Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

by Beverly Barton

  “You were upset about Kevin’s reaction to his mother’s request that he stay here with you and start school in Adams Landing.” Bernie tried to think logically, despite the fact that her hormones had kicked into overdrive and she was still aroused.

  “And you advised me how to handle Kevin, then said you’d do anything you could to help me.”

  “And I meant it. I will do anything to—”

  Jim grabbed her by the shoulders. Gasping, Bernie’s eyes widened as she fixed her gaze on his.

  “You and your family have befriended Kevin and me. You’ve gone out of your way to help me and I’m grateful,” Jim said. “I like you, Bernie. I respect you… admire you.”

  Please stop talking. Don’t say anything else. Don’t tell me you kissed me out of gratitude. If you do, I think I’ll die.

  “I feel the same way about you,” she told him. Yeah, only I just happen to be in love with you, too.

  “I think I kissed you because … well, because …”

  Don’t say it. Don’t say because you’re so grateful to me.

  “Because you make me feel good about myself,” Jim said. “You make me feel strong and capable. You make me feel like I can be the kind of man I want to be, the kind of father Kevin deserves.”

  Bernie drew in and released a phantom relieved breath, a mental and emotional aah.

  “What are friends for?” Bernie tried her best to sound jovial.

  Jim tightened his hold on her shoulders. “Is that all we are—friends?”

  How should she respond? What did he want her to say? She didn’t feel confident enough to risk making a fool of herself. “I suppose … I—”

  Jim released her abruptly, but stood so close she could feel his breath on her face as he watched her, studying her for a reaction. “Yeah, you’re right. We don’t want to do something we’ll regret, do we? After all, we’ve both been pretty badly burned by past relationships and neither of us is looking for anything permanent and—”

  “And why let unbridled passion screw up a friendship.” Bernie turned around and walked away from him.

  Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. Don’t let him see you vulnerable. Don’t let him figure out how you really feel about him.

  “Bernie!” Jim called after her.

  “I’m going inside to check on Kevin,” she said. “Give me a few minutes alone with him before you come into the house. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Bernie hurried across the yard, onto the back porch and through the open kitchen door. Once inside, she paused for half a second, sighed, keened softly and then squared her shoulders.

  Let it go. Whatever is going on between you and Jim, don’t dwell on it. He doesn’t feel what you feel, doesn’t want what you want.

  Right now isn’t about you or Jim. It’s about Kevin and how you can help him. The poor kid’s whole world is falling apart. He’s angry with Jim, probably even blames him for everything. It’s up to you to do something—anything—to put father and son together.

  She found Kevin and Boomer, who had apparently followed Kevin into the house, in the den. Curled up on the sofa, his knees drawn up to his chest and his face buried between his clasped knees, Kevin ignored Boomer’s whimpers. The puppy so obviously wanted to comfort the boy.

  “Kevin?”

  “Huh?” he replied, his body tensing, his reply muffled.

  “May I come in and talk to you?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” He raised his head, but didn’t look at her. Instead, he focused on Boomer, as if he’d suddenly realized the puppy was there. He picked Boomer up and cradled him in his arms between his chest and propped-up knees.

  “You’re going into seventh grade, right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, my birthday is in December, so Mom held me back.”

  “Adams Landing has a great middle school.”

  “Hmm …”

  Bernie ventured into the den. “Mind if I sit down with you and Boomer?”

  Still holding Boomer, Kevin scooted around, unbent his knees and made room for her on the small sofa.

  Bernie sat, placed her hands in her lap and glanced at Kevin, who averted his gaze. Staring down at the floor, he stroked Boomer’s back.

  “Your stepdad suggesting that you stay with your dad and start school here doesn’t mean your mother doesn’t love you and want you.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “And none of this is your dad’s fault.”

  Kevin’s head snapped up. He glared at Bernie. “Yes, it is his fault.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “He left us a long time ago when I was just a little kid. He divorced my mom.”

  “He left your mother,” Bernie said calmly. “He divorced her. He didn’t divorce you. You’re his son. You’re the most important person in the world to him.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s got a funny way of showing it.”

  “What do you mean by that? Do you mean spending every moment with you that he was allowed to since the divorce is showing you the way he feels? Do you mean living for the weekends you two were together is showing you how he feels? Do you mean never saying one word against your mother because he knows how much you love her—”

  “Stop saying those things!” Kevin shouted. Boomer jerked out of his arms and bounded onto the floor. “They’re not true.”

  Bernie looked Kevin square in the eyes and said, “Yes, they are true. Why do you think your father gave up his job as a Memphis police detective and accepted a lesser paying job here in Adams County? He did it so he could be close to you.”

  “He did?” Kevin’s eyes widened.

  “Yes, he did. And he rented a two-bedroom duplex so you could have your own bedroom when you visited.”

  Kevin nodded.

  “He was very sorry to hear about your mom’s breast cancer,” Bernie said. “But he was thrilled that you’d be living with him for several weeks. All he thought about was how he could do his job and spend as much time with you as possible.”

  “You like my dad a lot, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You think he’s a good guy?”

  “I think he’s a very good guy.”

  “My mom doesn’t think so.”

  Okay, tread carefully here. Defend Jim without defaming Mary Lee.

  “Sometimes when people get a divorce, they’re angry and hurt and say things they don’t mean about each other. If your mother ever said anything against your father, that’s probably the reason.”

  Kevin thought for several minutes. “I think she used to hate him. Before she married Allen.”

  “Maybe she did. And hate makes us say and do things we shouldn’t.”

  “I always felt like I couldn’t love my dad—you know, really love him—if I love my mom. But that’s not true, is it?”

  Bernie inched closer to Kevin, longing to wrap the boy in her arms and comfort him. “No matter how your parents feel about each other or what either of them might have said about the other, you can love both of them without betraying either of them.”

  What on earth had Mary Lee done to her son by poisoning his mind against his father? Try as Bernie might to feel compassion and concern for a woman struggling to overcome a deadly disease, she could feel little but contempt for anyone who would so shamefully use their child in a battle against their ex-spouse.

  “My dad really wants me to live with him?” Kevin asked. “He’s glad I’ll be staying here and going to school?”

  Bernie eased her arm around Kevin’s shoulders. A loose, casual hug, nothing to make him feel like a little kid being smothered by an adult. “Yes to both questions.”

  “Bernie?”

  “Hmm …?

  “Where’s my dad?”

  “Outside. Waiting.”

  “I don’t really feel like talking to him tonight,” Kevin said. “I mean, I’ll go home with him and all, but I don’t want to talk about my mom or about my staying here in Adams Landing to start
school. Couldn’t that wait until later?”

  “I’m sure it can.” Bernie removed her arm from around Kevin’s shoulders, stood, and being careful not to step on Boomer who had curled up at Kevin’s feet, headed for the door.

  “I’ll let your dad know you’re ready to go home now.”

  When she exited through the kitchen, she found Jim pacing back and forth on the porch. The minute he saw her, he stopped and looked at her, his gaze cautiously optimistic.

  “Will he talk to me?” Jim asked.

  “He doesn’t want to talk to you tonight about his mother or his staying on in Adams Landing.”

  Jim’s hopeful expression altered to one of dismay.

  “But he’s ready to go home with you,” Bernie said. “And I think in a day or two, he might be ready to talk.”

  Jim huffed loudly, then grasped Bernie by the shoulders. “Damn, woman, you’re a miracle worker. What did you say to him? You didn’t—”

  “No, I didn’t say one word against your ex-wife. I simply pointed out to Kevin that you’re a good man and that you love him more than anyone on earth.”

  Jim swallowed. “Thanks, Bernie. I owe you—”

  “You don’t owe me anything. We’re friends, remember?”

  “Yeah, and I’m one lucky bastard to have a friend like you.”

  When he pulled her into his arms and hugged her, Bernie thought she’d die from the pleasure … and from the pain.

  The dream came again, as it so often did. Sweet and promising, reminding him of the greatest joy he’d ever known. But soon the dream turned cold and cruel, ripping out his heart, leaving him humiliated and longing to die. His subconscious mind replayed the dream over and over again, never letting him forget, constantly reminding him.

  She was the most beautiful, desirable creature on earth, and he loved her madly. Although he had worshipped her from afar for such a long time, he’d never dared to dream that one day she would speak to him. He hadn’t realized that she even knew who he was.

  “Hi, there,” she said in that kitten-soft, syrupy-sweet Southern drawl.

  “She’s talking to you.” His friend Marcus punched him in the ribs.

  “Huh?”

  She curled her index finger and wiggled it at him. He nearly peed in his pants.

  “Come here, silly,” she said.

  He moved toward her like a robot.

  “Can’t you even say hi?” When she smiled at him, his heart went wild.

  “Hi.” He croaked the one word.

  She giggled. “Since we both have Mr. Higgins for American history next, want to carry my books for me?”

  “You want me to carry your books?”

  She batted those long black eyelashes at him. “Of course I do, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

  In his effort to take her books and stack them on his, he clumsily dropped all their books on the floor. Red faced and trembling, he went down on his knees and picked up every book, praying she wouldn’t laugh at him. But when he stood up again, she slipped her slender arm through his skinny arm and smiled at him.

  He’d been a goner from that moment on. He was hers to command, to do with as she willed.

  He fought with his subconscious, struggling to end the dream before it turned deadly.

  Wake up! Damn it, wake up!

  But the dream wouldn’t stop. The memories washed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in shame and torment.

  With her laughter ringing in his ears, he cried out, struggling against the soul-wrenching anguish. His eyes flew open. He woke in a cold sweat. Lying there in the darkness, he listened to the loud, racing beat of his heart.

  Don’t think about the past. Think about the future. Concentrate on the woman who may make all your dreams come true.

  Tomorrow I’ll send her another gift. Pink lipstick and nail polish. And I’ll sketch her, partially nude this time.

  He sighed as one thought filled his mind—the thought of making love to Abby.

  Chapter 21

  Abby Miller laid out all the notes, sketches, and gifts on her bed, then stood there and looked over the treasure trove of items from her mystery lover. In the beginning, she had been flattered and mildly curious as to who this romantic secret admirer might be. But the sketches included with the most recent gift—a gold-plated ankle bracelet—had unnerved her, to say the least. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried a few sexually kinky things with various partners, but she wasn’t really into S&M, other than enjoying an occasional spanking. She sure as hell didn’t find seeing herself depicted as a brutalized sex slave appealing in any way. Staring at the trilogy of sketches that had arrived this afternoon, she shivered. In one she was totally naked and had been impaled, vaginally and anally, by enormous dildos. The expression on her face was one of terror and agony.

  Her stomach churned. Just looking at these ink sketches made her sick. The second one was just as revolting. She lay on a bed of flames, her mouth open in a silent scream. But the third was the most menacing of all. Her throat had been sliced open and droplets of blood splattered her chest and dripped off each nipple.

  Nausea overcame her just as the doorbell rang. She rushed into the bathroom and retched, emptying her stomach. How could she have been foolish enough to think her mystery man was simply too shy to approach her, or that he had a strong romantic nature and wanted to woo her gradually? She should have suspected, from the moment she had received that first gift, that some nutcase was stalking her.

  As she rinsed out her mouth, she heard Ron’s voice calling her name.

  “Abby? Abby! Where are you? Are you all right?”

  After wiping off her damp mouth, she hung the towel on the rack and turned to leave the bathroom. When she did, she ran right into Ron, who apparently had used the key she’d given him weeks ago to let himself into her house.

  “Damn it, why didn’t you answer me?” He glared at her.

  “I was too busy throwing up,” she told him.

  He narrowed his gaze, glowering at her questioningly. “Are you pregnant?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “Thank God.” The relief showed plainly on his face. “So what’s the big emergency? When you called, you said to get over here as fast as I could.”

  “Did you see the stuff lying on my bed?”

  “Not really. I didn’t stop to look at anything when I came through the house. I was hunting for you.” He grasped her shoulders. “I was worried about you.”

  She sighed deeply. “I think I’m in big trouble.”

  He eyed her speculatively. “What kind of trouble?”

  She grabbed his hand, then led him into her bedroom and over to her bed. “Look at these things. I’ve been receiving these items, a few at a time, for the past two weeks.”

  Ron walked around her bed slowly, studying the items intently, but not touching them.

  “Good God Almighty! I don’t believe this!”

  “What? What is it?” She grabbed his arm and tugged on it.

  He turned slowly, then reached out and cupped her face with both hands. “This is bad, baby. Really bad.”

  “I’m already scared enough,” she told him. “You don’t have to frighten me any more than I already am.”

  He squinted his eyes and grimaced. “Why didn’t you tell me when you got the first note and gift?”

  When he opened his eyes wide and looked right at her, she saw fear—raw, unchecked fear. “What … what is it? Tell me?”

  After releasing his hold on her face, he took both of her hands into his. “This guy—the one who sent you all these gifts and notes”—he glanced at the bed—“and those sketches—he’s the one who killed Stephanie Preston and Thomasina Hardy.”

  “Wh … a … t?” Her voice quivered. She’d heard what Ron said, understood the words, but her mind simply could not wrap itself around the meaning. “No, that’s not … No, you’re wrong. You have to be wrong.”

  She fell apart in Ron’s strong arms. He stroked her back and
allowed her to cry for a couple of minutes before he grabbed her shoulders, shoved her back and said, “I have to call Bernie and Jim. They need to see these things.” He nodded to the bed. “And we need to make sure you have twenty-four-hour-a-day protection.”

  “You—you think this man—this murderer—is going to come after me?”

  Ron nodded. “The last gifts Thomasina Hardy received before her abduction was a gold ankle bracelet and a sketch of her like that one.” Ron pointed to the rendering of Abby with her throat cut and blood dripping from her nipples.

  “I think I’m going to be sick again.” She jerked away from Ron and ran into the bathroom.

  As she threw up a second time, she heard Ron on his cell phone. “Jim, it’s Ron. Look, get hold of Bernie and you two get over here to Abby Miller’s house right away.” He recited her address to his boss. “Our serial killer has chosen his next victim.”

  Ron agreed to spend every night at Abby Miller’s house, which didn’t surprise Bernie since she’d suspected for months now that the two were having an affair. During the remaining sixteen hours of each day, four other deputies would take four-hour shifts and do it on their own time, to keep the killer’s next potential victim safe. Charlie Patterson had shown up with the ABI Crime Scene Unit and they’d whisked away all the evidence—everything Abby had put on display across her satin comforter. The fact that Abby had not only finally notified Ron about the gifts from her mystery man, but that she’d kept all the items her stalker had sent her was the first real break they’d gotten in their Secret Admirer serial killer case.

  Bernie played with the Caesar salad that Jim had bought for her when he’d picked up his chicken fingers and fries for lunch. They had been holed up in her office for the past forty-five minutes and Jim had already finished his lunch, including his chocolate pie. Bernie had been talking and thinking and had eaten very little, but she had downed her tall Styrofoam cup of iced tea.

  “I think I should fly to Greenville and talk to people who knew Heather and Shannon, the first two victims.” Jim gathered up the debris from his lunch and dumped it all in the wastebasket beside Bernie’s desk.