“Let’s do it separately,” Jessica said. “I’m sorry. I need a break. Not from you, but from your baggage.”
Chapter Eleven
I WALKED INTO THE police station toward Manning’s office, knowing he was in a private meeting but not caring. I gently laid down my bag, full of my two squirming pupcakes. They went running to love on Manning. I did not. My face was inches away from Manning’s within seconds of entering his private domain.
“What? What do you have for me? This is a two-way street,” I demanded.
Manning excused himself from his business at hand. I later determined it was a meeting between cop and cop and the other cop had lost his friggin’ mind. And maybe his badge. I couldn’t believe I used to put up with all that crap.
“Jesus, Cass. You can’t just waltz in here and interrupt me. And with two dogs.”
“We’re giving you everything we have. What are you giving us?” I demanded.
“You know I brought you on because we don’t have the resources within the department. To answer you, we have nothing. I’m relying on you.”
“You have to feed me something.”
“First, you look like hell. You must be writing another book with no sleep. And second, you have much broader access than I do. You know exactly what I mean, girlfriend.”
“I don’t do shady, Manning. Lay off of me. And I slept my usual five hours. Gives me time to write.”
Manning noticed the spilled contents of my purse I had tossed on his desk.
“I thought you ditched the cigarettes.”
“I quit. For eight months.”
“Seems like your cancer sticks are snitching on you. Your lies aren’t working.”
“I didn’t lie. I did quit. Now I only smoke when I want to.”
“Maybe I should feed you information for each pack you don’t smoke in trade for you giving it up for good. I have no new information. As we deduced, the feds have taken over the missing congresswoman’s case and they aren’t sharing. They don’t give a damn about the others.”
I started fidgeting with my long red hair, winding strands around my finger.
“Go outside and smoke your cigs away, Cassidy, if that’s what you want to do. I’d hate to have you pulling out all your hair.”
“I want to find the sunovabitch that is taking females all around Tucson. That might require a few smokes to get me there.”
“We may be on to something. I just don’t have the details.”
“You sorry ass.”
“Maybe you could give up the cuss words, too, while you’re at it.”
WHEN THE GM CALLED Jessica early that morning, she knew why. The photos had made it to cyber land. With a quick pointing of his finger, she knew it was going to be a dreadful start to her new day. And it was her day off.
“Legal says we’ll respond to every photo. Thank God you two dropped below the camera range before you did the ditty.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m there for the world to see, and half-naked. I’m mortified. What does legal have to say about who might have done this?”
“They found a library ISP. An email with no other incoming or outgoing messages. You emphatically told me it was the ex-wife of Jaxon Giles’s. Has that changed?”
Jessica inhaled deeply, clutching the tablet she brought in to the meeting. She wouldn’t cast doubt on her co-anchor. “No, Sir. I believe that to be true.”
“Good. Already, the surge of incoming emails is unanimously in your favor. Legal is going after privacy invasion plus the restraining order you told me about. You showed some skin, Jessica. Nothing two consenting adults wouldn’t do. We’ll find out who’s behind this.”
“Thank you,” Jessica said.
“For what?”
“For standing by me. This whole thing sucks.”
“I adore you, but I’m not stupid. Our ratings will go off the charts. Fair to say, the devious plan of whomever backfired. Your public support is overwhelming. Two consenting adults. Privacy invasion. A deserved mention of a restraining order.”
Jessica Silva walked toward the door. Shaky. Afraid. A combination of feeling frozen in her footsteps as she desperately needed to rush out of the door.
MICHAEL SCORES’ THROAT tightened. His fingers clenched into fists as he thought about his situation.
In the men’s room at the station, he hauled out his athletic bag and pulled out hair gel and his brush. Checked his teeth. After dabbing on highlighter under his eyebrows and under his eyes, he then powdered his face. Get rid of the black circles.
He loved the spotlight as a news anchor, especially enjoying the ensuing publicity. Going out in public and being noticed. No matter where he was or what he was doing, one or two persons would recognize him and want to shake his hand. The thrill was on.
He had begun to loathe Jessica. In his bones he knew she would have dozens of fans, on any given public event, rushing to see her. They would all be clamoring for her simple acknowledgement of their existence.
Why? He was responsible for her God damned happiness. He was the one that introduced her to his half-brother, Jaxon, even before she knew they were related.
The cunt wasn’t satisfied. Now she was depriving him of his just and due fame. He was number two and that was not good enough.
Chapter Twelve
DAVID MANNING LEFT an urgent message while I was out walking Finnegan and Phoebe. The spring heat proved warmer than usual. To make sure the pads of their toes didn’t burn on the hot pavement, I took them out early. Manning had no patience for my absence and unavailability.
“Call me. It’s urgent!”
I called him back. Urgently.
“Lay it on me, David.”
“Border patrol found two shallow graves near Lukeville. All we know so far is that the remains are female and probably buried within the last year. Our only hope is to go for dental records.”
“This may mean nothing. That’s at the border and if they’re illegal immigrants, doubtful there will be dental records. They’ll end up in one of those overcrowded ice-morgues on wheels.”
I rethought my kneejerk reaction, adding, “Shall I drive down there?”
“That’s stupid and you know it. We may get full dental records and with luck, maybe some DNA. Too late for fingerprinting, I can tell you that.”
I hung up the phone. Suddenly, I felt lightheaded and braced myself against the kitchen counter. Something didn’t feel right. It was off the mark. Sometimes I was jolted with a sixth sense that went to my bones, and I suppose my nerves, enough so I would feel faint. I never knew why. Didn’t care. This was the wrong road.
I took the road, anyway. I loved driving through the towering awesomeness of Organ Pipe National Park. Thousands of these looming cacti and amazing views all around. It wouldn’t put me out. Their beauty was in the organ’s silence. Statuesque. Prolific. An organ that was meant to be realized with all of the senses.
Especially since it was at David’s expense and he would pay for my gas. The skies were robin egg blue, no wind, and the top on my Mustang convertible was down. Tunes were up.
Why did I go? I knew it was all wrong. There would be nothing for us. I guess the tunes and the scenery beckoned me toward a much needed break.
JESSICA SILVA MET Jaxon at Agua Caliente Park, a wondrous wildlife area replete with ponds, a stream, towering palm trees and amazing bird watching. On the weekends, the cement picnic tables were full of families. On weekdays, it was often a place of solitude.
“The photos are out all over the Internet,” Jessica said.
Jaxon sipped his coffee, nodding. “I know. I’ve seen them. We look good.” He put his hand on Jessica’s thigh and gently squeezed.
“Private moments between two consenting adults. I don’t get it. The good news is only one station in Phoenix picked up the story. All of our local stations have stayed clear of it. Even the papers. Thank goodness for their decency,” Jessica said.
“It’s not them, Jessica. It’s you.
You’re an upstanding news anchor and reporter. Not only do you give money to local charities, you’re out there, relentlessly raising funds for your just causes. You’re highly respected in the community, even by your competitors, and no one is going to discredit you. They’d be fools.”
Jessica scooted nearer to Jaxon on the bench he sat on, overlooking the water. “How about you?” Jessica asked. “You have as much at stake.”
Jaxon tilted his head, kissed his own finger and then pressed it to her lips.
“Me? Hell, I’m anticipating a few dozen rich spinsters will call me any day, asking me to sell their buildings, land and ocean front properties, if I’ll sleep with them.”
“You almost had me with all those rich women after your hunky-hunky. Not going for the ocean thing unless you think you can save them from when the great fault wipes them out, and you will be the hero of all times. For now, you’re just my hero.”
CHIEF MANNING CALLED again before six in the morning. He called me Pissy Missy, and I was.
“What?”
He ranted, “You were there. Left too early. Are you kidding me? They couldn’t figure out, like at the scene, that the vics’ had no teeth? Crude. Looks like savages took a hammer, or a chisel, or both, to the two women. Where were you?”
“Taking a piss. Taking a break. It was a gorgeous drive for me but I knew it wasn’t our missing women. You get that.”
“Scary. I get that, creepy woman. The responders wouldn’t let me touch a thing. They even turned away my camera. I can tell you that several tubs of peanut butter were smeared on their bodies. Mexican Cartel. Think of it as their calling card, but what they’re calling for is any predator to consume the body. They had no intention of these bodies ever being found,” he said.
“And, in case they were discovered, they couldn’t be identified. David, that tells us one thing. They aren’t immigrants. The killer knew how to get rid of any remaining trace.”
“Yeah. Ya think? You coming in later today?”
“Schlep and I are on the case. But doing our own fieldwork. You cool with that?”
“I have to be, Cassidy. I’m dying here.”
I wasn’t so cool. Had my sixth sense wronged me? I trusted my instincts that the skeletal remains would not be immigrants. Without dental records. But why bother removing their teeth?
Chapter Thirteen
SANDRA VICKERY HAD her first appointment with a psychiatrist ten months prior to her divorce. The pill-popping doctor prescribed an assortment of drugs. She moved on, but kept the prescriptions.
Her next series of help-sessions were with a psychologist. After four visits, the doctor suggested she needed seven to eight years of psychotherapy.
“For that kind of money I can buy myself a Ferrari,” she said. “That will make me plenty happy.”
One week later, she walked out of the offices of yet another psychologist. They agreed to meet again but Sandra didn’t schedule the appointment. She took the guy for a woman-hater. At least a hater of strong women, and she was strong.
Now, two years after her divorce from Jaxon Giles, Sandra contacted a marital counseling psychologist whom she had seen one time before, right after her divorce.
Sandra Vickery showed up for her fifth session with Dr. Opitz. She’d missed four of them but paid him duly for his wasted time.
“Sandra—oh, you prefer Sondra. Ms. Giles, I haven’t seen you for a long time. To what do I owe this honor?”
She fumbled with the latch on her alligator purse. Crossed and uncrossed her arms and legs. “I’m doing very well, Doctor. So well in fact that I have exciting news to share.”
Sandra stretched out on the sofa. The doctor said nothing as he paused, in an adjacent chair, to review her file. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Okay. I want to hear all about it. But can you first start with where we left off last time? I believe you abruptly left my office, which has been troubling me.”
Sandra raised her eyebrows. She offered a faint flip of her hand, raised to indicate that would be intolerable.
Deciding to try a different approach, the doctor said, “Tell me about the men in your life. Where we left off. Your father, your uncles or brothers. Whomever comes to mind, except, for now, your ex-husband.”
“Waste of time, but sure. I’ll make this quick. My father was a ruler. A dictator. Nothing I did would please him. In private he beat me, but would call me his princess in front of guests. This happened quite often, on both counts. One time he bought ten copies of The Ugly Duckling. He spread them out on my bed, telling me I would never be a swan. And before you ask your next irrelevant question, he never sexually abused me. I was too ugly for him.
“No other men? No brothers? No uncles?”
“Get over it.”
“Okay. Let’s move on to your marriage and prior to your marriages,” Opitz said. “In my notes, I wrote that you said you always went for the bad boys. Tell me more about that.”
“I’ve told you this. I married twice and both of those marriages were annulled. Once the ring was on my finger, the bad guys wanted joint bank accounts and a bunch of life insurance. On me.”
A long pause. “And your last husband, Jaxon Giles. He was your third husband?”
Sandra reached to pull back her medium-length dyed blond, over-processed hair from her face. “You know this. There was one more marriage before Jaxon which ended up in a nasty divorce. He plopped a measly twenty-five grand down on a house in the foothills, then, lo-and-behold, it was up to me to make the payments. For everything, including his lavish trips to Vegas and hair replacement treatments. I’m sure I paid for a few hookers, too.”
Opitz picked up on one thing she had said. “By an ugly divorce from him, what do you mean?”
“I mean I screwed an impotent man for nothing and he screwed me to the tune of a huge settlement.”
Controlled by Dr. Opitz’s intended lack of a follow-up question, Sandra filled in more blanks.
“I finally got marriage right. Gave up the bad boys.”
“But you have divorced this man. That’s when you first came to me.”
Sandra sat up straight on the sofa. “That’s just it. He’s the right one. He said he didn’t want my money and he didn’t take one dime from me during the marriage or divorce. Don’t you get it? He wants me!
“Dr. Opitz, I know you can help us,” Sandra said.
“You have suggested that your husband, ex-husband, will be active in this therapy. Is this true?”
“Of course. We’re both very eager. I’ll make an appointment as soon as I have him check his calendar.”
Believing what she’d told the doctor, Sandra went shopping. At the bridal stores. Since she’d already purchased her new engagement ring, she was looking for the perfect wedding gown.
Chapter Fourteen
JESSICA SILVA HAD the day off. She called Jaxon.
“Let’s play. I didn’t get enough of you.”
“Jess, you know I’m working on a big deal. A very big deal.”
“I can be quick. And I know you can.”
The enticement of holding the beautiful raven-haired beauty in his arms became too much. “I’ll be there in two hours.”
IN TRUTH, THEIR LOVE MAKING was never a wham-bam-slam event. Massages with warm jasmine oil were protocol, both giving and receiving. Even in the light of day, lit pillar candles flickered in the dappled light against palm trees as spa-type music played in the background.
Jessica had the strawberries. Jaxon, with ideas other than berries, brought the whipped cream, chocolate, and champagne.
It was always that way with them. Where one left off, the other began.
He touched her. Caressed her. He touched her in places that only a familiar lover would know would make her squeal with sexual delight. Her stomach. The delicate spots between her fingers. The inside of her wrists.
Almost childlike, Jessica would play with the hair on Jaxon’s chest, slowly drawing her fingers down his muscular body.
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Jaxon reacted with a deep kiss before reaching inside of her totality.
“WHAT IS IT?” JAXON asked Jessica as they showered together to remove the leftover whipped cream, chocolate, and dripping massage oil.
She braided her long wet hair and looked down. “I believe I have another enemy besides your ex.”
“Who?” Jaxon gently lifted her chin so their eyes met.
“Your half-brother and my co-anchor. Michael Scores.”
“Come on. We’ve been over this.” Jaxon rubbed her back with body lotion. “My brother can be a jerk but he’s harmless.”
“You just called him your brother. You never do that. He’s always your half-brother.”
“I’m not taking sides. Whatever he is, he’s no demon.”
“No. Really. First he came down on me at the station, right before airtime, accusing me of stealing all the good stories and the limelight from him. Today he snickered at me. Reached for my thigh. Snickered again.”
“Forgive me, love, but you steal the limelight from me when we walk into a crowded room. Everyone’s eyes are on you.”
“He was angry.”
“He’s feeling jealous.”
“How much do you really know about him? Until he introduced us, I never even knew he had any family.”
“He’s two years older than I am. His father was rich. Mine was blue collar. His daddy sent him off to prep school, and then on to the University of Denver for their school of journalism. Our mother and my father couldn’t afford me the same privileges. And I’m okay with that. I did all right. I went to good schools and worked my way through university.”
Jaxon grabbed the towel sheets, they dried off, and dived into soft Egyptian cotton robes.
“You didn’t see him much? Maybe holidays and summers?” Jessica pushed.
“Something like that. We didn’t have much in common but when he was around we hung out.
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