Avenging Angel

by Justine Dare

  "Yes," Regan said; "he's nearly done with the roof, so he's doing a lot of fix-up things around the place."

  "Nice." She winked. "In more ways than one."

  Regan colored again, but she didn't dodge. "He does improve the aesthetic appeal of the place, doesn't he?"

  Lynne laughed. "The flowers are beautiful, but so is he, in a very male way."

  "Yes," Regan said simply.

  "Where on earth did you find him?"

  "Mrs. Court

  did. She's paying for all of it, even though it's not in this year's budget."

  "Bless her," Lynne said, meaning it. "What's his name? Alex something?"

  "Alex Edwards. He's done a lot of work for Mrs. Court

  , so she trusts him."

  I'll just bet she does, Lynne thought, feeling more than a little irked that both Mrs. Court

  and her son were lying to this woman. She liked Regan, and the idea of her being deceived by people didn't sit well. Especially when it seemed she was interested in that piece of aesthetic value in a very personal way.

  She was tempted to blow him out of the water right now. But she also knew the kind of weight the Court name carried in this town. Maybe there was a reason for what he was doing. "Mind if I talk to him?"

  Regan gave her a startled look. "That's up to him, of course, but why?"

  "Just routine," she assured her. If Regan's wor­ried expression was anything to go by, the woman had in fact passed merely interested a ways back, Lynne thought. Which only made her less kindly inclined toward him.

  Regan walked her out to the porch and turned to go, but Lynne touched her arm to stop her. Then she called up to Alex. He tossed down a hammer and headed for the ladder.

  "I wanted to tell you both," Lynne said when he was with them, "it doesn't appear the guy that went crazy at the office has any connection to the killings, in case you were wondering."

  "I did wonder, with the knife and all," Regan said. "It didn't make sense, but then, none of it does."

  "I know. But that was an entirely different weapon. The killer uses something much bigger, probably with a curved blade."

  Regan grimaced, no doubt at the thought of some­thing bigger than the six-inch blade Jack Koslow had brandished. "Thanks for letting us know."

  Lynne nodded, flicked a glance at Alex and back to Regan. She took the hint and stepped back in­side.

  Judging by the look on Alex's face when Regan left them, some of her feelings were showing. Per­haps this wasn't the best time for this, when she was just about running on empty, but she wasn't happy with the idea of just letting this go on, either. "Problem, Detective?"

  She decided to take the shortest possible route. "That depends, Mr. Court

  ."

  He went very still. To his credit, he didn't deny it, or even ask how she'd found out. Perhaps he'd put it together himself after the encounter with the officer at the Rachel's House office.

  "There's a reason," he said.

  "Which is?"

  He glanced around as if to be certain they wouldn't be overheard. "You know the Court Cor­poration's connection to Rachel's House? In partic­ular my mother?" She nodded. "She sent me here."

  "Why?"

  "Because of your case, the Avenger."

  Lynne frowned. "Does she have reason to think anyone here is in danger from him?"

  He met her gaze levelly; he was a cool one, she thought. "No. She wanted to be sure they weren't in any danger from you."

  Lynne drew back, startled. "Me?"

  "Not you specifically, just any overzealous inves­tigator who might put more pressure on them than necessary."

  Nick, Lynne thought suddenly. He'd be the type. She pushed that aside. "And the 'Alex Edwards' ruse?"

  "It's a name I've used before, during in-house in­vestigations for CourtCorp. She asked me to come here anonymously, so that neither Regan nor the residents felt any added pressure, didn't feel as if they had to put up a good front all the time because of the financial support connection."

  "I see."

  Annoyingly, she did see. It made sense. And in fact, was a thoughtful gesture on Mrs. Court

  's part. She studied him for a long silent moment.

  "Do you do this often?"

  "I'm sort of the troubleshooter for the family business, so yeah, every now and then."

  "Do you always get personally involved with the people you're lying to?" she asked bluntly.

  Bull's-eye, she thought as her shot rattled his cool demeanor. She'd been guessing pretty well today so she'd risked it, and obviously her thought that he wasn't real happy with the situation just now had been right.

  "Did she say something to you?"

  Lynne noticed he didn't specify who he meant, which she found nearly as telling as his reaction.

  "Shouldn't you be worried whether I said some­thing to her?"

  He paled. Good, she thought, glad to see this sign that Regan's interest wasn't one-way.

  "Did you?" he asked, tension fairly humming from him.

  "Not yet," she said. "But if you plan on taking whatever's going on between you any further, I suggest you tell her yourself. She's good people, and I'd hate to see her hurt."

  "So would I," he said, and Lynne knew she hadn't imagined the harshness in his tone.

  He wasn't stupid; he'd gotten her message. De­ciding she'd meddled enough in the personal af­fairs of near-strangers, she headed for her car. But she didn't miss the way Alex Edwards aka Alexan­der Court

  turned to stare at the house.

  This visit to Rachel's House had settled her, and as soon as she was in the driver's seat she got out her phone. She called the detective secretary, and asked her to start a trace on the nine minutes after noon call she'd received on the line that had been published in the paper.

  "But... that trace has already been done."

  Lynne blinked. "It has?"

  "Yes. Your . . . Investigator Garrison already or­dered it. In fact, I believe he's already out at the ad­dress it came from."

  "Thank you," she said, feeling a bit numb as she hung up.

  Damn you, Drew.

  Just when she thought she'd dealt with the de­bris of her fractured marriage, thought she was fi­nally free and clear of the tangled emotions, he went and did something like this.

  She sat there, trying to wrestle with her feelings. It wasn't working. Distraction, she thought. She got back out of her car and walked up to the house next door. She knew Pilson was at work, and she planned to come back tomorrow to talk to him, but she fig­ured it couldn't hurt to take a look around now.

  She went to the front door just in case. He sup­posedly lived alone, but you never knew. She knocked, and rang the bell. After waiting several minutes, she started to walk around the house. She found a kitchen window and peered in. Nothing odd there, other than it was extremely tidy. She went through a side gate that went across the drive­way, but the next two windows had curtains that were closed. She walked around the back. There were shutters on two back windows, but they were slanted so that she could peek in. It appeared to be a den, with a big screen television and a computer in one corner. Here again it was very neat, not even a magazine on any of the black gloss finish, Japanese-style tables. Unusual for a man living alone, but not necessarily the sign of a sick mind, she supposed.

  The last window was blocked by a standing screen of some kind with an oriental design, so she gave up for now. She'd have to see what she could see when she came back to talk to the man. She turned to go, then realized the detached garage be­hind the house had what appeared to be a storage room behind it. She walked over there, to the win­dow beside the door, and looked in.

  She drew back sharply, her breath stuck in her throat. She blinked, then leaned forward again to look into what looked more like a shrine than a storage room.

  And hanging on one wall was a pair of crossed, curved swords.

  "Do you always do this, go to court with them?"

 
Regan leaned out from under the porch roof to look upward. She was dressed up in a neat gray suit that matched the slightly foggy sky this morning.

  "Not if they have someone else to go with them. But Donna doesn't, so I'm going."

  Alex frowned. "I thought you weren't very happy with her."

  "That has nothing to do with this."

  That was like her, he thought, to put her own feelings on hold to help someone. "What about the boy?"

  "He's over at the transitional housing child-care center for the day."

  Donna came out the front door of the house. She wore a bright red dress that made him suddenly aware of the more quiet, subtle colors Regan wore. He supposed when you had hair the color of fire it didn't do to compete with it. But all the women of Rachel's House wore quiet colors, he realized now. Maybe because they didn't want to be noticed, at least not in the way Donna's rather slinky dress hollered for attention.

  "I'm ready," she said, sounding breathless.

  Alex wondered what for, considering she looked made-up for a night on the town.

  He noticed Regan looking her up and down as well, and wondered what she was thinking. But as he would have expected, she said nothing, just picked up the satchel she'd put down when she'd come outside.

  Alex walked with them down to the sidewalk. Regan was driving them and her car was, as usual, a few doors down. But just as they reached the end of the Rachel's House walkway, a vehicle pulled up in front.

  Regan froze, and Alex sensed her tension as a man got out. Alex guessed he was in his early fifties, although just now he looked older, thanks to the dark circles under his eyes.

  "Detective Durwin," Regan whispered to him.

  That explained the eyes, Alex thought. Working a se­rial killer case probably didn't allow for much sleep.

  "Miss Keller," the man said. "Sorry to bother you, but I need to speak with a Mrs. Grant. I under­stand she's here?"

  "Why, that’s me," Donna said with an artful smile.

  "Donna, this is Detective Durwin, from Vista Shores PD," Regan introduced them noncommittally.

  "Is there someplace we can speak in private, Mrs. Grant?"

  "Oh, no, you see I'm on my way to court this morning, and we're already late."

  Durwin flicked a glance at Alex, a longer one at Regan, before he said, "You won't be needing to go to court, Mrs. Grant."

  Donna looked at him blankly. But Alex heard Regan's breath catch in the same instant his own stomach knotted.

  "What do you mean?"

  Could she be that stupid? Alex wondered. Or was she just too new to Rachel's House to have picked up on the constant aura of tension?

  "I think you'd better go back inside," Regan sug­gested.

  "No," Donna said, setting her jaw stubbornly. "I want to get this over with today. This whole thing is just too boring."

  Again Durwin looked at Regan, who tossed it right back to him with a gesture of one hand. Durwin nodded and turned back to the puzzled woman.

  "It is over, Mrs. Grant. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you your husband is dead."

  Donna stared at him. "What?"

  "Number five," Durwin said bluntly. "I don't understand." "The Avenger," Regan said quietly. Donna's eyes widened. "The Avenger? You mean that killer?"

  "We found him in the parking lot of his office early this morning," Durwin said.

  Donna's jaw gaped inelegantly. "No, that can't be."

  "I'm afraid it is, Mrs. Grant. One of his business partners made the identification."

  "But... why would that Avenger kill Richard?"

  She looked bewildered, so Regan explained gen­tly, "I know you've probably been too distracted to follow the story, Donna, but he's been killing abusers."

  She wasn't devastated. She wasn't heartbroken or gleeful. She was quite simply dumbfounded. And misgiving suddenly sparked to life in Alex's belly.

  "I know that, but why—" Donna broke off then, a look of horror spreading across her face. "No! No, it's not possible. It can't be!"

  She backed up a step, shaking her head. For the first time since he'd known her, Alex heard Regan swear.

  "Damn," she said, advancing on the woman. Alex took a step toward them, but Durwin reached out and held him back, shaking his head as he watched the two women intently.

  "It can't be," Donna said again, her voice waver­ing.

  "Why, Donna? Why can't it be that the Avenger, who only kills abusers, murdered your husband?" Alex had never seen a more distraught woman than Donna Grant in that moment. But he'd also never seen a more furious one than Regan Keller.

  "I didn't— I never meant—" Donna waved her hands helplessly.

  "I knew there was something wrong about your story, I just knew it! How dare you? How dare you come into this house under false pretenses, among these women? You used us, you used me. You even used your own son!"

  The tears started then. Regan ignored them.

  "There never was any police report, because there never was any abuse, was there?"

  Soundlessly, the broken woman shook her head.

  "Why? Why, damn you?"

  "I... he was going to divorce me. After I had his precious Ricky for him, all that pain and looking so ugly for months! He humiliated me. I wanted to take Ricky away from him, that's all."

  "And instead you've killed Ricky's father as surely as if you'd held the knife yourself."

  The reality of what had just happened sank to the pit of Alex's stomach. Thanks to this vindictive, petty woman, the Avenger had just executed an innocent man.

  CHAPTER 14

  Lynne hurried in, shut the door of her apartment, and sagged against it. It was nearly two a.m., and she'd had maybe five hours of sleep in the last forty-eight. She felt more wasted than she ever had in her life, except once.

  She doubted anything would ever surpass the night she'd lost her only child before he'd even had a chance to live. The night she'd been in pain alone, in fear alone, and finally had mourned alone. She managed to put it out of her mind for weeks, even months at a time. She put Drew and his betrayal out of her mind for even longer stretches than that.

  But that was all blown to bits now; he was not only back in her mind but back in her life, until this was over. And with him came the memory of that tiny spark of life they'd created, gone before it had really begun, leaving her with a hollow ache inside. It had lessened, over the years, but she didn't think it would ever go away completely.

  She was exhausted, but at the same time she knew the adrenaline was still too high to let her sleep. The discovery of the Avenger's fifth victim had been bad enough. The revelation that he'd been innocent of anything except poor taste in wives had been a body blow. Especially after she'd gone straight to the manufacturing plant and had found out while Pilson had indeed been working, he had also taken an hour lunch break. She didn't think so, but she was going to have to drive it, see if there had been time. If she could have stopped this, if one of those swords was indeed the murder weapon...

  They'd spent hours going over the crime scene. Again it was a commercial location, probably be­cause it made the likelihood of witnesses much lower, not to mention that the pavement kept things cleaner. And since they were dealing with outdoor areas that were unsecured for an unknown amount of time after the murder, they didn't know how many people might have contaminated the scene, leaving unrelated fingerprints, dropping cig­arette butts or beer bottles.

  Evidence? Lynne had thought as she watched the CSI tech examine a crumpled Twinkies wrapper. Or just trash?

  In the end, the area sweep results were as skimpy as usual: no fingerprints or footprints, and minimal trace evidence. One oddly shaped smear of blood on the pavement a few inches from the body. A few tiny fibers, a couple of hairs, which did no one any good without a suspect to compare them to. The consensus on all the cases so far was that the killer wore gloves, judging by the few marks they'd found. That the victims were killed at the scene, and only the victim's blood was found at the
scene. That the killer continued to pose the bod­ies after death. And that was darn near all they had.

  Lynne rubbed her eyes, almost hoping for the crash. She headed for the kitchen, thinking some­thing warm to drink might do it. She should eat, she supposed, but she didn't have the energy to fix anything. Managing some hot chocolate or even warm milk was going to be about all she could handle.

  The knock on the door made her groan. Whatever it was, she could not deal with it until she had some sleep. She headed for the door, only finding when she looked through the peephole just how right she was.

  Drew. Here. On her doorstep. In the middle of the night.

  Of course, he'd cleared the crime scene not all that long ago, too. It had been Drew who had sug­gested, after examining that odd bloody smear at the scene, that the suspect might be wearing some kind of cloth over his shoes, to avoid leaving any kind of recognizable tread print if he accidentally stepped in blood. Which meant he was as thorough and careful as they'd feared.

  He knocked again. With the light on behind her, she guessed he'd probably noticed the darkening of the peephole and knew she was here and still awake. She pondered the feasibility of simply not opening the door. But there was a slim chance he might be here for official reasons. With a sigh, she opened the door.

  Two things happened simultaneously. Drew gave her that crooked grin that had always made her heart flip-flop, and her stomach gurgled when the aroma of hot food hit her nose.

  "I was starved," he said, lifting up a bag that was clearly full of some evil and luscious fast food. An­other bag, she'd guess holding drinks, was in his other hand. "And I figured you hadn't eaten ei­ther."

  "I'm too tired to eat," she said.

  "Uh-huh," he said as her stomach loudly called her a liar. "It's all right, Lynne. I won't overstay my limited welcome."

  She was too tired to be gracious, too tired even to be rude. So she ended up saying nothing and sim­ply stepped aside to let him in.

  Without a word he walked to the coffee table in front of the big, overstuffed sofa. If he realized that under the bright yellow slipcover it was the same one they'd had in their house, he didn't react. He efficiently emptied the first bag of hamburgers, fries, and napkins. He spread out a napkin like a place mat, arranged the food, then reached for the second bag.