The Killing Edge

by Heather Graham

  Leo sighed. “And now you’re all going down to the Keys, where it will be a lot easier for him to get to you than here in the city.”

  “But if he travels to find his victims, he could be in Kansas for all we know,” Chloe pointed out.

  Luke shook his head. “He’s not. He’s here, and he’s close. And I pray to God he doesn’t figure out just how close we are to discovering exactly what’s going on before we get a chance to grab him.”

  Leo had gone up to bed, Nikki and Brent were settled in their room, George was on guard outside, and little Theo was happily curled up on the carriage house sofa.

  And at last Chloe and Luke were alone.

  “What you did…bringing them down…it was for me, wasn’t it?” she asked, curled up next to him on the couch.

  “Not exactly. I’d take a lot of gambles to solve this case.”

  “But—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Trust me, I’m too tired to think any more about this tonight.” He smoothed back a lock of her hair. “No more discussions, recriminations or puzzle pieces tonight, okay? Please?”

  She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. It hadn’t been that long, but she kissed him as if he’d been away for a year. She reveled in the force of his lips, the deep passion of his tongue, the wetness and heat of the kiss. She was ready when he lifted her, carrying her up the stairs. They laughed together when she bumped a knee against the banister, and when they reached her bedroom, they fell onto the bed together, laughing and breathless.

  She loved his eyes, loved the way he looked at her.

  For a moment they just lay there together, looking at one another. And then the world disappeared and they were tangled together, struggling with their clothing and the paraphernalia of his trade, his holster and gun.

  After that, laughter became urgency, as their bodies moved together, hot, slick and wet. He was beautiful, hard-muscled and lean, and she loved touching him, loved kissing him. There was something about the way he moved, the way he knew where to touch her when, the way his lips slid provocatively over her, avoiding the most sensitive regions as if his sole intent was to drive her mad. He knew how to tease and when to stop, and she reveled in being able to arouse him in turn, taking him in her mouth, then inviting him fully into her body. At first their movements were excruciatingly slow, then they built to the wild rhythm of a windstorm, before slowing again. He swept her along, taking her up and up, almost to the precipice, then stopping, until she was frantic with need. He was everything that a lover should be, gentle and then passionate, by turns tender, then wild and forceful, exploring every cadence of lovemaking, every magical movement and breath….

  She climaxed wildly again, and then again, and he was with her every time. And then they lay exhausted, until they turned into one another’s arms and, completely spent, lay entwined, just breathing, listening to the music of the night.

  Finally they slept.

  In the middle of the night, Chloe was startled awake. Luke was twisting and turning, fighting the covers as he battled unseen demons.

  She reached out to touch him, and he woke instantly, jack knifing into a sitting position, staring into the darkness.

  “Luke?” she said softly.

  He turned to stare at her in the darkness. For a moment she was afraid he didn’t see her, but then he groaned, reached out and cradled her against him.

  “I’m…worried about you, Chloe. Worried about you going on this shoot. I know I can’t stop you,” he said, drawing away, holding her head between his palms and staring into her eyes, “but…swear to me that you won’t wander off, that you’ll stay close to me or the others, and always in plain sight.”

  “I swear,” she promised. “I swear,” she whispered again.

  He eased back down, drawing her with him.

  “Luke,” she asked hesitantly, “you’re not…seeing ghosts?”

  “No. I’m only having nightmares. Though maybe they’re just ghosts of a different kind. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She leaned against his chest, and he moved his hand over her hair.

  He didn’t speak again, and she didn’t question him further.

  She knew all too well what it was to fight the ghosts of a tortured past.

  FOURTEEN

  Luke and Brent were up very early; when Chloe woke, she heard noise, and saw that they were already dressed and outside on the patio.

  When she got down herself, she found that everyone was back in the main house. Leo was sitting in the dining room with Brent, and Nikki was in the kitchen, setting out fruit and cereal and bagels. Luke was there, too, on the phone.

  Chloe walked into the kitchen to pour herself coffee.

  “Good morning,” Nikki said. “Your uncle asked if I wouldn’t mind helping…. I hope you don’t think I’m being pushy.”

  “Good God, I’m never offended when someone pitches in to get things moving,” Chloe assured her, smiling.

  “Who’s Luke talking to?”

  “Your friend Brad. Apparently he, Vickie, Jared and a few others—I can’t remember all the names—are bringing the boats down to the Keys in a few days, so he’s arranging for Brent and me to go with them.”

  “Oh?” Chloe said, surprised that Luke hadn’t asked his friends to keep a low profile.

  Nikki nodded. “You’ll be going with him, he said. Brent and I will be watching over Vickie.”

  “She’s promised to stick with our friends, too,” Chloe said. “Neither one of us is going anywhere alone, and Brad, Jared, Vickie and I have known each other forever.”

  “How about you?” Nikki asked. “Did you see the ghost again? It’s remarkable that she’s coming to you right in your house. Did you know each other well?”

  “No. I just worked with her a few times.”

  Nikki studied her for a moment, then smiled. “She must have sensed that you…have the sixth sense, or whatever you feel comfortable calling it, and she knew somehow that you would help her. The thing is, once you’ve seen a ghost, they won’t stop visiting until things are settled for them. It’s a tough road. I know. So, had you seen ghosts before?”

  Chloe hesitated, then told her, “After the massacre. They would drift past me, and I didn’t even know if what I was seeing was real or not. I had a lot of therapy back then, though, and they managed to knock the belief right out of me.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “Yes. Then.”

  “But not now?”

  “No. I can honestly say I’m not scared anymore,” Chloe said. “I didn’t know her well, but I liked her a lot. She was a nice person. I wish she would talk to me. I think she knows who killed her.”

  “She’s not strong enough to figure that out yet,” Nikki said. “Let her come to you when she’s ready. She’ll get more and more comfortable, and she’ll learn to speak. But you have to be prepared for the fact that she may not know who killed her. Or she may know but never have the power to tell you.”

  Brent and Leo walked in just as Luke hung up the phone, drawing their attention. “Okay, here’s the plan. Nikki and Brent, you’ll go down with the others. Rene has insisted on going with you guys, as well.” He looked at Brent. It was clear from his expression that he respected the man—and liked him. “Rene Gonzalez was best friends with Colleen, and I’m much happier knowing that you two will be along to keep an eye on her along with Vickie.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Chloe said. “Vickie knows boats almost as well as Brad. Their great-grandfather made the family for tune in boats. And if you’re really worried about someone going after them, I think Brad even has a permit for a little Colt revolver. They’ll stay close. I’m not worried as long as people stick together. Honestly, I wouldn’t be leaving them alone and going with Luke if I didn’t know that Brad and Jared would never let anything happen to Vickie.”

  “I can’t believe I have to stay here,” Leo said, aggravated.

  “Leo, I’ll talk to Maria as soon as we get th
ere and convince her to talk to you,” Luke promised. “I don’t want to spring the authorities on her without warning, that’s all.”

  “I’ll be there by the time the shoot starts whether you’ve talked to Maria or not,” Leo said.

  “I doubt I could keep you away,” Luke told him.

  “Oh, you can bet on that,” Leo said.

  The time was coming. The very special time. His hands itched, his palms growing sweaty, as a state of excitement seized him.

  The police were fools. They thought they were ready, that they could stop him from striking, but they were wrong.

  Once again, God would protect him. And he would prove that he knew more than any of them.

  It was all coming to fruition.

  The need would always be there, of course. But God had fed his hunger while he waited, and God would continue to do so, even after he’d carried out his plan at last. He had to have those kills. Had to feel the blood…

  Still, he had to be smart, had to be careful. This was a time to be cunning, exceptionally clever.

  They had no idea about Myra. No idea how close he had come to being caught in the act. Then again, even if he had been…

  He would have survived. Those who had stumbled upon him would have died, too.

  Including…

  The one.

  But they hadn’t interrupted him, because time was on his side, even though, for others, time was running out.

  As soon as break fast was over, Chloe and Luke headed out to Coco-lime ahead of the others. They drove for a while before she reached over and set her hand on his knee. “So, while you weren’t arranging for a different kind of investigative help yesterday, what else were you doing?”

  He glanced over and grinned at her.

  “I spent a big chunk of the day on the phone, then hopped over to Immigration and talked to an official there about Maria, stopped by the Church of the Real People for a bit, and then I went over to Stuckey’s office and holed up with a computer expert who looked like the Hulk on a very bad day but knew his stuff backward and forward. Some of the things we couldn’t trace, but this guy—they call him ‘Bear’ because he’s so big, though his name is Lyle Mac Donald—is a wizard. You can’t access credit-card records with out a legal reason, but he can trace employment histories, travel records, auto mo bile registrations and even the Pony Express, I’m pretty sure.”

  “And?”

  “We spent most of the day tracing the current whereabouts and past histories of people who were involved with the Church of the Real People before and after the Teen Massacre, and people who are still involved now. The only consistent name was Brother Michael, whose photo is in the pamphlet the church gives out. But the cops took some pictures the night of the potluck, so I have a few other photos for Maria to take a look at, too. I think the key to figuring out what’s happening lies with Maria Trenton.”

  “But even if Brother Michael was the one who ‘bought’ Maria in Brazil, that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with the murders, ten years ago or now,” Chloe pointed out.

  “That’s true. But I still think we’re missing something that will tie everything together. It can’t be a coincidence that the cult was involved in the Teen Massacre, whether the killers were renegades or not, that Myra was once a member, and that Maria—who lives so close to the island where Colleen disappeared—also has a connection with the church,” Luke said.

  “But I don’t think Myra knew about Maria, or that Maria knows about Myra,” Chloe told him. “But someone does know everything.”

  “You think?” Chloe asked.

  He nodded. “Of course. The killer. Well, and your ghost.”

  “You believe she’s there, that it’s Colleen, and that she really is trying to contact me?”

  He let out a long breath. “I still don’t know what I believe. I do know that there are demons that live in our minds.”

  “I’m not imagining things,” Chloe insisted.

  “I’m not saying you are. I checked out Brent and Nikki, and they are the real deal. I found records of a dozen cases they’ve helped out on, and I’m sure there are more no one’s talking about. They’re the perfect pair to pretend to be old friends of mine—friends of Jack Smith’s, that is—and that means they can hang around undercover with no one being the wiser.”

  “This whole thing—I mean the Black hawks coming here, the shoot, all the time everyone’s putting in—could be an exercise in pure frustration,” Chloe told him. “Say that Brother Michael was involved in kidnapping Maria. That doesn’t mean he killed anyone. I mean, after the murders the other night, the police went in—at the church’s invitation—and searched the church and every member’s house for evidence, clues…anything. I guess they’re still investigating, but still—no blood, no bloody clothing, no murder weapon. So maybe Brother Michael is guilty on one count but not the other.”

  “If he brought Maria to the United States to sell her to some bastard in search of a ‘wife,’ he’s scum and deserves to be punished to the fullest extent of the law. If he’s going off to Brazil or any other country where much of the population is living below the poverty line and buying children, he needs to be locked up,” Luke said. “Forever.”

  “Yes, if she can—or will—identify him. You’re sure her residency status won’t be affected—here in the States, I mean?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Luke assured her. “She’s a naturalized American citizen, and any help she provides in tracking down someone involved in human trafficking would in no way affect that. Believe me, I would never jeopardize her happiness. She’s found a good husband in Ted Trenton and a good home in the Keys. And I’m sure they never knew that her kidnapper was part of a cult, much less that someone they knew and probably considered a friend had been involved with that same cult.”

  “I just wish I could make sense of it all,” Chloe said.

  “I think all these things we’re learning are like pieces in a puzzle. Once the puzzle is completed, the full image will be so obvious we’ll wonder how we ever missed it, but while we’re still putting it together…it’s nothing but pieces.”

  “I hope the missing pieces come to light soon, then.”

  “They will,” he assured her. But would they? he privately wondered. In the next few days, he intended to get a lot of diving in, hoping to find Colleen or at least a clue to what had happened to her. But that could turn out to be wasted effort, too.

  Everything he was doing was based on the assumption that he was right, that there was a killer out there with an agenda. Someone who killed in the name of his own personal and very strange god—or wanted the world to think so, anyway. Someone who was psychotic, feeling no remorse and no guilt whatsoever for his deeds. If his own suppositions were right, the murderer’s purpose was to kill certain people not only because his god had told him to, but because he was also, in his own mind, a killer by nature. And his other victims had simply been put into his path to die at his pleasure, to fulfill his need. This person had a plan, he was bright and smart, never appeared to be a fanatic and moved through the world with the charm of a Ted Bundy. If his assumptions were right.

  “The man everyone loves, the charmer,” he murmured.

  “What?” Chloe asked.

  He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “Want to share? And what’s Stuckey saying?”

  He glanced over at her. “There are over three hundred million people in the States, and a lot of them travel. So far, the cops haven’t found so much as a footprint at the last crime scene, and they didn’t get much of anything at the Teen Massacre scene, either. I’m guessing the killers left by water back then. I’m guessing the killer used the same escape route this time, too. At night, who in hell is likely to notice a shadowy figure disappearing into the water?”

  “So…local,” Chloe said. She was fingering the necklace he had brought her from New Orleans. She seemed to really like it. Was it protective in any way? H
e doubted it, but he was grateful for the thought. And it certainly looked lovely on her, and she seemed to like it.

  Luke cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Say you’re right. Then the person has to be local, has to know the area. He either has a boat waiting somewhere just offshore, or an accomplice.”

  “I agree.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “You know, I talked to Lucy Garcia yesterday.”

  “The woman I met? Abram Garcia’s sister?” she asked.

  He nodded. “She’s very convincing. She swears up and down that her brother had nothing to do with the Teen Massacre. She’s convinced that he was a scapegoat, that he was lured to the Everglades to be killed so it would look as if the case had been solved. She thinks that Michael Donlevy—the man you sketched—lured him out there. She says Donlevy believed in what he had been doing, that he was nuts, and that someone else had to be involved, but it wasn’t her brother. She thinks someone lured Donlevy out there, as well, not that it would have been hard, since he thought he had done the right thing. In the end, they both died, because whoever was behind the massacre needed to put an end to the police investigation, so he convinced Garcia that murder-suicide was the only course. So, just like Donlevy, Garcia became another victim of the real killer.” He fell silent for a long moment. “I’ve worked with profilers, done some profiling myself, and the kind of killer behind the Teen Massacre needs to kill. So whoever was behind those killings, he moved around so he wouldn’t get caught, and he kept killing, even if not on the same scale.”

  “I know you think Colleen Rodriguez is dead,” she said. “Even if you’re not a hundred percent sure I’m seeing her ghost.”

  “Yes, I believe she’s dead.” She had fallen into the killer’s sights, and fallen prey to his dark needs. What he needed to figure out was who had been around at the time of the Teen Massacre, then moved from state to state, keeping a low profile all this time, only to come back and murder Myra and the other two women at the mansion. And why. Because he was certain those hadn’t been random killings. They had been part of the agenda.