Red Tide

by Tymber Dalton

  Sam escorted him out and brought Jenna in. Both detectives noticed how nervous she looked.

  They sat down across the table from her and smiled, trying to put her at ease. If there was a flaw in the story, she would probably be the one to expose it.

  “Now then. Ms. Stephens, is it?” Jim asked.

  “Yes, sir. Or Jenna’s fine.”

  “Okay.” Jim asked her a few background questions, then got down to the main subject. “As you know, there was an attempt on Mitch Jackson’s life. We’re trying to establish the whereabouts of anyone who might be a possible suspect.”

  Her eyes widened. “You think I did it?”

  “No, ma’am,” Jim reassured her. “But Mr. Tyne has said you can vouch for his whereabouts from Friday evening on.”

  “Well, most of that time, I suppose.”

  Jenna thought about the student ID card in her purse and wondered how true that really was.

  * * * *

  John didn’t take time to count the emergency vehicles outside the motel. Jenna turned her head, watching as they drove by.

  “I wonder what happened there?” she mused.

  He shook his head, eyes barely drifting from the road. “I have no idea.” He still felt the tingling in his loins, the surge of power when the girl drew her last breath. His erection grew, and he did nothing to stop it.

  The sun lay low in the sky behind them when they crossed the Orlando city limits.

  “Do you want to stop somewhere to eat?” he asked.

  “Okay.”

  Jenna’s mind was not on the small talk John attempted to keep up during the meal. She finally asked him to take her home, feigning a headache.

  He walked her up to her apartment. “Maybe I should go home,” he suggested. “You really don’t look like you feel well.”

  She smiled weakly. “I’d really appreciate that. I just need to go to bed early and rest. Besides, tomorrow’s a work day for both of us. Why don’t you come over tomorrow evening? I’ll cook you dinner.”

  “Okay.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Hope you feel better, sweetheart.”

  Her heart tripped on the word. John wasn’t loose with terms of endearment, and his use of it took her off guard. “Thank you. Good night.” She wanted him to leave without him getting suspicious of her intentions.

  Once the door closed behind her, she raced to check her cell phone. No messages. She peeked out the window and saw John still making his way to his car. She grabbed her purse, no longer worried about feigning her headache, and hurried downstairs to her car. He was just turning out of the parking lot when she emerged from the doorway and raced to her car.

  She made the first light just as it turned yellow and was able to keep John within sight. She didn’t know why she decided to follow him, but her mind kept returning to the ID card in her purse. Maybe it was time she found out for herself if John was as honest with her as he claimed.

  He didn’t turn toward his condo, instead heading toward the heart of the tourist district. Her heart sank, but she couldn’t honestly tell herself it wasn’t expected. The loaner Porsche turned into a bar with a packed parking lot. Jenna drove past, circled the block, and pulled in. John was nowhere to be seen, apparently already inside. As dark fell, she found a spot near the back of the building where she could watch without him seeing her when he came out.

  * * * *

  John didn’t know if it was the interrogation earlier or if lingering effects from the night before had him spoiled, but the urge had returned with an undeniable vengeance. He was glad when Jenna’s headache got the best of her, and not the least disappointed when he had to deposit her at her apartment.

  The bar was noisy, packed, dark, and thick with cigarette smoke. The throbbing deep within his gut cried out for satisfaction. He wasn’t too picky. He wanted someone easy, someone he could take with no problem. He already had a plan in mind, and had the cash in his wallet to make it happen. All he needed was a greedy slut to quench his thirst.

  It only took him ten minutes to find her. Maybe twenty-two, twenty-three at the most, the redhead’s jeans looked painted on. Black stiletto pumps and a low-cut black tank top filled out the portrait. Her plump breasts looked too perfect not to be silicone, and although the look she was going for was probably sexy, she appeared an absolute slut to the group of hungry men gathered around her at the bar.

  He listened to her from a short distance away. She was already tipsy, her words slightly slurred. From the way she talked, she’d come with a girlfriend who’d got lucky and deserted her. John worked his way up to the bar next to her and ordered himself a Chivas on the rocks, paying with a twenty he peeled off a fat roll he pulled from his pocket. He looked her in the eye and saw them widen with lust and greed. She wasn’t too drunk to recognize a horse that paid.

  “Hiya, cutie,” she slurred, pushing past another suitor to drape herself on John’s arm. “You here by yourself?”

  He took his drink and sipped it while obviously looking her up and down. A pause before answering to make him not appear interested. “Unfortunately.”

  She giggled, further testimony to her drunken state. “Guess what? So am I!” She giggled again, a decidedly annoying sound. “How about we take care of two problems at once?”

  He turned to face her, leaning against the bar. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  She smiled and reached out with her index finger, letting it trail a line from his chin to his waist. “I’m celebrating the fact that my boyfriend is gone and my best friend, who was supposed to be helping me celebrate, found someone to fuck her blind tonight. So I’m all alone.” She put on a pouty face.

  “Oh, is that so?” He sipped his drink. “That’s a shame.”

  She pressed her body against him and lewdly rubbed her hips against his. “Doesn’t have to be.”

  “Happy ending and all that?”

  She nodded, smiling. “Mmm hmm.” She leaned forward, whispering, “I’m not one of these whiny women who wants you to call her the next day. I just want you to fuck me to death tonight.” The Scotch on her breath smelled strong enough to take the paint off a car.

  He smiled. “I think I can arrange that.”

  * * * *

  Jenna’s heart sank when John emerged from the bar an hour later with a redhead draped over his arm. Despite the heartsick feeling in her gut, she was determined to follow him and see where he went. She imagined the look on his face when she pounded on the door of wherever they ended up and told him to his face that he was an asshole. This small fantasy brought her some satisfaction.

  Jenna watched while he led the woman to his car. When he tried to open the door for her she pulled him against her, kissing him, grinding herself against him. A brief flash of jealousy enveloped Jenna, enraging her, until she remembered the satisfaction she’d feel telling him off. Besides, she hadn’t made the fatal mistake of telling him she loved him, of even fully admitting it to herself.

  They finally got into the car and drove off, the hunter unaware of Jenna following them.

  * * * *

  “God, this car is incredible!”

  Pam, he found out her name only after she’d had her tongue down his throat, was certainly eager to party. Drunk enough to not care, but still sober enough to be fun, he planned to keep her skating the edge for several hours until he filled his needs. She still wanted to drink, so he promised her they’d go by a liquor store. A bottle of rum later, she was ready to party on through the night.

  He coaxed her into unzipping her jeans. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes while his fingers teased her mercilessly.

  “I want you to fuck me, dammit!” she begged, fully beyond the realm of sobriety by now.

  He smiled. “I will. Believe me, I will.” He had to stop for a light and brought his hand up to the back of her head, crushing her lips against his. Boring deep into her eyes, he whispered, “I will give you a fucking you will never forget, honey.”

  He almo
st felt her shudder with passion before he faced forward to drive when the light turned green.

  They ended up in a wooded area away from the neon jungle of the tourist district. The dirt road was still there, and still as deserted as he remembered it from a scouting trip several weeks earlier. One time he thought he saw headlights behind him, but figured they were an illusion when they didn’t reappear.

  She looked around, the bottle of rum in her hand. “Where are we?” she asked when they stopped in the clearing.

  He shut the car off and turned to her. “I like making love in the dead of night, under the stars.”

  A brief flash of indecision clouded her face until he added, “Besides, my wife would be pissed if I brought anyone home, and she watches the credit card bills like a hawk.” He took the bottle from her and pretended to take a swig.

  Hey, everyone’s got to party a little every once in a while.

  Pam grinned. “Hey, fuck her if she can’t take a joke.”

  “No, I’d rather fuck you.” He reached for her again.

  * * * *

  Jenna stopped her car. Digging a map out of her glove box, she identified the dirt road. It led into a section of forest, apparently little more than a fire road for the Forestry Department. He couldn’t have driven much farther in the Porsche, and she didn’t want to come up on him just yet.

  She backed her car down the road several hundred yards to a turnoff that would hide her if he passed. Setting off toward the direction he went, she jumped at every sound in the woods around her.

  What is he doing out here? Probably going to fuck her on the hood of the car. The venom in her own thoughts startled her.

  Five minutes later, she was still working her way up the dark dirt road. Crickets chirruped in the bushes around her, and a whip-poor-will sang a solo somewhere nearby. Jenna thought she was getting close when she heard a car start somewhere ahead of her in the dark. Her heart froze and she scrambled around, frantically working to conceal herself. Headlights appeared and the Porsche drove by. Jenna risked sticking her head out of the bushes, but he was already gone.

  “Dammit!” She jumped out of the bushes and ran back toward her car.

  She managed to make it without killing herself, and ten minutes later she slowed a block away from a red light. John sat at the intersection, waiting for the light to change. Jenna hung back until it changed and slipped into the lane behind him. She followed him until it was apparent he was heading for his condo. A block before the complex, she turned and circled around, coming back in time to see him getting out of his car.

  Alone.

  What the hell? I know I saw him leave with her, and he didn’t drop her off anywhere.

  Confusion smothered her anger. Where was the redhead?

  Maybe there was something up that road and he dropped her off there. He really wasn’t gone long enough to do anything.

  Jenna was her own worst critic. By the time she returned home, she almost had herself talked into a rational explanation for what happened.

  Maybe he stopped there for a drink and she was an old friend he took home. Maybe she was a friend and needed a ride up there for some reason. Maybe I just need to quit being so suspicious.

  There were still no messages on her cell phone. She turned on the TV and started a hot shower, listening while she undressed. A few minutes after she stepped into the shower, on the TV, inaudible over the sound of running water, the eleven o’clock news lead with their top story.

  “Near the small community of Mascotte this afternoon, at the Casper Motel on State Road 50, the body of twenty-one year old Melody Matthews was found. An employee of the popular Radigan’s Pub on Church Street in Orlando, Matthews was apparently strangled. Police have her boyfriend, Tim Donovan, of Orlando, in custody for questioning. An unnamed source in the police department remarked on the similarity of the killing to ones in Tampa being attributed to a serial killer…”

  When Jenna stepped back into the bedroom, the sportscaster was discussing the Tampa Bay Lightning’s chances at a Stanley Cup playoff run following the latest round of draft acquisitions.

  Jenna toweled her hair and dropped onto the bed, frustrated at the feelings welling in her. She knew she should end it with John, not give him the benefit of the doubt. How would she ever trust him again? Even if the evening was totally innocent, she knew she would always wonder where he was and what he was doing.

  She finally turned the TV off and drifted into a troubled, restless sleep.

  * * * *

  John felt like running laps around the complex. The energy flowing through his body charged him like never before. He knew how risky it was to not only kill two women so close together timewise, but so close in distance as well. There was no way around it. The stress of first the loss of the Emmerand, then Mitch filing for divorce, and finally the botched attempt on her life and the resulting police investigation had his nerves on edge. But all that was past him now. He felt invincible, power coursing through his veins.

  He stepped into the shower for a minute, closing his eyes and reliving the look on Pam’s face as he choked the life out of her.

  Such a beautiful thing. His laugh hollowly echoed through the sparse condo.

  Chapter Thirty

  Monday morning, Ed tried coaxing Mitch back into his arms for another hour, but she resisted, and they stepped into the shower together.

  The hot water felt good on her still-tender muscles. She reached up and wrapped her arms around Ed’s neck. “I keep waiting for disaster to strike. This seems too good to be true.”

  “Oh? And what would you call the little surprise in your Bronco? Manna from Heaven?”

  She shook her head. “I know. I just get the feeling the worst is yet to come.”

  He hugged her again. “You’re just stressed out. Understandable under the circumstances. Things’ll get better.” While it was almost a strange sensation, finally being able to freely express himself to her, being able to scoop her up in his arms when he wanted, it felt so…right. Like something long overdue finally acknowledged.

  She nodded. “I know you’re right. I guess I’m just psyched because things are going too well right now.”

  He laughed. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find plenty to do to keep your mind off idle worries.”

  They moved the computer first. She set it up in Ed’s living room, swearing only a little during the installation. Ed’s lack of practical computer knowledge was exceeded only by his lack of interest in quantum physics, so he relegated himself to helper, waiting for Mitch’s instructions and generally staying out of her way.

  “Can you go get my bag out of the bedroom?”

  “With the disks in it?”

  “Yes.”

  When he returned, the computer was running. He watched her fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up what looked like menus and directories. After finding what she wanted, a page of something that looked like a journal appeared on the screen.

  “This might be it,” she said.

  Ed pulled a chair up next to her. “What is it?”

  “The file name is ‘journ,’ which would mean a journal to me.” She scrolled through the pages, noting John suddenly developed an interest in golf a few years ago, according to entries. Paging through them, she found little that raised her interest.

  * * * *

  Jenna couldn’t focus on her work. Arriving at the office thirty minutes early didn’t help her get into the groove. Her mind constantly drifted to Mitch’s number jotted down on the piece of paper in her pocket. She even called her own cell from her office phone to make sure it was working.

  It was.

  “Jenna, you look like horrible. You feeling okay?” her secretary finally asked her.

  She nodded. “I’ll be okay. I think I might go home early, though. I’m not getting anything done here.”

  “No problem.”

  She was in the middle of packing her briefcase when her cell phone went off, startling her. Her hear
t froze. When Mitch’s number appeared on the screen she let out her breath, not even aware she’d been holding it.

  Her hand trembled as she answered. “Hello?”

  “Is this Jenna Stephens?” a woman asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Mitch Jackson. You left a message for me on my machine.” The woman sounded friendly.

  How’d you expect her to sound, like a frigid bitch?

  Jenna awkwardly struggled with what she wanted to say. “Umm…I’m sorry. This must be very strange for you. I know it is for me.”

  There was a pause from the other end. “Well, I was wondering what you wanted.”

  Jenna took a deep breath and started, detailing her suspicions about John, the strange breakdown of the Porsche, the ID under the car seat. Mitch stopped her.

  “What did you say the name was on that ID?”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure it was Melody Matthews.” She worried about the sudden silence at the other end of the line.

  “You didn’t see the news last night, did you?” Mitch asked.

  “Well, no, not all of it. I caught from the sports on, why?”

  “Because it was on the eleven o’clock news over here, so I know it had to be on the Orlando stations. There was a girl found murdered at a motel on State Road 50 yesterday afternoon.”

  Jenna’s knees unhinged. She dropped into her chair. “What?” she whispered.

  “Yes. And that was her name. They said they thought it was the boyfriend who did it, but he’s apparently got an alibi.”

  “But John couldn’t …” She faltered. “He wouldn’t…”

  Mitch’s voice grew urgent. “Listen, you have to get to the police, do you understand me? Now! Immediately!”

  “I don’t have the ID with me. I left it at home.”

  “Go to the police first and have them go with you to get it. You have to go to them before John finds out you’ve got that ID. You may have the only evidence tying him to that girl.”