Gazing at her now, Robert wondered if enough was enough with her cop job, especially since she was part of the investigation into The Woods Strangler. Detective Dennis Cramer seemed to have his hands full with the case and Ashley was just another officer out there doing his grunt work and putting her life on the line. For what? To make Cramer out to be some sort of damned hero in the community?
Robert would hate to see Ashley get in over her pretty little head, with hardly any upside that he could see. Who knew what a desperate, wacko killer was capable of when backed into a corner? Especially if Ashley was the only thing standing between the killer and freedom...
Robert’s thoughts returned to the moment at hand. He sought to regain Ashley’s trust, which would require all of his courtroom skills. And then some.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Robert said as sincerely as he possibly could. When she didn’t respond, he kissed her cheek, tasting her salty tears. He hugged her trembling body and whispered, “It’s going to be all right. I promise.”
There was a part of Robert that actually believed his words. The other part feared it was only a matter of time before his temper once again flared and he hurt his wife. Until then, he would enjoy the moment and try and make her forget the dark side of him that threatened to bring them to the point of no return.
* * *
Ashley was lying on her back and Robert was on top of her doing his thing. She felt like a Stepford wife, receiving no satisfaction at all while he continued his relentless thrusts inside of her.
Robert liked to have sex after he’d abused her and asked for forgiveness. Ashley usually complied, primarily to appease him so he wouldn’t hurt her anymore. Because of that, sex was anything but pleasurable. She waited for him to finish so she could be alone.
Fortunately he was done sooner than later. He rolled off her and the alcohol he’d consumed put him right to sleep. Ashley slipped out of the bed and into her robe, leaving the room. She wondered how long it would be before Robert had another one of his violent episodes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
This time Selene did not try to keep her latest encounter with Michel from Quinn. She told him the full story when she got home from work. She could no more run away from her past than pretend it wasn’t encroaching upon her present relationship. Michel Giovanni seemed determined to stalk her and ruin her happiness.
Her biggest problem was getting him to back off before Quinn decided to take the law into his own hands. Selene knew Quinn wasn’t a violent man, but he’d become very protective of her and fearful that Michel could do something extreme and dangerous.
Selene wanted to resolve the situation peacefully. She peeked at Quinn from the passenger seat. He’d suggested they go out to eat and talk more about the threat Michel posed to her. She agreed, figuring that a more relaxed setting would lessen the tension Michel had brought into their lives.
* * *
Juanita’s Isle, the Puerto Rican restaurant where Quinn took Selene on their first date, was mostly empty this evening. It had a rustic atmosphere and, over the years, had built a reputation for its award-winning authentic Nuevo Latino cuisine.
But that wasn’t what occupied Quinn’s mind tonight. He looked across the table at his stunning wife, while thinking about her ex-husband. It seemed like Michel Giovanni intended to harass Selene until she capitulated and became his punching bag again. Though Quinn was certain that would never happen, it concerned him that Selene was being subjected to his harassment.
But what could he do? What should he do to put a stop to it? He couldn’t just sit back and allow things to happen that could only lead to tragedy and the type of gut-wrenching pain Quinn thought he would never have to experience again. It would be up to him to keep things from getting out of hand.
* * *
“I’ll get a restraining order against Michel,” Selene said nibbling on a roll. “Dennis Cramer would probably think it was a smart move.”
She’d worked with Dennis on behalf of victims of S.A.W. House and knew he had a strong interest in domestic violence, even though he was apparently unaware that one of his officers needed help.
“I’m not sure that would do much to prevent him from coming after you,” Quinn muttered glumly. “We both know that determined batterers or stalkers don’t give a damn about a piece of paper.”
“True, but it’s still how the system works.” Selene met his eyes soberly. “The police won’t act unless Michel violates the order.”
“Or attacks you,” he said. “I really think I need to have a word with him.”
That was exactly what Selene was afraid of and didn’t want to happen. “Not a good idea,” she said flatly. “Coming to blows with Michel will only get one of you hurt.”
“You mean me, don’t you?” Quinn asked self-consciously.
“I didn’t say that.”
But the thought had entered her mind. How could it not? She didn’t doubt that Quinn could more than hold his own with Michel if it came right down to it, but that wasn’t the point. Violence only produced more violence and too often resulted in fatalities. The end could never justify the means, and Selene would prefer not go down that road.
“He’s used to beating up women,” Quinn stressed. “I doubt he has the balls to pick on someone his own size.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t want you to confront Michel. You’re better than he is. Stooping to his level will only make matters worse.”
Quinn stiffened. “So what do you suggest we do? Give him free reign to follow you around as he pleases, making threats or otherwise causing you nothing but grief?”
She sighed, wishing there was a simple solution. “We hope and pray that Michel will come to his senses and just go away with no harm done.”
Yeah, right. Selene knew that all the hope and prayers in the world weren’t enough to see this through to a satisfactory conclusion, especially when Michel seemed hell bent on stirring up trouble. But, since he probably hadn’t broken any laws to date, she saw no reason for them to overreact. She preferred they do things the right way, starting with a restraining order.
Quinn believed in hope and prayer too, having relied on it to bail him out of a difficult situation on more than one occasion. But he had to balance that with reality. He knew that abusive men like Michel saw their women as possessions that they weren’t willing to relinquish completely without a fight. And if it was a fight that bastard wanted...
“Your ex isn’t going to walk away because we want him to,” Quinn said. “We’ve both seen men like him who don’t know when to quit. If he’s got his sights set on you again, we need a plan of action to deal with it. And I don’t just mean a restraining order.”
Selene stopped eating, eyeing him warily. “So what exactly do you mean—?”
Quinn hesitated. “I think you need a gun. Maybe we both do...”
Selene was stunned. They had talked about this very thing with a serial killer in their midst and had agreed that having guns in the house or carrying a concealed weapon could do more harm than good. She, for one, still held steadfastly to that idea.
Sucking in a deep breath, Selene tried to contain her irritation. “And do what with it, kill Michel? Is that what you really want?”
“I don’t want to kill him,” Quinn said. “I just don’t want him to kill you, honey. Or leave you so vulnerable that he can come and go as he pleases—till he snaps.” Quinn lowered his eyes thoughtfully. “If my first wife had been armed, maybe she would still be alive today.”
Selene was sympathetic to Quinn’s point of view. He had already gone through the horror of a wife lost to violence and didn’t want to see her dealt a similar fate. In that moment, she wondered about his first wife. Quinn hadn’t really talked much about her, saying only that they were happy before tragedy struck. She could only imagine the anguish Quinn must have endured following the death of a woman he loved so much. Having to go through the same ordeal twice in one lifetime was unthinkable.
She had no intention of making herself easy prey for Michel. Selene could see the despair in Quinn’s eyes and wondered if her love for him would be enough to overcome the deep sense of loyalty and affection she sensed he still carried for his first wife even in death.
Her thoughts returned to Michel and the conflict he was bringing to her marriage. Selene was determined not to let him succeed in coming between her and Quinn, even if she knew the battle lines were being drawn on both sides and there was no easy way out.
Leaning across the table, Selene touched Quinn’s face contemplatively. “Darling, there may have been no way to prevent what happened to your first wife. We can only look at today and tomorrow. I don’t want to live my life as a victim again. If we arm ourselves, that’s exactly what we’ll be: victims of intimidation and paranoia. I say we let the police and courts handle Michel. He’s not going to do anything to me with people around to come to my defense. I’ll be careful not to let my guard down.”
Selene tried to gauge Quinn’s expression, holding her breath, while she waited for a response.
Quinn admired his wife and her courage under fire, wishing he had the same. He reached across the table and took her hand. For now, he would meet her halfway. “All right, Selene. We’ll see if the system can work for us.” He narrowed his eyes. “But if Giovanni steps too far out of line, I won’t let him hurt you. Not ever again!”
Selene hoped it would never come to that. She knew firsthand what Michel was capable of and didn’t want to know the same about Quinn.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Selene assumed that the chimes she heard were the product of the deep dream she was in, tapping into her mind in a surreal way. When she opened her eyes, she was groggily aware of the phone ringing. Her eyes shifted to the bright red numbers on the digital clock atop the dresser.
Two-fifty A.M.
Who in the world is calling at this hour?
Selene wondered if it was an emergency at S.A.W. House. As director, she was on call twenty-four hours a day. But there was usually someone there to handle most problems that arose. Could it be something more serious?
She noticed that Quinn was still sound asleep, apparently undaunted by the intrusive sound. Not wanting to wake him, Selene carefully slid out of bed and answered the phone.
“Hello...” Selene stammered. There was no response. “Hello...” she said again.
This time Selene heard a noise resembling something scratching a rough surface; then a muffled, somewhat raspy voice said, “Your husband is responsible for the deaths of those women in The Woods...”
“What—?”
“You heard me!” The voice, which she did not recognize, was direct and implacable. It was also distinctly male.
Selene was stunned into silence for a moment. The implication of the caller’s words was almost too much to comprehend. Was he accusing Quinn of being The Woods Strangler? Or could he be referring to Michel?
“You obviously have the wrong number,” she said.
“I don’t think so!” the caller said. “This is Selene Herrera, right?”
Selene didn’t respond, since it was clear he already knew the answer. But what did that prove? Anyone could have gotten the number. As the director of S.A.W. House and a community activist against domestic violence, she was an open target for those who opposed her views.
“Who is this?” Selene demanded. She assumed it was Michel, though the voice was obviously disguised and therefore impossible to identify conclusively.
“Never mind who I am,” the man said. “The important thing is you’re sleeping with a murderer. If you don’t stop him, he’ll kill again. Mark my words...”
The line went dead.
Selene felt numb, frozen in place like a statuette. She didn’t know what to think other than it was pure rubbish, plain and simple. Yet her pulse was racing wildly and her mind swirling over the stunning accusation.
Quinn opened his eyes and mumbled, “Who’s on the phone?”
Only then did Selene realize she was still holding it. Her first instinct was to tell him that someone had called to say he was a cold-blooded serial killer. But how did one share such a vicious thing with her husband at nearly three in the morning?
“No one, honey,” she said instead, and got back into bed. “Just a wrong number.”
Quinn drew her to his body. “Well, hopefully we can both get back to sleep.”
Selene agreed, but wasn’t very optimistic. The caller had rattled her to the point where sleep seemed almost impossible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It was dark with only a solitary streetlight intruding on the wee hours of the morning. He watched the house from across the street. All the lights were out, except for one in the downstairs foyer. He crept quietly toward the house, his eyes darting from side to side for any sign of movement. It appeared that he was alone.
He made his way to the side of the house, his shoes moving silently across the damp grass, until he reached the back. A basement window was slightly ajar. He attempted to force it open all the way, but it was jammed. Not deterred, he used his elbow to rap against the window till it broke. He grabbed two large chunks of glass before they could fall inside, put them on the ground, and climbed through the hole he’d created.
The drop to the basement floor was only a few feet. It was pitch black, just as he’d anticipated. There was a mildewy smell, combined with the stench of stale cigarette smoke. He took a lighter from his pocket and flicked it on, providing just enough light to see what he was doing.
The basement was divided into several sections. One had a metal bed, another some contemporary furnishings, while others were seemingly used for storage.
He watched a mouse scurry across the floor and vanish behind a pile of boxes. Moving stealthily, he came to a stack of old newspapers. He grabbed them and spread them across the floor and onto some furniture and boxes.
Satisfied that this would get the job done, he lit sections of the newspapers and watched them quickly erupt in flames, latching onto their surroundings like leeches.
He thought he heard something or someone, so he decided to quickly vacate the premises.
He left the way he came.
Outside, he hustled around the shelter and down the street. He nearly ran into a woman who had apparently stepped outside the house to smoke a cigarette. Their eyes never met, and he was past her before she could focus on his face in the darkness.
Once he was at a safe distance, he turned to see smoke coming from the shelter and knew that his message would be delivered loud and clear.
* * *
Harriet Johnston couldn’t sleep. So what else was new? It had been that way for longer than she cared to remember. First it was due to being too battered and bruised by her husband. Then there were the horrific nightmares that followed after she’d killed him. Now it was a combination of restlessness and the arthritis that was beginning to develop in her joints.
She slipped into her robe and left the room. Descending the stairs to the main floor, Harriet thought she smelled smoke. Cigarette smoke? No, it was more like something burning.
Suddenly the smoke detectors started screeching, as if reading her mind, nearly giving Harriet a heart attack.
At about the same time, the front door burst open. Harriet recognized the woman as one of their new shelter guests.
Freda Gardner was in her early twenties and anorexic thin. Her alabaster complexion was discolored in several places from deep bruising.
“Fire!” Freda screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Where?” Harriet yelled, looking around, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
“In the basement!”
Harriet tried not to panic. She and Freda ran to the basement door. Harriet opened it slowly, only to be pushed back by a plume of thick smoke.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The phone rang again at six-ten a.m. and Selene’s eyes popped wide open. Her mind was alert, as she hadn’t been
able to sleep soundly after the last call. Her thoughts had shifted between disbelief and repeating the caller’s chilling words.
Now she feared he was calling again. She tried to will the phone to stop ringing.
After three rings, Quinn woke up. Selene sensed him looking at her in the morning light while she pretended to be asleep. He sat up and waited a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer it.
When Quinn reached across her, Selene made no attempt to stop him from grabbing the phone, deciding that this was too much for her to handle alone. She listened as Quinn practically yelled into the receiver, “Hello!”
Opening her eyes, as if his voice had given her permission, Selene waited for the ball to drop. She watched the changing expressions on Quinn’s face as he listened to the caller.
“Hold on,” Quinn said and handed the phone to Selene. “It’s for you.”
Selene gulped and asked tentatively, “Who is it this early in the morning?”
“It’s Harriet.”
A sense of relief swept over Selene that it wasn’t the man with the muffled, scary voice. Maybe he was just a crank caller after all who got some perverse thrill out of phoning women living in The Woods with such a terrible accusation, hoping for a reaction.
She took the phone, never taking the time to consider why Harriet would be phoning at this hour.
“Hi, Harriet.” Selene made her voice sound pleasant, not wanting Quinn, who was watching her, to know how terrified she had been a moment ago.
Selene’s relief vanished when Harriet told her that S.A.W. House was on fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The fire in the basement of S.A.W. House forced all of the staff and residents to evacuate. Selene and Quinn had quickly thrown on some clothes and driven to the shelter. They now watched from across the street as the Bluffs Bay Fire Department worked on extinguishing the blaze and saving the building.
Killer in The Woods: A Psychological Thriller Page 9