Three (Count to Ten Book 3)

by Jane Blythe

  She froze, but didn’t flinch, as their lips touched. For a man who had admitted to her that he was a killer, his kiss was surprisingly soft. Not that Isabella had anything to compare it to. She had never been kissed before.

  Perhaps the knowledge that her first kiss was by a man who had knocked her unconscious and tied her up should concern her. But it didn’t. This man understood. He understood her. He was what she’d been dreaming of all her life. She knew that for absolute certain. And she didn’t even know his name.

  Maybe it helped that he was gorgeous. Although he had to be in his forties and she was only seventeen. Dark hair, blue eyes, tall and well built—she never dreamed that someone as good looking as he was could ever be interested in her. And yet he certainly seemed interested. From the moment he had realized that he couldn’t intimidate her, he had been looking at her with captivated reverence.

  Suddenly, as if he could read her mind, he deepened the kiss.

  No longer was it soft and gentle.

  Now it was fiery and hot.

  Before she knew it, he had her up against the wall. His tongue pushed between her lips and roamed her mouth. His hips pressed against hers and pinned her in place. His hands left her head and began to roam her body; one went to her breasts and the other traced up her leg. She could feel his erection pressed against her. Was he physically attracted to her? Did she turn him on? Did he want to have sex with her?

  Startled, she pulled away.

  Breathing heavily, he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

  “I'm sorry,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment. “I'm a virgin. Well, not technically because I've been…” She couldn’t say the word. “But I've never been with a guy before. Never even dated. Never even thought that anyone could be interested in me. I'm not pretty. I'm not the kind of girl who attracts guys. And you're hot. And I don’t even know your name,” she blathered pathetically. She was so out of her element.

  “Ricky.” His eyes were twinkling in amusement.

  “Wh…what?” she stammered, still totally shocked that a hot guy seemed to be into her; the knowledge seemed to be making her brain go all flaky.

  “My name,” he elaborated. “Ricky Preston.”

  For some reason that name seemed familiar to her, and Isabella tried to place where she had heard it before.

  Once again he seemed to read her thoughts. “The family murders about eight months ago. Five families, killed in their homes, I always left one alive.”

  She nodded as she recalled the case, she had always loved reading about murder cases. “I remember those. That was you?” Isabella had to admit she was a little awed.

  “Uh huh,” he nodded, still smiling.

  She was still feeling self-conscious. “I'm sorry I couldn’t…you know…do it.”

  He shrugged indifferently. “No big deal. There’ll be other opportunities.”

  She wasn’t sure she was hearing him correctly. Did he want more from her than one night of sex? Was he interested in a relationship? Was she?

  “We have a lot in common.” There he went again, knowing what she was thinking without her even opening her mouth.

  That couldn’t be more true.

  “There aren’t a lot of people like us,” Ricky continued.

  Again, that couldn’t be more true. She had opened up to him, explained why she killed, told him that she had been sexually assaulted. She needed to know if he could open up to her, too. “Why did you kill them? I mean, I know you said now you just kill because you want to, but you also said that it wasn’t always the case. Those families—you killed them for a reason. What was it?”

  Searching her face, he turned serious, his smile disappearing, replaced by a bleakness she recognized. “My mother was murdered. They said it was an accident, but she was murdered. She died in a fire. She was trapped in our house. She was screaming for help because she couldn’t get out. No one helped her. They just stood there and watched her die. Our neighbors, they may as well have set her on fire themselves.”

  “So you killed them—your neighbors.”

  “They deserved it,” Ricky said fiercely.

  Isabella didn’t disagree. In fact, her heart broke for him. Obviously, he had loved his mother very much. That must be nice. She wished that she had had that kind of a relationship with her mother. She couldn’t imagine losing someone you loved in such a horrendous way. Burning alive was a horrible way to die. And for Ricky to know that it could have been prevented if his neighbors had just done something to help her. No wonder he had killed them. Sofia was the only person that Isabella loved, and if anyone hurt her, then she would stop at nothing to make sure that person paid for what they did—painfully.

  Suddenly, she remembered that they weren’t alone. Arthur Bentley was still here. “He’s conscious, you know,” she gestured at the bed behind them.

  All traces of despair wiped off his face as his easy smile returned. “I know.”

  “We can't let him go,” she reminded him. “He’s heard everything.” At that, Arthur sprung to life on the bed, shaking his head from side to side and thrashing as violently as he could manage against his restraints. Mumbling through the tape on his mouth, presumably trying to tell them that he hadn't heard anything and even if he had he’d never tell. She ignored him. “I gave him sodium thiopental; he was only out for a few minutes.”

  Amusement lit his eyes again. “Sodium thiopental? I use that, too. See, a lot in common.”

  Smiling back at him, Isabella wasn’t used to being around someone that understood her so well. She felt both shy and liberated at the same time. She could get used to this. Maybe this was the man who would love her unconditionally. Maybe she was going to get a chance to have her own happily ever after. She hardly dared to hope it was true. “We were both planning on killing him, so which one of us gets to do the honors?”

  “We could do it together,” Ricky suggested.

  “Really?” she stared at him longingly. She was falling hard and fast for Ricky Preston.

  “How were you going to do it?” Ricky asked. “I've been using an axe. For some reason, the thought of being an axe murderer appealed to me.” He grinned, making him even more gorgeous.

  His grin made her grin—something she didn’t normally do. “Drain his blood and then pour it down his throat till he drowned in it,” she replied.

  Ricky chuckled. “Neat,” he nodded approvingly.

  Wanting, almost needing, more of his approval, she continued. “I've tried lots of other ways before, too. Strangling, shooting, stabbing, carbon monoxide; I like to be creative.”

  “Creative, huh? Okeydokey, well, let’s see what we can come up with.” He strode toward the bed where Arthur Bentley was now staring back at them with tear filled green eyes.

  Isabella could tell, even though what he was saying wasn’t discernible, that he was pleading, begging for his life. Too bad for Arthur Bentley that neither she nor Ricky were going to feel remorse for killing him. They just weren’t built that way. And after a lifetime of thinking that she was all alone in the world, that no one understood her, although her sister tried, she had concluded that she was just too different. That she was one of a kind.

  Now she knew it wasn’t true.

  Ricky Preston was just like her. He was her other half. Now she would be able to have the best of both worlds. She could have a friend, a lover, maybe even a husband and family. And she could do it all while being who she truly was. This kill together would cement their connection. It was the beginning of their lives together.

  “Got it. Got the perfect way to kill him.”

  * * * * *

  9:42 A.M.

  It wasn’t even ten in the morning and already it had been a long day.

  Xavier was in the car on the way to the hotel where both Erica and Garton Landers, and Helena and Tyler Mendleson had honeymooned. He had called Garton and then Helena as soon as he and Annabelle had left her therapist earlier this morning. His hunch
had been correct. The hotel was where the two couples overlapped. Therefore, the hotel had to be the place where Ricky had seen them.

  It was a huge hotel with thousands of rooms, a conference center, restaurants and bars, a gym, pool, and a shopping center. That meant thousands of workers. And Ricky Preston could be any one of them.

  Still, so far, his luck had been more good than bad.

  The fingerprint in Tyler’s blood on the doorknob of the Mendlesons’ front door was proof Ricky was in the house at the time of the murders, finally finding a link between the couples. Both were strikes of good luck. He just needed his luck to last a little longer.

  If he was lucky, Ricky would be at work right now and he’d be able to pick him up. There would be too many people about for Ricky to play games. And, hopefully, he wasn’t armed—not that he had any reason to be. He didn’t know they had his prints, and he didn’t know they had the link, so he would have no reason to think anything other than it was another normal day at work.

  If he was only a little lucky, he would be able to confirm that Ricky Preston worked there, more than likely under a false identity, but not at work that day. Furthermore, he hoped whatever address he had listed on his file was correct. At least confirming that he worked there would mean they could get proof that he had been working on the nights the Landers and Mendlesons honeymooned. And they could get his work schedule so they would know when he would next turn up if his address turned out to be a fake.

  If he was unlucky, then it would turn out that Ricky Preston didn’t work at the hotel at all. It was possible that he had simply been a guest at the hotel at the time the Landers and Mendlesons were there. In that case, it would be virtually impossible to identify him. Even though they had the dates of the two couples’ honeymoons, Ricky could have been anything from a patron at one of the eateries to a guest staying at the hotel to a shopper at the mall. There was no way they could find every person who had been present at the hotel complex.

  He had his fingers crossed he was going to be lucky.

  Xavier was also hoping a little of that luck was going to spill over into his personal life.

  Annabelle had been quiet and distant all morning. From the moment he’d woken her up, it was like she had been in a fog. She had blindly followed him to the kitchen for breakfast. He’d had to remind her several times to eat her food. Then he’d virtually had to wash her in the shower. She’d just stood there under the water spray, staring through him as though he wasn’t even there.

  On the drive to her therapist, he had attempted to engage her in conversation, but the most he could get out of her was one word answers delivered in a monotone voice. Still, from what he could tell, her session had gone well. She seemed to have perked up a little. However, he wasn’t pleased with her decision to remain home alone. So he had asked Kate to go over there and stick like glue to Annabelle until he got home tonight. Xavier was sure that Annabelle wasn’t going to be pleased about that, but that was just too bad. He couldn’t do his job if he was worried about her hurting herself. And, hopefully, the distraction would do her some good.

  Pulling into the main parking lot of the hotel complex, Xavier grabbed some paperwork from the trunk before heading for the main check-in desk, which seemed as good a place as any to begin.

  He flashed his badge at the first attendant he came across. “I'm Detective Montague. I'm looking for this guy,” he held up a picture of Ricky Preston. “Do you know him?”

  The young woman threw a quick glance at the photo and shook her head.

  Ignoring his irritation, Xavier kept his voice calm. “I really need you to look more closely. His name is Ricky Preston, but he may be going by a different name. I believe that he works here, and it’s very important that I find him. Very important,” he repeated.

  Frowning at him, but obediently giving the photo another look, she said, “Sorry, I've never seen him before, but I'm new, only been here a few days. Maybe you should speak to human resources.”

  Xavier intended to, but it would probably be quicker to identify if Ricky was an employee by someone he worked directly with. In such a large establishment, human resources probably weren’t going to recognize every single worker. “Is there someone who’s worked here longer that I could ask?” he persisted.

  Gesturing at the concierge desk, she said, “Frank has been here longer than anyone I know; you could try him.”

  Doing just that, Xavier headed straight for Frank, a short, skinny, balding man who looked to be in his early fifties. “Frank?” The man turned to look at him. “I'm Detective Montague.” He held up his badge in one hand and the picture of Ricky in the other. “I'm looking for this man; do you know him?”

  Glancing briefly at the picture Xavier held up, he said, “Oh, sure. That’s Rick. Rick Palmer. He works here.” Then the man’s gaze grew wary, “Why? Did something happen to him?”

  “Not that I'm aware of. Is he working today?”

  “No, he works nights, but tonight is his night off. Did he do something? Is that why you're looking for him?” The man’s brown eyes were wide with repulsed fascination, like he almost hoped his co-worker was indeed guilty of some horrible crime.

  “Yes, he did,” Xavier confirmed. “Could you please point me in the direction of human resources?”

  Looking a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to be given all the gory details, Frank pointed to a door marked staff only, then reluctantly returned to his work.

  Xavier hurried through the door, down a hall, and into the human resources room. Now that he had confirmation that Ricky was working here, he wanted an address ASAP. A surprised receptionist looked up as he came through the door. From the frown on her face she was clearly about to tell him that he shouldn’t be in there. Pre-empting her, he held up his badge. “I'm Detective Montague. I need to talk to someone about a hotel employee going by the name of Rick Palmer.”

  Before the receptionist could comment, an office door opened. “Did Mr. Palmer do something?” a middle-aged lady asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, he did,” Xavier replied. “And it’s extremely important that I locate him. I understand that he won't be working tonight, so I'm going to need his home address. I have a warrant for his contact information.” Thankfully, he had thought to sort that out before he turned up at the hotel. Given that Ricky Preston matched the description of the killer given by both Garton Landers and Helena Mendleson, his prints were found at the scene, and both couples had honeymooned at this hotel, it hadn't been hard to get the warrant.

  She looked doubtful. “Okay,” the woman agreed slowly, returning to her office and pulling out a file.

  Minutes later, Xavier was back in his car, speeding toward the address Ricky Preston had given his employer, and hoping that his lucky streak continued.

  * * * * *

  2:33 P.M.

  “I can't believe you didn’t call me last night.” Paige glared at him as they climbed back into the car.

  Ryan had been wondering when his partner was going to bring that up. So far they had been run off their feet all morning. They were hitting up hospitals, hoping their hypothesis that Isabella was working as a nurse would turn out to be true and one of the hospitals would recognize her. So far they were two for two and heading for the third.

  “You were tired,” he told Paige. “You needed the rest.”

  She stared at him incredulously as he pulled out into traffic. “You thought me sleeping was more important than Sofia’s stalker breaking into your home while she was there alone and she shot at him?”

  He tried not to let his terror over last night consume him. He hadn't been the one to tell Paige about last night; Rose had. Apparently, his brother’s partner had followed his advice and called Paige. Ryan wasn’t sure if Rose and Paige had talked about Paige’s stalker, but they had certainly talked about Sofia and last night’s events. And now his partner was mad at him for not calling her.

  “No, not more important.” He tried to make his
voice soothing, which apparently had the opposite effect than what he was going for because Paige’s voice went frosty.

  “Don’t try and placate me,” she snapped. “You should have called me. Sofia is my friend, not just your girlfriend.”

  “I'm sorry. I should have called; I just didn’t want to worry you, given…” He trailed off and shot her a concerned glance.

  “Don’t make me regret telling you, Ryan,” Paige was deadly serious now. “That’s why I haven’t before. I don’t want you looking at me differently. What happened with my mom was a long time ago. I'm not going to fall apart again over what’s happening now. If you don’t trust me anymore, then I'm going to ask for a new partner.”

  “What?” he asked, alarmed. He did not want a new partner. “You don’t really want a new partner, do you?”

  Paige exhaled deeply. “No. But we need to trust that we have each other’s back, and if you don’t, now that you know…”

  “I do,” he cut her off. “Paige, I do trust you. And I am sorry that I didn’t call you. I was busy panicking and I didn’t think things through properly.”

  Softening, she asked, “How’s Sofia?”

  “She’s okay. She’s scared, but she’s tough. The stalker is apparently making threats about taking care of Isabella, and I'm thinking that him taking her out could be a good thing, although Sofia would probably end up blaming herself. It’s just, I don’t see this thing with Isabella ending well.” In fact, Ryan had a feeling in his gut that the whole thing was going to end terribly.

  “If we luck out and Isabella is working as a nurse at one of these hospitals, then we could have her in custody by the end of the day. Maybe even within the hour if this one is the hospital where she works and she’s on duty,” Paige declared optimistically.

  Ryan hoped so, but he wasn’t feeling particularly optimistic this morning. Two nights back to back of virtually no sleep, plus the stress of the last few days, were taking their toll on him. If he hadn't gotten home when he had last night, then Sofia’s stalker could have done more than just scare her.