“Damn straight you didn’t think. I said move.”
Bledsoe had backed his way to the curb, looking distressed. “Is she all right?”
She was still weeping in his arms, and it broke Daniel’s heart. “No, but she will be.”
Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 6:45 p.m.
A willowy redhead was sitting on Alex’s front porch steps, her head in her hands. The front door stood open and as soon as he got out of the car Daniel could hear the six notes Alex had told him about. Again and again and again.
The redhead lifted her head and Daniel saw a frustrated woman at the edge of control. Then she saw Alex and stood, her eyes focused. “My God. What happened?”
“She’s okay,” Daniel said. He went around the car and helped Alex to her feet. “Come on, Riley.” The hound took a lazy leap to the street.
Alex winced at the music. “She’s still playing?”
The redhead nodded. “Yes.”
“Why not just unplug the organ?” Daniel asked, and the woman gave him a look so filled with ire that he almost stepped back. “Sorry.”
“I tried to unplug the organ,” she said through gritted teeth. “She started to scream. Loudly.” She glared at Alex in helpless frustration. “Somebody called the cops on me.”
“You’re kidding,” Alex said. “Who came?”
“Some deputy named Cowell. He said he’d have to call Social Services if we couldn’t get her to stop screaming, that the neighbors were complaining. I plugged the organ back in until we could decide what to do next. Alex, we may need to sedate her.”
Alex’s shoulders sagged. “Hell. Daniel, my cousin, Dr. Meredith Fallon. Meredith, Agent Daniel Vartanian.” She looked down at her feet. “And Riley.”
Meredith nodded. “I figured that out. Come in, Alex. You look like hell. Please excuse my rudeness, Agent Vartanian. My nerves are running thin.”
The music was already starting to grate on him after only a few minutes. He couldn’t imagine listening to it for hours. He followed them into the bungalow where a little girl with golden curls sat in front of the organ playing the same six notes with one finger. She didn’t act like she even knew they were there.
Alex’s jaw tightened. “This has gone on long enough. We need Hope to talk to us.” Alex walked to the wall and unplugged the organ. Immediately the music ceased and Hope’s head shot up. Her mouth opened and her chest expanded as she dragged in a deep breath, but before she could make a sound, Alex was in her face. “Don’t. Don’t scream.” She put her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “Look at me, Hope. Now.”
Startled, Hope lifted her face to Alex’s. Beside him, Meredith huffed a frustrated sigh. “ ‘Don’t scream,’ ” she muttered sarcastically. “Wish to hell I’d thought of that.”
“Sshh,” Daniel cautioned.
“I just came from your house, Hope,” Alex said. “Baby, I know what you saw. I know somebody hurt your mommy.”
Meredith stared at Daniel. “She went to the house?” she mouthed, and he nodded.
Hope was staring up at Alex, a tortured look on her little face, but instead of screaming, silent tears began to roll down her cheeks.
“You’re scared,” Alex said. “And so am I. But, Hope, your mommy loves you. You know she does. She never would have left you on purpose.”
Daniel wondered who Alex was trying to convince, herself or Hope. I hate you. I wish you were dead. Whether or not her mother had actually said the words, they were real in Alex’s mind. It was a terrible burden to live with. This he knew.
Tears still streaming down her cheeks, Hope began to rock on the organ bench. Sliding on the bench next to her, Alex pulled Hope into her arms and rocked with her. “Sshh. I’m here. Meredith’s here. We won’t leave you. You’re safe now.”
Riley padded over to where Alex rocked Hope and poked her thigh with his nose.
Alex took Hope’s clenched fist and, spreading the little fingers wide, put Hope’s hand on Riley’s head. Riley gave one of his giant sighs and laid his nose on Hope’s knee. Hope began to pet Riley’s head.
Beside him Meredith Fallon drew a shaky breath. “I hope she doesn’t pet your dog like she colored or played that organ. Riley will be bald by bedtime.”
“We’ll put Rogaine in his dog chow,” Daniel said.
Meredith snorted a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “She went into the house.”
Daniel sighed. “Yes.”
“And you went with her.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Alex, I’m hungry and I have to get out of this house. When I was running this morning I passed a pizza place next to the post office.”
“Presto Pizza?” Daniel asked, surprised.
“You know it?” Meredith asked and he nodded.
“I lived on their pepperoni slices when I was a kid. I didn’t know it was still there.”
“Then that’s where we’re going. Alex, put on some makeup. We’re eating out.”
Alex lifted her face, frowning. “I don’t think so. We’re going to see Sister Anne.”
“We’ll do that after we eat. Hope needs to get out, too. I’ve been treating her with kid gloves, observing her. You made a breakthrough. I don’t want her sliding backward.”
“We still need to eat, Alex,” Daniel said, earning him an appreciative glance from Meredith. “It won’t take long, then we can go to the shelter. Besides, who knows who’ll show up while we’re eating? The guy that tried to run you down had been watching you. If he wasn’t the same person who took Bailey, he may know who did.”
She nodded. “You’re right. And it’s not only Bailey. There are the other women, too. I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m being selfish. I guess I’m not thinking too straight right now.”
“It’s okay. You’ve had kind of a busy day.” And because she looked like she needed it, he went to her and pulled her into his arms. She rested her cheek against his chest and he realized he’d needed this, too. “Go on, change your clothes.” He looked down at Hope, who was still stroking Riley’s head. Riley gave him a soulful look and Daniel chuckled. “Hurry, before poor Riley needs a toupee.”
Tuesday, January 30, 7:00 p.m.
He gripped the steering wheel, glancing up at his rearview mirror. He licked his lips nervously. It was still there. The car had been tailing him since he’d hit US-19.
Rhett Porter had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away. Get away. He was a marked man. He’d known it as soon as he’d heard his friend say “Nothing” with such contempt. His friend. Ha. One hell of a friend, dropping him like a hot potato as soon as things got rough.
He’d get away. He knew things. Things any upstanding district attorney would want to know. Would pay to know. He’d take his payment in the form of witness protection.
He’d move to the middle of nowhere, lose his drawl. Disappear.
He heard the rev of the engine behind him a moment before he felt the jolt. The steering wheel wrenched from his hands as the tires slipped off the edge of the road. He fought for control, but it was too late. He saw the road drop away. Saw the rush of trees past his windows. Heard the crunch of metal against wood.
Felt the crushing blow to his skull, the piercing pain in his chest, the dizziness as his car began to roll. He smelled the iron odor of blood. His own blood. I’m bleeding.
When the world stopped moving, he looked up, dazed. He was hanging upside down, still strapped to his seat. He heard footsteps, saw knees as someone crouched to look into the wreckage that had been his car. His hope died when eyes he knew and had once trusted stared at him through the splintered glass of his windshield.
Still he tried. “Help me,” he moaned.
The eyes rolled. “You would have to wear a seat belt. You can’t even die right.”
The eyes disappeared. The footsteps retreated, then returned.
“Help me. Please.”
“You’re a fuck-up, Porter.” He pushe
d the broken glass aside with his elbow, reached in, and took the keys from his ignition. A moment later, the keys were returned. One key, Rhett knew, would be missing. He almost smiled, wishing he could be there to see their stunned reactions when they saw what it unlocked.
Then he smelled gasoline, then the acrid smell of burning tinder and he knew.
I’m going to die. He closed his eyes, cursing the men he’d protected for so long. Thirteen years he’d kept the secret. Now . . . I’ll see you all in hell.
He stood on the road, fists on his hips, watching the fire licking around the car below. He could feel the heat from where he stood. Someone would come soon. He put the gas can in his trunk and drove away. Bye, Igor. You stupid sonofabitch.
He swallowed as he drove. They had numbered seven once. Now they were three.
He’d been responsible for the elimination of two of them. DJ’s body had never been found. He remembered the sulfur smell of the swamp, the splash as he’d chucked DJ’s body over the side of his boat. He imagined a gator had feasted that night.
DJ had been a liability. The gambling, the liquor, the women. Lots of women. They hadn’t nicknamed Jared O’Brien “Don Juan” for nothing. Jared had gone off on rants when he got drunk. It had been only a matter of time before he exposed them all. It had been Jared or the rest of them. The choice hadn’t been that difficult.
Somehow killing Igor had been a lot harder. When the fire was done with Rhett Porter, there wouldn’t be much of his body left either. So it all amounted to the same difference, except that somewhere a gator was going to bed with an empty stomach.
He thought of the other two that were now gone. Daniel Vartanian had taken down Ahab. Of course they’d never called Simon that to his face. Simon had been a scary SOB, his peg leg just one of many untouchable subjects. He remembered the day they’d buried Simon the first time. The relief they’d all felt, but no one had voiced.
And the other? It had only been a matter of time. He was frankly shocked Po’boy had lived as long as he had, dodging bullets in every godforsaken war zone on the planet. Finally it had been an Iraqi insurgent that had taken Wade out. He’d first felt relief at the news that Dutton’s war hero was coming home in a box. For years Wade Crighton had been an unsnipped thread, the only one of them to leave the town, the only one of them out of the sight and control of the others.
Well, except for Simon, he thought. They’d thought they’d been safe with him dead all those years. He supposed they should thank Daniel Vartanian for killing the scary SOB once and for all, but the thought of thanking Daniel Vartanian for anything made him sick. Simon had been scary, but Daniel was smug and that made him angry.
Now both Simon and Wade were gone, as were Rhett and Jared.
Now they numbered only three. Both Simon and Wade had died beyond his reach, leaving the whereabouts of their keys in question. A week ago he would have thought finding their keys would solve all of his problems. But now the keys were the least of his problems.
Janet and Claudia, both dead, found just like Alicia Tremaine. And I didn’t kill them. Neither had his boss. I was an idiot to ever think that he would. Harvard was sick and twisted, but not stupid.
They’d all been stupid kids, but now they were men. Leaders of the community. They’d managed this uneasy truce among themselves for years, no one wanting to lose the lives they’d built for themselves. The respectability they’d earned.
Somebody else had killed Janet and Claudia, someone who’d mimicked Alicia Tremaine’s death down to the smallest detail. It might have been a copycat.
Except that somebody knew about the keys. Somebody was taunting them. He thought of Rhett Porter. Somebody wanted them to panic. Rhett had panicked and now he was dead.
Now they were three. If no one else panicked, there was no way anyone else would find out, no way they could be linked to Alicia Tremaine.
Because they hadn’t killed her. They’d raped Alicia Tremaine, but they hadn’t killed her nor had they dumped her blanket-wrapped body in a ditch. The man that had killed Alicia Tremaine had been rotting behind bars for thirteen years. No one could pin anything on them now, as long as they stayed calm. They just needed to stay calm.
Stay calm. And think. He needed to find out who was killing these women before Vartanian did. If Vartanian got to this bastard first . . . Whoever had killed Janet and Claudia knew about the club. The bastard would tell. And everything they’d built for themselves would be taken away. Destroyed.
I need to find out what the hell Daniel Vartanian knows. Why had Vartanian, of all people, been assigned to this case? Did Vartanian know? Did he know about Simon . . . and us? Had Vartanian found Simon’s key?
He gritted his teeth and tapped his brakes. The car in front of him was crawling, in no hurry at all. He flashed his headlights and immediately the car changed lanes, allowing him to pass. Better.
He focused on the open road ahead. It helped him to clear his mind, to think. If Vartanian suspected anything, he wasn’t saying, but Daniel had always been the closemouthed kind. Scary in his own way with those eyes of his.
And Vartanian had taken up with Alex Fallon, a major problem in her own right. Even if they found out who’d killed Janet and Claudia, the damage had been done. Everyone was talking about Alicia Tremaine, how she’d died. And now, having Alex Fallon walking around town, looking so much like Alicia, it was just fanning the flames.
Alex Fallon was walking around town because Bailey was still missing. He no longer had control over what happened to Bailey Crighton, but he did have control over what happened to Alex Fallon. His guy had fucked up big-time this afternoon. The man was only supposed to watch Fallon, report back, stop her from talking to the wrong people. He’d never intended him to run her down in the street. There were other, more discreet ways of making people go away.
This he knew. He’d get rid of Alex Fallon, discreetly. Then he’d find out who was taunting them with dead women and keys. Before Vartanian got to the bastard first.
Because if Daniel found out what had really happened, nothing else would matter. They’d go to prison. I’ll die first. He pressed the accelerator to the floor, speeding back to town. He had no intention of going to prison or dying first. He had work to do.
Mack lowered his camera, a grim smile on his face. He’d known they’d turn on each other. He hadn’t expected it so quickly. But any time any of the four had taken a drive out of town in the last month, Mack had followed. Usually he was rewarded with wonderful new secrets he knew none of the men would want revealed, and of course tonight had been no exception.
Now the four were three and Mack was one step closer to the culmination of his dream. He clicked through the photos he’d just taken. His plan for the remaining three was solid, but these photos would make for a handy Plan B should his base plan fall apart. Always have a contingency, a back door, an escape hatch. A Plan B. Just another one of those prison lessons he’d learned well.
Speaking of lessons, he had another to deliver. In a few hours, he’d be the proud owner of one more girl and a very nice ’Vette.
Chapter Eleven
Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 7:30 p.m.
Well.” Meredith sipped at her drink, looking out of the corners of both eyes like a spy. “Nothing like a being a little conspicuous.”
Alex gave her a rueful look across the table at Presto’s Pizza Parlor. “I tried to warn you this would happen. People have been staring at me all week.” She looked up at Daniel, who’d made a big show of draping his arm around her shoulders as soon as they’d been seated in the booth. “And you’re not helping.”
He shrugged. “They already know I kissed you last night.”
“And that he went into Bailey’s house with you,” Meredith added.
Alex winced. “How? That just happened a few hours ago.”
“Heard it at the jukebox. You fainted and Daniel carried you out in his arms.”
“I did not faint. And I walked out of that house
on my own two feet.” She pursed her lips. “I swear to God. These people should just get lives.”
“They did,” Daniel murmured. “Ours. It’s not often two prodigal children return home at the same time.”
“And start fornicatin’.” Meredith lifted her hand. “Their word, not mine. I swear.”
Alex narrowed her eyes. “Whose?”
Daniel pulled her closer. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’re here and we’re fodder for public consumption until something more interesting happens.”
Meredith looked at the cartoon Hope had colored on the placemat. “Very nice, Hope.”
Alex sighed. “And very red,” she said, so quietly only Daniel could hear. He squeezed her shoulder in silent reply. She looked up at him. “Did Agent Randall find anything that helps you on the other two women?” she whispered. He pressed his forefinger to her lips and shook his head.
“Not here,” he whispered. He looked around, taking in the faces watching them. His eyes became hard and circumspect and she knew he was wondering if the person responsible for two deaths and Bailey’s disappearance was there, watching them.
Watching me, she thought, quelling the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stared at her scraped palms. She’d removed the bulky bandages, but she had only to glance at her hands and the shock of the afternoon returned. The screeching tires, the screams—both those of the bystanders and the ones in her head.
Someone had tried to kill her. It still hadn’t completely sunk in.
Someone had killed two women. That hadn’t completely sunk in either.
Someone had taken Bailey. Although she’d known it, knowing blood had been spilled made it more real. She thought about the house. Now that she was no longer there, she could consider the event with a bit more objectivity.
“Nobody ever asked me before,” she murmured, then realized she’d said it aloud.
Daniel pulled back to look at her face. “Asked you what?”
She met his eyes. “What they screamed.”
His blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Really? That surprises me. So . . . did you know what they said before, or did you just remember today?”