by Rita Herron
Micah had said Cissy was a hairdresser, but she could have moonlighted as a waitress, stripper or…prostitute.
She laid each of the items she removed on the coffee table. A fire engine red lipstick. Compact. Make up bag with eyeliner, blue eye shadow and enough rouge to paint a clown’s face.
Next, she discovered a stack of envelopes wrapped in a rubber band. She pulled them out, expecting to see bills, but when she looked at the return address, she realized they were from the state prison.
Her stomach churned as she opened the first one and began to read.
Dear Cissy,
I am so grateful to find you, my love. You are such a special woman. Each night as I lie on my cot, I think of how beautiful you are, how delicate your face is. How tender and soft your skin will feel when I finally touch it.
I dream about you every night now. Dream of the two of us kissing and holding each other. Of long walks in the moonlight. Of long nights where we make love and hold each other until dawn.
Seeing you is like seeing the sunshine that I miss so much. I can’t wait until I’m free and we’re together.
Love always,
Robbie
Lenora’s hand shook as she dropped the letter. Her pulse pounded as she opened another one and read it. More of the same. Loving words and promises, tender thoughts and dreams of gentle touches, memories Simpleton proclaimed to want to make with Cissy. Even love poems he’d carefully copied in some kind of script writing that looked elegant and lovely.
Not at all like the ugly monster beneath that façade.
With each letter, Lenora grew increasingly angry. Simpleton had completely conned Cissy into believing he’d been victimized, that she’d told lies about him, that he’d been falsely imprisoned.
Then Cissy had helped him and gotten her throat slit for doing so.
The bastard deserved to die.
She wanted to rip the letters into a million pieces and burn them, but common sense reminded her they were evidence.
And that she was supposed to be looking for something to help them track down Simpleton.
She carefully placed the letters back in their envelopes for the crime team, then dug in the purse once again and found a small black book. She opened it and skimmed the pages, but all the names listed were men.
Clients? Not from a hair salon…
Had Simpleton known she was a hooker on the side? If he hadn’t and he’d discovered it when he escaped, it might have triggered his rage.
Not that she believed that the man had loved Cissy. No…he was incapable of love.
He had coldly used Cissy then discarded her just as he did all the women in his life.
MICAH FILLED THE CRIME UNIT IN ON WHAT HE SUSPECTED HAD happened, then led them inside Cissy’s apartment.
“I’ve looked for a computer and cell phone but didn’t find one. Simpleton left his prison uniform in the trash, but we need to process it for forensics just to confirm it was his.”
“Did you find the weapon?”
“No.” Micah gritted his teeth as Lenora looked up at him from the couch. Her expression looked tormented, but he decided not to question her until they were alone. After all, technically she shouldn’t have been handling evidence.
One of the techs collected the purse from Lenora.
“He snowed Cissy with love letters,” she said in a whisper so only Micah could hear.
“He’s a sociopath,” Micah murmured. “He changes faces like a chameleon.”
Lenora nodded and crossed her arms, and Micah turned back to the CSI team.
“The body is in the bathroom.” The ME appeared and Micah led the way.
“She’s been dead only a few hours,” he said. “We haven’t found a computer or cell. Pull her phone records and let me know what you find.”
The ME knelt to examine her. “You’re right. Body’s still slightly warm.”
He didn’t need the doctor to tell him cause of death. She’d bled out within minutes from the knife wound.
“I’m going to drive Lenora home,” he said. “Look for something that might indicate where Simpleton’s going next.”
The CSI nodded, and Micah stepped back into the den. “Come on, Lenora. Let’s go back to your place.”
She followed him outside to his SUV, unusually quiet.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said softly as they settled inside.
“I saw him kill before,” she said as if the sight of Cissy’s dead body hadn’t bothered her.
“I know,” he said. “But that’s supposed to be behind you.” And they both knew Simpleton’s escape had resurrected the memories.
“It’s hard for me to imagine that Cissy fell for his act,” Lenora said as he drove toward her condo. “She had to have seen the news. Heard what he did to all those women.”
And to her.
Micah’s jaw twitched. “Some people are so lonely they only see what they want to see.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Micah praying that the police spotted Simpleton’s pickup and pulled him over so this nightmare could end for Lenora before it got worse.
A SIREN BLASTED THE AIR. ROBERT CURSED AS HE LOOKED UP AND saw a police car racing up behind him. Blue lights flashed and twirled, the lights nearly blinding him.
God dammit. He checked his speed. Under the limit. He hadn’t run a stop sign, and there weren’t any red lights in this lone stretch of highway.
Someone knew that he was driving this truck.
Fucking Cissy. He’d told her to throw away receipts, bills, anything that left a paper trail. But the stupid cunt obviously hadn’t listened.
It was a good thing she was dead or he’d kill her.
The police car roared closer, and he veered onto a side street and sped up, weaving around two other cars that were drag assing along. He spotted another road up ahead to the right and skimmed the side of the VW as he passed, sending the driver toward the embankment. The VW spun out of control, causing the Jeep behind it to crash into its side, and he swung onto the other road just before the police car met up with the crash.
He whooped with joy when he saw the police car slow to see if the drivers were okay. Then he sped up and flew down the highway singing Joy to the World.
Images of Nan Purcell flashed in his head, and he clenched the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip as his cock hardened. Nan had sat behind Lenora at his trial. Nan had been Lenora’s best friend since high school, and they’d roomed together in college.
But Nan had looked up at him, and he’d seen the doubts in her eyes. She didn’t know whether to believe everything Lenora said.
She was drawn to him.
A smile tilted his lips as he remembered the file he’d obtained from another inmate who’d been paroled. It had burned in the diversionary fire at the prison, but he’d memorized every detail in it.
Nan was a financial planner. Traveled a lot. She lived alone.
He would have her tonight. That prim and proper, shy little lady was going to learn what it was like to be with a real man. What it was like to be loved.
What he’d done to Lenora.
But he’d wait to end her sorry life until Lenora was there to watch.
Listening to Lenora’s pleas to save her friend would be his revenge. Then they would both have to die.
CHAPTER FIVE
MICAH SCANNED THE PARKING LOT OF LENORA’S CONDO, HALF expecting to see the pickup Simpleton was driving but also knowing the man was smart and might park away from the complex and walk—rather sneak—inside.
Streetlights illuminated the lot, and he noticed two security cameras in opposite corners. She led him to her unit, a two-story with pansies in flowerboxes flanking the doorway.
Her hand shook as she unlocked the door, and he followed her inside, glad he kept a duffel bag of clothes and toiletries in his vehicle because he sure as hell didn’t intend to leave her alone tonight.
A low light from a lamp on a side tabl
e enabled her to enter without totally being in the dark. After being held captive for so long, he wouldn’t be surprised if she slept with a light on.
She turned to him in the foyer. Polished wood floors stretched across the large combination living room kitchen which was modern with a breakfast bar and white wooden stools. The room was painted a soft yellow, making it look airy and cheerful. “Thanks for driving me home, Micah.”
“I’m not leaving you until Simpleton’s back in prison,” he said, determined she understand that he meant to keep his promise.
A slight seed of panic flared in her almond shaped eyes. “That’s not necessary, Micah. I have a security system.”
“I know, but I’m still not leaving.” He gestured toward the sofa. “Now I’d like to check out the rest of your condo before you turn in.”
“Micah—”
“Please,” he said in a gruff voice. “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
She sighed, absentmindedly removing the clip holding her long blond hair at the nape of her neck. The gesture was so feminine and erotic that he had to draw a deep breath to keep from running his own hands through the silky looking strands that fell around her shoulders.
“All right.” She led him to the stairs, and he followed her, noting the simple western landscapes on the wall.
“There are two bedrooms,” she said, “although I use the second one as an office. There’s a foldout couch in there.”
A nice guest room, but he intended to stay downstairs in case Simpleton tried to break in. He glanced inside and saw nothing amiss. A desk with a laptop on it, bookcases with dozens of magazines and boxes labeled neatly, all related to her business. Samples of fabrics, photographs of flowers, wedding gowns, bridesmaids’ dresses, lists of vendors and charts that she appeared to use to organize themed weddings.
She slipped into the master suite, a large space painted white with blue and green bedding on a brass bed. A club chair dominated the corner, and French doors opened to a terrace outside.
“This is my favorite part of the condo,” Lenora said softly.
She opened the doors to a terrace with a wrought iron table, lounging chairs and a hot tub. Stars glittered in the clear night sky, the moon beaming down on the porch offering a radiant glow as it shimmered over the woods behind the condo.
Lenora’s face softened, her tension dissipating slightly. This was obviously the place she came to escape. A throw blanket lay on one of the chaises along with a pillow, and he realized that she probably slept out here sometimes.
To avoid the closed-in spaces and the nightmares?
He’d known soldiers who’d suffered PTSD from being confined during war. Some admitted they slept on the floor or outside because they needed air and space.
He hated Simpleton for taking Lenora’s peace away from her. He wouldn’t let the monster do it again.
JUST LETTING MICAH INTO HER PRIVATE SANCTUARY WHERE SHE’D never brought a man made Lenora feel exposed. Raw.
Needy.
For the first time in a long time, her heart fluttered with awareness, and she wondered what he thought of her home.
Of her.
“This is nice, Lenora. It looks like you’ve moved on.”
Her gaze met his, questions simmering in his eyes.
“I know me being here is not what you want.”
Except she did want him here. She only wished it was under different circumstances. “I appreciate you coming in person, Micah. You were good to me during the trial. That meant a lot.”
“I was just doing my job,” he said, although she’d secretly fantasized about a relationship. Not then. She hadn’t been ready. But some day.
Then he’d left her with a simple good-bye, and she’d assumed she’d imagined any personal feelings between them. She had been a fragile wreck back then. She’d confused kindness with interest.
“You stood behind me during the worst time of my life,” she said. “Not everyone did.”
He clenched his jaw. “I know Simpleton’s lawyer was rough. Out of line.”
Her fiancé’s betrayal was worse. “I guess he was just doing his job, too,” she said. “Although I can’t imagine why anyone would defend that horrible man.”
Micah shrugged as if he had no answers. He certainly wouldn’t have taken up for Simpleton. No, Micah was honorable and fought for what was right. Fought to protect others.
An image of Cissy Cornwell’s dead body flashed in her mind, and a shudder rippled through her.
“Cold?” Micah asked.
She shook her head. “Just remembering tonight. Seeing that woman’s body.”
Micah hissed between his teeth. “Try not to think about it, Lenora. I’m not saying she deserved what he did to her, but she did help him escape.”
“Because she thought he loved her.” Her bitter laugh rent the air. “She was completely fooled by his act.”
“Which means she had issues of her own. Anyone who watched the media circus surrounding Simpleton’s arrest also saw the evidence against Simpleton. We had him dead to rights. He was—is—a cruel monster.”
And he was on his way to kill her.
Lenora didn’t say the words aloud. She didn’t have to. They both knew it was true.
“Now try to get some rest. Maybe the police will track down that truck and in the morning we’ll have him in custody.”
She’d fantasize about that all night. But she’d lived the harsh reality of Simpleton, and she didn’t believe fantasies came true.
“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Micah said, his dark eyes skating over her.
Lenora’s pulse hammered. She did need him, wanted him to stay upstairs with her and hold her tonight.
But that meant she was weak. And using Micah as a crutch would only make it more difficult for her to cope when he left again.
And he would leave.
What man would want a life with a broken woman like her?
MICAH FOUGHT IMAGES OF CISSY’S DEAD BODY IN HIS MIND
because every time he saw her, Lenora’s face appeared behind his eyes.
Lenora lying dead and bloody. Her eyes wide open in horror.
That damned bloody X carved on her chest.
He jogged down the steps, struggling to banish the images from his head. He was not going to let Lenora die.
He’d kill Simpleton first.
He checked his phone again, willing it to ring with the news that the police had apprehended Simpleton, but nothing happened. No messages in his inbox either.
Dammit.
He went to the kitchen, found a glass in the cabinet and filled it with water, then carried it to the window and drank as he glanced outside. The parking lot was dark and filled with cars, but he saw no movement.
The woods beyond loomed with possibilities, though. Even if there was security, the trees made it easier to gain access to the development.
The wind picked up, a storm brewing, sending leaves and twigs tumbling across the lot. A noise to the left caught his attention, and he studied the area, then spotted the silhouette of a man lighting a cigarette, leaning against a battered Jeep.
His body coiled with tension. Was it Simpleton? Had he found where Lenora lived? Was he stalking her now?
Antsy to know, he called upstairs to Lenora. “I’m going to look around the parking lot. Stay inside with the door locked.”
She appeared at the top of the steps, her face crinkled in worry. “Did you see someone?”
He shrugged. “Just routine. I want to check out the parking lot before we both turn in.”
She nodded, but her hand tightened around the stair rail, and she slowly descended the steps. “I’ll wait down here.”
He stepped outside, waiting until she locked the door behind him, then he eased around the building to the corner where he’d seen the man. He had his back to him, coat collar pulled up, face obliterated in shadows.
Cigarette smoke curled into the sky as the man leaned his
head back and blew smoke rings into the air. If it was Simpleton, he wasn’t even trying to hide.
Cocky jerk.
Inching toward a van to disguise his actions until he could get a better look, Micah patted his gun, ready to draw. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man stiffen.
Micah walked slowly, so as not to startle him, but suddenly the man cursed, tossed the cigarette onto the ground, stubbed it out with the toe of his boot, then took off running along the edge of the parking lot.
Micah vaulted into action and ran after him. The man was tall, fast, wearing cowboy boots and jeans, but he couldn’t distinguish his face. Moonlight streamed through the trees, enough for him to see a tattoo on the back of the man’s neck.
His head was shaved, his body stout like Simpleton’s.
The man dashed through a row of vehicles, then dove into a black Range Rover. Micah sprinted in front of it, drew his gun and aimed it at the man’s face.
“Get out or I’ll shoot.”
ROBERT WATCHED THROUGH THE WINDOW OF NAN PURCELL’S bedroom, his cock growing thicker as she shimmied into a little black dress. Was she going to a business dinner or was a lover waiting?
He wished he knew.
Not that it mattered.
He intended to change those plans for her.
Christ, she had great tits. He remembered them from the trial. Remembered that she’d worn a conservative white blouse, but that the buttons had strained across her big chest. The whole time he’d been on the stand, he’d stared at them, willing the buttons to pop and expose her cleavage.
He had imagined what her breasts looked like beneath that thin white blouse. The large dark areoles poking through a lacy white bra. White for purity.