The Perfect Murder (20 page)

She curled her fingernails into her palms. "Only because it's not safe to...you know...be unprotected."

He grew very serious. "I told you, I'm clean. I swear it."

"Right." She attempted a smile. "Me, too."

"So...is there any chance?" he pressed.

Her hope that he'd had a vasectomy at some point in his life before meeting her was destroyed. "No. I had the doctors do something, uh, permanent after Kate was born."

It was a lie but apparently he bought it. Releasing his breath, he sagged in relief. "You scared the shit out of me," he said with a laugh.

She got off the bed to search for the panties he'd thrown aside, which was the perfect excuse to pretend she was focused on something else. "You hid it pretty believably."

He didn't respond to the comment. "God, that was great!" he said, his smile once again genuine.

"Yeah, it was fun." Standing around the corner, where he couldn't see her, she slipped her underwear back on. "But I'd better get to work."

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He fixed his own clothes while watching her smooth her skirt into place and tighten her belt. "I'll call you," he said.

Immediately switching to business, as if that was the only reason he'd have to call her, she nodded. "Let me know if you get anywhere with Wesley. I'll be visiting the Indian casinos today, asking around. Maybe I'll get lucky and come up with someone who's seen him or knows when he usually comes in."

"Be careful."

"I will."

He walked her to the door, but she hurried out before he could touch her again. Muttering a soft "Bye" over her shoulder, she headed down the walkway.

She didn't want to deal with that awkward moment--both of them wondering if they should embrace or kiss goodbye. It had been a furious coupling, nothing more. Now that she was emerging from her long hibernation, she was doing it with a vengeance, but she had to avoid confusing lust with love. Between Noah and Oliver, she'd already had more than her fair share of difficult relationships. No need to ask for another hard knock.

On the ground floor, she raised her umbrella and braced against the cold wind as she picked her way through the puddles in the parking lot. When she reached her car, she allowed herself a final glance at Sebastian's window--and saw him standing there, staring down at her. What was he thinking?

Managing another casual wave, she got behind the wheel. At least he knew how to make love. That bone-melting moment when he'd brought her to the heights of pleasure had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

She thought of Jonathan's advice to "get back on the horse" and almost laughed aloud. She'd done exactly that. And it'd been worth the ride.

As long as she wasn't pregnant....

After tossing and turning for most of the night, suffering from another bout of heartburn and the anxiety created by what Pam Wartle had told him, Malcolm slept late. He was eventually awakened by Latisha and Marcie yelling to be let loose so they could go to the bathroom. But he wasn't willing to leave the comfort of his bed. Ignoring their pleas, he listened to the storm rage outside while going over his late-night conversation with the one person who'd made his escape from justice possible.

When Sebastian had stopped going to the brokerage house, Malcolm had 147

assumed Colton's father just needed some "personal time." That was what he'd been told. The man at Lincoln Hawke Financial--the man he'd spoken to on the phone last summer--had said Sebastian was taking "a few months to deal with a personal tragedy." Malcolm had known what that personal tragedy was, had even taken pride in being the cause of it. Finally, he'd knocked the arrogant Sebastian Costas on his ass.

But it'd been more than a year since the shootings. Why wasn't Sebastian back at work? What the hell had he been doing for so long? Was he hurt and suffering--or was he angry and vengeful?

Probably both. And if he was tracking Malcolm, he had the wherewithal to do it. Judging by the cash that'd passed through Emily's hands whenever Colton had the simplest need, Sebastian had plenty of money.

The threat that Colton's father might come after him made Malcolm's esophagus burn again. Sebastian could be a stubborn son of a bitch. Why hadn't he accepted the DNA evidence, like everyone else? If Sebastian was convinced that the man who'd killed his son was alive, he wouldn't stop until he found what he was looking for....

"Wesley? Can you unchain us? Please?" It was Latisha, and the whine in her voice put his teeth on edge. "I gotta pee. I can't hold it."

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" he yelled. "It hasn't been five freakin' minutes since you complained before. I'm tryin' to think in here!"

"But...it'll only take a second," she called back. "I don't want to go on the floor."

"You'll lick it up if you do," he hollered.

"Please? I'll make you breakfast if you'll let me use the toilet."

Damn it! They wouldn't give him a moment's peace. What did he care if they had to go to the bathroom?

Muttering a string of oaths, he rolled out of bed, once again lamenting the fact that he'd saddled himself with two young women--with
anyone.
What had started out as a thrill--and a potential convenience--had turned out to be a major mistake. He wasn't getting any work out of them. He couldn't unchain them long enough to get them to do anything. If he did, he had to release one at a time, then watch her like a hawk. Instead of making his life easier, he'd ended up with a situation that prevented him from ever leaving the house. He hadn't been by Mary's in three weeks, hadn't gone to the casino in even longer. Forget cruising Stockton 148

Boulevard. Being cooped up all the time was making him edgy. The only thing that might make him happy was something Marcie and Latisha wouldn't willingly give.

So what good were they? No good, just dead weight. He had to shoot them.

Why not get it over with? There wasn't anyone around to hear the shots; the storm would cover it even if there was. He could bury them in the barn out back and at least he'd be free. He needed to be mobile. If Sebastian was after him, he might have to move fast.

"Wesley?"

"Shut the hell up!" This time he knew they'd heard the fury in his voice.

They wouldn't call out again. But it was too late. He'd made up his mind.

Instead of putting on the shirt he'd grabbed off the floor, he stripped off the boxers he'd slept in. No need to soil his clothes. He hated to do laundry almost as much as he hated to cook his own meals.

The sound of Latisha and Marcie whispering made him even more determined. He was tired of wondering what the hell they were saying about him.

He wasn't a bad guy. He'd just gotten himself into a mess. And now he was going to get himself out of it.

After pulling his gun from under the mattress, he walked down the hall and stood in the open doorway. Both girls stared at him, their mouths falling open.

They didn't seem to notice that he was naked. Their eyes were riveted on the gun.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Latisha asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Who wants to go first?" he said.

"Is there a reason you're smiling like the cat who ate the canary?"

Startled out of her thoughts, Jane looked up to see Jonathan standing in her office doorway. She'd called him a little while ago, hoping to talk him into canvassing the Indian casinos with her, but she'd gotten his voice mail. She hadn't expected him to show up so soon after she'd left her message.

"I was...thinking," she said, but she'd been reliving those few minutes in the motel with Sebastian and she suspected he could tell that she was lying to him again.

Sure enough, his lips curved into a devilish grin as he motioned toward the list she'd made. "You looked pretty distracted from whatever you're doing there."

She'd been using the Internet to search for all the Indian casinos in the area and hadn't even realized that her mind had drifted--until he'd called her on it. "I 149

was remembering something cute Kate said to me."

"Oh, yeah? What was it?"

Suddenly, she couldn't recall a single example. "Nothing you'd enjoy."

"I'm guessing that's true."

She sat back.
"What?"

"I doubt it has anything to do with Kate," he said. "I'm guessing it had to do with a naked man. Definitely
not
something I'd enjoy."

She couldn't believe he was on to her--again! She'd heard he was a good P.I., but this was ridiculous. "How'd you know?"

His grin went crooked as he strolled in. "Do you really want me to tell you?"

She narrowed her eyes at his sheepish expression. "I do."

"I followed you to the Raleigh Pete."

Throwing down her pen, she pushed away from her desk. "You
what?"

"David asked me to help you out with this case. He and another detective are canvassing the neighborhood where the car was found, trying for the second or third time to find someone who saw something that morning, but he's worried about the lack of leads. I just wrapped up a case for one of my own clients, so I've got some time. I was coming down your street when I saw you pull out of the driveway."

"So you followed me."

"When you didn't turn toward the office, I was curious."

"I went to the Raleigh Pete to get a picture of the man we're searching for."

Knowing it was a bit late for this, she shoved the picture toward him. "See?"

He glanced at it. "This is all you got?"

Her cheeks blazed. "What, you weren't listening through the door?"

"Actually, I wanted you to be able to get that, er,
picture
in peace, so I went out for breakfast while I waited."

She glared at him. Then, with a sigh, she gave up the charade. What was the point? She'd already told him about last night. "If you tell Skye--"

"It's your business, like you said." He took a seat across from her. "But I wish all my cases were as easy to figure out as what you've been up to this morning."

"Quit teasing me," she said with a scowl. "We have what could be a long day ahead of us. We should get going."

He bent his head, imitating a subservient bow. "I'm properly caffeinated and 150

at your service."

She ripped off the piece of paper she'd been writing on and handed it to him.

"Damn, there must be thirteen casinos here," he said as he studied it. "I never dreamed there were so many in this area."

"They're pretty spread out. But I used MapQuest to determine the distances between them so we could chart the best route. I was numbering them when you came in." Grateful his attention had finally turned elsewhere, she got her purse.

"We'll start with Cache Creek."

"Why not Thunder Valley? It's closer."

"Because we discovered handwritten directions to Cache Creek at Wesley Boss's last known address."

"This guy's a gambler?"

"He's a gambler, all right. And from what I've learned so far, no stakes are too high."

Jonathan sobered as he slipped the paper in his pocket. "We'll find these girls, Jane."

The conversation she'd just had with Gloria came back to her.

So you're meetin' him this weekend?

We hope so.

You can't make it sooner?

We can't tip him off.

But by then it might be too late!

Gloria was right.

"We have to do more than find them, Jon. We've got to find them
alive,"
she said and walked out ahead of him.

The Internet provided an extensive list of handwriting experts. It took Sebastian some time to vet them, but there was a woman named Ritchie Lymond whose online biography impressed him. She'd done a lot of work for the FBI and other police agencies.

He clicked on the link, which took him to a Web site with her contact information.

Thinking he might be able to reach her more quickly by phone, he called the number listed on the site. The phone hadn't even started ringing on his end when he heard a woman say hello.

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"Ms. Lymond?"

"Yes?"

He explained who he was and what he wanted.

"I sympathize with what you're trying to do, Mr. Costas," she said. "But I hate to see you throw any more money at this. Even if I could determine that the handwriting sample was written by the man who murdered your son, there's no way it could overturn DNA evidence. Handwriting analysis is ultimately subjective. It's becoming more widely accepted now that we can scan it into a computer and digitize the comparison process, but...it's not foolproof."

"I understand that. I just...I need to know what you think."

There was a long pause. "What do you have by way of exemplars?"

"Exemplars?"

"Samples to compare his writing to."

Sebastian had the entire contents of Emily's house in a series of storage units. He had that shoebox containing Mary's old letters, but if Malcolm had written back, he hadn't reclaimed those letters and Mary hadn't kept them. They'd already discussed the fact that she'd disposed of everything he'd ever given her when she got engaged to her husband. Sebastian also had a journal and some letters he'd found when packing up the Turners' home office, but all of that was primarily Emily's. Would he have enough of Malcolm's? Malcolm's own family had come for his things. The storage unit would yield only the scraps from the storage area above the garage or drawers Malcolm's family had overlooked. "I'm hoping I can get several. What would you like to see?"

"Letters, contracts, lists. The more you have the better. Are the directions to the casino written in both lower- and uppercase?"

"Yes."

"Then get something that has both. I can't compare lowercase letters against uppercase."

Before he'd called Ms. Lymond, he'd contacted his mother and asked her to go to the storage place to see what she could come up with. "If I can get what you need, I'll overnight it tomorrow or the next day."

"Okay, but even if you get the exemplars, don't set your hopes too high, Mr.

Costas. I'll do what I can, but it's a long, tedious process, and there are a lot of variables."