HIS eyes burned and his neck felt sore from driving for so long, but he was almost home. The drive from his house in Nashville all the way back to his home in Richmond took the better part of 10 hours and three interstate highways on a good day. He had been driving for at least eleven hours with only a ten minute stop to fill his fuel tank. He continued to hit knots of slow moving traffic that frustrated him tremendously.
Common sense told Bobby he should have stopped hours before and rested for at least a little while, maybe eaten a meal. Then, as he left Tennessee behind and crossed the North Carolina state line, he listened to a talk radio host taking calls about the serial killer they were calling Richmond Red who was slaying women in Virginia’s capital. He knew he needed to keep driving. Carol was going to need him, going to need an extra hand with Lisa due to the extra hours she would have to put in at work.
Or did he need her?
His entire life had shifted underneath his feet in such a way that he was still reeling from the blow. He’d lost his parents. Deep inside his soul, he felt himself mourning that loss underneath the anger. And he’d gained a daughter.
A daughter.
How had she existed for over eight years and he’d not known about it? How could something so profound have been so obscured from him?
And Carol.
What did he mean, and Carol? Why did so many of his thoughts about Lisa end up about Carol? Why did his mind keep going there?
For the last week, he’d been replaying every interaction they had together before he left for Nashville. They’d both known that something would potentially bloom between them. Just as she’d known that what he had to do that moment was go chase his dream. Why had he never followed up with her? Why had he spent nearly nine years never even trying to track her down?
Now she found her way into so many of his waking thoughts. Why? Could they recapture what they shared nearly a decade ago? Dare they even try?
It ate at him, because he didn’t want to confuse his feelings for his daughter with any feelings for Carol, but as the days went on, he felt certain that there was no conflict there. Carol was a special person. He recognized it when he was in college, and he recognized it now.
A green highway sign informed him that Richmond lay just twenty miles ahead. He sat up straighter, feeling a sudden burst of energy. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning, and he wouldn’t see her until early evening, but he would be near. Then, in about fourteen hours, he would pick his daughter up from school and spend the afternoon with her.
CAROL leaned her head back and rested it on the wall behind her, listening to the night sounds all around her. The neighborhood had long since closed down for the night and the lights from the houses on the street had extinguished one by one.
She knew she should go inside and go to bed, too. She didn’t think she could sleep even if she tried, so she stayed where she was and tried to make the image of the burning candles leave her mind.
Her mother had called a few hours ago. The murders in Richmond had made the national news. The cable news networks had gotten wind of the candles. There were more red candles on the news stations right now than on any church altar on Christmas Eve. Carol spent nearly twenty minutes convincing her mother that she and Lisa were perfectly safe. Then she spent another twenty minutes convincing her mother that Lisa was perfectly safe learning to love Bobby Kent.
The glare of headlights crossed her face as they pulled into the driveway next door, and she opened her eyes to watch Bobby get out of what looked like a brand new full-sized pickup truck. She guessed he must have seen her sitting there because he didn’t head into his house. He crossed the lawn toward her instead.
“You’re up late,” he observed in a quiet voice, slowly sitting down in the chair next to hers and angling it so that he could prop his feet on the porch railing. His voice came out deep, so baritone it nearly sounded bass, and mellow. She could hear the fatigue in his speech. She wondered when the last time he had spoken to anyone that day was.
“I’m having a hard time winding down tonight,” she asserted. Carol knew she should offer him something to drink, but she really didn’t feel like getting up. “It’s been a busy day.”
“I imagine.”
He must have driven for at least twelve hours. “I didn’t know you were driving back. I figured you’d fly.”
Bobby shrugged. “I was sick of that rental car. I wanted my truck and some stuff from my house.” He rolled his head in a slow circle on his neck. She heard his neck bones pop like cracked knuckles. “You wouldn’t mind if I got some water, would you? I’m thirsty and still wired from the drive.”
Carol sat up. “Yeah. Sure,” she said, but Bobby put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“I can help myself, Carol. Stay put.” She leaned back and closed her eyes again while he was gone, and a few moments later, jumped a little when she felt something cold being pressed into her hand. “I grabbed you one, too,” he said. He sat back down while she took a sip of her water and propped his feet back on the railing. “You want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Richmond Red.”
Carol shrugged. “What is there to say that I can even talk about?” She took another sip, feeling the cold liquid slide down her throat. “I just wish he’d make one mistake so I could actually do something,” she said. “All I do now is sit back and observe.”
She stood, nervous energy keeping her from being able to sit still. “The press started showing up today. By the time I left this afternoon, they were camped out on the outside steps. I’m probably lucky they haven’t decided to come here yet.”
She suddenly realized something, and turned to look at Bobby. “Some reporter wanted to talk about my new next door neighbor yesterday,” she asserted with her eyes narrowed.
Bobby held his hands up. “I can’t do anything about that, except keep it quiet as long as possible.”
She didn’t listen to him, her mind raced too fast for that. “Oh Lord above,” she said, running her hands through her hair, “how could I not have thought of that before? You’re like this big superstar. They’ll eventually track you down. Lisa probably told everyone she knows at school today, and the kids from her party already know you were there.”
The ice in Bobby’s glass rattled as he took a sip. “I think you’re concentrating on the wrong thing here, Darlin’. Lisa and I are a separate issue from the murders.”
“No, no. You’re wrong. It all has to do with the press hounding me. You’ll just be an added incentive.” She sat back down in a huff. “Why in the world, with all of the years behind us, did you pick now to come back, Bobby?”
“God’s timing is perfect, Darlin’.” Bobby sat up and his voice lost the teasing tone. “Look, Carol. What time is it right now? Two? You’ve been up for what, twenty hours? Why don’t you go inside and get some sleep? Turn your mind off for a while.”
Carol set her water down and stood back up. “No. Bobby, you and I need to discuss this. How in the world are we going to prevent the storm?”
He sat up straighter. “I hate to tell you this, beautiful, but there is no way to prevent the storm. It’s one of the sacrifices I make for fame. Comes with stardom. Unfortunately, it’s a price we all will have to pay, now.”
Carol rubbed her temples. “That is just not acceptable. There has to be something we can do.” She dropped her hands and sat on the second step of the porch. “How can you be so nonchalant about all of it?”
“I used to thrive on it. Now I simply live with it. Comes with the job. Comes with yours, too. You’ve been on TV more than I have recently.” He moved so that he sat next to her, and took her hand. “No one’s looking to you for the blame, hon. They’re just looking to anyone for the answers. After the Sunday talk shows, the whole country’s worried about this, and the cameras have chosen you. It could just as easily have been the detective or your boss, but you make better print. More… photogenic.”
Carol turned her head to look at him, smiling despite the conversation topic. “That’s rather sexist, isn’t it?”
Bobby shrugged. “Sexist or not, it’s the truth.”
His hand felt cool from his glass of iced water. Within a few heartbeats, his hand had warmed again.
“I don’t think that’s it. Or at least, I don’t think that’s everything,” she asserted.
He raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
She said, “Since the late 1960s, there have been more than ten thousand murders every year in the United States. Some years there are more than twenty thousand. The talking heads seem to focus on cases that are rare enough to be interesting while reinforcing whatever agenda they’re peddling that week.”
Bobby nodded. “I can see that.”
“It’s just an agenda. They push a controversial agenda, they sell more advertisements, because they have higher ratings. These murders involve strangulation. Of all murders in the US, strangulation has historically accounted for less than 1 percent. That makes it pretty rare. The killer has strangled only women. No one has a handle on his motive yet. That makes it interesting. Then there are the candles. They’re nothing but camera fodder. That the killer lays them out in a pentagram plays like a media script. The alleged ties to the occult are endless.”
Bobby took a sip of his water. “Carol, what do you think the candles mean?”
Carol shivered. “It could mean the killer regrets killing. It could mean he wants to shed light on his crimes. What scares me a little is that it honestly could have some kind of Satanic significance, and that would mean this is cult activity. But I have a different theory.”
He peered at her face in the dim light. “What’s your theory?”
She returned his gaze, wondering if Bobby would understand the context of her answer. “I believe the killer is simply insane.”
Bobby pursed his lips and nodded. “That fact is probably often overlooked.”
“Doesn’t play well as a six o’clock sound bite.”
He let go of her hand and moved up until he occupied the top step, and shifted so that he sat directly behind her, then he began rubbing the muscles in her neck and shoulders. Carol practically melted into the porch and rested her head on her knees to give him better access. “Maybe just ignore them, give them the ‘I can’t comment on an ongoing case’ comment, then turn on the news every night and watch yourself walk by the cameras looking like a million bucks.”
“Mmmm,” Carol said, not even trying to comprehend the words he said while his fingers were doing such magical things to her muscles. She turned her head to one side and almost moaned out loud when he found a particularly good spot. She felt the rest of the world wash away with the tension, felt her threatening headache slip into the background. She let her body drift until the pressure ceased and he simply caressed her skin. It felt so right when he pressed his lips to her neck, that she tilted her head to one side and shifted her body until the back of her head rested on his knee.
It had been so long since she had been touched this way, and it felt like her whole body was suddenly one large nerve ending centered in her neck. He slowly kissed his way up across her jaw and to the corner of her mouth while one of his hands resumed its caresses, and he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer to him so that she was practically cradled in his arms.
When his lips covered hers, she felt every pore in her body vibrate as if they were the strings on her violin. Every touch, every stroke, seemed to hum through her until she felt like she was about to explode.
She shifted to turn her body to get closer to him when her knee hit her glass. It tumbled down the steps, and the sound of the glass striking the pavement and shattering broke through the moment.
What was she doing? She broke the kiss and pushed away from him, scrambling to her feet and putting a hand over her mouth. Bobby rubbed his face with his hands and stood. “Sorry about that,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I meant to take it a lot slower.”
She slowly shook her head. Her voice sounded hoarse when she said, “I don’t have time for this.”
“I know that, Darlin’. No pressure. No rush.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket, jingling them in his hand while he ambled back to his house. “We’ve got the rest of our lives,” he threw over his shoulder with a grin.
She finally found her voice. “Bobby, do you remember what got us into trouble the first time?” she asked, loudly enough so that he could hear. He stopped in the middle of the lawn and turned to look at her.
“Darlin’,” he said, “there aren’t a whole lot of nights in my life I remember more vividly.” He winked as he turned his back on her again, and she could hear him whistling a tune as he unlocked his front door.