Kit leaned over and opened the passenger door of her Beetle. Izzy eased carefully inside. Her ribs were only bruised, but any sudden movement gave her a nasty reminder of her morning’s workout. She’d much rather remember the mad crazy lovemaking session with the buttoned up Fed than getting the shit kicked out of her.
Kit checked her phone. “Ted texted me from the diner. He wants us to drop in on our way past.” Izzy opened her mouth to argue, but Kit cut her off. “The press isn’t there right now. He figures you have time for a coffee. He has Barney.”
Her poor dog. Ted had taken him to the vet for a thorough check up, but he seemed to be okay. It looked like Cromwell had simply lured him away with a treat and tied him to a bush with a bit of rope. Everyone carried rope, right? She shuddered. “Is Seth there?”
“Yeah.”
Izzy nodded. “Okay.”
Kit grinned at her easy capitulation, but there was a glint in her eye. So far she hadn’t asked why a senior federal agent had kissed the hell out of her earlier. Izzy didn’t know how long the reprieve would last, but she was going to ride it as long as possible.
“I’m going to go visit Damien later.” Kit watched the road ahead, but Izzy knew she was feeling out her reaction.
Izzy squeezed her thigh with her good hand. She needed to start dealing with Kit as an equal. “He could come over to the house later,” Izzy offered. Although wasn’t that going to be awkward?
“Yeah,” Kit laughed. “I don’t think so. He says his mom wants to meet me, which is probably going to head south fast, but he needs a friend and high school has turned into a cesspool recently.” She turned her head and gave Izzy one of her wise smiles. “We’re not going to smoke pot or pretend to have sex. Promise.”
Izzy held her ribs and groaned. “You’re not going to ‘pretend’ to have sex. Shoot me now.”
Kit grinned, because she was a smart young woman who was old enough to make her own choices. Pity Izzy needed to be assaulted to figure that out. She needed to let go of her past suspicions, give Kit’s friends a chance. She didn’t have many now that Helena was dead. “Keep your phone on and answer if I call you. We don’t know for sure Duncan Cromwell is the guy who killed those girls.”
Kit gave a disbelieving snort. “How many maniacs do you think live out here, Iz?”
“More than you know.” Izzy pressed her lips together and thought of their father. Her sister seemed to have turned the corner in maturity. She seemed to have screwed her head back on straight. How would the news that their father had been responsible for the murder of at least one young woman go down? Or that when their mom had found him hunched over a naked body in the trunk of his car, she’d stabbed him with a screwdriver, and pleaded with Izzy to help her hide all the evidence?
How did anyone deal with that?
Izzy should have refused, should have gone straight into the police station the way she wanted to. But her mom had been nine months pregnant and threatening to kill herself if anyone found out the truth. The emotions felt so vivid, memories so alive in her mind that bile rose up inside her throat. Grief, horror, and fear all churned inside her—emotions she’d never been able to share with anyone. Her nails bit into the soft flesh of her palms. She was so sick of the secrets. So sick of the guilt. Izzy knew what she had to do—she just didn’t think Kit would ever forgive her for ripping away her ignorance.
Kit swung into a parking space in front of the diner, and the seatbelt pressing against her bruised ribs snapped Izzy out of the past. Kit jumped out of the car and came around to open Izzy’s door. Izzy swung her legs around and used her left hand to haul herself up and out of the bucket seat. She rolled her shoulders, scanned the surroundings for media types, and headed inside.
Heat. Coffee. Bacon. The smells were old, familiar, and comforting.
Sal stuck his head through the service window and caught her sister’s eye. “I’ll be right back,” said Kit. “I’ll grab you a drink. Want anything to eat?”
Not even the smell of bacon made her hungry. “Just coffee, thanks.”
She went over to the booth where all the usual suspects were ensconced, except Hank, who was probably either working or sleeping. Ted stood up and wrapped a beefy arm carefully around her shoulder. Seth stood next. She took a step toward him, rose on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You saved my life.”
Seth grinned at his buddies. “See?”
Izzy laughed and stole Ted’s seat, sliding in next to the pastor who gave her a solemn nod. “Glad you’re still amongst the living, Miss Isadora.”
“Me, too, Pastor. Me, too.” Kit came back with her coffee. Izzy took a mouthful and the acrid taste burned all the way down her throat. “I also owe you for the work you did on my SUV, Seth.”
“I’ll stick the bill in your mailbox when I drop off your car,” Seth told her.
His buddies moaned and guffawed. Izzy held his gaze. “I appreciate it. For the work on the car and for finding me in the marsh and beating the crap out of Duncan Cromwell.”
He looked away, but she noted a slight reddening of his cheeks. She’d embarrassed the guy, however he was obviously enjoying hero status. She turned to Mr. Kent. She wanted to talk about something other than her brush with death. “How did your date with Mary go last night?”
He laughed a little self-consciously. “Fine, I think.”
Izzy grinned until Kit broke in, “I hope you didn’t eat the same thing Mary did. She sent Sal a message earlier saying she had food poisoning. He wants me to cover her shift for a few hours this afternoon.”
“Darn. She seemed fine last night.” Mr. Kent pulled out his cell phone and looked disappointed by the radio silence.
“Poor Mary,” said the pastor.
“That’ll teach you to skimp on the restaurant.” Seth snorted. “Now you’ll never get laid.”
“Unlike Izzy,” Kit said slyly, “who had a late night hook-up with the hot federal agent next door.”
Every drop of blood drained from Izzy’s face. She opened her mouth to deny it, but it was too late. Her shock and embarrassment were obvious. She’d already given herself away.
“Which Fed?” Ted asked Kit.
“The tall blond one who’s all business.”
“Really?” His brows rose. “ASAC Frazer. I figured she’d go for the rugged dark-eyed one because he obviously has the hots for her.”
“Lucas is cute,” Kit conceded.
Lucas?
“But if you think Frazer hasn’t got the hots for our Izzy, you haven’t seen them trapped in a room together, pretending not to imagine each other naked.”
“Kit!” Izzy was mortified her personal business was being gossiped about—in front of her. This was why she didn’t like small towns.
“Perhaps this is where your porn queen fantasies originate?” The pastor cut in. “What?” he said when everyone stared at him in silent shock. He frowned. “You all know she was pretending, right—didn’t you see the other image?”
Seth and Mr. Kent shook their heads and the pastor pulled out his cell phone and showed them the second photograph taken from the side. “Mrs. Ridgeway, this young man’s mother, forwarded it to me, because she didn’t want me tossing her out of the home she so desperately needs because of her son’s rumored debauchery.”
“I guess my dirty secret is out.” Kit’s expression morphed into a reluctant smirk.
“I told Mrs. Ridgeway it was a classic case of jumping to the worst possible conclusion and ‘let those who cast the first stone’ yada yada yada. I used it in my sermon this morning. Not the image.” He reassured Kit when he saw her eyes widen. “I pointed out that judging people without knowing the full facts didn’t exactly reflect a Christian spirit.”
“I’m sure it was a wonderful sermon,” Izzy said, gamely trying to get them off the subject of a photograph she’d hoped everyone had forgotten about. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Damn glad I missed it,” Seth murmured fervently.
“Me, too,” whispered Ted in her ear.
She kissed her uncle on the cheek. She wasn’t generally affectionate, and she was going to miss him when she moved away. “Where’s my dog?” she asked.
“In the van. I took him for a big long walk earlier so you don’t need to go out later unless you want to.”
She nodded, finishing her coffee, then stood to leave.
“What did they say about Cromwell?” Seth asked.
“I didn’t hear anything, yet.”
His mustache twitched. “I should have beaten him some more.”
A big ball of emotion wedged itself inside her throat and she couldn’t speak. She put her good hand over his fist and squeezed. He’d saved her life today, and she didn’t know how to properly convey her gratitude.
“Okay, I’m taking her home as per doctor’s orders.” Kit clapped her hands together. “She looks like she might vomit otherwise.”
“Kit…” Izzy complained.
“Then I have to come back and wait tables for a couple of hours. See ya’ll later.”
Izzy eased out of the booth, said bye to Ted’s cronies, and headed outside. Ted’s van door was unlocked, windows cracked for Barney. The little silver disco ball that hung from the rearview glittered with reflected light.
It was a cold blustery day and the sea still had that look of potential fury. She tugged one-handed on the side-door that slid open automatically. Barney went wild, giving her cold wet kisses. She grabbed his leash before he could jump down and run into traffic. The dog bent down and gathered something in his mouth. Izzy gently pulled out the offending mess. Holy shit. It was a pair of panties covered in dog slobber. Ew. Looked like she wasn’t the only one getting a little action, although her Uncle Ted hadn’t mentioned he was seeing anyone. Not that it was any of her business. Just like what she did with Lincoln Frazer wasn’t anyone else’s business, either. She tossed the panties in the back of the van. “Come on, Barney. Let’s go home.”
Chapter Twenty-One
DESPITE JESSICA’S ONLINE super-bitch attitude, she’d proven surprisingly unadventurous when it came to the hard stuff. Less “Fuck you” and more “I’ll do anything you say and I won’t tell anyone what happened just don’t hurt me.” So he’d tested her. Made her do a lot of shit that had felt so good he was aroused again just thinking about it. And then he’d squeezed her slender throat until he’d not only watched, but actually felt the moment life released its tenuous grip on her young body. He’d seen the flicker in her eyes when she’d gone from terrified to realizing there really was something on the other side. Something wonderful. Something beautiful.
And he’d felt like God.
He replayed the video on his cell phone, touching himself, wishing he could stay here and enjoy it.
Instead the real world crept closer.
He’d had to get rid of his shoe collection. It was necessary but, damn, that had hurt. As he re-watched Jessica bend her creamy-white ass in the air he pumped his hand, reliving the things he’d done to her.
He’d never understood Denker’s need to torture and mutilate but the effect of a woman’s scream on his dick?—better than a blow job. Maybe it was as simple as that. Denker needed a specific type of scream to get him off—which meant prison had been seventeen years of torture for the poor bastard, while he’d been getting his jollies.
He grinned.
He felt sorry for the guy, really, but even though the hunger was growing again he couldn’t risk another murder, not here. Not yet. Cromwell was taking the fall for the latest round, like someone else had taken the fall years ago for the others. If he didn’t want to end up in a cell himself, he had to cool it for a while.
People had always said he was a lucky sonofagun, but after being dragged back from death while sighting heaven, he hadn’t believed them. Now he was starting to understand.
His finger flicked through the images and paused over the one of Kit Campbell pretending to blow that little prick. She’d been pretending, which amused him. For all her sass and confidence he figured she was still a virgin.
Would she scream as loud as Jessica had? Or be silent like Helena? He rubbed himself but nothing was happening, just that growing need for arousal cruising his veins like an animal trying to get out with no exit in sight.
He flicked to another image. Izzy.
The fact she was screwing a Fed was like a kick in the teeth. But maybe she was doing it to get access to a source of information, to figure out if they were getting any closer to discovering her secrets.
Could he blackmail her into working with him? No. Despite her actions she was too “principled” to allow herself to be compromised like that. It was another reason he liked her—all that moral backbone strapped over a dark ugly secret…beautiful juxtaposition. And now he was stiff again as he looked at the image of Izzy smiling.
He found the video of Jessica and played the audio, all the while he looked at Izzy’s smiling face. He didn’t cry out his release. He roared.
* * *
FRAZER WATCHED THE lunchtime news report at the police station with growing trepidation. Ferris Denker’s lawyer was making a statement to the media from the imposing steps of the State Capitol building in Columbia.
All the cops stopped what they were doing to watch as someone turned up the volume.
“After seeing this new spate of murders on the Outer Banks, my client is horrified by what some people have labeled a copycat murderer of Mr. Denker’s, just weeks before he is sentenced to die. He has been hit by a huge feeling of remorse—not only for the women whom he attacked and robbed of their lives, but also for the families of the victims. Mr. Denker knows he can’t atone for his past sins, but he’s desperate to at least ease the burden on families of the victims whose bodies were never recovered. Knowing that his recent offer to the Governor’s Office was rejected when he asked for his sentence to be commuted to life with no chance of parole, he is renewing his offer, but this time without stipulations. He wants to meet God with a clear conscience. I’m here to petition the governor to allow Mr. Denker to help authorities locate the bodies of his victims while there is still time. God rest their souls.”
The lawyer slid the crib note into his pocket and turned and jogged up the steps.
Shit.
What was Denker’s end game? Screwing with the families one last time? Dangling that carrot to people desperate for information? Bastard.
He wasn’t fooled by the sudden talk of remorse. Psychopaths didn’t feel remorse. The dominant personality traits of organized serial killers were fantasy, control, and domination. The only thing that mattered to these predators was finding a way to carry out their fantasies, of making them real.
But Frazer knew Denker did not want to die.
Had Cromwell been involved with Denker, or had the recent murders acted as a catalyst and a smokescreen for Izzy’s attack? Was the real killer still out there?
The news article ended with shots of this very building and him pushing his way through the melee of reporters with a terse “No comment” earlier. Some of the other police officers gave him a look before they went back to work. He headed into Tyson’s office where the other man was on the phone.
“It’s only for a few days, honey.” One hand was pulling his hair. “Go enjoy yourself while I sort out this mess.” His eyes met Frazer’s and then he turned his back. “I have to go. Talk to you later. I love you, babe.” He hung up.
Randall walked in behind him. Hair disheveled, suit jacket creased, tie askew. He dropped into the visitor chair in Tyson’s office and cradled his head in his hands. “Well, that sucked.”
“Anything at the house or workplace? Forensics find any sign of blood or semen with the black lights?” asked Frazer.
“Nothing.” Randall leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. “We did find a metal detector.”
That was something. Lack of trace was a worry though. Maybe he hadn’t killed Jessica in that van. �
�Can we check any of the other vehicles Cromwell had access to at work?”
Randall nodded. “CSU techs are on it. DNR office is cooperating fully with the investigation.”
How did they prove a connection to Denker? Maybe Cromwell had come across the bracelet in the dunes—dunes he was one of the few officially allowed to enter? Maybe he’d somehow figured out who the bracelet belonged to and contacted Denker… It didn’t feel right, but it was vaguely plausible. Frazer’s instincts had been way off on this case—so much for years of experience.
“Do you have that vehicle anywhere near Jessica Tuttle’s home?” asked Frazer.
Randall shook his head. “Not yet but I sent specifics and they’re running it through the ALPR system as we speak. Did he confess?”
“To attacking Dr. Campbell? Yes.”
“You’re still calling her Dr. Campbell?” Randall laughed tiredly.
Frazer eyed him narrowly. “In here? Yes. But Cromwell isn’t admitting anything regarding the other murders, nor to being in contact with Ferris Denker.” He checked his watch. “I’m going back to the beach house and through that box of photographs in the hopes of finding some images of Denker.”
His cell rang. Parker. “I have to take this.” He stepped into the corridor. “What do you have for me?”
“Cell phones are regularly smuggled inside or thrown over the outer walls of the prison. Once inside they’re available for a price. I’m pretty sure I saw one of the guards overlook a phone in Denker’s cell but the camera angle wasn’t great so I can’t be sure.”
Parker had hacked into the surveillance system, obviously. “I don’t want to know,” said Frazer.
“Know what?” Parker asked. “I can’t get the number off the SIM or a lock onto the device until he turns it on and so far he hasn’t.”
“The guard might know the number,” said Frazer.
“Want me to go ask him?” The calm in Parker’s voice told him the man had lost none of his knack for getting in and out of places without anyone knowing he was there.
“I take it Rooney’s feeling better?”
Cold Fear Page 27