Cold Blooded

by Lisa Jackson

  Bentz, wearing last night’s clothes, was staring at the mist rising off the bayou. The fabric of his shirt was stretched taut over his wide shoulders as he leaned over the rail. In one hand a half-smoked cigarette was burning.

  “Good morning,” she forced out, squaring her shoulders. She was slowly unwrapping the cover to Chia’s cage. The bird made a noise and ruffled her brilliant feathers as she stretched her legs. “Good morning to you, too,” she added as Chia hopped from one perch to the next.

  Bentz turned to face Olivia. His expression said it all.

  Her heart dropped.

  Regret was evident in the lines around the corners of his mouth and his gray eyes were wary. Suspicious again. “Mornin'.” He managed a bit of a smile. “Coffee’s on.”

  “I saw.” She folded the cover, felt like a fool, and motioned toward the cigarette. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I don’t.” He glanced down at his hand, lifted a shoulder, then took a long drag.

  She didn’t ask the obvious question as she tucked the cover onto a shelf.

  “I keep a pack in the Jeep and in the drawer at the station just in case.” Smoke drifted from his nostrils.

  “In case?”

  “In case I really need one.” He tossed the butt into the swampy yard, where it sizzled and died.

  “For days like today?”

  “Yeah. Especially days like today.” He looked up at her again. “Besides, I had to go to the Jeep for that.” He pointed at the thick volume on the table.

  “What is it?” She eyed the book.

  “A listing of all the saints.”

  “I see.” The tome was open to a page on Bl. Olivia. “Oh.” Her throat constricted. There wasn’t much information, just that for her faith and preaching she’d been imprisoned and avoided being burned to death by converting her would-be executioners. Eventually she was beheaded. Olivia shuddered and leaned against the table. In her mind’s eye she saw the wicked, curved blade that had been used against the poor woman in her vision. “What a way to start the morning,” she said.

  “The good news is that her feast day isn’t until June tenth.”

  “Why is she Bl. Olivia, not St. Olivia?”

  “I don’t know. She’s listed as a saint. And there’s another. Saint Oliva, no second ‘i’ in the name.” He sorted through the pages until he came to the one in question. Olivia read about St. Oliva. There wasn’t much. Just that she was a martyr and executed. Her feast day was March fifth.

  “So now I know when he’ll try to kill me,” she mocked. “Great.”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve thought about it. The murderer’s MO is to name the victims after the saints, regardless of their given names. So he could change your name to some saint whose feast day is a lot closer.” He looked at her with disturbed eyes. “And some of ‘em are pretty damned gruesome.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you were a real upper in the morning?” she muttered, refusing to be freaked out. “Please have a cup of coffee or something. I don’t need this.”

  “It’s not a joking matter.”

  “I know. I know.” She wrapped her arms around her middle.

  “You’ve got to be careful.”

  “I am,” she said but the look he sent her said otherwise. Chia squawked from her cage and Olivia thought about the night before. About sleeping with a cop. About, if she allowed it, how she could lose her foolish heart to this man. “Okay, you’re right,” she said, sighing as she leaned against the edge of the table.

  “Good.” He plowed stiff fingers through his hair. “I called a friend of mine. Ole Olsen. He owns a security company and owes me a favor. His crew will be out this morning.”

  “I already have a guy who’s coming next week.”

  “Cancel it. Ole’ll do a good job for you and it won’t cost you any more than what you were gonna pay.”

  “Must be quite a favor he owes you,” she said, bristling a little at the way he thought he needed to take charge of her life.

  “Enough of one.” He paused before adding, “Look, about last night…” His voice trailed off as if he expected her to jump in. No way. She wanted to hear what he had to say.

  “What about it?”

  He shoved his fists into the pockets of his slacks. His lips compressed. “I think you should know that I make it a personal rule not to get involved with anyone I work with, either at the department or on the case.”

  “I think you just broke it.”

  “Yep.”

  “But you won’t again?”

  “No. It was a mistake.”

  “Oh, riiiight. Boy, Bentz, you’re a real charmer.”

  Refusing to be baited, he went on, “I just wanted you to know. In case … well …”

  “In case I’d developed some twisted romantic notion about what happened between us?” she offered.

  His jaw clenched. “What happened between us won’t be repeated.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like a challenge.”

  Bentz shook his head. “I can’t let my emotions cloud my judgment.”

  “Is that possible?” she asked, moving toward him, closing the distance. “Do you have emotions?”

  He sliced her a hard look. “I have to get downtown.”

  “Duty calls?” It sounded harsher than she meant it. She did know what he meant, but she couldn’t shake off the sting of his rejection with just a dismissive shrug of her shoulder.

  “That’s right. It does.” His skin grew taunt over his cheekbones. “Thanks for—”

  “Don’t!” she cut in, lifting a hand as if to ward off a blow. “Just leave it, okay? I’m a big girl. An adult. This isn’t an adolescent crush or some fascination I have with you being with a cop, okay? I just want you to understand that. Last night just happened.” He lifted a bushy eyebrow as if he didn’t believe a word of the garbage she was peddling.

  Neither did she. She’d never been into one-night stands and had practiced a rather short and broken chain of serial monogamy since her first real boyfriend her senior year in high school. But she wasn’t going to let him know that. Not right now. “Okay, you’ve got that off your chest. I get it.” With a toss of her head, she plunged her fists into the pockets of her robe.

  “You’re pissed.”

  “Yeah, a little. It’s just that… well, I’m not into casual sex.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “But I’m not willing to throw last night in the trash just because it doesn’t fit in with my book of professional etiquette.” She angled her face up at him and his eyes held hers a second too long.

  “I just need to keep everything in perspective. Last night, I lost control. It’s not like me.”

  “Maybe it is like you and you just won’t admit it.”

  He looked at her so sharply, she knew she’d hit a nerve.

  “Someone really did a number on you, didn’t she?”

  “It’s irrelevant.”

  “Bull. In case you didn’t notice, I was there last night,” she said, advancing on him, holding up her bandaged hand and jabbing a finger at his chest. “And I was paying attention. You’ve got walls built up around you, Bentz. Huge stone walls piled way high, and I’m willing to bet that when anyone starts pulling those stones away, breaking down the walls, you either build ‘em up again real fast or you run.”

  “As I said, it doesn’t matter.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” She was angry and couldn’t rein it in. “Maybe last night just happened, or maybe it was supposed to happen. Who knows? It all depends upon your cosmic view or lack thereof. But I don’t remember asking you for any declarations of love or commitment or anything of the kind, so don’t act like I’m some poor, wretched little woman whose heart has been broken. Okay? I’m just saying that we shared something. If it was one time, fine, I can handle that, but don’t pretend you’re taking the higher ground because of some professional purpose because I’m not buying it.”

  He hes
itated. A muscle worked in his jaw. “What is it you want from me?”

  “Honesty.”

  “Women never want honesty.”

  “What archaic planet are you coming from?” she demanded, burned. “Most women want honesty, Bentz, and I just happen to be one.”

  “Then here it is. Short and simple. I can’t get involved. With anyone. Last night was a mistake. Not yours. Mine. While I’m on this case, I can’t let you …”

  She arched an angry eyebrow. “Do what?”

  “Get too close.”

  “What about after the case is closed?”

  “I don’t know,” he said and deep furrows etched his brow.

  “Nothing will change,” she said, starting to understand him and what all this denial was about. “You still won’t let me or any female ‘get too close.’ ”

  “Maybe you listen to too much Dr. Sam.”

  “And I’m sticking with my theory that someone really did a number on you. Let me guess … your ex-wife.” Bingo. His eyes narrowed just a fraction.

  “I think we’d better leave her out of this,” he said, the corners of his lips tight. He picked up the book on saints and tucked it under his arm.

  She wasn’t finished. “Let’s get something straight. I’m not the kind of woman to sit around and wait. Believe it or not, I, too, have a life.”

  “That’s good.”

  “You bet it is.”

  He hesitated, muttered something under his breath, and started for the door. “I’ll call you … I mean, if anything else comes up, and I expect the same from you.” The dog was at his heels.

  “Absolutely.” Silently counting to ten, Olivia walked Bentz to the front of the house and, while she was at it, pushed aside most of her anger. Rejection wasn’t the end of the world and she’d suffered enough of it in the past. Why should Rick Bentz prove to be different than the other men who had left her?

  You called him. You invited him upstairs. You wanted last night to happen. You knew the chances. Don’t be a child. Clearing her throat, she said, “Look, I didn’t mean to come off as the bitch of the century. Thanks for telling me how you felt and … thanks for coming over last night. I, um, I was kind of a wreck.” She managed a thin smile.

  “No one blames you for that. What you saw would have shaken anyone up. I’ll talk to the Sheriff’s Department; there will be extra patrols and you”—he pointed an accusing finger at Hairy S—“be a guard dog, okay? Not a yapping idiot but a real, bonafide guard dog.”

  Hairy’s tail slid between his legs and his head lowered as he cowered behind Olivia. “He’d rather be a thief. He likes to steal things and hide ‘em.”

  “Wonderful. He’ll be a lot of help, that one will,” Bentz muttered under his breath as he opened the door, then paused as the moment stretched out awkwardly between them. “Take care, okay?” Bentz brushed his knuckles under her chin and her stupid heart lurched. “I’ll be in touch.” He stepped onto the porch, jangling the wind chimes with his shoulder as he took off at a jog to his Jeep.

  Standing in the doorway, Olivia watched him swing into his rig, sketch another wave to her, then throw the SUV into gear and tear out of the drive. Leaves and mud scattered in the Jeep’s wake. She should’ve thought good riddance, but didn’t.

  With the tips of her fingers, she touched her chin where Bentz’s knuckles had scraped the underside of her jaw. The gesture had been his way of being tender and yet not getting close.

  Which was a crock.

  The kind of mixed signals she didn’t need.

  She watched as the Jeep disappeared through the trees. The guy was a cop who’d seen way too much. He’d lost whatever ability he’d had to reach out and connect with another person years ago. He was not the kind of man she needed in her life!

  So what if he was good-looking? Handsome men were a dime a dozen. Big deal that he was incredible in bed. One had to wonder where he’d picked up that particular skill. It didn’t matter that he’d come rushing over here the minute she was upset. After all, it was his job, wasn’t it?

  So she’d slept with him and made love to him with wild abandon. People did it every night of the week.

  But not you, Olivia. This is new ground for you. Virgin territory. You are an idiot. You take so many risks with him. Physical risks, emotional risks. You have no idea if he’s involved with some other woman. Just because he’s not married doesn’t ensure that he doesn’t have a girlfriend tucked away—or maybe two or three.

  No, that part she didn’t believe. Bentz didn’t have time for a woman. Not just her, but any woman.

  His Jeep was long out of sight as she shut the door and the house seemed suddenly lonely. Cold. As if it had lost some vitality. “Stop it,” she growled at herself as she started up the stairs to change. She was halfway up when the phone rang. Down she went. Robe billowing, she flew into the kitchen and nearly yanked the receiver out of the base. “Hello?” she said, half-expecting to hear Bentz’s voice on his cell phone. Maybe he forgot something …

  “Oh, I actually caught you. I thought if I called early I might,” Sarah said breathlessly.

  “What’s up?” Olivia asked, though she knew that, of course, the call would be about Leo. She reached into a cupboard and found a package of sunflower seeds, which she used to fill one of Chia’s dishes.

  “Leo’s in New Orleans.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right, he called me last night, wouldn’t say where he was, but I had caller ID installed last week and saw the area code.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “I have no idea … well, I have one, but I don’t like it. He was at a convention in Nashville last year and ever since then he’s been distracted. Spends a lot of time on his e-mail. When I went to log on to check it, I couldn’t get in. He’s changed his friggin’ password. I’ve been trying to break into it, but so far no luck.”

  “Why’d he call?”

  “I don’t know. At first I thought he just wanted me to know that he was okay, to put my mind at ease, but now … well, I found his strong box and broke the lock.”

  “What did you find?” Olivia asked, not really wanting to know.

  “Bank statements for an account I didn’t know he had and … a first draft of some legal papers. Divorce papers,” she said and her voice wobbled. “I can’t believe it, Olivia, after all these years and all his cheating now he thinks he can divorce me? No way … no … freakin’ way.”

  “Oh, Sarah, I’m sorry,” Olivia said and she was. She hated to hear the pain and despair in her friend’s normally upbeat voice. But she hated Leo Restin for what he was doing to his wife. Olivia wanted to say that divorce might be the best thing, but held her tongue; Sarah was too raw, would argue it to the death.

  “Yeah, me too.” Sarah’s voice cracked with emotion. “I was wondering, how would you feel about a houseguest? Oh, me … not Leo.” She laughed a little through her tears. Sarah knew how Olivia felt about her husband; Olivia made her position clear often enough. “We could have Thanksgiving together.”

  “While you track down Leo?”

  “I’d take a break for dinner,” Sarah kidded, with a hoarse chuckle. “Unless you have other plans. I mean, oh, God, I didn’t think that you might be going somewhere or be with someone else.”

  “Don’t worry about that part of it. I don’t have anything going.” Leaning her head against an upper cupboard, Olivia twisted the phone cord in her fingers and thought of Rick Bentz. She wondered, foolishly, how he would celebrate the holiday. Not that it mattered one little iota. Then she remembered the man in the cathedral. “You know, I think I may have seen Leo—oh, God, was it just yesterday?”

  “Where?” Sarah’s voice grew tight.

  “St. Louis Cathedral.”

  “Are you kidding? Leo hasn’t been to mass in years.”

  “Maybe I’m mistaken.”

  Sarah explained, “Leo was so pissed when they threw him out of parochial school, he’s never been
back to church.”

  “He went to Catholic school?” Olivia asked, surprised as she glanced at the window to watch sunlight filter through the trees.

  “For a couple of years. He played football and they loved that, but… well, he got caught getting high on the school grounds and was expelled. Even then he was getting into trouble, not playing by the rules. But I thought he was the greatest.” She laughed but the sound was hollow. “Stupid, huh?”

  “We all do stupid things when we’re in love.” She thought fleetingly of Rick Bentz again and reminded herself she wasn’t in love with him, would never be in love with him, and to forget any idea of the kind. “So he gave up on the Church?” Olivia asked, her mind beginning to wrap around an idea that was absolutely appalling. Leo, the ex-Catholic. Maybe he’d gotten all screwed up along the way. He was an athlete—a football player and a bow hunter, about six foot three with blue eyes and, from what she’d seen in his dealings with his wife, a cruel streak. But a sadistic murderer? No, she couldn’t imagine it.

  “Almost completely. Had a real fit when I insisted we get married by a priest. I thought he was gonna call the whole thing off. It was a big scene, but eventually, he agreed. I think there was something else that happened, something bad, but he never talked about it and I didn’t pry.”

  “He’s your husband,” Olivia pointed out and thought about seeing Leo in the cathedral. He was in New Orleans. Could have been for a while. Had a grudge with the Catholic Church … and he had a temper. But that was a long way from murder. A long way, she reminded herself as she found a mug in the cupboard and, cradling the receiver between her shoulder and ear, poured coffee.

  “I know he’s my husband. Even so, we all have secrets, don’t we?” Sarah observed darkly, then added, “So how about it. Want company?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I do. You’re welcome to stay here but I just don’t know if I’d try to track down Leo if I were you.”

  “We’re still married,” Sarah reminded her. “Remember the vow about ‘till death do us part'?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m working real hard on it.”

  Olivia braced herself for another session about Sarah’s marriage, the kind of conversation where Sarah complained about Leo yet swore she loved him. But instead of launching into that tired old song and dance, Sarah rattled off the time she’d fly in and told Olivia she’d rent a car and drive to the cottage on the bayou, didn’t want directions, and promised to call Olivia from her cell when she touched down. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”