by Nancy Bush
He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t get caught. And the truth was when he wasn’t reliving Bibi’s death he was in a cold sweat about the way it had gone down. Too many variables. Too many chances to be caught. But so far, it appeared he was safe. So far . . .
Besides, he wanted Brenda. He’d worked up a real appetite for her. He needed to lure her in, have at least one night together, maybe several. Chas could do it. Draw her to him, start a relationship of sorts? At least a string of nights together, about all Brenda was good for. And then a lovely death. Maybe at his place? Again, too risky. The one time he’d brought Rayne over—what the fuck had he been thinking!—she’d found him out. He hadn’t shown her the lair because anyone who went there would not be coming out, and he hadn’t been ready to be done with Rayne at that time. She’d wanted him and he’d liked it, and he hadn’t wanted it to end, even though he’d since learned the ending was better than anything else.
Could he do that with Brenda? Smuggle her into the house and down to the lair . . . ? Love her . . . to death . . . ?
His cock was practically bursting at the thought.
But then what would he do with her? Her rotting body would stink up the place and Lorena might smell it.
Lorena.
Thad growled low in his throat. His mother had been in a mood ever since her meeting with the staff at Ridge Pointe over Gram. Lorena had told them in no uncertain terms that Gram was NOT going to Memory Care. She’d insisted they keep her in Independent Living. She’d half expected them to default to Assisted Living, which neither she nor Thad was willing to pay for, either, but they kept stating that Gram needed Memory Care. Lorena had somehow gotten them to back off. She’d been proud about it, but it was clearly only a reprieve. If they didn’t put Gram in Memory Care soon, she was going to be coming home. Thad blamed Lorena for not being strong enough, but when he’d said as much, she’d blasted him again for not helping her.
He was going to have to go meet with the Ridge Pointe pencil-necks himself.
Shit.
He dragged his mind back to the problem at hand: his need to develop a better killing plan. He couldn’t have another Bibi Engstrom.
A cold thrill shot through him at the thought, shrinking his hard-on, tightening his chest. If he hadn’t been able to burn the place up, they would’ve found something; he was sure of it. Lucky she’d had the candle. Lucky there was gas. Lucky, lucky, lucky.
That kind of luck doesn’t strike twice. No. He had to think. Plan. More like what had happened with Rayne, although that had been unexpected, too.
And Brenda, the bitch, wasn’t making it easy!
In a fury, he yanked the wheel and got back on the arterial that led southwest to River Glen, his thoughts dark. He wanted, needed, someone. His mind snagged on the girl he’d met outside the Waystation. The one who’d turned him down . . .
But hadn’t it really been a maybe? She’d wanted him. He could tell.
Maybe she’d be there again this afternoon.
Stick with the plan.
His own conscience infuriated him. How long was the plan going to take, huh? How long would he be forced to wait?
He argued with himself for a while. He knew better. He knew better than to go off on a side adventure. Lady Luck was capricious and might not let him have the girl in the bar and get away with it. He needed to be smart.
But . . . ?
Maybe he would stop by and just see if she was there.
* * *
Taft followed Seth Keppler’s white F-150 as he left Good Livin’ and headed south out of town. This was a break from routine and it sharpened Taft’s attention. Maybe this was the break he’d been waiting for. All morning he’d been trying to reach his confidential informant, hoping he could pay him for some surveillance, but the CI was not answering his texts. Maybe he’d given up his burner phone and replaced it with a new one. The man was paranoid at the best of times, and since he’d told Taft about the relationship between Mangella and Keppler he’d been impossible to reach.
He kept traffic in between himself and Keppler’s truck. For weeks the man had been barely traveling from home to work, but now he was heading out of River Glen in the direction of the I-5 freeway. Taft had been planning to rent a car for surveillance purposes and had put it off too long. Now he was kicking himself.
He tried to reach his CI again but this time the phone cut off. He’d ditched the burner. Possibly destroyed it.
Hmmm.
Taft checked the time. Three p.m.
Where was Keppler going?
Taft stayed far behind the truck, letting traffic pull between them.
While waiting for Seth to get off work, Taft had taken out his cell phone and pulled up the notes he’d written to himself on Rayne Sealy. He’d promised Mackenzie he would check into the matter. He knew she was disappointed that he’d taken her off the Keppler case, and maybe he had overreacted . . . if Helene were here she would tell him, “Yes, definitely, little brother, you overreacted” . . . but he’d made the choice. He’d spent some time digging into Rayne’s story, trying not to double up too much on her own queries. To that end he’d casually asked at the Coffee Club what had happened to her, getting a chorus of voices telling him she’d accidentally fallen to her death by taking a selfie. He hadn’t learned anything deeper, so he’d moved on to Good Livin’ and a trial membership, which had put him close to Patti and Seth, a decision he’d made in furthering his own investigation as well as Mackenzie’s. Mentally, he’d held his breath, half expecting one or the other of them to recognize him, but neither of them seemed to know anything about him, which had made it easier. He’d spent an afternoon working out and had casually asked around about a dark-haired woman who used to work there a half dozen months back or so and had been told he should talk to Patti or Seth. Everyone seemed to know Rayne and the story of the “love triangle” that had gotten her fired. Taft had forgone the one-on-one with either Patti or Seth. A girl named Giselle had set him up with the membership and he’d decided to check back with them later, if maybe at all. He didn’t want to travel the same ground as Mackenzie and raise suspicions. But one of the guys who’d been working out on a stationary bike and sweating like a racehorse had wiped his brow and said, “She was at that old people’s place before here. Can’t think of the name of it, but I heard her talk about it once.” He snorted. “She didn’t like it there much.” Taft knew that Rayne had worked at Ridge Pointe Independent and Assisted Living and had called on the retirement community with limited success. He needed to come up with a good story to spin before they were willing to give out any information on their residents or staff.
Keppler’s white Ford entered the freeway heading south and Taft slowed down, allowing several more cars to get in between them. Damn, he wished he had another car. Or another driver to help follow. He thought about calling Mackenzie, but it was too late for today. He was in it now and driving the Rubicon. He just hoped Keppler hadn’t seen earlier surveillance and started to wonder about his vehicle.
Keppler was just south of Wilsonville when he took an off-ramp. There was only one car between them as Taft followed. Keppler was stopped at the light and in the lane that turned left onto the side street or straight back onto the freeway. As soon as the light changed, Taft prepared for him to turn left when he darted straight across and back down to the freeway south.
Shit.
Only one reason for that, as far as Taft could tell. He was checking to see if he was being followed. That meant he was watching the cars come up behind him, of which Taft was one.
Taft yanked his wheel to the left and crossed the overpass, glancing down at Keppler’s white truck as it entered the freeway once more and kept heading south.
He turned back around as soon as he could and took the on-ramp back onto I-5, hitting the gas as he merged with the other traffic, but Keppler was long gone. Whatever the hell Keppler was up to, he didn’t want anyone to know where he was going.
Taft swore a
blue streak in his mind, speeding along with the traffic, afraid to go too fast in case Keppler had slowed down up ahead, checking to see if any vehicle was hurrying to catch him.
Was it all a game, or was he really heading somewhere important?
Hard to tell.
Fifteen minutes later Taft gave up the chase. He couldn’t catch up to Keppler. The man hadn’t laid a trap for him, as far as he could see, but Taft wasn’t about to blow his cover. He could go back to surveillance with a different vehicle. The break in routine said something was up, something that could break the case open wide.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Three fifteen. Mac pulled into the parking lot of Best Homes, waiting for Troi to appear. She was energized by her belief that Rayne had gone to the overlook intending to meet someone, very possibly her secret lover, and Troi was high on that list. She still hadn’t completely ruled out Seth, but she needed to talk with Taft before she braced him again and she didn’t feel like talking to Taft. She was hurt. She shouldn’t be, really, but she was. She would discuss things with him when she felt better about their dissolution, and that was going to take a while.
Dissolution? You barely worked with him. Get over yourself.
Mac’s thoughts drifted to Bibi and her dispirited and charred house. She felt a weight settle on her heart. She’d specifically pushed thoughts of Bibi aside, trusting her ex-colleagues at River Glen PD to get to the bottom of that horrific tragedy. It was easier to think about Rayne. Some of her dogged search for the truth surrounding her death was to fulfill her promise to Bibi, and Bibi had thought there was more to the story.
Troi’s silver Audi was parked by a skeletal maple tree that was just beginning to show bits of pale green budding. She figured he was still at work, but suspected he would be off around three as it was about that time when she’d first seen him meeting up with Seth Keppler. There were a number of Best Homes white cube trucks cruising in and out of a fenced area on the side of the building, a parking area apparently used by the team. Mac had done some research on the company and unlike many independent contractors, Best Homes employed a lot of workers and only seemed to sub out specific areas of homebuilding expertise, like plumbing and electrical.
She sighed. No sign of Troi yet. She’d been waiting for this moment all day. After leaving Miller’s Market, she’d gone home, cleaned up, then forced herself to make some appointments to view apartments over the next few days. That done, she’d examined her mental task list and, before she could talk herself out of it, had picked up the phone and called Katy Keegan. Taft had given her the number and it seemed to be embedded in her brain, so she’d placed the call, determined to move items off her task list.
“Hi, this is Katy,” she’d answered, causing Mac to lose focus for a moment. She’d been certain she would get her voice mail.
“Uh, hi, Katy. This is Mackenzie Laughlin. We worked together at the River Glen—”
“I remember you,” she interrupted. “You quit after I did.”
“That’s right. Not long after you did. That’s . . . what I’m calling you about.”
“Oh? What do you mean?” Katy sounded suddenly suspicious.
At that point Mac backed out a bit, explaining that Jesse James Taft had given her Katy’s number. When Katy didn’t respond, Mac waded in with, “This is about the chief . . . Chief Bennihof.”
“Okay,” she said carefully.
“I had some trouble with him and heard that you did, too.”
“From Mr. Taft?”
Mac couldn’t quite read her. She sounded like a hostile witness. Maybe she just didn’t want to think about it. “He came onto me in his office. He didn’t completely chase me around a desk, but close enough. After that, I couldn’t do anything right at work, at least that’s the way he made it seem.”
There was a long pause, but then she said, “He didn’t completely chase me around a desk, either.” Her voice was low and bitter, but at least Mac felt they were getting somewhere.
“How do we fight back against a guy like that?” Mac questioned her.
“You’re asking me?”
“That’s pretty much why I called.”
“Look, the man has a roving eye and it’s probably bad for the department. I get that. He’s the reason I left, too. But there are extenuating circumstances, and I can’t help you.”
“Probably bad?” Mac keyed in on the equivocation. “It is bad for the department. And it affects morale. I don’t know if I’m asking for your help. I’m just trying to get a handle on how pervasive the problem might be. He doesn’t have the right to harass any of us.”
“He didn’t harass me.”
“Okay.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, but this is about him. He can’t just—”
“I chased him around the desk, okay? Not the other way around. You understand?”
Mac stopped midsentence. “You . . . ?”
“I. Went. After. Him.” She was succinct and slightly bitter. “I wanted to be his girlfriend. I wanted to have him. Have you looked at the man? I mean really looked at him? He’s sexy. I like older men and he can be funny. He’s good company. Don’t make this something it isn’t.”
Mac thought of Hugh Bennihof. He kept himself in shape and looked good in clothes. His hair was silver and he had penetrating eyes. The last time she’d seen him, he’d even tamed his bushy gray eyebrows and she could admit, grudgingly, that he was attractive.
He was also married.
“I’m sorry if that disappoints you,” she was rattling on. “I had an affair with my boss. It’s not a crime, even if you want to believe it is. I wasn’t a victim. That’s all. But thanks to you, it all ended.”
“Thanks to me?”
“Yes, Mackenzie, thanks to you!”
Mac almost laughed. She was torn between disbelief and outrage.
“He started looking at someone else, and that someone was you.”
“Oh, come on.”
“So, I can’t help you, Mackenzie. In fact, I don’t want to. If I had my way, he and I would still be together, so if you’ve got a problem with the chief, you figure it out.” And with that she hung up.
Well.
She could sense the heat in her cheeks. She felt foolish and was also annoyed at Taft for putting her in this situation with Katy. Damn the man.
You put yourself in it.
She shook her head, needing to displace the whole thing. She knew Bennihof and so did Katy Keegan. Maybe Katy had gone after the chief, like she said. Or, maybe it was a lie to make herself feel better. Mac knew a few victims of sexual harassment who’d twisted the story to take back their power. She’d even felt that herself, wanting to go back to that after-hours scene in his office and replay it with a confrontation rather than her ignominious escape.
Either way, Katy wasn’t going to go against the chief. Taft had misunderstood what she was feeling. He wasn’t aware of what had gone down between Katy and the chief, and Mac doubted the Battle-axe was, either. But she was glad she knew now. Better than being blindsided. She’d had thoughts that maybe she could air Bennihof’s sexual harassment with the female staff and be heard. Now she knew that was an impossibility. She needed more before she took on that fight. A lot more.
Another cube truck drove into the Best Homes parking lot and rumbled toward the fence that housed the company vehicles. Mac straightened in her seat, seeing someone waiting at the gate. She could make out the longish blond hair sticking from beneath the baseball cap that was pulled down over the man’s head. As the gate slowly slid backward, he turned his head to look toward the main building. Troi.
Okay, then. Mac settled back down, just letting her eyes peek over the dashboard. She, too, wore her baseball cap. She wasn’t sure quite how she was going to approach Troi, what she was going to ask beyond was he, maybe, Rayne’s super-secret last boyfriend? Had Rayne hooked up with him again after her affair with Seth? And if that were true, how and when had Tr
oi reconnected with Elise? Before, during, or after his affair with Rayne? Was Troi that last guy who’d met Rayne at the overlook?
A few minutes later her quarry came out of the building and strode toward his Audi. Mackenzie waited while he revved his engine, then backed out of the parking spot and headed toward the main road.
Mackenzie eased the RAV out of the Best Homes lot and followed.
* * *
Thad sat outside the Waystation, his truck idling. Need had won out over his rule book and here he was, though he couldn’t seem to control his dick. He was jonesing for Bibi and Rayne, and Brenda, and currently the woman who’d driven away in the RAV4 that day. Dark hair, green eyes, sharp wit. He wanted to be inside her so badly he was wondering if there was something wrong with him. The last few weeks . . . since Rayne’s death, his self-control had eroded badly. It was like he was fifteen again, when he’d wanted to fuck everything. His mind was full of Rayne. There was a part of him that ached for her, wanted her back . . . except then he remembered her body flying and tumbling and then he wanted that again. Strangling Bibi had brought it all back. What he’d really like to do is strangle a woman while he was pounding into her. Brenda. Definitely Brenda . . . but this woman had gotten her hooks in him as well. He should’ve followed her home that day. Why hadn’t he?
Because things need to be in the right order!
Fuck that.
He scanned the parking lot. Her RAV wasn’t here. She wasn’t here. Well, that would have been too easy, wouldn’t it? But the guy she’d been with at the bar was here. Thad had watched him enter the Waystation, hitching up his pants. The guy who acted like he was a cowboy. Thad knew about looking the part; he did the same. But this “cowboy” was a fool and a loser. Nevertheless, he’d been talking to the raven-haired girl that Thad was already starting to think of as his.