by Rita Herron
Beth decided to take the direct approach. “Mr. Lewis, do you remember me?”
His bushy eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Should I?”
“Think back fifteen years.”
His mouth grew pinched. “Fifteen years ago?”
Was he stalling by answering her question with a question? “Yes. Two girls were kidnapped in Sweetwater that year. A girl named JJ Jones and another, Sunny Smith.”
Recognition dawned in his eyes. “I saw the story on the news. They found one of the girls, but seems like she lost her memory.”
“That’s right, JJ was found traumatized but alive,” Beth said. “Sunny Smith turned up in that graveyard of bones.”
A frown deepened the lines around his eyes. “That’s terrible. But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”
Ian appeared, holding a purple headband. Finding a teenage girl’s belongings in the man’s house was a bad sign. Something was wrong.
Guilt streaked the older man’s eyes. “That’s not what you think it is.”
“It’s not a girl’s headband?” Ian asked bluntly.
“Where did you get it?” Beth asked.
The man clawed through his beard again. One of his fingers had been cut off. “A girl at church must have left it in the truck.”
“Why did you keep it?” Disgusting scenarios bombarded Beth. Had he kept other items from the victims in addition to the blood? Or was the blood his son’s version of a trophy?
Lewis averted his gaze. “Just hadn’t got around to returning it.”
“What about the blood on those sheets?” Ian asked.
Lewis muttered a low sound. “I want to call a lawyer.”
Ian grunted. “You’re going to need one.”
The interrogation at the jail dragged on. Ian vacillated between frustration that they hadn’t found sufficient evidence to prove the Lewis men were guilty and hope that the crime lab would.
Hugh Lewis, the father, called a lawyer he knew through the church, a man named Bill Huffstead. He showed up to represent both father and son.
Ian and Beth pressed them for a confession. Both staunchly denied the kidnapping and murder charges.
The son had no alibi for the night Prissy Carson died but insisted he’d been alone in his studio painting. The father claimed he’d attended a revival service led by Reverend Benton.
“Hugh Lewis has explained the presence of the items in his house and truck,” Mr. Huffstead said. “Unless you have evidence you haven’t disclosed, you need to release these men.”
Ian shook his head. “As you know, they have to be arraigned first. Then we’ll see about bail.” By then, hopefully he’d have the forensics he needed to make the charges stick—and the judge would deny bail.
Then the residents of Graveyard Falls would be safe again and his father’s name cleared.
The senior Lewis leaned over and whispered something in his lawyer’s ear. Huffstead nodded. “Reverend Benton will confirm Hugh Lewis’s alibi.”
“How do we know Benton won’t lie to cover for him?” Beth asked.
“For God’s sake, he’s a man of the cloth,” Huffstead said irritably.
“The unsub we’ve been looking for is a religious fanatic who believes he’s saving the girls he murders,” Ian pointed out. “Ralph Lewis and his paintings fit that description.”
Huffstead rapped his knuckles on the table. “Sheriff, get me a list of the times and dates of death for each victim.” He gave the Lewis men a reassuring look. “They’re looking for a serial killer. When we get those dates, you can figure out where you were during the times of death and provide your alibis.”
He laid his business card on the table. “Meanwhile, Sheriff, Agent Fields, my clients are not to be interrogated without my presence. Do you understand?”
Ian folded his arms. “Yes. But know this, when I get the proof I need, they’re both going down.”
“If you get proof,” Huffstead said, his tone challenging.
The man insisted on accompanying his clients to the cells alongside Ian, then left.
Deputy Whitehorse had stayed at the Lewis residence while the crime team processed it. Ian called Markum and asked him to canvass the people in Benton’s neighborhood with photos of the items they’d found. He wanted to know if those items belonged to church members or to kidnap victims.
Fatigue lined Beth’s face. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d eaten. And neither had had any decent sleep since the bones were found.
“Come on, I’ll drive you back to the cabin.”
More storm clouds rolled in as they went to his SUV. Ten minutes later Ian drove by the diner and picked up two specials.
As soon as Beth stepped inside her cabin, she removed her coat. “I have to get a shower, Ian. I feel grungy from the hospital.”
“I’ll put the food in the oven to stay warm and run to my cabin and grab a shower, too.”
Beth disappeared into the bathroom, and the shower kicked on. An image of Beth standing naked beneath the spray of water teased his mind.
He wanted to join her. Hold her. Make sure she was safe.
Put a smile on her face and love her until she cried out his name in pleasure.
His chest clenched. Dammit. She’d been injured and was exhausted. He had to control his libido.
Beth needed rest, not for him to make an advance.
But he couldn’t shake her image from his mind as he hurried to his cabin and undressed.
Vanessa huddled on the park bench behind the school. She’d been here for hours, sitting and thinking and crying and wishing that her best friend was alive and that her grandma Cocoa was well.
She couldn’t go back to her house, not without her grandma there. In her mind, she could see Grandma Cocoa falling over at the table, hear her strangled breath.
She’d been so scared . . .
Those doctors said Grandma Cocoa was going to make it, but Vanessa didn’t know what to believe. She wanted to stay by her grandma’s side until she woke up, but Granddaddy Deon wouldn’t let her. He could be a hard-ass sometimes. Always talking about praying and doing what God wanted and being a good girl and forgiveness.
He’d forced her to go to school, but she hadn’t been able to stay there either.
Not with everyone talking about Prissy’s murder.
That stupid boy Blaine that Prissy liked—he was the reason Prissy was dead. Someone ought to make him pay.
Granddaddy would say that was wrong. That she shouldn’t hate or want revenge.
But Vanessa figured she must be a hateful person or her own mama wouldn’t have left her.
She swiped at her eyes again. She’d cried so much her face was puffy, and her nose was sore from blowing it.
Leaves rustled from the woods, and she peered through the trees. The buses and cars had left hours ago, but the baseball team had a late practice on the field. Blaine was strutting around, laughing like he was some big shot. Prissy’s death hadn’t fazed him. Selfish prick.
A shadow caught her eye, and she stiffened. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to be alone.
“What are you doing here, Vanessa?”
She heard footsteps behind her. Before she could turn to see who it was, he shoved a dark bag over her head.
She tried to scream, but a cold hand covered her mouth and drowned out the sound.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Beth’s body ached from the assault the night before, but the warm water felt heavenly.
It would feel more blissful if Ian joined her. She closed her eyes as she ran the soapy loofa over her skin. Her body tingled as she imagined Ian’s fingers replacing the loofa.
She wanted him.
Beside her in bed. On top of her. Touching her. Loving her. Making her feel alive.
And safe.
Not just safe, though—wanted. Hopeful. As if she might actually have a future and not be a prisoner of her past.
Not that she was totally
inexperienced. In college she’d fooled around, but it hadn’t meant anything. She’d begun to think she was stunted, that she couldn’t feel those giddy sexual feelings people talked about because of what had happened to her.
But Ian had awakened sensations and desires she’d never anticipated.
Desires she wanted to act on.
She rinsed off, climbed out, and pulled on a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, then left her hair loose to dry. She was suddenly starving.
And looking forward to seeing Ian.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom, Ian stood in her kitchen looking freshly shaven and showered in clean clothes. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his button-down shirt, and his jeans hung low on his muscular hips.
Working with a partner, especially Ian, stirred something inside her that had been dead for a long time. Actually, something that had never thrived because she’d been too afraid to trust anyone. Too afraid to give herself to a man—at least emotionally.
“It’s just beef stew, but it’s hot,” Ian said as he set the food on the counter.
“It smells delicious. Do you want a beer?” Beth asked as she pulled a bottle of white wine from the fridge. She rolled her neck. “After a night like last night and today, I could use a drink.”
“A beer would be great.” He filled their bowls, and they carried them and the drinks to the table.
She’d expected it to be awkward, but he must have been as exhausted and hungry as she was, because he took a sip of his beer and dug in.
She cleaned her bowl in minutes, then sat back and sipped the wine. “How’s your dad?”
His dark gaze rose to meet hers. “In a coma. Time will tell.”
Guilt once again mushroomed inside her. “I’m so sorry, Ian. I . . . it’s my fault he went to jail. My fault he’s in the hospital.” Much to her chagrin, tears filled her eyes. “Those girls—Prissy, the others—if I’d remembered sooner, they’d be alive. And you and your family might be together.”
Ian had spent half his life being angry with Beth and the world for the upheaval to his family. His father’s arrest had driven him to become a cop, to focus on solving crimes. It had also made him bitter.
He was tired of being alone. And blaming the world.
Especially Beth.
Good God, she’d been a victim in the worst kind of way. Thrown away by her mother. Forced into a system that hadn’t taken care of her. Abused by the people who should have protected her.
Then she’d witnessed her best friend’s murder.
It was time for both of them to let go and live again.
Beth pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes as if embarrassed by her display of emotions.
Ian couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He walked around the table and gently pulled her to stand. “Beth, none of this was your fault.”
“I shot your father,” she said in a tortured whisper.
“He held a knife to your throat. I would have done the same thing if he hadn’t released you.”
Her eyes searched his. “But he was driven by desperation. He never would have gone to prison if it wasn’t for me.”
Ian traced a finger along her jaw. “No, Beth, he wouldn’t have gone to jail if a serial killer hadn’t kidnapped you and Sunny. If he hadn’t had files that incriminated the real killer, files he probably didn’t realize he had at the time that could prove his innocence.”
“He was a good man and suffered for it,” Beth said, her voice cracking.
“That’s true. You were innocent, too, and you suffered just as much. All the more reason we put this bastard, or this team of killers, away.” Ian drew her to him. She felt small and fragile and so damn womanly that his body hardened, desire replacing the need to comfort.
“I don’t understand why the unsub let me go. I need to ask the Lewises that tomorrow.”
“Think about it, Beth. If his goal was to save sinners, maybe he decided you weren’t a sinner. You were unselfish, you offered your life to save your friend. Maybe he realized that you deserved to live.”
Understanding dawned in Beth’s eyes, and the pain diminished slightly. “I never thought about that. But it doesn’t make it right. It’s like he’s playing God.”
Ian leaned closer to her, their noses brushing. “No, it’s not right. But like you said in the profile, he thinks he’s saving the girls.” He stroked her cheek. “We’ll get him. We’re close. I feel it.”
She lifted her hands to rest them on his arms. Their gazes locked. Heat simmered between them. Desire flamed as if someone had lit a match, and he lowered his head and closed his mouth over hers.
Her lips met his, and he tasted sweetness and hunger and a need that rivaled his own.
The flame grew hotter as he deepened the kiss, and she moved her body against him. Her breasts brushed his chest, and when her nipples beaded beneath the thin shirt, he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Lust shot through his groin, and he trailed kisses along her neck and throat, eager to taste every inch of her.
Beth’s body hummed with pleasure as Ian slid his hand beneath her T-shirt. Her nipple beaded as his fingers stroked her sensitive nub, and she raked her hands over his back, urging him closer.
He deepened the kiss, teasing and exploring, and she met his tongue thrust for thrust.
A little voice inside her head warned her that making love to Ian was not a good idea. But her body ignored that voice. She ached for more of his hands and his mouth.
He lowered his mouth and kissed her neck, nipping at her earlobe, and then he tugged her nipple into his mouth and suckled her.
Titillating sensations rippled through her. Ian groaned and raked his hand over her hip. Beth clung to him, savoring the passion in his touch as his fingers danced across her skin.
She wanted more. Wanted to be skin to skin, naked in his arms.
She coaxed him to the bedroom, yanking at his shirt as they kissed again. He lifted her T-shirt over her head, and cool air brushed her skin. Then his hands and mouth brushed her belly and breasts, inflaming her with desire.
Hunger and need sparked to life as he eased her down on the bed, and she gave in to the moment and tugged at his belt.
He yanked at her jeans at the same time.
His hands were big but tender, his body hard yet giving as they stripped each other’s clothes and he crawled above her.
He gently stroked her hair from her cheek and searched her face. “Beth?”
The hunger in his tone matched her own and made her body throb for his.
“I want you,” she whispered.
He teased her neck with his mouth. “I want you, too.”
The fire between them ignited, and he trailed his fingers over her skin again, loving both of her breasts. He tugged one taut nipple into his mouth, and she groaned and threaded her hands in his hair. He teased her other nipple with his fingers, his body moving against hers, and she stroked his calf with her foot.
Instead of joining her, he trailed kisses down her abdomen until he found her sweet spot and ran his tongue along her tender folds. She cried out his name and tugged at his arms, lifting her hips in invitation.
He took a second to roll on a condom, then nudged her legs apart and stroked her thighs with his sex. It was thick and long and throbbed against her. She moved against him, savoring the erotic sensations of his body melding with hers, sweet bliss filling her as he thrust inside her.
Ian’s body ached with the need for release, but he wanted to prolong the pleasure. For himself. And for Beth.
She’d been hurt so much. He’d do anything to keep her from being hurt again.
He thrust deeper, her low moan of pleasure nearly driving him over the edge. He held on, though, determined to enjoy every minute of the ride.
Her skin was soft, her touches sensual, her kisses so erotic that she was ruining him for another woman.
She clawed at his back, gripping him tighter as he filled her, then pulled
out and thrust inside her again. Passion built, sensations spiraled, and her whisper of need coaxed him into a frenetic rhythm that drove everything from his mind but making love to her.
She met him thrust for thrust, his cock plunging deeper and deeper until she whispered his name and her body spasmed around his. She clutched his hips, driving him to move faster and faster, until he couldn’t hold back any longer.
He groaned as he came inside her.
Beth clung to him and he held her tightly, the past fading as the possibility of a future replaced the pain.
Tandy tiptoed to the office door at the church where her husband had called a meeting of the deacons and elders.
Something serious was going down, but as usual she was in the dark. The men in the church believed God meant for them to be the leaders. Women were subservient. Put on earth to serve their husbands.
She tried to remember a time when she’d had a mind of her own and hadn’t been afraid to speak it.
It was years ago, before she’d joined the church and taken her vows.
Sometimes she missed that woman with the brains and the spunk.
But that wasn’t who she was now. As her mama used to say—you make your bed, Tandy girl, you lie in it.
Voices rumbled inside the room. Earlier Jim had received a call from Hugh Lewis. That call had done something to her husband—he’d gone ashen-faced and reached for a drink.
Jim only took to the whiskey after he’d saved one of the girls.
He said the savings drained him and that he needed sustenance, either in booze or in sex.
She was grateful the nights he chose the whiskey.
Jim’s voice boomed through the doorway, and she leaned against it and listened.
“The sheriff and that FBI agent have arrested Hugh Lewis and his son for the boneyard murders.”
Shocked responses followed.
“What are we going to do?” one of the deacons asked.
“Do they have evidence?” another man asked.
Tandy gripped her stomach, trying to tamp down the bile.
“I don’t know what they have, but Lewis knows to keep his mouth shut about what we’re doing here,” Jim said. “No one speaks to the police about it, do you understand?”