Killjoy (32 page)

“Avery? You okay?”

She smiled because of the worry she heard in his voice. And then she whispered, “So that’s what all the fuss was about.”

And then she laughed with such delight, he smiled in spite of his exhaustion.

With a sigh, he rolled away, then got up and went into the bathroom.

She pulled the sheet up, adjusted her pillow, and fell back. She was still a little overwhelmed by what she had just experienced. Sex, she decided, sex with John Paul anyway, could definitely become addictive.

The bed springs groaned when John Paul stretched out beside her. She opened her eyes and smiled. He looked so arrogantly proud of himself. He was on his side with his head propped up staring at her.

She looked thoroughly ravaged. Passion lingered in her eyes, and her lips were swollen from his kisses.

She knew she’d satisfied him, but she still needed him to tell her so. Silly how she could feel so powerful a minute ago and now the old insecurities were creeping back. No, she hadn’t disappointed him. Why wasn’t he telling her so?

He could see it happening. In her eyes. They were clouded. He didn’t think she was regretting anything . . . just worried maybe.

He knew he’d guessed right when she said, “What are you thinking?”

He tugged on the sheet, pulling it down to the tips of her breasts. She pulled it back up.

“Bet I can get this off you faster than a prom dress,” he drawled.

“Oh, brother. You’re pretty happy with yourself right now, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am,” he said as he leaned down and kissed her. His tongue slipped inside and tickled the roof of her mouth. When he pulled back, she was breathless. But then, so was he.

Oh, how she loved this man. He was so completely perfect for her. She reached up to brush his hair off his forehead, an excuse to keep touching him. She couldn’t seem to get enough.

“‘Heavens to Betsy’?” he drawled. “That’s what you said, sugar, when you were coming apart in my arms. Actually, you screamed it.”

She laughed. “I did not.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“I know what you shouted, but I’m not going to repeat it.”

His grin was lecherous. “Guess what.”

Her fingers trailed down the muscled cord on the side of his neck, then crossed his shoulder. She gently traced it with her fingertips.

“What?” she asked lazily.

“Prom dress is gone.”

Startled, she lifted her head and looked down. The sheet was around her ankles. “You
are
good.”

He leaned down and kissed each breast. His fingers slowly circled her navel. A jagged scar crisscrossed the lower part of her abdomen. The raised, puckered center indicated a bullet had done the damage. Probably a .38, he thought. Or maybe a .45.

Damn, it was a miracle she had survived. He leaned forward and took his time kissing every inch of her stomach, smiling as she inhaled sharply. He rolled back on his side so he could watch her face as his hand slid down into her soft curls.

Avery was having trouble catching her breath. “Do you want . . .”

“Oh, yeah. I want.”

Moaning softly, she moved restlessly against him, her toes rubbing his lower legs.

She tried to touch him, but he grabbed her hand. “Relax, sugar. Let me . . .”

It was as far as he got. She was surprisingly strong. And bold. She pushed him onto his back and leaned over him. “Relax? I don’t think so, John Paul. This is a team sport, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t answer her. Her hands had captured his arousal, and she was slowly driving him wild with her caresses.

“And . . .” she whispered as she straddled his hips and kissed him passionately.

“And what?” he asked, his voice as coarse as sandpaper.

Her eyes sparkled when she answered. “I’m definitely a team player.”

Chapter 31

T
HE MAN WAS INSATIABLE.
A
VERY WOKE UP AT NOON.
S
HE
didn’t usually sleep so late, but John Paul hadn’t let her get much rest during the night.

She was on her stomach with one arm hanging over the side of the bed. He was tickling her back. His fingers were as light as feathers. Was he trying to drive her crazy, or was he being so very gentle because of her scars?

Oh, God, her scars. Even Carrie, who loved her like a mother, couldn’t stop herself from grimacing when she looked at her.

“You awake yet?” he asked. “Avery?”

She didn’t say good morning. She blurted, “What do you think?”

“About what?’

“My back.”

“Can you handle the truth?”

Uh-oh. She didn’t like his tone one bit. She could feel her defenses building inside her. “Yes, I can handle it,” she said tightly. “What are you thinking about?”

“Your sweet little ass.”

She rolled over and looked up at him.

“It’s the first thing I noticed about you when you came strutting inside the lobby of that spa.”

Smiling, she said, “I didn’t strut.”

“Sure you did.”

“You’re a pervert.”

“You’re a liberal. I figure that makes us even. About the scars . . .”

She was still smiling when she asked, “Yes?”

“They’re just scars. They don’t define who you are. Now get up. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. Move it,” he said as he rolled off the bed.

He was stark naked and seemed thoroughly happy about it. He was gorgeous. All muscle and male.

“Put some clothes on for Pete’s sake.”

“Why?”

“Do you go around like that in the swamp?”

“I wish I could, but I can’t, not with the gators and snakes.”

He grabbed his jeans from the chair and went into the living room. Avery took a quick shower and put on a pair of navy shorts and a pale yellow blouse. Her hair was tucked behind her ears when she padded barefoot into the living room.

John Paul went into the kitchen to fix her plate and placed it in front of her. Then he handed her a bottle of Tabasco sauce.

He’d prepared scrambled eggs with lots of pepper. She took a bite and quickly washed it down with orange juice.

“You like spicy food,” she said, smiling.

“In Louisiana, spicy food is a way of life.”

“What was it like growing up in Bowen with a father everyone in town calls Big Daddy Jake?”

“Interesting,” he answered. “My dad’s quite a character, always got something going, if you know what I mean. He’s a bit of a con, but he’s got a good heart.”

He told her a couple of funny stories about the mischief that he and his brother, Remy, got into when they were boys. He mentioned his father and his younger sister often, and each time, she noticed, his voice softened.

“Mike’s as bossy as you are.” His smile indicated he thought that was a good thing. “She’s a surgeon,” he added proudly. “Her name’s Michelle, but everyone calls her Mike, everyone but her husband. They’re expecting their first baby in September.”

“Theo,” Avery said. “She’s married to Theo, and he’s an attorney with Justice.”

“That’s right.”

He told her another story while she ate her breakfast, and then she helped him do the dishes.

“It rained hard early this morning. Thunder shook the rafters.”

“I didn’t hear a thing.”

“I wore you out.”

He sounded cocky. She decided to let him have his due. “Yes, you did,” she agreed as she folded the tea towel and put it on the counter. “We have to make plans.”

“I know,” he agreed as he followed her into the living room. She curled up on the sofa. He sat down in a chair, kicked his shoes off, and propped his feet up on the opposite end of the sofa. He was such a big man he swallowed up the chair.

“But not today,” he said. “Today we rest and talk. Tomorrow we plan.”

“What will we talk about?”

“Not what, but who,” he said. “We need to talk about Jilly.”

She had put it off as long as she could. Nodding, she said, “Carrie kept a diary. She was very young, around eleven, when she started writing in it. The diary wasn’t filled with her hopes and dreams and crushes, though. No, it was all about Jilly. Every single page was filled with one horrific incident after another involving her sick sister. Carrie told me she wanted to have some kind of record . . . proof, I guess, in hopes that one day Jilly would get caught, be put away. She thought that if the doctors read her diary, they would realize how dangerous Jilly was and make sure she stayed behind bars for the rest of her life, but I think there was more to it than that. I think that deep down Carrie believed that one day Jilly would kill her.”

“That was a hell of a way to grow up,” he said.

Avery agreed. “Carrie stopped writing in the diary when Jilly left town, but she always kept it, just in case Jilly came back. I knew where it was hidden, but Carrie wouldn’t let me read it.”

“But you did read it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. I wish to God I hadn’t, though. I was old enough to think I could handle anything, but there was such scary, sick stuff in there . . .”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen. I read every word, and I had nightmares for months. Carrie had put in a lot of details, and I learned all the twisted facts about Jilly.”

She was hugging a throw pillow to her chest in a death grip. The sadness in her eyes was heartbreaking.

“I hate talking about her,” she whispered.

“I know.”

Her shoulders slumped. “There really are monsters in this world. Predators,” she said. “Jilly’s one of them. Do you know what scared me the most after I read that diary?”

“What?”

“That I would wake up one morning and be just like her. You know, Dr. Jekyll–Mr. Hyde. Genetically, I’m forever linked to her.”

“That isn’t going to happen, Avery.”

“How can you know that?”

“You have a conscience. That’s not going to go away. You’re nothing like her.”

“That’s what Dr. Hahn told me,” she said.

“Who’s Dr. Hahn?”

“A psychiatrist. I was waking up screaming every night, and in desperation, Carrie took me to Dr. Hahn.” She added, “Carrie made me promise not to tell anyone because she didn’t want people to think I was crazy.”

“She was worried about what other people thought?” he asked, trying to keep the censure out of his voice.

“Dr. Hahn was wonderful, and he helped me . . . cope, I guess you could say. Carrie didn’t know why I was having the nightmares because I hadn’t told her I’d read the diaries, and I think it was the third or fourth session when Dr. Hahn asked her to come in and I told her then what I had done. She had a fit, of course, but when the doctor had gotten her to calm down, he asked her if he could read the diary, and she agreed. She would have done anything to help me get over what she called my night terrors.”

She smiled at John Paul as she swung her legs down from the sofa. “I think the doctor had nightmares after he read them. I grew up knowing that Jilly was crazy, and Carrie did tell me stories, but they paled in comparison to what was in the diary.”

“What did Hahn say about Jilly after he read it? What was his reaction?”

“He was excited.”

“Excited?” he repeated, not understanding.

“He was sure Jilly was a pure sociopath, and he wished he’d had the opportunity to study her. Based on what he read, he concluded that Jilly was morally and emotionally stunted, which was why he believed she was incapable of feeling guilt or remorse. Other people’s pain certainly didn’t make her feel bad. On the contrary,” she explained, “she enjoyed hurting people for no apparent reason. She just liked it. She was a master at blaming others and rewriting history, and she was very deceptive.”

John Paul put his feet down on the floor and leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees.

“She was . . . amazing, the way she could manipulate people. Everyone loved her, no matter what she did. She was so damned clever.”

“Give me an example.”

“When she was quite young, she started having fun with pets. She tortured and killed Carrie’s cat with gasoline and a match. She told Carrie what she’d done, but in front of their mother, she cried because, she said, she so loved that cat. One of the neighbors took her to get an ice cream cone to make her feel better. By the time she was a senior in high school, she was into bigger and better. She was the most popular girl in school, of course. Everyone loved Jilly. A girl named Heather Mitchell was voted homecoming queen, and Jilly was voted first attendant. According to Carrie, Jilly was gracious about it at school, but when she came home that afternoon, she went into a rage that lasted for hours. She nearly destroyed the house. Carrie’s bedroom suffered the most damage. Not Jilly’s room, of course. Then, after dinner, she became real quiet and got that sly look in her eyes and pretended to accept it.”

Avery took a breath. The muscles in her arms were aching, and she realized she was gripping the pillow. She let go.

“The next day a beaker of sulfuric acid was missing from the chemistry lab. After school, Jilly got Heather alone, but Carrie saw her take her arm and lead her down the street. Jilly told Heather that she’d better not show up for homecoming weekend or she’d be sorry. Heather was a sweet girl, and she was going through a terrible time. Her mother had died two weeks before of an aneurysm, and the poor girl was still reeling from the shock. When Jilly got through tormenting her, Heather locked herself in her bedroom, but her father finally got her to tell him what was wrong. He said that Jilly had admitted stealing the acid. She threatened to wait for Heather one day after school when she was all alone in her house and throw the acid in her face.”

“Good God.”

Avery nodded. “What Carrie wrote wasn’t hearsay. She talked to Heather.”

“What did Heather’s father do?”

“He went to the principal the next morning and demanded that Jilly be expelled. He also went to the police.”

“And what did they do?”

“Nothing,” she said. “The chief of police was a close friend of my grandmother’s, and he wasn’t going to do anything that would upset her. Besides, it was one girl’s word against the other’s. Jilly, of course, denied the incident. My grandmother and Jilly were called into the principal’s office that afternoon. Grandmother made Carrie go with them.”

“Was Jilly expelled?”

“No,” she said, scoffing at the notion. “Did I mention that the principal was a man? His name was Mr. Bennett, and he was a very unhappily married man. His wife was a cold woman and very difficult to get along with, or so Carrie wrote.”

“What happened?” John Paul asked, bringing her back to the story.

“Carrie watched Jilly seduce Bennett. Jilly became hysterical. Lots of tears flowing, but it was all a calculated act. The principal rushed over to the sofa where Jilly was and sat down beside her. He put his arm around her to comfort her, but it was Jilly’s body language that . . . fascinated Carrie . . . and Bennett’s reaction.”

She shook her head. “Have you ever seen a woman move like a cat? Carrie said Jilly was like that. When Bennett put his arm around her, she rubbed up against him in an obscene way.”

“What did your grandmother do?”

“She was as clueless as ever, according to Carrie. She’d gone out to the front desk to get Jilly a glass of water, but even if she had stayed, she wouldn’t have noticed anything because she didn’t want to notice. Carrie wrote that Jilly was clinging to Bennett while she cried. She had her head on his shoulder, but she looked up at Carrie, who was standing behind the principal, and Jilly had this Cheshire cat smile on her face. When it was over, Bennett threatened to suspend Heather for making up the lie.”

“Jeez.”

“Like I said, Jilly had a way with men. Some of them became obsessed with her. They would call at all hours of the day and night. Every once in a while, Carrie would sneak upstairs into Grandmother Lola’s bedroom and listen in on the extension. She wrote that the men cried and pleaded, and after Jilly hung up, she could hear her laughing. Oh, how she loved the power she had. She loved manipulating, and she used sex to get what she wanted. Her specialty was destroying married men. I’ll bet you can guess who one of those men was,” she said.

“Bennett.”

“Yes.”

“My God,” he said. “And all this was going on while she was in high school?” Before Avery could answer, he asked, “What happened to Heather?”

“She didn’t go to homecoming, and Jilly was crowned queen, but that wasn’t enough for Jilly. Heather had upset her, and so she had to be punished. Jilly tormented her. A month passed, and just as Heather was beginning to think Jilly had moved on, she came home from school one day and went up to her room. She had this old teddy bear she kept on her bed. Someone had poured acid all over it. That someone, of course, was Jilly.”

John Paul rubbed his jaw and waited until Avery continued.

“Carrie heard about it at school the next day. She went to see Heather’s father. He had to stay home with his daughter because she was so distraught, and Carrie told him Jilly wouldn’t stop going after Heather and that he needed to get his daughter out of town and not tell anyone where she had gone. Heather was close to a nervous breakdown. She was seeing a therapist,” she explained. “And the therapist thought it would be good for Heather to get away from Sheldon Beach. She left during Christmas vacation and didn’t come back.”

“Did it ever end?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Heather’s father filed another report with the police two months later. He said that someone was stealing his mail. One Saturday afternoon, he happened to look outside and saw Jilly opening his mailbox. She was looking for letters from Heather so she could find out where she was.”

“She doesn’t give up, does she?”

“No, she doesn’t. She never had sex with any of the boys in her high school. All her friends believed she was sweet and wholesome. Carrie heard a couple of rumors about Jilly, but not from anyone at school. Heather was the one who was ostracized, not Jilly. She was that good at being bad.”