by Justine Dare
CHAPTER 16
"Regan?"
She looked up, fear spiking through her at the unusual note in Marita's voice. But the woman in the office doorway was staring down at some papers in her hand, something Regan guessed had come in the noon mail, given the manila envelope Marita also held. Regan got up and walked quickly over to her.
"What is it, Marita?"
The woman looked up then, her dark eyes full of conflicting emotions. "It's final. My divorce is final."
Congratulations, Regan thought, but the confusion in Marita's eyes kept her from saying it aloud. This woman had become a friend and a colleague in her nearly six months here at Rachel's House, and Regan knew that while it was what she wanted, it was also the final grieving for what could have been.
It also marked the arrival of the self-imposed deadline Marita had set. She'd said all along that when her divorce was final, it would be time to move on, begin a new life.
"I know it's bittersweet, Marita. But now you can start over. There's nothing tying you to him."
"I don't want to leave here," Marita admitted. "This has become my home."
"I don't want you to leave," Regan said. "I'll miss you terribly."
Marita's mouth twisted. "There's a 'however' attached to that, though, isn't there?"
Regan hugged her. "You know you can't stay forever. You can't keep hiding. You have to move on with your life."
"I know."
"And once you get out on your own, your outlook will change."
"Maybe."
"And someday, if you still want to come back, maybe I can convince Mrs. Court
to make what you've been doing anyway a paying job."
Marita's eyes brightened. "You'd do that?"
"I would. But you might want to think about helping start your own Rachel's House, in a place that doesn't have one."
"I could never do that."
"You could, Marita. You've learned so much since you've been here. You might have to go to school and add some organizational and business skills, but you can do it."
"You think?" she asked.
"I know," Regan answered. "Don't let him keep holding you back even when he's not around anymore. You can do anything you want now. Anything."
Hope crept into Marita's eyes. And Regan knew as long as she could hold on to that hope, she had a chance.
Grimm opened the doors of the library that served as her office just as Alexander was coming in.
"Good morning, sir," Grimm said, and exited. Alexander stared after him, then turned to his mother.
"Did he just call me sir?"
"I believe so. Sit down, Alexander."
Still looking perplexed, her son took the indicated chair.
"All's quiet on the serial killer front."
"So I've gathered, but that's not what I asked you to come over for."
"Breakfast, then?" he asked, looking hopeful. "Or brunch," he amended with a glance at his watch. "Would you let me take you to brunch?"
"Brunch with my handsome son? I'd like that. It's been far too long." His surprise at her acceptance told her she had truly let things go for too long. "I'll call the Shores Grill, and have them save my regular table."
His change of expression stopped her in the act of reaching for the phone.
"Problem?"
"Thaf s across the street from the Rachel's House off-site office." "Yes, I know."
"Regan often goes over there on Saturday, to catch up." "So?"
For the first time since he'd been about twelve, he squirmed in the chair. "She might see us together."
Now, this was interesting, she thought. "Really, Alexander, the timing it would take for that to happen is a bit of a stretch, isn't it?"
He sighed. "I guess."
"Besides, you said you were going to tell her the truth anyway, because the detective already knew. Haven't you?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I know I have to." He grimaced. "But I don't want her to know I've been lying to her."
There was obviously more to it than that. She'd suspected it even as he'd used the excuse of Detective Garrison having found him out. Now she was even more certain. She could see it in his eyes— when he wasn't dodging looking at her. Yes, very interesting, Lillian thought.
"Then why must she know? When this is over, you simply depart, your work finished, correct? It's not as if you make a habit of attending the Rachel's House fund-raisers or annual parties where you might see her again."
She thought he winced, but the expression was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure. "No, it's not." He stood up abruptly. "Let's just go, Mom. I'm hungry."
They took her Mercedes, although she let him drive. She was still a traditionalist in that. Besides, she needed to make a couple of calls on the way to rearrange her schedule for this unforeseen engagement. And time to analyze her son's palpable tension when it came to the subject of Regan Keller.
As they pulled into the parking lot of the Shores Grill, she saw Alex glance over at the Rachel's House office. A white pickup and a battered gray sedan were parked in the adjacent lot, but not Regan's car, and he seemed to relax.
Curiouser and curiouser, Lillian thought, and smiled inwardly. She couldn't deny she'd thought more than once that Regan, with her courage and determination, might just be a match for her quicksilver son.
Not until they had eaten, the mattre d' had quit hovering, and she was sipping at a last flute of champagne did she return to the subject of Regan.
"I need to ask you something, Alexander."
"Yes?"
Just then something caught her eye. She looked, and with a smile said, "It appears you were right." "I was?"
"Regan just arrived."
She thought he swore, but it was so low she couldn't be sure. He sneaked a look as Regan apparently gathered up some things from the seat beside her. Then he jerked his head back, staring at the bit of chocolate and crust left on his plate.
Lillian opened her mouth to tease him, then shut it again, frowning as she looked once more across the street.
"Alexander," she began.
"Don't rag on me about her, Mom, all right?"
"No, listen. There's something odd. A man was sitting in that gray car, watching as she drove in. And now, just as Regan got out, so did he."
His head snapped around to look.
"I don't like the look of him," Lillian said.
"Neither do I," he muttered.
Alexander sprang to his feet. He spun on his heel and left the restaurant at a run. Lillian quickly signed the tab and got up herself. In that few seconds, her premonition turned into frightening reality.
The man from the gray car had Regan backed up against the wall of the office building, his hands at her throat.
Alex was halfway across the street when he saw Regan jerk her knee upward. She missed the intended target, but threw the man off balance. He ran harder as Regan ignored the hands still at her throat and jabbed at her attacker's face quickly, sharply, with something in her hand.
The man screamed and backed up. Alex launched himself, aiming with a hard, driving fist for the face Regan had already bloodied. The man went down. The knife clattered on the cement, inches from Regan's feet. She kicked it out of reach.
"Son of a bitch!" the man said, rolling to his knees.
"Stay down," Alex advised him, "or I'll make sure you can't get up."
"Get the hell out of my way! What do you want to help this bitch for anyway?"
"Keep your mouth shut, too, or the same goes."
Staying very aware of her attacker, he turned to Regan anxiously. "Are you all right?"
She nodded, but he could see the red marks on her slender neck. And in that moment he again understood, very clearly, what might make a man want to kill.
"I could have handled it," she said.
He waited a moment until he thought he could mask the fury he was feeling. "I can see that. You had him o
n the run."
"Like hell," the man spat out.
"You're the one bleeding," Alex pointed out.
The string of curses that erupted then were nothing Alex hadn't heard before, but never all at once. He ignored them.
"Who is he?" he asked Regan.
"Daryl Bowers. Marita's ex-husband, as of today."
"Thanks to you, bitch! She never would have gone through with the divorce if you hadn't encouraged her, going to court with her and pushing her to do it."
"As of today?" Alex asked. "Maybe that's what set him off." He glanced at the man who, despite his bluster, was still on his knees, watching Alex warily. "Was that it, moron? You get your good-riddance papers today?"
The same curses, in revised order, came again. "Papers don't mean a damn thing. She's still mine. She always will be. I own that bitch!"
"I think I've had about enough of your mouth. Why don't you take a swing at me, so I can tie you in a knot around that pole there? Oh, I forgot, you only beat up women."
The man glared at him. Alex laughed, and Daryl Bowers reddened furiously.
"I called 911. The police are on their way."
Alex's heart sank as he heard his mother's voice. He saw Regan's eyes widen in surprise. "Mrs. Court
?"
"Good work, dear, I saw you fight him off."
Regan looked at the car keys in her hand, that she had apparently used on Bowers' face. Then she looked back at Lillian Court
, still surprised to see her.
"Alex helped," she said. "I'm not sure I could have held him off if he'd come after me again." Her free hand came up to touch her throat.
"You're sure you're all right?" Alex touched her cheek, realizing nothing mattered except that she wasn't hurt.
"I think so."
"They're here," his mother said, and went to flag down the approaching officers.
By the time Bowers was stuffed into the back of the police unit, still shouting, Alex thought he just might get by with a tale of coincidence. Right place, right time. It might work.
His mother finished giving her statement to the officers and then hurried back to Regan. "I asked them to keep a closer eye on the place from now on. Are you sure you don't need to have the paramedics take a look at you?"
"No, I'm fine, really." Regan's fingers were still rubbing her throat gently, but Alex could see the questions growing as she looked from him to his mother and back again.
"You should at least sit down for a while, rest while you get over the shock," Alex said.
"I will," she said. "I am a little shaky." She managed a smile, but it was as shaky as she said she felt.
"I'm not surprised." His mother patted Regan's arm. "It's been quite a month here."
"If Alex hadn't been here, both times ..."
Here it comes, Alex thought when her voice trailed away.
"Why were you here?" Regan's gaze flicked to his mother as if she'd like to ask her the same thing, but didn't dare.
His mother turned to him, not saying a word. She was going to leave it to him, and would go along with whatever he chose. But he knew deep down that he had only one choice.
"I'll explain it all," he promised with a glance at his mother, "if you'll just sit down somewhere. You're shaking."
She looked around, a little puzzled, as if she wasn't quite sure where he wanted her to sit, short of on the ground.
"Let's go to the house," his mother said. "It's close, and she won't be bothered."
Alex hesitated, then nodded, acknowledging what he'd just agreed to, taking Regan into the Court world. His world. "I'll drive her over in her car so she has it."
He wasn't quite sure she'd taken it all in, because she seemed dazed until they turned into the exclusive hilltop neighborhood. Then she began to look around as he followed his mother's car through the automatic gate she'd opened.
They drove past the carriage house and up the curving drive to the main house. They hustled Regan inside and set her down in the cozy study. She refused a drink of anything, and Alex saw her looking around with interest. This was one of his favorite rooms, homey and warm, but he also knew Regan hadn't missed the formal elegance of the rest of the house they'd walked through. He wondered what she was thinking.
"You're going to tell her?" his mother whispered to him.
"I have to. I can't go on like this." He didn't tell her why it might well be too late. That telling Regan she'd spent an incredible, passionate night with a man who wasn't who she thought he was might well destroy what was between them before it ever had a chance to live.
"I'll leave you to it, then. But not before I do what I can to help." Before he could react to that, she was sitting on the arm of Regan's chair. "Regan, Alexander has something to tell you, but before he does I have something to say."
Regan seemed to sense the seriousness of his mother's words, and gave her her full attention.
"I want you to remember, no matter how you feel, no matter how angry you might be, that none of this was his idea. It was mine. He never would have done it, nor hidden his actions from you, had I not ordered him to."
Regan looked first puzzled, then bewildered as his mother left them alone.
"Alex, what is she talking about?"
He took a deep breath, and plunged in. "She's talking about being so worried about all of you at Rachel's House that she did something to make sure you weren't harassed over these murders."
"Did what?"
"Sent someone to watch over you."
"Watch over—" She stopped short, her eyes widening. "You?" she whispered. "She sent you?"
He explained that he was the troubleshooter for Court Corporation, called in to protect them for the duration of this terror, and how what had begun as a job had become something much more personal. How it had come to be something he hated, because it meant deceiving her. He told her everything, except the one last thing he suspected was going to be the worst.
"So it was all a front? A ... a cover?" She looked stunned, but he knew anger had to be right around the corner.
"For good reason. I told you, she didn't want you on edge or nervous any more than you already were."
Her hands knotted in her lap. "And the talks, the dinners, they were lies, too? To ... what, take my mind off it? 'Romance her a little and she'll forget all her troubles,' is that what that was? Is that—" Her voice broke. "Is that what the sunset was?"
Color flooded her face, and he knew she was remembering much more than that sunset. She was remembering everything that had followed. He crouched down before her. "God, no, Regan. That was never a lie. That was the most real thing that's ever happened to me in my life."
She lowered her eyes, and he put his hands over her knotted ones. Only then did he feel the tremors going through her, like tiny quakes before an eruption. An eruption he knew was coming. He'd come to know Regan Keller would tolerate many things, but being consistently lied to was not one of them.
"I know I should have stopped. I tried. Remember? But I know that's not enough. I should never have let it happen, not with this"—he gestured vaguely at the house—"between us. I should have told you the moment I realized I wasn't going to be able to stop, the moment I knew just how much I wanted you."
He paused, took a deep breath, summoning up every bit of courage he had to go on. And it took every ounce of it.
"She doesn't know how far I let it go. If she did, I don't know if she could forgive me, either."
"Mrs. Court
?"
With the feeling he was stepping off a cliff, knowing what this was going to do, he took a last deep breath and answered.
"My mother."
She stared at him. "What?"
"My mother. Lillian Court
. My real name is Alexander Edward Court
."
The eruption hit.
CHAPTER 17
"Six murders in less than three months. We've eliminated one as a copycat—nice work, Nick�
��but five we can accredit with some certainty to the same killer. Same MO, same weapon, same posing of the victim postmortem. But he's smart, and careful, and clean, and he's not doing a damn thing to help us."
Lynne studied the paper clip she'd grabbed to give her hands something to do and her eyes something to watch as Drew spoke. Ben Durwin, Captain Greer, and Nick Kelso were all listening intently.
Nick was back on this case after his triumphant, single-handed resolution of the copycat murder. Which, Lynne realized, put him in a very strong position, not only in detectives, but with the department. And made what she knew about him all the harder to deal with, all the harder for anyone to believe.
Except maybe another woman, she thought. Another woman might see in Nick's zeal to prove that
Priscilla Wheeler had had her abusive husband murdered just another side of his zeal to talk battered women out of taking action.
So what was he, a closet misogynist? Did that charming, flirtatious facade hide a dark side? Had the sudden defection of his fiancée embittered him so much he took it out on all women? No, that made no sense. Most of those cases he'd kissed off had been before she'd left him. So why?
Not that the why mattered. It was what he'd been doing that had to be dealt with. And she couldn't help wondering, with that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach all over again, if any of those women he'd talked out of taking action had paid the ultimate price for staying.
"—each of the crime-scene diagrams." Lynne suddenly tuned back in as her ex-husband began to post copies on the bulletin board they'd been working with. "There's nothing new to you here. And if we sit back waiting for this guy to make a mistake and leave us a big fat clue, I think we're kidding ourselves."
"He's never gone this long between kills since the first one," Durwin said. "What if he's stopped?"
Lynne knew the answer, but she wasn't about to tread on Drew's show.
"Serial killers," Drew said, "never stop on their own."
"Even when they make a mistake, like this last one?"
"It may take him a while to get over that disruption in his vision. Or it may take something particularly strong to motivate him. But he will kill again, they always do. They may move out of the area, they may get arrested for something else and go to jail, they may be taken out of action due to illness or some other incapacitation, they may die. The urge, that thing that drives them, may abate for a while, but once they start, sooner or later they'll kill again."