Sensing a setup, Jane cocked her head. "Why's that?"
"He'd be a perfect daddy."
Jane rolled her eyes at her daughter's attempt to be sly. "That's quite a hint, young lady."
Kate's smile stretched across her face. "If you married him, maybe he'd go 241
with me to the Daddy Daughter Derby at LeAnn's house this spring."
Sobering, Jane took her child's hands and pulled her close. The Daddy Daughter Derby was a day of waterskiing and barbecuing sponsored by one of her friends, who was being raised by a single dad. "Hey, don't get your hopes up, okay? He lives in New York. He'll be going back there once this case is over."
The sparkle in Kate's eyes winked out, but she lifted her chin. "I figured it'd be something like that. I was just sayin'."
Jane smoothed her hair. "Your grandpa will take you."
"Yeah. That'll be fun," she said, but there wasn't any enthusiasm in her voice, and her shoulders slumped as she headed down the hall to finish her homework.
Dropping the remote, Jane sank onto the couch. All this time, she'd believed she was protecting her daughter by barring any potential love interest from entering her life. But maybe she wasn't protecting Kate so much as she was denying her the chance to have a complete family.
No matter what happened with Sebastian, maybe it was time to start dating.
Even if she didn't deserve the happiness that could come from meeting a good man, Kate certainly did.
Something had changed. Latisha wasn't sure what it was, but she woke up feeling lost, disoriented. She didn't even know where she was....
Wait--she did know. She was in Wesley's bed, which wasn't so unusual.
They'd spent a lot of time here in the past couple of days. He couldn't get enough of her. He was always telling her how beautiful she was, how much he wanted to be with her. It was flattering to think she'd made such an impact on an older man--a cop, no less.
So where was he? He'd been with her earlier, but now he was gone.
She tried to remember what had happened but couldn't. He'd turned off the movie, put on some music and brought out a pack of cards. Whenever she lost a hand, he made her have a shot. And she'd lost practically every one. But then what?
Had she gone to sleep or passed out? Maybe she'd passed out and he'd carried her to bed. She felt woozy.
Squinting, she shoved herself into a sitting position and tried to bring the window into focus. It was dark outside--nighttime. That felt strange in itself, as if 242
part of life had passed her by. Last she knew, it'd been the middle of the afternoon.
"Wes?" she called.
The house remained completely silent.
Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she dropped onto the pillows. They'd drunk too much. Her head was still buzzing. Tempted to finish sleeping it off, she rolled onto her side, but a sense of unease kept her from drifting off again. That unease had to do with Marcie, with the fire in the barrel outside, with the blood spatter on Wesley's shoes....
But Latisha didn't want to think about those things. Wes had explained them--or most of them, anyway. She hadn't asked him about the barrel or the shoes, but if he said he let Marcie go, he did.
The alternative was too terrible to contemplate. She preferred to believe him.
Then she could like Wes--the Wes she'd come to know in the past few days, anyway. He'd told her about the man who'd murdered his wife and kid. No wonder he acted out. Latisha knew all about people who acted out. Her father was one of them. Her mother hadn't been any better. The best person Latisha knew was Gloria, but that didn't make Gloria easy to live with. Stubborn and demanding, she gave Latisha little freedom. All she cared about was seeing Latisha graduate from college so she could "be somebody."
Gloria wouldn't be happy to learn that Latisha was now planning to skip college and get married. But even Gloria would be jealous of her ring. No one in their family had ever received one like it. Wes had also promised her a nice house and a family. She'd be a stay-at-home mom, giving her children the kind of care she'd always longed for. And she'd never suffer the poverty she'd known growing up. She'd be middle class. College couldn't bring her much more than that, could it?
She allowed her eyes to close, but opened them a moment later. If Wesley was gone, she could use his computer to see if Gloria had responded to her e-mail.
He was so protective of his laptop, and of her, that he hadn't let her check her e-mail today. He kept saying, "Later." She got the impression he was threatened by Gloria's hold on her, that he might refuse until she'd given him the two weeks she'd promised, which meant this could be her only chance.
Dragging herself out of bed, she stumbled down the hall. "Wes?" she called, but she knew he wasn't home. He would've responded to her when she called out the first time. Since he'd quit chaining her to the floor, he was at her side every 243
second. She just hoped that, wherever he'd gone, he hadn't taken his computer with him.
When she rounded the corner, she found it in its usual place and breathed out in relief. "Still here!" she said with a giggle and began to sing, "Here comes the bride...here comes the bride..."
She sat down and logged on, but it was difficult to see the screen clearly in her current condition. After blinking several times, she made out the list of messages in her in-box and was rewarded when she spotted what she'd been looking for.
"Ta da!" She clicked to open it.
I'm so glad you're okay, she read. Where are you? Can you tell me? E-mail me, call me, do anything you can. The police are looking everywhere for you. So is a woman I contacted from a victims' charity. I'm getting anyone I can to help.
It sounded as if she was going to a lot of trouble. "I told her I'd see her in two weeks," Latisha mumbled and hit the instant-message button.
Gloria? You there?
An answer came almost immediately. Latisha? Is it u?
Hey, her sister was online. What timing. Yeah.
I've been on this thing just about every minute since you wrote me. I've barely let myself sleep. Where are u?
Dont no.
Where is the man who kidnapped u?
Gone.
Can u get away?
Latisha frowned. Here was the tough part. How did she explain that what she'd thought about Wesley in the beginning was no longer true? How did she make Gloria understand that he wasn't as bad as he'd seemed? They'd been having 244
so much fun lately....
I dont want to get way. He goin to marry me, G. He goin to buy me a big house and we're gonna have kids. He treat me god. She was struggling to hit the right keys and was making mistakes, but communicating was more important than fixing everything so it read perfectly.
What r u talkin bout?
U shod see my ring.
He bought u a ring?
He luvs m. Tel Maecie we wrre wrong bout hum.
Her mistakes were getting worse. She was normally a good typist and a great speller, much better than Marcie or Gloria, but her fingers seemed to fumble all over the keyboard. He ben thru a lt. He feel bad he wasnt nic to us at feirst. At lest he lt Marcie go, rit?
What r u talkin bout?
She made more of an effort to type correctly. At least he let Marcie go.
That don't make sense, Latisha. He didn't let Marcie go.
Latisha straightened in her seat. She was beginning to sober up. Sure he did.
She's not here anymore.
Marcie's dead. And that man killed her. U gotta get help before he do the same to u. U gotta get away!
The smell of smoke seemed to penetrate the house as if Wesley was out back doing the burning all over again. But Latisha knew that wasn't the case. She was still alone.
U lyin', she typed. Gloria just wanted to make sure she came home and finished school. Gloria wanted to keep them all together.
245
I'm not. He killed her, Latisha. Stabbed her to death. And dead is dead. Get out! Now!!! I can't lose both of u.
"'I can't lose both of you,'" she read aloud. It was those words, more than any of Gloria's accusations or exclamation points that finally convinced her. Gloria was tough. She didn't say anything sentimental. Not unless she'd been stripped of the pride that kept her going from day to day.
Jumping to her feet, Latisha tripped and almost fell into the table. The empty rum bottle was still on the counter. A package of sleeping pills lay next to it.
Had Wesley put them in her drink? If so, why?
Because he'd wanted to leave. That much was obvious. And he'd wanted her to be here when he returned. But where had he gone? And why had he lied? He'd said he wanted to marry her!
Images of the time they'd spent together in the bedroom came back to her, and she understood. He'd been using her. She made life more comfortable for him out here in this lonely house. He wouldn't let her go. He was lying about that as well as the future he'd promised her.
Her heart raced as she clutched at her aching chest. She'd believed him.
She'd ignored the blood on his shoes and the burning he'd done out back because she didn't want to acknowledge that her sister was dead. It was so much better to think of her at home with Gloria, where she belonged. Gloria would take care of her. It was Gloria who'd always taken care of them both.
But now...Gloria wasn't here.
He'd kill her eventually, Latisha realized. Maybe not today or tomorrow. She was still of some use to him. She wasn't like Marcie. She'd let him control her, let him take what he wanted. But what if she ever defied him? What would happen then?
The answer was all too clear. Gloria was right. She had to get away.
How? Where could she go for help? They were in the middle of nowhere. It was pitch-black outside, which meant she could easily stumble into a ravine or a ditch. She couldn't think as clearly as she needed to, because of whatever he'd given her. And, more frightening than anything else, she had no idea when he'd be back.
Remembering the way he'd kicked Marcie in the face, she cringed. He 246
wouldn't like it if he caught her trying to leave him....
Come morning, would he be burning clothes with
her
blood on them in that barrel outside?
247
Twenty-Three
I
t wasn't as easy to get inside a condo as it was a house. He needed to be cautious. Make a plan.
Malcolm sat at the bus stop across the street from where he'd dumped Marcie's body, wearing his female disguise. To cover his face, he'd wrapped a large scarf around his head the way some Russian immigrants did, and no one had looked at him twice. It was starting to rain, which helped; most people either stayed inside or sheltered beneath an umbrella. Only an old lady with no teeth, who kept her eyes closed and mumbled to herself, and two teenagers listening to iPods and purposely ignoring everything else around them, waited at the bus stop. When the bus arrived, the three of them got on, but no one seemed to notice that he didn't.
Getting to Jane was going to be tricky. Although her unit was on the ground floor, her complex faced a busy street. Late at night, traffic thinned considerably--
he knew because that was when he'd dumped Marcie--but because of it he didn't feel comfortable entering from the front.
If he went around back, there was less chance of being spotted, but more chance of standing out if someone did happen to see him. He'd already circled the complex in his van to get a sense of the layout. Each unit had a back door, with a porch and a small patch of fenced yard.
That would be his point of entry. He could easily scale the fence and go in when he was sure Sebastian wasn't there. According to The Last Stand Web site, some of the women who worked for the charity were experts in self-defense. They even offered courses. Jane could be one of them. There was no need to get in over his head. He'd take her on alone, kill her and wait for Sebastian to return. Then he'd get to witness Sebastian's reaction....
Malcolm studied the units on either side of number 53. With such close neighbors, a gun would be too loud. Only a quiet killing would give him the time he'd need to wait for Sebastian, which meant he'd have to use his knife again.
Fortunately, such an intimate murder wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be.
All it took was enough hate.
"Excuse me. Do you know how much longer it'll be before the bus comes?"
248
He glanced up to see one of those freaky "green" types who biked to work in a suit. Tall and skinny, the guy wore biking gloves and had his bicycle with him.
The gloves looked sporty--but his glasses were fogged up and he had a rubber band around one pant leg. Apparently, the guy was tired of getting wet or had left the office later than usual.
Malcolm had no clue about the bus schedule. Neither did he care. He couldn't talk, anyway. Maybe he was small enough to pull off dressing as a woman, but there was nothing feminine about his voice.
Shaking his head, he waved as if he didn't speak the language and shuffled off.
Once he'd turned the corner and was out of sight, he strode more briskly toward the van, which he'd parked on a nearby street. It was almost nine. He had to get back before Latisha woke up. She wasn't anything like her sister--thank God--
but he couldn't leave her alone too long.
Imagining her sleeping in his bed, awaiting his return, he smiled. There was something to be said for hooking up with someone so young and naive. She didn't fight him the way his previous wives had; she gave him complete control.
Maybe kidnapping her had been the best move he'd ever made, he thought, and took off his costume while he was still in the van so he could stop at the grocery store and buy her some flowers.
It was
so
cold. When she'd first left the house, Latisha had embraced the damp, chilly weather. That and a surge of adrenaline had helped clear her mind of the cobwebs left from the alcohol and the pills. But now she wished she'd taken a blanket from the bedroom. She didn't have a coat. It had been bright and sunny the day she and Marcie had gone to buy doughnuts--and wound up in Wesley Boss's van. Because they hadn't planned on being away for longer than thirty minutes and had the car heater to take the edge off the sixty-degree weather, they hadn't thought they'd need coats. And Wesley had bought them clothes but no outerwear.