“Son of a bitch.”
Kristi sat at her desk in her apartment and fumed. Damn Detective Rick Bentz! Oh, how she’d like to pick up the phone and taunt him with what she knew! Her lighthearted I’m-free-free-free attitude had flown out the window when she’d learned what her father was doing. Not from him, of course, no way, but from some guy she barely knew in the department. He was the one who was her confidant, the one she could phone any hour of the day or night to get information. Not dear old, sealed-lips Dad. Never him.
She drummed her fingers on her desk, glaring at her computer monitor, where she was researching every article that had been written on this new spate of murders. Just recently, according to a local station’s website, there had been vandalism at Eve Renner’s house, and it had to have been something pretty bizarre and gruesome for so many police officers to have been called in. One policeman had even been shot while chasing a suspect.
Just minutes ago, over the phone, her new friend in the department told her that Detective Rick Bentz had been at the grounds of the old mental hospital again, digging up a grave no less. Her father was looking into DNA on Eve Renner and Faith Chastain.
Her source didn’t know exactly what had transpired at Eve Renner’s house. Either that or he was keeping it to himself—he liked to mete out the facts a little at a time—but she knew she would eventually weasel it out of him. One way or another.
The case that apparently had started with Royal Kajak’s murder was growing more fascinating and weirder by the minute. And of course her dad had completely shut her out of it.
“I shouldn’t tell you any of this,” her contact had warned in that low, sexy tone of his. Kristi always ignored the tenor of his voice. The guy was interested in getting into her pants, so she let him think he could have a chance, just to get the information she needed.
“Oh come on,” she said, playing along, matching his sexy tone with her own low voice. “It’s all going to come out in the papers anyway.”
“Yeah, but…I could lose my job.”
“I won’t use anything you tell me, promise, not until the press has gotten hold of it somewhere else. I’m not trying to beat someone to a byline for the next edition. This is going to be a book. A great book!”
“And when you publish that book?” he said suggestively.
“You’ll get plenty of credit, trust me.”
“Like what?”
“More than a one-line acknowledgment.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” She almost gagged on the word. It wasn’t that the guy wasn’t cute enough. He was just a little too smooth, too proud of being a part of the whole cop thing, which Kristi was over. Big-time.
“You know, there’s something else that might sway me into letting you in on this,” he added in the suggestive tone that, the more she heard it, was starting to nauseate her.
“Nuh-uh. Business, remember.”
“Someday you’ll break down and go out with me.”
“I suppose. If you play your cards right.” Her words were an out-and-out lie. She’d made a personal vow never to seriously date anyone in law enforcement. No exceptions. She’d seen firsthand how being a cop could ruin a relationship. Then there was the matter of Jay. The boy she’d left behind. Who, right out of high school, had wanted to marry her. Whom she’d dumped and now worked in the forensics lab.
She sure didn’t want to run into him. She’d heard he was engaged, and that was good, or at least she told herself so, remembering at one time she’d accepted a “promise” ring from him. A lifetime ago.
So no, she wasn’t about to date anyone where there was a chance, however remote, that she’d run across Jay’s path.
She made a note to herself to check out the grave soon, during the day, and poke around the old hospital too. At that thought she felt a few qualms but tamped them down. This was her new career, and it wasn’t for sissies. She was athletic, had taken a ton of martial arts, and wasn’t stupid. She always carried pepper spray. She could handle a visit to a crumbling-down old building.
Kristi surfed the Internet for a while then returned to the story she’d started. She needed a title. Something that would catch the eye of an editor and a reader. Something explosive. Hot. Sexy. Something that had to do with the crime. A double entendre would be nice.
Unfortunately nothing came to mind, probably because she was inwardly seething, still burned that her father hadn’t confided in her.
It’s his job. He can’t talk about the crime with you, can’t compromise the case. You’ll have to find another source, not just the one you’ve got in the department but someone on the outside. Maybe one of the nuns at the convent, or someone who worked at the hospital. Someone who is close to the case but won’t be in jeopardy of losing his or her job if they discuss it.
She started making lists of things to do.
She thought about interviewing the killer.
After the arrest, of course.
But wouldn’t that be something?
Not only an exclusive discussion about the case from her father as lead detective but also with the psycho who was committing the crimes.
Yep, she thought, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms high into the air. This was going to make a great book. Maybe even a best seller.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Rick Bentz.
The inn was over a hundred years old, renovated, situated in the middle of the French Quarter, and, compared to the Petrusky apartment, pure heaven.
Eve and Cole checked in, and she tried to tell herself that it was no big deal, that she was here with Cole because she needed his strength, his eyes, his mind. Oh for the love of God, did she really and truly need him?
A part of her screamed a loud and vibrant No. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was dependent upon a man, especially not a manipulative, bald-faced liar.
The other part of her said, Hell, yes, you need him! He gives you strength and a deeper insight. He’s smart, clever, maybe even wily. Yes, he did lie to save himself, but he’s proven himself over and over since he’s been back. You don’t have to marry the guy. All you have to do is trust him a little. You do need him.
She was still angry with Cole, no doubt about it, but she decided to be pragmatic. The truth of the matter was that she just felt safer when he was nearby. For the night, they were together, and she would try to ignore the romantic overtones to the charming room complete with gas fireplace, four-poster bed, and French doors that opened to a veranda flanking the second story.
She realized ruefully that she should have picked a clean, tidy, and sterile motel on the freeway. It would have been cheaper and definitely less conducive to eliciting any romantic or sexual fantasies.
“Hungry?” Cole asked once he dropped their bags near the bed.
“Starved.”
“Let’s find something.”
He knew of an Italian restaurant one block off Bourbon Street, and during the meal they somehow managed to keep the conversation light, away from the death and gore of the last few days. Cole bought a bottle of wine for the room, and though Eve thought sipping Riesling near a fire with Cole sounded like a recipe for disaster, she didn’t complain.
Just keep your head, she told herself. A feat that seemed near impossible with Cole sometimes.
When they were back in their room, Eve kicked off her shoes. Cole uncorked the bottle and had just poured them each a glass when Eve’s cell phone rang.
“Don’t answer it,” he suggested.
She glanced at caller ID and saw her sister-in-law’s name on the screen. Relief flooded through her. She flipped her phone open. “Anna Maria! Where are you? Are you okay?” she said, making eye contact with Cole.
“I’m…I’m fine. I’m driving.” Anna Maria’s voice was thick, belying her words. “But how about you? Geez, Eve, I just read about what happened. Are you all right?”
“I guess that depends, but yes, for the most part,” Eve said. The papers and news reports had been sketchy about the vandalism at her house, as the police had kept some of the evidence from the press. Eve couldn’t fill her sister-in-law in on the full story, but, as she settled into a chair near the hissing fire and tucked her bare feet beneath her, she explained where she was and that she wasn’t moving back to the house until it was cleaned and secured.
“I don’t blame you,” Anna said quietly.
Cole, to give her privacy, walked onto the veranda and closed the French doors behind him. From her vantage point, Eve watched him place his hands on the wrought-iron rail and look down at the street below. Her gaze skimmed over his backside, lingering for a second on the back of his jean-clad thighs and tight butt.
Aware of what she was doing, she readjusted her gaze, staring instead into the fire, where yellow flames licked at charred ceramic logs that would never burn. “Well, where are you? I was out of my mind with worry!”
“I…I mean we, Kyle and I, were at a motel. Well, he was there some of the time,” her sister-in-law explained. “I haven’t called because I have bad news.” She paused for a second. Eve could hear her inhale deeply, probably on a cigarette. Eve scarcely dared breathe. More bad news? She braced herself. Then Anna said heavily, “Kyle and I are separating.”
“Oh…” Eve hardly knew what to feel. It was a letdown of sorts. A welcome letdown, but she could sense how much Anna was hurting.
“I know it’s a shock. For me too, but it’s what he wants. He needs his space, whatever that means. We’ve spent the last couple of days fighting. Like cats and dogs. All of this old, repressed anger…. It’s just been awful.” Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears. “We’ll be together for a few hours trying to sort things out. Then the fight escalates, and one of us walks out. It’s been an emotional yo-yo, and I finally realized, accepted, I guess, that it’s just not working. I’m not sure we even like each other, much less love each other.” Her voice caught as she finally admitted something she’d feared. Sniffing, she added, “I don’t like it, but there’s nothing I can do. I…Oh God…I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another woman. He swears there isn’t, but what’s he going to say?”
“I’m sorry, Anna.”
“He won’t admit it, won’t tell me her name.”
In her heart, Eve thought divorce might not be a bad thing and that Anna might find someone so much better than Eve’s dumb-ass brother. However, that’s not what Anna wanted to hear. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“Nothing to do.” She was crying now, sobbing.
“I didn’t help things by staying with you forever.”
“It wasn’t forever, and besides, that’s what family’s for.”
“Look, Anna, where are you? I don’t think you should be driving. I’m at an inn downtown. Either drive here or we’ll”—she glanced at Cole again—“I’ll come and get you.”
“I’m…I’m fine.”
“It doesn’t sound like it. Come on, you can stay with me here for the night. We can talk things over or not, but I don’t like you being alone.”
“I’m fine.” She sniffed loudly. “I don’t need babysitting. I’m depressed, yeah, but not suicidal or anything.”
“Anna—”
“I’m on my way home. My wonderful husband has decided he’s going to ‘bunk in,’ that’s what he called it, with Van for a while. He’s talking about moving his business down to New Orleans, but he’ll lose so many of his established customers. Jesus God, what’s he thinking?”
“Why don’t you turn around? You can live with me until you sort it out.”
“After you move back to the house? Thanks, but with all that’s happened, you may as well sell that thing. I don’t know why you’d ever want to go back there again.” She laughed shortly. “I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow, once I’ve had time to think. I might need a damned lawyer. So much for love ever after, huh?”
Eve murmured a response and replaced the receiver. She looked through the watery glass panes to the veranda, where Cole was standing.
Love ever after.
She didn’t really believe there was such a thing.
Maybe tonight she’d find out. Maybe tonight she’d let Cole into her heart. She glanced at the bed. They’d spent so much time arguing and fighting and not trusting. Tonight, she thought, would be different. She would let down some of her barriers. Cinching her robe around her more tightly, she walked through the glass doors and slipped her arms around his waist.
“Hey, what’s this?” He turned and looked down at her.
She grinned and arched an eyebrow. “Well, if you play your cards right, ‘this’ might just be your lucky night.”
Late at night he lay in his bed and closed his eyes.
He was tired. Needed sleep. But he was jangled. Anxious. He bit at his fingernails. Spit them into a waste basket next to his bed. There was so much to do. And little time. He trembled inside, and his head was filled with thoughts of Eve.
Always Eve.
He found other women attractive, but none were Eve.
Eve the beautiful.
Eve the princess.
Eve the loved.
It was time to find his ultimate absolution.
It was time for him and Eve to finally meet.
No more teasing. No more games. No more dolls. And no more waiting. Everything was in place. Finally, finally, she would be his. To the death.
Their destiny entwined.
As it had been from the beginning.
EVIL LIVE.
LIVE NOT ON EVIL.
Isn’t that what Mother had always said? Hadn’t she always talked in palindromes? Hadn’t she told him they were the secret ways to communicate? Forward and backward?
He listened to the sound of the night seeping through his windows, the warm breath of spring slipping through the slight crack between glass and casing.
He visualized her surprise. Soon he would see it on her face. He’d drawn out the anticipation as long as possible, and now, oh God, now it was time. His lips were dry in anticipation, and he moistened them with his tongue then closed his eyes and imagined what he would do to her. At long last.
“She’s the princess, you know,” his mother always said, taunting him, telling him little details of Eve’s perfect life as she’d sat at her sewing machine, clipping threads with her sharp teeth or cutting fine lines of cloth with her shiny pinking shears. They too had teeth. Many steel teeth.
“Oh yes, that Eve!” Mother had clucked her tongue. “She’s always had the best, you know, never wanted for a thing, her father being a doctor and all.” Mother’s brows arched emphatically over her reading glasses as she sat on her stool at her sewing machine, brightly colored fabric spilling onto the floor. “Fancy house, shiny cars, frilly dresses, the little princess. And she’s pretty too—oh, my, how pretty. Her mother loves her, her father adores her, and she’s pampered by that grandmother of hers! Nothing’s too good for little Eve.”
He’d tried to close his ears to her poison, but his mother, the poor, hard-working seamstress with her arthritic knuckles and ever-growing envy, had never let him forget. She always brought up Eve. Especially at night, when the entire house was asleep, his father snoring soundly in the room far down the hall, his younger siblings already long dreaming in their bunk beds.
Then she would come to him. In the early hours of the morning, creeping down the hallway, padding barefoot into his bedroom, clicking the lock behind her and bringing with her the smell of gin and smoke and sick desperation. It had always been just to “tuck him in” or “kiss him good night.”
But the soft little brush of lips against his cheek had been far from chaste, and the tucking of his bedsheets with her smooth hands had led to exploration of his body. “You’re a good boy, such a good, good boy,” she’d cooed, as if he were a dog who had just performed a difficult trick. “So much better than that nasty little Eve. She’s a whore, you know, in her designer dresses and expensive panties. Doesn’t matter how much they cost, the truth is, Eve’s underpants are always at her ankles. She’s a dirty little girl, believe me. Lying and panting and spreading her legs for anyone.”
He would lie upon his mattress, frozen, unmoving, sweating and nauseous, silently praying to God that she’d stop, that she wouldn’t lick away his tears and tell him everything was all right, that she wouldn’t slide under the covers and press her naked, bony body up to his. She’d told him displaying affection between a mother and a son was only natural.
But he’d known better.
Even then.
During those awful, debasing nights, he had called up Eve’s image. Bringing her, not Mother, to his bed. Eve the princess, Eve the beautiful, Eve the loved…
He’d tried to close his brain to the things that were happening to him, attempted to take himself to a faraway place safe from his mother’s sweaty, trembling hands as they caressed and fondled him. All the while he’d thought about Eve…How much better it would have been if she, the nasty little whore, had been in his bed.
And now, as he lay in bed, nervously biting his nails even though Mother no longer came to him, even though his nightmare of an adolescence was long over, he still thought about Eve. Constantly.
Eve the beautiful.
Eve the princess.
Eve the loved.
Eve the bitch.