Avenging Angel

by Justine Dare

  "You want me to call it in?"

  "Yes." He pulled on the gloves. "And start taking photos, all you can without tramping through the middle. If by some crazy chance he's not dead, we're going to have to call for paramedics, and you know what they do to a crime scene."

  She nodded and reached for both the instant and the 35mm camera also in the trunk.

  Drew walked along the edge of the parking lot until he was opposite the body. It would give him, she realized, the shortest path, causing the least disturbance of the scene. He bent and marked where he started with the chalk, then walked care­fully toward the body, stopping to mark his path with the chalk to indicate to CSI where he'd been.

  He knelt next to the body, reached out with one hand, and probed for a carotid pulse. He peered more closely, then stood up.

  "He's gone?" she asked.

  "Yes," Drew said grimly. Then he looked at her. "And he's still warm. I'd guess only three or four degrees lost. And no rigor yet."

  Lynne swore softly. Three or four degrees. No rigor mortis.

  They'd only missed the Avenger by hours.

  CHAPTER 19

  "I'll go with you."

  "You don't need to." "Yes, I do."

  Regan turned, hands on hips, and glared at Alex. "What are the chances something like that would happen again the very next day?"

  "Probably the same as it happening at all. I'm going with you."

  She knew, and she guessed Alex knew, his going with her wasn't what had them snapping at each other. It was only the excuse. But it was easier than facing the real reason, especially when it was still so raw.

  "I have work to get done. Two days' worth now. What are you going to do, just sit there?"

  A light tapping drew their attention. Marita stood at the edge of the living room, looking uncer­tain. "I don't want to interrupt. I know you're hav­ing a personal discussion."

  "Not anymore," Regan said. "I'm just telling him I don't need a bodyguard just to go back to the office."

  Marita glanced from Regan's face to Alex's set jaw. "You stick to your guns, Alex," she said. "You go with her, so we don't have to worry."

  "Exactly my point," Alex said, sounding more than happy with Marita's support. "Well, one of them, anyway."

  Short of shouting that even if she needed a body­guard she didn't want him, there wasn't much Regan could do. She wanted more time, time alone, to think about what had happened. But at the same time she wasn't sure it would change anything.

  "Fine," she said, giving up with what grace she could muster. "But I need to take my car. There are some office supplies in it I need to unload."

  "Fine."

  Regan turned to Marita. "Are you all right?"

  "I will be. It was a good reminder that they're birds of a feather, I guess."

  "I'm sorry," Regan said. "But you're right. It just proves all over again that you made the right deci­sion."

  "I know. Have you?"

  Regan's brow furrowed. "Have I what?"

  Marita's dark eyes flicked to Alex. "Made the right decision."

  She managed not to blush. Barely. "I haven't made any decision. Yet."

  Marita nodded, turned to go, then stopped and looked back. "Whatever you're mad about, girl, you compare it to the real world before you decide."

  Wisdom, Regan thought as she slid into the dri­ver's seat and waited for Alex to settle in and fas­ten his seat belt. Marita had always been wise, for everybody else. What she'd been through this morning had only added another layer.

  Regan resisted the urge to look at Alex. She knew now that everything he had told her had indeed been the truth. His mother, his father, it was all true. Did a lie of omission for a good cause taint all that?

  No, she admitted, but she'd realized that the first night after she'd found out. It wasn't that she was mad about at all.

  What she was mad about was that his lie did taint what had happened between them. No matter how much she might want to believe that had they met under other circumstances they might still have been attracted, she couldn't. He was a Court, the crown prince of a family empire that was de­serving of the name. She was plain Regan Keller, daughter of a cop.

  Then again, he'd worked hard in his role as Alex the roofer, and in the other work he'd been doing at Rachel's House. But she couldn't quite brush off the question in the back of her mind. Was he just a spoiled rich boy, used to getting what—and who— he wanted?

  "Where'd you learn construction?" she asked, at this point not really caring if the question seemed abrupt.

  "My parents were big on learning from the ground up," he answered without hesitation."! started when I was thirteen, working on one of Dad's development projects after school and week­ends. At the literal bottom, lugging lumber, picking up nails, cleaning up after the crew finished for the day. By the time the project was done two years later, I was a decent carpenter."

  They lapsed back into silence. She was grateful he didn't take the question as license to chat. She drove on for a while before asking, "What do you normally do for Court Corporation?"

  "I'm a troubleshooter. Wherever there's a prob­lem my mother wants close attention paid to, she sends me."

  "Do you often have to lie?" She kept her voice carefully neutral.

  "Yes," he said, again unhesitatingly. "Many times ifs the only way to get the job done, so I do what I have to do." But then he added, it’s never bothered me much. Until now. I found out I really hated lying to you. To everyone at Rachel's House, because they've had enough lies in their lives, but especially to you. It took me a while to figure out why."

  She knew she wasn't ready to hear that why.

  "I can't deny it makes me nervous that you're so good at it," she finally said.

  He didn't look away. "You mean lying?" he asked evenly.

  She appreciated his honesty. "And keeping up a facade. You must be very ... adaptable."

  "Comes with the territory. It's an unusual job. You have to be a secret agent, a company rep, a cop, a diplomat, a businessman, all in one. I've spent the night spying, then had to put on a suit and tie for a business meeting the next morning."

  She was fascinated despite herself. "And you've done this all over the world?"

  "I came here from Jakarta. Last month it was Australia, and Singapore. Before that it was Europe."

  He changed the subject abruptly. "I'm so sorry it happened this way, Regan. Except for one thing." "One thing?"

  "You've given me something no one else ever has." She gave him a look that made him wince. "I didn't mean sex. Although it was the most earth-shattering I've ever had."

  She would not blush. "Then what did you mean?"

  "An honest relationship."

  "Honest?" she asked, incredulous.

  "Yeah, I know, but listen. You didn't have any idea who I was, or who my family was. For the first time in my life, the fact that I was a Court didn't have a thing to do with the way a woman looked at me."

  She glanced at him, startled. She had never thought about such a thing.

  "That's what I thought," he said. "Your mind just doesn't work that way. You would have treated me the same even if you had known who I was. But I wouldn't have known that. Not like I do now."

  It was a compelling argument, and one she had no answer for.

  "My feelings for you are real, Regan. I just real­ized them a little quicker than I would have, be­cause I had to figure out why it was bothering me so much to lie to you."

  "I see." It was all she could think of to say.

  "So," Alex said, "if you're going to tell me I read you all wrong, that you don't feel the same, that there's nothing between us to fight for, tell me now, before I make an even bigger fool of myself."

  "I . . ."

  Her cell phone rang, and for once she was glad. It saved her from answering.

  "Regan?" Marita said, speaking before she even had a chance to say hello.

  "Yes, Ma—"

  "Can you come ba
ck? Now?" She went very still at the abruptness of the re­quest.

  "What's wrong? Is somebody hurt?"

  "We're fine. Detective Garrison is here. Come back, please."

  "On my way," she said, and Marita hung up without saying good-bye, either.

  She looked at Alex, already on his feet, watching her.

  "I don't know," she said. "But we have to go back. Now."

  Lynne heard the sound of a car pulling up out front. Regan had apparently forgone the usual se­curity measure of parking at some distance. And Alex Court

  was with her, she noted as Regan came up the walkway at a run. She stood up.

  "Marita?" Regan called as she opened the door.

  "She's upstairs," Lynne said. "Laura is with her."

  "What's wrong?" Regan hurried over while Alex pulled the door closed. "What happened?"

  "Why don't you sit down?" Lynne suggested.

  "Just tell me."

  Lynne gave in. "We founder the Avenger's sixth this morning."

  Regan sank down on the sofa. She closed her eyes and breathed out a soft "God."

  Alex sat down beside her, close, Lynne noticed, but not touching. Then Regan's eyes snapped open. "Marita? It was Daryl?"

  Quick, Lynne thought. "Yes."

  Regan shivered violently. Alex put his arm around her then, and she leaned slightly into him.

  "I was really hoping he'd stop," Regan whis­pered. "After the innocent one."

  Lynne didn't bother to explain they never stopped of their own will. It didn't matter now anyway.

  "Is Marita all right?" Regan asked.

  "She's . . . ambivalent, I think," Lynne said. "I would guess she thought she'd be gladder than she is."

  "I don't understand. He didn't hurt Marita. All the others have been when somebody was hurt or damaged in some way."

  "We think there may be more to it this time, Regan."

  "More to it? What—"

  She broke off, and Lynne thought if she hadn't figured it out already, she was close. Regan Keller was a very bright woman.

  "Would you excuse us, Mr.—Alex?"

  "I'm staying," he said shortly.

  Lynne's brows rose.

  "This is my family's business."

  Lynne glanced at Regan, then back to him questioningly.

  "She knows," he said.

  "Good."

  Regan frowned, registering that Lynne had al­ready known who Alex was, but she clearly decided that could wait.

  "Are you saying," she asked, "that you think this time it has something to do with me? Because of what Daryl did to me?"

  Lynne nodded. "We think that may have been enough to set the killer off again, despite the mis­take he made last time. That hurting you, in the killer's mind, is the worst thing yet, because you are Rachel's House."

  She shivered again.

  "I've got to ask you again, Regan. Does anyone, anyone at all, come to mind?"

  She laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "The only people I can think of capable of killing like this are the ones being killed."

  "Then don't think of that. They won't seem capa­ble of it. They're generally charming and affable. Think of anybody who might feel strongly enough about Rachel's House and you to defend you."

  Lynne saw Regan's gaze flick to Alex. He winced.

  "He's already accounted for his time to us for at least three of the murders," Lynne said quickly. "And his alibis all checked out."

  Regan said nothing more about it, nor did Alex.

  "I need to go see Marita."

  "All right," Lynne said. "Just be careful, Regan. We don't know what he's thinking, and now he's focused on you as well as the others."

  Regan nodded and stood up. Then, troubled, "Does she blame me? Think I got him killed?"

  Lynne blinked, surprised at the question. "I don't think so. She certainly didn't indicate anything like that."

  Regan took a long, considering look at Alex, then left them to go upstairs to Marita.

  "I'm glad you finally told her," Lynne said to Alex.

  "I didn't have much choice. I couldn't go on like that. Even if she did feel a bit... duped when I told her."

  "You're still with her, though."

  "She's still deciding."

  Lynne grinned. "Good for her."

  Alex's mouth twisted wryly. "Thanks a lot."

  A few minutes later, as Lynne walked back to her car from Rachel's House, her cell phone rang.

  The caller ID registered the number of Drew's cell. He must be done with Yantz. They'd agreed she would come here to break the news to Marita and Regan, while he went to talk to the man who had bailed out their latest victim. Under less urgent circumstances, she would have liked to make the man answer to a woman, but time was more im­portant than blows for the sisterhood just now.

  "Garrison," she said into the phone.

  "Lynnie, we finally caught a break."

  She stopped dead on the sidewalk, ignoring his use of the pet name. "What?"

  "Yantz said he only knew Bowers was in jail be­cause he got a phone call that he was in the slam because of his daughter again, and Yantz might want to bail him out."

  "So Bowers did make a call?"

  "No. I double-checked."

  "Then who called him?"

  "That's just it. It was an anonymous call. A male voice."

  Her breath caught. "You think ...?" "Yeah, I do. It was the killer."

  CHAPTER 20

  "Marty is our best suspect. He's got motive, and a temper. He fits the profile mostly, but he just doesn't feel right," Drew said as he paced.

  "What about that discrepancy in his story?" Ben asked.

  "We can't prove his version isn't true, and a time gap isn't enough to book him on. I'm more con­cerned about the traveling aspect. With a geograph­ically stable killer, I'd expect him to stay in one place."

  "That phone call to Yantz," Durwin began.

  "Came from a pay phone just about dead center of all the Avenger killings," Drew said. "At that hour, not likely we'll turn up any witnesses."

  "Marty's beef was over his sister," Lynne said. "I just don't read him as a guy who would become a crusader for all battered women."

  "Murderer, you mean," Nick said.

  Lynne shot him a sideways glance, but didn't let it linger for fear he'd read too much into it. She thought he might already be suspicious. She'd caught him at her desk once, and afterward had found some of her files disturbed.

  "Maybe we need to go back to square one," Dur­win said.

  "Good idea, Ben," Drew said. "In a large percent­age of cases, the killer turns out to be somebody police talked to early on."

  "So we go back and talk to everybody again?" Nick asked, sounding weary. "Mrs. Tanaka from the office, the deliverymen, the gardener, the fami­lies of the women?"

  "Until we get the full crime-scene report back from the feds, not much else we can do," Drew said. "Unless anybody's got any better ideas."

  "What about Gene Pilson?" Lynne asked. "I got a call back from Cincinnati. No abuse, but some other red flags. A real loner, the quiet type, no friends, that kind of thing."

  "Good," Drew said. "He's looking better and bet­ter. Let's concentrate there, too."

  "Maybe we should look harder at the idea of it being one of those women," Nick said. "I know it's rare, but if you were going to have a female serial killer, it'd be a woman like that."

  It was all Lynne could do to bite back a scathing retort.

  "You mean a woman who, thanks to a man, has a very good reason to hate men in general?" Drew asked, and Lynne guessed she was the only one not fooled by his innocent expression.

  Nick looked slightly uncomfortable, but said only, "Yeah."

  "What about that guy who was working at the shelter?" Durwin asked. "The one who hadn't been there long."

  "I think you can eliminate that possibility," Lynne said. "Turns out he was sent in by the Court Corporation, the main backers of the shelter, to keep the wom
en safe."

  "From what?" Nick asked. "It's the guys who are getting offed."

  "From any cops," Lynne said, at last unable to help the bite in her tone, "who can't seem to re­member that the women are victims, too."

  Something flashed in Nick's eyes, something quick and dark.

  Ben Durwin coughed and spoke quickly. "Any idea when we'll get the reports back from the feds?"

  "It'll be a couple of days. I've got the prelims, though. They found one of the fibers we recovered visually matches the one our guys found on victim three. They managed to lift an impression of a smudge print that's similar to the other one we found, so they may be able to narrow down what made the mark. And they found some dirt."

  "Dirt?" Lynne asked, remembering the crime scene and its endless asphalt.

  "A tiny sample, maybe not even enough to ana­lyze," Drew cautioned. "And although it was close to the body, it could be entirely unrelated. Anybody could have left it at any time, walking across that parking lot."

  With that caution they headed out, each to do re­peat interviews with the people they'd done before, except Nick took over the volunteer staff from the Rachel's House office at Drew's direction.

  "Lynne, can I see you a moment?" Drew asked.

  She turned back to see him already headed into Captain Greer's empty office. The captain was in with the chief, no doubt getting chewed on for the lack of progress.

  When he shut the door behind them, she knew she wasn't going to like this, whatever it was.

  "What's going on with you and Kelso?"

  "You mean besides that he's got a stinking atti­tude toward battered women?"

  "Yes, besides that."

  "Isn't that enough?"

  "Not for you. You've been in the job too long to go off when a guy pulls out his chauvinist pigness."

  And you know me too well, Lynne thought.

  "You sure you want this now? It's nothing that directly affects this case," she began, then stopped. She suddenly wasn't so sure of that anymore. Could his attitude affect Nick's handling of this case as it had those others?