Licensed to Thrill: Volume 2

by Diane Capri

  Jess stretched again, shifted the gun purposefully at 3:12:46 a.m. She noted its heft increasing with the slightest attention paid during the passing seconds. Show yourself, Richard, you coward.

  Richard never knew that he’d left her pregnant with Peter. Nor had he cared. Jess’s embarrassed adolescent pride kept the news from him at first. Later, when she realized his miserable domination for what it was, she concealed Peter from Richard and vowed she always would. Not that he’d ever looked back. Jess was grateful for that much.

  She’d never told anyone who’d fathered her son. Nor would she. When people asked, she simply said she didn’t know. If pressed for more details, she said she’d been raped by an unknown assailant who was never apprehended, which was technically accurate but not true. She’d been a minor back then and Richard was not, so what he’d done was statutory rape and he’d have gone to jail if anyone had bothered to report his crime. But she’d been a willing participant in his seduction. Still, “rape” described precisely how she felt when Richard tossed her aside like a used rag. Maybe that was when anger’s spark lodged firmly in her gut and flamed whenever Richard’s name was mentioned.

  So far, the rape answer had sufficed. No one ever tried to hunt down a man Jess Kimball couldn’t find for herself. People assumed an investigative journalist of her stature, coupled with her national crusade for victims’ rights, made Jess infallible as a prison-trained bloodhound. Which was true.

  3:23:07 a.m. How much longer should she wait tonight? At least until dawn. She’d promised Betsy. And then she’d be back tomorrow. Richard had told Betsy he was coming, simply to terrorize her further. Jess would be waiting for as long as it took.

  Jess inhaled deeply, drawing the Stargazers’ fragrance into her lungs and remembered how she’d watched Richard’s life from afar. Memories heated her temper and chased away the last of the early morning chill. He’d cut a wide swath through a long list of gullible girls and later, gullible women. None of them were foolish enough to deliver his child afterward, but each one bore invisible scars Jess could easily discern just the same.

  Until seven years ago when Richard seized sexier, younger, naive, sensitive and fragile Betsy. She never stood a chance.

  Jess had contacted Betsy back then, tried to warn her before she married him, but Betsy’s inexperience prevailed. Thus began the destructive tango that led them all here.

  All these years later, Jess felt grateful to have escaped Richard’s cruelty but guilty, too. Survivor guilt was what the psychologists called it. Irrational perhaps, but real enough. She shrugged; she supposed Richard had to marry someone eventually. He wasn’t a man who’d remain single forever and Jess couldn’t save all the Betsys in the world. She prayed silently, Just this one, please.

  Jess wagged her head back and forth and stretched her neck, attempting to push the fatigue and the memories away. But her stress had long ago settled into knots harder than obsidian. She needed to stand, walk out the tension, but she couldn’t risk being discovered. Failure was not an option. Not this time. She tried to focus on something other than her screaming muscles.

  She couldn’t keep her gaze from the microwave clock. Only 3:34:17 a.m. Would this night never end?

  Betsy had never asked why Jess agreed to help her and thus spared the lies. Betsy didn’t know Richard had fathered a son or that Peter was kidnapped. Betsy presented Jess with a second chance to save Betsy and her daughter before Richard destroyed them as he’d destroyed Jess and Peter. Maybe Betsy had forgotten her worth, but Jess would not. Nor would she allow Richard to harm Peter’s half-sister. Someday his sister’s DNA would help Jess prove Peter’s identity. When she found Peter, he’d have both his sister and his mother.

  Jess avoided the ultimate question her son was sure to ask one day: “Why did you put my father in prison?”

  At 3:54:17 a.m., as if her thoughts had conjured him, she heard Richard’s heavy tread on the squeaky plank decking. Every nerve stood at attention while she remained as still as the lilies.

  Jess pressed the remote button to activate the security camera outside the back door. The night vision would record every moment in an eerie green glow. She’d have the one thing she needed to nail the bastard—evidence.

  She blended with the darkness and waited, holding the Glock in her right hand, ready to use it. But not too soon. Jess knew the law inside out. Only when Richard left the premises with Anna would he be guilty of kidnapping. Only then. Not a moment before.

  Should she be forced to confront him earlier, he’d claim he wasn’t taking Anna anywhere. A court would agree. Betsy was the custodial parent, but Richard had bought and still owned this house. Technically, he wasn’t trespassing and he could visit whenever he chose. His twisted lies and intimidation had persuaded Betsy to excuse his behavior repeatedly.

  Not this time. Jess would have irrefutable evidence and she’d use it effectively, just as she had when he stole that Jaguar all those years ago.

  So Jess had to allow Richard to accomplish the crimes he’d come to commit instead of interrupting him in the act as Betsy had done twice before. Kidnapping would send him away for life, if there was any justice at all in the world.

  But a just world would have locked Richard Martin up long ago before he raped Jess. A just world would never have taken Peter. The only just world Jess believed in was the one she created herself.

  Watching the microwave clock, she timed him. Richard spent exactly twelve seconds forcing the lock and opening the back door. She smiled again. He should have tried his old key. She’d made sure it would work, just in case he proved less predictable than she’d expected. Overconfidence kills, that much she knew. But she knew him better than anyone else. Maybe better than he knew himself.

  The security alarm began its incessant bleat the moment Richard opened the door. Jess breathed silently, disturbing the air as little as possible. He had the instincts of an apex predator at the top of the food chain and the top of his game. He would sense her presence if she made the slightest sound.

  He crossed the tile to the alarm panel next to the refrigerator. He rapid-punched the six numbers of his wedding date, the code he and Betsy had chosen when he still lived here. Before their bitter divorce.

  The alarm stopped well within the window of acceptable Miami PD response time.

  He turned toward the next goal of his mission, never glancing in her direction. So predictable.

  Arrogance was always Richard’s Achilles’ heel. It simply didn’t occur to him that anyone would be watching. Jess grinned again inside the black ski mask she wore over her head and face.

  Richard climbed the stairs and covered the short distance to the first door on the right while Jess watched from the shadows. He paused. The nightlights she’d placed illuminated him enough that the camera would record perfectly.

  As if he followed Jess’s script, Richard wore no head covering. He showed his face to avoid frightening his daughter if she awakened, to keep her quiet and not arouse her mother in the room down the hallway. Betsy’s sheer terror tomorrow morning when she found Anna missing was much of what the sadist wanted to accomplish. He wanted Betsy off balance and afraid. Which she was almost all the time.

  Every move Richard made reinforced Jess’s sense of justification. She hadn’t been near him since she was a child herself but she was satisfied that he really was the bastard she believed him to be. Reassured, she felt free to follow through without remorse.

  Richard glanced around, maybe confirming that Betsy still slept soundly, that Miami PD hadn’t received the silent alarm. After a moment, he opened the door to Anna’s room and crept inside.

  He emerged shortly with the sleeping girl in his arms. Anna was dressed in white pajamas. Strawberry curls framed her cherubic face and cascaded down the back of his arm. Partly because she always slept soundly, and partly because Jess had given her a mild sedative before bed, the child didn’t stir. She hated leaving the girl in Richard’s arms even a moment. Jess hoped
Anna would never know anything about this evening and would sleep straight through.

  Richard eased the door almost closed, leaving it as Betsy had when she saw her daughter last so that she wouldn’t know Anna was gone until she saw the empty bed. Bastard. He descended the stairs in silence but for a stifled sneeze.

  Jess waited. Her right hand held the Glock firmly pointed in Richard’s direction. She’d shoot him only if he forced her to. But shoot him, she would. He’d be a fool to believe otherwise.

  She knew Richard. If he saw her before she was ready, he would do something stupid. Something that might hurt Anna. The child’s safety was paramount. Jess steadied herself and remained invisible as long as possible.

  Richard snuck out the back door and closed it without a sound. Only then did she move.

  Jess activated the tiny camera she wore in a pendant around her neck, waited until she heard the creaking boards under his feet and three sneezes in a row before she hurried silently out behind him. A cool breeze brushed across her eyes and lips, the only uncovered parts of her body.

  She followed Richard off the property and onto the street where he’d parked a dark SUV. A less arrogant man might have noticed he was being followed. Richard did not. Now. Now he’d taken Anna in the eyes of the law. Jess wasted no time gloating.

  He was bent over, placing Anna in the back seat when Jess came up behind him and pressed the Glock briefly to his spine before she widened the distance between them beyond his arm’s reach.

  “Move away from the car. Much as I’d like to shoot you . . . .” She allowed her husky voice to trail away. Disuse and fear had stolen the moisture from her mouth, but she refused to acknowledge it. She moved her tongue imperceptibly seeking saliva.

  Richard stepped back, cavalierly raised both hands palms out, as if he was play-acting with a child.

  “Turn around,” she said, quietly, hoping not to awaken Anna. He complied. He saw the gun, pointed now at his chest. He smirked.

  “Smile,” she said, picking up the pendant and pointing the micro camera directly toward him. “A picture’s worth a year of testimony, isn’t it?”

  She snapped three photographs of Anna sleeping in the vehicle, too. Each image would be date and time stamped. Evidence. The more, the better.

  She’d argued with Betsy and her sister, Bette, for hours about the next part of their plan. Betsy had cried, said she didn’t want her child’s father incarcerated. She wasn’t desperate enough yet.

  But Jess knew Betsy would be more desperate later; it was a mistake not to finish this now, once and for all. Richard would never give up as long as he drew free breath. Letting him go was a stupid mistake. Yet this was not her decision to make.

  The breeze had picked up force and dried her eyeballs each time it brushed across, yet she refused to blink. Too much could happen in the blink of an eye. Peter was stolen in what seemed just such a quick moment fifteen years ago.

  Jess held the gun steady and waited for Richard to make his move. Maybe he would give her the excuse she needed to do what should be done. Could she shoot him if she had to? In a New York second.

  Released and alone, Richard would steal his daughter again, not because he loved her, but because he owned her. Anna would never be safe from him. Ever. He should have gone to prison long ago for battering his wife. Or when he stole Anna the last two times. But Betsy had refused to testify against him. Now, Jess had proof, when Betsy needed it. But it would have been so much better if Betsy had agreed to Jess’s final solution. Jess knew Richard was a fatal enemy, not a mere opponent.

  Richard stared at Jess, wary but unafraid. He seemed to know her, but not recognize her simultaneously. His puzzlement was almost comical.

  Jess’s slender frame was indistinguishable from a slight man’s in these clothes. And she held an equalizer pointed at his heart. Did he recognize her voice? Maybe, although they hadn’t talked in years and he’d been through a lot of women since then.

  She could almost see him calculating his next move and five moves after that, like a chess match. Richard had always been good at strategic games.

  Jess said what she’d agreed to say. “If you ever set foot in the state of Florida again, the video of tonight’s escapade will be delivered to the U.S. Attorney’s office. You’ll die in prison.”

  He smirked again. He wasn’t afraid of her. He was a fool.

  Jess’s hand itched to smash the gun into his face at least, but she kept calm. The video would be her shield, not his sword against her, no matter how much she’d rather finish this now.

  “Move to the front of the car,” she said.

  He sidled to the center in front of the grille, well lit by the streetlight and far enough away. Her gaze never leaving him, the gun steady, Jess bent down and lifted the little girl. Anna stirred, but didn’t waken. Jess almost cried when she smelled Anna’s fabric softener and baby shampoo scents.

  Bastard.

  When she was sure Anna was secure in her grasp, Jess distanced herself from Richard’s SUV.

  “Get in and drive away,” she instructed, her tone harder this time, annealed with years of hatred.

  Hands in his pockets, Richard shrugged, sauntered around to the driver’s side and opened the front door. Instantly, the car alarm sounded. Impossibly loud repeated long blasts of the horn invaded the suburban nighttime, blasting Jess’s ears.

  The cacophony awakened Anna. When she saw the black-clad apparition holding her, she began to cry and kick, yelling “Let me go! Let me go!”

  Jess struggled, grabbed her tightly to keep her from taking them both down to the ground, but the gun’s steady aim didn’t waver.

  “Hush, Anna,” Jess whispered close to her ear. “It’s Aunt Jess. It’s okay. Be quiet now.”

  “Aunt Jess?” the astonished child cried, tears and screams coming to a shaky, tentative halt. She pulled the ski-mask off Jess’s head in one quick grab exposing her hot face to the cool morning breeze.

  Richard now had one leg into the SUV, his weight shifted toward the driver’s seat. He pressed the key fob to silence the blasting horn, and then flashed his sardonic smirk again. “Nice to see you again, Jess. You didn’t grow up much, did you?”

  She stiffened and extended the gun, her intention clear. “Don’t forget what I told you, Richard. No contact. Go.”

  He moved his head slowly, side to side, smirk firmly affixed. “Think again, little girl. I’m taking orders from you?” He laughed, slid into the SUV, started the engine, rolled down the window, and aimed a stare of pure hatred her way.

  Jess shivered imperceptibly. She’d made an open enemy of a distant one. Somehow, he would prove he controlled her, too, along with everything else in his world, no matter what the cost.

  She felt hot fear coursing through her entire body and a quick flash of insight. Could he be the one who’d stolen Peter? She’d investigated and rejected the possibility long ago because Richard didn’t know Peter existed. Had she been wrong?

  She couldn’t speak. She held the gun steady, pointed at his head.

  All pretext of the gentleness he’d shown his daughter gone, he said, “You’ll be sorry you screwed me, Jess. Count on it.”

  The SUV’s powerful engine roared louder than a six-pack of Blue Angles as he sped away in the quiet darkness of the early suburban morning.

  She watched his taillights recede to red pinpoints and disappear around a corner before she whispered aloud.

  “I’ve been sorry about that for years and years.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE NEWS FROM THE amber alert Internet subscription service flashed across her computer as she worked on revisions to her most recent investigative article for Taboo Magazine. She ignored the alert several times until she reached a logical stopping point. A domestic violence call in a Miami neighborhood. Every nerve in her body vibrated the instant Jess read the address. Eyebrows gathered at the bridge of her nose reflecting her pain when she squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with
both hands in the only brief moment of regret she allowed herself now. More pain would follow, as it should.

  Her fingers shook as she worked the keys for information, hoping she was wrong while certain she wasn’t.

  The first officer at the scene found a woman shot and a five-year-old girl missing. An amber alert went out at 4:15 a.m. Jess glanced down at the clock on the screen. Twenty-Five minutes ago. Wasting no time on useless recriminations, she left immediately.

  Thirty minutes later, she reached Saturn Circle, a few houses scattered around the cul-de-sac bordering Lake Tarpon. Miami P.D. cruisers blocked the Dolphin Avenue entrance. Jess parked the rental and slipped her Glock under the front seat. She had a license to carry, but no need to make this tense situation worse.

  She grabbed her laptop and approached the first officer she saw.

  “Hey, Randy,” she said, as powerfully as she could muster simply to avoid startling him in the darkness. She showed her ID. She’d been working in Miami for several weeks on another story. The cops she’d met were helpful and sympathetic. No one wanted to help crime victims within the bounds of the law more than Jess did, and she always made sure local law enforcement knew that. They were all on the same team, she felt.

  Officer Randy Wilson wagged his head, rubbed his neck. “Sorry. No media inside. What’s your interest, anyway?”

  Jess met his steady gaze. “Betsy Martin is a crime victim. I came to offer support.”

  “She doesn’t need it,” Randy told her, too bluntly.

  Jess released her breath in a long exhale, closed her eyes. The news hit her hard in the gut, even though she’d expected it, really. Pressing a man like Richard as hard as she’d done was dangerous. She’d known it at the time, but she’d thought the stakes were worth it. A short moment of guilty mourning was all she permitted herself for now. Plenty of time for remorse later, too.

  “Suspects?”

  “Nasty divorce. Custody problems with the daughter.”