“Deputy Duncan will accompany you.”
She nodded at the other guard, who stood tall and alert. Military training, she noted as she preceded him down the hall.
Not that she needed backup.
Men who had been in prison for a long time had predictable reactions to visitors, especially females, so officials knew better than to parade her about. The tall guard led Sonny down a deserted walkway to a private interview room and waited quietly while the inmate she’d come to see was brought in for questioning.
Andrew Leeds had been convicted of armed robbery and aggravated assault more than five years ago. He’d occupied the cell next to Darrius O’Shea’s for the duration of his incarceration, and had reported his suicide.
Although Leeds was a young man, in his late twenties at the most, he was also a hardened criminal who resembled a typical long-timer in many ways. His head was shaved clean and his reddish blond facial hair, trimmed in an odd, intricate design. Webs of tattoos adorned his thick neck and snaked down the length of his brawny arms.
She kept her eyes on his face as she extended her hand. “Mr. Leeds? I’m Special Agent Vasquez.”
Leeds didn’t return the favor, dropping his gaze to give her body a thorough examination, but he did return her handshake.
Clearing her throat, she added, “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
“My pleasure,” he murmured, taking a seat at the same time she did. The guard who’d escorted him stood sentry outside the door. When she inclined her head, Deputy Duncan joined him there. Leeds raised his brows and studied her anew, seeming impressed by her lack of concern at being left alone in a room with him.
She got right down to business. “What can you tell me about Darrius O’Shea?”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you want to know?”
“Did he talk about the murder?”
Leeds shifted back in his chair, bracing his hands on the edge of the table between them. A cocky-looking woodpecker twitched on the middle of his forearm. “Maybe.”
Sonny didn’t have any bargaining chips. Hopefully, the novelty of her presence here would be enough to keep him talking. “Did he ever claim to be innocent?”
“Sure,” he said with a smirk. “We all are.”
“Did you believe him?”
He shrugged. “Guys with clear consciences don’t usually hang themselves.”
Good point. “Do you think he was mentally disturbed?”
“We all are,” he repeated, not smiling this time.
“What was his state of mind in the days before the suicide?” she pressed. “Did he seem disturbed? Was he sleeping, eating, acting strange?”
Leeds considered this question more carefully than the others. “He had nightmares,” he admitted. “’Nam stuff. They got worse and worse. During the day, he hardly ever talked, but in his sleep he wouldn’t shut up.” He ran a hand over his smooth head. “Drove me batshit.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing that made much sense. Soldier’s orders. Sometimes he would mumble that he didn’t do it. Others, he’d say he was sorry. Over and over again, ‘I’m sorry.’” Leeds rolled his big shoulders, as if his muscles were tense.
“Was he speaking to his war comrades?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever ask him?”
“No,” he said shortly, his eyes blazing with scorn. Men, in or out of prison, rarely questioned each other about personal issues.
“Is there another inmate he confided in?” she continued, glancing at his tattooed forearm. Leeds was obviously a member of the Peckerwoods, a dangerous all-white gang. “A group he was affiliated with?”
“Not really,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “He kept to himself.”
Sonny felt a wash of frustration. Leeds wasn’t exactly a fountain of information. “Did you notice anything different about him, that final night?”
“Yeah,” Leeds said, his voice flat. “He was quiet.”
She left the prison feeling conflicted. Last week after studying O’Shea’s file, she’d spoken to the detectives who had…facilitated his confession. The interrogation tactics they’d used were hardly cruel or unusual, and if they hadn’t delved too deeply into O’Shea’s motives, it was because they hadn’t needed to.
The electrical cord yielding his fingerprints was better than a smoking gun.
Even so, Sonny found herself doubting the veracity of O’Shea’s sworn statement. Despite her profession, she had very little confidence in the criminal justice system. It wasn’t beyond her scope to believe Darrius O’Shea had been framed, coerced, or manipulated.
The person she cared about most-her brother, Rigo-was in prison, and his situation colored her worldview. He was guilty, of course, but that fact didn’t make her love him any less.
Sighing, she drove back to La Jolla, navigating freeway traffic with absentminded ease. On a whim, she passed Neptune Street and continued on to Shores Beach, where O’Shea had been arrested. She parked in a pay lot and got out of her rental car, crossing her arms over her chest as she walked across the sand.
An affluent area like Torrey Pines didn’t have a large homeless population. The beaches were well patrolled, the sidewalks clean, and the boutiques upscale. The cost of living here was too high for most street people. Fast food, inexpensive clothing, and cheap liquor weren’t readily available.
She looked down the beach, past the cliffs leading toward San Diego Harbor. Closer to the busy metropolis, there were always vagrants, some of whom wandered along the coast, drawn by the lure of soft sand and a comfortable sleep.
Wind whipping at her short hair, she cupped a hand over her eyes and considered the opposite direction. Windansea Beach, where Ben lived, was only a few miles to the north.
Nibbling at her lower lip, she pulled her attention back to her immediate surroundings. The small parking lot was about half full. She didn’t see any bearded men or overloaded shopping carts, but it was broad daylight, and there were some nooks and crannies to hide in at the base of the cliffs.
Out on the water, there were only surfers, black wetsuits gleaming in the sun.
CHAPTER 6
Lisette Bruebaker was in love.
Carly’s dad was so freaking hot. Every time she got close to him she thought she might go up in flames. She’d been practicing her sex kitten expressions in the mirror all week, along with the “Oops! I dropped something” ruse she employed at school. Boys never failed to sneak a peek down her top, or up her skirt, when she wanted them to.
Ben Fortune had never looked at her that way, but she hadn’t targeted him for seduction before. He’d be a hell of a notch in her bedpost. The man was a catch and a half.
On the flip side, Carly had been a total drag lately. She’d been grounded since her dad caught them getting stoned in her bedroom last weekend, so they couldn’t go anywhere, and Carly wouldn’t even consider smoking weed again. Every time Lisette brought it up, Carly made a pouty face and said it made her “freak out.”
If Lisette’s parents hadn’t made plans to go out of town, Ben probably wouldn’t have let her come over. He was way too strict. Carly wasn’t allowed to have friends in her room when she was on restriction, and he’d been really steamed about the pot. He’d actually grabbed Lisette’s wrist and taken the joint right out of her hand. It was the only time she could remember him touching her.
He’d been so…forceful. Mmm.
Drag or not, Carly was a good friend to have. Half the boys at school were in love with her. Or in love with her dad, which amounted to the same. Lisette might have been jealous if she hadn’t benefited from the association. Carly was a perfect partner in crime. Guys were always approaching Lisette to get to her.
Carly didn’t put out, but Lisette did, so it was a win-win.
Unfortunately, things had been going sour between them for weeks. Carly had been acting weird since way before the pot incident, and Lisette had the feeling this sleepover wa
s going to be their last. Carly just couldn’t keep up with Lisette’s wild ways.
If Lisette was going to make a move on Ben, it would have to be tonight. This might be her only chance.
After dinner, Ben cleared off the kitchen table and the three of them pasted together a family scrapbook, like the frickin’ Brady bunch. It was totally lame, except there were a couple of hunky photos of Ben without his shirt on. Carly’s mom had also been super-sexy. Dark-haired and sultry. Like Carly, only with bigger boobs.
Lisette liked to fool around with girls, too, just for fun. It sure got the boys to take notice, and it was kinky. She’d even talked Carly into kissing her once, but Carly had giggled like a dork the whole time and totally ruined the mood.
Lisette hoped Ben Fortune was kinky. He’d have to be, to do it with her, wouldn’t he?
Getting into the spirit of the evening, she let a pencil roll off the table. Oops! “I’ll get that,” she said breathlessly, making sure her cleavage was on full display as she bent down.
It turned out to be a total waste. He didn’t even notice.
Later, Ben took her and Carly to the video store to rent DVDs. He always let them get whatever they wanted, and although Lisette had requested Cabin Fever, Carly picked some dumb movie about racing cars: The Fast and the Furious.
Ben didn’t watch with them, but he did check in a few times, to Lisette’s delight. To her disappointment, he didn’t look her way when she flashed her panties at him.
Lisette wished they’d rented scary movies instead. She loved scary movies. They were always full of horny teenagers, and the screaming and stuff made her hot.
Hours later, when Carly finally fell asleep, Lisette was struck by inspiration. She knew one thing she could do, something she was damned good at, and it never failed to hold a man’s attention.
Ben was having the most realistic erotic dream of his life. Summer had not only dropped her towel, she’d dropped to her knees in front of him, and was taking him into her mouth, drawing him deep, practically eating him alive.
He was reaching down to tell her to take it easy, they had all night, when he came up with a tangle of long, curly hair.
Oh, shit.
Coming fully awake, he jumped out of bed, stumbling, his feet still wrapped up in the sheets. Light from the hallway illuminated the room enough for him to confirm that the woman in his bed wasn’t Summer.
It wasn’t a woman at all, but a sixteen-year-old girl.
His daughter’s best friend, Lisette.
“Don’t you want me to finish?”
Following her gaze down his body, he realized he was fully aroused, and she was responsible for it. This wasn’t an erotic dream. It was a fucking nightmare.
He jerked his boxer shorts up with shaking hands. “Get out,” he said through gritted teeth, feeling totally violated.
She pouted prettily.
“Get the fuck out, now!” He looked around the room in a panic, as if the pedophile police were about to burst in on them. “I’m going to call your mom and tell her about this, you little-” He bit off the word he was about to say, reminding himself that Lisette was just a confused girl, not much different from Carly, and he would go apeshit if some unfeeling bastard called his daughter names.
Her face crumpled. “But I love you!”
“Oh, Christ,” he muttered, turning away from the sight of her naked body.
Like Carly’s cutting herself, this was a situation he couldn’t have anticipated. He knew Lisette was a problem child and a bad influence, that she wore too much makeup and too few clothes. Her parents let her run wild, and he’d always felt kind of sorry for her. Never once had he imagined she would try to climb into bed with him.
He should have locked his door.
“Just get out of my room, Lisette,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m not interested in little girls. Don’t ever do this again.”
“I’m not a little girl, you asshole, I’m a woman!”
He felt the pillow hit his back, and was infuriated to think that Carly might wander in on this insanity. He couldn’t make Lisette leave, short of physically removing her, and he wasn’t going anywhere near her. Spine stiff with fury, he walked out of the room.
Downstairs, as he dialed her mother’s cell phone number with stabbing fingers, it occurred to him that Lisette would have a very different story to tell about tonight’s debacle, one that could get him into a considerable amount of trouble.
If he kept his mouth shut, she probably would, too.
Then again, silence implied guilt.
Before he could rethink his actions, Lisette’s mother answered. Her voice was low and throaty, as distinctive as always. From the background noise, it sounded like she was at a party.
“Sheila. This is Ben Fortune.”
If the name caused her any distress, her voice didn’t reflect it. “Ben. What can I do you for?” She laughed lustily at her own joke.
“You know Lisette is staying over here with Carly, right?”
That got her attention. “Right. Oh, right. Is everything okay?”
“Not really. They’re fine, but-”
“What? You’re breaking up.”
“I said-”
Static interrupted him, and it was the last he heard from her. After a few minutes, he gave up trying to reach her, and when he ascended the stairs again, he found his bed empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, he locked the door to his bedroom for the first time since Olivia died.
He was exhausted, but sleep eluded him until just before dawn.
On the south side of Windansea, he waited, crouched in the shadows. He’d seen the girl before and considered taking her. What he’d just witnessed through the ocean-facing window of Ben Fortune’s bedroom had clinched it for him.
He prided himself in being calculated in his selections. Only when he disassociated himself from the act, and the victim, did he feel satisfied by the outcome. He’d learned to release his twisted needs with strangers after that initial, near-fatal mistake.
Choosing a woman he knew, even in passing, was risky; choosing one with a connection to Ben, even more so. Emotions were tricky, sticky things that sullied this dark business. He liked to kill clean.
He took several deep breaths, trying to calm the beast that lurked within him. It wanted to grab the girl and tear out her throat. Hold her down while she struggled to break free. Wipe the taste of Ben from her lips as she took her last breath.
In the chill of predawn, he was far from cold. He was sweating, panting, raging. Bloodlust burned inside him, hot and bright.
After that first, grievous error, which had almost precipitated his downfall, he’d been afraid to strike again. A year had gone by. He’d planned, deliberated, waited. And finally, when the perfect opportunity presented itself, he’d leapt upon the female offender and wrung the life from her malformed body.
The memory made his mouth water.
She’d been nothing to him, nothing to anyone. She was just another pretty face, little more than a sexual plaything, and that had infuriated him. God, how he hated her kind, and relished making one pay for the transgressions of all.
A nameless sacrifice would be a better candidate than the girl who had just left Ben’s bedroom, eyes flashing with anger, curly hair flying around her tearstained face.
But she was right there in front of him and he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure.
Just before dusk, Carly went to look for James at the same place she’d seen him last.
Across Windansea Beach, the sun dipped low into the Pacific, casting shimmering gold over that tumultuous expanse. The waves were choppy, no good for surfing, so her dad had settled into his leather chair with one of his boring philosophy books. He was such a nerd.
He let her go out under the pretext of jogging, a sport she used to enjoy. She was going to take it up again, she decided, putting in a good sprint to get there. She’d have to sprint back if she wanted to arrive home in time to avoid suspicion.
While she waited, leaning back against the dark gray stone, she sifted sand through her fingers, letting her mind drift back to the last time she was here, and what she’d been doing. Or about to do. Moaning in frustration, she closed her eyes, wishing she could make a tiny little cut, just a swift, sweet nick, to take the edge off.
“I thought I told you not to come here.”
Her eyes popped open. Again, she’d neither seen nor heard his approach. In the shadow of the rocks at sunset, there was enough light to see that she hadn’t exaggerated his appeal in her mental picture of him. He was tall, but not gangly enough to be an awkward jumble of knees and elbows like some boys his age. In the last rays of the sun, his brown hair glinted like bronze, and she saw that his eyes were a striking dark blue.
“You don’t own the beach,” she replied sulkily, wondering why her heart was doing double-time.
“I don’t want your blood on my sand.”
“Do I look like I’m bleeding?” She raised her hands to show him that they were empty, not realizing until then that she held fistfuls of sand. “You’re just disappointed that I haven’t taken off my shirt.”
“No,” he said, drawing out the word. “I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, looking out at the last sliver of sun.
“I can’t do it anymore anyway. My dad found out.”
“Good.”
She squinted up at him. “Whose side are you on?”
“Mine. Why are you here?”
She brushed sand from her hands. “I need your help.”
That got his attention. He sank down beside her, intrigued. “With what?”
She felt her face grow warm and was glad for the approaching darkness. “I told my dad you were my boyfriend.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that?”
“I needed an excuse for sneaking out the other night.”
“Jesus,” he said, running a hand through his hair. It was short, but kind of thick and wild, as if he cut it himself. “Is he going to kill me?”
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