Close Enough to Kill (22 page)

Bernie inched closer to Kevin, longing to wrap the boy in her arms and comfort him. “No matter how your parents feel about each other or what either of them might have said about the other, you can love both of them without betraying either of them.”

What on earth had Mary Lee done to her son by poisoning his mind against his father? Try as Bernie might to feel compassion and concern for a woman struggling to overcome a deadly disease, she could feel little but contempt for anyone who would so shamefully use their child in a battle against their ex-spouse.

“My dad really wants me to live with him?” Kevin asked. “He’s glad I’ll be staying here and going to school?”

Bernie eased her arm around Kevin’s shoulders. A loose, casual hug, nothing to make him feel like a little kid being smothered by an adult. “Yes to both questions.”

“Bernie?”

“Hmm…?

“Where’s my dad?”

“Outside. Waiting.”

“I don’t really feel like talking to him tonight,” Kevin said. “I mean, I’ll go home with him and all, but I don’t want to talk about my mom or about my staying here in Adams Landing to start school. Couldn’t that wait until later?”

“I’m sure it can.” Bernie removed her arm from around Kevin’s shoulders, stood, and being careful not to step on Boomer who had curled up at Kevin’s feet, headed for the door.

“I’ll let your dad know you’re ready to go home now.”

When she exited through the kitchen, she found Jim pacing back and forth on the porch. The minute he saw her, he stopped and looked at her, his gaze cautiously optimistic.

“Will he talk to me?” Jim asked.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you tonight about his mother or his staying on in Adams Landing.”

Jim’s hopeful expression altered to one of dismay.

“But he’s ready to go home with you,” Bernie said. “And I think in a day or two, he might be ready to talk.”

Jim huffed loudly, then grasped Bernie by the shoulders. “Damn, woman, you’re a miracle worker. What did you say to him? You didn’t—”

“No, I didn’t say one word against your ex-wife. I simply pointed out to Kevin that you’re a good man and that you love him more than anyone on earth.”

Jim swallowed. “Thanks, Bernie. I owe you—”

“You don’t owe me anything. We’re friends, remember?”

“Yeah, and I’m one lucky bastard to have a friend like you.”

When he pulled her into his arms and hugged her, Bernie thought she’d die from the pleasure…and from the pain.

The dream came again, as it so often did. Sweet and promising, reminding him of the greatest joy he’d ever known. But soon the dream turned cold and cruel, ripping out his heart, leaving him humiliated and longing to die. His subconscious mind replayed the dream over and over again, never letting him forget, constantly reminding him.

She was the most beautiful, desirable creature on earth, and he loved her madly. Although he had worshipped her from afar for such a long time, he’d never dared to dream that one day she would speak to him. He hadn’t realized that she even knew who he was.

“Hi, there,” she said in that kitten-soft, syrupy-sweet Southern drawl.

“She’s talking to you.” His friend Marcus punched him in the ribs.

“Huh?”

She curled her index finger and wiggled it at him. He nearly peed in his pants.

“Come here, silly,” she said.

He moved toward her like a robot.

“Can’t you even say hi?” When she smiled at him, his heart went wild.

“Hi.” He croaked the one word.

She giggled. “Since we both have Mr. Higgins for American history next, want to carry my books for me?”

“You want me to carry your books?”

She batted those long black eyelashes at him. “Of course I do, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

In his effort to take her books and stack them on his, he clumsily dropped all their books on the floor. Red faced and trembling, he went down on his knees and picked up every book, praying she wouldn’t laugh at him. But when he stood up again, she slipped her slender arm through his skinny arm and smiled at him.

He’d been a goner from that moment on. He was hers to command, to do with as she willed.

He fought with his subconscious, struggling to end the dream before it turned deadly.

Wake up! Damn it, wake up!

But the dream wouldn’t stop. The memories washed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in shame and torment.

With her laughter ringing in his ears, he cried out, struggling against the soul-wrenching anguish. His eyes flew open. He woke in a cold sweat. Lying there in the darkness, he listened to the loud, racing beat of his heart.

Don’t think about the past. Think about the future. Concentrate on the woman who may make all your dreams come true.

Tomorrow I’ll send her another gift. Pink lipstick and nail polish. And I’ll sketch her, partially nude this time.

He sighed as one thought filled his mind—the thought of making love to Abby.

Abby Miller laid out all the notes, sketches, and gifts on her bed, then stood there and looked over the treasure trove of items from her mystery lover. In the beginning, she had been flattered and mildly curious as to who this romantic secret admirer might be. But the sketches included with the most recent gift—a gold-plated ankle bracelet—had unnerved her, to say the least. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried a few sexually kinky things with various partners, but she wasn’t really into S&M, other than enjoying an occasional spanking. She sure as hell didn’t find seeing herself depicted as a brutalized sex slave appealing in any way. Staring at the trilogy of sketches that had arrived this afternoon, she shivered. In one she was totally naked and had been impaled, vaginally and anally, by enormous dildos. The expression on her face was one of terror and agony.

Her stomach churned. Just looking at these ink sketches made her sick. The second one was just as revolting. She lay on a bed of flames, her mouth open in a silent scream. But the third was the most menacing of all. Her throat had been sliced open and droplets of blood splattered her chest and dripped off each nipple.

Nausea overcame her just as the doorbell rang. She rushed into the bathroom and retched, emptying her stomach. How could she have been foolish enough to think her mystery man was simply too shy to approach her, or that he had a strong romantic nature and wanted to woo her gradually? She should have suspected, from the moment she had received that first gift, that some nutcase was stalking her.

As she rinsed out her mouth, she heard Ron’s voice calling her name.

“Abby? Abby! Where are you? Are you all right?”

After wiping off her damp mouth, she hung the towel on the rack and turned to leave the bathroom. When she did, she ran right into Ron, who apparently had used the key she’d given him weeks ago to let himself into her house.

“Damn it, why didn’t you answer me?” He glared at her.

“I was too busy throwing up,” she told him.

He narrowed his gaze, glowering at her questioningly. “Are you pregnant?”

“Hell, no!”

“Thank God.” The relief showed plainly on his face. “So what’s the big emergency? When you called, you said to get over here as fast as I could.”

“Did you see the stuff lying on my bed?”

“Not really. I didn’t stop to look at anything when I came through the house. I was hunting for you.” He grasped her shoulders. “I was worried about you.”

She sighed deeply. “I think I’m in big trouble.”

He eyed her speculatively. “What kind of trouble?”

She grabbed his hand, then led him into her bedroom and over to her bed. “Look at these things. I’ve been receiving these items, a few at a time, for the past two weeks.”

Ron walked around her bed slowly, studying the items intently, but not touching them.

“Good God Almighty! I don’t believe this!”

“What? What is it?” She grabbed his arm and tugged on it.

He turned slowly, then reached out and cupped her face with both hands. “This is bad, baby. Really bad.”

“I’m already scared enough,” she told him. “You don’t have to frighten me any more than I already am.”

He squinted his eyes and grimaced. “Why didn’t you tell me when you got the first note and gift?”

When he opened his eyes wide and looked right at her, she saw fear—raw, unchecked fear. “What…what is it? Tell me?”

After releasing his hold on her face, he took both of her hands into his. “This guy—the one who sent you all these gifts and notes”—he glanced at the bed—“and those sketches—he’s the one who killed Stephanie Preston and Thomasina Hardy.”

“Wh…a…t?” Her voice quivered. She’d heard what Ron said, understood the words, but her mind simply could not wrap itself around the meaning. “No, that’s not…No, you’re wrong. You have to be wrong.”

She fell apart in Ron’s strong arms. He stroked her back and allowed her to cry for a couple of minutes before he grabbed her shoulders, shoved her back and said, “I have to call Bernie and Jim. They need to see these things.” He nodded to the bed. “And we need to make sure you have twenty-four-hour-a-day protection.”

“You—you think this man—this murderer—is going to come after me?”

Ron nodded. “The last gifts Thomasina Hardy received before her abduction was a gold ankle bracelet and a sketch of her like that one.” Ron pointed to the rendering of Abby with her throat cut and blood dripping from her nipples.

“I think I’m going to be sick again.” She jerked away from Ron and ran into the bathroom.

As she threw up a second time, she heard Ron on his cell phone. “Jim, it’s Ron. Look, get hold of Bernie and you two get over here to Abby Miller’s house right away.” He recited her address to his boss. “Our serial killer has chosen his next victim.”

Ron agreed to spend every night at Abby Miller’s house, which didn’t surprise Bernie since she’d suspected for months now that the two were having an affair. During the remaining sixteen hours of each day, four other deputies would take four-hour shifts and do it on their own time, to keep the killer’s next potential victim safe. Charlie Patterson had shown up with the ABI Crime Scene Unit and they’d whisked away all the evidence—everything Abby had put on display across her satin comforter. The fact that Abby had not only finally notified Ron about the gifts from her mystery man, but that she’d kept all the items her stalker had sent her was the first real break they’d gotten in their Secret Admirer serial killer case.

Bernie played with the Caesar salad that Jim had bought for her when he’d picked up his chicken fingers and fries for lunch. They had been holed up in her office for the past forty-five minutes and Jim had already finished his lunch, including his chocolate pie. Bernie had been talking and thinking and had eaten very little, but she had downed her tall Styrofoam cup of iced tea.

“I think I should fly to Greenville and talk to people who knew Heather and Shannon, the first two victims.” Jim gathered up the debris from his lunch and dumped it all in the wastebasket beside Bernie’s desk.

“What’s the point in doing that?” Bernie tossed the plastic fork down into her salad and closed the lid on the Styrofoam takeout plate. “You talked to Captain Shepard again and he told you that Heather and Shannon were close friends in high school, that they lived only a couple of blocks from each other, and they were both pretty, popular brunettes. What more do you think you’ll find out if you go to Greenville? And what makes you think that if you find out anything, it will help us catch this guy?”

Jim huffed. “Call it a gut feeling.”

“Look, I’m not discounting your gut feelings, but right now, you’re needed here.”

When Bernie picked up her plate and cup, Jim reached over and took them from her. They exchanged smiles. He tossed her uneaten lunch and empty cup into the trash.

“We can’t count on the crime scene guys coming up with anything useful,” Jim said. “We’re dealing with a very smart man. There won’t be any of his fingerprints on the items he sent Abby Miller. And I’ll guarantee you that every gift, every piece of sketch paper, and everything else will all be items that you could purchase just about anywhere, making them pretty much untraceable.”

“So you’re saying that the fact Abby saved everything really won’t help us at all.”

“It could help us, but not the way you think.”

She eyed him curiously.

“I believe it’s time we release a little more information to the press,” Jim said. “Just enough so that if any other woman starts receiving strange little gifts and sketches, she’ll come to us right away.”

“Oh, God, do you know what you’re implying? This guy takes one hostage at a time and he doesn’t start pursuing another woman until he’s killed—”

“Abby’s being watched twenty-four/seven. I’m hoping our guy will realize he can’t get to her and move on to someone else. Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or make a move and get caught.”

“How likely is that?”

Jim pursed his lips. “Hmm…unlikely, but you never know. He may get so pissed about not being able to grab Abby easily that he’ll make a mistake. That’s what we have to pray for—that he’ll make a mistake, slip up somehow and give himself away.”

“Are you saying that’s the only way we’ll ever catch him?”

“Probably. Sooner or later, most of these guys make a mistake. Sometimes just a small mistake, but it’s usually enough to give the officers involved the break they’d been hoping for. Despite how smart our guy thinks he is, it’s just a matter of time until he screws up. And he may not even know when he does it.”

“Okay, I understand, and you’re probably right. But in the meantime, my primary concern is keeping Abby Miller safe.” Contemplating, Bernie rubbed her bottom lip over her top lip. “I’m depending on you to help me keep Ron in check. He’s emotionally involved with Abby.” When she glanced at Jim, he nodded. “You’d already figured that out, hadn’t you?”

“Yeah, I think he pretty much gave himself away when he threatened to take apart Dr. Kelley and Reverend Donaldson piece by piece when Abby mentioned them as two men who’d shown an interest in her recently. That’s why I ordered Ron to stay away from Brandon Kelley and the reverend and sent John to interview both men.”

“Dr. Kelley has alibis for the approximate times Stephanie and Thomasina were murdered,” Bernie said. “And I refuse to believe a man as sweet and gentle as Matthew could possibly be a killer.”

“Dr. Kelley’s alibis are from two of his lovers, women who might lie for him. And it’s possible that the good reverend is not what he seems.”

“Anything is possible,” Bernie agreed. “As for Dr. Kelley’s alibis—are you forgetting that my sister was one of those women?”

“And Robyn would never lie?”

“Not to protect a murderer. Not intentionally.”

“Hmm…Yeah, you’re right. She wouldn’t.”

For the past week and a half—ever since the hot kiss they’d shared in her backyard—Bernie and Jim had been acting as if nothing had happened between them. They were friends—good friends—working together, trying to solve a deadly mystery, trying to catch a ruthless killer. They had shared meals together in the evenings, usually at her house, sometimes at her parents’ home. They had assisted Kevin with his homework every night, had taken him to the movies twice, had been enjoying the last days of summer with him at her parents’ pool, and had been helping him adjust to his new school and his new life with his father.

But during this time, two subjects had been taboo: the kiss they’d shared and Bernie’s sister, Robyn.

“Did you know that Robyn is dating Raymond?” Bernie watched Jim’s face for a reaction.

Surprisingly enough, he grinned. “Yeah, I hear those two are quite an item.”

“Even my folks think they’re an odd couple. Sort of beauty and the beast.”

Jim chuckled. “I wouldn’t exactly call Raymond a beast.”

She stared at Jim, dumbfounded. “You really don’t care, do you?”

“That your sister has found someone who’ll gladly worship at her feet? Hell, no. I think old Raymond is just what Robyn needs.”

Bernie reared back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t have any feelings for Robyn? None at all?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I like Robyn. I appreciate the fact that she’s a beautiful woman. And because she’s your sister, I care about her.”

A silly, totally female reaction fluttered inside Bernie’s stomach. “You care about Robyn because she’s my sister?”

“Yeah, you know, kind of like any friend of yours…or my casa is your casa.”

Bernie laughed. “I’m trying to figure that one out.”

“You know what I meant. I care about you.” He looked right at her. “A lot.”

He had rendered her speechless. She sat there and stared at him.

“Heck, you’re the first woman, other than relatives, of course, I’ve ever cared about that I wasn’t banging.”

Bernie burst into laughter. Jim gave her an odd look. She laughed so hard that her sides hurt and tears dampened her eyes. God love him, he was such an honest man. Bluntly honest, totally macho and about as politically incorrect as a guy could be.

“What’s so all-fired funny?”

“You are, Jim Norton. You say something sweet, tell a woman you care about her, and then you go and spoil it by saying something so blatantly macho.”

“I warned you that I’m not into political correctness.” He reached across her desk and grasped her hand. “I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I? The last thing I’d ever want to do is—”

“Ruin our friendship by banging me.” She snatched her hand away from him.

Jim’s face flushed. She had actually embarrassed him.

“You don’t mind cutting a man off at the knees, do you, honey?”

“That’s one way to cut you down to my size.” She grinned, reminding herself and letting him know that he hadn’t seriously offended her, that she neither wanted nor expected more than friendship from him.

He stared at her for one long, rather peculiar moment; then he slapped his hands on his thighs and said, “Back to business. I should head over to my office and check in with John, see how the interviews with Dr. Kelley and Reverend Donaldson went.”

“If anything significant came out of either interview, let me know.”

Jim scooted back his chair and stood. “Want to grill steaks tonight?”

“Actually, Dad’s Masonic lodge is hosting a fish fry. Catfish, hush puppies, slaw, and fries. All the proceeds go to charity. I bought several tickets. Why don’t I pick up three meals and bring them over to your place around six-thirty?”

Jim frowned.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“You know, I have no idea whether Kevin likes catfish.”

“He does. I mentioned the fish fry to him last night and he said he loves catfish.”

“What kind of a father doesn’t know something like that about his own kid?”

Bernie got up, rounded her desk and put her hand on Jim’s shoulder. “A father who hasn’t been allowed to spend much time with his son.”

“You always know the right thing to say to make me feel better.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Just a friendly kiss. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“See you around six-thirty.”