by Rita Herron
She smoothed down a strand of hair that had escaped her twist, stood and met Raul as he opened the door. Angry dark eyes, a sculpted face, a scar along his brow, a five-o’clock shadow and it was barely lunch—he looked tired and troubled, as if he’d been up all night. And so handsome that something low and sensual streaked through her abdomen. She wanted to soothe his stern brow. To stroke the tension from his rigid shoulders. And wipe the scowl off his face.
“Dr. Madden—”
“Jenny,” she reminded him softly.
His jaw tightened. “I have some questions for you.”
She gestured toward one of the two wing chairs facing her desk, then walked to her office chair and sat down.
“We ran a check on sexual deviants and criminals in the area, and surprise, surprise. Two of your patients’ names popped up.”
Jenny glanced down at the file on her desk. Before he even told her the names, she knew who he was referring to.
“You know I can’t discuss my patients with you, Raul. That would violate patient-doctor confidentiality.”
He slapped Judy Benson’s photograph in front of her. “We’re talking about murder, Jenny. Three so far.”
“I’m well aware of that. I was at the crime scene, remember?”
“And you know that this guy is going to kill again.”
She did know that. And she wanted to stop him, too. Didn’t want any victims’ deaths on her head. But she still had her ethics. If she lost her integrity, what did she have left?
Raul reached out, pressed his hand over hers. His voice was gruff when he spoke. “If one of these men is the killer, Jenny, you can’t protect him.”
The truth of his statement warred with her own anguish for the dead girls. “I know that, too. But unless I have reason to believe that one of my patients is a serious threat to himself or others, or that he has committed a crime, I can’t discuss their personal sessions.”
Raul wrapped his long, blunt fingers around hers and stared at her, emotions she couldn’t discern blazing in his eyes. “These men are dangerous, Jenny.”
She drew in a calming breath. “I’m very aware of that, Raul. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” His voice dropped to a lethally low tone.
“You fit the MO of his targeted victims, Jenny. What if he comes after you?”
Uploaded by Coral
Chapter Six
Anger churned through Raul. He didn’t know what had possessed him, but the very idea that Jenny Madden would protect a killer at her own expense infuriated him.
Was the woman a damn fool? Did she think she could save the world? What drove her to try to do such a thing?
The truth hit him square in the gut. She was trying to save others because her mother was ill.
Maybe he and Dr. Madden were more alike than he’d originally thought. He wanted to protect others, especially the women and children who couldn’t protect themselves. But he’d failed, and he felt as if he’d have to atone for his failures the rest of his life.
“Jenny, please,” he softened his voice, hating that he felt anything at all when anger had been his only friend for so long. He latched on to it again. “Don’t put yourself on the line here. We need you to tell us what you know about these men.”
She stared at him for a long moment, not batting an eye at the way his tone had hardened again. Instead her fingers curled inside his palm.
A strange feeling tightened his belly. He suddenly imagined meeting her at another time. Not on a case, but over a drink or dinner. On a beach with the breeze tearing her silky hair out of that sophisticated knot at her neck and running his fingers through it. When life might be different, free of violence and the threat of crazies preying on women and destroying lives.
Hell, what was he thinking? His wife had died at the hands of a madman because of a do-gooder like her.
“I understand what’s at stake, Raul,” she said in a low voice. “I’m asking you to trust me. I’m a professional.” Her breathing vibrated in the tension-filled air between them.
“If I learn that one of my patients is the man you’re looking for, I will turn him in. Until then…” Her smile was sad but her voice full of conviction. “Until then my hands are tied. If my patients can’t trust me with their confidence, I can’t help them at all.”
He worked his mouth from side to side, studying her. Wishing she’d bend. Admiring the fact that she didn’t.
And despising himself for liking her.
But hell, he didn’t want to find her in the woods with a pair of panties wrapped around her neck.
Another dead woman on his conscience was more than he could stand.
He pulled his hand away, folded his arms. “I’ll question these guys with or without your help. And if you know something and don’t come forward, I’ll charge you, too.”
Her gaze met his, steady, a silent moment passing between them that he didn’t want to explore. Finally she spoke. “Do what you have to do, Raul. And so will I.”
He gave a clipped nod, knowing that legally she was right, that he couldn’t force her to divulge confidential information. But he didn’t like it one damn bit.
Without another word, he stalked from her office. But he’d be back with more questions. Maybe with a warrant if he found something concrete on one of her patients.
JENNY LEANED BACK in her chair and closed her eyes, breathing deeply to calm the raging emotions stirring in her chest. She didn’t understand why Raul Cortez affected her so, but her knees had been knocking and her hands trembling as he’d stared at her with his intimidating eyes.
She’d been threatened before, with bodily harm and lewd sexual comments, and had learned to cope and not to react, not to be goaded. But Raul’s dark intensity and the power of his rage and determination assaulted her on a deeper level.
He wasn’t driven by a mental illness or the desire to hurt others, but by the need for justice for the victims he tried so hard to protect. By the anguish in his soul over the loss of his own wife and child.
She wanted to assuage his pain, to help him find this killer and put him away, yet her own convictions kept her rooted to the spot and silent.
How could she feel something for a man who hated everything she stood for? Who thought that by providing therapy for violent offenders and sexual predators she was somehow aiding their cause?
The image of Judy Benson’s face flashed into her head, and guilt niggled at her. Could one of her patients be the Strangler? Carl, the man in her group session with the fetish for silk and satin?
He liked power, enjoyed exerting control over his conquests. She’d requested each group member keep a daily journal of their thoughts and behavior. If she found proof that he was hurting women, she’d dismiss herself from his care and turn him in for questioning. Just as she would any patient she suspected might harm himself or others.
Her intercom buzzed, and she punched the connect button, knowing she had to get on with her day. Couldn’t dwell on Raul Cortez or the pain in his voice and eyes.
“Dr. Madden, your next appointment is here.”
She glanced at her appointment book and mentally composed herself. Thankfully Raul had already left. It wouldn’t do for Clyde Anson to see the police at her door.
She stood, brushed down her skirt, checked her jacket to make sure it was buttoned, had to look professional.
As soon as she opened the door, the big man stalked in, six-two, two hundred pounds of muscle screaming a bad attitude. “Hey, there, Doc,” he said with a lopsided grin.
With high cheekbones, a broad jaw, harsh eyes, and a body like a linebacker’s, Jenny had to admit Clyde was nice looking, could even be charming. But a devious nature lay beneath his smile.
He was also a masochist and had the scars on his body to prove it. He’d carried his sexual fantasies too far twice and a woman had nearly died. The judge had forced him to seek therapy, and he pretended to play the game, but she didn’t trust that he was since
rely dedicated to rehabilitation.
His gaze fell to the newspaper article on her desk, and his mouth widened into a full-fledged grin.
A chill skated up Jenny’s back. He fit the profile of the killer.
She gestured toward the chairs flanking her desk.
“Ladies first,” he said in a deep voice.
Jenny claimed one of the chairs, angling her body to face him. He sat across from her, leaned back as if relaxed, draping one bulky arm across the back of the chair.
Memories of his file sprang to mind—the images of the pictures of the woman he had sadistically beaten. His comments about the twisted games he liked to play.
“What is it, Doc?” His eyes twinkled. “You look uptight this morning.”
Knowing he was baiting her, she schooled her reaction. “I’m fine.” She reminded him of the safety contract and confidentiality issues.
“I got your rules, Doc,” he said with a leer. “Hands off the iceberg doc, right?”
“Respecting a person’s personal space is one step in exercising control over your actions,” she said in response.
“Physical contact is not appropriate to our relationship. We’re here to talk about your problems. Now, where would you like to start?”
“I could tell you about the girl I laid last night.” She didn’t allow smoking in her office, but still he removed a pack of cigarettes, tapped them on his thigh, then slid one between his fingers and rolled it around. “She tasted like sugar and spice and everything nice.” He hesitated and leaned toward her with a cocky look in his eyes.
“Is your relationship with her merely sexual or have you dated her before?”
“We hooked up in a club,” he said. “Man, she had on this hot little black skirt and a top that dipped down to her navel.” He whistled. “Thought I’d lose it just looking at her twitch her butt on the dance floor.”
“So you danced?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, she rubbed herself all over me.”
“You liked her?”
“I liked the way she stripped.”
Jenny maintained a steady look. He was testing to see if she’d blush or become embarrassed. But he had no idea the comments she’d heard from other patients, and this man wasn’t going to rattle her.
“She liked it rough, Doc. Liked it when I tied her up. Liked it when I blindfolded her and made her beg for me to stop.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Yeah, she told me to go harder and faster. It was part of the game,” he said. “She wanted it bad. She panted my name, begged me to hurt her.”
He balled his hand into a fist, crushing the cigarette in his palm. “So I did.”
Inside, Jenny tensed, but she stared at him deadpan.
Had his masochist behavior led him to be a cold-hearted killer?
RAUL FORCED IMAGES of Jenny from his mind as he climbed in his car and punched in Keegan’s number.
“Keegan, anything new on the case?”
“Some bartender you talked to phoned with the credit card number and name you asked for.”
“Yeah?”
“Guy’s name is Bobby Machete. Haven’t been able to locate him yet.”
“Keep looking.” Maybe Keegan would turn up something. “Do you have addresses and places of employment for Clyde Anson and Jamal Rakely?”
“Yeah, hang on a minute. I’ll pull up the info.”
Raul pulled out his pocket notebook and grabbed a pen, ready to take down the addresses and phone numbers.
“Anson rented an apartment in town, and works as a bouncer at that new club, Universal Joint.” He recited Anson’s home address, phone number and contact information for his parole officer. “Rakely works at the fish house down at the docks. He’s renting a place on Tybee.
“Do you want me to meet you to question them?” Keegan asked.
“No, I can handle it. I’ll fill you in when I’m finished.”
Keegan hung up and Raul punched in Anson’s home phone number, but received no reply. If he worked at a club, he probably wouldn’t report until later. He tried Rakely’s home but again got nothing, so he headed toward the docks. Traffic was thick with tourists and locals, and the late-afternoon sun nearly blinded him as he parked at the marina. Shrimp boats coasted in, the shrimpers dragging nets up to empty them into the vats they used to collect their day’s catches.
Normally the ocean and ships relaxed him, but the heat intensified the strong scent of fish and left a ripe stench in the air, the smell growing pungent as he approached the fish house where the fish were sorted, packed and stored for transporting to restaurants and stores. A long shack open to the public held fresh market seafood, so he stepped into it, searching for Jamal Rakely.
A robust but haggard-looking woman wearing a grimy apron stood behind a cooler display of assorted seafood. In the workroom behind her, Raul spotted a large man gutting fish.
He stepped up to the counter and identified himself. “I need to speak to Jamal Rakely.”
The door squeaked as two customers came in, and she glanced nervously at him then the customers. “Listen, is he in trouble? ’Cause we’re trying to give him a chance, but I don’t need no trouble.”
“I just want to ask him some questions, ma’am. It won’t take long.”
She gave him a wary look. “All right. But can you take it outside?”
He nodded.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned and yelled through the opening. “Jamal, someone here to see you.”
The big man turned, eyes glinting with questions in his light-brown face, a cleaver in his hand. When he saw Raul, his lips converged into a firm line of anger, but he dropped the knife, then stalked through the swinging door. He, too, wore a grimy apron, the stench of fish guts rolling off him.
Raul gestured toward the door. “Let’s step outside, Mr. Rakely.”
Rakely cut his eyes toward the woman. “Tamara, I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, and he pushed through the door, his wide shoulders stiff, sweat dripping down his neck. Scars crisscrossed his beefy arms, another long one down the side of his right cheek. Probably prison earned. Then again, maybe he’d earned them on the streets.
“What’s this about?” Rakely asked, arms crossed over his massive chest. “I’ve been to see my parole officer on time.”
Raul shrugged. “Your name came up in an investigation I’m running. Where were you Saturday night, say around midnight?”
Rakely frowned. “Got off work around ten. Went home and watched the tube.”
“Alone?”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “Yes. Why you asking?”
“A woman was murdered that night. Judy Benson. You know her?”
“No.” A sarcastic chuckle escaped him as he gestured toward the fish house. “Not unless she works here.”
“Ever been to the pub on River Street?”
“I stop in for a burger sometimes. But drinking is against my probation.”
“And you’re staying clean?”
The guy waved a hand over his apron. “Yeah, clean as it gets.”
The man the bartender described definitely didn’t fit this guy’s description. But still, he had a history of violence, had strangled his own wife.
He removed the photo of the other victims. “You know either of these women?”
Rakely studied the photos, a smile quirking his lips. “Good-looking chicks. I wouldn’t mind knowing them.”
Raul clenched his jaw. “They were both murdered.”
Rakely stiffened, then paced across the dock, the wooden boards creaking with his weight. “I knew this would happen,” he snarled. “A guy has a record, and every time some petty crime occurs, you’ll be all over my tail.”
“This wasn’t a petty crime, Rakely. These girls were strangled. That fits your MO.”
Rakely grinned, showing off a gold tooth. “Didn’t you hear? I was let out because of mental defect. Not guilty, the jury said.”
; “I’m not buying the plea,” Raul growled. “You look like you’re pretty sane to me.”
Rakely threw his head back and laughed. “Hell, that’s because this shrink is making me all better. Giving me some pills to take. Letting me cry on her couch.” He glanced at the photo again, then his face contorted with a stony look that hinted at pure meanness. “And she is pretty. Just like these girls. She could make all my problems go away if she’d let me take her to bed.”
Anger surged through Raul. Every male sexual deviant in Savannah probably thought the same thing. And he was sure some of them tried.
Trust her, she’d said.
Trusting her wasn’t the issue. This man outweighed her by over a hundred and fifty pounds, could force her to do God knows what. And she dealt with sickos like him all the time.
A vile expression darkened Rakely’s cold eyes. “Now, if you’re done with me, I got fish to gut.” He took one last look at the picture. “Better watch out, though. With Dr. Madden helping you, it’s bound to tick off this guy. She might end up dead like those girls.”
NIGHT PAINTED THE ROOM in shadows just the way he liked it. The brunette lay beneath him, tied to the bed. A little chubby for his tastes but it meant she had big breasts and enough of a butt to hold in his hands. Enough to pad her as he drove himself deeper into her flesh.
She had been so easy to seduce. Shy. Needed attention. Really a sweet girl.
Not like the others.
Or so he’d thought at first.
But once he stripped her and began to suck her breasts she’d begged him to love her.
Her cries of pleasure had spurned his own, and he’d barely rolled on the condom in time. But he had, and his secrets would be safe.
She gazed up at him, her lips swollen from his mouth, her body quaking from the orgasm he’d given her. He enjoyed giving them pleasure before he put them to death.
“Please, again,” she pleaded.
He shook his head no. The voices were already starting in his head. Telling him she was a bad girl. That he was bad for screwing her.
In his mind, time lapsed. Memories assaulted him.
The beating would come soon. The incessant scrubbing of his skin to cleanse him of his sins. The bleach to wash away the stench.