All the Beautiful Brides

by Rita Herron

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Mona still couldn’t believe her eyes. Chance, the man who’d coaxed her into doing his radio show on relationships, had abducted her.

  Her thoughts raced as he dragged her from the trunk. She glanced around with a sick feeling. They were in the woods near the falls.

  “Why are you doing this?” Mona cried as he ripped the gag from her mouth.

  “Just shut up and put on the dress.”

  Cold terror bled through Mona. The wedding dress . . . he was going to kill her just like he had the others.

  Chance was the Bride Killer.

  He yanked at her clothes, but Mona shook her head. “Don’t touch me.”

  He shoved her backward. “Either you do it or I will.”

  Tears of rage burned the backs of her eyelids, but Mona blinked them back. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  He loosened the ropes around her wrists and tossed the gown at her. She glared at him, reminding herself to stall, that Cal needed time to find her.

  But a hopelessness welled inside her, threatening her with panic. Cal might not even know she was missing . . .

  Chance reached for her, but Mona shoved his hands away. “I’ll do it, you sick bastard.” She pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it to the ground. Desperate to keep him from touching her, she forced her head through the neckline of the dress. The lace felt scratchy, the thick bodice crinkling and wadding up around her as she tried to tug off her jeans and straighten it.

  “Why are you doing this? I thought you were my friend.”

  “Friend?” His eyes flared with rage, his voice shrill and sinister. She’d thought Chance was a free spirit. She’d never imagined he had this dark side to him.

  “You came into town and thought you knew everything about marriage. You had it all, didn’t you? But you’re a liar and you hurt people. You know nothing about love.”

  Mona’s heart pounded as confusion swirled in her brain. “I’m not a liar,” she said. “I believe the things I tell people. I try to help—”

  “Help?” He yanked her arm and dragged her deeper into the woods. “You destroy families, that’s what you do.”

  “Then why’d you give me the show?”

  “So I could get close to you, watch you, hear what you had to say.”

  Tree branches slapped her face, the limbs clawing at her as he hauled her toward the falls.

  Dear God, he was going to kill her. And she’d never get to tell Cal that she loved him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Cal’s blood ran cold at the pictures of Mona on the desk. Coupled with the articles about the recent murders, it was a scary sight.

  Sylvia had explained that she’d resorted to using her mother’s maiden name after Brent’s death, and that she was Chance Dyer’s sister.

  She was also Brent’s other woman. Actually, they had been married before he met Mona, and she’d had Brent’s child.

  Damn Brent.

  “I’m sorry, Agent Coulter,” Sylvia said, near hysteria. “I love my brother, but I never thought he was capable of this.”

  Cal studied her. “He told you he was going to take Mona?”

  “He said he was going to fix things, and that she was the problem.” She paced the room. “He knew I was upset about her, and he went with me to her house. We wanted to scare her into leaving town, so we trashed her place.”

  “You wrote those messages on her wall and mirror telling her to leave town?”

  She nodded, although she looked miserable. “I’m not proud of what we did, but I was upset that Brent married her.”

  He forced a neutral expression. He didn’t blame her for being mad, but she should have taken that hurt and anger out on Brent, not Mona.

  “Your brother blamed Mona because she kept Brent from you?” Cal said.

  “Yes. I . . . guess I did, too. Then I went to see her at her office and . . . she seemed really nice.”

  “But you trashed her place anyway,” Cal said bluntly.

  Sylvia wavered. “I know that was wrong. At the time I was just emotional and Chance convinced me she deserved it. But . . . she doesn’t deserve to die.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Cal said. “And Sylvia, she has no idea about you.”

  “I figured that out.” Regret washed over Sylvia’s face. “He lied to us both, didn’t he?”

  Cal nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  Sylvia touched his arm. “Please find her. Find him. And . . . don’t hurt him.” She gestured toward the wall. “He needs help.”

  He needs a cell, Cal thought. But he refrained from making that comment.

  “I understand his motive where Mona is concerned, but why kill those other women?”

  Sylvia touched one of the pictures. “I don’t know. Chance was a geek when he was young. He had a hard time getting a girlfriend.”

  “Was he abused?”

  “No. The opposite. My mother doted on him.”

  So he was looking for someone as doting as her?

  Or maybe Mona was his end game, and he killed the other girls to throw off the police and make them think a serial killer was responsible.

  “Do you have any idea where he’d take her? Does he have another cabin or place he’d go?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Does he have a white van?”

  “My mother does. Why?”

  “He ran me and Mona off the road,” Cal said, then saw her face blanch. “What kind of vehicle does Chance own?”

  “A black Land Rover.”

  “Give me your mother’s address.”

  She jotted down the address, and Cal raced back to his car.

  Despair threatened as he sped away and maneuvered the switchbacks. Apparently Chance’s mother lived in a cabin not too far from the one he’d rented, but cut deep into the woods, so far back that if Chance wanted to hurt someone there, no one would hear the woman scream.

  The Jeep bounced over ruts, skidding on the icy roads, but thankfully the four-wheel drive gave him traction and he plowed down the narrow dirt road.

  By the time he reached the cabin, he could hardly breathe for the fear squeezing his lungs.

  He scanned the woods and clearing for a vehicle or signs of Chance, but didn’t see anything. Perspiration beaded on his neck as he jumped out and hurried up to the porch.

  The cabin looked dark, but a dim light burned low in the room to the right. He eased up to the window and looked in and saw a middle-aged woman sitting at a table hunched over, an afghan draped around her shoulders.

  He leaned toward the glass, searching for Dyer and Mona, but didn’t detect any other sounds.

  He had to make sure, so he eased to the front and knocked on the door. Several seconds later, he heard footsteps shuffling, then the lock turning.

  “What’d you do, forget your key?” the woman called.

  When she opened the door, she looked startled. “You’re not my son.”

  Cal flashed his badge. “No, ma’am, I’m Agent Coulter. But I do need to speak to Chance. Is he here?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him today. Why? What’s going on?”

  “It’s about a case I’m working on. I need to ask him some questions.” He eased past her. “Mind if I take a look around?”

  “What for?” the woman asked, her eyes widening.

  Cal didn’t answer, though. He moved past her and walked through the small house searching for Mona.

  But there was no sign of her anywhere. No sign of a wedding dress or sewing machine either.

  “What is going on?” Mrs. Dyer demanded.

  Cal handed her his business card. “Please call me if you hear from him, no matter what time of day or night.”

  She gripped the c
ard, her face strained with worry. He’d ignored her question. It was either that or tell her that he suspected her son was a killer.

  He raced back to the Jeep, his heart pounding as he headed toward the falls. It was the only other place he knew to look.

  He had to find Mona.

  Mona frowned. He was making no sense. “What are you talking about, Chance?”

  “Brent loved my Sylvia, not you. But then you turned up pregnant and he married you, too.”

  “What? Sylvia?” The Sylvia she’d met at her office? Mona dug her heels in the snow to stall as he pushed her into the woods.

  “Yes, you took him from my sister. Because of you, her little boy doesn’t have a daddy.”

  Mona tugged at his arm. “Chance, I don’t understand.” She racked her brain. “The only Sylvia I know is a client. She came to see me because she lost her husband.” And she had a baby. Mona had seen him that day at the housing project. But they had nothing to do with her.

  “See, you’re lying again! They were married, but then you went and got knocked up, so he married you, too.”

  Mona gasped. What was he talking about? Brent was already married when he exchanged vows with her?

  “I told Sylvia not to meet you, that you’d try to make it seem like it wasn’t your fault, that you didn’t trick him, but she insisted on going to your office. Said she had to know what Brent saw in you.”

  The truth sank in. “Sylvia and Brent were married before I met him?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t know!” Chance shouted. “She and Brent and Rodney were a family until you came along.” He gripped her arm so tightly that pain shot up her shoulder and her legs buckled. “You’re a whore and a liar and a home wrecker,” he hissed. “That’s what you should be telling people on the radio.”

  Mona’s heart splintered with the pain of betrayal. Brent had lied to her from the moment they met.

  And he had a son.

  No wonder he’d balked at the idea of them trying to get pregnant again after she lost the baby.

  Another painful truth followed. If Brent was a bigamist, their marriage had never been real . . .

  Cal careened down the mountain road to the falls, then threw the Jeep into park beneath some trees and hit the ground running.

  His boots dug into the snow as he used his flashlight to illuminate the path leading to the base of the falls.

  Every minute counted.

  Leaves swirled around him, trees shaking violently in the winter wind. His face stung as sleet pelted him. Somewhere the sound of animals foraging for food echoed, then the sound of a cry.

  His heart jumped to his throat, and he took off running, maneuvering through the forest. He checked the base where the first victims were left, but no one was there, so he raced to another section. The deputies were supposed to be watching the falls, but there were miles of woods. No wonder they hadn’t caught this guy in the act—there were too many places to hide.

  Then through the branches, he spotted something white. Dear God.

  Mona was kneeling on the ground in a wedding dress, Chance squeezing her throat with his hands. A rose stem lay in the snow beside them.

  Cal lifted his gun and aimed, easing through the brambles and over an ice-covered tree stump. “Let her go, it’s over.”

  The man’s head jerked toward the woods in search of Cal, but Cal remained hidden in the shadows of the trees.

  “She has to die, she wrecked my sister’s home!” Chance shouted.

  Cal eased behind another tree, inching closer. “She didn’t know,” Cal said in a deep voice. “Brent lied to her just like he lied to Sylvia.”

  Chance’s hands still gripped Mona’s throat, a weak, choked sound coming from her.

  “No, she stole Sylvia’s husband.”

  “Brent was the liar,” Cal said, tightening his grip on his gun. “He lied to both of them. He was good at that. Mona had no idea he had another wife.”

  Her eyes widened in horror as she spotted him.

  “He was a cheater!” Chance yelled. “That’s the reason he had to die.” He shook Mona, her cry of terror barely discernible as he squeezed her neck harder.

  “So you killed Brent?” Cal asked.

  “He deserved it for hurting my sister, and so does she.” Suddenly realizing Cal was behind him, Chance spun around and jerked Mona in front of him.

  Cal had a split second to make a decision. It didn’t take him that long.

  He fired a single shot into the man’s temple. Chance’s head jerked back, blood flying. His body bounced against a tree, then he sank to the ground.

  Mona collapsed on her hands and knees, gasping for air.

  Cal quickly checked Chance’s pulse. He was dead, so he hurried to Mona. He dragged her into his arms, cradling her against him, the fear he’d felt when he thought he was going to lose her still racking his body.

  Mona’s lungs strained for air, and her throat was so raw—she tried to speak but couldn’t. She felt dizzy, weak, and . . . confused.

  Chance . . . Sylvia . . . Brent’s wife . . .

  Brent had a son. No wonder he hadn’t wanted another baby with her.

  And Cal . . . had he known?

  Pain wrenched her heart, betrayal and humiliation cutting so deeply that she tried to push away from Cal, but she was too weak.

  “God, Mona, I’m so glad you’re okay.” He searched her face. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

  Tears blurred her eyes, and she managed a nod, but she wasn’t okay and she sensed he knew it.

  He scooped her up, and she laid her head against him and closed her eyes, giving in to exhaustion as he carried her through the woods.

  The next hour was a blur. Cal called an ambulance and insisted they transport her to the hospital for observation while he waited for the crime team and medical examiner to arrive.

  By the time the ambulance drove away with her, the realization that Cal had covered for Brent had hit her, and she felt sick to her stomach.

  She had loved both of them, but they had both betrayed her.

  The medical examiner hunkered down to examine Chance, although Cal knew what the autopsy would reveal. Still, they had to go by the book.

  He watched the ambulance drive away with Mona, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d figured Mona would find out about Brent’s deception, but he hadn’t wanted it to be this way.

  But they had found the Bride Killer. That was the good news.

  Doubt niggled at the back of his mind, though. He had to make sure, had to find the evidence and process it. He hadn’t seen any roses or garters at Chance’s.

  He also needed to find that jewelry . . .

  That was one key piece of evidence missing from the Thorn Ripper case. It was also important to the Bride Killer . . .

  “We’ll take him to the morgue. Does he have family?” Dr. Wheeland asked.

  Cal nodded grimly. “A sister and mother. I’ll make the notification.” Then he’d have a team search and process Chance’s cabin.

  Deputy Kimball arrived, and Cal asked him to supervise the crime scene. He left Wheeland to take care of transporting the body, then drove back to the man’s cabin. Sylvia met him at the front door, her face lined with worry and fear.

  “I’m sorry,” Cal said quietly. “I . . . I had to shoot him . . . He was strangling Mona Monroe, he wouldn’t let go.”

  “Oh, God, no . . .”

  Cal caught her around the waist and helped her back inside, then ushered her to a chair.

  “I don’t understand,” she wailed. “I never wanted any of this . . .”

  When he’d first suspected that Brent was unfaithful, he’d assumed the other woman was someone who had seduced Brent. But Sylvia appeared to be a nice woman. And she had a son.

  Except she had helped Cha
nce trash Mona’s house.

  Still, she’d been as much a victim as Mona.

  Self-loathing assaulted Cal. Why the hell had he kept Brent’s dirty little secrets?

  Mona had deserved better. And he intended to tell her that as soon as he could.

  “I called a crime team to search the cabin,” Cal said.

  Sylvia made a strangled sound. “I still can’t believe he killed those women.”

  Cal gritted his teeth. “He killed Brent, too, Sylvia. Did you know that?”

  Sylvia dropped her face into her hands on another sob. “What? No!”

  “He blamed Mona for your son not having a father. But he’s the one who stole the baby’s father from him.”

  Mona tolerated the poking and prodding of the nurses and doctor, all the time insisting she was fine. She just wanted to go home.

  Thankfully one of them had given her scrubs to change into, but she knew Cal would want the wedding gown for evidence, so she had them bag it to give to him.

  “You should stay overnight for observation,” the young doctor told her. “And we can arrange for you to speak to a counselor.”

  Mona bit back a laugh. “I am a counselor.” Although she knew that fact didn’t preclude her from needing help herself. She had been kidnapped and nearly strangled to death. That was traumatic.

  But even worse was learning Brent had lied to her, had been married to another woman, and that he had a son.

  She closed her eyes, battling more tears. If she fell apart, the doctors would never let her go home.

  “Please, I’ll rest better in my own house,” Mona said, although the memory of the intruder haunted her. Now she understood the shredded and torn photographs. Chance had blamed her for hurting his sister.

  The nurse asked her to sign release papers, and she called a cab for a ride home. She certainly didn’t want to call Cal.

  The driver didn’t ask questions, just looked at her with sympathy and drove in silence. Snowflakes fluttered down, adding to the blanket of white on the ground.