by Lisa Jackson
Through the trees he saw her cottage, warm patches of light glowing through the windows. As the Jeep slid to a stop, she flipped on the porch light, flung open the door, and the dog shot out to bark, run in circles, and lift his leg while she stood on the porch. Bentz’s pulse, already pounding, skyrocketed. God, she was beautiful with those long legs and wild hair and worried eyes. He unfolded himself from the car, jogged to the porch, and as he clambered up the two short steps, she flung herself into his arms.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, smelling of jasmine, and he held her for a minute, longer than he should have.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes … I think so … come in.”
He let his arms drop and noticed that she flushed a bright shade of scarlet, as if she was embarrassed by her emotional display. She whistled to the dog, who sped into the house and made a beeline for the kitchen. Olivia locked the door, then motioned toward a short bookcase with a worn, leather-bound Bible sitting on the top shelf. Mounted on the wall over the bookcase was a mirror with a beveled edge and dark frame. “This is where I saw it,” she said, looking into the glass and swallowing. Bentz, standing behind her, saw nothing more than their reflection, him standing over half a foot taller than she.
“And now?”
“Nothing. Just you and me.” Her eyebrows drew together. “But it was dark,” she said, and reached to the wall to switch off the overhead light. Instantly the tiny hallway darkened. Again they gazed into the mirror, and Bentz heard her swift intake of breath, watched as she stared into the mirror. She tensed, and he touched her lightly on the shoulder, hoping to offer her strength and support. “There’s nothing …” she said at last, relaxing. “Nothing.” She shook her head and sighed. “I should have known, this isn’t something that I can call up, it just happens.” She shoved her hair from her eyes and caught his gaze in the darkened glass. “I’m sorry. You came all the way out here for nothing.”
“Maybe not. Let’s go over it again. Maybe if you talk it through, show me exactly what happened, we’ll learn something.” He offered her a bit of a smile and she turned, her arm brushing his chest, the scent of her perfume tantalizing.
“If you think so.”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “I guess we may as well give it a shot.” She started up the stairs and Hairy S sped up ahead of her. “I was up here.”
The old steps creaked as he climbed. All the while he tried not to watch her round little rump as she ascended or the way the denim stretched tight over her buttocks. He forced his eyes to the upper floor, which consisted of a short hallway, small bath, and two bedrooms tucked under the eaves. He caught a glimpse of the larger room that faced the rear of the house. A four-poster sat in the middle of one wall and French doors led to a verandah. The rest of the furniture consisted of a bureau and desk. Olivia led him to the other bedroom. It was smaller and cozy, filled with a twin bed, a small sofa, a bureau, and a desk where a laptop computer was set up. Textbooks filled a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. “I was here. Doing some research,” she explained, “and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, then I went downstairs …” Again he followed her, this time watching her sun-streaked hair bounce as she made her way to the first floor, “… and as I passed by here …” She looked into the mirror again, her fingers reaching forward as she touched the cover of a Bible resting on the top of the short bookcase. “… I felt something.” She shivered as if experiencing a chill. This time he didn’t touch her, but let her gaze into the glass, to recreate what she’d felt, to try and reconnect with the monster who was stalking the streets of New Orleans.
He didn’t know when he’d started believing her, but against his deep-rooted skepticism she’d found a way to convince him that somehow, some way, she had a connection to the killer.
It was his job to figure out how.
“I don’t feel him,” she whispered. “He’s gone.” Shaking her head and sighing, she turned to face Bentz. “But I did. Tonight. I felt him tonight.”
“I know.” He looked into her eyes and something deep inside him shifted. A wall he’d worked so hard to erect began to crumble. She was so earnest here in the half-light that filtered into the hallway from the living room. Her gold eyes were clouded with worry, the skin over those high cheekbones stretched taut with concern.
“You believe me?”
“I believe you saw something, yes. I don’t know what it was or what it means or how it happens, but in some way, Olivia, I think you’re linked to the murderer.”
“Dear God,” she whispered. “How?”
“That’s what we’ve got to figure out.” He wanted to comfort her. To wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. To press a kiss upon her crown and even brush one across her lips. But he didn’t. Despite his conflicting emotions, he restrained himself. He was too involved as it was.
To his surprise, she took the initiative and, standing on her tiptoes, pressed a featherlight kiss against his cheek. “Thanks for coming,” she said hoarsely then, as if embarrassed all over again, cleared her throat. “Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the living room. “And I’ll buy you a beer.”
Hairy S hurried down the steps. Bentz settled for some kind of flavored coffee and sat on one corner of the couch while Olivia curled up in the other corner. The dog hopped onto the cushion between them and circled three times before plopping down. Bentz asked dozens of questions. She answered, but he learned nothing. “You have no idea who he is or the identity of the woman he was chasing?”
“No … I only saw her back, but she was jogging and I got the impression she was young. He followed her through some alleys that I didn’t recognize, past huge, well-kept mansions and across a busy street toward a business district. Again, I didn’t recognize anything,” she admitted, concentrating. “The woman hurried into a bar and I caught a glimpse of neon lights—a pink martini glass.”
That was something. But not much. “There are hundreds of bars around here.”
“I’m not even sure it was New Orleans.”
“Then where?”
“I don’t know.” They sipped coffee and he asked her question after question, trying to make her think about the vision, about her family, about her “gift.” He got nowhere. His cell phone blasted and he picked it up.
“Got your message,” Montoya said. “What up?”
Bentz explained and Montoya swore under his breath. “So it looks like we’re gonna have another one.”
“Let’s hope not. She didn’t witness a murder this time. Just a hunt.”
“That’s enough,” Montoya muttered. “Has she ever seen a hunt before?”
“No. I asked her that.”
“So now she’s getting more peeks. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she’ll pick up on something before he strikes again.” Montoya was finally buying her story as well. But then he had to. It was all they had to go on.
Bentz hung up, asked a few more questions, and assuring himself that she had calmed down and that the house was secure, decided he had to leave. “Call me anytime,” he said as he walked to the door.
One side of her mouth lifted. “I will.”
“And really, get an alarm system.” He reached for the doorknob, then hesitated. “I’d feel a lot better about it.”
“Are you worried about me, Detective?” she asked, amused.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Because I’m the only witness you’ve got?” She was teasing him, flirting with him.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he said, and watched as she raised a dubious brow. “That and the fact that I’d hate to see anything happen to that cute ass of yours.”
She laughed. “What about the rest of me?”
“Goes without saying.”
“You’re a real charmer, aren’t you, Bentz?”
“I try my best.” He opened the door, hesitated again, and then, knowing he was making one of the worst mistakes of his life, muttered
, “Oh, hell,” and grabbed her again. She let out a gasp as he bent down, kissed her hard, and lifted her off her feet. She was breathless as he set her down. “Don’t mess with me, Benchet,” he said with a wink. “And lock the damned door behind me.”
Olivia was left with her head spinning. She watched him climb into his Jeep, then closed the door and threw the dead bolt. Sagging against the aging panels, she wondered why she’d baited him, why she’d flirted with him.
Because you’re lonely and scared, and Rick Bentz is sexy as hell. She heard the sound of his Jeep’s engine roar to life then fade as he drove off. The house seemed suddenly emptier. No longer cozy.
You can’t be falling for him, she told herself. No way. No how. It’s just that you’re terrified and he’s a big man, a strong man, someone you can lean on.
That had to be it. And yet when she touched her lips with her fingertips, she relived that breath-stopping kiss and realized with a sense of doom that she was lying to herself.
If she didn’t watch it, she’d imagine herself in love with Detective Rick Bentz and that would only spell disaster.
Kristi was midway through her second beer and pissed as hell. She’d found some friends in the bar and pretended that she wasn’t mad, but she was, and when she saw Brian wending his way through the tables to their booth, she turned and made a point of staring out the window.
“Don’t look now,” Marianne whispered from the other side of the booth as she took a drag on her cigarette, “but I think someone’s here to eat some crow.”
“Good. I hope he chokes on the feathers.”
“Give the guy a break. Hear what he has to say,” Jennie said, grabbing a handful of pretzels.
“Kristi?” Brian’s voice was deep. She felt his fingertips on her shoulder and jerked away. “We need to talk.”
Still steamed, she angled her face toward him and sipped her beer. “About?”
“Why I was late.”
“You weren’t late. You didn’t show.”
“I did. Just about five minutes after you left, according to your roommate. I figured I might find you here.”
“How?”
“It’s the local hangout.” He was leaning over slightly. His face was wet. He smelled of musky aftershave and rainwater. “My car broke down.”
“You could’ve called.”
“The battery ran down on my cell. It died when I called roadside assistance for someone to come jump me.”
“There are pay phones.”
“I didn’t think I’d be that late.” He glanced past her to her two friends, who were swallowing smiles and staring at him unabashedly. “Come on … let me take you to dinner.”
“I think I’d better stay here.”
He gave her the ghost of a smile. “You’re really going to make me suffer for this, aren’t you?”
“You deserve it.”
“Just give me a chance to make it up to you.”
“I don’t think so.”
Marianne stubbed out her cigarette. “Give the guy a break, Kristi.”
Kristi’s eyes narrowed on her friend.
“Tell ya what,” Brian said, “I’ll take you on at pool or darts. Your choice. If I win, we go to dinner.”
“And if I win?” Kristi asked.
“Then you choose the punishment.”
“That might be dangerous,” she teased, warming up. He was just so hot. “I have a pretty wild imagination. You could be humiliated.”
Something sparked in his sexy eyes. “Then maybe I should lose on purpose,” he said and she laughed.
“Okay, you’re on.” She drained her beer and felt a little lightheaded as she got to her feet.
“Watch out,” Marianne warned. “Kristi’s really good.”
“So am I,” Brian assured her as she made her way to the dart board and grabbed a handful of darts.
She had the weird sensation that someone was watching her, someone besides her girlfriends. She glanced around the bar and saw no one really staring at her. Oh, there were a couple of guys playing pool who glanced up and winked at her and she was afraid the bartender was studying her as if he suddenly questioned her fake ID, but no one sinister. Still, she couldn’t shake the eerie sensation. “But there is one thing.”
“Yeah?”
Brian clamped steel-tough fingers around her wrist. She hadn’t realized until then how much bigger he was than she. “One rule.”
“So now there are rules? Great. Okay, what is it?”
“If I lose, and I don’t intend to, you can’t ask me to change your grade in Zaroster’s class. I like you, but I’m not going to screw up my life over this, okay? You’re on your own in philosophy.”
“Oh, darn, and I thought this was my big chance to score an A.”
“I mean it.”
“Fine, but anything else goes?” she asked and his fingers loosened a bit, the tips rubbing against the inside of her wrist.
“That’s right,” he said, that wicked light in his eyes flaring again. “Anything at all.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bentz spent Sunday morning working on the case. He’d checked with the department, and though there had been a gang-related knifing on the waterfront, and a hit-and-run out by the airport, no one had reported another murder that would suggest Olivia Benchet’s private killer was on the loose again.
But then she hadn’t witnessed a murder, only someone stalking a woman.
He’d also run down some leads, called people who had viewed the house on Bayou St. John where the murder had been committed and checked the people visible on Carl Henderson’s video against the list of witnesses who’d viewed the fire. Three people on the video, a young couple and the guy in the shadows, hadn’t been identified. Everyone else was accounted for.
The Lafayette Police had talked to Reggie Benchet and were faxing a report, but so far, there was no indication he’d been in New Orleans during the time of the last killing—they were still checking his alibi.
Bentz had created a list of sign companies specializing in neon lighting and another of bars in the area. Maybe someone would remember a pink martini glass, though Olivia’s recent vision had nothing to do with any murder.
So far.
Then there were the churches and the priests who officiated. He had lists of those as well.
Tired of the paperwork and trails leading nowhere, he took a break and worked out in the back bedroom. Stripped to his boxer shorts, he pounded the hell out of a punching bag. It worked his muscles, relieved stress, and had peeled off about fifteen pounds in the past six months. He was getting so goddamned healthy he could barely stand himself.
No booze.
No cigarettes.
No women.
Unless he counted Olivia Benchet, whom he’d known only a few days and had kissed once. It was a helluva kiss. But it wasn’t exactly a relationship.
Sweat began to run down his back. He was living the life of a bloody priest. Montoya had accused him of having no social life and the truth of the matter was the young buck was right. “Hell,” Bentz growled and pummeled the bag until his muscles screamed and he was soaked. Breathing hard, he leaned against the bag and let it rock slowly as he caught his breath. He glanced around Kristi’s room. Aside from the punching bag, it was just as she’d left it with its double bed, aqua-colored spread, and matching curtains. It smelled dusty and unused and he decided he’d go the distance and vacuum and dust, maybe even have a bouquet of flowers on the bedside table waiting for her. He looked at the spot and frowned when he noticed the photograph of Jennifer, still at the side of Kristi’s bed.
Taken years before, faded slightly, the shot was a picture of the two of them. Kristi had been around seven at the time and the picture had been taken by one of Jennifer’s friends as mother and daughter had climbed off a roller coaster. Their faces were flushed, their hair wild, their eyes alight with the thrill of the ride. Funny, he didn’t feel the old anger anymore, just a deep sadness with a bit of
an edge. Their marriage had been doomed, of course, from the onset. Jennifer had been miserable married to a cop, who had been overly ambitious and spent long hours away from her. He’d sensed something had been wrong from the get-go, but had thought things would smooth out. He hadn’t read the warning signs, until she, tearfully and eight month’s pregnant, couldn’t keep up the charade and explained that the baby wasn’t his.
God in heaven, he’d never known such pain. And when he found out who the son of a bitch was who’d impregnated his wife …. no wonder he’d begun to drink. Oh, sure, he’d claimed Kristi, had determined from the moment he’d set eyes on the baby in the hospital that he would raise her as his own, but the seeds of distrust had been planted deep. The marriage had disintegrated to a hollow shell of what it should have been. Bentz had spent long hours at work or at a bar near the precinct in L.A. He’d told himself he was doing the right thing, but now he wasn’t so sure. He’d never forgotten his wife’s betrayal, never really forgiven her. Not even after her death. Now, however, he could put that rage into perspective, tuck it away. It didn’t matter much anymore. Jennifer was dead and Kristi, left without a mother, felt all the more abandoned, all the more rebellious toward him.
But maybe that rebellion would mellow now that they weren’t living under the same roof. If they both didn’t let their tempers and sharp tongues get the better of them. He walked out of her room, closed the door and headed for the shower. Yeah, he thought, he’d definitely spring for the flowers.
In the meantime he had work to do.
Business was slow at the Third-Eye on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Olivia waited on a few customers, restocked shelves and dusted some of the artifacts before stringing gold tinsel along the shelves and cupboards housing the stock. Glassy-eyed alligator heads stared at her, candles, virgin wicks unburned stood at attention and mirrors reflected her image as she climbed onto a small step stool, draping the glittery tinsel. New Age prisms sparkled, books collected dust, and voodoo dolls hung suspended from the ceiling along with Christmas ornaments. Religious artifacts were tucked into drawers or cubbyholes of the antique desks, tables, armoires, and sewing machines that served as display cases. “Eclectic” didn’t begin to cover the merchandise offered for sale.