Avenging Angel

by Justine Dare

  "Good. They'd find out eventually, and it would look pretty bad if she had withheld that information."

  His mother nodded. "That's what I told her. She already knew she was going to have to call them, but she wanted to talk to me first. I appreciated that."

  "Looks like you were right about her." "Yes. She's smart, and competent." "And she's dedicated to your cause," Alex pointed out.

  "It's her cause, too. But most important, she doesn't panic in an emergency. Now, the police will no doubt want all the Rachel's House records. I want you to see that one of our lawyers handles that process. I don't want to stand in the way of the investigation, but I won't have those women endangered unnecessarily."

  Alex nodded just as Grimm returned from the gate to announce they would begin boarding mo­mentarily. Alex suspected this had all been per­fectly timed.

  "So, what am I supposed to do that the police aren't doing?" he asked.

  "The police are focused on finding the killer."

  "I would hope so."

  "I want you to be at Rachel's House."

  Alex blinked. "What?"

  "I want you to be there as much as possible with­out raising suspicion. I want everyone there pro­tected."

  Alex hesitated. Rachel's House was his mother's most passionate cause, so he chose his words carefully.

  "Am I missing something? It seems for once it's not the women who need protecting here. Not," he added quickly, "that I'm saying guys like that deserve protection."

  "Protected from everything," she amended.

  He got it then. "You mean keep them from being intimidated by any overzealous investigators?"

  "Chief Raines assures me his best people are on it, but I want to be sure those women don't have to face this ordeal alone. I've arranged for you to take the place of a workman they're already expecting."

  "Mrs. Court

  ?" Grimm asked, stiffly formal as al­ways. "They are finished preboarding, and are boarding first class now."

  She stood up, nodding. "Alexander is just leaving." She looked back at her son. "Gerard"—his mother was the only one who called the redoubtable Grimm by his first name—"will give you any details that aren't in the file. I want regular re­ports. I'll be at the Marvilles' flat when I get to Lon­don."

  Alex sighed and gave in. It would be nice to be home for a while.

  "When will you be back?" 'Ten days."

  He got to his feet, wished his mother a safe trip, and headed for the door. Then she called his name. He stopped, looking back at her.

  "Be careful," she said. She seemed to hesitate, so odd in his decisive mother that he took a step back toward her. She waved him off.

  "Just don't forget there's a killer out there."

  She knew the moment she heard him that it was going to happen again. His voice had that edge, that biting, angry tone that told her he was looking for someone to take his anger out on. And that someone was always her.

  She wondered what it was this time. Instinctively she reviewed her own actions since she'd last seen him, searching for anything she could have done that would have set him off. She couldn't think of anything, but then, she rarely knew what would hit him wrong until it was too late.

  Perhaps someone at the office had given him some sass, or the parking valet hadn't treated his precious new car with the proper respect. Worse yet, perhaps the mail carrier had bent the corners on his precious golf magazine.

  The string of invective that he poured over her doused any tiny hope she had left. She knew the way things would go now. Knew it too well. When the curses finally slowed, the beating would begin. And only after that would she find out what she'd done. And by then she wouldn't care.

  "You stupid, fat bitch, you knew I'd find out. I al­ways find out. You know you're not smart enough to hide anything from me."

  She stayed silent, knowing that even trying to speak in her defense—although she still had no idea what the charge was—would only antagonize him faster. Pointing out she was not fat, but thin to the point of emaciation because she couldn't keep food down, would have the same result.

  Getting to her feet would likely get her killed.

  She waited. Seated. Head bowed. She knew the drill.

  He came to a halt before her. So close all she could see were his knees, clad in the expensive silk blend fabric of his suit.

  "I told you what would happen the next time you tried anything, didn't I?"

  She held her breath, trying to decide if now was the time to begin the inevitable process. But she couldn't do it. She'd been too long out of the habit of making decisions.

  "Didn't I?"

  He was towering over her now. He was so much bigger than she, so much stronger. And like in any part of the animal world, the biggest and strongest always won. Any nature show could tell you that.

  Out of the corner of one eye she saw his hands flexing, fingers curling. Soon they would be fists. She saw the glint of light on the huge, showy diamond ring he wore. Could almost feel already the tearing of her flesh as the cold, impervious stone ripped through her skin.

  "You didn't really think you could get away with it, did you? You?"

  She felt herself begin to shut down. Preparing. Not bracing, for it did no good. Not even trying to figure out what she'd done this time. She'd given up on that long ago.

  "Do you really think he wouldn't tell me? Don't you know you can't hide from me?"

  She knew that. Too well. She'd tried so hard, wishing she could simply disappear, even if it meant she could never return. Surely just... end­ing would be better than this.

  "Where did you get the money?"

  Money? She had none. Ever. He saw to that.

  "Did you steal it?"

  She recoiled. As if she'd have the nerve to steal. "You forgot who runs this house, didn't you? You forgot who you answer to." "I could never forget."

  It was tiny, pitiful, certainly not worth what happened next. She knew it would be the trigger the moment she whispered the words under her breath, but they escaped anyway.

  She saw him move in the instant before pain flashed in her head. She felt her body lift, but didn't try to catch herself before she hit the floor; it would only enrage him further. She tasted blood, her familiar companion. Not the worst blow she'd felt in her life with this man she'd once loved, and who had once sworn to love and honor her, but far from the lightest, if there was such a thing.

  "Get up."

  She couldn't move.

  "I said get up! Get up and explain to me how you dared do this."

  She knew she would pay for it, but she simply couldn't move. And in the next moment she saw his leg move. She cried out before his foot even made contact, knowing the fierceness of the pain to come. It exploded in her chest as his foot con­nected. She felt the fire spread, knew he'd at least cracked a rib this time.

  "I was stupid," she croaked out, taking a wild stab at any words that would placate him. "Please, I'm sorry, so sorry, I'll never do it again." Her pleading was simply fuel to his fire.

  "You're damned right you won't, you stupid bitch."

  He reached down, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to her feet. She screamed as agony seared her side. He slapped her, the other side of her face this time. Then the first again. She felt her lip split, and realized with bitter irony that she was silently tallying how long she would have to hide indoors this time.

  Push him, she told herself. Make him madder, mad enough to put an end to this forever. Do it.

  She couldn't. She didn't have the courage. She was vaguely surprised she'd even had the nerve to think it.

  "—know you are never to do that. I decide what William gets, I decide when, and I give it to him."

  William? This was about their son? Something she'd done for their son?

  But she hadn't, she knew better, she— Dear God. The crayons? It couldn't be. Could it? The child had wailed for them, in the grocery store, and to quiet him—the last thing she'd needed was for him to
hear about a scene in a public place. So she'd put them in the cart, with barely a thought for the fact they hadn't been on the list he always prepared for her. It was for his son, so he wouldn't get mad.

  Or so she'd thought.

  She had to ask. She knew better, but she had to ask, had to know if her life had truly deteriorated to this. Stealing from him, when all she'd done was buy their son the simplest of toys? But then she remembered what he considered stealing; anything that involved her making a decision on her own, even if it was to spend less than a dollar on something he hadn't approved.

  "The crayons? You can't be talking about the crayons?"

  At her disbelief, his anger erupted. He hit her again, and again, and again. She knew this was going to be the worst of all, wondered if perhaps he would truly kill her this time. And for the first time in a very long time, she cared. She didn't want him to kill her, not now, because she was feeling some­thing she hadn't felt in so very long ... anger.

  It was the smallest of flickers, a tiny flame deep inside that place where she buried all thought of unfairness, but it was there, and it warmed her.

  CHAPTER 2

  Detective Lynrte Garrison finished transcribing her notes, then sat back in her chair, tapping her lips with her forefinger. Regan Keller hadn't sounded happy during the call Lynne had just finished documenting for her report. The woman had frankly confessed she was torn, and Lynne had under­stood. Regan wanted to protect her residents, but her father had been a cop.

  They would have discovered the connection to Rachel's House eventually, but they'd just been saved time that was precious in a case like this one. Up until now, they'd been reduced to trying to track down every person who had ever threatened an abuser, and there were so many of those it could take them until Thanksgiving.

  "You ready, Garrison?"

  Ben Durwin's words were laden with sarcasm and abrasiveness. At fifty-three, he was the crankiest man under seventy she'd ever known. Lynne was thankful they were only assigned together temporarily for this case.

  Of course, being assigned to a serial killer investigation when she was supposed to handle sex crimes and domestic violence was a trial by fire in itself. But that's what happened in a small department that didn't have a dedicated homicide detective. Everybody had to pitch in.

  "In a minute," she said. She walked off without further comment, ignoring his grumbling as she headed for Captain Greer's office. The door was open, so she paused in the doorway.

  "Captain? Got a minute?"

  The detective division commander looked up, a smile creasing his dark face. "Lynne, good. I was about to come looking for you. This came in." He handed her a file.

  The moment she opened to the first page, she knew what it was. She didn't need to look at the boldly scrawled signature to confirm it. There was only one homicide expert from the sheriff's office who could also provide them with a profile on their serial killer. It was almost inevitable that Drew would get involved.

  "Good," was all she said. "I'll make sure Ben reads it, whether he believes in them or not."

  Greer smiled, and Lynne wondered if he was relieved that she hadn't reacted. If he was, he didn't say so, only asked, "What did you need?"

  "Do you remember a cop here named Keller, from a ways back?"

  John Greer laid down the pen he'd been holding. "Patrick Keller?"

  "I'm not sure. Daughter named Regan?"

  Greer nodded. "God, yes. Pat Keller. Damn fine cop, and a better man. He was killed, line of duty, must be fifteen, twenty years ago now. Boy, time flies." He frowned. "His kid's not in trouble, is she?"

  Lynne thought better of pointing out that Regan Keller was hardly a kid anymore. "No. She called me about the case. She's running a battered women's shelter now."

  Greer looked thoughtful, then nodded. "That wouldn't surprise me. I remember Pat talking about how she was always bringing home injured animals. And after he bought it that way ..."

  Lynne lifted a brow at him.

  "It was a four-fifteen family," he said. "A chronic disturbance, one we'd been to a dozen times. We'd arrest the guy, but the woman kept dropping the charges and taking him back. This was back when the victim had to prosecute."

  Lynne frowned. "He bought it on a domestic violence call?"

  "He was first on the scene, and never had a chance. The guy came out firing. Pat took him out with a shot to the head, but it was too late. By then he was hit."

  Lynne shuddered. It was every cop's nightmare. You rolled on so many family disturbances that turned into nothing, you couldn't help but let down after a while. You couldn't psych up for the worst every time. But it only took once. One time when you weren't ready, and the worst really did happen. Then your friends were listening to taps, "Amazing Grace" on those mournful pipes, and a motorcade of cops was saying good-bye to another member of the family.

  "There's something else," Captain Greer said, brows furrowed, "something about a friend of hers being murdered by a boyfriend, too, while she was in college. I can't remember any more details."

  "Well, that'd be enough to give you a cause," Lynne said.

  Greer nodded. "It's probably her way of coping. If you talk to her again, tell her hello. God, I remember her and my boy playing in our pool, seems like just the other day. In fact, what's the name of the place?"

  "It's Rachel's House ..."

  "Sometime today, Garrison! We've got people to see!" Ben yelled across the detective division office, then stalked out the door toward the parking lot.

  "He getting on your nerves?" Greer asked when Lynne winced.

  "Only when I bring them."

  Greer grinned. "You know, he's not really a sex­ist, he hates everybody. Until you earn his respect."

  "I may not live that long," Lynne said dryly.

  Greer laughed, and waved her out of the office. She headed toward the door Durwin had used.

  "Hey, honey, want me to knock the old geezer on his butt for you?"

  Lynne turned to look at Nick Kelso, auto-theft detective extraordinaire. Tall, blond, good-looking, Nick was the division charmer and knew it. He considered himself gallant as well, always offering to slay dragons—or anything else that bothered them—for just about any woman he met.

  "No, thanks, Mr. White Knight. I'm saving the pleasure for myself."

  Lynne wondered how the world could produce two such different men, grumpy Ben and charming Nick.

  What I should be wondering about is how the world can produce men who batter the people they supposedly love, she thought as she trotted down the outside stairs to the secured lot where the department vehi­cles were parked.

  She knew it was her job to find who was killing those men. She would do her job, as she always did. It was just that this time, some of her enthusiasm was missing.

  "I know . . . you think . . . I'm crazy, especially after last week, but... I..."

  "I know," Regan said, her voice quiet, soothing as Dawn hiccuped between her sobs. The petite brunette was usually lovely, but weeping had reddened her hazel eyes. "It's all right to cry. You still loved him, a little bit."

  "I know it's stupid, but... he could be so sweet."

  "Yes, he could." They all could, Regan added silently.

  But right now all Dawn needed was comforting. "It's natural to feel this way. You spent nearly six years with him, since you were twenty. He was a big part of your life, even if sometimes a bad part."

  There was a gentle knock at the door to Dawn's room. Dawn shuddered, and pushed bangs that were too long back out of her eyes. She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and seemed to try to pull herself together.

  "Dawn?" The voice from the other side of the door was tentative but familiar.

  "Mitch," Regan said. "Shall I let him in?"

  Dawn nodded, wiping her eyes again. Regan rose and opened the door. She was met by a sweet scent and a huge spray of flowers, arranged in a jar with the gardener's usual artful touch. He was nice-looking in a quiet way, of average hei
ght, but strong and fit from his work. He was also deeply tanned from his work outside, with mouse brown hair that took on a golden glint in the summer sun.

  "I just thought these might help," he said.

  "Thank you," Dawn whispered.

  Mitch set the jar down carefully on the dresser. Then he looked at the weeping woman. "It will be all right," he said.

  Dawn nodded, and gulped. "I— I know, Mitch."

  Regan smiled at him, and squeezed his arm in silent thanks. He smiled back at her, gave Dawn another concerned glance, then left, easing the door shut as he went.

  Regan looked back at Dawn, who was staring at the bright, cheerful bouquet.

  "Do you want me to stay, or would you rather be alone?"

  "Alone, I think."

  But when she reached for the doorknob, Dawn stopped her. "Regan?" She turned back. Dawn hes­itated. She bit her lip, then asked, "Was it really ... that killer?"

  "That's what they think."

  Another moment passed. Then, in a very low voice, "It's hard to know how to feel."

  "Free," Regan suggested. "But that doesn't mean you can't be sad, too. Any death deserves that much. And to you, this wasn't just any death."

  For just a moment Dawn met her gaze. "You re­ally do understand. But you've never been there."

  "Someone very dear to me was." Regan pulled open the door, then added pointedly, "And she wasn't as lucky as you. We had to bury her."

  Regan closed the door quietly behind her, leav­ing the distraught Dawn to her thoughts. She really did understand. She knew how it worked, that a woman in even the worst kind of relationship could be so desperate to salvage it she would sacri­fice anything. Her health, her life, sometimes even the lives of her own children.

  She sighed as she headed back downstairs. So many nights she had sat up with Rachel, listening and trying to be supportive as she talked about how Carl could be such a nice guy, and how sure she was he would be again, as soon as he worked out what was bothering him. When all the while Regan had been silently screaming, "Wake up! He's not going to change. This is who he is, who he'll always be!"

  But the one time she had said it aloud, Rachel had gotten furious with her, and it had taken a long time to mend the rift. They had mended it, but three months later, Rachel was dead. Brutally murdered by the man she'd always defended.