Naked Truth (Crimson Romance) (17 page)

“What’s this all about? Where’s the connection? Shannon was a good girl. And she’s dead. How could she be connected with my boys’ murders?”

Jack ignored his partner’s imploring look and slid a file folder across the table before flipping it open. Inside was an eight-by-ten photograph of a pretty brunette with curly hair and a wide, happy smile. Danny’s eyes widened as he sucked in a breath.

“Shannon.” His right hand stroked the picture. “Ah, Shannon,” he whispered, his voice cracking with unshed tears. “Why’d you have to go and give it all up, baby?”

“We don’t think she did, Danny,” Cullen said grimly. Jack pushed the photograph to the side. The one underneath was of her mother. The photo was roughly five years old and, they presumed, sans a wig. She had dark hair, just like her daughter, cut into a shoulder-skimming bob. Her eyes were wide, large. She had a pug nose, full lips. There was no question that she had once been as pretty as her daughter.

“That’s her mother. Can’t remember her name …”

“Marie?” Cullen prompted.

“Yeah, that’s it. Shannon said if the baby was a girl, she wanted to name it after her mother. I told her Marie was a middle name not a first name, and maybe that’s why her mother was so possessive—because her name was confused. Shannon always thought my lame jokes were funny.” He stroked the picture again.

Would Jack react the same way if—God forbid—something happened to Kennedy? The regret and sadness, coupled with the agony of not being allowed to have something so fleeting and precious.

Love.

“We don’t think it was suicide, Danny,” he repeated.

“What do you mean?”

“We suspect her mother killed her, probably because she was dating you and got pregnant with your baby.”

Danny was not easily swayed. “It was a suicide,” he sputtered. “I found her in the bathtub. It was horrible.” He shuddered. “Besides, her mother was crazy about her. The woman treated her like she was a fragile doll that could break at any moment. She wanted only the best for Shannon; that’s why she hated the fact that we were dating.”

“She was twenty-five when she died,” Jack said, picking up the photo of the pretty brunette. “Quite an age difference between you, don’t you think? You’re older than her mother.”

Danny shook his head. “Age didn’t matter to us. We were in love. Shannon always laughed about it; she said the guys her age were too immature. And I like to think I can compete with any of them when it comes to keeping myself in shape.” Danny puffed out his well-toned chest.

“We suspect her mother may have killed her. And her father. And your dancers,” Cullen explained. “Did she ever tell you anything about her father?”

Danny’s face had gone white under his fake tan. “Shannon said her father was killed in a home invasion when she was two. Her parents were never together. He was a dancer, a stripper. I remember she was real nervous about telling her mom about me because of it. Said her mom had a real hang-up over men in general, but especially strippers. You think she really killed Shannon? And my boys?” Disbelief was slowly shifting to shock.

“We found records of psychiatric treatment in her background. She appears to have a very obsessive personality. Feels the need to eliminate things that don’t fit into her world.”

“I loved her daughter. She loved her daughter, as far as I could tell. Why would she kill her?”

“Probably because you loved her, I’m guessing,” Jack said grimly. “Our theory is that she was afraid of history repeating itself. From what we’ve dug up so far, Shannon’s father was just in it for a good time. He had no interest in raising a family, being a dad, being a husband. We believe he made that clear right from the beginning, but Marie kept pestering him, kept trying to pressure him into being a part of Shannon’s life. One of our guys managed to talk to a woman who was interviewed when he was killed. According to her, they had recently started dating, and it was getting serious. She said they had just started talking about moving in together, and two days later, his house was broken into, and he was killed.”

“You think Shannon’s mother did it because she found out he was serious about some other chick,” Danny guessed.

“Yeah. That’s our theory right now. We’ll have a better idea once we have Marie in custody.”

“So she killed her baby daddy because he fell for someone else. She killed Shannon because she fell for me. So why isn’t she coming after me? Why my boys?” He gripped the edge of the table.

“We don’t know why,” Jack said. “We have a couple of theories, but we won’t know for certain until we apprehend her.”

“What are your theories?” When neither agent immediately spoke, Danny smacked his palm onto the table. “Damn it, I have a right to know. These boys have died on my watch. I promised them money and fame and women, not death before thirty.”

He could tell by the way Cullen rapidly tapped his pen against his leg that his partner didn’t want to go into any more detail. But Jack figured the guy had a right to know. He had always been more forthcoming than Cullen, which was funny, really, considering the last couple weeks he’d spent with Kennedy. Where would they be now if they had only talked openly, even just once?

“One of our theories is that she’s trying to get her revenge by destroying your mode of living. Maybe, in her fucked-up way, she thinks she can shut down the entire exotic dance industry. Or maybe she just wants to get at you. Like I said, we won’t know until we talk to her.”

Danny’s hand balled into a fist, and he slammed it onto the table, causing everything on top to jump. A water bottle rolled to the floor. A half-empty cup of coffee overturned, and pale brown liquid streamed across the table. All three men ignored it.

“I loved her, damn it. Shannon was happy. We both were. What right did that woman have to take that away from us?”

She hadn’t had any right. And they were going to make sure she was locked up so that she never hurt another person again.

Tonight.

Something was wrong. They’d checked the tapes, they’d shown her picture to all the other dancers and the bouncers. Marie Maloney had been at every single show since Danny’s Diamond Dancers came to town more than a week ago. It didn’t make sense that she wasn’t at the club tonight.

“She couldn’t possibly know we’re on to her,” Jack muttered as he once again scanned the crowd of cheering, screaming women from behind the stage where he and Cullen were hidden, out of the patrons’ view. Tonight, they were straight-up FBI agents, waiting for their suspect to make an entrance so they could close this case and go home. Cullen planned to lock himself and Sabrina into their house together for the duration of the weekend. Jack planned to go to his empty home and do … nothing. Probably, he’d just sit on the couch for three days, watching sports on television, drinking beer, and eating pizza. What the hell else did he have to do?

What he should do, he told himself maliciously, was pick up one of these women who were all hot and bothered over the guy strutting on stage. He ought to go back to his lifestyle of mindless sex with a continuous carousel of nameless women.

Which was just about the last thing he wanted to do, damn it. It pissed him off that Kennedy had such a hold on him, that he’d fallen so damn hard for a woman who wasn’t even available to fall for. It pissed him off that despite the fact that she was no longer in the picture, he still had no interest in any other women.

“Something’s not right,” Cullen muttered.

Jack shook off thoughts of Kennedy and glanced at his partner. “You getting one of those vibes you tend to get?”

“Yeah,” Cullen admitted. “There is no logical reason she would not be here tonight. Unless someone tipped her off, or she’s planning something else. But what would it be?”

He glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. One more show and they’d call it a night.

“Maybe she’s waiting till after the show,” he suggested. “Maybe she figured out the location of the new hotel, and she’s waiting there for the dancers to return.”

Cullen pulled out his phone, pushed a button, and then paused while it rang. When someone answered, he directed them to get to the hotel and scope it out, searching for one Marie Maloney.

A moment later, Jack felt his phone vibrate against his hip. He slipped it out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID.

Unknown. He contemplated answering for all of five seconds. Probably, it was a wrong number. Or one of his past flings, hoping to revive something for just one more night.

He wasn’t interested in speaking to either party, so he sent the call to voicemail and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

• • •

“He didn’t answer. I left a message. I guess now we just wait.”

Marie placed the phone on the table situated between her and her prisoner. The prisoner gave her a sullen look.

“Don’t look at me like that, Shannon,” Marie admonished. “This is for your own good. Just as soon as he calls back, I’ll explain the rules of the situation, and then I’ll call my associate, who will meet him at a pre-defined place to retrieve your necklace. Once we have the necklace, we can leave.”

Kennedy glared at the mad woman. Who the hell was Shannon? Had she really been kidnapped because this woman thought she was someone else?

What an idiot she’d been. The woman had showed up at her door a few hours earlier, looking innocent and elderly and clearly upset.

“It’s Jack, sweetie pie,” she’d said in a clear New Orleans drawl. “He’s so devastated, he’s locked himself in his house. I’m worried he’s going to do harm to himself. Maybe you can talk him off the ledge?”

She hadn’t even questioned the woman. Hadn’t thought to ask who she was, how she knew Jack, and why she knew to come to Kennedy when he was in trouble. The woman looked vaguely familiar and she insisted Jack was in trouble, so Kennedy had grabbed her purse and shoes and followed the lady to her car. If Jack were in trouble, she would help, whether he wanted her to or not.

In reality, he probably did not want her help. She was certain he hated her at this point. For as long as she lived, Kennedy knew she would never forget the look on his face when she admitted she was still married to Jerry. It was as if someone kicked his puppy while he sat helplessly and watched. Considering that Jack probably didn’t have a helpless bone in his body, that was saying something.

More important, he looked as if he would never forgive her, ever, no matter what she said or how she explained that she had no idea Jerry hadn’t granted her the divorce. If only Jack would give her a chance to explain. If only.

Although, at the moment, she had more immediate concerns to deal with. Such as the fact that she’d been kidnapped by someone who very clearly knew that she and Jack had some sort of connection.

It was embarrassing how easy she’d made it. She’d simply slid into the front seat of the woman’s car. At that point, the lady had shoved a rag into Kennedy’s face, and of course Kennedy had done what any normal human being would do: she’d tried to suck in air, startled by the sudden lack of oxygen.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting in a chair in what she surmised was a motel room. Her arms were tied together behind the back of the chair, and her legs were tied to the chair legs. There was a gag in her mouth that made it difficult to breathe, especially when she’d come to and initially panicked.

“Breathe,” the crazy old woman commanded harshly. “Breathe. Through your nose. There you go. You’re too valuable to lose just yet.” Her tone had been so different from the gentle, encouraging voice she had used to lure Kennedy from her house.

Panic threatened to well again as Kennedy listened to the batty woman leave a message for Jack, telling him it was imperative that he call her back because she had something he wanted, and he had something she wanted, and she was more than happy to make a trade. If she weren’t gagged, Kennedy would have told the woman not to waste her breath. Jack didn’t want her; not anymore.

After disconnecting her cell phone, the woman began blathering about some impending baby and possible nursery colors, referring to a woman named Shannon, who Kennedy surmised was somehow related. Maybe the woman’s daughter? Strangely enough, when she talked about the baby, she talked in the same soothing voice she’d used on Kennedy when she first kidnapped her. Kennedy had the uncomfortable feeling the woman thought
she
was Shannon.

Is that why she was kidnapped? Did the loony lady think Kennedy was her long-lost daughter? Was she afraid Kennedy—or Shannon—would run away again? Is that why Kennedy was tied to a chair, with a gag in her mouth?

In an effort to both distract herself from the fresh panic welling, and to try to determine where the hell she was, she tore her eyes away from her captor and had her first, solid look at her surroundings. The walls were a neutral shade. There were paintings of theatre masks, the kind that were readily available in every retail chain within 500 miles of New Orleans. There were two beds—Kennedy hoped that didn’t mean the woman intended to keep her overnight—and both were covered with worn, navy blue bedspreads. The carpet looked threadbare and the sink and a large mirror were outside of what she assumed was the bathroom. Wherever they were, the accommodations were not expensive by any means.

Kennedy didn’t travel very often, and when she did, she usually crashed with a relative, so she did not have nearly enough experience with motels to even venture a guess as to the chain, or even the location of this room. She assumed she was still within the vicinity of New Orleans. Otherwise, how would her captor be able to arrange to meet Jack to trade for whatever he had that she apparently wanted back?

Was Shannon one of Jack’s former lovers? But then what was the old woman’s involvement? Why did she think Kennedy was Shannon? And what the hell did Jack have that was so important this lunatic had been willing to kidnap her just to get it back? Didn’t the woman realize she was dealing with the FBI? Besides the fact that Jack would have no interest in exchanging Kennedy for anything, he would most certainly put the job first and set about trying to arrest the woman more than he was likely to come to Kennedy’s rescue.