by Debra Webb
He pushed up her coat, slipped loose the button of her jeans and slowly lowered the zipper. Another of those delicious shivers rippled through her. He stripped the jeans and panties down her hips, then guided her into a forward lean.
Sarah braced her hands on the railing, closed her eyes as he traced the seam of her ass with deft fingers. A gasp hissed past her lips.
The metal-on-metal scrape of his zipper sent her pulse into an erratic rhythm. The rip of foil assured her he took the necessary precautions.
Then the tip of his penis nudged her. Her body pulsed with anticipation and she pushed away all other thoughts.
He guided himself using those magic fingers, teasing her clit as he worked that hard tip inside her. Her fingers tightened on the railing as he drove fully inside. Her muscles clenched around him. He groaned.
"That's it…" He made a pleasurable sound as he slid back and forth, back and forth. "What I was craving."
She spread her feet wider apart, arched her butt to give him deeper access. The friction was driving her crazy… that he stretched her so tight never ceased to be a pleasant surprise. He was big… big and hard.
With the distance from civilization there was no one to fear seeing or overhearing them. She let herself go. "Harder," she ordered. He accommodated her demand. She cried out… felt that building, building sensation, felt her body go taut… until the pleasure burst inside her, leaving her panting, hot, wet, and wanting more.
He leaned over her, his throbbing cock still deep inside her, and pressed hard against that spot that made her squirm. "More?" he whispered in her ear.
Was he crazy? "Yes." She moaned. She wanted him over and over until he lost his mind just like she had already.
He straightened, burrowed deeper. She reached up, put her arms around his head and pulled his face to hers. He kissed her, slowly, matching the tiny in and out movements. A little deeper, a little more. She screamed in his mouth.
Came hard.
He stopped. Every fucking muscle in her body vibrated with the sensations. Her breasts ached. She moved his hands there so that he could rub them. She pressed his palms with hers, making him caress her more firmly.
He growled with the effort of holding back. She took control, sinking back against him, easing him deeper into her. The rush was amazing, had her gasping for breath… and building toward a third orgasm.
He roared with his own plunge toward release. She teased him, grinding, rocking her hips, and he still held back his full, thick length.
She had to have all of him. Pushing away the last of her reservations, she leaned forward, braced herself, and spread her legs wide apart.
He went in all the way.
They cried out together.
He thrust once, twice more, and then he came hard and fast.
She went on her toes with the impact of her third orgasm.
He held her that way, nestled deep inside her.
Even then, she couldn't resist lifting her gaze to the house across the water.
The truth was there… she was certain.
CHAPTER 37
2313 Beauchamp Road, 1:00 P.M.
Jerald turned up the volume on the plasma hanging above the fireplace. He instinctively moved toward it as the local news on the hour recapped the latest events. Sarah Newton's image flashed on the screen, a microphone stuck in her face.
"The person responsible for these two tragic murders is female. She's out there and she's not finished yet."
He moved his head side to side. Sarah Newton refused to give up. Part of him couldn't help respecting her dogged-ness. She would not relinquish until she had the truth.
That admirable trait presented quite the dilemma.
"Daddy."
He turned to find Jerri Lynn standing on the other side of the room watching him, her parka and boots evidence she had only just returned home.
She shook her head, her eyes wide with something akin to shock.
He moved toward her. Wanted to explain that what he'd done was for her benefit.
She backed away. "What have you done?" Before he could respond, her mother entered the room. "What's going on?" She looked from Jerald to the television screen where more images and comments regarding the ongoing investigation eclipsed the killing storms in the South and the unrelenting floods in the West.
Jerri Lynn ran from the room. Lynda stared after her.
When the clomp of her boots on the stairs had faded, his wife walked quickly to where Jerald stood.
"Jerald, I don't know what she's up to but something very strange is going on around here." She glanced toward the hall to ensure their daughter was still out of hearing range. "We should have sent her away to school. There's…" Lynda shook her head, fell silent.
He refused to admit that she was all too correct. That would be pointless now. There were more pressing problems. "What's wrong now, Lynda?"
Her troubled gaze lit with a hint of anger. "You always take her side. She's done nothing but widen the gap between us." Lynda clutched his sweater sleeve. "We need time for us, Jerald. Just the two of us. I can't live like this any longer." Desperation replaced the fury. "I want things to be the way they used to be… when we shared everything. Before any of the things… that went wrong."
He tensed, reclaimed the calm that he rarely allowed to slip. He knew all too well exactly what she meant. But that was in the past. There was no need to go back there. The pressing matter now was their daughter. "What is it you feel is so strange?"
Again Lynda glanced in the direction of the stairs. "Some of my medication is missing."
His tension escalated. "Your heart medication?" Of course that was what she meant. His wife took no other medication.
She nodded. "And this afternoon I was looking for my other snow boots and I found a knife hidden beneath my Louis Vuitton bag. It was wrapped in one of my scarves." Lynda leaned closer to him and whispered. "Jerald, it was covered in blood. I don't know what's going on… but I'm very frightened."
Careful. Don't react. "What did you do with this knife?"
She swallowed hard, the effort visible along the slender column of her throat. "I hid it in the mudroom."
"Show me."
As they moved down the hall toward the kitchen, Lynda paused to ensure Jerri Lynn was nowhere in sight. Music abruptly blared. Her music. She was in her room. Clearly relieved, Lynda took his hand and led the way as if he was unsure of the route. In the mudroom, she lifted the lid to the woodbox and reached inside. She handed him the item wrapped in the silk scarf.
He cautiously unwrapped the knife. Scarlet smeared its shiny blade.
Fear tinged his blood.
There was only one thing he could do now.
He wrapped the scarf around the stained knife once more and tucked it into a canvas bag he used for trips to the market. Setting the bag aside, he reached for his coat. "I'll be back soon."
Lynda's eyes searched his but she did not ask the question he saw burning in hers.
There was nothing to say. He knew what he had to do.
The drive to Bangor took forty-five minutes. Jerald stopped at the gate and entered the necessary code. When the gate slid out of the way, he rolled through the entrance.
River City Storage. The most secure storage facility in all of Bangor. State-of-the-art climate control. Twenty-four-hour monitoring with full-service maintenance.
He parked in his reserved slot and entered the building, which required yet another code. Three layers of security, including biometrics.
Inside, he took the elevator to the sixth floor.
Both sides of the corridor were lined with double entry doors. Each set of doors marked with a number.
Jerald stopped in front of the double doors marked with the number 6.
He entered the code he'd personally selected, 666, then pressed the pad of his thumb to the scanner. The door released, allowing him access to the unit he leased.
Closing the door, he ensured the internal lo
ck was set, then he turned to face his demons.
The clothes he'd worn, from the shoes to the masks, for each encounter were carefully stored in sealed garment bags. The instruments he had used in each of those encounters were packed in their special case, locked and stored on the shelf above the hanging garment bags.
Across the width of the back of the unit was the vault that was absolutely essential to his needs.
Slowly, one determined step at a time, he crossed to that vault. Stored inside were twenty items, each item carefully preserved and labeled.
He had promised himself that when his daughter was born he would stop. No matter how much the weakness haunted him. No matter how intensely he missed the incredible pleasure. He would stop. There was no choice.
Jerald despised those, like Matilda Calder's whore of a mother, who continued to serve their own selfish weaknesses as if they were gods to be worshipped. When the choice was made to bring a child into the world, those weaknesses had to be overcome. No matter the sacrifice.
That child was the only reason he hadn't killed that selfish bitch when she'd tempted him.
His entire life before, he had searched for the one thing he had felt missing inside him. Heart. When his daughter was born, he'd found that the organ he'd thought nonexistent all those years indeed was present. He'd experienced emotions he'd never known existed prior to that wondrous day.
From that moment forward, his life had been complete.
As challenging as overcoming his own vile weakness had been, he had mastered it. Had never looked back.
Until now.
She had inherited that weakness.
There was no question. No way to deny the reality.
He had no choice.
The only remaining question was the how to save her.
Conviction filled him.
He knew how.
Sarah Newton.
CHAPTER 38
Living Word Church, 4:00 P.M.
Deborah watched her husband kneeling before the crucifix. He prayed so diligently. And yet, no relief had come.
Their worst fears had been realized.
Chief Willard had called. He and that FBI agent would be arriving within the hour to speak to Christopher a third time.
The chief had held a press conference and announced that the Conner girl had identified the suspect as a male.
Now the authorities were going to take a closer look at all male persons of interest.
That was what they considered Christopher.
A person of interest.
Deborah had waited for days now. Prayed and watched unwaveringly for a sign.
Today that sign had appeared.
She had dozed off in her chair and awakened suddenly to find the sun shining through the living room windows. The play of light on the worn wood floors had danced before her eyes. For long minutes she had watched this simple production of nature. A spider had crawled into the open, drawn by the warmth from the sun.
At that same moment Tamara had entered the room. Believing her aunt to be asleep and seeing the spider creeping ever closer, the child rushed across the room, snatched up a magazine from the coffee table and smashed the spider. She had looked up, thinking that the noise had awakened her aunt, smiled and said, "That was a close one."
Deborah had known as she peered into the sweet face of her niece that she could wait no longer.
Despite her gnarled fingers and aching joints, the good Lord had given her a sharp mind.
When danger crept close… He expected her to do what needed to be done without delay.
Today.
CHAPTER 39
The Overlook Inn, 5:00 P.M.
A stack of messages in hand, Sarah unlocked the door to her room and let herself in. She shut the door, sagged against it and closed her eyes.
What was she thinking getting involved with him?
This was definitely involved.
Not just sex.
Her body hummed with desire at the mere thought of him.
Not good. Not good at all.
It was a flat-out miracle she'd managed to get away from him long enough to take a shower. He'd insisted that she have dinner with him and his family that night.
If Sarah had half a brain left she would be out of here before then.
Like that was going to happen. She would finish this.
She'd watched the Pope home for hours. The only movement was when Jerri Lynn arrived. And a tow truck. Evidently there had been trouble with the girl's SUV. In case the vehicle was being towed for some purpose that would remove evidence, Sarah had noted the name of the towing company. She'd tried calling the number painted on the vehicle, but she'd gotten an answering machine.
Maybe twenty minutes later she noticed Jerald Pope leaving in his Infiniti. She'd wished like hell she'd been a position to follow him, but she and Kale had been in a boat. By the time they'd gotten back to his Jeep, Pope would have been long gone.
Sarah tossed the messages on her bed, dropped her bag, and headed for the bathroom. Twisting the old knobs, she set the water flow and temperature in the tub. She crossed back to the dresser and scrounged for clothes. She was down to her last clean jeans and panties. The sweatshirt would have to do since everything else was in need of laundering.
Staying this long hadn't been anticipated. But she couldn't leave until it was done. Tonight she would resume her surveillance.
She trudged back to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The hot water soothed her aching muscles. She was sore in places she'd never been sore before. Her nipples instantly hardened as images and sensations from the trip to the island sifted through her.
Shutting off the water, she climbed out of the tub and grabbed a towel. The fluffy rug tickled her toes. Drying her skin quickly, she reached for the complimentary hair dryer next. When her hair was dry, she swiped on antiperspirant and got dressed.
There was nothing she could do to convince August or Willard of her conclusions on the investigation so that left her with only one choice. Watch her suspects herself.
Lynda and Jerald Pope.
After sliding clean, dry socks onto her feet, Sarah tugged on her Converses. She wondered if Lynda Pope had considered if she would get her boots back when she had Sarah's only shoes delivered to the inn. Sarah had rushed away from the Pope home after the search for Polly before Lynda could ask for her boots or suggest Sarah take her Converses.
If Sarah was right, Lynda wouldn't be needing them anyway.
She stood, grabbed her coat and bag, and headed for the door.
A white envelope lay on the floor next to her door. It definitely hadn't been there when she'd arrived. Sarah bent down and picked it up. Her name was penned across the front in flowing letters.
She dropped her bag and coat to tear the envelope open.
More of those flowing letters streamed across the single, folded page.
Hey Sarah,
Sorry I had to go without saying bye, but I couldn't stay. I've always known he was here. I could feel him like a second heartbeat echoing my own. He is marked with 666. Maybe you won't believe me, but please be careful. He's watching you. He uses people sometimes as an angel of light to mislead. Be careful. And wear the necklace. He's very, very close.
Matilda
Sarah tugged on her coat and shoved the letter into the pocket. The devil, 666. She shook her head. Mixed-up kid.
But damned good at sizing up people. Her instincts were on target even if her beliefs were missing the mark.
A hard-knock life would do that to a person. Make them grow up fast and be wise beyond their years.
That's all it was.
Sarah got in her rental car and headed to the Chapel of the Innocents. In case the area was still considered an official crime scene, she planned to approach from the opposite end of the road. She would stop a good distance away, out of view of anyone who might be monitoring the area, and cut through the woods. Her goal was to reach that ridge overlooking t
he Pope house.
Since it wasn't quite dark yet, she found the far end of Chapel Trail where it intersected with another narrow road without any difficulty. She grabbed her bag and emerged from the car. Careful to make only minimal sound when she closed the door, she headed into the woods. Snow topped her shoes and, as usual, crowded up her pants legs.
She stayed east, with the sun setting behind her.
By the time she reached her destination it was almost dark. Following her tracks back out wouldn't be a problem. She had her trusty flashlight.
She adjusted her binoculars and scoped out the house. The lights were blazing inside. Perfect. Her phone vibrated.
Ignoring it crossed her mind, but if another girl had gone missing, she needed to know. She pulled out her phone, checked the screen. Blocked call.
Her shrink had never stooped to that level. Neither had her editor.
She flipped it open. "Newton." A moment of silence elapsed. "Newton," she repeated, annoyed. "Sarah Newton," the voice said.
Male, she decided, though it was distorted, almost garbled.
"That's me, asshole. What's up?"
"You're a fraud."
The dead air that followed the statement told her the call had ended even before she checked the screen.
She shoved the phone back into her pocket. She'd been called worse. Just in case, she felt her other pocket to ensure the pepper spray was there.
Focusing back on the house, she spotted Jerri Lynn on the sofa watching television. As Sarah watched, Lynda entered the room and asked her daughter something. The two argued. Big gestures. Lots of agitation. "Hmmm."
Obviously neither of them had been her caller. The Infiniti was back in the driveway. So, where was Jerald? Snow crunched. She froze.
A split second before she reached for the pepper spray, a hand went over her mouth and nose. An arm banded around her waist. She kicked. Punched. Thrashed. The hand pressed harder against her face… there was a cloth in his palm. Fight!