Careless Rapture (21 page)

“Okay.” He walked around the bare room. Along
the wall, the carpet threads were unraveled. He picked up a scrap
piece of paper and pocketed it.

She bit her lip. “Shouldn’t you leave it for
the police?”

“She was poor and this is a suicide. There
won’t be an investigation.”

“But he—”

“Won’t be connected to this. There are no
pamphlets connected to him. She died by her own hands.” He lifted
up the carpet. “He’s not going to be easy to catch.”

Jackie shifted from one foot to the other.
“When do you think the ambulance will get here?”

“Tuesday, if we’re lucky.”

She shot him a look. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a bad neighborhood. People here steal
the tires off police cruisers.” He saw her staring at the body, all
her emotions ready to become tears. “I’ll get him for you,” he
promised in a soft voice.

She met his eyes. “We’ll get him
together.”

***

Clay stared at his computer screen and swore.
It was too easy. All the information about the Careless Rapture
Ministry was on their Web site. It didn’t make sense.

He twirled his pen. “Why does he have a Web
site?”

Mack looked up from his desk. “Who?”

“Emmerick.” Clay tapped his pen against the
computer screen. “Why does he have a Web site?”

Mack took off his reading glasses. “Exposure?
Connection to his followers?”

Clay considered that for a moment, then shook
his head. “But he targets low-income individuals. Most wouldn’t
have access to the Internet. Why not stick with fliers and the
one-on-one approach? This is unnecessary, so why does it exist? Why
expose himself? Why not keep it underground?”

“Ego?”

“Yes, he has one. But I don’t think that’s
it.”

Mack saw a certain look in Clay’s eyes and
pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t get too deep. Our job is to
find out more about him. Find out where he is. We’re not hired to
draw up a psychological profile.”

Clay ignored him. “There wasn’t anything in
her apartment. Not a booklet, pamphlet, card. Nothing to connect
Melanie to him.”

“Perhaps he was afraid.”

“She killed herself. Why would he be afraid
of that?” He ran a tired hand down his face. “He’s not acting in
character and I don’t like that.”

“Perhaps she cleaned everything up herself
before she killed herself. It’s not unusual for victims to set
things in order before they die.”

“Yes, but why leave nothing? No note. No
reason. If this is part of their ritual, wouldn’t she be proud of
what she had done?” Clay leaned back, baffled. “I want you to get
ahold of Nicolas for me.”

“The police won’t touch this.”

“They may be able to help.”

“I used to be a cop, remember? He can’t help
you.”

“I still want to talk to him.” Clay twirled
his pen. “I want to try.”

***

Nicolas listened to Clay’s story as they sat
in the back booth of a cafe with three coffees between them.
Nicolas shook his head after Clay finished. “Have you heard about a
girl named Amanda?” Nicolas asked. “She’s been missing for nearly
three weeks. We would have forgotten about her except that she
didn’t have the decency to be some ordinary girl. She’s Senator
Heldon’s niece. Do you know what that means? It means we’ve got the
flaming government on our ass and the media thinking they are damn
detectives and putting the public in a frenzy.”

Nicolas took a sip of his coffee, his blue
eyes sharp. “I don’t need to tell you how this works, but I’ll try.
No one cares about some ex-hooker who got herself involved with a
nutcase and decided to kill herself. If she came from a good
family? Maybe. Had some looks? Possibly. What you’ve just told me
is a sad story. This city has a lot of those.” His eyes darted
between them. “I don’t want to leave you high and dry, though.” He
took out a card and shoved it across the table to Clay. “I think
reporters are scum, but he’s one of the few that doesn’t twist our
words in print. Perhaps he could write a story and get some
interest.” He lifted his mug. “Good luck.”

***

Unfortunately, they had no interest. Steve
Reinfeld of the
Post
listened, his long face and intense
features kind, but once Clay finished, he rubbed his thin chin and
shrugged. “Nice story, but it’s not news. People won’t care. If it
was a slow news day, perhaps. But with this disappearance of Amanda
Heldon still a hot topic, your story wouldn’t get the space the
size of a personal ad.” He pulled on his goatee. “News is important
information with an entertainment factor. You have to package it
right. Give me a juicy angle related to what’s happening now, maybe
I could help you out then. Otherwise, let it die.”

Later that day, Mack and Clay sat in their
office in low spirits, appropriate with the drizzling rain. Clay
twirled his pen. “You know how you said we weren’t in the business
of storytelling?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what if we were? How would you tell
this story?”

“Homeless preyed on by killer.”

Clay shook his head. “No. He’s not a killer
in the traditional sense.”

“Cult leader recruits disenfranchised for new
reign.”

Clay shook his head. “No, that won’t work
either. How can we catch people’s interest?”

Mack went online to check the Web site
again.

Clay rubbed the back of his neck. “There has
to be something we can get him on.”

“Does he like women? I could arrange a
prostitute to visit him.”

“No.”

“Drugs?”

“No.”

Mack frowned good-naturedly. “If you really
wanted to get him, you would have said yes. You’re so damn
ethical.”

“No, I just want something more.”

Mack clapped his hands together and pointed
to the screen. “Great. This might interest you.”

“What?”

He turned the monitor to Clay. “He’s written
a book.”

“So?”

“So, if you’ve written something, don’t you
need to publicize it?”

“You’re suggesting we offer him some
publicity?”

“Yes. Get the bastard out from under his
rock.”

Clay thought for a moment. “TV or radio?”

“TV. I know this woman who’s eager to get
some ratings on her local news show. It’s public television, but at
least it’s some exposure. We could set it up as a debate. But do
you think he’ll fall for it?”

Clay began to smile. “Yes, he will.”

That evening, Clay stared across the
restaurant table at Jackie, amazed. “I thought you’d be happy.”

She nearly choked on her drink. “Happy? I
can’t believe you’re going to help publicize his book. I want to
see him behind bars.”

“He will be, but as I’ve said, he’s not easy
to catch. This will make him visible—underground he’s more
dangerous. He may expose himself and then people will see what he’s
about and may stay away.”

She angrily bit into her sandwich. “Or be
intrigued.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Yes, I trust you. I’ve told you I trust you.
The problem is I don’t trust him You’ve admitted that he’s clever.”
She rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “What will
you do when you see him again?”

“Debate him.”

“What if he makes you lose your temper on
TV?”

“I don’t lose my temper,” he said softly.

She set her sandwich down and folded her
arms. “What was your sister’s name?”

“Rennie.”

“No, her real name.”

He frowned. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, the more you avoid it, the more power
you give it. When Melanie did not say Emmerick’s name, she made it
almost sacred.”

He squirted ketchup on his fries.

“What was her name?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter
now.”

She watched him for a moment, then said,
“Cancel the show. You’re not ready.”

A flash of irritation crossed his face. “Of
course I’m ready. I’ve always been ready to see him again.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this about my case
or your revenge?”

“You saw Melanie.”

“Yes, she killed herself.” She paused.
“Rennie didn’t.”

He pushed his plate away. “You hired me to
get him for you and I’m going to.”

“I hired you to get a name and address, not
become a vigilante.”

“It’s just a TV show.”

No, it wasn’t, and he knew it, too. That
worried her—he wasn’t prepared. When someone didn’t know their
weakness, they were vulnerable because they didn’t know how to
protect themselves. Clay wouldn’t even admit to any. Whether it was
arrogance, conceit, or denial, he was in danger, but she knew she
couldn’t stop him.

He grinned, trying to lessen her unease. “I
can take care of myself. Don’t worry about me.”

“Fine.” She grabbed a handful of jelly
packets. He gently covered her hand with his. “Take two.”

She smiled, chagrined. “Bad habit.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been hungry,
too.” His dark eyes showed a sensitivity she wouldn’t have expected
from one made so cynical by life. It felt good to be with someone
with whom she didn’t have to explain everything. But the shadows
were still there. No matter how many times she was with him, a part
of him was still a stranger. He had warned her that the
relationship wouldn’t be enough. She would make it so.

Two days later, she knew she couldn’t. It
wasn’t enough. Jackie pulled on her nightgown as Clay prepared to
leave. The sex was always great, but somehow this time less
fulfilling.

She sat on the bed and drew her knees to her
chest. “Am I the only woman you’re seeing?”

He hesitated, then said, “Of course.”

She nodded. “Just curious.”

He sat beside her and sighed, resigned. “Go
ahead and say it.”

“Say what?”

“Whatever’s on your mind.”

She bit her lip. “Why won’t you stay?”

His gaze sharpened. “You know why.”

“Yes, I do. But I don’t understand why. I can
understand if someone doesn’t want you to stay, but what about when
someone does?”

He pulled on his shoes. “You’re doing it
again.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you. I’m trying
to figure you out.”

“You don’t need to figure me out.” He walked
to the door.

She jumped to her feet. “What are you
hiding?”

He turned to her and began to smile. It
wasn’t a pretty expression. “What are you searching for? Whatever
you need, I can assure you I don’t have it.”

“Why are you so certain?”

“Because I know you.”

She folded her arms. “A few weeks ago I would
have believed you, but now I’m not so sure. You’re a quick talker
with the eloquence of a hustler that convinces people to believe
you. I know—I do it myself sometimes. I did it with Winstead. But
there are a lot of things you don’t know, things you wouldn’t even
admit to yourself.”

He opened the door. “I’d better go.”

“Don’t you mean
run
?”

He stopped and closed the door with a soft
click. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re used to running away.”

He stared at her with hard, dark eyes. “Are
you calling me a coward?”

“Why? Because you’re scared?”

“I’m not scared of anything.”

She didn’t flinch under his intense gaze.
Instead, she smiled softly. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but
I’m not afraid of you.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t handle me. And I’m not
going to change.”

“I don’t want to change you.”

“Why do you want me to stay when you know I
always leave? Why do you want to figure me out when I don’t want
you to? You’re spoiled and—”

“I’m spoiled?” Her voice cracked in
disbelief. “You’re spoiled, too. We give to outsiders, but when it
comes to relationships, people have to follow our rules. We like
getting our own way. You get everyone to do exactly what you want.
Heck, Cassie is afraid to ask you any questions because you’ve made
it quite clear that if anyone gets too close, you’ll leave. That’s
your control. And you’re always in control.”

“I---”

Jackie waved her finger. “Just listen, then
you can reply.”

He rested against the wall and waited.

“I wanted you to stay because I foolishly
thought it would be nice to wake up with you beside me. Simple as
that. I wasn’t trying to put a lead around your neck.” She pointed
when he opened his mouth. “I said listen.”

Clay folded his arms.

“You were right in the beginning—I’m not your
kind of woman. I care whether you’re safe or not, I care whether
you’re tired or upset. I can’t help myself.” She rested her hands
on her hips. “Let me tell you a few other things you won’t like. I
worry about you. I know I’m not supposed to, but I do. I think
about you at work, I think about calling you for no reason except
to say hello or to hear your voice.” She walked up to him. “Oh, and
guess what? You’re not going to like this, but I’m going to enjoy
telling you this.” She grabbed his collar and pulled him down.
“Sometimes I love you and sometimes I could kick the crap out of
you.” She pushed him aside and stormed into the hallway.

She went into the kitchen and grabbed a box
of crackers and spreadable cheese, slamming the cupboard and fridge
as she did so. She sat and ate her way through the contents. Clay
came into the room a few moments later.

She looked at him with mock surprise. “You
haven’t left yet? You’d better leave before the sun rises. I’d hate
to be accused of trying to change you, and there’s that distinct
fear I may grow too attached to you. I know you wouldn’t want
that.”

“Can I speak now?”

“I’m not sure. Do you need instructions?”

He sat and grabbed a cracker.

“Aren’t you going to leave?”

He spread cheese on the cracker. “You wanted
me to stay a moment ago.”