County Sheriffs 3: Conquering Evil (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting)

by Becca Van

  Jasmine nodded. “Smart woman. I’ve also noticed that no female is wandering town on her own. Women are walking around in pairs or more which is smart, and I haven’t seen many out and about after dark. If they do go out, they’re usually with a man or two. They all have to be scared to go out and about with this fucker on the loose, but they aren’t putting their lives on hold, which is good. That takes a hell of a lot of courage.”

  “You sound as if you speak from experience,” Clay said.

  Tanner watched with concern as all color leeched from Jasmine’s face. She sucked in an audible breath and reached for her beer with a trembling hand. In that moment Tanner knew something really, really bad had to have happened to Jasmine. The shadows in her eyes were because of something that had happened in her past, and though she was probably going to tell him to go to hell, he was determined to get to the bottom of her fear. He glanced over at Coop to see him frowning at Jasmine. Good, his buddy had seen what he had. Knowing that something terrified the feisty hard-ass FBI profiler made him and Coop see her in a different light.

  Come hell or high water he was going to find out why she was scared of being with him and Cooper.

  Chapter Six

  Jasmine couldn’t seem to settle. Although the bed was comfortable, she was restless, and no matter how many times she thumped the pillow or turned it over, it didn’t help. She’d been trying to read for the last hour, but she couldn’t concentrate and had read the same paragraph over and over and still hadn’t made sense of it. She put the book down on the bedside table and wondered what was going on when she heard people moving about, but since it wasn’t her house and what the others did wasn’t any of her business, she stayed put. However, she didn’t have to stay in bed. Flinging the covers aside, she went into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face and stared at herself in the mirror. No matter how much concealer she used, the dark smudges, which were a testament to her exhaustion, wouldn’t go away.

  With a sigh of resignation, she grabbed the towel from the rail, patted her skin dry, and went back into the bedroom. Since her mind wouldn’t quiet enough for her to sleep or read some light fiction, she decided to work instead.

  She moved toward the door, and after pressing her ear to it and hearing nothing, she flicked the main light on. She retrieved her laptop bag, dumped it on the bed, and, after getting comfortable, pulled out all the files on the serial killer case. Since she wasn’t going to be sleeping she thought she might as well do something productive, like work. Maybe when her eyes were tired enough she would be able to drift off for a couple of hours’ sleep, but she knew from experience trying to force herself to get some shuteye wasn’t going to work.

  Jasmine picked up the first victim’s file and, after reading it from back to front, picked up the next and the next until she’d gotten to the latest victim’s folder. She stared at the picture of Lucy Wood naked with bruises and stab wounds marring her white flesh. She grabbed the photograph of her and her husband both smiling into the camera’s lens, but as she stared at the husband’s gray eyes, a frisson of unease raced up her spine. There was just something about Anthony Wood that didn’t sit well with her. Even though he was smiling and the corners of his eyes were crinkled, none of what he was feeling showed in those gray orbs.

  Jasmine had no idea why she kept coming back to Lucy and Anthony Wood, but her gut wouldn’t let her leave the file alone. Anthony was handsome enough in the boy-next-door kind of way, but there was just something so…soulless about him.

  She reached for her laptop, and after powering it up, she began to search through the FBI database and any other database she could think of in regards to Anthony Wood. Finding his true birth name was easy enough, but she had a feeling that she was on the right track. If Wood had changed his name once, what was to say he wasn’t averse to using other aliases? That was definitely something she would look deeper into later, but right now she wanted to know everything she could about Billy Bush before he’d changed his name to Anthony Wood.

  What Jasmine found in regards to Billy Bush’s childhood had her heart pounding. His mother had been an abusive alcoholic, and though the cops had been called time and again to the home, nothing was ever done. Billy Bush had ended up stabbing his own mother over twenty times. The ruling from the judge had been temporary insanity after countless sessions with psychiatrists, and though that may have been the case at the time, Jasmine knew that killing his mother had to have given him a taste of power.

  Billy had been sexually as well as verbally abused for years and had snapped at the tender of thirteen. He’d spent six months in a psychiatric ward and then had gone through the system as a ward of the state, and in and out of foster homes. The file had been closed, never to be opened again, but since Jasmine was a trained profiler and agent, she was high enough up the rungs to be able to read the closed file. The Park County sheriffs wouldn’t have had a hope in hell of laying eyes on Bush’s file.

  Her gut lit up with excitement and she knew instinctually that she’d found their killer. Now all they had to do was catch the bastard. His childhood had to have sent him over the edge turning him into a psychopath. Continual sexual and verbal abuse were classic triggers in those types of people. She wanted to rush out and tell the others what she’d found, but that would be rude since it was so late. It could wait until morning.

  Jasmine blinked and sighed as her dry bloodshot eyes burned. She glanced at the clock on the screen of her laptop and scrubbed a hand over her face when she saw that it was almost three in the morning. Time to try and get a few hours’ sleep. Although she didn’t have to go into the office since it was Sunday, she was going to have to fill the other officers in on what she’d found.

  Now that she knew who the serial killer was, all they had to do was track the fucker. Or lure him out into the open. She just hoped that her plan of taking Misha’s place worked. She wanted to take that bastard down before another innocent woman lost her life.

  After packing her things away and turning the light off, Jasmine settled down to sleep. She was so exhausted she sank down into a deep sleep almost immediately.

  * * * *

  Jasmine knew as soon as she stepped over the threshold of the back door that something was dreadfully wrong. The smell of copper filled the air, and though the house was quiet and still, the fine hairs on her body and her nape stood on end.

  She’d been late getting out of school since she’d had a few questions about the homework her teacher had set. It was almost five in the afternoon, and since her foster mom only worked part time, she should have been home already, as should their daughter, Deanne. At first, she’d been grateful to have a room of her own when she’d been placed with this family, and though she liked Beverly, her foster mom, and her daughter, Deanne, well enough, the father gave her the creeps.

  He was an absolute asshole expecting his dinner to be on the table the moment he walked in the door. The dad, Chuck Emmitt, would yell and curse if his food wasn’t waiting for him, and the bastard didn’t let up with his verbal abuse until it was set in front of him on the table.

  Jasmine had no idea why Beverly put up with his shit, but since she was just a kid herself and not a member of the family she kept her mouth shut. In fact, she tried very, very hard to stay out of Chuck’s sight. She’d learned to do as she was told very quickly and to keep her sarcastic retorts to herself. Chuck had slapped her across the face the first couple of times she’d given him lip, and since he was so much bigger and stronger than she was, the asshole had sent her flying.

  The only reason she didn’t eat all her meals in her room was because Chuck would have hauled her back out by the hair, which he’d done a time or two, as well. Chuck Emmitt was a bully of the worst kind, using his greater height and physical strength on those weaker than him, but she suspected if he ever came up against someone of the same ilk he would run like the yellow-bellied coward he was.

  Jasmine glanced about the empty kitchen, noting th
e lack of pots and pans on the stove and the usual tantalizing smells that permeated the small house whenever Beverly cooked.

  Her heart was racing, and a cold sweat formed over her skin. She had no idea why it was so quiet because she knew that Beverly and Chuck had to be home. She’d seen both their vehicles parked in the driveway. And there was no way that Deanne would ever risk being late home from school because if her father ever found out he would punish the poor girl with his belt. Jasmine would never forget hearing the other girl's screams as her father had hit her over and over again. She’d had to cover her ears to try and block out the sounds of pain. She still felt guilty for not going into Deanne’s room to try and defend her from her father’s brutality.

  Chuck ruled the roost with an iron fist, and as far as he was concerned, his word was law no matter what. There were no explanations or excuses as far as that asshole was concerned.

  Jasmine set her backpack down just inside the kitchen entry and peeked around the doorway into the living room. The usual empty bottles of beer were scattered on the scarred surface of the coffee table and floor surrounding Chuck’s usual seat on the sofa, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  The copper smell was stronger, and she covered her mouth and nose before inhaling and slowly walked across the living room toward the hall, which led to the bedrooms. Late afternoon sunlight highlighted dust motes as she inched her way toward the bedrooms. The small knot of dread that had begun to form in her gut grew bigger with each step she took.

  As she passed her small bedroom, she glanced inside but found it empty. She stopped in the doorway to Deanne’s room, staring uncomprehendingly at the mess. Deanne never left anything out of place because, if she did, she would have copped a beating from Chuck, which pissed Jasmine off to no end because that bastard left his things, as well as empty beer bottles and other trash, lying around all the time. He was the biggest hypocritical, lazy asshole she’d ever met, but she had learned to keep her opinion to herself, lest she ended up getting backhanded across the face again.

  The destruction to Deanne’s room was so out of the norm that Jasmine didn’t know what to make of it. She was about to walk farther into the room but stopped when she heard a noise coming from the room at the end of the hall. She turned as if in slow motion, her heart pounding so hard that it hurt. She put one foot in front of the other until she was standing outside the slightly ajar door to the master bedroom, and just as she was about to push the door open, it was pulled inward.

  Jasmine whimpered with terror and horror at the sight that met her eyes. Chuck was standing just inside the doorway, bloody, dripping knife in hand and a vacant expression on his face. Lying on the floor only a few feet behind him were Beverly and Deanne. Both of them were covered in blood, and they were staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Blood sprays coated the walls and ceiling in a macabre canvass of death. Her stomach roiled as acid burned her esophagus, but she ruthlessly swallowed the sourness back down.

  Jasmine didn’t remember much after that. She knew she must have turned to flee because she remembered staring at the living room ceiling from her back on the floor with an enraged Chuck pinning her down with his body weight. The horrific sound of her own screams and the agony she’d endured tormented her night after night in her nightmares.

  Each time the blade pierced deep into her flesh she screamed until she was hoarse. Tears spilled down the sides of her face into her hair, and every time the knife plunged into her body she wondered if she would breathe her last breath.

  * * * *

  Tanner bolted upright with the first scream. He snatched his gun from the bedside table, flicked the safety off and rolled to his feet. After peering out into the hallway from the crack in the slightly open bedroom door and seeing nothing, he hurried toward the closed bedroom door next to his room. He glanced at Cooper as he came out into the hall with his own gun in hand and signaled him. Coop nodded and remained standing tall as Tanner crouched low, his hand already turning the door handle to Jasmine’s room. He opened the door, and after peering behind it, he pushed it wider and stepped into the darkened room quickly, scanning the windows and then the shadows when he saw that nothing had been disturbed. Coop hurried across to the adjoining bathroom and, after making sure nothing was amiss, shook his head at Tanner.

  Tanner took a step toward the bed where Jasmine was moving restlessly and froze for a second at the tortured scream that came out of her mouth. His heart stopped beating before slamming against his ribs, and then he was hurrying toward the bed. Cooper skirted the other side and flicked the bedside lamp on. Jasmine was crying in her sleep, tears rolling down her face and into her hair, but it was the anguished sounds of agony coming from her mouth that made his heart ache. That was until she flung the covers aside and he saw the white scars marring her upper arms and shoulders. His breath hitched as he stared in horror and anger.

  Jasmine had been stabbed numerous times. Rage permeated his heart and soul, and though he wanted to roar out his fury, he swallowed his anger back down and sat on the side of her bed.

  “Fuck!” Cooper murmured in his gravelly voice.

  Tanner had been reaching for Jasmine’s shoulder, hoping to gently shake her awake and bring her out of her nightmare, but he froze when Cooper cursed. He glanced up to see Coop staring at the white scars on Jasmine’s arms.

  Taking a deep calming breath, Tanner gently caressed up and down Jasmine’s arm. “Jasmine, wake up, honey. You’re having a nightmare.”

  She whimpered in her sleep, drew in a deep ragged breath, and screamed so loudly she hurt his ears. Tanner couldn’t stand the tortured sounds coming out of her mouth and quickly scooped her up into his arms and cradled her on his lap. When she jerked and then tensed, Tanner realized she’d woken up. Even though she was still gasping for air and shaking in his arms, it didn’t take her long to calm down. He glanced at Coop when he sat on the mattress next to him, and then his friend caressed a hand over Jasmine’s head and down her arm.

  “Are you all right, baby?” Coop asked.

  Jasmine kept her gaze lowered but nodded. The occasional quake wracked her small body, but her breathing had finally deepened and slowed.

  “Do you want to talk about the nightmare?” Tanner asked, hoping she would open up with them. He didn’t need to be a genius to know she’d suffered and was still suffering. No wonder the poor woman had trouble sleeping. She’d been a victim herself at one time. Tanner had a feeling that was the reason Jasmine had ended up being an FBI agent and a profiler. Maybe that was her way of dealing with the horror she’d faced once herself.

  Tanner released her when she shoved at his arm, and she scrambled up from his lap. He eyed over her cute shorts and tank top, and though he tried to keep his gaze from the scars on her soft white skin, he found his eyes drawn to those marks again and again. Not because they were unsightly or he had a morbid fascination with scars but because he wanted to know what had happened to her.

  She looped her arms around her stomach as if trying to hug herself but most likely in a defensive move, and finally, she lifted her head and met his gaze before glancing at Coop.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Tanner cleared his throat. “You were screaming. We were worried someone had broken in and was trying to hurt you.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Jasmine frowned.

  “We’ve swapped places with Clay, Spence, and Misha.”

  “Damn it!” Jasmine stamped her foot. “I thought we’d vetoed that idea. You’ve probably just let our killer know we’re trying to draw him out.”

  “Why would you think that?” Tanner asked.

  “Did any of you think to swap shirts and hats?”

  “We did,” Cooper answered as he stood.

  Jasmine swallowed audibly, and her gaze wandered over Cooper’s naked chest and bare legs, pausing briefly on the front of his form-fitting boxers. Tanner bit his cheek when her blue eyes glazed over and her pupils began to dilate. She might play a goo
d game, but this time she’d failed to hide her body’s response to Coop. Tanner decided to push her boundaries a little and shoved to his feet. He was wearing only his boxers, too, and although his lips twitched when he saw her eying him over, he didn’t smile.

  When her gaze landed just below his right shoulder and she took a step closer to him, he had to clench his fists so he wouldn’t reach for her.

  “You have scars,” she murmured, the tips of her fingers brushing over his skin so lightly he wondered if he’d imagined her touch.

  “I do.”

  “What happened?” she asked, her gaze tracing the path her fingers made on his skin.

  “I copped a bullet on our last mission.”

  Jasmine nodded and snatched her hand away from his chest. It took all of Tanner’s self-control to keep from grasping her wrist and putting her hand back on his skin. She met Coop’s gaze. “You got hurt, too.”

  “I did.” Coop nodded. “Tanner saved my life.”

  “You saved me right back, so we’re even,” Tanner stated.

  “We all have scars, baby,” Coop said as he traced a thin line on Jasmine’s upper arm. Tanner held his breath wondering if she would go back to using vitriol as a defense, but she surprised him and ended up nodding instead.

  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  Tanner shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Jasmine. We’ve been known to yell in our sleep a time or two.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?” Coop asked as he walked toward the door.

  When she gave a nonchalant shrug, Tanner wished he could walk back over to her, pull her into his arms, and hold her tight. She looked so damn small, vulnerable, and fragile, but looks were deceiving. If he even uttered one of those words in her presence, she’d probably hand him his balls.