All the Pretty Faces (10 page)

She pried his hand from her arm with a pointed look. Predators thrived on terrifying those weaker than them. This man was stronger than her physically. He must have weighed two hundred pounds.

Physical intimidation wasn’t going to work on her.

She lifted her head to dismiss him. “I’m not interested. Now please move out of my way.”

Instead of doing as she asked, his hand closed around her arm again. “Are you afraid of me, Josie? Do I remind you so much of him that you think I’m going to hurt you?”

She shot him a venomous look. She didn’t intend to give him the chance to hurt her or intimidate her.

Easton inched up on his toes in an obvious attempt to make himself look taller and less intimidated by Dane. “Charity is dead?”

Dane met Easton’s innocent look with a cold stare. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You did her headshots back in her hometown and she trusted you, so she went outside with you at that party. You took advantage of the fact that she was young and vulnerable and wanted to be a star.”

Easton’s lip quivered, a bead of sweat gathering on his forehead. “I take pictures of these girls because I see their beauty and want to help maximize it for them,” he said. “Yes, occasionally I get involved with one of them. What man wouldn’t?”

“A decent man,” Dane said.

Easton cursed. “Dating is not a crime, Agent Hamrick.”

“No, but murder is.” Dane wanted to slap the handcuffs on the bastard that minute, drag him to the sheriff’s office, and force him to confess.

“True, but I didn’t kill Charity. For your information,
she
came on to
me
, but I turned her down.”

“Sure she did.” Dane caught the man’s arm as he tried to sidestep him. “Tell me what happened to her.”

Easton averted his eyes. When he looked back at Dane, his lips were compressed into a tight line. “I don’t know. I went inside for drinks for us, and when I came out, she was gone.”

Dane didn’t believe him. This guy was a player. He kept fidgeting, which told Dane that he was hiding something. “Where did she go?”

“I told you I don’t know. Now, if you have more questions, talk to my lawyer.”

“Who threw this party?” Dane asked.

Easton shifted, obviously debating the wisdom of saying more. “A guy named Porter McCray. He’s here hoping to land a part, too.”

Dane would talk to him next.

Business cards for Easton Photography filled a basket on the table. Another one held business cards from a plastic surgeon group.

Dane gritted his teeth. Charity Snow’d had cosmetic surgery. Did Easton get some kind of kickback from making referrals?

If so, what did it mean in terms of the murder? Did Charity’s death have something to do with the group listed on the card?

Shaken by her encounter with the Billy Linder lookalike, Josie rushed up the steps to find Dane. She searched the lines in the hallway, relieved to find him walking toward the main room from the photography studio.

His jaw was set in granite.

“Dane, I got the computer.”

“Good. Thanks.” He took it from her, and his eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost.”

A group of teens entered the room, laughing and whispering, and Josie waited until they’d passed.

Dane kept his gaze on her. She hadn’t realized she was so transparent. “I sort of did.”

“What do you mean?”

She twisted her hands together. “I ran into a man who looks so much like Billy Linder that it’s eerie. For a minute, I thought he’d escaped.”

Dane’s look softened. “That’s not going to happen, Josie.”

She nodded. “I know, but this man visited Billy. He’s trying to emulate his behavior, speech patterns, his movements.”

A dark look flashed across Dane’s face. “You think he’s a copycat killer?”

“I don’t know that he’s actually killed anyone, but he gave me the creeps. He wanted me to run through exactly what happened when Billy abducted me.”

“Where is this asshole?” Dane asked bluntly.

Josie searched the room. McCray was standing at the edge of a group of young women, watching them with lecherous eyes.

“I’m going to talk to him.” Dane’s voice was raw with anger. “What’s his name?”

A warm tingle seeped through Josie at his protective tone. She’d vowed to stand on her own, but it was nice to know he had her back. “Porter McCray.”

“Shit. He’s the guy who hosted the party at the cabins.”

A chill came over Josie.

That party was the last place Charity Snow had been seen alive.

CHAPTER NINE

Dane studied McCray. Some actors went to extremes to land a part and to fit into a role, but this man looked so much like the Bride Killer that he could have been his twin.

Worse, his suggestion to Josie was disturbing.

Whether or not he was the killer they were looking for was the question.

“I’ll have a chat with Mr. McCray,” Dane said.

Josie caught his arm before he could walk away. “Let me go with you.”

Protective feelings surged inside Dane, reminding him of the way he’d felt about Betsy. Except his feelings weren’t brotherly. They were more personal, making him even more unsettled. “I don’t like you being involved. This man could be dangerous.”

“I know that, but I can’t hide,” Josie said. “I wrote the Bride Killer story. If Charity Snow’s death has something to do with this movie, I have to help.”

Dane’s heart hammered at the determination in her eyes. Josie was the strongest woman he’d ever met. She’d returned to a town where she’d suffered a horrific attack, and she hadn’t backed down when another killer had drawn her into this murder by texting her that photograph. Even the break-in at her house hadn’t sent her running.

She was still young and sweet, and she’d already suffered too much trauma.

“You don’t have to do anything but stay safe,” Dane said. “If we don’t solve this murder right away, I want you out of town. Out of harm’s way.”

Her chin lifted slightly. “I appreciate that. I still want to listen when you question him. He caught me off guard, and I don’t like that.”

Dane tried to understand her feelings, but the possibility that she might get hurt didn’t sit well in his gut.

Not when her mere touch on his arm had his body hardening, taunting him that they would be good in bed together.

“Josie, please just let me handle the situation.”

Her eyes softened. They were the damn greenest eyes he’d ever fallen into.

Err . . . seen.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He was getting lost in her when he had a murderer to catch.

Dammit. He pulled away. Letting his emotions into the picture was exactly what he wanted to avoid when he’d first told her he didn’t want her involved. “All right. Just let me do the talking. Maybe if he sees you’re with me, he’ll leave you alone.”

He hoped that was true. He’d let Betsy down.

He wouldn’t let Josie down.

Josie’s heart raced. What had just happened between Dane and her?

A zing of attraction had hit her when she’d touched him. His voice had gotten low, gravelly, almost possessive when he suggested that he wanted McCray to know she was with him.

He’s just doing his job. He didn’t mean anything by it.

Dane had never been anything but professional. In fact, when she’d first interviewed him about the Bride Killer, he’d been almost rude.

Cold even.

As if he disagreed with what she was doing, like so many of the people in town.

Yet he’d been the one person she wanted to call when she’d received that text.

He also had a brooding intensity in his dark eyes that drew her. Beneath that rough, lone-wolf exterior, she sensed a wounded soul. She connected with that part of him.

Getting him to open up seemed impossible, though.

Besides, she was damaged and struggling with her own inner demons. What did she have to offer him or any other man?

A group of young women brushed past on their way out the door, chattering about their photography shoots and auditions and their plans for the evening. Someone had posted an invitation on social media to meet up for happy hour at Blues and Brews, a local bar.

McCray was talking to Olive, the casting director, when they approached. Josie shivered at his voice. He must have taped Billy Linder and had adapted a good imitation of his tone.

“I know this man,” McCray said earnestly. “I’ve spent time with him. I can get in his head and become him.” His eye twitched just as Billy’s had. “Let me show you.”

The casting director gave him a wan smile. “You’ll have your chance tomorrow. I have to go now.”

She started to walk away, but the man blocked her way. “I can be Billy Linder,” he said, his tone more sinister. “I can make people see what he was really like. What he was thinking when he killed those women. You know he did it all cause his mama was dying. He loved his mama more than anything, but she was sick. She used to make him do things to her at night—”

Josie instinctively backed away. The vile things Charlene had done to Billy sickened her. Billy was also the product of molestation and inbreeding.

“That’s enough.” Olive’s eyes flared with unease. “Mr. McCray, I will see you at your scheduled time.”

McCray reached for her hand. “I can show you how he adorned her with the jewelry he took from his victims. Mama likes sparkly jewels,” he said, imitating Billy’s voice. “She’s happy when I give her gifts.”

Dane cleared his throat. “You heard the lady,” Dane said. “Step aside.”

McCray pivoted, anger streaking his craggy face. When he spotted Josie, an evil glint appeared. “Josie, that was good, wasn’t it? Didn’t I sound like Billy?”

Josie barely suppressed a shudder. Yes, he did, and his voice triggered the memories she’d worked so hard to forget.

Dane flashed his badge. “Special Agent Dane Hamrick, Mr. McCray. I need to ask you some questions.”

The man opened his mouth to argue, but Dane shot him a menacing look and gestured for him to step into an alcove to the side. The casting director darted away, obviously grateful to be rescued.

“Mr. McCray,” Dane began, “I understand that you hosted a party the other night.”

McCray shrugged. “No crime in throwing a party. It was just a little meet and greet anyway. We were all bonding over the story of the Bride Killer. Some of the guests were especially intrigued by the Thorn Ripper since that was the mama doing the killing.”

Violence and incest had bred more violence. A cycle that was hard to break. Not an excuse, though, when lives and families had been destroyed.

Josie’s entire family had been affected by Linder and his mother.

Dane flipped his phone around to show McCray the picture of Charity. “Do you remember seeing this woman at the party?”

McCray peered at the photograph, his jagged teeth showing as he smiled. “There were a lot of pretty women there. Next time you’ll have to join us, Josie. I bet you could pick out the cast for the movie better than that tight-assed bitch they put in charge.”

Josie glared at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Cut the act, McCray,” Dane said, his tone hard. “Did you talk to this woman?”

McCray shrugged, but his posture remained slightly slumped as if he didn’t intend to venture out of character. “For a minute. Name is Charity, right?”

Dane gave a clipped nod. “Yes. What did you two talk about?”

“She wanted to play the reporter Carol Little but said she’d take any of the victims’ parts.” A leer pulled at the corners of his mouth as if the mention of victims excited him. “I offered to practice lines with her.”

“Is that all you offered?” Dane asked. “Did you also suggest tying her up and reenacting her murder?”

Heat flickered in his eyes as if the thought excited him. “We could have role-played that, yes.”

“How about stabbing her in the heart?” Dane asked. “Did you want to role-play that?”

McCray tugged at his chin. “Where are you going with this, Agent Hamrick?”

Dane ignored the question.

Josie had read about interrogation tactics. Intimidate the man and throw him off his game.

“Did you see her in private?” Dane pressed.

“No,” McCray said. “That photographer showed up, and she went outside to talk to him. I lost track of her after that.”

“Did you see her leave?” Dane asked.

McCray angled his head to one side. “No, but I wasn’t paying attention. I met a couple of the other ladies, and we downed some shots.”

“You went out of character, Mr. McCray. Billy Linder didn’t drink,” Josie said, watching for a reaction.

McCray frowned.

“He could be charming,” McCray said in defense.

“Linder wasn’t a smooth talker,” Josie stressed. “He was awkward with women, shy. That’s why the women trusted him, because he didn’t come across as dangerous or cocky. He was vulnerable.”

Anger reddened the man’s face. “I know that and I can play that part.” He wiped at his forehead. “But the party did take place after hours.”

Dane jumped in. “You said you were with some other women that night. I need their names.”

McCray worked his mouth from side to side. He slipped back into character and mimicked the way Billy pulled at his chin.

Josie’s stomach knotted.

“This sounds like some kind of inquisition,” McCray said. “Did something happen to Charity?”

“Yes,” Dane said bluntly. “She’s dead.”

The man’s nostrils flared. “Dead? How?”

“She was murdered.” Dane muttered a sarcastic sound. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You want to be Billy Linder so much that you altered your appearance. You studied his moves. You stabbed her so you’d know what it felt like to murder someone like he did.”

McCray lifted his hands, his voice shrill, almost panicked. “I have role-played murder,” he admitted. “That’s as far as it went.”

Dane leaned closer to the man, his jaw firm, his posture aggressive. “I don’t believe you. I think you wanted to know what it was like to feel someone die at your hands. You don’t just want to play Billy Linder, you want to be famous like him.”

Josie curled her fingers into her hands. Maybe her book and this movie had been a mistake. If someone was using it as a blueprint for murder, she should get the book pulled from the shelves and put a halt to this film.

Of course that would mean giving in to her fear, giving in to this latest madman. Overcoming her nightmares was the only way for her to be whole again.

Guilt clawed her, making her chest heave.

Except how could she be whole if telling her story had cost another woman her life?

Neesie Netherington had come a long way from Biloxi, Mississippi, hoping to get a break in this true crime film. True, it wasn’t a big-screen production with a superstar as the lead, but it would earn her a SAG card, get her foot in the door, and prove to those Hollywood folks she could act.

Not that there was much to playing dead, but there would be the big drawn-out abduction and the kill scene. The way Josie DuKane had described her ordeal, the Bride Killer kept his victims for a while and forced them to endure tests his mama set up to prove they could be a good wife.

Hell, she’d done the wife thing, thank you very much. She’d kissed that bastard Leroy’s feet and ass for as long as she could take it.

One day that handsome photographer had come to Biloxi, set up shop at the mall of all things, and invited local girls and women to do photo shoots. He promised to make them look like stars.

She tested the weight of her new double Ds in her hands, adjusting her top to maximize cleavage, and smiled at the perfect face that stared back. That dang scar on her cheek where her stepdaddy had broken her jaw was now gone. No more pancake makeup for her or stares or rude comments behind her back.

She furrowed her brows. Leroy hadn’t liked her new face. He’d accused her of doing it to leave him for another man. Then he’d cut her.

She rubbed at her torso where he’d scarred her. No one could see it with her clothes on, but she knew it was there. A reminder of Leroy. Just the way he’d wanted it.

Someday she had to get it fixed.

She’d heard Porter McCray offer to run auditions with anyone interested, and she intended to take him up on it. She’d do everything she could to up her chances. And she could use some acting tips.

First, Eddie was going to do another shoot with her, a private one where she’d dress in a wedding gown like the Bride Killer’s victims and pose with a rose stem between her teeth.

Eddie was nothing but a creative genius. He’d also offered to take a couple of the teenagers to Graveyard Falls and shoot them standing on the edge of the falls as if they were about to be pushed over by Charlene Linder.

Her stomach roiled at the thought. She hated heights.