Deserves to Die (20 page)

No one running for his or her life.

No one concerned that a crazed husband was intent on killing her.

“Pizza to go for Williams,” a teenager behind the counter called and she was out of her chair in an instant. She collected her order and carried the box outside. Snow was still threatening, a few solitary flakes drifting from the sky, catching in the lamplight. Cars rolled by on the quiet streets and she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

Don’t be a fool. No one’s followed you.

But she kept up her pace and sensed her heartbeat beginning to increase, her pulse pounding. Last night’s dream crawled through her brain in a frightening memory that she struggled to shake off.

The street was deserted, nothing to worry about, not a soul on the icy sidewalks, no car moving slowly along the snowy asphalt.

You’re fine. Nothing to worry about.

A figure rounded the corner in front of her and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

But it was nothing, just a woman walking her dogs. Jessica let out her breath slowly and was about to step into the street when the woman called her name. “You’re Jessica,” she said in a voice that was cold as the night.

Jessica hesitated. The knife in her bra would be hard to reach because of her coat, and the pistol was tucked under the seat of the SUV. “Yes,” she said. “Do I know you?”

“I’ve seen you,” the woman said, advancing slowly in her long, white hooded coat. Her dogs were large and shaggy, their heads lowered, their gold eyes looking upward to hers. Though not on leashes, they kept pace with their mistress, noiselessly moving forward, staying close to her side. “You visited my dreams, Anne-Marie. You worry me.”

“What did you say?” Jessica stopped. Aside from Cade, no one in this town knew her real name. “I’m sorry, you’re mistaken.”

“Am I?” The woman was so serene, almost ghostly.

Realization flashed. She must be Grace Perchant with her wolf-dogs and claims of talking with the dead.

“You’re in danger.” Still Grace approached.

“From whom? Or what?” Jessica asked, poised for flight. Where the hell were all the people? It wasn’t
that
late. Why wasn’t someone coming out of Dino’s or the pub down the street?

The woman closed the distance between them. Under the lamplight, Jessica saw that her eyes were light green and piercing, her pale blond hair mixed with gray, strands blowing around her face where it escaped her hood. Her skin was so white it appeared almost bloodless.

“From him,” the odd woman clarified in that same emotionless voice.

“Who?”

“You know, Anne-Marie.” The pale woman seemed so certain of herself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jessica lied.

Grace’s lips twisted into a disbelieving smile, but she didn’t argue. Instead, in a voice without inflection, she said, “You’re no longer safe. Trust no one.”

“Lady—” Jessica began in protest.

Grace struck as quickly as a snake, her hand streaking forward, her fingers wrapping over Jessica’s forearm.

Jessica gasped and dropped the box holding her pizza. “Let go of me!”

“No one,” Grace repeated then released her grasp.

Neither dog so much as glanced at the cardboard container though the lid had popped open, pizza slices jumbling together.

Freak,
Jessica thought.
Weirdo!
Her pulse raced, fear and adrenaline pumping through her blood as she picked up the ruined pizza.

She glanced back as Grace added, “Remember. Not a soul.”

Jessica stood up, shaken. “Okay.”

To the dogs, Grace ordered softly, “Sheena. Bane. Come.” Then she walked across the street and disappeared into the darkness of an alley.

Her appetite gone, Jessica hurried to her vehicle. She tossed the box onto the passenger seat.
How did that woman know my name and what the hell was she prattling on about danger? How could she know? How the hell could she know?

Fingers shaking, nerves stretched to the breaking point, Jessica hustled into the driver’s seat and started the Chevy. The smell of pepperoni, garlic, and onion was nearly overpowering.

Now, of course, she saw others on the street—two guys hanging out by the pub, smoking near the doorway; the couple she’d seen in the pizzeria huddling close together as they made their way to a sedan parked just around the corner from Dino’s; a Prius cruising past in electric mode. Where had they been during her exchange with Grace?

She started to pull onto the street and was rewarded with a blast of a loud horn. She jumped, hit the brakes, and watched as a Jeep painted in camouflage nearly clipped her. The driver with a shaved head and a furious glare looked across the passenger seat and flipped up his palm as if to say,
Stupid woman driver! Watch out!

Once the Jeep had passed, she pulled out and drove, checking her rearview mirror every five seconds, trying not to be rattled, telling herself that no one was following her. Yet, despite all her internal pep talks, the weird woman’s warning echoed through her brain.

Trust no one.

“I
found her.” Lying on his bed in his room at the

River View, his cell phone pressed against his ear, Ryder stared at his computer monitor. The grainy black and white image was clear enough to observe Anne-Marie as she slept restlessly on the old couch in her cabin. He watched as “Jessica,” or, really, Anne-Marie, tossed and turned, her pistol tucked under her pillow, her sleep broken and tortured. He felt more than one niggle of guilt for observing her every move, but he reminded himself it was just a job, nothing more.

At least, that’s the level to which it had dissolved.

“You’re sure it’s her?” the voice on the other end asked, the slight Louisianan accent discernible.

“Oh, yeah.” Shifting, the back of his head moving against the stacked pillows, Ryder nodded as if the SOB on the other end of the wireless connection could actually see him.

“Why haven’t you finished the job?”

Good question.
“I had to be certain. Now I am.”

“Then get to it.”

“I will, when the time is right. She should have a day or two off work.”

“She works?” A sneer in the voice.

“She’s a waitress.”

“My, my.” A clucking of the tongue. “How the mighty have fallen.” Satisfaction oozed through the phone.

Ryder wondered again why he’d ever agreed to do this job. The answer was stone-cold simple. He’d wanted to chase her down. He wanted to face her. He wanted her to know that it was he who had found her.

“So what’s the problem?”

“As I said, I’m waiting for her to not be expected at her job so I can get a head start before anyone gets wise and realizes she’s missing.”

“Won’t they just think she took off? No one really knows her.”

“I can’t take a chance. The extra twenty-four, maybe forty-eight hours, will give me a head start.”

“I don’t understand.” Obvious irritation came through the phone.

“We don’t need any interference from the police,” Ryder pointed out.

A pause.

He could almost hear the gears turning in the head nearly a thousand miles away.

“Just don’t screw this up.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. Because it’s been awhile. I’ve been patient. Either she’s been extremely elusive or you’ve fucked up. Or maybe a little of both.”

“I said I’d handle it.” Ryder’s eyes focused on the screen where Anne-Marie was still sleeping. He was reminded of waking up next to her, the smell of her hair mixed with the odor of recent sex causing him to second-guess his need to run her to the ground.

Again.

He witnessed her shift again. One arm stretched over her head, her eyebrows drew together, and his guts wrenched.

“Just end this,” he was advised, then the connection was severed.

The woman on the screen opened her eyes wide, startled, instantly awake as if through some invisible cosmic connection, she’d heard the conversation and was ready to bolt.

“You’d better get down here,” Alvarez said as Pescoli groggily answered her cell. She’d spent the night with Santana in the new house again, the sun already up and shining, beams streaming through the windows.

“Why?” she asked, sitting up and pulling the sleeping bag over her naked breasts as she tried to shake the cobwebs from her brain. Beside her, a disturbed Santana rolled closer to her, one arm circling her waist.

Alvarez said, “Could be a break. The lab found a print on Calypso Pope’s bag and get this. It looks like it matches the partial found on Sheree Cantnor’s shoe.”

As if the missing digit and ring weren’t enough to tie the two victims together, but at least it was physical evidence.

“I’m on my way.” Pescoli pushed her mussed hair from her eyes as she reached for her clothes.

Santana opened a bleary eye.

“Gotta run,” she explained, yanking on her underwear and jeans, then reaching for her bra. “Possible big break in the case.”

He didn’t argue, didn’t so much as mention that it was the weekend as he’d learned long ago that Pescoli’s work took precedence over her free time. “What about today?”

“How ’bout I meet you at the funeral?” she suggested. “I’ll go with Alvarez and the officers from the station, and you and I can hook up with the kids then. Jeremy is supposed to pick up Bianca at Luke’s place and they’ll peel off after the service.”

“Works for me,” Santana said, for once not trying to lure her back into the bed, which was really just sleeping bags thrown on the floor. He flung off the covers, got to his feet, and walked naked to the French doors where he looked through the clear panes to the grounds and lake. “Good day.”

Pulling her sweater over her head, she said, “For a funeral?”

“For anything.”

She forced her arms down the sleeves and pulled her hair through the cowl neckline. She glanced at Santana. He was looking away from her and she sighed inwardly. The sight of his wide, muscular shoulders and smooth back that narrowed into a slim waist and taut buttocks, the cheeks of which might have had a few marks from her fingernails, made her blush a little at the memory of their lovemaking. She imagined their hungry, primal sex would last until her pregnancy got in the way or until it became routine. Stolen as their time alone was, the kissing and touching and stripping of clothes was almost frantic, their desire heightened by so much time spent apart.

Would it change once they were married?

Probably. It always did.

But for some, that physical connection never completely abated, and they kept their desire hot while their emotional bond deepened.

Maybe this time,
she thought, searching for a missing boot,
I’ll get lucky.
She certainly hoped so. “I’ll call you later if there’s a change in plans,” she said, zipping up her boots and reaching for her jacket, which had been tossed carelessly over a ladder that stood near the top of the stairs.

“Do,” he said. “Hey, wait! You’re forgetting something.”

“What?” She smiled, certain that he was going to give her a kiss. To her surprise he scooped up the cell phone she’d dropped into the folds of the sleeping bag when she’d hung up.

“This.”

“Oh.” She extended her palm.

He dropped it into her outstretched hand and, slightly disappointed, she turned toward the stairs.

Strong fingers clasped over her wrist and he spun her back against him. “And this.” He kissed her then. Hard. Determined. His tongue slid past her teeth as she responded, opening her mouth and leaning into him. Memories of the night before and their heated lovemaking in the cold room flooded her head. Her heart cracked a little and she realized just how much she loved this man, the cowboy who worked with horses that she swore she’d never fall for. What an idiot she’d been, and probably still was.

When he finally lifted his head, a cocksure smile twisting his lips, she said, “That’s better.”

“Not better,” he returned as she started down the plywood steps. “The best.”

“If you say so.”

“I
know
so.”

“Egomaniac,” she called up the unfinished staircase and hurried outside where the sun was blazing, the snow a shimmering white, and her Jeep damn near frozen solid.

Montana in winter.

Glorious.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Alvarez demanded an hour later as Pescoli suddenly rushed to the bathroom from Alvarez’s office where the two partners had been going over new information on the case.

Upon her return, Alvarez eyed her closely. “You coming down with something?”

Pescoli, white faced, shook her head. “Santana and I celebrated a little too much last night,” she lied.

“What about the other times? All of a sudden you can’t view dead bodies without losing your lunch? Is it the flu? What—”

“I’m pregnant, okay?” Pescoli said through her teeth. She went to Alvarez’s office door and pushed it shut.

“Holy moly.” Alvarez stared at her.

“I know. My kids are grown. I could be a grandmother in a few years. I’m only telling you because we spend so much time together. I haven’t even confided in my kids yet. So far, just Santana knows. Now, you. It wasn’t planned. I wasn’t convinced that I’d even have another baby. Not with Santana. Not with anyone. My kids . . . are going to be dumbstruck. Worse than even you are.”

Alvarez shook her head. “Wow. You’re sure?”

“I took a bunch of in-home tests and they all turned out positive. I’m late, and feeling like crap, emotional as hell and tossing my cookies in the morning, so yeah, I’m pregnant. I go to the doctor next week.”

“Well . . . congratulations.”

“Thanks. You’ll keep this to yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

“No wonder you’ve been all over Blackwater.”

“What do you mean?” Pescoli bristled.

“You’re pregnant. Emotional. Grayson’s death, and Blackwater stepping in. You’re not handling it well.”

“Like you are?”

“I don’t like Blackwater, but I
deal
with him. He’s the boss, and unless I think he’s handling things all wrong or crooked or neglectful, I’ll keep dealing with him. Do I miss Dan Grayson? You bet. Do I wish he was still alive, still running this department? Every damn day. But that’s not the way it is, and me having my own personal snit fit about it isn’t going to change it.”

“I haven’t been having snit fits,” Pescoli snapped.

“I just gave you a pass for being pregnant. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Snit fits . . .” she muttered.

Alvarez almost laughed. “Are you going to stay on the force? You were thinking about cutting back, but now ... ?”

“I don’t know. I’m still dealing with the news,” Pescoli admitted. “I just told Santana this week, and as I said, my kids are still in the dark. Santana wants to move up the wedding to like, yesterday, but”—she turned both palms upward, toward the ceiling—“there’s a lot to figure out and it’s not like I’m not buried here.”

“You have to have a life. We
both
have to have lives.”

“I was going to talk my hours over with Grayson when . . .” Closing her eyes for a second, she drew in a long breath. “Well, you know. Anyway, we’ve got this case we need to figure out.”

Alvarez nodded.

“Let’s just get through today. It’s going to be a rough one, right?”

It was a rhetorical question that didn’t require an answer. A funeral was never easy. This one, not only for a fallen officer but for a mentor as well, would be especially tough. Grayson had been an officer who had epitomized everything Alvarez believed was the essence of a true lawman. He had also been the person she’d fallen for, the one who had taught her to trust again. And that was the truth of it . . . until Dylan O’Keefe had reentered her life and shown her what real love could be. Nonetheless, the service was going to be emotionally ravaging. Already, she felt that awful pang deep in her heart again, the one reserved for Sheriff Dan Grayson.

She took a deep breath and put the conversation back on track. “We should get an answer from AFIS soon about the prints, if the killer is in the system.” The Automated Fingerprint Identification System was usually fairly quick. Now that they had a full print, there might be a match in the database that held millions of prints on file.

Pescoli said, “Let’s hope.” There was a chance that the prints only matched each other, that the culprit had never been printed, and therefore couldn’t be identified. If so, they were back to square one.

“I got hold of Reggie,” Alvarez told her. “Actually Reginald Larue the Third. He lives in Spokane and admitted to dating Calypso. Nearly fell into a million pieces when I mentioned that we found a body we think could be hers. Couldn’t get off the phone fast enough and is even now on his way to ID the body. He sounded shocked and very upset. He claims both of her parents are already dead and she has no siblings. No kids, no ex-husband, at least that she told him about. As far as he knows, he’s the closest thing to family she has.”

“What about a job?”

“She was a consultant. An engineer. Worked with road crews. Again, on her own. A one woman show.”

“The Teflon woman. No one sticks to her.”

“At least according to Reggie. I checked the call log and text log on her phone. He was the last one who tried to contact her at two twenty-three in the morning. That’s when the last text was sent, all of them more and more pleading, asking her to call him and forgive him. Here they are, printed out.” Alvarez slid the pages to Pescoli. “I double-checked with his cell phone carrier. His phone was in Spokane when he sent them. I thought there was a chance he might be trying to call or text her after she was dead to throw us off, but the phone, at least, was in Spokane, or so it seems. I can’t say that he was actually there.”

“No alibi?”

“He’s got one and it’s pretty interesting. A woman.”

“Another woman was with him that night?” Pescoli asked. “As in
all
night?”

“So they both claim.”

“But now he’s in a million pieces about Calypso?”

“Seemed real, but I’ll find out. I’m meeting him at the morgue before the funeral. There’s enough time for questions, I think.”

“Should be interesting,” Pescoli said.

They discussed the case a little while longer, then each went their separate ways. Pescoli was all about getting her kids ready for the sad event while Alvarez returned to her condo to meet Dylan. He would be her rock during the service.

At least with him at her side, she could get through the event without completely falling apart . . . she hoped. Usually, she was the cool, level-headed detective and kept her emotions under tight rein.

Dan Grayson’s death had changed all that.