Don’t you worry, now you hear me? No one saw us. We are safe. We weren’t spotted the other night. Close. But we are in the clear. Come on around this evening after work. The girls will be gone and we can snuggle in my bed without anyone watching us.
Chapter Ten
Sunday, October 16, 5
PM
Restless energy churned in Rachel hours after Deke had left. She worked on her sculpture but found the work frustrating and futile. She paced. Attempted to write a brief but the more she corralled her thoughts, the tighter and tighter her skin grew. As much as she wanted to go for a run and sweat away her grief her injury wouldn’t allow it. She was trapped in these four walls with her thoughts.
Last night when her attacker had struck her shoulder, the pain had been blinding. It had robbed her of breath and thought. And that had been a glancing blow. Not the full-on blows that Lexis had endured.
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the image of her friend dying so brutally. Rachel finally gave up any stab at work or art. She changed into jeans and a long-sleeved button-down shirt that she eased into slowly. Bending her arm was painful but she managed it and fumbled with her buttons until they were fastened. She slipped her feet into loafers, grabbed her purse, and she left the office.
The walk to her parking spot was a half block but her nerves snapped as she passed parked cars able to mask an attacker. Her heart raced as she neared a familiar alley, glanced down and searched for a hooded attacker. Seeing no one, she hurried to her car. A click of the button, the doors unlocked and she slid behind the wheel, breathless. For a moment she let the warmth of the seat seep into her bruised shoulder. Getting around wasn’t as easy as she’d imagined.
She started the car and pulled onto the side street. Less than thirty minutes later, she arrived at the rustic address that Lexis had loved so much. She stopped one hundred yards from the cabin studying the crime-scene tape and the police car positioned by the forensics van.
She studied the cop car, knowing he’d be the gatekeeper she’d have to get past if she wanted a look at the crime scene. When she realized he wasn’t in the patrol car, she grabbed her purse and hurried the last one hundred yards. Her shoulder throbbed and begged her to stop but she kept moving, hesitating at the yellow crime-scene tape. Everyone entering the crime scene changed it in some way, whether they picked up critical fibers, tracked foreign dirt or smudged a fingerprint.
Rachel wanted to go into the house and stand where her friend had lived. She wanted to tell Lexis that she was sorry. How had all this spiraled so badly out of control?
As much as she wanted to do all this, she didn’t cross the line. Her grief did not trump the cops’ job of catching this killer.
“Tell me you aren’t thinking about entering my crime scene.”
Rachel turned to see a petite woman dressed in a blue Nashville PD jumpsuit. Behind her stood the uniformed officer. He was tall, lean, and annoyed.
“Who are you?” the officer asked.
Rachel’s attention went to the woman. She wore heavy boots and had wound long strawberry blond hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wasn’t tall, in fact delicate described her better but her gaze possessed a fierceness that told anyone with half a brain that she didn’t mess around. Her name tag read,
Officer Morgan
.
Morgan. This woman might not look like Deke Morgan but she shared his demeanor. And with the way Rachel’s luck had been going, they were kin.
Rachel stepped back from the tape. “I wasn’t going to mess with the crime scene.”
“What are you doing here?” Officer Morgan approached, her booted feet thudding into the dirt.
She tightened her fingers around her purse strap. “I was a friend of Lexis Hanover’s.”
A delicate brow arched. “I know you.”
Rachel stifled a grimace, knowing her name would now end up in some report that would land on Deke Morgan’s desk. Crap. “I’m Rachel Wainwright.”
Officer Morgan tilted her head as if her interest-meter spiked. “You look different without your business suit.”
Another TV fan. “And I covered the bruise on my cheek with makeup. I will forever be known as the woman decked on the eleven o’clock news.”
A smile twisted the edges of her lips. She turned to the officer. “I got this.”
He hesitated and then returned to his vehicle.
“There’re worse legacies.” Officer Morgan held her sketchpad close. “So you’re trying to get Jeb Jones freed?”
“I’m trying to get the DNA testing back. That will tell me whether I should keep listening to him or walk away.”
“Do you think he did it?”
“It’s not for me to judge.”
Eyes as brittle as glass studied her. “But you have an opinion. I’ve never met an attorney that didn’t have an opinion.”
“I have thoughts.”
“Which are?”
Rachel could verbally fence with the best and she was up against the best. Time to thrust and parry. “You must be related to Deke Morgan.”
That tipped her off guard. “Why would you say that?”
“You have his way of asking questions. Not satisfied until you get the answer you really want.”
Blue eyes narrowed. “Maybe that’s a cop thing.”
“The name tag aside, I’d say it’s also a Morgan thing. Family gatherings must be interesting.”
“I never said we were related.”
Rachel shook her head slowly. “You could be a cousin, but my vote goes to sister. Kid sister.”
Tight-lipped but curious, she shrugged. “Bingo. I’m the kid sister.”
Rachel inventoried the milky skin and the splash of freckles partly hidden by powder. “You don’t look much like him. But you act and sound just like him.”
“Guilty as charged. I’ve been hearing that since I was five.”
“Is police business the family business?”
“I joined eight years ago after I graduated from college. I loved forensics so it was a natural. Another brother is retired police. Another is with TBI.”
“A police family dynasty.”
Weight shifted from foot to foot as she readied a battle stance. “A dynasty founded on the conviction you are trying to overturn.”
“I’m looking for the truth, Officer Morgan. If Jeb is guilty then the matter is closed. Have you considered that he might be innocent?”
“He’s not.”
She clung to her position. “If he is innocent, then the real killer got away with killing Annie Rivers Dawson.”
“I don’t believe the killer did get away. My father arrested the right man.”
And so they’d reached the impasse that would not be crossed until the final test results. “Look, I didn’t come here to fight. I came to see . . . to see the home Lexis loved. I’ll let you get back to your work.”
As Rachel turned, she saw the tented yellow numbers that indicated evidence. Deke had said Lexis had been drawn outside and attacked. An anguished breath shuddered through her and her own shoulder throbbed, a reminder she’d forgotten to take her aspirin. Her fingers massaged her shoulder.
From behind her Officer Morgan said, “You were attacked last night.”
The tented yellow numbers wound around the house like Oz’s yellow brick road. Would they lead the police to the killer? “Yes.”
“Did you find evidence to help catch this guy?”
“I wish I had.” Rachel faced Officer Morgan, surprised to find concern had wiped away the anger. “I wish that I’d been able to ID him. If I had, Lexis might still be alive. But I didn’t see him. If I can help with this case, Officer Morgan, please let me know.”
“Sure.”
Rachel turned from the crime scene and the officer’s questioning gaze. She walked seven feet before the tears welled.
Rebecca Saunders loved sin.
Perhaps because she’d been raised to believe that all forms of pleasure were evil. Liquor, loud music, short skirts . . . they were all one-way tickets to hell, according to her daddy and momma.
By age twelve she’d learned to hide her devils behind an angel’s guise to avoid the beatings. She’d learned to keep her skirts long, her diet modest, and her music classical. But the devils never left her and as she grew older they coaxed her truest self to life.
By day she worked hard, made the best grades, and landed a prime job. But at night, when the sun dipped low and darkness masked sins, she’d changed into her short skirts and high heels and hit the honky-tonks. She liked meeting men. She was intoxicated by her feminine power over them. She liked to watch their eyes light up as she slowly peeled off her clothes and then teased them and told them that perhaps she’d changed her mind. She liked to hear them whimper and beg.
It was well past eight when Rebecca stepped off the hotel elevator and walked the carpeted hallway toward her room. She smiled. Tonight she had an old customer and a new fantasy to fulfill.
She opened the door and dropped the key on the mahogany side table by the door. She kicked off her shoes and savored the way her bare feet sunk into the plush carpet.
A long time ago, she’d learned to set her standards high. If a man wanted her, they’d not be meeting in a dumpy motel. No, sir. She wanted the best. She wanted to hold her head high when she crossed a lobby decorated with marble and fine carpets. She wanted to know she could call room service on a whim and order strawberries and champagne if it suited her or step into a marble shower bigger than her old bedroom.
She set her purse on the end of a bed made with a lush white comforter, shrugged off her jacket, and shimmied out of her slim skirt. She’d been looking forward to tonight. It had been nearly impossible to concentrate as she thought about slipping out for this meeting.
She turned on the television and switched to an all music station. The music was a soft, seductive jazz that made her sway as she glanced toward an ice bucket with an open bottle of chilling Chardonnay. She smiled. He’d followed her instructions well.
“Good boy,” she purred as she poured herself a glass. “I’ll reward you for that.”
In the bathroom, she sipped her wine and filled the tub with hot water. She pinned her hair up loosely, letting key strands drape over her breasts. He would like seeing her this way. Warm. Wet. Seductive.
Rebecca sipped her wine and leaned her head back against the tile. A sigh shuddered through her. She closed her eyes, letting the warm water waft over her skin. When she’d finished her wine, she rose out of the tub, pulled a plush towel from the rack and dried. She picked up her empty wineglass and moved toward the bottle for a refill.
As she filled her glass she had the sudden sense that someone was behind her. Her skin tingled. Stiffening, she slowly replaced the bottle into the ice bucket. Her fingers clutched her wineglass as unexpected anxiety sliced through her body.
As she slowly turned, her peripheral caught the form of a tall, thick man. A black mask covered his face and dark gloves covered fisted fingers. Gripping the glass tighter, she hurled the wine toward him hoping for an extra second to race to her purse still sitting on the bed.
The stranger dodged the paltry attack and returned with his own. A hard open hand slapped her face.
Pain rocketed through her jaw and head as she stumbled toward the bed. She caught herself from falling into the plush comforter and scrambled off the side of the bed toward the back of the room. Her attacker laughed, clearly enjoying the chase. She reached toward the wine bottle and picked it up by the neck.
As she raised it over her head and wielded it like a club, cold expensive wine sloshed her arm and over her naked breasts. “Get the fuck away from me.”
“You try to hit me and I’ll make this worse.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughed. The hunt excited him. He moved toward her and she swung, a glancing blow striking his shoulder.
“Bitch,” he growled. He closed the gap between them, grabbed her by the throat and backed her up to the curtained windows. As he squeezed her windpipe, he pressed her into the silk fabric and the cold glass behind it. She choked for air but didn’t release the bottle. He squeezed harder, banging her hand none too gently against the thick hard glass. “Keep fighting. Please. I’d love to snap your neck.”
She stared into the masked face, dark gray eyes staring at her with feverish intensity. She screwed up her face and spit.
He grabbed her naked breast and dug his fingers into the soft flesh around her nipple. Pain mingled with a lack of oxygen and soon her vision blurred. The fight drained from her body. She dropped the bottle. Seconds before she would slip into unconsciousness, he yanked her away from the window and threw her on the bed.
She choked in air, the skin around her nipple burning, as she scrambled to gather her wits. The tip of a knife pressed to her jugular tracked the blue-green line along the column of her throat past the hollow of her neck. “Make a sound and I’ll skin you alive.”
Her gaze narrowed and he must have read the defiance because with the knife tip he nicked her breast. Pain shot. Blood trickled down the side of her breast.
“Be a good girl?”
She nodded.
He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out handcuffs. Cold metal clinked around her right and left hands. In seconds both were secured to the bedpost.
The man ran his hands over her naked mound, squeezing hard before clamping metal around both her ankles.
“Spread your legs,” he ordered.