The Green-Eyed Doll (31 page)

“They found Jessie leaning against an old Civil War marker out on county road thirteen fifty-seven. I don’t know what time I’ll be back tonight.”

“Go. I’ll be careful. And I’ll put Emma on high alert.” Her heart clenched when he managed a slight smile.

She watched from the porch as he covered his jet-back hair with his hat and then slid behind the wheel of the jet-black pickup. He’d backed to the end of the driveway when he stopped, drove forward, put the gearshift in park, and stared at her for a long minute.

Barefoot and curious, she stepped off the tiny porch. Matt got out and in ground-covering strides came back to her. He put his hands under her arms, lifted her to eye level, and let her dangle for a second. Laser blue eyes seemed to probe deep into her soul. He put her down. The hunter’s gaze tempered with softness melted her heart.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and left.

****

Tuesday, September 5th, 9:00 a.m.

Matt parked the cruiser, and he and Ash walked to Jessie’s body. She’d been propped upright against the cement base of the marker.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Ash muttered.

“It’s a fucking wonder she was ever found. Who puts a historical monument in the middle of nowhere?” Ash spoke directly to Rey Santos, who was waiting at the scene.

“It wasn’t ‘nowhere’ a hundred years ago. But you’re right, old man Forrester came out to hay his cattle. With the drought, there’s no pasture to graze, only thing they’re eating is what he feeds them. Otherwise, it might’ve been days,” Rey answered.

“We’ll be here a while.” Matt carefully moved around the scene. “Sue contacted the ME’s office for me and then lined up a deputy to lead the forensic team out here.”

“Our forensic guys will be here shortly. Not much for them to do,” Rey commented. “Look around. They won’t find useable tracks or footprints, not on this hard red clay.” The murders had pushed his frustration level to high.

Matt squatted then rolled back on his boot heels. He studied the body. He was aware of Rey taking pictures and Ash moving around with his notepad in hand, but he tuned out all external sights and sounds. Jessie deserved his full, undivided attention, exactly like Julia and Annie.

Like the two previous victims, her hair had been pulled back in a ponytail. Her face appeared to be heavily powered with a color much lighter than her natural tone. No amount of makeup could hide the purple bruises covering her face. Whoever this bastard was, he liked that crimson lipstick, because Jessie’s lips were smeared with the stuff. Why the red ribbon around the neck? Matt stood and walked behind the body. No doubt, he’d find the same kind of raw streaks on her as Julia and Annie.

Ash joined him. “Jessie wasn’t whipped like the first two.”

“Doesn’t appear to be as many welts across her back and legs,” Matt agreed.

“That bastard used her face for a punching bag. My guess is she fought back, and he lost his temper. Why else would he change his pattern?”

“You’re right. It’s something different every time. He’s unsure or is still perfecting his methods.” Matt ran the earlier cases through his mind. “She must’ve initially put up a fight, and he beat the shit out of her. Then she tried to play his game. Jessie was street savvy, smart enough to know the more she protested the worse the situation would get.”

Ash pointed his pen at Jessie’s hand. “Check out her fingernails.”

“Yeah. I’ll bet she scratched the bastard, and he cut off her fingernails. With any luck, she left us his DNA. We’ll have every deputy watch for anybody with scratches.”

Ash circled the perimeter a second time. He’d pace and think. Walk and study. Commit the scene to memory. When Ash leaned against the hood of Rey’s car and went back to his notes, Matt retrieved a sheet from the trunk of his cruiser. Dr. Reinhardt had given him a couple of extras after he’d completed Annie’s autopsy.

“I’m going back to town and break the news to Vince,” Matt said while he covered the body. “No need making him wait.”

“Not alone.” Ash’s expression left no room for argument.

****

Tuesday, September 5th, 12:00 p.m.

The wait for the ME’s men turned into an endurance test. Matt and Ash returned from a grueling hour with Vince to find Matt’s small team still working by themselves.

“How’s Vince?” Rey crossed the short distance to Matt.

“Not good,” Matt answered. “Luckily, he wasn’t alone. You guys find anything?”

“Nothing but flies.”

Rey fell in step with Ash when Matt peeled off and circled the scene to speak to the rest of his team. The sun beat down on the red clay road and bounced back, sending ripples of heat across the horizon. Cattle fought off the heat and buzzing flies by swatting at them with their tails while bunched under scrub oak trees, which provided no real shade.

Ash hadn’t been out in the sun long before he complained that his extra long appendage couldn’t be used to fight flies. Decency forced him to tolerate the irritating pests all day. It was a claim Matt and Rey exchanged glances over and chose to ignore.

The high wind sandblasted exposed skin. By the time the forensic crew drove away with the body, Ash was threatening to kill one of the rancher’s steers and cook the damn thing for supper.

“I’d like you to tell me how you managed to survive the day and not look like shit.” Ash glared at Rey and then finished the bottle of water one of the forensic team had provided.

“It’s in the genes. The heat doesn’t bother me.”

Rey didn’t look like he’d crossed the Sahara on foot. Ash looked like he’d tried and failed. Matt knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tuesday, September 5th, 9:15 p.m.

JC was still alive. Groggy, but alive. Shit, he’d talked nonstop since the trailer door opened. Thankfully, safely tucked away in Mama’s closet, his ramblings were muffled.

Apparently, men were no different from women, because they all asked the same question. Why are you doing this? Over and over again.

He restrained himself from opening the door and kicking the shit out of JC to shut him up. The plan was working, and now wasn’t the time to fuck things up.

He slid on a pair of gloves, grabbed JC’s feet, and pulled him into the living room. Answering his questions would be fun, and since he’d be dead shortly, the bag could come off.

JC blinked repeatedly, probably to adjust to the bright light. Inside that closet was dark and must’ve been pitch black with the bag over his head.

“What happened?” JC shook his head like a dog.

“You were kidnapped.” That was as honest an answer as he could give.

“I don’t get it. If this is a joke, Danny, it’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” It was hard not to. “Am I?”

“I heard a woman’s voice.” His gaze scanned the empty trailer. “Where is she?”

“Gone.” Damn daylight savings time, it was finally dark enough to take care of business.

“Come on, man. Cut this shit out. Tell me what’s going on.”

“You came to help me. And believe me, you will.”

“I remember following you home. What happened?”

“I brought you a beer outside, only I’d added some night-night pills. You stumbled inside and fell on the couch.” He rubbed his lower back. “Stuffing you in the closet was the hard part.”

Interesting how calm he felt now the time to kill JC had come. He’d jumped at every sound all day long, like somebody might read his mind. The jitters were gone, probably because his plan was perfect.

“The fun’s over.” JC huffed out through clenched teeth. “Untie me, and let me go home.”

“Stop struggling. You can’t have rope burns.” He spoke in a calm, level tone but pulled the pistol and pointed it at JC’s head. The slime ball needed to know the seriousness of the situation.

“I what? Untie me, goddammit. I gotta piss.”

He flipped open his pocket knife and sliced the rope, freeing JC’s feet while keeping the gun steady. “Get up and listen closely. You walk down that hall and take a leak. Remember, I’ll be watching. You fuckin’ flinch, and I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

JC’s legs wobbled as he got his feet under him and stumbled to the john. He turned and held his hands out. “I can’t do this with my hands tied.”

Fuck. He studied a minute, could JC maneuver all the steps without help? Holding his dick for him wasn’t an option, but he didn’t want piss all over the trailer either. “Sit down on the floor.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf? Sit down.” He went to the kitchen and returned with a knife. “When I cut the rope you roll over on your belly. Understand?”

“Why?”

The cold steel of the .380 against JC’s temple silenced any argument. “Ready?” JC obeyed instructions, his eyes darted around looking for an escape route.

“Now what?” JC asked from his down-facing position.

“Crawl in the bathroom and sit on the toilet. Remember I’m watching. If you want to die sitting on the toilet, make the wrong move.”

None of this was in the plan, and the time wasted ate into his schedule. He had to get things moving before the whole thing turned into a cluster-fuck. He wound up seeing a lot more of JC’s anatomy than he wanted before JC finally zipped his jeans and crawled back into the hall. Belly down, he held his hands over his head and retied them. The extra precautions were necessary. JC wasn’t stupid. He’d do his best to find an opening and break free.
Not happening.

Catherine had better appreciate everything he was doing for her.

“We’re taking a ride.” He ordered JC to stand.

The rest of the night had been planned carefully. JC’s pickup now sat around front, and JC sat on the floor. Obeying the speed limits, he drove out to the site where he’d left Julia Drummond and parked. It was a bit of a drive from the trailer, not too bad of a hike back, all he had to do was cut through a few pastures.

“Get out.” He stood back and let JC stand.

JC gulped the night air while his gaze sorted out his location. The stench of nervous sweat had filled the air inside the pickup. His jaw twitched. “You crazy motherfucker, when I get my hands on you, you’ll think twice before you pull shit like this again.”

The point of the gun shoved hard against JC’s spine drove home who was in charge. The stupid bastard still thought this was some kind of a joke. “Sit at the base of the sign post.”

When the gun pressed into his temple, he became a believer. His entire body shook. “Why are you doing this? I’ve never done anything to you,” he whined, as if it would do any good.

“You brought this on yourself. You should’ve left Catherine alone.”

“What?” His eyes bugged, the pale moonlight glinted off the fear. “I didn’t mean any harm. I’d never hurt her. Come on, we can talk this over.”

“You picked the wrong woman.” His index finger tightened on the trigger. “Catherine is mine.” A single pop and it was done.

JC slumped to the side. Shit, the report of the .380 in the night air was louder than he’d expected. His heart raced and the hornets roared louder. His cock was hard as a steel rod. If he had time to come, they’d settle down. He pushed the buzzing to the recesses of his mind. He’d relive this scenario later at the trailer. This was a busy highway during the daytime, and time was of the essence. He had to follow the schedule.

He ran the plan through his mind, and his body followed the commands. Not to worry. He had everything under control. He retrieved Julia’s blouse from the pickup and slid it under JC’s hands. He untied the knot around his wrists, then slowly pulled the rope free. Holding the soft piece of silk to his nose, he breathed deeply—remembering his first doll—then he shook it hard into the wind. He tucked the blouse in JC’s left hand. The gun went in JC’s right hand.

The sheriff would find articles of clothing from Annie and Jessie inside JC’s pickup. The cab and steering wheel were wiped down. Now, all he had to do was disappear into the night.

He’d grown up hunting in this area and knew to skirt around the thickets, walking through cleared land. He replayed tonight’s events through his mind. Would the sheriff buy it? At first blush, hell yes, everybody would believe for a few days. And that’s all the time he’d need.

****

Wednesday, September 6th, 1:00 a.m.

Matt drove under the glare of the lights and up the driveway Catherine referred to as the runway. He stepped out of his pickup and crossed the walk into her open arms.

“You shouldn’t have waited up.” He leaned down and buried his face in the tumble of wild, red curls. She smelled of vanilla and home. “Damn, I’m glad you did.”

She led him inside by the hand. Again, the thought hit him that he’d follow her anywhere if it meant she’d put her arms around him one more time.

“Have you eaten?”

Matt had to think about that one. “Yeah. Ash went after burgers. I probably smell like onions.”

She stood on her toes and kissed him. Ran her tongue across her lips and smacked. “Nope. Coffee.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. I like coffee.”

“No...I said I’d be here. With you. To make you feel safe. I failed.”

She waved him off with a flick of her wrist. “Please. I don’t expect you to be here every minute of the day and night. Come to bed. You need to rest.”

One of the many things he liked about her was she never pressed him...never made demands. She accepted him. Understood the requirements of the job. She waited until he was ready. Tonight he was especially grateful, because there were no words for the frustration and the anger eating away at him.

He kissed her lightly. A quick peck, a small taste of her soft lips, anything more, and he’d forget he smelled worse than a man on a ten-day-drunk. He knocked at exhaustion’s door, reaching the point of bone weary. Yet his need to make love to her, to hear her cry out his name threatened his resolve to get some rest.

“I’m hitting the shower. You...I expect to be asleep when I get out. I’m not the only one who gets up early.”

“Yes, sir.” She saluted and swished her way down the hall.