As expected, he found his mother standing next to the kitchen sink, washing dishes.
A portion of his tension eased as she turned at the sound of his footsteps. She smiled with a sunny welcome that assured him no one in the family was injured.
“Jax.” She grabbed a dish towel to dry her hands as she headed across the floor and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m so happy to see you.”
He glanced down at her with a frown. “I got your text. Is everything okay?”
“That’s exactly what I intended to ask you,” she said, abruptly moving to close the kitchen door. She turned back with a shake of her head. “I swear, I’m going to start spending the holidays in the Bahamas. I haven’t had any peace for a week.”
“Mom, what’s going on?” Jax pressed.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pointed toward the kitchen table in the center of the floor.
“I want you to sit down,” she told him. “Then I want you to tell me what you would like for breakfast.”
“Breakfast.” He studied his mother, wondering if the stress of her houseguests had tumbled her over the edge. “I’m working this morning. Do you need something or not?”
She pursed her lips, continuing to point at the table. “I’m not talking until you sit down and tell me what you want for breakfast. Is that clear?”
Jax paused. He was way too busy to be playing games. Then again, he knew that tone. When his mother was in this mood, a smart man simply did what she wanted.
“A western omelet and toast,” Jax muttered as he grudgingly walked forward and flopped into one of the wooden seats.
Bustling around the kitchen with the intensity of a general going into battle, his mother pulled out the ingredients from the fridge. Then, grabbing a banana, she placed it on the table.
“Eat this while I’m cooking,” she commanded. “You need your vitamins.”
Jax heaved a sigh, obediently slipping off his coat before he peeled the fruit and stuffed it into his mouth.
“You’re a very frustrating woman, June Marcel.”
She turned back to the counter, chopping vegetables and whisking eggs that she tossed into a skillet. Never halting her fluid movements, she grabbed the coffeepot and filled a mug with the steaming black nirvana.
“It’s part of my charm,” she assured Jax, setting the coffee in front of him.
Jax grabbed the mug, taking a deep sip. He sighed in pleasure. His mother knew exactly how he liked his coffee.
“Is Nate here?” he asked.
“No, he should be home tomorrow,” his mother said. As far as the older woman was concerned, this house would always be home for the Marcel boys. “You’ll join us for dinner at seven.”
It wasn’t a request, but Jax gave a vague shrug. “I’ll have to see. This case—”
His mother interrupted. “Is consuming your life and making you crazy.”
Jax snorted. “Is that an official diagnosis?”
“It’s a mother’s diagnosis,” June informed him, grabbing a plate and sliding the omelet out of the skillet before gathering the toast and slathering it with her homemade jelly. “Here.” She placed the plate and utensils in front of Jax. “I want you to eat every bite.”
“I’m not a child,” Jax protested, even as he grabbed a fork and dug into the food with unmistakable gusto.
He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating.
“Then stop acting like one,” his mother chided, taking a seat next to him as she sipped her own coffee.
He ate a slice of toast before he demanded an explanation. No one could cook like his mom. “What are you talking about?”
She offered a mysterious smile. “I have my connections at the station.”
Jax narrowed his eyes. “Monica?” he asked, knowing the dispatcher played bridge with his mother.
“Among others,” she murmured.
Jax grimaced, polishing off the last of his omelet. “And what did your spies tell you?”
“Not spies,” June corrected him. “Concerned friends who keep me informed on the welfare of my son.”
“That sounds a lot like spies.”
His mother pretended she didn’t hear his accusation.
“They tell me that you’re working day and night. And that you drink gallons of coffee without eating a decent meal. They also say you are starting to look like a zombie.” She reached out to touch the shadows beneath his eyes. “They were right.”
Jax couldn’t lie. The evidence of his lack of sleep was etched on his face.
“I can rest and eat later,” he said. “Right now, nothing matters but finding the Butcher.”
“Your health matters.”
Jax ate his second slice of toast before pushing away his empty plate and swiveling in his chair to confront the woman who was regarding him with open concern. “Remi is in danger, Mom,” he said in a low voice.
“I know.” Her expression was somber. “And I understand that you and Ash have to do everything possible to find the killer.”
“So why am I here?”
“Because you’re . . .” The older woman heaved a sigh.
“I’m what?”
“You are my Jax.” His mother gazed down at her coffee cup, as if trying to find the words. “You’ve always been the protector of the family.”
Jax frowned. “Dad is the protector.”
June lifted her head, her expression wry. “Yes, but he was married to his job. Just like you are now,” she pointed out. “And when one of your brothers was in trouble or needed help, you were the one to rush to their rescue.”
Jax felt a blush heating his face. His mother made him sound like he was some sort of superman. “I think you’re exaggerating.”
She held his gaze. “Who drove five hours in the middle of a snowstorm to pick up Ty when he got stuck in a ditch?” she demanded.
Jax reached for his coffee. It was true that his brothers had a habit of turning to him when they didn’t want their parents to know they’d gotten in trouble. But it wasn’t that he had any special talents. He just happened to be the oldest.
“Ty had to be back for football practice or he would have lost his scholarship,” he said, his lips twitching as he recalled the frantic call that had woken him from a deep sleep.
He thought his middle brother was going to cry when he realized he might not be back in time for early morning check-in.
“And he didn’t want to tell us he’d snuck out of his dorm room to attend the concert despite his curfew.”
“He was an idiot, but he didn’t deserve to lose a chance at a good education,” Jax said. Playing college sports could be grueling, and Jax understood his brother’s need to blow off steam.
He’d ignored his coach’s curfew once or twice himself. Thankfully, he’d never gotten caught.
“You were also the one who found the boy who stole Nate’s bike and forced him to give it back,” his mother reminded him.
Jax chuckled. He’d nearly forgotten Sam Perry, the neighborhood bully. He’d been three inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Jax, but he’d gone down with one good punch to the face.
“I took great pleasure in hitting that jerk,” he admitted. “I think I broke his nose.”
His mother sent him a rueful smile. “I have a hundred other stories that are the same.”
“Let’s give them a pass,” Jax insisted.
“My point is that you’ll drive yourself into a hospital bed if someone doesn’t take care of you,” his mother said, reaching to cover his hand with hers. “And until you find that special woman, that task belongs to me.”
Jax snorted at the subtle jab. “You’re hitting all the buttons today. My job. My lack of a wife.”
“Because I love you.”
He turned his hand so he could give her fingers a tight squeeze. “I know that, Mom.”
“Good.” She settled back in her chair, studying him with a stubborn expression. “Now tell me what’s bothering
you.”
“Wouldn’t you rather discuss the wedding?” He tried to distract her.
She held his gaze. “Tell me.”
Jax accepted defeat. His mother wasn’t going to give up until she’d gotten the information she wanted.
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing to tell,” he told her. “Every clue that might lead me to the Butcher has turned out to be a dead end.”
“Those poor women.” The older woman grimaced. “It’s creepy that they all look like Remi.”
“All serial killers have a preference in their prey.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Jax hesitated, not sure what Ash had revealed to their mother. “Of course, in the case of the Butcher, he’s taken it a step farther,” he said.
June looked confused. “Why do you say that?”
“It hasn’t been shared with the media, but the last two victims had plastic surgery shortly before they were killed.”
“Does it matter? Lots of women have work done,” she said, clearly unaware there’d been more to Ash’s return to Chicago than the simple fact the victims resembled his ex-fiancée. “I don’t know why. Beauty comes from the heart,” she continued.
“The surgeries weren’t just to make them pretty. They were done to make them look more like Remi.”
Her mother’s eyes widened, her hand lifting to press to the center of her chest.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” she breathed. “Why would they do that?”
“My assumption was that they were either convinced to have the work done by the Butcher,” he drummed his fingers on the table, the familiar frustration bubbling through him, “or it was done by force.”
“Do you think the Butcher is a surgeon?” his mother demanded.
It was a thought that had gone through his mind.
“It’s possible. Certainly, none of the clinics I’ve contacted are willing to admit the victims were patients,” he told her. “If their work was done in Illinois, it was done off the books.”
June took a second to gather her composure, her face pale with concern for Remi. “The surgery could have been done out of state,” she said.
“I’m checking, but it’s a slow process.” Too slow, Jax silently acknowledged. It could take weeks, even months, to get the information he needed.
“What about the women?” his mother abruptly demanded.
Jax shook off his aggravation at his inability to track down where the women had their surgeries.
“What do you mean?” he asked his mother.
“Surely their families knew they were going to have the operation?”
Jax shook his head, not willing to tell his mother that their families hadn’t paid enough attention to the victims to know what was happening in their lives. It only upset the older woman when she had to accept that not all children were given the same love and devotion she lavished on her boys.
“Not that I could discover. But they both wanted to be actresses,” he said, changing the direction of the conversation. “I’m guessing it would have been easy to convince the women to leave home, and even have plastic surgery, if they thought they were going to get a part in a movie.”
His mother arched her brows. “That would be a clever trap.” She considered the possibility for a moment. “Have you checked with the talent agencies?” she finally asked.
Jax wrinkled his nose. “Yet another thing I’m in the process of doing.”
“I could help.”
“Absolutely not.”
His mother stiffened, and Jax instantly regretted his harsh tone. In his defense, the last thing he’d expected was for her to offer her assistance.
He didn’t want his mother anywhere near this god-awful case.
“Jackson Robert Marcel,” June snapped, making him flinch at the use of his full name, “I’ve lived in this city my entire life. Just as my parents did. And their parents.”
“I know.”
“I have dozens of friends who have dozens of friends who have dozens of friends. At least one of them is bound to work in the entertainment industry,” she continued. “They would be able to tell me if any of the agents were asking to find women who look like Remi.”
“I appreciate . . .”
His mother frowned as his words trailed away. “Yes?”
Jax reached for his coat, pulling the scrap of paper from his pocket. He had the perfect solution. Not only could he soothe his mother’s temper by allowing her to assist him, there was a chance she might have the information he needed. As she said, her family had been in Chicago forever.
“Actually, I do need your help,” he said.
June’s expression eased, her ruffled feathers smoothed by his agreement. “It’s about time you appreciated my wealth of knowledge,” she informed him in tart tones.
“I’ve always appreciated you,” he assured her, reaching out to lightly touch her hand.
This woman was nothing less than a miracle.
She’d been a devoted wife who never complained when her husband was working 24-7 and a mother who’d showered love on her four sons, all while making sure they never felt smothered.
Of course she was bossy, he silently admitted as she leaned toward him.
“Tell me what I can do.”
He held out the piece of paper. “I found this in the bedroom of the most recent victim.”
Smoothing the wrinkled note, June read the word out loud. “Paradiso.” She lifted her head, looking confused. “What does it mean?”
Jax swallowed a sigh. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
She glanced back down, her brow furrowed. “I think it translates to paradise,” she said at last.
“Could it be a talent agency?”
She silently considered his question. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“A hotel?” he suggested. “An apartment building?”
“No.” She stroked her fingers over the paper, as if hoping it would give her inspiration. “But there’s something familiar about it.”
Jax remained silent. He hated when people bombarded him with questions when he was trying to pinpoint a memory. Then, with a sudden surge, June was out of her chair, a satisfied smile curving her lips.
“There’s a picture,” she said.
Jax lifted himself to his feet. “A picture?”
“Come with me,” his mother commanded, leading him across the linoleum floor and pushing open the kitchen door. She glanced over her shoulder with a grimace. “I hope your Uncle Clark is still asleep. He starts demanding his breakfast the second he crawls out of bed.”
Jax chuckled as they quietly moved through the living room to his parents’ bedroom. Uncle Clark was his father’s brother who traveled from one relative to another, mooching food and money until he was politely urged to move on.
Once in the bedroom, his mother closed the door and headed for the large dresser that was pushed in a corner. Jax watched her pull open the bottom drawer with a frown.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for my mother’s old photo album,” she muttered, bending down to begin pulling out old boxes and stacks of papers.
“Why?”
The older woman made a sound of impatience, waving a hand toward the double bed in the middle of the room. “You sit there and be quiet.”
Jax rolled his eyes, obediently perching on the edge of the mattress. “Yes, Mother.”
“Good boy.”
She returned to her task, leaving Jax with nothing to do but glance around the room that hadn’t changed in the past thirty-odd years. The bed had been hand-carved by his grandfather, along with the dresser and matching armoire. The flower quilt had been stitched by his mother. She’d also sewn the curtains that covered the windows.
It was old-fashioned, but it had a shabby comfort that Jax realized made the place feel like home.
“Here it is,” his mother announced at last. Straightening, she carried over a photo album that ha
d a worn cloth cover and plastic sleeves inside that had yellowed with age. She settled next to him on the bed and flipped through the pages until she found the photo she wanted. She pointed a finger at the top picture. “There.”
Jax bent his head to study the blurry image. He could make out a young, slender woman dressed in a tight, sleeveless dress with her dark hair pulled into a mass of curls on top of her head. She was standing in front of a marble fountain, glancing at the camera with a flirtatious smile.
“That’s Grandma?” he muttered in surprise. He remembered his Grandma Ruth as a frail, faded woman who had a stash of chocolates hidden in her bedside table to hand out when Jax visited her at the nursing home.
“She wasn’t born old,” his mother chided. Her finger moved to point at the long, Mediterranean-style building behind her. “Look at the sign.”
“Paradiso.” Jax stiffened in shock. When he’d asked his mom for her input, it’d been nothing more than an act of desperation. Plus, the bonus of getting out of trouble. Now he could only shake his head in amazement. Luck had finally decided to smile on him. “When was this taken?”
“Around fifty, maybe fifty-five years ago.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“At the time, it was a few miles north of the city,” his mother answered. “By now, I’m sure it’s surrounded by suburbs.”
Jax tilted the photo album, trying to peer through the yellowed plastic. He would have taken it out of the sleeve if he hadn’t been worried it would disintegrate at his touch.
“Is it a hotel?” he asked, studying the building. It was two stories, with a red-tiled roof, and in the picture, it looked like it spanned several hundred feet across the manicured grounds.
Too big for a private residence.
“A spa,” June corrected.
“Spa.” Jax glanced toward his mother. “Like a health spa?”
“Yes. It was opened by a . . .” She paused, digging through her memory for the name. “A Dr. Bode,” she finally announced. “My mother spent a week there after a nasty bout with the flu.”
A health spa.
Jax shook his head, thoroughly baffled.
“What did they do there?” he demanded.
June shrugged. “Mom said she swam in an indoor pool in the morning, then rested in the afternoon. She also had to drink some nasty tonic that was supposed to clean out the toxins from her body. She was convinced she was drinking a bunch of mushed-up weeds they’d found in the yard.” The older woman chuckled. “In fact, she said the whole place was a scam, but she stayed because she was so happy to have a few days away from a house filled with screaming kids.” She sent Jax a teasing smile. “It wasn’t until I had you boys that I understood what she was talking about.”
The Intended Victim Page 27