Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  Bernie laughed and shook her head.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked as he lifted his hand from her shoulder.

  “You are. I was never concerned about your using Robyn. Don’t you think I know that my sister is the user and not the usee in each of her relationships. I was worried that she’d break your heart.”

  “Were you now?”

  “I was. I worry about my friends.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Dad tells me that Kevin is still upset with you. What are you going to do about mending fences with your son?”

  Jim raked his hand through his hair and reared back in his chair. “Damned if I know. I love that boy more than anything on earth, and yet all I seem to do is hurt and disappoint him. I can’t believe he walked in on Robyn and me. What were the odds of that happening? And I don’t know where he got the idea that there was something going on between you and me.”

  “The three of us have spent a great deal of time together lately and we’ve had a lot of fun. Kevin and I have a marvelous rapport. I believe he liked the idea that if his dad was going to have a girlfriend, she’d be somebody he genuinely liked and someone who felt the same way about him.”

  “It makes sense. You’re the kind of woman most kids would like to have for a mother.”

  “Well, thank you, Captain Norton.”

  Jim chuckled. “So, should we return to the way things were—you and Kevin and me? Or would the three of us spending more time together feed this fantasy he has of you and me as a couple?”

  “That’s a difficult question. I don’t know. Maybe we should both talk to him again. Together.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight’s fine with me. Why don’t I call Mom and tell her that you and I are coming to dinner, and that afterward we plan to talk to Kevin about our relationship.”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For being my friend.”

  He couldn’t go to her until tonight. They would make love for the final time, and then he would say good-bye. She’d be heartbroken when he told her that he no longer loved her, but she wouldn’t be surprised. She had to know what a disappointment she’d been to him. Poor Thomasina. She had tried so hard, done everything he’d asked her to do, and yet she hadn’t measured up. None of them had measured up to his ideal. To his perfect woman.

  Perhaps Abby would be different. She wasn’t classically beautiful the way some of the others had been, but she was lovely in a sultry, earthy way. And she was older, already thirty, but still young enough. And she had the kind of body that men had wet dreams about. He fantasized about sucking on her big tits. Licking, sucking, biting. Just the thought of her whimpering with pleasure and pain excited him. She was the type who would enjoy variety. Ass fucking. Blow jobs.

  But he couldn’t begin his courtship, his seduction of Abby Miller, until he ended his relationship with Thomasina.

  He sat and watched the students as they walked from the building, some preparing for another class, others heading for their vehicles. It was such a delicious little coincidence that Jacque and Stephanie had both attended the community college and that Thomasina had taught here. And now there was Abby, another night school student, who’d signed up for classes she seldom attended as a smoke screen to cover up her illicit affair.

  He smiled, thinking about how the sheriff’s department was wasting time trying to figure out what it meant that all the victims were somehow connected to the college. He hadn’t deliberately set out to choose women who were students or even teachers at the school. But it had worked out to his advantage, giving the authorities a red herring.

  If only Sheriff Granger and her hotshot chief deputy knew that there was a far more important reason they should be looking at Adams County Junior College than the obvious.

  He would outsmart the local law just as he’d outsmarted the others—in Georgia, in Tennessee, in North Carolina, and in South Carolina. He was a smart man. He’d been a smart boy. But women didn’t appreciate men with brains, not any more than girls appreciated boys with brains.

  Don’t go back there. Don’t remember what happened.

  She had been the prettiest, most popular girl in school and he had worshipped her when she hadn’t even known he was alive. The first time she smiled at him, he’d nearly died on the spot. And when she spoke to him one day, he’d been speechless at first, and then tongue-tied. She’d been so sweet, so friendly, so nice.

  He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye—slender and dark haired, with big brown eyes and a smile so warm that it could have melted the polar ice caps. She always wore pink lipstick and nail polish, not a gaudy hot pink, but a pale, ladylike shade. Even now, he could still smell her delicate perfume, a flowery gardenia fragrance. And he’d never forget the delicate gold ankle bracelet she wore every day, whether she was in slacks, shorts, or a skirt. Her parents had given her a string of real pearls for her sixteenth birthday, and whenever there was a special event at school where everyone had to dress up, she wore her pearls.

  He had loved her with all the innocence and adolescent passion of an inexperienced sixteen-year-old boy. A virgin. A nerd. A bookworm.

  Emotion tightened his throat. The memories were bittersweet. Ecstasy in the beginning, and then a torment beyond bearing in the end. Tears clouded his vision.

  Her laughter echoed inside his mind. No matter how many years had passed, how hard he’d tried to forget, he could never escape that mocking laughter.

  Thomasina lay beside him, as silent and still as death. After raping her in the anus with the wooden phallus until she’d wept from the pain, he had turned her over and taken her with brutal force. No matter how much she tried to please him, he was never satisfied. He punished her if she fought him and yet he punished her even when she obeyed his every command. He enjoyed tormenting her, derived some sadistic pleasure from hurting her.

  In the quiet stillness, with her abductor asleep at her side, the sound of her own pleading voice echoed inside her head. She had told him repeatedly what he demanded to hear.

  “I love you. I love you more than anything or anyone. Please make love to me.”

  Cutting her gaze in his direction, she noted that his eyes were closed and his mouth was open. Lifting her head a few inches, she dared a closer glance at his handsome face.

  Thomasina’s heartbeat accelerated. He was asleep. She was awake. Lifting up her arms, she stared at her unbound wrists; then she arched first one foot and then the other, reminding herself that she was not shackled.

  Rising to a sitting position, she paused, took a deep, steadying breath, then gazed at his naked body. A perfect male body.

  After easing her legs off the side of the bed, she placed her feet on the floor and sat there, her arms wrapped in a comforting hug around her bruised breasts. She had lost count of how many days he had held her prisoner in this underground hellhole. There was no way to tell day from night. Time had no meaning to her. She counted her life not by minutes and hours, but by the number of times he visited her. And with each subsequent visit, she lost more and more of herself to the fear of waiting and wondering when he would return. If only she could get away from this madman.

  She rose to her feet and took a few tentative steps away from the bed.

  He made an odd, snorting noise.

  Her heart leapt to her throat. Terror zinged along her nerve endings. She glanced over her shoulder. He was snoring. Relief spread through her, relaxing her taut muscles.

  Tiptoeing, she crept to the foot of the bed, then rounded it, her gaze fixed on the stairs that led to the only door, the only means of escape. But he kept the door locked, so what good would it do her to climb those stairs?

  Suddenly she stepped on something lying on the floor. When she glanced down in the semidarkness, she saw his shirt and slacks crumpled in a heap where he’d discarded them. She lifted her foot, leaned over and stared at the small metallic object shining there on the
cool concrete floor.

  It’s a key.

  Oh my God, the door key must have fallen out of his pants pocket when he took off his clothes.

  Listening to the sound of his soft snoring, she assured herself that he was still asleep. Bending her knees, she crouched down, reached out and pinched the key between her thumb and forefinger. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears; perspiration coated her palms.

  Her captor was sound asleep. She had the key to the door. If she could manage to climb the steps and unlock the door without waking him, she could escape.

  For the first time since she had awakened in this dark, dank prison—days ago? weeks ago?—Thomasina felt that there was actually a chance she might get away, that she might live.

  With the key in her hand and hope in her heart, she made her way across the room to the stairs. Before taking that first step upward, she paused and looked back at the snoring man. Lifting her foot, she hesitated; then when the stairs didn’t creak, she followed one cautious step with another, increasing her speed until she practically ran up the last few steps to the door. Trembling and sweating profusely, she narrowed her gaze on the door lock, then aimed the key at the lock. Her fingers quivered so badly that she almost dropped the key. Clasping it tightly, she shoved the key into the lock. Her chest ached. Her breathing came in ragged gulps. She smelled her own sweat mixed with the heavy odor of sex.

  All she heard was her own breathing. All she saw was the key in her hand.

  Turn the key, unlock the door and open it to the outside world. Then run like hell.

  She turned the key and twisted the knob. The lock didn’t budge.

  She turned the key in the opposite direction.

  Click.

  She emitted a whooshing breath of relief as she grasped the doorknob and turned it.

  The door creaked as she opened it.

  Damn!

  Instinctively turning around to check and make sure the noise hadn’t awakened him, Thomasina gasped when she came face to face with her captor.

  “Where are you going, darling?” he asked.

  She whirled around and yanked open the door, trying her best to get away from him before he grabbed her. Thomasina stepped forward as she shoved on the door and managed to open it halfway before he grabbed her, flung one arm around her waist and pressed her back against his chest.

  Screaming and crying, her instinct for survival strong, she fought him like a wildcat when he jerked her backward and slammed the door shut. There at the top of the stairs, he held her so tightly that she could barely breathe, held her as she wriggled and squirmed and clawed at him.

  She’d been so close, had almost escaped.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Finally, when all the fight had gone out of her, he bent his head and kissed her shoulder. Then he bit her neck. She yelped in pain.

  “You failed the test,” he whispered in her ear.

  “What?”

  “You’ve told me again and again how much you love me, but I’ve had my doubts from the very beginning. So I devised a plan to test you, to allow you to prove your love.”

  Sobbing, trembling, immobilized by fear, Thomasina realized that he hadn’t been asleep at all, that he had been faking. “The key?” she asked.

  “When I took off my clothes, I placed it right where you could find it,” he told her. “If you’d left the key lying on the floor, if you hadn’t tried to escape, I would have known you truly loved me.”

  A test? The whole thing had been a test! And she had failed.

  There would be no escape. She was trapped.

  “There can’t be a happily ever after for us,” he said. “You’ve ruined any chance we might have had.”

  Icy fear chilled Thomasina. The certainty of her own death confronted her.

  “Please …”

  “Please what?” With his fingers threaded in her hair, he yanked her head back and kissed her cheek. “Do you want me to set you free, my darling?”

  “Yes,” she replied, knowing that there was only one way she could ever escape from this madman.

  Chapter 18

  Abby Miller noticed the plastic bag hanging on the doorknob of the back entrance to the Kut and Kurl as soon as she arrived at her beauty shop on Wednesday morning. She and the other operators parked in the back, leaving the front parking slots available for customers. Only on Wednesdays did Abby arrive before the others, one of the perks of being the owner. But Amy Simms had a standing appointment at eight-thirty every Wednesday for a nail fill-in and a pedicure. The D.A.’s wife was a busy lady and couldn’t drop by just any old time, so since Amy was a regular customer who gave generous tips, Abby did her best to always accommodate her.

  When she reached the door, she studied the bag curiously, wondering if one of her sales reps had come by after closing last night and left the bag. It was just a plain white plastic sack, no logo or print of any kind on it. Odd.

  Changing her key ring from her right hand to her left, she lifted the bag from the knob, slipped it over her hand and onto her wrist, then put the key ring back in her right hand and inserted a key into the lock. Once inside, she closed and locked the door from within, then headed for the kitchenette/ lounge, one of two rooms in the beauty shop that were off limits to the customers, the other being the crowded storeroom. After dropping her key chain in her purse and depositing her purse and the plastic bag on the small dining table, she went about her Wednesday morning routine—making a fresh pot of coffee, checking the air-conditioning temperature and resetting it for the day, then unlocking the front door and removing the CLOSED sign. While the coffee brewed, she took a diet cola from the small, compact fridge, snapped the pop-up lid and took a deep swallow of the sweet liquid. In the winter, she drank coffee, but not in the summer. She preferred to get her caffeine from colas when the temperatures rose to about eighty. But she knew that Amy Simms expected fresh brewed coffee to be waiting for her when she arrived.

  As Abby sat down in one of the comfy vinyl chairs and took another sip of cola, she eyed the plastic sack on the table. She reached over, grabbed it, placed it in her lap, and then opened it. There were two items inside—a small square envelope and a larger manila envelope. She removed the small envelope first. Her name graced the front, printed in large black letters—abby. She opened the envelope, slipped the one-page note out and unfolded it.

  I worship you from afar, my beautiful Abby

  A nervous tickle fluttered in her belly. How sweet. Did she have a secret admirer? It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that she did, was it? Ron Hensley wasn’t the only man in town interested in her. Guys flirted with her all the time. A few had even propositioned her since Ricky Wayne’s unit had been deployed to the Middle East. And doing her best to be the faithful wife, she had turned down every one of them—everybody except Ron.

  She read the note again and wondered who had written it. Definitely someone with a romantic flair. After dropping the note and envelope back into the bag, she pulled the larger envelope out and ripped off one end. When she turned the envelope upside down and shook it several times, a single sheet floated out. She grabbed it before it hit the floor, then turned the blank side over and gasped when she saw the sketch on the other side. An ink sketch of her. A talented artist had captured everything about her, from the slight crook in her nose to the sultry way she smiled. Whoever had created the sketch was someone who knew her, had observed her, even studied her.

  A gentle wave of apprehension washed over Abby, making her extremely curious about the author of the note—the artist. Her feminine instincts told her that this guy was no ordinary redneck good old boy, so that narrowed down the field considerably here in Adams County.

  Abby folded the sketch and stuffed it and the ripped manila envelope back in the white plastic sack; then she opened her purse and put the sack inside, shoving it to the bottom of her large carryall shoulder bag. She took another sip of cola, then checked the wall clock. Eight-twenty-seven. Amy should be
here any minute. Abby removed a lavender nylon work jacket from the pile of clean, protective shirts/ jackets, snapped it from midchest to just below her waist, and then picked up her cola and headed out into the shop to her workstation.

  The telephone rang. Abby jumped.

  Get hold of yourself. It’s just the telephone. Don’t let your imagination go haywire. Just because the unexpected note and sketch unnerved you as much as it flattered you, that’s no reason to be so nervous.

  “Kut and Kurl. Abby speaking.”

  “Hello, Abby.”

  She didn’t recognize the voice and thought it sounded odd. “Hello. How may I help you?”

  “Did you get my note?” The deep, muted baritone voice asked.

  Abby’s heartbeat went wild. “Yes, I did. And the sketch, too.”

  “Did you like the sketch?”

  “Yes, it’s wonderful. You’re very talented.”

  “Thank you, but I had the perfect subject.”

  A man who knows the right thing to say.

  “Who are you?” Abby asked.

  “I’m your secret admirer.”

  Abby giggled. “I figured that out. But why? If you’re interested, then you should make yourself known. Stop by the shop today around six and introduce yourself. Or do I already know you?”

  “I will reveal my identity to you when the time is right. But for now … think about me and about what I long to do—touch you, whisper love sonnets in your ear, fulfill your every fantasy.”

  Abby’s mouth gaped wide. She’d never had a man talk to her this way—romantically seductive. Guys usually talked dirty to her, told her they wanted to fuck her in no uncertain terms, but this guy—her secret admirer—was good. Hell, he was great. She’d be thinking about him all day.

  “I wish I knew who you were,” she said.