Now that White was dead, Vernon’s own psychosis could have progressed to the point that he was emulating his mentor’s crimes, craving the power—learning the thrill of killing himself.
Then again, if Hanks had followed White and discovered what he was up to with the women, and he’d disappeared, who was to say that White hadn’t killed him and hidden or buried his body someplace else?
Brad’s phone trilled, and he checked the number. His partner.
“Booker. What’s up, Ethan?”
“I’m in Valdosta. Talked to White’s cell mate’s wife, Chartrese. She’s got a new man in her life.”
“What about Curtis?”
“Claims she hasn’t seen Thigs. Apparently he didn’t come home when he was released. And he hasn’t reported to his parole officer, either.”
Shit. Thigs had lived with White, might know all his secrets. And he was missing.
Now they had at least three suspects who were close to White. All of whom were nowhere to be found.
Just like Mindy.
Thank God, none of them knew where Lisa was right now. The hairs on the back of Brad’s arms stood on end, a bad feeling pinching his gut.
Or did they?
LISA, LISA, I know where you are now….
Vernon Hanks closed his eyes and pictured her beautiful face in his mind. Perspiration trickled along his jaw as the tepid air blew in from his open bedroom window. He’d been searching for her for four years.
And now he’d finally found her.
Only he’d temporarily stolen a new name and lied to her today when he’d met her.
Excitement pinged through him, pumping adrenaline through his veins. Unable to sleep, he rose, scratching at the sprinkling of hair on his belly as he strode through the room, unlocked the door to his chamber of secret pleasures, and gazed at the photos he’d collected and taped on the corkboard walls. Photos of Lisa when she’d first come to Georgia State.
She had been so young and vibrant. That yellow-blond hair fanned around her innocent, heart-shaped face as the fall winds tossed the strands from side to side. She had a little pug nose that had probably begged to be tweaked as a child and a chin that tipped up slightly. And her high cheekbones and smile loved the camera.
His gaze skated sideways to a photo of her in her dorm room, sitting cross-legged with her hair in pigtails, looking about twelve years old. She’d been munching on a slice of cheese pizza—he knew because he had delivered the damn thing. Then there was one of her at an ice cream shop licking a mint chocolate chip ice-cream cone. The cutoffs she wore revealed long, shapely legs that he had dreamed about in his sleep. He’d followed her that day, watched with envy as her tongue had flicked out and caught the melting ice cream and sucked it into her mouth. That night, he’d had his first dreams of her, wet dreams filled with images of that tongue working on him, of him melting in her hands.
In the next candid shot, she wore a simple white cotton bra and panties. He’d snapped it when she wasn’t looking, one day when he’d sneaked into the dorm and hidden in the girls’ bathroom. Then he’d watched with ecstasy as she’d stripped and climbed into the shower.
His body hardened at the sight of her small breasts in the photo, his memories conjuring wet dreams again—the dainty pink-tipped nipples jutting out for him, the subtle curve of her spine and belly, the thatch of pale blond curls surrounding her heat. The heat he had longed to touch…
But she had fallen for William White.
And ignored Vernon. Just like the others.
He had wanted to feel sorry for those women when he’d seen the photos in the paper. When he’d read about the way William had ended it with them.
William, his mentor.
His friend.
The man who had tried to kill him.
But Lisa was the one he loved. The one White shouldn’t have taken. Because she should have been his.
He traced a finger over the latest addition to his collection—the photo he’d snapped this morning when he’d seen her walking into the day care. She’d stolen his heart all over again, had robbed his breath. She was so close now, only a heartbeat away.
And soon she would know exactly how he felt about her.
CHAPTER FIVE
BRAD GLANCED AT LISA to see how she was holding up. She seemed to have gathered her composure, but she looked fragile. Terrifying memories of the attack still lay buried beneath the surface, hidden in the multiple layers of her calm.
What if his visit caused them to surface into full-fledged nightmares again? Would he destroy any progress she’d made in recovery here in the mountains?
“Booker, you still there?” Ethan asked.
Brad shook himself. “Yeah. Does Thigs’s wife have any idea where he might have gone?”
Ethan sighed. “No. And she wasn’t very cooperative. Said she sent him divorce papers the week before he was released, that she doesn’t want to see his sorry ass back.”
“So Thigs could be pissed right now. And we both know how he vents his anger.”
“On women,” Ethan said. “But you’d think his wife would be the first one he’d want to see.”
“Yeah, you’d think.” Brad tapped his fingers on the end of the handset. “Can you arrange for the locals to place a tail? He might show up—”
“Already done, partner.”
“Good. I guess I’ll see you back in Atlanta then.”
“Whoa,” Ethan said. “Not so fast. Have you learned anything from Lisa Langley?”
Brad shared their conversation about White’s brother, Vernon Hanks and the mysterious neighbor.
“Listen, Valdosta’s only a couple of hairs from Augusta, where White grew up. I’ll swing over there and see what I can dig up on the brother.”
“Good idea.” Brad gave a cursory glance at the clock and frowned. “No word from anyone on Mindy yet?”
A second’s hesitation passed in strained silence, answering his question, the images of Mindy struggling for her life flashing into his head.
“Sorry, not yet.”
Brad silently cursed.
Not yet
meant that at least that reporter, Nettleton, hadn’t called to inform them of her burial spot.
A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead.
Maybe they still had time….
TIME WAS RUNNING OUT for Mindy Faulkner.
Wayne Nettleton skimmed the front page article he’d written today, his face exuding the smile of a genius wordsmith, a man who knew how to use language to paint a picture as vivid as the photograph of the burial spot where they’d found Joann Worthy’s lifeless body. Albeit a grim picture, but then again, that was the cold face of murder. The very stuff that sold papers.
The Grave Digger Returns! read the headline, forcing the endless stories of drought and water shortages to the second page.
A tingle of elation splintered through him at his good fortune. Then again, man made his own fortune, didn’t he? His own success. A man who sat on his lazy, slovenly butt all day shouldn’t reap the rewards of success and fame—only hard work, careful planning and proper timing could do that.
And of course a great sensationalistic, sadistic serial killer.
He laughed out loud.
Nettleton had all the necessary elements on his side right now, all in the palm of his open hand, ready for him to mold and shape like clay, just as he had the last time. All he had to do was fill in the colors, the shades of gray and black and white, the details that would horrify the public, and perhaps raise the stakes again by offering up the only surviving victim of the first Grave Digger. Lisa Langley. Her pretty, sweet face with those angelic eyes had been good for publicity before. They would be again.
Ahh, but life was grand.
The first Grave Digger serial killer cases had made Nettleton’s name. But the last three years his career had stalled, and his health had gone downhill. The heart attack. Lots of tests. Surgery. Medication.
Now he was back.
His career needed rejuvenation, though, and the rebirth of the Grave Digger would serve the purpose. Especially if he brought Lisa Langley out of hiding.
He flipped through the scrapbook chronicling the first case and stared at Dr. Liam Langley’s photo. He was standing on the courtroom steps, his arm around his daughter, murder in his eyes.
The asshole doctor wouldn’t like this new story. No, he’d hate to see his poor little girl dragged into the proverbial murk of another sinister madman’s plan. Yet the public had eaten up Lisa’s innocence, her pleas that she’d had no idea White had been a monster until he’d unleashed that dark side on her.
Even that stupid Agent Booker had fallen for her guileless act, as if he’d had his nose jammed in her crotch too long to see the truth—that she’d gotten what she deserved for being so stupid.
And now another woman was in trouble. This one had screwed Booker, then turned up missing.
The next victim of Grave Digger #2.
If Booker wasn’t careful, he might find himself on the wrong side of the interrogation table.
Releasing a wry chuckle, Nettleton carefully pressed the fake beard onto his chin, then around his jaws, smiling at the disguise as he combed his dark hair away from his forehead. He had some homework to do on the Faulkner woman before he could finish his story.
If they found her body, saw that she, too, had been buried alive, as had Joann, his story would already be written and ready to go to print. Reporting was, after all, just a game. A game to be played by the masters. A game to be manipulated if need be. A game he intended to win at all costs.
A game that would once again glorify his name and put him in the limelight.
“LISA, I KNOW WHAT dredging up all these bad memories has cost you,” Brad said.
Lisa rose, gathered the tray and moved to the kitchen, unable to sit any longer. The small room closed around her, the suffocating summer heat another reminder of her ordeal in that vulgar wooden box. “If it helps you find your girlfriend Mindy, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Brad followed her. “But I appreciate your help.”
She nodded, forcing an image of Brad and Mindy together into her head as she turned to face him. Through the window behind him, she noticed that the sun had set long ago. The summer temperature would be cooling only slightly, though, and Mindy might be locked underground, just as Lisa had been, fighting for every breath. “I just hope you find her…in time.”
A muscle ticked low in his jaw. “I need to make some more phone calls and then get online. Do you mind?”
Lisa shook her head, startling as a rumble of thunder rolled in from the hills. “No, but I thought you’d be in a hurry to return to Atlanta.”
His gaze locked with hers, the masculine scent of his aftershave filling up the tiny kitchen. His five-o’clock shadow had grown thick, adding to his rough-edged hellion image, and he’d shed his jacket, the holster holding his gun a glaring reminder that he had killed before, and would do so again. “There are a dozen cops working from the city. I want to research this Vernon Hanks, and find out about Aiden Henderson,” Brad said. “My partner’s checking out White’s brother’s hometown, and we’ve issued an APB for White’s old cell mate, Curtis Thigs.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, spiking the dark ends. “Locals are searching for Mindy, and we’ve got a tail on another old boyfriend.” He shrugged. “Let’s talk about the place where you were held…maybe after dinner.”
A frisson of alarm bolted through her, her uneasiness mounting. “You’re staying for dinner?”
“If you don’t mind.” He shrugged. “Or I’ll take you out if you want.”
Lisa shook her head. “No. I like to cook. It keeps me busy.”
Helps my frazzled nerves,
she wanted to say, but didn’t. “Besides, no one here knows about my past. They’re bound to ask questions.”
His lips flattened into a thin line. “Right. I guess I stirred enough gossip by my visit at the day care. And people saw us at the coffee shop.”
She nodded. “It’d be best not to be seen together again. I’ll simply tell everyone you were an old family friend, that you were just driving through town.”
He almost looked offended, but then his guarded expression returned, and he flipped open his phone and punched in some numbers. He asked for a man named Rosberg, then disappeared out the door and returned with a laptop. His hair was damp from perspiration, his shirt dotted with moisture.
He still looked sexy as hell.
But he was only here because of the Grave Digger’s return.
And she was just a tool to help him find the woman he loved—Mindy.
BRAD CONSIDERED correcting Lisa’s interpretation of his relationship with Mindy, but once again refrained. What purpose would it serve?
Lisa would never see him as anything but the man who’d asked her to testify against White, then nearly let her die.
And Mindy’s life might depend on him keeping his objectivity.
“Do you have any word on Mindy?” He squeezed his fingers across the bridge of his nose to stem the headache developing behind his eyes.
“I’m afraid not,” Captain Rosberg said. “The tail is still on the last man she dated, Terry Bitterton, but Bitterton stayed home all day, then signed into the hospital at three. He claims he and Mindy only went out twice for drinks after their nursing shift ended.”
“Did you get a read on him? Does he seem upset about her disappearance?”
“More worried that we think he’s a suspect. According to him, they were just friends.”
“He could be lying. Or maybe he wanted more than friendship,” Brad said.
“We’ll see,” Rosberg replied shortly. “How about you? Has this visit to the Langley woman paid off?”
Brad shot a glance at Lisa, his chest tightening at the sight of her in the kitchen. Steam rose from the stove, the homey atmosphere and cramped quarters making him uncomfortable. Lisa stirred spaghetti sauce, the smell so enticing his stomach growled and his mouth watered. Although her back was to him, he’d watched with admiration as she carefully cut fresh tomatoes, garlic and other ingredients and added them to the pot. She’d prepared a salad and had removed from the freezer a loaf of bread that appeared homemade. The scene looked so domestic that for a moment he’d felt as if he should leave, that he didn’t belong here.
Another part of him savored the delicious smells and cozy cabin. He could easily imagine a fire in the stone fireplace in winter, he and Lisa curled beside the flames with a picnic and bottle of wine—
“Booker?”
Brad cleared his throat, wondering where that ridiculous image had originated. He’d never had a romantic picnic with anyone, and wasn’t about to start dreaming of one now. “She remembered a man named Vernon Hanks who used to hang around White. He disappeared a couple of months after they met. I’m going to search the national database now to see if I can find anything on him.”
“Hmm, maybe it is a lead,” Rosberg said, and Brad realized that the man had been skeptical about his reasons for rushing to see Lisa.
“I’m also investigating everyone I might have ticked off in the last few months in case this guy kidnapped Mindy to seek revenge on me,” Brad said. He filled Rosberg in on his conversation with Ethan, as well as Lisa’s new neighbor, then promised he’d check back in. Rosberg agreed to do the same, then Brad hung up and accessed his computer.
A few minutes later, he’d learned a few things about Hanks, but nothing important. Certainly not where he was now. Damn.
Could Hanks be the killer?
Brad had told Rosberg, Ethan and himself that he wanted to drive here to tap into Lisa’s memory, but deep down in his gut, he’d had a more selfish reason for coming—he’d needed reassurance that she was safe. The fear that gripped him when he thought of Mindy at the mercy of another madman was horrific, but nothing compared to the terror that had seized him when he thought the man might track down Lisa.
She thought he was driving back to Atlanta after dinner.
How would she react when he broke the news that he had no intention of leaving her alone tonight?
Not when a copycat killer was on the loose and her life might be in jeopardy.
LISA HAD NEVER entertained a man for dinner at the mountain cabin. The sheer presence of Brad had resurrected old fears, yet at the same time, his masculine energy radiating through the room triggered her awareness of how much she’d missed having a man in her life. Of having someone to share a simple home-cooked dinner with. Someone besides Ruby. The older woman was a great friend and she loved her to death, but a female friend wasn’t the same as having a male in the house.
Her nerves on edge, Lisa nearly chopped off the tip of her thumb with the knife as she began slicing the homemade bread. She hadn’t realized she’d shrieked out loud until Brad appeared beside her. Blood trickled from her thumb, and he grabbed a napkin and wrapped it around the wound.
“Are you okay?” His eyes searched hers, deep, probing, silently referring to the emotional state, not just the cut.
She nodded. “It’s not that deep.”
Not like William’s bruises.
The tension rattled between them, the sweltering heat making it worse.
“You’d better clean that cut,” Brad said in a husky voice.
She nodded, lifted the napkin, turned on the faucet and ran cold water over her finger.
“Where are your Band-Aids?” Brad asked.
She gestured toward a small cabinet above the stove, and he opened the door, retrieved the box, then ripped one open with his teeth. Her body tingled as he gently took her hand in his, wrapped the bandage around the tip of her finger and secured it.
“Thank you.” She couldn’t drag her gaze from his wide, blunt fingers. Fingers that could pull a trigger and end a life, but which had been so gentle she imagined them running across her face. Then to her cheeks, her neck, and lower, down to her breasts…
He was standing so close to her she inhaled his scent again, felt his breath on her hand as he checked the bandage. “You’re welcome.”
Heat climbed her neck, then he swallowed, and released her finger.
“Dinner’s ready.” A sudden breeze rattled the windows, mimicking the roaring of her heartbeat as she backed away. How was she going to feel when he left tonight? Bereft? Lonely?
“It smells delicious,” Brad said, filling the awkward silence. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve eaten a home-cooked meal.”
Lisa smiled, although it took every ounce of effort she could muster to make it look natural. “I hope you like it.”