Never Die Alone (A Bentz/Montoya Novel Book 8)

  We all have our own secrets. You kept yours, didn’t you?

  And he’d spent the past few months trying to purge those very demons, the secrets, from his life by burying himself into work. He’d thrown his back into repairing fences and cleaning out buildings during the day and worked on a book at night. He figured he had an intimate take on the 21 Killer and already had some publishers interested in the story. That is, if he had the guts to go through reporting all the ritualistic murders knowing full well that his own twin brother was the monster behind the bizarre homicides. If he needed help, Kristi Bentz, the detective’s daughter was already a true crime writer and she’d suggested a collaboration. He was considering it. Who knew?

  As for his job at the Observer? He’d let it go. Let Meri-Jo have the crime beat. He didn’t need it any longer. Didn’t want it. Time for a fresh start.

  He figured he needed some time to himself, to adjust to this new life, to figure out where he’d go from here. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t think of Brianna, but he tried to keep that at a minimum.

  The dog was barking again and this time the hound’s attention was focused on the lane.

  Jase pushed himself upright and walked around the wraparound porch to the side of the building where the late-afternoon sun was bouncing off the windshield of a small car driving toward the house. He squinted and told himself that he was hallucinating, because the compact sure looked like a Honda, and the woman behind the wheel was a dead ringer for Brianna Hayward.

  No way.

  He drained his beer and left the empty on the porch.

  Barking and yipping, the hound bounded over the dry grass of the field before slithering under the bottom fence rail while Jase cut along the path leading to the parking area near the garage.

  The Honda ground to a stop, and sure enough, Brianna climbed from behind the wheel.

  His heart did a stupid little thump. God, he was an idiot.

  “So,” she said, shielding her eyes with the flat of a hand as she approached. Wearing a T-shirt, skirt, and sandals, she was as gorgeous as he remembered. “You’re a cowboy now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He couldn’t help but grin. “Seems to me someone suggested I wasn’t cut out to be a buttoned-down type.”

  “You aren’t.” She hesitated. Bit her lip. Seemed about to turn away from him and flee back the way she came before she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Listen, Bridges, I don’t know how to say this, but . . . I’ve thought about everything that happened.” Her mouth turned down and she squinted a bit, still held his gaze. “It was bad. Really bad.”

  “No argument there.”

  “And I desperately wanted to blame you for not being straight with me, for everything that happened, for my sister’s death, for all of it. You know, just call you the bad guy and file it away forever. But . . .” She let out her breath. “I was wrong.” She hesitated, one thumb nervously rubbing her forefinger. “And I’ve done some major soul-searching and yeah, some counseling. Even shrinks have shrinks, you know, and I think . . . Dear Lord, I hope I’m getting past it.”

  “Just like that?”

  “No, not just like that.” She shook her head, her hair highlighted by the late-afternoon sun. “It took a while.” She sighed and nodded, agreeing with herself. “And I was pretty awful to you.”

  “You were. But maybe I deserved it.”

  “No one does. I was just lashing out. Stupidly and I’m sorry. Life’s too short, you know, for carrying around all that negative energy.” She shoved her hair from her face. Her eyes clouded for a second, and she closed them, as if she suddenly doubted her reasons for coming out here and needed to gather her strength.

  “And?” he prodded.

  “And—” Her eyes opened again. Clear once more. A smile toyed at the corners of her mouth and she seemed calmer. “Look, I’d really like to start over, get to know you.” She rolled those expressive eyes and sighed. “Sounds corny, I know, but I believe in saying what I think.”

  “I remember. Direct.”

  “Yeah, and so I have a confession.”

  “You do?”

  “Mmm. You might not believe this,” she said, her cheeks turning pink, “and I hate to admit it, but the truth is I had a major crush on you in high school.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?” Her smile fell away. “Are you kidding me, Bridges? I bare my soul, make this big proclamation, and you say you know?”

  “Yep.” The breeze ruffled her hair and played with her skirt. He tried not to notice.

  “Okay . . . so, with the whole Arianna thing, it was too much, that you knew how she died and you had an affair with her . . . and see how complicated it is? I don’t want to dwell on it anymore.” Her gaze was suddenly tentative. “And the thing is, as I said, I want to start this, thing between us, whatever it is,” she made a gesture from her to him and back, “over again.”

  “Really?” He found it hard to believe. Damned hard after the way she’d reacted to him when he’d finally told her the truth.

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “I’m just surprised.”

  “So you don’t want to?”

  “No, no. Of course I do,” he admitted and took a step closer to her. She didn’t back away and he figured that was a positive sign. “But I’ve got to warn you.”

  “Warn me?”

  “It might be dangerous.”

  “How’s that?”

  He felt his lips twitch. “I have a strong feeling you might want to pressure me into joining that twinless twin support group.”

  Never,” she said, and laughed, shaking her head. “Trust me, you wouldn’t fit in.”

  “Okay. Then it’s a deal.” He told himself he was making a huge mistake, but figured what the hell? She was right. Life was far too short to dwell on the past. “So, what do you say? How ’bout a beer?”

  She grinned a little wider, her smile as sexy as ever and one of her eyebrows arched playfully “A beer? Sure.” Then she winked at him. “As long as you’re buying.”

  Rick Bentz fingered his badge, turning it over and over as he sat at his desk in his office at the department. It was quiet now, twilight stealing through the slats of the window on the far wall. He still hadn’t quit his job, though he’d played out the scenarios of leaving and staying in his mind a dozen times over.

  His quitting the department wasn’t Olivia’s choice, nor was it Montoya’s. It was his alone and, damn it, he was torn. Things had quieted down since their last major case. The 21 Killer, Jacob Bridges was dead. A good thing. Justice served. The one sour note in the case was Donovan Caldwell, who had been, as it turned out an innocent man, just as he’d protested to the very end when he’d written his last plea in blood on his cell wall as he’d bled out. Not that he’d been a great guy, but his end . . . not right. That bothered Bentz. A lot. The Caldwells had not only lost their twin daughters but their son as well, due to a mistake in the system.

  Wasn’t fair.

  Then again, what was in life?

  The other sets of twins who Brianna Hayward had thought were his victims, the brothers in Phoenix and the sister and brother in Dallas had turned out not to have been in the psycho’s path, nor had 21 turned up in New Orleans because of Bentz. But he’d ended up here anyway and at least now he would harm no more innocents.

  Thank God. Jacob Bridges had been a nutcase. According to the Denning twins he’d talked constantly to the already-dead Myra, acting as if she were calling the shots when he’d killed her years before. And his fascination with red and ribbons. Hard to believe he was the twin brother of Jason Bridges, who seemed grounded and normal despite his own not-so-great upbringing.

  Twins, but diametrically opposed in personality.

  “Hey!” Montoya poked his head into the office. “You goin’ home or what?”

  “Yeah.”

  Montoya’s gaze narrowed in on the badge. “Uh-oh. What’re you doin’? O
h, hell, don’t tell me you’re thinking of quitting again?”

  “Always. But I can’t. Even if I wanted to.”

  Montoya flashed his knowing smile. “Because of our boy Father John?”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it,” Montoya said, walking into the small office and hooking one knee over the corner of Bentz’s desk. “That bad-ass is under your skin.”

  “The one that got away,” Bentz said, nodding. The thought still ate at him, but no longer to the point that he needed to down a beer as he stared at the arrogant bastard on the prison’s tape. So far Bentz hadn’t repeated his slipup with alcohol, didn’t intend to again.

  Montoya pointed out, “The bastard’s been quiet for a few months now and it was years between his killings.”

  That much was true. After the murder of the nun in the prison and the prostitute in her apartment, Father John had seemed to stop his bizarre murders. Inexplicably he’d ceased. Again. Why? Didn’t make sense. Also, though he’d once been an obsessed stalker of Dr. Sam and her radio show, he hadn’t called in, hadn’t taunted her. But of course, he could still be listening. From some dark lair.

  This time, the killer was being coy. Careful. Why come back and flaunt the fact that he’d survived by killing the nun and prostitute only to disappear again?

  Didn’t make sense.

  “Maybe the son of a bitch is dead. You know the prostitute could have been killed by a copycat. That’s the way the department would like to spin it,” Montoya said. “To avoid another panic by the public if they thought Father John was stalking the streets of New Orleans again.”

  Bentz reached over, clicked his mouse to his computer and the darkened screen illuminated, freeze-framed on the smiling, nearly gloating image of Father John looking up at the camera right after killing the nun. “The department’s spinning it in the wrong direction.” He pointed at the image. “You and I, we know, this guy, he’s the real deal.”

  “Or maybe a twin.” Montoya’s dark eyes flashed.

  “Don’t even joke about it.”

  Montoya gave a quick nod. “A major bad dude.”

  “One I have to catch.”

  “We,” Montoya corrected, though they both knew it was Bentz whose shot had missed its mark in the bayou all those years before. “We.”

  “Okay. We.”

  Montoya’s grin grew wide and wicked as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his signature shades. “We’ll get the bastard.”

  “Promise?”

  “You got it.” He slid his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. “The bastard doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Chuckling, Bentz slipped his badge back into its case. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s almost Halloween and that means the baby’s birthday party, so I’ve got major dad duties to perform.”

  “And you love it.”

  “Yeah.” No reason to lie. “I do.”

  Montoya laughed as they walked out of the office and down the hallway, but Bentz didn’t quite let go of his dark, worrisome thoughts about Father John.

  He hated that son of a bitch.

  As the moon rose over the bayou, he climbed into his new cabin situated over the water. The night was sticky, the mosquitoes thick. He’d been quiet. Leaving well enough alone, but the itch was with him again, the need firing his blood, the sound of bullfrogs and crickets reminding him it was time to hunt.

  He switched on the radio and listened to her voice, low and sexy, offering up advice over the airways. He thought of calling her. It was so much easier now with cell phones, but he waited and eyed the cassock hanging from its hook. Detective Bentz would be expecting that move and there was no way Father John was going to be outfoxed by the cop who’d nearly killed him. Oh, no. Their dance wasn’t over. Not yet.

  “Just you wait,” he whispered into the night.

  Closing his eyes for a second, he listened to the sounds of the bayou and heard a fish jump as he reached for his rosary, the beads winking blood red in the lantern’s glow. For a few minutes, he ran the string lovingly through his fingers. But it didn’t feel quite right, he thought, opening his eyes to the night. Finding his file, he set to work, sharpening each bead to a razor-sharp point, making certain that the wire he’d used to string the beads together in their unique pattern was strong.

  Sooner or later the urge would overtake him again.

  He could only fight it so long.

  And then it was simple: He would have to kill again.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed Never Die Alone. I’m lucky that I can revisit some of my favorite characters.

  Recently I was asked to write a sequel to Deep Freeze and Fatal Burn, two of my most popular novels that are currently being repackaged and republished in December 2015 and February 2016. This new novel, After She’s Gone, takes up about a decade after the first two books end.

  In Deep Freeze, Jenna Hughes along with her two daughters has escaped the glam and glitz of Hollywood. Little does the ex-actress know that an obsessed fan, one with murderous intent has stalked her all the way to the shores of the Columbia River and the small town she now calls home. Not only is she in danger, but both of her daughters, Cassie and Allie, too, are in the maniac’s brutal plans.

  Fatal Burn takes up where Deep Freeze leaves off. In this story, Dani Settler, a tomboy and friend of Jenna’s daughter Allie, goes missing. The bloody trail turns instantly cold and the police as well as her father are stymied. While Travis Settler frantically searches for his daughter, Dani is running out of time and must rely solely upon her wits to keep herself alive against her would-be hate-filled killer.

  After She’s Gone, a brand-new book, will be in the stores in January 2016. This book takes up nearly a decade after Deep Freeze and catches up with Allie and Cassie Kramer, both who have tested the waters of acting in Hollywood with varied success. Allie, the younger sibling is much more famous than her older sister. Jealousy and rivalry have been parts of their lives and culminate when Allie goes missing, and Cassie, never all that stable to begin with, is suspected in her sister’s disappearance. Is Allie dead? The victim of her sister’s jealousy? Is she part of an elaborate publicity stunt? Or is she now the victim of her own insidious stalker with his own malevolent intent. Catch up with the Kramer sisters and find out in After She’s Gone.

  For those of you who are into my Grizzly Falls series that features Detectives Alvarez and Pescoli, you’ll be glad to know that in late 2016, there will be two more books available. Expecting to Die takes up where Deserves to Die left off, with a very pregnant Regan Pescoli debating whether she’ll stay on the force or throw in her badge and stay home after her baby is born. Unfortunately an old nemesis plans to take the choice away from her and all her carefully laid plans, as well as the lives of her family, are threatened. Things only get worse in Willing to Die where Pescoli and Alvarez battle a foe who is willing to sacrifice everything to extract a deadly revenge.

  I think you’ll like the stories. At least, I hope so.

  If you’d like more information on these books or any other I’ve written, please check out my website. At www.lisajackson.com you’ll be able to see what’s new and read excerpts from upcoming as well as already published books. Also, you can like me on Facebook at Lisa Jackson Fans or follow me at readlisajackson on Twitter.

  Keep reading!

  Lisa Jackson

  In this explosive new thriller, #1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson delves into the deep bond between two sisters and their shared dream that becomes a harrowing nightmare of madness, hatred and jealousy . . .

  Cassie Kramer and her younger sister, Allie, learned the hazards of fame long ago. Together, they’d survived the horror of a crazed fan who nearly killed their mother, former Hollywood actress Jenna Hughes. Still, Cassie moved to L.A., urging Allie to follow. As a team, they’d take the town by storm. But Allie, finally free of small-town Oregon, and just that little bit more beautiful, als
o proved to be more talented—and driven. Where Cassie got bit parts, Allie rose to stardom. But now her body double has been shot on the set of her latest movie—and Allie is missing.

  Police discover that the last call to Allie’s phone came from Cassie, though she has no recollection of making it. Instead of looking like a concerned relative, Cassie is starting to look like a suspect—the jealous sister who finally grew sick of playing a supporting role. As the tabloids go into a frenzy, Cassie ends up on a Portland psych ward. Is she just imagining the sinister figure who comes to her bedside, whispering about Allie—a visitor of whom there is no record? Is someone trying to help—or drive her mad?

  Convinced she’s the only one who can find Allie, Cassie checks herself out of the hospital. But a sudden slew of macabre murders—each victim masked with a likeness of a member of Cassie’s family—makes Cassie fear for her safety and her sanity. The only way to end the nightmare is to find out what really happened to Allie. And with each discovery, Cassie realizes that no one can be trusted to keep her safe—least of all herself. . .

  Please read on for an exciting

  sneak peek of Lisa Jackson’s

  After She’s Gone,

  coming in January 2016,

  wherever print and eBooks are sold!

  Portland, Oregon

  He watched.

  Carefully.

  Paying attention to every detail as the rain sheeted from the night-dark sky and streetlights reflected on the wet pavement.

  Two women were running, faster and faster and he smiled as the first passed into the lamp’s pool of illumination. Her face was twisted in terror, her beautiful features distorted by fear.