All Fall Down (22 page)

V
eronica drew Mia into her arms, cradling her against her breasts. They lay together on Veronica's bed, naked, damp and exhausted from their lovemaking. They had been lovers a couple of weeks now and Veronica had never been happier, not in her whole life.

How could she have been? She had never known life could be so abundant, a relationship so renewing.

She was head over heels in love with Mia.

“He was like a raging bull,” Mia murmured, the sound small and choked. “Tearing my things off hangers, emptying drawers onto the floor, dumping boxes of shoes. When he was done, the bedroom was trashed, my clothes in shreds.”

“Poor Mia,” Veronica murmured, trembling with the force of her hatred. Despising Boyd with every fiber of her being.

“I was so frightened. So I…I struck back. I told him if he touched me again, I'd make his private life public.”

Veronica propped herself on an elbow and looked down at Mia, concerned. “You didn't?”

“Yes, I did. He paled. He loves his reputation above all else, and for a moment, I think…he was scared.”

“Dear God, Mia.”

“He got back at me, though I didn't know it until later. He emptied my wallet. Canceled my credit cards. Drained our joint checking account.” Her voice shook. “When I confronted him with what he'd done, he laughed at me. Said that if I wanted anything, even gas for the car, I'd have to beg.”

Tears choked her. “It was so humiliating. I wanted to die. Just go hole up someplace and cease to live.”

Veronica made a sound of fear. Her mother had felt that way, too. She had made it happen. It would be simple, too simple. One shot to the head. A handful of pills. Easy.

She eased Mia away from her so she could look into her eyes. “Don't say that, Mia. Don't ever even think it. He's the one who should be humiliated. He's the one who should die.”

“I wish he would.” Her eyes flooded with tears. “I hate him so much, Veronica.”

“I know, baby. Because of you, I feel the same.” She cupped Mia's face in her palms. “Leave him. Forget about the money. Forget about the prenuptial agreement. I'll take care of you. I have enough money to look after both of us.”

“But it's not right. He has plenty of money and what's his is mine. Or should be.” Mia met her eyes. “Do you really love me, Veronica? Enough to trust me with your every secret? With your very life?”

A lump formed in Veronica's throat. She swallowed hard, uneasy. Uncertain where Mia was going with this. “I do, Mia. I promise you that.”

“I love you the same way. I want you to believe that.” Mia sat up. The sheet fell away from her, and
the sunlight that slipped through and around the closed blinds touched her skin with gold. “I have a plan. A way to make him pay for hurting me.”

Veronica's heart began to pound, her palms to sweat. “Go on.”

Mia looked deeply into her eyes. “I know everything, Veronica.
Everything.
I followed him. On one of his trysts. He went to a place called The Velvet Spike.”

The Velvet Spike?
Veronica felt the blood drain from her face. She tried to speak but couldn't.

“Boyd's reputation means everything to him,” Mia continued. “More than wealth or health or family.” Her voice took on a brittle edge. “He loves to play the straight arrow, the church-attending, law-abiding, Republican surgeon.
That's
why he married me. I know that now. Not only did I fit the picture, he figured I'd never fight back. He was wrong. I now know I can get back at him. I need your help.”

Veronica stared at the other woman, still processing the fact that Mia had followed Boyd.
Dear God, what had she been thinking? How could she not have considered all the possibilities?
“You didn't…go in, did you? That place's been raided so many times.”

“Why does that matter?” Mia asked softly. “I'm here now. Unharmed. No one the wiser.”

“Yes, but I—” She struggled to sound calm. “Boyd's a violent man, Mia. If he had seen you, recognized your car or—”

“He didn't. I'm too smart to let that happen. That morning, I took my Lexus in for servicing. They gave me a loaner for twenty-four hours.” She caught Ve
ronica's hands, lacing their fingers. “I need your help, Veronica. Boyd's into something weird. Something that would cause him great embarrassment if made public. Something that would cause him to lose his job. Something he would do anything to keep under wraps.”

When Veronica didn't comment, she plunged ahead. “Don't you see? He loves his reputation too much. We can use that to get what he owes me. It's perfect. We get pictures of him engaging in whatever nasty things he's trying so desperately to hide. On a videotape. We can hire a P.I.—” She brought a hand to her mouth. “No. A P.I. could double-cross us. Besides, to really squeeze Boyd, he would need to be confident that
no one
else knew what he was involved in.”

She turned to Veronica. “He doesn't know you. You could follow him, get the pictures and—”

‘Mia, stop.” Veronica laid her fingers gently on the other woman's mouth. “What you're talking about is blackmail. That's a crime. A federal offense. And I'm a district attorney. I would be disbarred, we could go to jail. Plans like this always fail.”

“This one wouldn't. I know it wouldn't.”

“Yes,” Veronica said softly but firmly, “it would. Trust me, we try cases like these. And each time, the perpetrator was certain they'd get away with it.”

Mia stiffened. “You said you loved me. You said you'd do anything for me.”

“I do love you. And I will do anything for you, but not this.” Veronica lowered her voice. “Forget this scheme, Mia. Forget about punishing Boyd. He'll get his in the end. Men like him always do.”

“That's bullshit.” Mia climbed out of bed. She stalked to the bathroom and grabbed Veronica's robe from the back of the door and slipped it on, though she didn't tie it. She turned her back to Veronica. “You just don't trust me enough. You don't believe in me.”

“That's not true.” Veronica climbed out of bed and crossed to the other woman, her heart breaking. She couldn't bear to have Mia angry at her. She couldn't bear for her to think she didn't love her. Or worse, to suddenly not love her back.

Nothing in the world could be worse than that.

She closed her arms around Mia from behind and buried her face in her sweet-smelling hair. “Don't you see?” I couldn't bear for anything bad to touch you. I can't take the chance of you being hurt.”

“But I have been hurt. I continue to be hurt.” Mia turned and looped her arms around Veronica's neck. “You wouldn't have to be involved in any way but taking the pictures. No one would ever know.”

A knot of tension settled in the pit of Veronica's stomach.
She couldn't lose Mia. She would die without her love.
“I'll make everthing all right for you, Mia. I promise I will. Just don't leave me. Never leave me.”

“Never,” Mia echoed, brushing her mouth against Veronica's, softly, with promise. “How could I? You make everything okay.”

“M
rs. Barton?” Connor held up his shield. “Connor Parks, FBI. This is Officer Melanie May, Whistlestop PD. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice. May we come in?”

The woman nodded and stepped away from the door. “I don't know how I can help you. I told the police everything I know about the night Don died.”

“Yes, but sometimes something comes to light afterward, something you didn't remember before that proves important.”

She led them to her living room, filled with avocado-green furniture that looked as if it had been manufactured in the early seventies. Framed photographs dotted the end tables and fireplace mantel. The three took a seat.

“How long were you and your husband married?” Melanie asked, glancing at a photograph of three young girls in summer bonnets and smocked dresses.

“Twenty years.” The woman pointed. “Those are our daughters. Ellie, Sarah and Jayne.”

“They're lovely.”

“Thank you. They're grown now.” She smiled, stood and crossed to the mantel. She selected a framed five-by-seven photograph and brought it to Melanie.
“This was taken this past Christmas. They're good girls.”

Melanie gazed at the photograph, then handed it back. “You must be very proud.”

Connor watched as Melanie put the woman at ease. He jotted notes as they talked—the daughters' names, where they lived, their marital status.

“Were your daughters close to their father?” he asked.

The woman swung in his direction, her expression surprised, as if she had forgotten he was there. “Not particularly.”

“Why not, Mrs. Barton?”

She paled. Melanie stepped in, her voice soft, soothing. “We know about Don, Mrs. Barton. We know what kind of man he was. That's why we suspect he's one of the Dark Angel's victims.”

She nodded and looked at the photograph clutched in her hands. As if with great effort, she loosened her grip on it, turned and carried it back to the mantel. She returned it to the spot it had previously occupied, then looked at Melanie. “Then you also know why they weren't close to him. It's why Ellie and Sarah moved away.”

“And the daughter who lives here in Charlotte?” Connor asked.

“Jayne? She's my savior. He couldn't chase her away.”

They questioned her more about Jayne, then about her daily habits, the places she frequented, who her friends were and how many were aware of her husband's abuse.

“Why do you need to know about my friends?” She looked from one to the other of them, obviously uncomfortable. “You don't think—”

Connor stepped in. “We don't think anything, Mrs. Barton. We're simply looking for leads.”

She wrung her hands. “Why can't you leave well enough alone? He's dead, just leave it.”

Connor arched his eyebrows. “Your husband may have been murdered. Are you suggesting that letting a murderer go free is leaving well enough alone?”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked helplessly at Melanie. “You didn't know Don. You didn't live with him. It's just that now, I don't…I'm not…afraid.”

“Mrs. Barton,” Melanie murmured. “I understand how conflicted you must feel. I have personal experience with the kind of man your husband was. But taking a life outside the law is always wrong. It's murder, Mrs. Barton. And if we allow even one person to take the law into their own hands, if we okay it by looking the other way, what legacy do we have to leave our children?” She leaned toward the other woman. “Can you help us?”

In the end, the woman gave them a list of her friends' names, all she could think of. She also listed the places she visited with any kind of regularity.

None of the names jumped out as repeats from any of the lists they'd amassed so far. But that didn't mean there weren't any. They would input Mrs. Barton's list into the computer with the others, then let the computer search for duplications.

“We should talk to the daughter who lives in Char
lotte,” Connor said as they climbed into his Explorer. “Just to cover our bases.”

“I suppose so, but in my opinion, she's a long shot.”

He started the truck and pulled away from the curb. “But you never know when a long shot's going to pay off.”

She sighed and turned her face toward the window. “This investigation might yield exactly nothing. And then where'll we be?”

He glanced at her, then back at the road. “It won't. The Angel didn't go undetected for this long by being careless. We'll get her.”

“You're so confident.”

“I've been through this before.”

“But I bet ‘before' had clear-cut victims, crime scenes to study, evidence to analyze. All we've got is a bunch of dead guys who liked to beat up women when they were alive.”

“You'd be surprised what some of my cases didn't have, Melanie. Kid disappears. You know you've got some sort of foul play, but you've got no body, no crime scene, nothing but grieving families. Or you've got a body or body part, maybe some bones or a skeleton, but nothing else. Not even a theory.” He smiled to relieve the sting of his next words. “That's why they call it detective work.”

“So stop whining. I get it.” She angled her body toward his. “But, with this case…don't you ever wonder—” She bit the words off and shook her head. “Never mind.”

The light up ahead turned yellow, and he eased the
Explorer to a stop. He looked at her. “We're partners in this. I need to know everything you're thinking.”

She hesitated a moment, then continued. “Do you ever wonder if these deaths
aren't
linked? If none of them are murder? If perhaps, as some have suggested, they're acts of divine justice?” She looked away, then back at him. “Maybe I was wrong, Connor.”

“You weren't wrong, Melanie. We're not.” The light changed, and he started forward. “Besides, I don't believe in that concept of divine justice. I don't believe the hand of God can reach down from the heavens to single out an individual for punishment. It can't work that way, there's too much injustice in the world, too much unchecked evil.”

When she didn't respond, he sent her a sympathetic glance. “Mrs. Barton, she got to you, didn't she?”

“She seemed like a real nice lady.”

Which neatly avoided his question.
“That man you told her about, the one who gave you personal experience with abuse, who was he?”

“My father.” She looked at him, her gaze almost defiant.

He returned his own gaze to the road. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly. No.”

“You're sure? You're acting pretty pissy.”

“Yes, dammit, I'm sure.” She let out her breath in a huff. “Just drive. Okay?”

He checked the rearview mirror, then jerked the wheel to the right, angling across two lanes of traffic to pull the vehicle to the side of the busy road. The maneuver earned a blare from several horns.

He shifted into Park, cut the engine and turned to face her. “No,” he said evenly. “It's not okay.”

She fisted her hands in her lap. “Don't tick me off, Parks. I'm feeling a little
pissy.
”

“Exactly my point. Mind telling me why?”

“Yes, actually, I do mind. So, could you start this heap up and let us get on our way?”

“I know what this is about.” When her eyebrows shot up in question, he smiled. “It's about the other day. About us, our kiss.”

She drew back, eyes wide with disbelief. “It is not!”

“Of course it is,” he said, working to keep his expression absolutely deadpan. “And I understand. You've probably been thinking about it ever since, and wondering when I was going to get around to kissing you again.”

Her cheeks flamed. “In your dreams, Parks!”

Well, she had gotten that right.
“I'm sure it's been difficult for you to be near me. After all, I'm an incredible stud. And I know that kiss must have rocked your world.”

She burst out laughing. “Stud? Rocked my world? I really hope you're kidding, Parks, because if you're not, you're in need of serious professional help.”

He worked to look devastated, but couldn't quite suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You don't have to laugh quite so loudly. Even we incredible studs have feelings.”

She snorted her amusement. “Sorry about before, about being such a jerk. Mrs. Barton did get to me.
All the women have. Everything they've said…I
recognized.
Because I'd been there, Connor.”

Connor reached across the seat and covered her hands with one of his. Instead of pulling away, she curled her fingers around his.

“I didn't grieve when he died.” She looked away, lost in her memories. “I was glad he was gone. Secretly, I rejoiced.”

“What did he…do to you?” Connor regretted the question the moment it passed his lips. Not because it wasn't his business—which it wasn't—or because he didn't care.

He feared he cared too much.

She paused a moment, then met his gaze evenly. Something in it told him that by verbalizing the past she was facing—and conquering—her fears one more time.

“He was physically and verbally abusive to me and my sisters. Which of course is the politically correct way of saying he beat and belittled us. He was genuinely mean-spirited. Cruel to his core. Evil. I think he took pleasure in trying to destroy us. A part of me believes it was the only pleasure he eked out of life.”

She sucked in a choked-sounding breath, then plunged on, though Connor could see how painful it was for her. “I got off the easiest of the three of us. In terms of direct attacks, anyway. Most of his obvious rage was directed at Mia, though I never knew why. I've wondered if he sensed she was the weakest of the three of us, therefore the most vulnerable to his attacks.”

She clenched her fists. “I wish he had singled me
out instead. I hated what he did to Mia and Ashley, every slap to them was a slap to me, every barb aimed their way hit me as well.”

A tear spilled past her guard and rolled down her cheek. Connor found that single, helpless show of emotion so much more moving than a hundred tears. It was all he could do to keep from taking her into his arms and to his heart, all he could do to control the tidal wave of protectiveness rising inside him.

“I always felt so…guilty that it wasn't me.”

He tightened his fingers over hers. “Don't you see?” he murmured, his voice thick. “He knew that, Melanie. He knew that the best way to hurt you was by hurting them. He knew that a direct attack wouldn't break you, but their pain and your own guilt would.”

She stared at him, realization dawning in her eyes. A sound passed her lips, small and vulnerable. She eased her hands from his and brought one to her mouth, as if to catch the sound. “I never…I…”

She choked on the words and for several moments said nothing. When she finally spoke again, something had changed in her voice. It had taken on a hard edge, one that he was certain she wouldn't like if she heard it. “When we turned thirteen, he started…molesting Mia.”

“Dear God.”

“I fixed him, though. He woke up one night to find himself tied to the bed, a knife to his throat. I told him if he touched Mia again, I'd kill him. I meant it, too. I would have. I believe that with every fiber of my being.”

Her mouth thinned. “So how can I condemn the
actions of the Dark Angel? Who am I to hunt her down? How can I look at women like Mrs. Barton and preach law and order? I could have killed, I would have.”

“How?” he challenged softly, understanding her internal conflict more than she could imagine. “Easy. You were a young girl, frightened and alone. You and your sisters had nowhere to turn, no one to turn to. After all, the person whose job it was to protect you was the very one you needed protection from.

“So you stepped in. You did what you had to to take care of the people you loved. That makes you a hero, not a monster.”

“Does it? I'm not so sure.” She lowered her gaze to her hands, eyebrows drawn together in thought. “I got a call at the station, about the Dark Angel. It was a woman, she accused me of being a traitor. She said she ‘knew' me and asked ‘how could I do it?' Sometimes I wonder myself.”

He straightened. “When did this happen?”

“Not long after we began the investigation. A week or two.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I figured she was just a crank. There'd been so much in the news about the case and she never called again.” She lifted a shoulder. “Frankly, it didn't seem all that important.”

“Everything's important, Melanie. Every detail, no matter how insignificant it might appear.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “She said she knew you, what do you think she meant? That she knew you personally?”

“At the time I didn't think so. I didn't recognize her voice. But now that you…it was as if she knew me…spiritually. As if she knew about my past.”

“Could it have been the Dark Angel?”

Melanie went stone still, then she muttered an oath under her breath. “I don't know. Anything's possible.” She looked at him. “I screwed up, didn't I?”

“Don't beat yourself up over it, but if she calls again, keep her on the line. Try to get a trace.”

“Done.”

They fell silent. Their gazes met and held. Seconds ticked past, the interior of the vehicle suddenly seemed small to Connor. Too warm.

Stop this now, Parks. Before you do something stupid.

He cleared his throat and reached for the key, still in the ignition. “Well, I'm glad we got that cleared up. Especially the pissy part. Try not to let it happen again.”

She smiled and shook her head. “You make me laugh, Connor Parks.”