by Lisa Jackson
“Then what is it?” He was pushing her to think more rationally, but it wasn’t rational.
“Maybe . . . I’m being set up,” she said, voicing a theory that had crystalized just recently in her mind, one she’d rejected at first pass. But with Rex’s probing questions, she considered it again. “Maybe someone knows that I’ve had a problem with these people and he’s killing them and framing me.”
“Why would anyone go to all that trouble?” Rex asked.
“I don’t know.”
“How could he know who to target? The murders, and I use the term loosely as a couple were accidents, occurred not long after you had nasty thoughts about the victims. Right?”
“Yes . . .”
“Well, who could know all of that?”
She shook her head again.
“Any one person you confided in? Told how you felt about every one of the victims?”
“I talk to my friends, and I could have been overheard, like at the gym or in a restaurant or at work or on the phone, I guess. A lot of people might have heard me grumble about GoodGuy or Court or Mazie . . . but . . . I never told the same person all of it, until I told Detective Thronson.”
“It doesn’t read right,” he told her. “What would be the motivation?”
He said he loved you, but I think he did some bad things. Chloe’s words. And then there was Ravinia’s warning. Declan Jr. He could be looking for you, if he knows about you . . .
Rex said, “I want to hook you up with a friend of mine. Miles Cunningham. He’s a defense lawyer.”
She turned her face up to his and asked anxiously, “You think I’m going to be charged?”
He frowned as if wrestling with a decision, then said bluntly, “I think you could be, so you need to be prepared. They have no case, but you need to be proactive. The first thing you need to do is find a place for Chloe.”
Elizabeth jumped to her feet. “I’m not sending Chloe anywhere. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I think any case the police are building against you won’t hold water, but we need to be ready. You’re the one who thinks you’re being framed,” he reminded her.
“Railroaded. That’s what I think.”
“Whatever. You need to be ready.”
Things were bad enough, but from the look in Rex’s eyes, he expected them to get worse. A lot worse.
“Okay,” she said in a strangled voice. But who could she even think about taking care of Chloe for an indeterminate time? No one! Not her father, certainly. Barbara lived across the country. She was too far away physically and too emotionally distant. That left her friends in the Moms Group. She thought seriously about Tara and Jade, but couldn’t imagine having to rely on either of them.
“I’d better get going,” Rex said. “I’ll call Miles and tell him you’ll probably contact him.”
“Okay.”
“And find a place for Chloe.”
“I will,” she promised, hating to see him leave. It wasn’t because he was handsome, though he was, and it wasn’t because she felt like she had to have a man to protect her—oh, God no—not after her marriage to Court. But something about Rex Kingston touched her down deep. Silly as that sounded and as scared as she was, she couldn’t help thinking what it would be like to lose herself in him. Have him hold her. Caress her. Assure her that things would be okay. Sleep next to him, make love to him. . . .
With an almost physical effort, she pushed those thoughts aside. Still, as she stood on the front porch and watched his car drive away she felt more alone than she had in a long, long while. A tug on her heart warned her to be careful, that she could make another mistake. She knew nothing about him, though she had noted he didn’t wear a wedding ring.
“You are crazy,” she admonished after his car disappeared around the corner at the end of the street. She went back inside, locked the door, then pushed her hair from her face. What the hell was she going to do? She couldn’t remain passive and just hope that Rex could help her. He’d told her to be proactive where Chloe was concerned.
She caught her reflection in the foyer mirror. Fear shone in her eyes, and frustration dragged her eyebrows into a fussy line. “Stop it,” she told her image. “Figure this out. Rex may help you, but this is your problem. Do something about it. For you and for Chloe.”
My hand presses onto the vellum, ink flowing as I write, telling Elizabeth all my hopes and fears, expressing that love has two sides, one light and uplifting, the flirty side of affection. But as night is to day, there is also a serious side to love, a deadly side, if you will. Some may call this need and obsession, but I know it’s just another expression of the true soul, that which lies in the darkest chambers of one’s heart. I’ve felt it. I’ve acted upon it. I’ve sacrificed for it and I would again, in a heartbeat, for you, lovely Elizabeth, for you are, without a doubt, my true soul mate.
But as I put my words to paper, I sense another presence, and I feel you wavering. What is this unforeseen attraction you have to that investigator? He may call himself Rex, but he’s no king. He’s common and unworthy of you. And you want him. My blood boils with outrage. How could you betray our pure love?
How can you desire him? Lust for him, in its basest of forms?
Yes, that’s what it is, lust and need, a dependence on this man you’ve barely met. I feel your filthy yearning and it comes upon me in sickening waves of disgust.
Elizabeth, you are mine. Do you hear me? Mine.
You cannot give yourself to another, nor can you have the slightest want for someone else.
Rage envelops me and I close my eyes and send you a mental message. Hear me. I am yours. Totally. And you are mine. Without doubt. Without regret. Ours is a love forged in the stars, a love that knows no bounds, with no beginning and no end.
You cannot care for another.
You cannot feel a breath of desire for anyone else.
If you do . . . if you cannot be true, if you cannot share my soul, then yours is mine to take.
I send this message, loud and clear. Hear me, Elizabeth. You are mine.
As I fling my mental missive, my physical body, zapped of strength, crumples and I knock the stack of letters I’ve written onto the floor. We fall together and the envelopes scatter around my weak, corporeal self.
I have to gather my strength. Slowly, with determination, my body responds again, regains its strength, and I sweep the letters into a pile and carefully stack them all. Now is the time for us. No more waiting.
Get ready, Elizabeth. I’m coming for you.
Chapter 32
Elizabeth suffered through another sleepless night. More nightmares plagued her. The victims who had died that she’d known, all came to her throughout the night. Their faces ran together and she was talking to them. Court in his BMW, Mazie at the office, even Channing Renfro at what appeared to be the gates of hell as flames were drawing nearer, ever nearer. As if in a movie, their faces melted before her eyes.
She tossed and turned, throwing off the covers only to draw them up again, glancing at the clock as she awakened. In the middle of the night, she was caught in yet another dream, but it was different, so real and visceral. She was lying in her bed not alone, but with a naked man whose long sinewy body was stretched over hers. Strong arms held her, warm breath teased the whisper of hair at her temple, and a wet, wicked tongue played at her ear, then slid along her neck and down her breastbone, touching, flicking, tasting and dipping lower as need pulsed within her.
Her blood heating, she was eager to love him, anxious to feel all of him, her skin flushed with perspiration as he toyed with her, causing the blood to rush through her veins, heat and desire swirling inside her. Her toes curled as he touched her, fingers skimming, gooseflesh rising, nipples tightening.
God, how she wanted him, though he was but a stranger, a man she’d just met and whom she already relied upon.
Rex, she realized. All she wanted was to make love to him.
Eyes clo
sed, she writhed on the bedsheets. Her entire world centered on what he could give her. “Please,” she moaned as he slid up her body, but then he stopped abruptly. His warm fingers turned to ice. Desire, so recently white hot, chilled.
As he dragged himself upward, his breath turned foul, his fingers skimming her ribs hard and bony, his hands burned and scaly. In the darkness, she saw his face, mangled and bloody, shards of bone poking through flesh where skin had melted off.
She woke on a shriek that echoed in her ears, heart galloping, sweat standing on her skin, another scream dying in her throat. The nightmare had been so real, so terrifying that she could have sworn the monster had been in bed with her. In the dark of her bedroom she waited, listening, willing her pulse to slow. Had she woken Chloe with her screams?
Half-expecting to hear frantic little footsteps charging her way, she let out her breath slowly. The house was silent as a tomb, until the soft rumble of the furnace blowing air throughout the ducts started up, a homey sound. Rolling over, she looked at the bedside clock glowing brightly, affirming the fact that it was three fifty-seven in the morning.
Ugh. Too early to get up, she thought, but climbed out of bed anyway to use the toilet and rinse her hot face with cool water. Grabbing onto her courage, she walked through the house but found nothing out of the ordinary. Thank God.
Before returning to bed, she slipped into Chloe’s room to check on her and found her daughter sleeping soundly, her face down on the mattress, covers pooling onto the floor, pillow pushed aside, one arm flung down the side of the bed. Out of habit, Elizabeth pulled the bedclothes back into position and tucked them around her daughter.
With a sleepy moan, Chloe rolled over and opened an eye. “Mommy?” she said groggily.
“Yes, sweetie, it’s just me. Go back to sleep.”
“I don’t want to die.”
Elizabeth shivered. “You’re not going to die. I’m here.”
Around a yawn, her daughter said, “But I don’t want you to die, either.”
“Of course not.” She patted her daughter’s little shoulder. “I’ll try not to. I think you’ve had a bad dream.” She knew all about bad dreams.
Chloe drifted off to sleep.
Elizabeth took another round through the house, snapping on light after light, opening closet doors, double-checking locks and latches until she was convinced she and Chloe were locked safely away from whatever terrors lived in the rest of the world.
But even as she told herself that they were safe, that nothing could harm them in their home, she experienced a frisson of fear slip down her spine. All that she’d known and trusted had been shattered in the past few weeks and she sensed the horror wasn’t over.
She walked to the living room window and peeked through the blinds. The neighborhood appeared serene and dark, bluish in the filmy glow from the street lamp. Elizabeth’s gaze scraped over the neatly trimmed shrubs, the few cars parked on the street. Her heart lurched painfully when she caught sight of movement, a black shadow in the night, then realized it was only a cat, scurrying across a neighbor’s lawn to disappear into the shrubbery.
“Get over yourself,” she whispered but experienced another little zinging feeling, as if there were a disturbance in the atmosphere, as if someone, hidden in the shadows, was staring back at her. She let go of the blinds with a snap, chiding herself for her fears.
And yet, though the blinds and shades were drawn, the doors shut and locked, she sensed that someone was silently observing her, almost close enough to reach out and touch.
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted and a tremor swept through. She forced herself to open the door that led from the kitchen to the garage and peer inside. Nothing. Her Escape was just where she’d parked it, the garage door down, the room empty.
For the love of God, Elizabeth . . .
In her bedroom again, she left the door ajar so she could hear Chloe should her daughter wake with some other bizarre statement. Figuring there was no way she’d ever fall asleep again, she found a paperback she’d started a couple months ago and nearly forgotten. She found the spot she’d left off, remembered the thread of the mystery and read for twenty minutes, before the book became as heavy as her eyelids. She finally snapped off the bedside lamp and drew the covers close to her neck. Within minutes, she fell into a dreamless sleep and didn’t wake until nearly seven o’clock.
Chloe, too, slept in, so Elizabeth took advantage of the quiet time to make a fresh pot of coffee, run through the shower, and get dressed. With the dawn came a fresh perspective, and surprisingly she felt herself ready to tackle the day. The worries of the night before faded. Thank you, God. It felt like she was out of time, and maybe she was. She wanted to get everything taken care of in case the worst-case scenario happened and Driscoll found a solid reason to arrest her.
She considered what to do at work. She needed to double-check with Amy Ferguson about meeting with her tomorrow at Mazie’s house. She also needed to deal with the Sorensons, and a few others who had called, and check on the Staffords’ home as they were still on their monthlong tour of Europe.
Through the window she saw shafts of sunlight splintering through a thin layer of clouds while the palm trees in the backyard moved gently in the breeze.
Another beautiful day in Southern California. Her throat caught as she imagined herself behind bars, unable to see it. No. That isn’t going to happen. It can’t.
Drawing a breath, she set her jaw. She would call the attorney Rex had told her about, and then, depending upon his advice, probably come clean with the cops about her sense of foreshadowing and her connection to Officer Unfriendly and GoodGuy. It was what it was. They could do with the information what they wanted.
Would they believe her? Well, probably not, but maybe it was time to lay all her cards on the table.
At least she had Rex on her side and at the thought of him, the sexual dream came to her and she felt herself blush. Yes, it had turned into a nightmare, but before that it had been really hot. Mentally reviewing it, she felt a throb of desire in her nether regions that had her shaking her head in disbelief.
After downing the first cup of coffee, she left the cup near the coffeemaker, and headed down the hall to Chloe’s room where she found her daughter rousing.
“Don’t want to get up,” the little girl grumbled.
“Sure you do.” Elizabeth sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and rumpled her curls. “We have a big day today.”
“Is Ravinia coming back?”
“I don’t think so. I was talking about school.”
“Oh.” Chloe wrinkled her little nose. “Don’t want to go.”
“It’s Friday. The last day of school for the week.”
“Don’t care.”
“Tell ya what. Why don’t you take a quick bath? We missed it last night and, oops, the night before. I’ll help.”
The bath, washing of hair, and brushing of teeth didn’t go all that easily, but a little over half an hour later Chloe was clean and dressed and plopped in front of a plate of peanut butter toast and sliced bananas. After a few bites, her sunny disposition returned.
“I’ll get the paper,” Elizabeth announced as she carried a second cup of coffee to the front door. She was determined to keep a smile on her face in front of Chloe no matter what her frame of mind truly was.
She stepped onto the porch and scattered a pile of envelopes left on the mat, then spent the next few minutes gathering them up. They were all addressed to her, just her name, Elizabeth, written in longhand on each one. Huh. Looking up and down the street, she cautiously opened the last one she’d picked up.
Elizabeth,
It’s all for you. Do you understand yet? I’ve been hiding my feelings for so long, but now finally, I can let you know. I’m sick, you see. Sick with love for you. Heartsick. Soul sick. I’m going to give you everything you desire. I am your slave, your genie in a bottle. Command me, and I will deliver. I grow stronger because of you. You
don’t see me yet. I’m just a flicker in the corner of your eye. But you’ll see me soon, my love. Very, very soon . . .
She dropped the sheet of paper as if it had burned her. It fluttered off the porch and landed softly on the rolled up newspaper. She backed away, hand to her mouth, her eyes jerking back and forth, searching the quiet neighborhood.
“Mommy?”
Chloe’s voice made her gasp, and she stepped inside and slammed the door behind her. Her daughter was still sitting at the kitchen bar, leaning back and looking down the hall, trying to see her.
“Just a second, honey,” she called in a voice pitched several notes higher than her usual tone.
Were they all love letters? Sick, strange love letters?
Cautiously, she reopened the door. Darting glances all around, she stepped out and grabbed up the pile of envelopes, then ventured down the steps to where the newspaper and the first letter lay, snatching them up as well. She scurried back into the house, shut and locked the door, and stalked quickly down the hall to her bedroom. Chloe couldn’t read yet, but she sure as hell would see how shaken Elizabeth was. She needed to pull herself together.
“Mommy?” Chloe called again.
“I’ll be right there,” Elizabeth yelled back. She opened another envelope at random and read another message. The same, only darker . . . more obsessive. Her pulse elevated. Who did this? Why? Panic rose within her and she tried to tamp it down, keep hold of herself. Her dream flitted across her memory, and the uneasy feeling that she was being observed.
Something evil was going on. Something she didn’t understand.
Why? Who?
Hearing the thump of her daughter’s feet hitting the floor, Elizabeth straightened her spine and went back down the hall to meet her.
“Mommy? Where are you?”
“Right here, honey.” She put a smile on her face. Seeing Chloe standing by the front door, she said, “Hey, are you finished? We’d better get your shoes on and pick up your lunch pail. Today we take home your preschool blankets and wash them. Gotta get ready for next week.”