Thursday, August 15, 1:00 P.M.
Luke and Faith had just checked into the Starlight Motel, and after what they’d done to Jeremy Jacobs and his mom, Faith wanted to jump in the shower and scrub herself clean. Too bad dirty tactics didn’t wash off with soap and water.
Luke clicked the dead bolt on the motel-room door and gave her a look that made her regret agreeing to rent only one room. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need to stay overnight, but that all depended on Jeremy Jacobs.
Luke moved slowly toward her, circling her like a wrangler aiming to coax a skittish mare. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
“For joining in the scare tactics? No problem.” She touched her nose like she always did when she told a lie. The knowledge that she’d added to Jeremy’s pain—and to his mother’s fears—was currently burning through her stomach lining like a hot coal. Maybe she could pick up some Tums in the motel gift shop.
Still, she’d do it again. The truth might be hard and cold and scary as hell, but running from it never gets you anywhere. She thought of that corny refrigerator magnet Grace had proudly displayed.
embrace the truth.
Not always an easy thing to do. The Saint was out there; she was certain of it. The menacing photos sent to her cell, a fresh body found with a rosary—those things had to be the work of the Saint, and the Saint had to know Jeremy Jacobs could identify him. The boy’s life was absolutely in danger. Her fingers clenched the hem of her blouse. She and Luke had been right to use whatever tactics necessary to get Jeremy to talk. With Dante in custody, the police had simply stopped investigating other leads. Dante’s life was not the only one at stake. The Saint could have another victim in his crosshairs right this minute.
Luke pulled a foil packet from his pocket and popped something into his mouth.
“Tums?” she asked hopefully.
“Breath mint.” He waggled his brows, and she backed up until her knees bumped the edge of the bed.
He closed the distance between them and swept his hand down the side of her cheek. Her body leaned forward as if he’d yanked a string that connected them at the heart. Like every time he touched her, she wanted more. More fingers, more lips, more skin.
More Luke.
It was not only getting harder to keep the man at arm’s length, it was getting harder to remember why she should. He slid his mouth up against her ear, and while he nibbled, she caught the faintest whiff of his minty breath. Her mouth already open and hungry, she tried to turn in for a kiss, but he relocated, nipping his way down her neck, across her collarbone, and over the hollow of her throat. He dragged his palms down her sides, molding them to the shape of her body. Her skin burned beneath her blouse, and, longing to shed it, she unbuttoned her top button. His hand came over hers. His lips retraced their path, and finally, finally, thank the Lord in heaven, landed on top of hers.
This particular kiss was born of more than physical need though there was certainly that—every scrap of skin she owned clamored for Luke’s attention. But this kiss was hard and rough, fueled by adrenaline and fear and at the very bottom of it . . . trust. A kiss this deep demanded complete faith in the other person. She didn’t know why or how, but she’d come to trust Luke to tell the truth even when it suited his purpose better to lie.
Integrity.
Yes, that’s what Luke had—and she’d never been this wet in her life.
Her hands found his hips and pulled him against her body, savoring the feel of his erection pressing into her stomach.
He broke the kiss. “Don’t push me away, Faith.”
She trailed her fingers over the hard muscles of his arms. “Did that feel like pushing you away? My bad. Because all I want right now is to get as physically close to you as possible, and if some parts of your body happen to get tangled up with some parts of mine, then, hey, that’s just the way it goes.”
He put his hand on the small of her back and jerked her even closer, grinding into her through her clothes. “I’m not talking about sex, and you know it.”
Panic welled in her throat as she fought for control of the situation. She lifted her right knee and draped it over his hip. “But I am talking about sex. And whether you like it or not, you can’t hide the fact that you want that, too. You see, I’m a licensed physician, and I recognize a hard-on when I feel one.” She rubbed her pelvis against his as tightly as she could and rolled her head to the side, exposing her neck to him.
He bent backward, lifting her off the ground, and she wound her legs around him. One hand came up to her nape, and he laced his fingers through her hair. His other hand was under her bottom, supporting her, and crushing her into him at the same time. His mouth slammed down on hers, and she let out a soft cry, both unable and unwilling to conceal her desire for him. She was aching and scared and desperate to feel him inside her—that quickly.
He dropped her on the bed, straddled her, still fully clothed. Grabbing her wrists, he pushed her arms up over her head. Her breath was coming in soft gasps. “Yes,” she moaned.
“No way.” His voice was low and raspy. She blinked hard, confused, tying to read the expression on his face, but her body kept overriding her brain. Finally, her eyes focused. The fast twitch of the muscle in his jaw, the thin hard line of his lips told her he was serious.
“Luke.” He’d reduced her to begging, but she didn’t care, couldn’t care about her pride in this moment. “Please.”
“No way,” he repeated. “I can’t think of any other way to tell you, so I’ll say again, I don’t play games.”
“I’m not playing games.” Not games. This was war. A battle with herself, and every instinct she had was screaming at her to surrender. Surrender not just to his touch but to his need. He’d said he needed her.
“Like hell you’re not.” Pressing her into the mattress with the weight of his body, he used his knee to separate her legs, and she writhed harder beneath him. “You’re a grown woman, with all kinds of skills—a fucking Yale-educated psychiatrist no less, and you’re so afraid of your own feelings, you won’t let anyone get close to you. Sorry you lost your sister, and good for you for channeling that pain into helping others, but just because your sister’s dead, and you’re an orphan doesn’t mean you get a free pass to skip the rest of your life.”
His cold words were a stark contrast to the heat that poured from his body to hers and back again. This was not the moment to examine her past. Her past was what she was trying to escape, right here, right now with him. She wanted the amnesic bliss his body could provide, and if he wasn’t going to cooperate, then to hell with it. She tried to roll out from under him, but his weight completely trapped her. Lifting her head off the bed, she said, “Then just let me go.”
“No way.”
“Would you please stop saying that?”
“Sure. Just as soon as you own up to how you really feel about me—about us.” He narrowed his eyes at her. His erection, like hot steel between her legs, taunted her. “I can stay here all day, sweetheart. So if I were you, I’d start talking.”
Her heart hammered in her chest so fast she couldn’t catch her breath. She should just surrender. “C’mon, Luke.” She controlled her voice to hide the wave of doubt washing over her. “Don’t try to tell me that what we have is any different than what you have with other women, or what I have with other men. You’ll get tired of me soon enough, just like I’ll get tired of you.”
The sound that came out of his mouth this time was feral, aggressive, and underneath it all, wounded.
She wanted to cradle his head in her arms, and if he hadn’t had her wrists pinned mercilessly over her head, she might’ve.
“You’re goddamn right what we have is different. And the only thing I’m tired of is your bullshit.”
Something in her chest turned over and squeezed. Pain and hope simultaneously jetted through her veins, and for one crazy second, she thought she could love this man. Her neck strained as she lifted her head, her pulse pounding in her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I just can’t.”
His eyes were cold blue agate.
“I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved. So maybe you could cut me some slack if I don’t feel like getting overly attached to you.” She forced herself to hold his gaze, willed herself not to let him see her cry.
“I’m not cutting you an inch of slack. Not one single inch.” Keeping her pinned between his thighs, he released her hands. “But hell if I’m walking away without a fight.”
Her body started to shake, and despite her will, moisture slicked her cheeks. His heart was beating against her heart, the rhythm hard and fast and demanding. Something inside her tore open, and need swamped her. She needed him. She trusted him. “Don’t. Please don’t,” she begged.
He froze, but didn’t take his eyes from her face. His rasping breath told her how difficult it was for him to stay so silent, so still. Even now, he was protecting her.
Lifting her hand to touch his cheek, she whispered, “Please don’t walk away without a fight.”
Faith gave her hair one last stroke of the brush and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. No more stalling. She’d showered and changed and even blown out her hair, and she couldn’t stay in here forever. Sooner or later, she had to face Luke, or face herself, or face whatever this thing was between them. Little shivers of excitement rushed over her at the thought of seeing Luke again even though they’d just spent the past hour making love.
Making love.
Yes, that was the correct term for what she’d done with Luke. To steady herself, she hauled in a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom, flashing Luke a shaky smile.
He came to her, turned her palm up, and stroked the underside of her wrist. “You okay? I’m afraid I might’ve been a little rough.”
“Oh no. It was wonderful.” Her face heated. “I mean you were wonderful. And you’re right, it’s time I stopped feeling sorry for myself—”
“That’s not what I meant, sweetheart. I meant . . .”
There was a fast rap on the door. Luke stopped midsentence. They exchanged a glance.
Jeremy.
“We’ll finish this later.” Luke’s voice was low and gravelly and full of a sexy promise that made her insides melt.
“Damn right, we will.” She’d been acting a fool, and she knew it, but she wasn’t sure where to go from there. “I’ll get it.”
She tugged her blouse to be sure it was in place, slipped back into her shoes, and opened the door, and just as she’d hoped, there stood Jeremy Jacobs.
Hands fidgeting at his sides, he said, “Is this a good time? I guess I should’ve called.”
“Your timing is perfect.” He didn’t know how perfect.
She ushered Jeremy inside. “Look who’s here,” she said lamely to Luke, then shrugged one shoulder. Luke had swept her clean off her feet, and she needed a minute to regain her professional demeanor.
“I came here to talk about Kenny.” Jeremy got straight to the point.
“This okay with your mom?” she asked.
He clenched his teeth. “I’m nineteen. I don’t need her permission, and anyway, I got a right to protect myself and my mom—whether she likes it or not. That man I saw with Kenny, I know he’s the one who killed him. Way too creepy. You can’t tell me this weirdo’s showing up in Kenny’s life, then Kenny’s winding up dead is all a big coincidence.”
“It might be. Coincidence can be very convincing sometimes.” Luke crossed to Jeremy and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Just so we’re clear, we’re not here to get you to say what you think we want to hear.”
“You mean that your brother’s innocent.”
“Right. How would you even know a thing like that? We’re here to find out from you only things you actually saw, only things you actually know. We want the truth, Jeremy. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“I want the truth, too. I need to know who murdered my best friend . . . and I don’t want anyone else to die. What he did to Kenny . . .” Jeremy cast his eyes nervously around the room, started to cough.
Faith pressed a bottle of water into his hands and led him to a chair. A few minutes later, his coughing subsided, and the color came back to his lips.
Good. For a second she’d thought their witness was going to faint. “We’ve got snacks, too.” Faith opened the minifridge and swept her hand across the contents. “Peanut M&Ms and Chips Ahoy . . .”
“Pringles.” He straightened in his seat. “I like Pringles.”
“Pringles it is.”
The tension in the air had just begun to dissipate when Jeremy fixed his eyes on the video equipment in the corner of the room.
Luke tracked his gaze, and offered, “We hoped you’d agree to talk on camera.”
“Fine by me.” Jeremy shoved a handful of Pringles in his mouth and chased it with bottled water. “Only I don’t remember too much anymore. It’s been four years, and I told the cops everything I knew at the time. Don’t they have what you need? They interviewed me for hours.”
“Unfortunately, those tapes are nowhere to be found. All that’s left of your interview is a pad of paper with mostly illegibly scribbled notes.”
“I guess I can see that. The cops weren’t too interested in my description of the guy I saw with Jeremy. They thought I was making him up because I did it.” His voice rose an octave. “They thought I killed my best friend.”
“We know you didn’t do it, Jeremy. No need to worry about that anymore, not now, not after three other murders the police tried and failed to tie you to.” Faith sat beside Jeremy and made her voice reassuring. “I guess what I’m trying to get across is this: You have nothing to fear anymore from the police and nothing to gain by lying. If there was no other man, just say so, and we’ll be on our way.”
His eyes glittered, and he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “It’s the truth. Why won’t anyone believe me? If I could have made the police believe me back then, maybe they would have found the Saint and stopped him before all those other people died. If you look at it that way, those deaths are on my head.”
“Whoa. Don’t even think of taking the blame for what the police did or didn’t do. You volunteered all the information you had. You could’ve lawyered up, but you didn’t. And you can still help catch the Saint.” Faith passed Jeremy an informed consent form. “This just says it’s okay with you if we record the interview on camera.”
“Sure.” He scribbled his name. “But how can I help if I don’t remember? The guy was shrimpy, with wavy black hair. He got into a truck with Kenny on Bell Street, and I never saw either one of them again. That’s it, that’s all I remember. I’m sorry.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve again.
Faith went to the bathroom and returned with a box of Kleenex.
“Thanks.” Jeremy blew into the tissue, then landed a nice shot into the trash.
“What if there was a way I could help you remember more? Would you be willing to let me try to enhance your memory of that day?”
“How?” He sounded more curious than frightened.
“Hypnosis.” It had only a small chance of working to begin with, and unless Jeremy felt comfortable, there would be no way she could even get him under.
“You can hypnotize me?” He grinned like a kid who’d just been given permission to play in the dirt. “Cool.”
On the other hand, a motivated subject was a hypnotherapist’s dream. “Yeah. I guess it is kinda cool.”
While Luke set up the recording equipment, Faith gave Jeremy more information on the small risks associated with hypnosis and reassured herself he was still comfortable proceeding.
“Ready when you are.” Luke focused the camera, then motioned for Faith to sit facing Jeremy, her back to the camera.
“I’m ready,” Jeremy said, looking Faith hard in the eyes as if he couldn’t wait and was trying to hypnotize himself already. “Are you going to swing a watch in front of me and say you’re getting sleepy, very very sleepy?”
That made her smile in spite of her determination to stay neutral, professional. The technique was really quite simple, and hardly as glamorous as it was made out to be. “I’m afraid not. Clinical hypnosis isn’t the same as what you see in the movies or even in a Las Vegas show. It’s really not much more than a state of deep relaxation and heightened awareness. There’s nothing to be frightened of.” Fortunately, Jeremy didn’t seem a bit worried, at least about the idea of being put in a trance. “Let’s begin by having you close your eyes and imagine someplace safe and warm. Take your time and let me know when you’ve found that place.”
The room wasn’t noise-free, but with a little luck, the sound of cars buzzing by on the street could be used to some advantage. A constant hum like that might serve to cover up more distracting noises, like chatter in the hallway.
A smile played across Jeremy’s face, suggesting he’d followed her instructions.
“Where are you, Jeremy? Can you describe your safe place?”
“I’m camping. I’m camping out in the woods with Kenny, and there’s this mountain stream.”
“That’s good.” Very good. The fact that he’d brought Kenny into his safe place meant he was trying hard to help, and she could work with that mountain stream. “Do you hear the stream rushing by? Smell the must of the woods?”
He nodded, still smiling. The buzzing of the cars had likely just turned to rushing water in Jeremy’s mind. She could almost hear that babbling stream herself. “Good. Now then, imagine your body is getting heavy, very heavy.”
His body sank deeper into the chair.
“Now your left arm is getting lighter. Imagine a balloon tied to your left hand.”
Slowly his left arm started to lift off the armrest.
Jeremy was proving an excellent subject. Less than five minutes later, she had him in a deep trance. “Good, Jeremy, you’re doing so well. Are you comfortable?”
He nodded.
“Is your friend Kenny still there with you?”
Again, he nodded yes.
“Ask Kenny if he’d like for you to remember the last time you saw him.”
Jeremy’s chin tilted up. A few seconds passed, and then, “Yes. He wants me to remember. I want to remember.”
“Good. Tell me about the last time, before today, that you saw Kenny. What are you doing?”
“We’re at the mall. My mom dropped us off to get haircuts, but we don’t want haircuts.” He shook one hand like it was hot. “We just ran into two babes at Yo Yo Yum’s, that frozen-yogurt place. Carmen and Jennifer. We even got their numbers.” A look of disappointment crossed his face. “They’re probably fake. Carmen and Jennifer just ditched us for two jocks.”
“Their loss. What are you going to do now?”
“Go to Chili’s.”
“What do you order?” If he could remember a safe detail, that would be a good lead-in to more troublesome memories.
“Nachos. Loaded with jalapeños.” He swiped at his mouth and sipped his water. “Damn, those are hot.”
“I bet. Do you need more water?”
His brow drew down, and he crossed his arms over his chest. His chin jerked sharply to the right, and she thought he was about to come out of the trance, when suddenly he started talking, his head turning and nodding like he was speaking to another person. “I don’t like him, Kenny. He gives me the creeps. How’d he even know you play the guitar?”
Jeremy fell silent again. Faith cast a glance back at Luke. His eyes were wide, his face rapt with attention.
Jeremy leaned forward, resting one hand on his knee. “But how did he know, Kenny? You didn’t put an ad out or anything.”
“Are you and Kenny still at Chili’s, Jeremy?”
“No. Kenny just left. I told him that guy was bad news. I told him not to give that guy guitar lessons. You don’t let someone in your house who just shows up from nowhere with a guitar and offers you money for lessons.”
Sensing motion behind her, Faith looked back at Luke. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and held it up.
Good question.
“You met this creepy guy at Ken’s house? On a different day? Before Chili’s? Before Carmen and Jennifer?”
“Yeah. I was at Kenny’s place after school. His mom wasn’t home, and we were about to smoke some weed when this freak and his guitar show up. Says he heard Kenny knew how to stroke a guitar—that’s exactly how he put it—gave me the willies.”
“What else do you remember?”
“His guitar was maple, and all oiled up. Had a fancy rosewood fretboard. Had a sweet sound to it. Kenny took it off the guy and strummed it. Then he told the guy he’d do it—give him lessons. But to come back a different day.” He shuddered. “Creepola.”
“Besides the way the man talked about the guitar, do you remember anything else that bothered you about him? You seem to have a strong dislike for someone you’d never met before.”
“His tattoos. One said Cookie, which is just plain stupid. The other was a green, no, a blue tiger. And the guy kept flexing his biceps and growling—like he was the tiger. The way he kept eyeing Kenny, I knew he was a pervert. Perry the Pervert.”
“Perry the Pervert?” Her fingers twitched, and her palms tingled. “Did he say his name was Perry, or did you just think that fit?”
“Yeah. He said his name was Perry, but I added the pervert.” He smirked.
“And you saw him again, at Chili’s?”
“Yeah. I told Kenny not to go with him, but he didn’t listen. He left with Perry the Pervert. I looked through the window and saw them get into a truck. It was one of those landscaper’s truck with a tarp in the back.” His lip shivered. “Kenny got in the truck with Perry the Pervert and left me holding the check.”
A tear rolled down the side of his cheek. “I don’t want to remember anymore.”
“It’s okay, Jeremy. You’ve been a big help to Kenny, and to us. You can wake up anytime you’re ready.”
Tears were streaming down Jeremy’s face now. “Kenny left me holding the check, and I went back home and cursed him. That night, I sent him a text that said: Asshole. I hope I never see you again.” His voice broke. “And I never did.”
“Wake up, Jeremy.” She squeezed his knee firmly.
Jeremy opened his eyes and looked at her, pure anguish written on his face.
“I have to say, that was impressive.” Having finished packing up the camera equipment, Luke turned to Faith.
“Thanks.” She twirled a long piece of her flame-colored hair, then pulled it between her teeth. Chewing her hair might be childish and innocent, but her body was anything but, and it was calling to him right now.
He raked a hand through his hair and took a turn around the room. His brother’s life was on the line, and all he could think about was throwing Faith down on the bed for one more round before they hit the road.
What a guy. “No, seriously. That was amazing the way you had Jeremy under so fast.” He’d been skeptical about the whole mumbo-jumbo hypnosis deal, but it’d worked in a big way. Recorded on video, and also in his handwritten notes was a wealth of detail about the person of interest last seen with Kenny Stoddard—right down to the color, location, and shape of the man’s highly unusual tattoos.
Faith leaned forward, intent on her laptop screen. “What did Torpedo think?”
He shrugged. “He says he’ll pass the information to the DA, but he’s not hopeful they’ll follow up on this Perry guy. They had a lot of the same information when they first interviewed Jeremy, before they lost it, but nothing ever turned up.”
“Because they didn’t take Jeremy seriously. They were focused on him as their prime suspect and didn’t even look for Perry the Pervert.” She shot him a frustrated look and kicked the leg of the desk in a very uncharacteristic display.
“Preaching to the choir here. I’m just the messenger. And it gets worse. Torpedo says he can’t alibi Dante out for any of the murders, and the cops can place him at an Amarillo Walmart buying a case of beer a week before Jeremy’s body was found in Lubbock. They’re convinced Dante’s the Saint. So if we want to find Perry, it’s on us. Unless we can connect Perry to some or all of the other murders, nobody is interested.”
“What was Dante doing in Amarillo?”
“Four years ago? Beats the hell out of me—rodeo maybe, lot’s of folks come out for that, but one thing I do know: He didn’t kill Jeremy Jacobs while he was here . . . so let’s get going and connect Perry to another case.”
“How are we going to connect the other murders to Perry the Pervert if we can’t even connect the murders to each other?”
“You mean apart from the rosaries, the hog-tying, and the shotgun blasts to the head.” He leaned against the wall and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Yes, there’s that.” She sighed. “But what you’ve just described is merely the killer’s MO. I’m talking about the victims themselves. What do Nancy, Kenny, William, and Linda have in common that made them targets? Maybe if we knew that, we’d know what connects them to Perry.”
Faith had a way of seeing things he didn’t. He went to her and massaged her shoulders. “I like the way you think. I say we do what any PI worth his salt would do and sign on to Google.”
She patted his hand in a disappointingly platonic way. “I’m in. Let’s start with Perry and those odd tattoos. Jeremy said Perry the Perv had a blue tiger tattooed on his . . . left biceps?”
Luke checked his notes and nodded. “Right. I mean, yes, left—left biceps.”
He paced the room some more while Faith googled.
“Oh, boy. Well this is very interesting.”
“You got a hit for Perry and tattoos?”
“Yep. But this may not be quite what we had in mind.”
He waited.
“Says here Russell Brand and Katy Perry have matching tattoos, and he’s having his removed—had, I mean. This an old story.”
“Google’s a wealth of information. Try again, would you please?” He cracked an imaginary whip in the air.
“I already tried Perry, Nancy, William, Ken, Linda.”
“And?”
“Pulls up a Matlock episode.”
He dropped onto the bed on his back and groaned.
“C’mon. Don’t give up so fast. Why don’t you see if you’ve got the magic touch?”
He rolled off the bed and came and leaned over her shoulder. Why did she smell so damn good all the time? They hadn’t been around flowers all day. He dropped a kiss on her neck, reached around her, and typed in Perry, short guy, black hair, blue tiger tattoo.
The screen refreshed.
She reached for his hand and squeezed.
Then her head dropped. “I’m so sorry.”
“I guess the police were right, Jeremy was fabricating the whole thing.” According to Google, the man Jeremy described was Perry Smith, one of two men who murdered a Kansas family called the Clutters back in 1959. The murders were the subject of a famous book by Truman Capote: In Cold Blood. A book most kids read for high-school English.
He pushed his hands in his pockets and blazed another path around the room. “We don’t know for sure that Jeremy borrowed his description from Capote’s book. Is there any way possible this could be the same Perry who killed the Clutter family?” He was reaching, he knew, but he didn’t want to let go of the only lead they had so easily.
“Not possible.”
His fist came down on the desk where Faith was set up. “I suppose that guy would be pretty old by now. Probably still in prison.”
Faith nodded and typed something else into the computer. “Perry Smith would be in his eighties today. But that’s irrelevant.” She slammed the laptop closed. “Because he was executed by the state of Kansas in 1965.”