by Anne Stuart
David simply smiled. “Come for dinner tonight. We need to spend time together, and this way it’ll keep her mind off the new murder.”
“So we can be like a normal, happy family?”
“We are a normal, happy family, Caleb. Haven’t you noticed? All we needed was for you to come home again. And you did.”
“If you say so,” Caleb said. “What makes you think Rachel wants anything to do with me? Maybe she has other plans.”
David shook his head. “Rachel wants whatever I want. And she would never leave. She knows it would distress me, and she has very fond feelings for me. And besides, if she left I’d simply go with her.”
Caleb should have expected it, but the ice at the pit of his stomach was like a lump. “Stay here with me, David,” he said, suddenly urgent. “We can fight this together. We can stop this.”
David shook his head, stepping back into his car. “Too late, big brother. Years too late. Come to dinner. I don’t think Sophie will be there—my wife doesn’t trust you around her. Which is silly—you never liked the young, innocent ones.” There was a pause. “I do.”
He gave his brother an angelic smile. “We’ll see you about seven.” And he pulled out into the road, heading off at his usual, decorous pace.
Caleb stood motionless, watching his brother drive away. When he realized belatedly that his hand was clenched in a fist, and he consciously relaxed it, taking a deep, calming breath. He’d waited too long, turned his back on the truth for too many years. There was blood on his hands, blood on his conscience.
Because he’d left.
But that time was past. He’d meant it—no one else was going to be hurt. No one. The only kind of penance he could pay was to keep it from happening again.
And he would. No matter how bloody the price.
David Middleton whistled a tuneless little song beneath his breath as he drove back into town, a feeling of well-being coursing through his body. He’d felt much better since he’d given up eating meat—a body free from animal pollutants was much more attuned to the dark beauty of life.
He glanced in his rearview mirror. Caleb was still standing there, and David knew he should feel sorrow and regret. Caleb so wanted to help.
But Caleb didn’t understand that his baby brother didn’t need help. He wasn’t delusional, or even terribly dangerous. He did what he had to do, what gave him pleasure, and he was very, very careful. He never hurt them if he could help it—fast and efficient was his code and his pride.
Caleb wouldn’t understand his fascination. Nor would he appreciate that he never had sex with them until they were already dead. He considered it quite kind of him—he’d studied enough to know that the most exquisite pleasure would be at the point of death, not afterward. But he spared them that. Just a few moments of blind panic, and then it was over for them. And then he could enjoy himself.
He always came at them from the back. He’d tried it once, strangling her while he was facing her, and it had been quite unsettling. So much so, that he hadn’t been able to have sex. In the end, though, that had been a blessing. No one connected that death with the other victims of the serial killer who preyed on young women.
The one thing that bothered him was that they hadn’t come up with a proper name for him. The Green River Killer, the Hillside Strangler, the Zodiac Killer. All of those had a certain ring to them.
Then again, Ted Bundy had never had any particular name, and he was the best of the best. And despite the commonly held belief that Bundy was brilliant, in fact, his IQ was a pathetic 124. If a man of middling intelligence could get away with his hobby for such a long time then David, with his own far more impressive 140, should have no trouble at all.
He whistled as he drove through the soft mist, watching it swirl across the rain-dark road like a woman’s long flow of hair. His older brother thought he’d made a mistake, but he’d always known exactly what he was doing. Even his recent overeagerness, his increased appetites, all played into a master plan. It was always foolish to underestimate him. They all had over the years. It worked to his advantage so well that it no longer offended him. Things were unfolding just as he had ordained, and by the time Caleb realized he’d been set up it would be too late.
He switched on the radio. The college station was playing the Mozart requiem, presumably in honor of the latest victim, a decomposed body found floating downstream from the falls. He whistled along as he drove, at peace with the world.
The sound of the police siren broke through Rachel’s panic, and she took her foot off the gas pedal, slowing to a guilty stop, cursing beneath her breath. All she could think about was getting to Sophie—she must have been going sixty in a thirty-mile-an-hour speed zone. She clutched the steering wheel tightly, knowing the drill, only to look up to meet Maggie Bannister’s stern face.
“Do you know how fast—?”
“Oh, shit, Maggie! Where’s Sophie? And what the hell are you doing making traffic stops when there’s been a second murder?”
Maggie grimaced. “Sophie’s fine. You don’t think I’d let her be in any danger, do you? She and Kristen are both at the station, playing on their computers. It’s you I’m worried about. I knew you’d panic, given your history. And considering how fast you were driving…”
“Oh, fuck my driving. I need to see Sophie.”
“I told you, she’s fine,” Maggie said grimly. “She knows you’re coming for her, and she’s taking all this mess a hell of a lot more calmly than you are. I should have your ass for speeding.”
“Screw that.”
“I can’t do that. This is my new job.”
“What?”
“Second dead body. Presumably another murder, though we won’t know for certain until the autopsy. But it ties in with the killings in other parts of the country. So far we have the FBI coming in and taking over, treating me like a secretary, so chances are we’ve got bigger fish as well. There have even been suspicious cases outside the country.”
Rachel stared at her, her mouth dry, her heart racing. “So they think this is a full-blown serial killer?”
Maggie nodded. “Which is good news. It means that it’s a stranger, not anyone we know. Some FBI asshole named Johnson has taken over the case, and he’s not interested in my opinions—I’m on traffic duty until they decide the killer’s moved on.”
“How do we know that? David said a new girl had just been found.”
“David told you that, did he? And where were you when he passed on that information?” Maggie said in her brusque, even voice.
Rachel stared at her. “Does it matter?”
Maggie was a master of implacability. “I’m curious about everything. I may be off the case but that doesn’t mean I’m letting go. This is my town, my people, and I’m looking out for them.”
“But you can’t think David had anything to do with it?”
“I told you, I’m just curious. I want to see how the news spreads. David told you, and then you told…anyone?”
“I had just come down the mountain from his brother’s house. He told us both, and then I took off.” She tried to tell herself that didn’t sound damning.
“You mind me asking, as a friend, what you were doing with our local bad boy? Caleb’s not the kind of man young wives should hang around with. Particularly if they’re married to his brother. Those two had a rivalry going on that would put World War Two to shame. Any fool could see that it was mainly one-sided. One brother just couldn’t stand it when the other one got attention.”
“It’s no big deal. I’d climbed up the falls and I didn’t have time to get back down without catching a ride. Fortunately Caleb was up there. Whose side?”
“Huh? Oh, who was the competitive one? I think I’ll leave you time to figure it out. If I were you I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions.” She took a step back. “You know, I ought to give you one hell of a ticket, but I figure you’ve got extenuating circumstances. Just don’t do it again.” Maggie’s voice
was stern.
“Yes, ma’am. Do you want me to bring Kristen with us when I pick up Sophie?”
For a moment Maggie hesitated. “Sure,” she said finally. “Just keep a close eye on them. If this is the same man who’s killed young women all through the Northwest then presumably he’s long gone. But you can’t be too careful.”
“How could he be long gone if there’s a new body?”
“She’d been dead for a while, though she only recently hit the water. We’re not even sure who she is. If the FBI knows, they’re not telling. I don’t know where she’s been stashed all this time but she sure didn’t smell pretty.”
“Oh, God,” Rachel said faintly.
“Yeah.” Maggie’s voice was grim. “I’ll be by as soon as I get off work. Just don’t leave them alone. You stay with them, okay?”
“Okay,” Rachel said. “I’ll feed them dinner.”
“I get off at five—I can pick her up then. And why don’t you let me take Sophie back with me? You know how good they are together. They can give each other support.”
“I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“I’m offering. In fact, I’m insisting. Kristen’s a bit of a drama queen, and Sophie calms her down. So don’t you worry about dinner. I’ll get pizza and we’ll watch some dumb teenage comedy and everything will be fine.” Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m worried about you. I think you need a break without having to worry about Sophie.”
“Easier said than done.” She wanted to deny that she needed help—she’d been on her own for so long she wasn’t used to having someone else she could depend on. Which was a funny way to think, considering she was newly married.
“That sounds good,” she said after a moment. “And don’t worry about us. If things get too stressful I can always take Sophie and leave town for a little while. We haven’t been away from here in the four months since we arrived.”
For a moment Maggie didn’t say anything. “That might be a good idea. Are you going to tell David where you’re going?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She looked at Maggie. “Seriously, is there a reason why I shouldn’t? You’d tell me if there was?”
“I have no reason to tell you not to tell David where you’re going,” Maggie said carefully.
“Maybe he could even come with us.”
Maggie didn’t blink. “Maybe.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Maggie Bannister?”
“I’m telling you everything I can tell you. If I were you I’d be very careful who I trusted in this town. People are never exactly what you think they are.”
“Are you talking about David? Or Caleb?”
“I wish I knew the answer to that, Rachel. I truly do. Keep a close eye on the girls, will you?”
“At least tell me whether we’re safe or not.”
“As far as I can prove, you’re completely safe,” Maggie said, getting back in her patrol car. “Just be careful.”
The house was still and quiet once Maggie picked up Kristen and Sophie. Rachel had done everything she could to talk Sophie into staying home, but Maggie was right—she and Kristen were really doing so much better together, going with the kind of cold-blooded ghoulishness that only teenagers could possess. By the time Maggie came to pick them up they’d moved on to a critical discussion of the relative hotness of the junior varsity soccer team. She watched them leave, Sophie’s long blond hair tangled down her back, Kristen’s dark waves beside hers, bumping into each other deliberately as they walked. They looked so innocent, so normal, so untouched.
That was why she’d come here, why she’d married David Middleton in the first place. To provide a safe, traditional, normal environment for her daughter.
And now, in this cold, rain-drenched, perfect little town nestled in the shadows of Silver Mountain, it was almost as bad as San Francisco had been. At least Sophie hadn’t known the victims, and with the resiliency of youth she seemed to have forgotten that less than six months ago she’d lost her best friend in a similar manner. There were times when Rachel would have given ten years off her life for Sophie’s calm nature.
She waved to Maggie, still in the patrol car, and shut the door behind them. The house was dark except for the lights left on in the family room, and she could hear the voices from the television. She started going through the house, turning on every light she could find. Most of them were those damned energy-efficient models that only cast a cool blue light. She was all for saving the planet but living in this drab darkness was enough to send her over the edge.
Once every one was lit the place looked a little less gloomy. David’s Mayan death masks on the wall weren’t as threatening, the twisted iron floor lamps not as tortured. She moved back to turn off the TV, then thought better of it. The noise, the motion was a companion, making the house seem marginally cheerier. She switched from Jerry Springer to HGTV, then headed back to the kitchen to survey the massive refrigerator David had bought her. The refrigerator that never held enough food, since David abhorred waste.
A nice rare steak and some asparagus would have been perfect, accompanied by a good cabernet. They could light the gas pilot in the fireplace, stretch out on the thick Berber carpet and have a wickedly indulgent time of it. Except that David no longer ate red meat. Or fish. Or chicken. He grew pale at the thought of blood and animal flesh made him ill. How the hell was she going to come up with a romantic dinner on a vegetarian diet?
She’d go for a quiche or pasta but now he was toying with the idea of cutting out eggs and cheese. She’d have to make do with some kind of twigs and berries. He refused to eat anything with a face on it, and while she admired his ethics, there were times when her own cravings just got too strong. He was a far better person than she was.
There were Mint Milanos hidden behind the crock of whole-wheat flour, ostensibly bought for Sophie. Considering that she kept going through the packages and replacing them before she got to pass them along, she should have known better, but the latest package hadn’t been opened. She ripped it apart, shoved one in her mouth, letting the richness of the chocolate slide across her tongue, and she took the first deep breath she’d taken in hours. In a world with chocolate, nothing could ever be that bad.
So, nuts and fruits and berries and twiggy grains for dinner, washed down with a nice cabernet. Or should she go white for twigs? The one thing she could do was make herself as irresistible as possible, and then maybe David wouldn’t care so much about food.
She double locked the front door, then headed into her private bathroom, stripping off her clothes and climbing into the shower. Soap was a turn-on for David—in fact, he usually liked her to shower just before they had sex, and then immediately after. Which always managed to ruin the mood for her, just a bit, but he had a few hang-ups he still had to work out. She could be patient. After all, it wasn’t as if she was the epitome of sexuality herself. Pleasant was good enough.
Hot sex usually led to disaster, and she hadn’t had an orgasm since Jared had taken off so long ago. Then again, how could anything that brought her Sophie ever be considered a disaster?
She took a long, leisurely shower. This would be a perfect time to get past the unpleasantness of the night before. Maybe they could bring their relationship to a new level—he was oddly shy, never letting her see him without clothes. Maybe, without Sophie around, he could relax, maybe consider something new.
Tonight would improve things. Whether she was in the mood or not. She washed her hair and let it hang down her back—when it dried it would be a riot of curls but right then the weight of the dampness kept it relatively straight, another thing David liked.
Unbidden, the memory of Caleb Middleton’s outrageous question came back to her. “Does he go down on you?”
He probably already knew the answer. David was sedate and pleasant. They made love in the darkness, politely, infrequently, and his performance issues were recurrent. Which was fine with Rachel. David was gentle, loving, always thoughtful. It would
be ridiculous to expect more—she doubted more even existed.
She pulled on a long, flowing skirt from Thailand and the sexiest top she still had—a clinging silk knit over the last Victoria’s Secret bra she owned. She looked damned good in that underwear, and to top it off she put on her favorite pair of silver earrings, the ones that brushed her shoulders.
She was just finishing up her makeup when she saw the headlights in the driveway, and she rushed out of her room, a little nervous, a little edgy. She’d already opened the wine. The fruit was washed and set out, along with the grain mixture that David swore by. The message light was flashing—someone must have called while she was in the shower—but she could hear David at the door. The message could wait.
She tugged her shirt lower, so that the swell of her breasts was appetizingly visible, then bit her lips to redden them in lieu of the lipstick David hated.
She didn’t even wait for him to put the key in the door. She flung it open, saying, “Hello, sexy.”
And looked straight into Caleb Middleton’s dark, unreadable eyes.
8
“Sorry to spoil your plans, sweetheart,” Caleb said. “But all this is wasted on me. You had me at hello.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Rachel snapped.
“Don’t let David hear you say that,” he said, moving past her. The small hallway led into a wide rectangle of a living room, all angles and planes and gleaming wood floors and not a speck of dust. A fire was lit, there were candles burning and the table was set for two. He left his shoes on when he knew David insisted on their removal at the door, tossing his battered leather jacket over a chair. “Where is he, by the way?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” she grumbled. To his surprise she didn’t automatically sweep up his coat and hang it in the closet, the way David would have done, and she didn’t give him shit about his shoes. David hadn’t brainwashed her completely. Maybe there was hope for her after all. “And what are you doing here?”