by Lisa Jackson
He slid out of his side of the booth and said conversationally, “I’ll expect you to pay up when I win and, trust me, you’re not going to like what I want as pay-back.”
She felt a little thrill sizzle through her blood, ignored it, and concentrated on winning. She didn’t like the stakes at all. God only knew what he would want from her.
But it didn’t matter.
She wasn’t about to lose this match.
CHAPTER 12
As he sat in the driver’s seat of his truck, the engine cooling and ticking in the parking lot of Kristi’s apartment building, Jay decided he was a moron.
A bona fide, dyed-in-the-wool moron.
Kristi was gathering her bag together and reaching for the door handle. He’d lost at darts to her. Not once, but the best of two out of three, then three out of five. He’d only won one of their matches and he suspected that she’d intentionally mis-thrown so that his bruised masculinity wouldn’t be completely destroyed. Though that wasn’t really Kristi’s way. For as long as he’d known her, she’d been a competitor to the nth degree. Throwing a match just wasn’t her style.
He could have blamed it on the beer, but he’d only drunk three over the course of as many hours. She’d kept up with him and showed not one sign of having been affected at all by whatever alcohol existed in light beer.
So he’d lost the damned bet, but she’d agreed, albeit reluctantly, that he could take her home. So here they were in the parking lot of her apartment building, which was really an old three-storied clapboard house that showed influences of Greek Revival architecture with its massive white columns and wide portico. However, even in the poor light cast from a security lamp, he could see that the building had lost much of its original luster. Far from its once grand beauty, the old home was now cut into individual units, the massive front porch and veranda above now converted into walkways between the apartments.
A shame, he knew, but kept his mouth shut.
Kristi cast a glance in his direction. “Come on up,” she suggested, opening the passenger door and stepping out of his truck. “I’m on the third floor.”
Big mistake, he thought. No, make that impossibly huge mistake. And yet his hand was on the door handle as she slammed the passenger door shut. He stepped outside, pocketed his keys, and mentally chided himself for agreeing to this.
He comforted himself by thinking it might be a good idea to look around and ensure that she was safe. But that was just an excuse; he was rationalizing and he knew it. The truth of the matter was that he wanted to spend more time with her and, it seemed, she did with him.
He followed her past a row of overgrown crepe myrtles and some shrubs that looked like sassafras. Under the portico, on the far end of the building beneath the porch light, a single guy was seated in a plastic chair smoking, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the night. He turned to watch them head up the steps but didn’t say a word.
Kristi was already on the stairs and Jay followed.
Don’t trust her. Sure, she might have grown up in the last nine years or so, but what was it Grandma used to say? “A leopard doesn’t change his spots overnight.” Or in this case nearly a decade.
She led him up two flights to the third floor, and with her a step or two ahead of him, he couldn’t help but notice the way her jeans hugged her.
Holy Christ, she had a tight little ass.
He remembered all too well and hated himself for it.
Damn it all to hell.
He dragged his gaze away, tore his attention from her to the apartment building. On the third floor they reached a single unit tucked under the gables of the once-massive home. Thankfully, his gaze was centered higher now, over her crown as she unlocked the door. It appeared that the uppermost story housed only one unit whereas the lower two floors had been cut into two or three units. There was less square footage up here as the roof angle was sharp, and he guessed that the third floor might have originally been servants’ quarters.
From the landing at Kristi’s door, he was able to gaze across the small backyard of the apartment house, then over the massive stone wall surrounding All Saints. He could make out the tops of trees and the bell tower and steeply angled roof of the church. Other buildings, illuminated by watery street lamps, were visible through the trees. He recognized the portico of the library and a turret of Wagner House.
The lock clicked and Kristi shouldered open the door. “Come on in,” she said, stepping over the threshold. “It’s not much, but for the next year or two, if I can stomach dealing with the Calloways, it’s home.”
Still thinking this was a major mistake, he entered her apartment and closed the door behind him.
Kristi dropped her backpack onto a battered couch, stripped off her jacket, and hung it on a hook near the door. “Isn’t this place kinda funky-cool?” she asked with obvious pride. The hardwood floors were beaten and scratched, full of character. A fireplace with painted peeling bricks dominated one wall and peekaboo windows peered from dormers. The kitchen was barely a counter with holes cut into it for a sink and stove. There was a smell of age to the building that the candles and incense she’d scattered around the rooms couldn’t hide. Kristi’s home looked like it needed the kind of facelift he was giving his cousins’ bungalow, but she seemed to love it.
“Definitely funky. I’m not sure about the cool part.”
Amusement glimmered in her eyes. “And what would you know about cool?”
“Touché, Miss Bentz.” He smiled. She had a way of putting him into his place. “Cool is something I’m not into.”
“Well…” She’d already dismissed the topic and was on to the purpose of why she’d invited him up. “Here’s what I’ve got so far,” she said, pointing to a table covered with papers, pictures, notes, and her laptop. A chipped cup held pens and a small bowl contained paper clips, tacks, pushpins, and a roll of tape. On the wall she’d tacked up posterboard that included pictures of the four missing girls. Beneath the photographs, she’d listed personal information that included physical and personality traits, family members, friends and boyfriends, employment information and schedules, addresses for the past five or six years, classes taken, and various other information in the form of notes that looked like she’d printed them off her computer.
“Do you give this much attention to your studies?” he asked, noting the colored overlining on some of the information.
Kristi snorted. “Want a beer—? Oh, wait, I don’t know that I have any. Damn.” She walked to the kitchen alcove and peered into a narrow, short, obviously barren refrigerator. “Sorry. Didn’t know I’d have company. All I’ve got is a hard lemonade. We could split it.”
“I’m okay,” he said as she extracted the drink, slamming the refrigerator door shut with her hip. She opened the bottle, poured it into two glasses, and found a bag of microwave popcorn in a cupboard. “I missed dinner,” she explained, placing the bag onto the rotating platter.
She set the timer, switched the microwave on, and handed him a glass of lemonade that he didn’t really want. Her shoulder brushed just above his elbow as she studied the intricate charts she’d created. He smelled a hint of perfume over the lingering scent of smoke from the bar. She took a swallow and said, “I’ve assigned each of the missing girls a color—for example, Dionne, the first girl that we know went missing, is in yellow.” All of Dionne’s information had been highlighted by a neon yellow marker. “Then there’s Tara, who, incidentally lived here—”
He jerked his gaze away from the charts to stare at her. “Here? In this apartment?” he asked, even though he saw the address listed in her information. He couldn’t believe it.
She was nodding, her gaze turned to his. “This very unit.”
“Are you kidding?” But he could see she was serious. Dead serious. “Jesus.” She had all of his attention now and he didn’t like what he was hearing. One of the girls who’d disappeared had lived in this very studio? What kind of weird twist of fate was that? He studied Tara’
s chart as if it were the key to salvation. He held up a hand. “She lived here right before she disappeared? Did you know that when you moved in?”
“No, it was just a strange coincidence.” She set her drink on a side table, then reached onto the desk, grabbed a rubber band and twisted her hair onto her head before snapping the band in place.
Her hair was a messy knot, her neck long, and she looked damned good. He took a swallow from his own glass.
“I don’t like this.” He felt an uncomfortable anxiety creep through him as the kernels began to pop and the smell of hot butter filled the room. “If the girls were really abducted—”
“They had to have been.” She nodded. Certain.
“And you’re living here.”
“Hey, I didn’t know, okay?” She gave him a hard look as the muted sound of corn popping increased. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve changed the lock on the door and fixed the broken latches on the windows. I’m as safe here as anywhere. Maybe more so. If someone is really behind their”—she motioned to the pictures on the charts as the corn popped wildly—“disappearances, and I believe someone is, then he won’t show up here again. Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same spot.”
Jay shook his head. “We’re not talking about some freak of nature.”
“Aren’t we?” she asked, her voice suddenly low.
Her tone arrested him. “What do you mean?”
She picked her words carefully. “I think whoever’s behind the girls’ disappearances is into something really dark. Evil.”
“Evil?” he repeated.
She nodded and he saw her shiver. “I think we’re dealing with something so vile and inherently depraved that it might not even be human.”
“What are you saying, Kris?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of research. On vampires.”
Jay’s breath expelled on a laugh. “Okay. You had me going there.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t believe in all that pop-culture-fiction-romantic—”
“There’s nothing romantic about this,” she cut in. “And do I believe in vampires? Of course not. But some people do, and you know what? If a person believes something is true, then it is. At least for him or her.”
“So whoever’s behind the girls’ disappearances believes in vampires. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I can hear you laughing inside.”
“I’m not. Honest.”
“What I’m saying is: this guy believes in vampires, or maybe he believes he’s a vampire. I don’t know. But a person like that, Jay? Someone deluded or obsessed…They’re dangerous. This guy is dangerous.”
A whisper of something slid over Jay’s skin. Fear? Premonition? “Maybe you’ve let your imagination carry you away,” he said, but could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.
Kristi simply shook her head.
“Just listen to me, Lucretia,” he said angrily from his end of the wireless connection. “I know that you’re concerned. Hell, I even know that you’ve been trying to sort all this out, wrestling with your conscience, but you can’t have it both ways. You either trust me or you don’t.”
“I trust you,” she said, her heart thumping with dread as she imagined his handsome face, remembered their first kiss, a gentle, tender meeting of lips that had promised so much more. They’d been standing on the back porch of Wagner House, in the dusk while rain poured from the dark heavens. Some people claimed the house was haunted; she thought of it as magical. The only light had been the strands of tiny Christmas lights strung over the building. Each bulb seemed a miniature candle, glowing softly in the December night. She remembered the smell of the rain on his skin, the tingle of her nerves as he’d brushed his mouth over hers so tenderly.
She’d ached to give herself to him and he’d sensed it.
Hours later, in her room, they’d made love, over and over again, and she’d felt a blending of her soul to his.
And now he was ending it?
“I don’t understand,” she said weakly, and they both knew it was a lie.
“If I can’t have absolute faith—”
“You mean power, right?” she said, finding some of her old spunk. “And obedience. Blind obedience.”
“Faith,” he said in a soft voice that reminded her of his breath whispering over her ears, his lips working magic on her naked body. How he could make her sweat and tingle all at once…
How willingly she’d lain beneath him, staring in wonder at the power of his body as he raised himself on his elbows and kissed her nipples. She’d watched as their bodies had moved, his cock sliding in and out of her.
Sometimes he’d stop for a heartbeat, pull out and flip her over, only to take her from behind more forcefully. Often he would nip at her, biting a bit, leaving the sheerest of impressions upon her neck, or breast or buttocks, and she’d spend the week being reminded of their long, sensual session.
“I said I trust you.”
“But I can’t trust you. That’s the thing. We both know what you did, Lucretia. How you betrayed me. I know you were confused. Frightened. But you should have come to me instead of going outside the circle.”
“Please.”
“It’s over.” The words rang in her ear. Hard. Final.
“No, I’m sorry, I should have—”
“There are lots of things you should have done. Could have done, but it’s too late. You know it.”
“No! I can’t believe—”
“That’s right, you can’t and therein lies the problem. I hope that you know what you experienced is sacred and as such it’s never to be talked about. Can you keep your tongue? Can you?”
“Yes!”
“There is a chance then, a slim one, but a chance that you will be forgiven.”
Her heart did a stupid little flip. She thought he might be lying again, tantalizing her in order to keep her from going to the police or campus security.
“But if you say a word, then I can’t keep you safe.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“I’m warning you.”
Dear God. Tears welled in her eyes, clogged her throat. Misery surrounded her heart. She couldn’t give him up.
“I love you.”
He paused a minute, the silence heavy, then said, “I know.”
The phone went dead. She stared at it a minute, the pent-up tears sliding down her cheeks, falling onto her chest. This was wrong, so wrong. She loved him. LOVED him. “No,” she wailed softly, feeling as if someone had ripped out her very soul. She was hollow inside without his love. Empty. A useless vessel.
She was sobbing now, hiccuping even as she tried all sorts of mental panaceas.
There are other men.
“But not like him,” she said aloud, “not like him.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked herself, cradling her body. She tried not to dwell on the realization that she would never kiss him again, never touch him, never make love to him, but the thought was always at the back of her mind. Through her tears she gazed across the thick pile of her carpet to the corner that housed her desk.
On top of the desk she saw her computer, a few pictures, not of him—he wouldn’t stand for it—but of two of her friends. Beside the framed photographs was a potted Christmas cactus still in bloom and a cup that held pencils, pens, and a pair of scissors. Sharp scissors.
She bit her lip. Did she have the nerve to end it all?
He’s not worth it.
“Yes, he is.” She could sacrifice herself, show him just how much she loved him, spill her own damned blood!
If only she had trusted him blindly, if only she was like the others, if only…if only she hadn’t drawn Kristi Bentz into this. He would still love her. Still caress her. Still tell her she was beautiful.
She squeezed her eyes shut and fell to the floor, where she curled into a fetal position. Again she rocked herself on the thick carpet, but it was no use. When she ope
ned her eyes again, she was focused on the scissors. Twin snipping blades that could easily slice through her skin and open a vein or an artery.
The irony didn’t escape her.
Had she been willing to trade her jeweled cross for a vial of her own blood, she wouldn’t now be contemplating suicide and dying for her love.
The microwave dinged loudly. A few kernels kept popping, sounding like gunfire. Jay had been silent, processing for long minutes, as had Kristi.
“You’ve worried me,” he finally said. “I think I should leave Bruno with you.”
Kristi managed a half laugh. She’d wanted him to hear her, believe her, but she didn’t need another damn savior. Her father was enough. “Mrs. Calloway would love that monster in here. I can’t have pets.” She walked to the microwave and gingerly removed the plump, slightly burned bag.
He glanced pointedly over to the water and food dishes on the floor near the refrigerator. “Looks like you already do.”
She opened the bag and steam escaped in a buttery cloud. “Houdini is a stray. He doesn’t live here, really.” She noticed the skepticism in his expression and added, “I don’t have a litter box. So the answer is a big N-O to the dog, but thanks, just the same.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
She sucked in a quick breath. “Uh…” Her eyes met his again. “I don’t think that would be such a hot idea. And what would be a worse one is if you had any thoughts, any thoughts at all, of explaining this to my dad.”
“He might be able to help.”
“Not yet,” she insisted, pouring the popped corn and blackened unpopped kernels into a bowl. “Later.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Jay looked out the window toward the campus. Just then he heard the sound of the chapel bells tolling off the hour through one slightly open window.
Midnight.
The witching hour.
“On top of everything else, I don’t like the fact that you’re living in Tara Atwater’s apartment. That’s too coincidental to me.”
She carried the bowl to the desk and shoved aside her paper clip cup to make room for it. “I found the apartment over the Internet. I called and rented it before I even knew Tara had lived here, or that I was going to get so involved.” She plucked a few popped kernels from the bowl and plopped them into her mouth, holding the bowl toward Jay, silently inviting him to join in. He took a small handful. “At the time I didn’t even know Tara Atwater’s name, or that she was one of the missing coeds. I mean, I’d vaguely heard about them, of course. My dad had brought up the fact that some of the students might have disappeared, and there was a bit about them on the news, not a lot, or not a lot that I was aware of. At the time, I thought it was all conjecture. No one knew for certain they’d been abducted. I mean, no one still does. The fact that I ended up with one of the apartments is probably because most people already had their leases set for the school year. I signed up for January classes, so I was looking in December, when there weren’t a lot of apartments available.”