by Jo Robertson
Once inside she went straight to her bedroom upstairs, leaving Jack in the foyer. She wanted a hot shower, needed to scrub off the slimy feeling Bill had left on her. It was so strange, she thought, that she'd slept next to her ex-husband for nearly a year, had eaten countless meals across the kitchen table from him, made love with him, laughed sometimes, argued more frequently.
And now all she wanted to do was wash the scent and touch of him off her body. In the shower, after she scrubbed with soap and shampooed her hair, then washed all over again with a light lemony scented liquid, the shock of it all finally hit her. She collapsed to the floor, the water pounding on her from above, unable to control the sobs that overtook her.
Jack found her huddled under the running water of the shower. "Livvie." He grabbed a towel off the rack, reached in to shut off the now-tepid water, and wrapped her body tightly. "You're freezing." He rubbed her arms and legs vigorously.
By now her crying had subsided to sniffles and he set her on the toilet seat to flick on the heated overhead lamp and blot her hair dry with a smaller towel.
She shoved at his hands. "I'm not a baby. You don't have to treat me like an infant."
"Then stop acting like one," he answered in a controlled, matter-of-fact voice.
Her face hardened and he knew that he'd used just the right tone to pull her back from the edge of hysteria. She straightened her shoulders.
"I'll give you time to dress," he said quietly and closed the bathroom door behind him.
Downstairs he prepared hot chocolate. No coffee, she didn't need a stimulant. He'd try to give her a tranquilizer so she'd get some rest, but he suspected she'd resist. Slater promised to put a deputy on her door in case her ex-husband came back.
When Olivia slipped down the stairs twenty minutes later, she looked calmer, her hair was smoothed back from her forehead and twisted at her neck, and she wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She didn't look at all like she was going to bed even though her smooth face was free of makeup. He frowned, but said nothing, and handed her a mug.
They sat at the kitchen table while he explained about the guard and tried to reassure her. "Here," he said, handing her a capsule. "This will help you sleep."
She stared at the pill in his hand. "I'm not taking drugs and I'm not going to bed."
"Stop being so damn stubborn."
She shook her head. "I'm going wherever it is that you're going."
"How do you know -? Never mind," he said, jamming his fingers through his hair. "I'm going back to the police station and you're not."
She stared hard at him, her eyes darkening to the forest green they took on when she prepared for battle. Oh, he knew her mind. She'd heard about Burrows' arrest. He tried another tactic. "Be reasonable, Olivia. You can't sit in on the interrogation of a murder suspect."
"I want to hear what Ted Burrows says."
"No, that's police business."
"I knew him, thought he was a harmless overgrown boy," she argued. "I want to know why he… why he did what he did. And if he's the one who hurt Keisha."
"He's not."
"You don't know that for sure."
Jack shoved back from his chair. "Burrows is just another pervert who gets off on using helpless women." He swiped his hand over his jaw, noting the thick growth. "He had nothing to do with Keisha's death."
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm going. You can't stop me."
That damned stubborn look on her face made him lose control. "You're just pissed because of what your ex did to you," he shouted.
She gripped the mug so hard he thought she'd break it. "You bastard," she whispered. "You don't even know what he did or didn't do."
"Then why don't you tell me, Olivia?" Sarcasm was heavy in his voice. "In fact, why didn't you even tell me Gant was still in your life?"
"Why don't you tell me about what's really going on with you, Jack?" she countered, standing and leaning against the sink, challenging him with her set jaw and beautiful, angry mouth.
A mouth he suddenly wanted to ravish.
"Dammit, Olivia, now's not the time. Slater's holding the interview with Burrows. I need to be in on it."
"You enlisted my help, remember? You came to me, persuaded me to assist in the case."
He felt the fight go out of him. Reaching for her, he ran a finger down her cheek. She'd always had skin as soft and smooth as silk. God, how he'd loved touching her.
"Did he hurt you?" he asked softly. "Did he -?" He couldn't bear the thought.
He trailed his fingertips down her neck and across the smooth, fine collarbone at the vee of her shirt. Her heart seemed to pulse beneath his touch like the wings of a trapped butterfly.
"He – no, he just wanted to terrify me." She swallowed and his eyes followed the movement of her throat. "He did. He scared the hell out of me." She offered a small smile. "He decided he wasn't as ready as I was to end the marriage."
"Then he's not as stupid as he sounds." He grasped her shoulders and pulled her toward him, inhaling the faint scent of lemon and soap and the familiar smell of her skin. She sank into him and shuddered long and hard, so he held her tight for a moment, the soft wisps of her hair tickling his chin.
"Please let me go with you," she whispered against his chest. "I need to hear what he says."
He felt his head bob in assent as he gave in.
*
Olivia observed the interrogation of Ted Burrows through the two-way glass in the largest of Bigler County Jail's interview rooms. She couldn't believe the graduate student in her mentoring class, the one she'd thought she knew, was this creepy man who acted so unrepentant for what he'd done to that poor girl.
He lounged indolently, his right arm slung over the back of a metal folding chair, and stared at a spot on the wall just beyond Jack's head. "Hey, don't I get an attorney or something?" He tilted his Adonis frame back in the chair. "You've got to provide one for me, right?" He smiled slyly as though he were in on a secret the rest of them weren't privy to.
"Shut up, Burrows," Jack remarked in a mild voice. He batted languidly at a fly that buzzed around his head, his eyes fixed on the file that lay on the table between them. Slater lounged against the entry door, letting Jack take charge.
Olivia wanted to sit in on the actual questioning, but Slater had adamantly refused and finally relented enough to let her watch from the observation room. If Jack had his way, he'd shuttle her home, tuck her in bed, and force her to drink chicken soup. Or better yet, stick her in a hospital bed under heavy guard, with orderlies and nurses in attendance.
Her bitter laugh resounded eerily in the small area. After the police told her the details of what Ted had done, she wanted to confront the slimy weasel with the full force of her wrath.
How could she have been so wrong about him?
Olivia sighed, wrapped her arms tightly around her body, and turned her attention back to the interview. As soon as they began interrogating Ted about the crime he was likely to be charged with, they had to Mirandize him. But Olivia knew Jack had broad federal powers that could skirt around the issue of Ted's right to counsel.
Jack glanced up from his papers and smiled negligently at Burrows, a smile that said gotcha. "Teddy, you've been quite a naughty boy. And a busy one."
"What about that lawyer?" Ted spouted in defiance.
Slater slammed away from the wall, placed his knuckles on the table, and forced Burrows to look up at him. The chair clattered to the floor. Olivia was surprised Ben's casual demeanor hid such ferocity. She saw the rapid jerking of Ted's left eye.
"Look, you bring a lawyer in here now, and your ass will be fast-tracked to Folsom Prison," Slater spat. "Trust me, you want to cooperate with the feds." He tilted his head towards Jack. "Because," he continued, "if the state brings charges against you instead of the federal government, I get my hands on you, and it'll be a cold day in hell before you ever see the light of day again."
"That's right, Theodore." Jack smiled maliciously. "You know wh
y they call it Club Fed? That's because federal time's a helluva lot easier to do than state time."
"In state prison, you get to mix it up with all the rapists and murderers." Slater stared hard at the suspect. "Not to mention the gang bangers. They're going to enjoy exchanging dialogue with an educated white boy like you."
The door swung open before Ted could respond and Deputy Harris, a happy grin on his handsome black face, walked in with a cardboard box.
"That's all of them?" Jack asked.
"Every last one, sir."
Jack pointed to the far end of the table. "Put them there."
Burrows eyed the box and wet his lips. "What's that?"
Jack scraped back his chair and walked to the edge of the table. He split open the tape that secured the top edges, removed the chain of custody envelope, and peered inside. "Why don't you tell me, Teddy?"
The pleasant smile never left Jack's face. He removed several video tapes from the box. "Should we take a look at some of these, Sheriff Slater?"
Slater leaned closer and whispered in Burrows' ear. "What do you think, Ted? Interested in watching some homemade videos?"
Jack began to pull tapes out of the box one by one. "This one says Connie. Oh, and here's Missy… and Stephanie."
Ted's face blanched and his eyes blinked furiously. "I don't know anything about those. They're not mine."
Jack shrugged. "Didn't say they were. But, as a matter of fact, we recovered them from your house. This is only one box. You have quite a stash of videography projects, Ted."
Ted's eyes widened, but he quickly recovered. "You've just violated about a dozen search and seizure laws," he blustered.
"Oh, we stayed well within the law," Jack said. "No knock warrant signed by a judge, exigent circumstances, probable cause with the girl obviously in danger of great bodily harm. Not hard to get a full warrant to search the house."
"You tore my house apart!" Ted exclaimed.
"That's the cool thing about search warrants. We're not limited to a plain view search," Jack sneered. "You weren't as clever as you thought with that hidden peephole."
Through the two-way glass, Olivia felt sick as she watched the furious working of Ted's jaw. "So? Nothing in either room is illegal."
"Oh, not the candles or the secret room," Jack agreed. "Not even the pictures plastered all over the walls. But the camera and these tapes – having nonconsensual sex with unconscious women? These tapes are going to connect you to the murders of Dani Rydell and Keisha Johnson."
Olivia covered her mouth and breathed deeply through her nostrils. She'd seen Ted nearly every day and had never imagined him capable of this level of depravity.
He began babbling. "Who? What do you mean? What the hell are you talking about?"
Jack watched him dispassionately for a moment and then jerked his head towards the door, a silent signal to Slater.
"Think about the tapes a while," Jack advised Burrows as they left the room. "You've got a lot of explaining to do."
Olivia met Jack and Slater in the hallway outside the observation room. "What's going on? What happened?"
"He's not the one," Jack said flatly.
"How do you know?" Olivia protested.
"No way in hell you're releasing him," Slater objected. "You want to explain why you're so sure Burrows isn't your suspect?"
"I just know." At the incredulous look on their faces, Jack added, "In a nutshell, he's too panicky. The UNSUB is cold and calculating. He'd never sweat like that." He stepped into the observation room and Olivia followed, Slater close behind.
Jack pointed through the two-way mirror as Burrows pushed out of his chair and paced the perimeter of the small room. "The killer wouldn't pace like that. He's not our guy. Ted Burrows is a depraved rapist, but he didn't kill anyone."
Slater sighed heavily. "I guess you know what you're doing."
"What about those girls? What about the tapes?" Olivia felt panic rise in her throat, followed quickly by the acrid burn of bile. God, she hoped she didn't vomit again.
"Don't worry, Livvie. He'll pay for that." Slater touched her arm briefly before he called a deputy to guard the interview door.
Drained, Olivia slumped against the wall. Irrationally, she wanted to blame Ted for the way her ex-husband had terrorized her. She wanted to blame him for all of it. That's the only way she'd feel safe again.
Chapter Twenty-three
Jack peered at Olivia, examined the pallor of her skin. He took her arm. "Let's get out of here."
"What about Ted?" she asked, tugging away from him.
"You've had enough," he snapped. He'd never have let her watch the interview in the first place except for her damned stubbornness.
"Don't worry," Slater told Olivia. "We've got plenty of charges to hold him on." He glanced Jack's way. "Could be you're wrong about him."
Jack shrugged.
"We could find physical evidence in the house to tie him to one of your victims," Slater speculated.
"He's not the guy," Jack insisted.
"We'll book him and put him in a holding cell, let him stew a while." Slater peered through the glass window into the interview room where Burrows had buried his head in his arms, face down on the table. "I have to let him call an attorney. I can't stall any longer."
"We're done here," Jack said. "I'm taking Olivia home." When he felt her body turn rigid against his side and sensed a protest rising to her lips, he insisted. "No argument." Her lips thinned in mutiny.
"Just this once, Livvie, don't be so goddamn stubborn."
Her face collapsed and she suddenly looked exhausted. She nodded once and let him take her arm. They'd just started toward the exit doors when Harris appeared.
"Bill Gant just crossed the Canadian border," the deputy said.
"He's got family there," Olivia said.
"Of course he does," Jack answered wearily.
Slater sent Harris to the interview room to escort Ted Burrows to the main jail where by law he could make the first of his three phone calls.
"After he makes the call, put him in holding cell three," Slater said.
Harris frowned. "Three, sir? Are you sure? In the Norteños holding?"
Jack knew most jails separated gang members to minimize the inevitable fights. He didn't need to ask why Slater wanted to put an upper-class, white guy in a Mexican gang holding cell. He wanted to put pressure on the detainee so he'd be more than eager to talk.
All Slater said was, "I think Burrows needs to experience a little cultural exchange."
Harris escorted Burrows toward the two phones for inmate use, but when Ted saw Olivia, the teaching assistant glared at her, twisting his lips in an ugly grimace. Harris restrained him with a firm hold on the man's left arm and twisted him away from her, but the cuffs didn't thwart his ugly words.
"You bitch," Ted snarled. "You sicced the cops on me, didn't you?"
As Harris dragged him down the hall, Ted continued shouting. "This isn't over. You haven't heard the last of me. You'll be sorry."
Jack leapt in front of Olivia, breaking him loose from Harris's grip, and gave Burrows a shove. He pushed him against the wall, his forearm tight against the man's throat. "Not a good idea to make a threat like that, Teddy."
"Holt," Slater warned.
Jack threw off the restraining arm. "This scum-bag isn't in a position to make threats." He scowled at Burrows and pressed harder on the man's Adam's apple. "You even think of coming near Dr. Gant, you little prick, and I'll hunt you down and rip your heart out."
Fear swept across Ted's face as he lapsed into a coughing fit. Slater pulled Jack off. "Go on now," he ordered. "Take Livvie home."
Minutes later, Jack sat with Olivia in the car, still shaking with rage. He glanced at her pale face and his trembling hands. What a pair they were.
Starting the engine, he drove her home.
By the time they arrived at the Sacramento house, a cooling wind had whipped up and Olivia's scent was strong in Jack's
nostrils. She shivered and turned the heat on while he offered to build a fire. In the living room he knelt and stuffed starter chips and newspapers beneath an almond log, while Olivia prepared tea in the kitchen.
She was stalling, he thought, stalling because she wanted him to stay. Her scent wafted to him from the kitchen – the scent of nascent sexual interest – and the sound of her skittering heart echoed like thunder in his ears. With his heightened senses, he also felt her anxiety and indecision, but under both, her arousal pulsed stronger with each passing moment.
Minutes later she lounged on the sofa, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of tea while he adjusted the log with a poker that leaned against the brick of the hearth.
"I want to talk about the notes and the case." Olivia's tone was soft and musing, not at all like the objective words she spoke.
"You've had a rough time," he said over his shoulder. "We can talk in the morning."
"No, I need to solve this damn case as fast as I can and move on with my life."
He smiled. "You're going to solve the case all by yourself?"
"You know what I mean," she snapped. "I want this experience behind me."
Her bulldog retort amused him, but he picked up her empty cup, and went to the kitchen for a beer. He retrieved one for himself and another for Olivia and when he returned, he shoved her gently into a reclining position on the sofa. Handing her a beer, he sat beside her and pulled off her shoes. He began to massage her feet.
She eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you treating me like I'll break?"
He ignored her question and worked his thumbs into the delicate flesh beneath the arch of her feet, kneading the heels and toes. Like everything else about her, her feet were small and delicate and very smooth. He felt her relax beneath his touch.
"Thanks," she murmured after a moment, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the sofa arm. He reached across her calves to take the beer from her loose fingers and set it on the end table.