Читать книгу Killer Heat - Brenda Novak - Страница 10

Butch stood at the corner of his property, watching as the police drove away. He was in big trouble now, and he knew it. Maybe this time there’d be no way out.

Paris came up beside him. Fortunately, Elaine and Warren had taken their son inside. Although he lived with his in-laws, they usually minded their own business. It was Paris’s freak of a brother, Dean, who got on his nerves. Dean hovered on the porch behind them, hoping to overhear what they had to say, but for his own safety he didn’t venture any closer. Butch was almost sad about that. Angry as he was, he could’ve used a target.

“Did you go on a dating site?” Paris asked. “Did you submit a profile?”

There was no point in attempting to deceive her. If she wanted the truth, all she had to do was search dating sites. Or go to that Moretti woman, who probably had a copy of his profile. Why give Paris a reason to do that? They had to stick together at all costs.

When he didn’t answer, Paris lowered her head. “That’s what I thought.”

“I didn’t kill her,” he insisted.

She shaded her face, apparently eyeing the little puffs of dust that’d been kicked up by the police cars. “It says quite a bit about you that I’m relieved to hear it.”

The sarcasm bit deep, made him bristle. “It’s not as if you’re perfect, Paris.”

“At least I can be faithful.”

“I can’t help it. Sex is all I think about.”

“And now you were the last person to see a woman who went missing. Don’t you realize what that means? What if she’s dead? What if they find her body and it has your DNA on it? They’ll put you behind bars!”

“I wasn’t the last one to see April Bonner alive. There’s no way. Unless she killed herself, someone else had to be involved.”

When his wife didn’t respond, he looked over and found her watching him carefully. “You believe me, don’t you?” he said.

Sighing, she shook her head. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. All I know is if this Moretti woman keeps digging, our son could lose his father.”

“Don’t talk like that. Moretti’s done here.” He could only hope that was true, that this wouldn’t go in the direction Paris feared. When he was a boy, his stepfather used to punish him by locking him in a box the size of a coffin out in a metal shed. During the summer, he’d nearly suffocate. Small, confined spaces still terrified him. He already knew he could never bear living in a jail cell.

“How do you know she’s done?” she asked.

“Because I’ll make sure of it.”

“Who was she?”

He could tell by the change in her tone that she wasn’t referring to the investigator. “Who are you talking about? April Bonner?”

“Who else?” She sounded weary, as if this incident might get the best of her despite how hard she’d fought to keep their family together.

He could easily recall April’s kind brown eyes, her timid but eager smile, her round cheeks, her body, soft from lack of exercise. They’d exchanged some intriguing e-mails, but she hadn’t turned out to be his type at all. “No one. She was just a…a means to an end. You know that. That’s all it ever is.”

“What happened with her that was so different from all the others?”

“Nothing. The night didn’t end well, I’ll admit that. You know how I get sometimes. But I didn’t kill her.”

Paris shoved her hands in her pockets. “It has to stop, Butch.”

He slipped his arm through hers and was gratified when she leaned into him. He hadn’t lost her yet. And he never would. “It will. I promise. Don’t give up on me. We’ve come so far. We can get through this, too.”

Francesca had canceled her credit cards and cell service. She’d also left a message with a locksmith, asking him to contact her first thing in the morning. Now that she was finished with everything, at least everything she could do after hours, she was lying in bed, pretty sure she’d never had a more miserable afternoon. She’d been involved in some tragic cases—peripherally when she was with Phoenix P.D. and then the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office, and more directly after she’d started her own agency—but never had she experienced anything more enraging than having Butch Vaughn flat out lie to her. It was one thing to have him claim he hadn’t meant to frighten her; she’d expected that. But she’d never dreamed he’d try to keep her purse, or that he’d take so much joy in making her feel powerless. Now he had her iPhone, her car keys—and her house keys because they were on the same ring—her wallet and her ID, all of which he’d basically stolen from her right beneath the noses of ten police officers.

He thought he was clever. But she wasn’t about to let him get away with what he’d done to her or to April Bonner. If he’d killed April, she’d find the proof she needed to put him away. The poor woman had to be somewhere. And what about those other bodies, the ones in the mass grave Finch had told her about? Was Butch responsible for those murders, as well?

It held the remains of seven women….

She believed Butch to be capable of extreme violence. She’d never met an individual who scared her as much.

This was what some of the people she took on as clients went through, she realized. Now she’d become a victim, too. She tried telling herself it was good experience to have, that in future she’d be better able to relate to their feelings of helplessness and frustration. But trying to find something positive in what she’d gone through didn’t make these late-night hours tick by any faster.

Agitated and restless, she stared at the ceiling. Although she tried to avoid it, she kept picturing Butch sitting at his kitchen table going through her purse while the rest of his family slept. Was he holding her driver’s license right now, memorizing her address? Had he checked MapQuest to determine the best route to take to her house?

Surely he wouldn’t be that obvious. Besides, she lived two hours away, which meant he’d need a wide margin in which to be gone. But just knowing how easy tracking her down would be made every creak and rustle—normal noises on any other night—sound like someone was attempting to break in. She was so wound up she could feel her pulse beating in her fingertips. Would morning never come?

Why hadn’t she listened to Jonah? He’d asked her not to go back home tonight. He’d encouraged her to stay with a friend for a few days, give Butch time to cool down. But Butch wasn’t the type to cool down. The way his muscles had contracted when she’d continued to challenge him for her purse made her believe she’d never be completely safe, not as long as he was free. And hiding wouldn’t solve the problem, not when Butch could simply use one of her business cards, a stack of which could be found in her purse, to come up with her office address. He could attack her midday as easily as at night. Crimes took place at all hours. If he really wanted to hurt her, he’d find a way.

“Butch can go to hell as far as I’m concerned,” she muttered. And if he broke in and attacked her, maybe she’d send him there. She’d brought a large carving knife to bed with her. She also had a new can of pepper spray in the top drawer of her nightstand. She’d squirted a little on the sidewalk to make sure it worked—something she’d taken for granted with the old one that she wasn’t willing to do again.

Were those precautions enough? Maybe not. She couldn’t imagine actually having to stab someone. A gun would be a much more practical form of defense. Maybe she should get one…. She’d never been tempted before, but she’d never been so rattled, either.

Her hand was growing sweaty on the handle of the knife. She couldn’t go on like this.

Forcing her fingers to unclench the weapon, she put it on the nightstand. If she did fall asleep, she didn’t want to roll over on top of it. But there was little chance of nodding off. She’d have to relax for that to happen. And she couldn’t relax. When she wasn’t thinking about Butch, she was thinking about Jonah. How ironic that he’d pop up on a day when she was so ill-equipped to deal with his reappearance in her life.

Talk about rotten luck and terrible timing….

Running a finger over each eyebrow as if she could smooth away the anxiety, she replayed the argument that had ensued after Finch had pulled away from the salvage yard.

Jonah: “What the hell’s wrong with you, Francesca? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Francesca: “Weren’t you listening? I was trying to get my purse. He has the keys to my house, my cell phone, my wallet, everything!”

Jonah: “I understand that. But you had no proof, no basis for accusing him. It was your word against his. Why provoke him?”

Francesca: “You think I should’ve let it all go without a fight?”

Jonah: “I think you don’t take on a man like that unless you know in advance that you’ve got him by the balls. He’d already allowed Hunsacker and his men to search the whole place. It wasn’t as if we could force him to let us look again. That would require a warrant.”

Finch: “And, in case you’re wondering, there’s no way we could get a warrant. You were the one who was trespassing. You’re also the only one who inflicted bodily harm.”

Francesca: “He tackled me! These abrasions and burns don’t mean anything?”

Finch: “They don’t constitute an attack as obvious as the scratches you left on his face.”

Jonah: “He could easily make up an excuse for that, say you flew into a panic when you thought that mannequin was a body and fell while you were running away. How would you prove otherwise?”

Finch: “I’m telling you, any judge I approach would act to protect Vaughn’s rights, to stop a possible lawsuit if for no other reason.”

Francesca: “A lawsuit?”

Finch: “He could sue the city for ‘misconduct.’”

Francesca: “Since when is following up on a lead considered misconduct?”

At that point, the investigator had turned to face her for the first time since they’d left the salvage yard. “We descended on him like flies on shit because you’re an investigator. I believed you when you told me there was a body in that junkyard.” Here, he’d smacked the steering wheel. “Damn it, you hadn’t even looked at it!”

Francesca: “I made a mistake, okay? That doesn’t mean he’s not responsible for April’s disappearance.”

Finch: “No, it doesn’t. But we need proof before we go barging in there again. Solid proof. More than just your word.”

Francesca: “Fine. I’ll get the proof!”

Finch had shot her a sullen look. “You do that.”

Jonah: “Considering what’s happened, the smartest response is to cut your losses and stay out of it. Your life is worth far more than whatever you had in that purse. Let us take it from here.”

This comment had caused her to twist around in her seat. “So you do think he’s dangerous.”

Jonah: “I plan to find out. That much I can promise.”

Francesca: “Well, for the record, I’m not worried about my perfume and my lipstick, okay? I’m worried about him having my personal information.”

Finch: “Cancel your credit cards and change your locks.”

Jonah: “And until you can do that, don’t go home. Rekey your house and your car, put in a security system at your office, if you don’t already have one, and stay with your parents.”

That wasn’t an option. These days, her parents spent their summers in Montana, building their dream house near her brother, Samuel, who was older by six years and had a wife and three children.

Francesca: “In other words, leave my home unprotected.”

Jonah: “Your safety is more important than your house.”

Francesca: “But I can’t leave the house to him. Who knows what he’d do? He could install video cameras in my attic, sabotage the window locks, drill peepholes.”

Jonah: “You can have it inspected before you go back.”

Or she could defend her turf, refuse to let him disrupt her life.

Francesca: “Thanks for the advice, but it never pays to run from a bully. That would only endanger whoever I chose to stay with. All he’d have to do is follow me from the office.”

Finch: “There’s strength in numbers. It certainly beats staying alone.”

Francesca: “Giving him the upper hand won’t make me any safer. I’m not going to run and hide.”

Jonah: “You haven’t changed a bit. You had too much pride for your own good ten years ago, and you’ve got too much now. Don’t you have a boyfriend you can stay with for a few weeks?”

Roland Perenski, her last love interest, had appeared in her mind in that moment, but she hadn’t been with him in two years. She hadn’t even heard from him. She was pretty sure he’d married the woman he’d dated after her.

Francesca: “Just stop. I don’t want to talk to you anymore, especially about my love life.”

Jonah hadn’t spoken again, even to say goodbye when she got out of the car. She’d slammed the door, climbed into her BMW and headed directly home, but she was still thinking about him. Why, she couldn’t say. So what if he looked better than ever? With that thick dark hair falling across his forehead, the slight cleft in his chin and the perennial five-o’clock shadow that was such a marked contrast to his light green eyes and wide sexy smile, he’d always turned heads.

No, it was never his looks she’d had a problem with.

A noise outside her window sent her heart pounding, so she threw off the covers and sat up. Forget trying to sleep; this was torture.

Grabbing the cordless phone from her nightstand, she called her best friend, Adriana Covington, and refused to feel the slightest bit guilty for disturbing her. If anyone deserved to be awakened in the middle of the night as a result of Jonah’s reappearance, it was Adriana.

“Hello?” her friend mumbled.

Grateful that Adriana’s husband hadn’t answered, Francesca toyed with the locket she wore around her neck. “You sleeping?”

“Isn’t that what most people do at three in the morning?” There was no irritation in her voice, only curiosity. “Where are you?”

“Home.”

“What’s going on? I thought maybe you were in trouble.”

Francesca led a very stable life. She wasn’t currently in a relationship so there was no romantic angst. She worked too much to date very often and rarely hung out at bars or other singles’ gatherings unless it was to stop by for a few minutes after work with Heather, her twenty-two-year-old receptionist. That gave Heather a break from the constraints of her single-parent life. Francesca didn’t consider herself a success in the “popular girl” category, but she’d established quite a glowing reputation in the investigative industry, especially after finding Janice Grey’s remains. That investigation hadn’t ended the way anyone would hope, but she’d been able to give Janice’s family resolution and justice. Sometimes that was all a client could ask.

Anyway, it wasn’t as if late-night calls were usual for her. “I ran into Jonah today.”

A long silence ensued. Finally, Adriana muttered, “Hang on. I’m going into the other room.”

Francesca probed her sore lip with her tongue while she waited. When Adriana came back on the line, she noticed that her friend sounded far less sleepy. Funny how the mention of Jonah could do that.

“Where did you see him?”

Even with all the other guys who’d come afterward, for both of them, Adriana hadn’t needed a last name. There’d been only one Jonah. And neither one of them would ever forget him. “In Prescott.”

“He lives there?”

“No, I think he lives in California. He works for a private security contractor based in L.A.”

“What’s Prescott got to do with anything, then?”

“He’s consulting on a case in Yavapai County, which is where my own case took me today.”

“Is he married?”

“I don’t think so. He’s not wearing a ring.”

“Okay. So…what happened? What’d he say?”

“Nothing, really. Our paths sort of…collided, that’s all.” She’d humiliated herself in front of him, but explaining that would only repeat the humiliation.

“I don’t understand. You don’t have anything to say about it?”

She had plenty to say. She just didn’t know how to get it out. “I guess not.”

“Are you telling me this to make me feel terrible again, Fran? To punish me? You think what I did isn’t hard enough to live with?”

Francesca covered her face. Calling Adriana had been a mistake. She’d forgiven her, hadn’t she? She’d told her she had; they’d patched up their friendship and moved on. “No. I’m telling you because…I needed to tell someone. And that’s what best friends are for.”

“What you’re saying is…you still have feelings for him.”

“No! I… It was a shock, that’s all.”

“A shock.”

“Yes.”

“And now you want someone to tell you that whatever you felt was normal.”

She’d felt as if she had an anvil crushing her chest. Could she really expect anyone to tell her that was normal? “Maybe that’s it. I mean, how much could he have meant to me? We were all so young, only what…twenty-three?”

“But you’ve never gotten over him, never fell in love so deeply again.”

“Of course I’ve gotten over him.” As for love, love was overrated.

“I know better.” Adriana blew out a sigh. “God, I made a mess of things, didn’t I?”

Francesca had never felt so torn between wanting to punish and wanting to console. It was true that Adriana had made a terrible mistake. She’d destroyed Francesca’s relationship with Jonah. And she’d nearly destroyed their friendship, too, a friendship that had lasted since preschool. But Jonah deserved his share of the blame. It wasn’t as if Francesca could hold Adriana entirely responsible for the affair. As a matter of fact, during the past several years, she’d found it easier and easier to pin most of the blame on Jonah. That had enabled her and Adriana to go on as though there’d never been a betrayal.

“It’s over,” she said. “It’s behind us. I just…” What? Wanted the pain to go away for good? Couldn’t imagine why seeing Jonah had been so earth-shattering? What was she hoping to accomplish by dragging Adriana back into that vortex of hurt and recrimination?

“I wish I could undo what I did,” Adriana said. “Not a day goes by that I don’t regret hurting you. But…it’s too late, Fran. There’s no way I can change what I did. All I can do is tell you how sorry—”

“Don’t. You’ve apologized enough.” Why torture her? She’d had to give up her baby, hadn’t she? That must’ve been hard. The pregnancy had been hard, too. She’d been sick for five of the eight months it’d lasted and bedridden for the final three.

“I still think about her, you know,” she said.

“Of course you do.” These days Adriana had two little boys with Stan. There had to be moments when she looked at them and couldn’t help remembering the little girl she’d borne before they came into her life. “Do you ever regret your decision to give her up?”

“No. I wasn’t ready to take on a child. I wasn’t even through with school. I had no resources. And it wasn’t as if Jonah and I were planning to be together. We both knew what happened that night was…out of line, nothing we’d ever repeat. He cared too much about you to—”

Francesca jumped to her feet. “Don’t even say that.”

“It’s true. I don’t know why he came on to me. It was…like he was purposely chasing you away, daring you to love him. You know how easily spooked he was. But I could tell he cared by how broken up he was afterward.”

Despite the lump suddenly clogging her throat, Francesca fought to keep her voice level. “We were just stupid kids. We didn’t know what love was, neither of us.”

The tenor of Adriana’s voice changed. “He didn’t want me to give her up. Did I ever tell you that? He offered to raise her. But I wouldn’t agree to it. He wasn’t any more ready to be a parent than I was…. It took a bit of convincing, but he’d finally agreed we should contact a good agency and let them do their thing. They found a great couple who was dying to have a baby and couldn’t. The Williamses.”

“Have you heard from Jonah since he came to the hospital that day?” Francesca already knew Adriana had never communicated with the Williamses. It’d been a closed adoption. But she’d often wondered if Adriana and Jonah had kept in touch, if only occasionally. In her determination to forget, to move on and allow Adriana the same opportunity, she’d never asked.

“No. Not once.”

“I hadn’t heard from him, either.” Not since they’d muddled through the next few months of working for the same police force, avoiding each other. By Christmas, she’d moved from Tempe to Chandler and secured a position with the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office. “Not until he walked into the sheriff’s station today.”

“How’d he treat you?”

She wasn’t sure how to describe the meeting. There’d been a surfeit of negative emotion but, considering their history, that wasn’t unexpected or unusual. “Fine.” She hadn’t waited to see what he’d do; she’d gone on the offensive. I know very well how much you like the ladies….

There was another long pause. “Are you okay, Frannie?”

For the first time since she’d picked up the phone, Francesca thought of Butch Vaughn and her gaze shifted to the knife on her nightstand. The blade gleamed in the light streaming in from the hall. She usually didn’t sleep with lights on, but tonight she’d left almost all of them blazing.

It’d be easier to talk about Butch than Jonah, but why scare Adriana? Then neither of them would be able to sleep.

“Of course. I shouldn’t have called.” She didn’t really understand why she had, not after so long. For a brief moment she’d been angry again and had wanted to lash out, that was all. The memories had crowded too close. “I’ll let you go. We can talk tomorrow.”

Adriana hesitated. “Will we have to talk about Jonah?”

“Damned if I know.” She hung up, but the pain she’d heard in her friend’s voice wouldn’t let her leave it at that. Will we have to talk about Jonah? Although what had happened ten years ago still hurt, especially after seeing Jonah today, Francesca didn’t want Adriana to suffer any more than she already had. What was the point?

Aware that she was the only person who could release her, Francesca picked up the phone. But when she pushed the talk button, she couldn’t get a dial tone. Assuming the phone hadn’t had a chance to reset after she’d disconnected, she waited a few seconds and tried again.

Nothing.

“What the heck,” she complained. It was such a bother not having her iPhone.

Then it dawned on her. She didn’t have her iPhone because Butch had kept it; he’d made her dependent on her home phone. And now…

“No,” she breathed, but in her heart she knew. He’d cut the line.