nine days and already he knew he could never care for her the way he had his first love. And that’s what he wanted—to love and be loved with equal passion and devotion, to once again share what he had shared with her.
But she didn’t really love—
He hummed inside his mind, blotting out any negative thoughts about the past, shutting out the agony.
Just as he came up alongside the chain-link fence that ran the length of her property, separating her yard from the alley, he heard voices. Who was awake and outside at four-thirty in the morning? Stopping dead in his tracks, he looked and listened.
The shadows cast across her back porch, created by the blending of illumination from the moon overhead and the streetlight in front of her house, revealed the two dark silhouettes embracing.
She was giggling. He knew her laughter, recognized it instantly. But who was the man? It couldn’t be her husband. He was in the Middle East.
When he saw her kissing the man on her back porch, every muscle in his body tautened. She was his. How dare she give herself to another man!
But she’s lonely with her husband away. And she doesn’t know that you want her, that you can offer her a love that is true. A love that could be forever.
He crept out of the alley and into her neighbor’s backyard, being careful to keep hidden behind the trees and tall shrubbery.
“I wish you could stay,” she said, clinging to the man.
“You know I can’t. If anyone saw me …”
“I know. I know. But damn it, Ron, I’m sick and tired of sneaking around this way.”
Ron? She’d called the man Ron.
He moved in closer, as close as he could get to the fence separating her yard from her neighbors’ without revealing his presence.
Ron Hensley? Deputy Ron Hensley.
He should have known. That guy couldn’t keep his pants zipped. He’d screwed every willing woman in Adams County. He’d even been one of Thomasina’s lovers.
She kissed Ron again before he left her standing on the back porch. The country-bumpkin Lothario sneaked around the house and disappeared down the street. Ron had probably parked several streets up.
When she went back inside her house, he waited there for several minutes and watched in the darkness. He desperately wanted to go to her, to tell her that she didn’t have to waste her time on a guy like Ron Hensley. She was too good for that womanizing deputy, far too good. She deserved better.
“Soon, my darling Abby. Soon we’ll be together and you can show me how much you love me.”
Bernie stood in front of the mirror—naked. She was far from slender. Although not fat, she didn’t possess a lean, exercise-toned body. Her wide hips and big butt stubbornly held on to those extra ten pounds Bernie’s mother constantly reminded her she needed to lose. Well, actually, to be in fashion, she’d have to lose at least twenty-five pounds to achieve that waif-thin physique, have her C-cup breasts enlarged to double-D and undergo liposuction on her inner and outer thighs.
Her hair was okay, she supposed. Thick, shiny and shoulder length. But the color wasn’t anything special. Just a plain old medium brown. And her eyes were nondescript. Except for the gold flecks.
She studied her facial features. It was a pleasant face, her features all medium in size, working quite well together. Just a hint of her mother’s glamorous beauty softened a face that greatly resembled her father’s.
Bernie heaved a deep sigh, turned from the mirror and walked over to her closet. It wasn’t often that she took the time to scrutinize her physical attributes and deficiencies. Usually she considered it a waste of valuable time. But for the past week, she’d been more concerned about her appearance than she had in years. And it was all Jim Norton’s fault. Damn the man!
Despite her best efforts not to let her emotions overrule her common sense where her chief deputy was concerned, she was falling for the guy. Yeah, sure, she’d had a major crush on him when she’d been a teenager—one of those hero-worshipping-from-afar deals. But it wasn’t memories of star athlete Jimmy Norton that put butterflies in her tummy or made her cream her pants. No, that would be world-weary, rode-hard-and-away-wet, devoted father, all-around good-guy, forty-year-old Captain Jim Norton.
For the first time in years, Bernie had planned ahead. Last night she had chosen what she would wear today—Saturday. Jeans, just a tad too tight. A red tank top that clung to her breasts, and a short-sleeved, oversize red and white shirt that hung down to just below her hips. Her wide hips.
After taking out the items of clothing from her closet, she laid them across the foot of her bed, then retrieved her underwear from her dresser drawer. She didn’t own anything except plain white cotton panties and bras. What was the point of investing in beautiful lingerie if she was the only one who ever saw it?
When she sat down on the edge of the bed, Boomer wriggled free from beneath his small blanket atop the king-size pillow and came over to her. His little wet nose nuzzled her naked hip. She reached out and picked him up, hugged him to herself and mumbled nonsensical baby talk to him. He licked her face, which made her laugh. He was such an adorable mutt, with his funny white face, his big, black bug-eyes, and his loving disposition. It amazed her how attached she’d become to him in a week’s time. And she wasn’t the only one. Kevin Norton had become Boomer’s best buddy, the two practically inseparable when her parents acted as baby-sitters for boy and puppy.
“Do you need to go out again?” Bernie asked. She’d taken him outside first thing this morning when she woke at her usual five-thirty and he’d done his job, but he was just a pup and not housebroken yet, so better safe than sorry.
He looked up at her with those soulful eyes and wagged his cropped tail. “Okay, okay. Give me a couple of minutes to put on my clothes and we’ll go.”
She dressed hurriedly. She’d do her makeup and hair when they came back inside.
A few minutes later, as she raced through the kitchen to the back door, Boomer in her arms, she glanced at the wall clock. Twenty till eight. She had twenty minutes to tend to Boomer, do her hair and makeup and put on a fresh pot of coffee before Jim and Kevin arrived. Although it was Saturday, she and Jim had to work half a day and had decided to meet at her house so he could bring Kevin with him. While they worked, Kevin could spend the morning with his new best friend.
Bernie opened the back door and made it out onto the porch before she felt something wet and warm spreading out over her arm. She groaned.
“Boomer! Couldn’t you wait another minute?”
So much for color-coordinating her tank top and blouse. The red and white blouse now had a large yellow stain on one sleeve. She took Boomer out into the yard, set him down, and then removed her shirt. She hoped this incident wasn’t an indication of how the rest of her day would go.
“That’s it. Fuck me harder … faster.” Oh, Jim … Jim … “God, you’re good, baby. So good. Mmm …”
Trembling and crying out, Robyn came. While she spiraled back to earth, the man on top of her came a couple of minutes after she did. He jetted into the condom he wore, groaning as he clutched her hips.
When he fell to her side and flopped onto his back, she nuzzled his shoulder and sighed. He lay there for several minutes, breathing hard, his big hand idly caressing her thigh; then without saying a word, he got up and headed for the bathroom. Robyn opened her eyes and looked at his naked backside. Sleek, slender, firm. A real pretty boy. And a damn good lay.
But he wasn’t Jim Norton. And she wanted Jim Norton. But Jim hadn’t called her, hadn’t taken her up on the rain check she’d given him—so to hell with the guy. Robyn knew herself well enough to realize that the main fascination with Jim was the fact that he was playing hard to get. She wasn’t used to a man turning her down, not for any reason.
Maybe he’s not playing hard to get. Maybe he’s really not interested.
But she didn’t intend to give up without one more try. Tonight, at her parents’ anniversary party, she’d give Jim one final chance.
“Hey, babe, where’s your shampoo?” Paul Landon called from the bathroom doorway.
Robyn glanced at him and smiled. “It’s in the caddy hanging inside the shower stall.”
He grinned at her. “Want to join me? I could scrub yours and you could scrub mine.”
Robyn stretched like a cat warming herself in the sun, then languidly crawled out of bed and sauntered toward the bathroom. Paul—rich, handsome, attentive—held out his hand to her, and when she put her hand in his, he drew her close and kissed her.
Robyn clung to Paul, all the while pretending he was another man. An older, tougher, stronger man. A man she intended to seduce, somehow, someway. Maybe tonight.
“Can I take Boomer with me and watch TV in the den?” Kevin asked as he dumped the remnants of his breakfast into the garbage can under the sink.
“Would you mind taking him out first?” Bernie asked.
“Sure,” Kevin replied. “Hey, Bernie, what are you going to do with Boomer tonight while we’re all at your parents’ big party?”
“I’ve got that covered,” she told him. “I’ve hired a babysitter for him.”
Kevin grinned as he picked up the puppy from where he lay beneath Bernie’s feet under the kitchen table. “You’re a lucky dog, Boomer. You know that, don’t you? You’ve got Bernie for a mom.” Kevin headed for the back door, Boomer tucked securely under his arm.
Bernie sensed Jim staring at her, and although she tried her best to not look his way, she couldn’t stop herself from hazarding a quick glance. A shiver danced up her spine when their gazes met and locked for a split second. Was she imagining things, seeing what she wanted to see, or was Jim actually aware of her as a woman? The way he was looking at her made her go weak in the knees.
“Kevin really likes you,” Jim said.
Bernie cleared her throat. “I really like him. He’s a great kid. Smart and funny and kind and …” When Jim laughed, she frowned. “What is it?”
“You should hear Kevin singing your praises. He thinks you’re a really special lady. You and my son seem to have formed your own mutual admiration society.”
“What can I say other than that Kevin and I both have great taste and good judgment?”
“I agree.” Jim kept looking at her, studying her, as if he was trying to figure out what it was about her that made her so special to his son.
When Bernie felt a warm blush creeping up her neck, she hurriedly looked away, and then she gathered up the discarded paper wrap from her biscuit and sausage. Jim had told her yesterday afternoon when they’d made plans to work at her house this morning that he’d stop by the King Kone and pick up breakfast for the two of them and Kevin. In the past week, she had spent five of the seven evenings with Jim and his son. They’d stayed for dinner at her parents’ house twice, had eaten out twice, and had ordered takeout and eaten at Jim’s duplex one night. She wanted to think Jim enjoyed her company, that he was actually interested in her the way she was interested in him, but more than likely he was spending so much time with her because of Kevin.
She and Jim’s son had formed an almost instant friendship, partly thanks to Boomer, but partly because they simply liked each other. She saw so much of Jim in Kevin, more than just a strong physical resemblance. She didn’t think Jim realized how much alike he and his son were.
“Finished?” Bernie asked Jim.
“Yeah, I’m finished.”
She cleared away the table and dumped everything in the garbage, then glanced over her shoulder. “Since Kevin’s going to take Boomer and watch TV in the den when they come back in, we can work in here if you’d like.”
Jim scooted his chair out from the table and stood. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll pour us both another cup of coffee before we get started.”
“You sit,” she told him. “I’ll get the coffee.”
Jim stretched his arms over his head and twisted from side to side, then picked up his vinyl carryall from where he’d laid it on the counter when he’d entered the kitchen earlier. After sitting down, he unzipped the case, pulled out a notepad and several file folders and spread them on top of the table.
Bernie placed their refilled coffee cups on the table and took her seat catercorner from Jim. “Did you get in touch with Derek Lawrence last night?”
Jim shook his head. “I talked to his wife. Lawrence got called in on an urgent case in Louisiana, but he told her to let me know he’d have the profile for us no later than Monday. It seems he wants the info we’ve compiled on the victims from the other states so he can compare the two and see if he thinks we’re dealing with the same guy.”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s possible, maybe even probable, but I’m withholding making a final judgment until you and I go over everything. I want your opinion.”
Bernie nodded. “Were you able to get in touch with the lead detective from the murder case in South Carolina yesterday after we last talked?”
“Yep, I finally tracked down former Captain Hal Shepard last night. After he retired a couple of years ago, he moved to Louisville. And to make it even more difficult to find him, he’d gone off on a fishing trip with his son and grandson.”
“So, what did he have to say?”
“Pretty much what I expected.” Jim grimaced. “The victim, Shannon Elmore, was like all the other victims—young, pretty, dark haired, and popular. And when I explained about the other murders and described the killer’s MO, he agreed that there were similarities, but several inconsistencies.”
“Such as?”
“Shannon Elmore was abducted, raped and brutalized before her killer slit her throat,” Jim said. “But she was missing only three days before her body was discovered, naked and posed. And there’s no record of her receiving any gifts, except a few S and M sketches done in ink.”
“Do you think she was the first victim and that’s why there were no gifts, no real seduction before he grabbed her?”
“That’s exactly what I thought until Shepard mentioned another case he’d worked on approximately a year before the Elmore case.”
Bernie lifted her eyebrows. “Another similar case?”
“Sort of, but not exactly.”
“Meaning?”
“A year before Shannon Elmore was murdered in Greenville, South Carolina, another young woman in that city was killed in the same way—her throat was slit. Heather Stevens had been raped and brutalized and her body left on a lonely stretch of road. But Heather had been missing for less than twelve hours. And she hadn’t been completely naked.” Jim paused for effect. “She was wearing a string of pearls.”
Bernie blew out a whistling breath. “How many of the victims received a gift of pearls?”
“We know for sure that Stephanie and Thomasina did and both Georgia victims did, but none of the lead detectives in the other cases mentioned anything about pearls as one of the gifts.”
“Did both Shannon Elmore and Heather Stevens fit the description of all the other victims?”
Jim nodded. “Young, pretty, brunette, and popular. All eight women. Eight if we count Heather, and nine if we lump Thomasina Hardy in with the others.”
“You believe, despite the lack of consistent similarities, that Heather Stevens was killed by the same man, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. And my gut tells me that Heather was probably the first, not Shannon.”
“Then are we to assume this killer simply chooses a certain type of woman at random? Our three Alabama victims, counting Thomasina, lived within easy driving distance of one another, but they didn’t know each other and the only connection they had to one another was that two of them had attended Adams County Junior College and one was a teacher there.” Bernie looked directly at Jim. “What about the other victims? Were they connected in any way?”
“I don’t know about anybody else, other than Heather and Shannon. Hal Shepard told me that the two women had gone to private school together, that they’d been close friends.”
“Is that fact significant? Could it mean that they knew the killer, that he chose his first two victims for a specific reason, other than the obvious?”
The backdoor flew open. Kevin came running inside and chased Boomer through the kitchen. As he skidded to a halt by the refrigerator, he asked, “May I have a cola?”
“Help yourself,” Bernie replied.
Kevin glanced at the notepad and papers scattered about on the table. “You two have already started working, huh?” Boomer jumped up on Kevin, pawing his leg. “We’ll get out of here pronto and you won’t hear a peep out of us until lunchtime.”
“Thank you for taking care of Boomer for me this morning,” Bernie said.
“You’re welcome.” Kevin grinned broadly, then retrieved a canned cola from the refrigerator, picked up Boomer and jaunted out of the kitchen.
Jim turned his attention back to business. “Let’s assume that the same man killed all eight women, beginning with Heather nearly seven years ago.”
“Okay, we’ll work with that premise. We have a man who, for reasons unknown, targets young, pretty, popular brunettes. As far as we know there are only eight victims, not counting Thomasina, and I refuse to give up hope on her. But he apparently isn’t killing within a certain time frame. He has murdered two women in our area within the past six months and in a little over a week after Stephanie’s body was discovered, he abducted Thomasina.”
Jim rummaged through the papers on the table, picking up one, scanning it, and then repeating the process again and again. “Son of a bitch.”
“What did you find?”
“Probably nothing,” Jim said. “Heather Stevens was killed seven years ago, and then the next three murders occurred the following year, all within a six-month time span.” He lifted a couple of sheets of paper and fanned them back and forth. “The two Georgia murders didn’t occur until three years later.” He glanced at one report, and then another. “The first Georgia murder took place in September in Gains-ville and the second occurred in December in Rome. That was two and a half years ago.”
“There really is no time frame. He’s killed sporadically. One murder, then three, then two, then one, and now two, three if you count Thomasina.”
“There is one thing we’re overlooking,” Jim said. “We assumed that Jacque Reeves and Stephanie Hardy knew their killer and trusted him enough to get into his car. But if our guy is the same man who committed the other murders, that means he is not an Alabama native or if he is, he’s moved around or traveled quite a bit. He has either recently moved to this area or moved back to this area.”
“You don’t actually think we can come up with a list of suspects from those facts, do you? This guy could live any where in northeast Alabama.”
“He could, but what if he lives in Adams County?”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Come on, Bernie, we’re putting together a hypothesis. We’re playing a game of what if. What if this guy lives in Adams County? What if he’s either new to the area or has moved back here in the past year? You know just about everybody in the county, don’t you?”
“Oh shit. You want me to name names?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I can’t just accuse somebody—”
“You’re not accusing anybody,” he told her. “But we have to start somewhere in compiling a list of possible suspects, and I’d say this is as good a place as any.”
Bernie nodded, hating the idea of pointing fingers unjustly at anyone. Absentmindedly, she tapped her fingernails on the table as she thought. “Well, the first person who comes to mind is Reverend Donaldson. He’s our most recent newcomer.”
“A minister who’s a serial killer. Hmm … unlikely, but not impossible.”
Bernie chuckled. “Matthew is a pussycat.”
“And you know this how?” Jim asked. “From personal experience? I thought your mom had picked out Matthew for Robyn. You haven’t been homing in on your sister’s territory, have you?”
Bernie laughed nervously, the sound odd to her own ears. “Don’t be silly.” If I were going after one of Robyn’s men, it wouldn’t be Matthew Donaldson. It would be you, Jim Norton. It would damn well be you. “Robyn isn’t interested in Matthew. She told me that she was bored to tears on their one and only date. And as far as how I know, Matthew really is a pussycat. That’s Mom’s opinion and Dad’s, and the few times I’ve been around him I sensed that he’s a kind, gentle man.”
“Serial killers wear masks,” Jim told her. “They have been known to masquerade as charming, gentle men when, in reality, they’re monsters.”
“You don’t honestly think that Reverend Donaldson could be—”
“Where was his last church? Where did he come from?”
“I don’t know. I could ask—No, wait a minute. I think I remember Mom saying something about how Matthew’s first preaching assignment straight out of the seminary was in Carrollton, Georgia. Mom’s got some cousins who live there and they attended the church where Matthew was the assistant minister.”
“Georgia, huh?”
“Oh my goodness. He’s not the only person I know who has lived in Georgia. Raymond Long and his ex-wife lived in Atlanta for several years, and Paul Landon lived in Savannah for a while, and Scotty Joe Walters came to us from the Canton police department, and if I’m not mistaken, I believe Robyn said something about Brandon Kelley visiting his parents just outside Chattanooga in Rossville, Georgia.”
“Okay, you’ve made your point.” Jim held up his hands in an I-surrender gesture. “There are probably dozens of men in Adams County who have connections to the state of Georgia, but that doesn’t make any one of them our serial killer.”
“Our DA Jerry Dale’s sister lives in Georgia and his family visits over there several times a year. And Ron Hensley inherited a time-share in a condo on St. Simons on the Georgia coast from his uncle and—”
Jim reached over and placed his open palm over Bernie’s mouth. “Hush up, woman. Don’t you know it’s not polite to make fun of your chief deputy?”
The moment Jim’s hand touched her lips, Bernie’s breath caught in her throat. She clamped her teeth together tightly to trap her tongue so that it wouldn’t act on impulse and lick Jim’s hand. Her heartbeat drummed an excited rat-a-tat-tat.
They stared at each other for one endless moment.
Mumbling beneath his hand in an effort to diffuse the tense moment, Bernie pulled away from him. He eased his arm down to his side and diverted his gaze.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“I said doing something like that is a good way to get your hand bitten,” Bernie told him jokingly.
Jim grinned.
His cell phone rang.
He removed it from the belt clip and flipped it open. “Captain Norton here.”
Bernie watched and listened as Jim nodded a couple of times, and then said, “Yeah, yeah. We’ll head on over there right away.”
“What is it?”
“That was Sheriff Mays,” Jim said. “A couple of hikers found a woman’s body out in the woods over in Jackson County, just across the county line. He’s on his way out there now. He thought we’d want to know.”
“Is it Thomasina Hardy?”
“He doesn’t know for sure, but he said it could be.”
“Damn! It’s been only nine days.”
“It might not be her.”
“And if it is?”
“Then our killer is speeding things up, changing his MO a little and has probably already chosen his next victim.”
