Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (193 page)

Jay kicked out the stool just as she reached him, as if he’d sensed her presence.

“Nice trick,” she said, and he lifted his glass toward the bar and the mirror behind it, where her reflection stared back at her.

She slid onto the stool. “And for a second I thought maybe you were clairvoyant.”

One side of his mouth twitched upward. “If I was, then I’d know what the hell it is you want from me, now, wouldn’t I?”

“I guess you would.” To the bartender wiping up a spill, she said, “I’ll have a beer…light. Whatever you’ve got on tap.”

“Coors?” the bartender asked, tossing his wet rag into a bin under the bar.

“Yeah. Fine.” Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, she met Jay’s brutal gaze. “Bet you were surprised that I called.”

“Nothing you do surprises me anymore.”

The bartender set a frosted glass in front of her and she placed her ID and several bills on the bar.

“That’s a tip,” Jay said to the man behind the bar. “Put her drink on my tab.” To Kristi, he added, “Come on, let’s talk in the dart room where it’s a little quieter. Then you can tell me what this is all about.”

“And beat you at a game.”

“In your dreams, darlin’,” he said, and her stupid heart did a silly little flip. She wasn’t falling for his charms. No way, no how. There was a reason she’d broken up with him all those years ago and that hadn’t changed. Worse yet, he was wearing a three-day’s growth of beard, the kind of pseudo-chic look that she detested. Of course it just made him look cowboy-rugged. Crap. The least he could do was look bad.

She grabbed her beer and again serpentined through the tables and crowd to a booth where a busboy was busily picking up near-empty glasses and platters bearing the remnants of onion rings, french fries, and small pools of ketchup. With a nod from the busboy, Kristi slid into one side of the booth while Jay sat opposite her.

Once the table had been swabbed down and they were alone again, Kristi decided to cut through all the uncomfortable small talk. “I need your help because you’re on staff here and have access to files I can’t see.”

“Okay…” he said skeptically.

“I’m looking into the disappearance of the four girls who went missing from All Saints,” she said, and before he could protest she launched into an explanation about her concerns, Lucretia’s worries, the lack of anyone seemingly interested in what happened to the coeds, and the fact that they could have all met with foul play.

Arms crossed over his chest, Jay leaned against the wooden backrest and stared at her with his damnable gold-colored eyes as she laid it out to him.

“Don’t you think this is a matter for the police?” he asked.

“You
are
the police.”

“I work in the crime lab.”

“And you have access to all records.”

He leaned forward, elbows propped on the table. “There is a little matter of jurisdiction, Kristi, not to mention protocol and the fact that no one but you and maybe a few hungry rogue reporters think a crime has been committed.”

“So what if we’re wrong? At least we tried. Right now, we’re just sitting around not doing anything because no one else gave a damn about these girls.”

“There’s no ‘we.’ This is your idea.”

But he still hadn’t said no or argued that he wouldn’t help her. He took a long swallow from his beer and stared at her. The wheels were turning in his mind; she could almost see them. And the one thing that she’d admired but had also disliked about Jay was that he was a bona fide do-gooder. A regular Dudley Do-Right when it came to matters of the law.

“Doesn’t matter whose idea it is, we need to check it out,” she insisted.

“Maybe you should contact the local police.”

“I’ve tried. Gotten nowhere.”

“That should tell you something.”

“Just that no one gives a damn!” She half rose from her chair. She was reminded just how maddening Jay could be.

“If the locals aren’t interested, you could consider talking to your dad,” he suggested.

“I considered it and threw the idea in file thirteen. He’s already freaked about me being up here. He knows about the missing girls and he’s damned sure I’ll be the next.”

“He could be right, what with you poking around and all.”

“Only if there is a psycho on the loose. If not, I’m in no danger. If so, then we’ve got to do something.”

“By making yourself a damned target?”

“If need be.”

“For Christ’s sake, Kristi, didn’t you learn your lesson the last time, or the time before that?” he demanded, his lips thinning in frustration. When she didn’t answer, he snorted and said, “Apparently not.”

“So are you gonna help me or am I gonna have to go this alone?”

“You’re not going to guilt me into this.” He cocked that damned broken eyebrow and drained his glass.

“How’d that happen anyway?” she asked, motioning to the little scar.

“I pissed a woman off.”

“
Really
pissed her off. And she beat you up?”

“Hurled a ring at me.”

So that’s what had happened to the engagement she’d heard about. “At least she was passionate.”

“Maybe a little too passionate.”

“Didn’t think that was possible.”

One side of his mouth lifted into a knowing half grin. “Passion can run hot and cold, Kris,” he said. “When one person can’t get what he or she wants, that passion can turn into brutal frustration and anger. I figured I was better off without a woman who would tell me she loved me one second and try to kill me the next.” His gaze touched hers. “I think that’s all you need to know about my love life. So, spell it out. What do you want me to do? Copy all the personnel files, grade reports, loan applications, social security numbers of the girls?”

“That would be great.”

“And illegal. Forget it.”

“Okay, okay, so just look through the information and let me know if you see anything that looks suspicious, anything that links the girls besides their choice of classes and the fact that their families gave new meaning to the word dysfunctional. You’re a cop.”

“And I could lose my job.”

“I’m asking you to do a little research, not break the law.”

His lips compressed as a waitress came by and asked if they wanted another round. Jay nodded and Kristi said, “Sure,” then drank half her beer while still waiting for an answer. Finally she said, “If you find anything, we’ll go straight to the police. Or the campus security and leave it to them.”

“You’d do that?” he asked, skepticism tingeing his words. “Just hand over everything you’ve got?”

“Of course.”

He snorted in disbelief.

“Come on, Jay, I’ll play you a game of darts. If I win, you’ll look through the records.”

“And if I win?” he asked.

“You won’t.”

“So sure of yourself?” he asked, his eyebrows slamming together. “No dice. I want to know what the stakes are if I win.”

The waitress came back with the new round, scooped up Jay’s empty and left Kristi with a beer and a half in front of her. “Okay,
Professor,
if you win, then you name it.”

“That’s pretty cocky.”

“Just confident.” She finished the first beer and stood. One dartboard wasn’t being used. She walked over to it and plucked one set of darts from their holder.

He slid out of his side of the booth and said conversationally, “I’ll expect you to pay up when I win and, trust me, you’re not going to like what I want as pay-back.”

She felt a little thrill sizzle through her blood, ignored it, and concentrated on winning. She didn’t like the stakes at all. God only knew what he would want from her.

But it didn’t matter.

She wasn’t about to lose this match.

CHAPTER 12

A
s he sat in the driver’s seat of his truck, the engine cooling and ticking in the parking lot of Kristi’s apartment building, Jay decided he was a moron.

A bona fide, dyed-in-the-wool moron.

Kristi was gathering her bag together and reaching for the door handle. He’d lost at darts to her. Not once, but the best of two out of three, then three out of five. He’d only won one of their matches and he suspected that she’d intentionally mis-thrown so that his bruised masculinity wouldn’t be completely destroyed. Though that wasn’t really Kristi’s way. For as long as he’d known her, she’d been a competitor to the nth degree. Throwing a match just wasn’t her style.

He could have blamed it on the beer, but he’d only drunk three over the course of as many hours. She’d kept up with him and showed not one sign of having been affected at all by whatever alcohol existed in light beer.

So he’d lost the damned bet, but she’d agreed, albeit reluctantly, that he could take her home. So here they were in the parking lot of her apartment building, which was really an old three-storied clapboard house that showed influences of Greek Revival architecture with its massive white columns and wide portico. However, even in the poor light cast from a security lamp, he could see that the building had lost much of its original luster. Far from its once grand beauty, the old home was now cut into individual units, the massive front porch and veranda above now converted into walkways between the apartments.

A shame, he knew, but kept his mouth shut.

Kristi cast a glance in his direction. “Come on up,” she suggested, opening the passenger door and stepping out of his truck. “I’m on the third floor.”

Big mistake,
he thought.
No, make that impossibly huge mistake.
And yet his hand was on the door handle as she slammed the passenger door shut. He stepped outside, pocketed his keys, and mentally chided himself for agreeing to this.

He comforted himself by thinking it might be a good idea to look around and ensure that she was safe. But that was just an excuse; he was rationalizing and he knew it. The truth of the matter was that he wanted to spend more time with her and, it seemed, she did with him.

He followed her past a row of overgrown crepe myrtles and some shrubs that looked like sassafras. Under the portico, on the far end of the building beneath the porch light, a single guy was seated in a plastic chair smoking, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the night. He turned to watch them head up the steps but didn’t say a word.

Kristi was already on the stairs and Jay followed.

Don’t trust her. Sure, she might have grown up in the last nine years or so, but what was it Grandma used to say? “A leopard doesn’t change his spots overnight.” Or in this case nearly a decade.

She led him up two flights to the third floor, and with her a step or two ahead of him, he couldn’t help but notice the way her jeans hugged her.

Holy Christ, she had a tight little ass.

He remembered all too well and hated himself for it.

Damn it all to hell.

He dragged his gaze away, tore his attention from her to the apartment building. On the third floor they reached a single unit tucked under the gables of the once-massive home. Thankfully, his gaze was centered higher now, over her crown as she unlocked the door. It appeared that the uppermost story housed only one unit whereas the lower two floors had been cut into two or three units. There was less square footage up here as the roof angle was sharp, and he guessed that the third floor might have originally been servants’ quarters.

From the landing at Kristi’s door, he was able to gaze across the small backyard of the apartment house, then over the massive stone wall surrounding All Saints. He could make out the tops of trees and the bell tower and steeply angled roof of the church. Other buildings, illuminated by watery street lamps, were visible through the trees. He recognized the portico of the library and a turret of Wagner House.

The lock clicked and Kristi shouldered open the door. “Come on in,” she said, stepping over the threshold. “It’s not much, but for the next year or two, if I can stomach dealing with the Calloways, it’s home.”

Still thinking this was a major mistake, he entered her apartment and closed the door behind him.

Kristi dropped her backpack onto a battered couch, stripped off her jacket, and hung it on a hook near the door. “Isn’t this place kinda funky-cool?” she asked with obvious pride. The hardwood floors were beaten and scratched, full of character. A fireplace with painted peeling bricks dominated one wall and peekaboo windows peered from dormers. The kitchen was barely a counter with holes cut into it for a sink and stove. There was a smell of age to the building that the candles and incense she’d scattered around the rooms couldn’t hide. Kristi’s home looked like it needed the kind of facelift he was giving his cousins’ bungalow, but she seemed to love it.

“Definitely funky. I’m not sure about the cool part.”

Amusement glimmered in her eyes. “And what would you know about cool?”

“Touché, Miss Bentz.” He smiled. She had a way of putting him into his place. “Cool is something I’m not into.”

“Well…” She’d already dismissed the topic and was on to the purpose of why she’d invited him up. “Here’s what I’ve got so far,” she said, pointing to a table covered with papers, pictures, notes, and her laptop. A chipped cup held pens and a small bowl contained paper clips, tacks, pushpins, and a roll of tape. On the wall she’d tacked up posterboard that included pictures of the four missing girls. Beneath the photographs, she’d listed personal information that included physical and personality traits, family members, friends and boyfriends, employment information and schedules, addresses for the past five or six years, classes taken, and various other information in the form of notes that looked like she’d printed them off her computer.

“Do you give this much attention to your studies?” he asked, noting the colored overlining on some of the information.

Kristi snorted. “Want a beer—? Oh, wait, I don’t know that I have any. Damn.” She walked to the kitchen alcove and peered into a narrow, short, obviously barren refrigerator. “Sorry. Didn’t know I’d have company. All I’ve got is a hard lemonade. We could split it.”

“I’m okay,” he said as she extracted the drink, slamming the refrigerator door shut with her hip. She opened the bottle, poured it into two glasses, and found a bag of microwave popcorn in a cupboard. “I missed dinner,” she explained, placing the bag onto the rotating platter.

She set the timer, switched the microwave on, and handed him a glass of lemonade that he didn’t really want. Her shoulder brushed just above his elbow as she studied the intricate charts she’d created. He smelled a hint of perfume over the lingering scent of smoke from the bar. She took a swallow and said, “I’ve assigned each of the missing girls a color—for example, Dionne, the first girl that we know went missing, is in yellow.” All of Dionne’s information had been highlighted by a neon yellow marker. “Then there’s Tara, who, incidentally lived here—”

He jerked his gaze away from the charts to stare at her. “Here? In this apartment?” he asked, even though he saw the address listed in her information. He couldn’t believe it.

She was nodding, her gaze turned to his. “This very unit.”

“Are you kidding?” But he could see she was serious. Dead serious. “Jesus.” She had all of his attention now and he didn’t like what he was hearing. One of the girls who’d disappeared had lived in this very studio? What kind of weird twist of fate was that? He studied Tara’s chart as if it were the key to salvation. He held up a hand. “She lived here right before she disappeared? Did you know that when you moved in?”

“No, it was just a strange coincidence.” She set her drink on a side table, then reached onto the desk, grabbed a rubber band and twisted her hair onto her head before snapping the band in place.

Her hair was a messy knot, her neck long, and she looked damned good. He took a swallow from his own glass.

“I don’t like this.” He felt an uncomfortable anxiety creep through him as the kernels began to pop and the smell of hot butter filled the room. “If the girls were really abducted—”

“They had to have been.” She nodded. Certain.

“And you’re
living
here.”

“Hey, I didn’t know, okay?” She gave him a hard look as the muted sound of corn popping increased. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve changed the lock on the door and fixed the broken latches on the windows. I’m as safe here as anywhere. Maybe more so. If someone is really behind their”—she motioned to the pictures on the charts as the corn popped wildly—“disappearances, and I believe someone is, then he won’t show up here again. Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same spot.”

Jay shook his head. “We’re not talking about some freak of nature.”

“Aren’t we?” she asked, her voice suddenly low.

Her tone arrested him. “What do you mean?”

She picked her words carefully. “I think whoever’s behind the girls’ disappearances is into something really dark. Evil.”

“Evil?” he repeated.

She nodded and he saw her shiver. “I think we’re dealing with something so vile and inherently depraved that it might not even be human.”

“What are you saying, Kris?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of research. On vampires.”

Jay’s breath expelled on a laugh. “Okay. You had me going there.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t believe in all that pop-culture-fiction-romantic—”

“There’s nothing romantic about this,” she cut in. “And do I believe in vampires? Of course not. But some people do, and you know what? If a person believes something is true, then it is. At least for him or her.”

“So whoever’s behind the girls’ disappearances believes in vampires. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I can hear you laughing inside.”

“I’m not. Honest.”

“What I’m saying is: this guy believes in vampires, or maybe he believes
he’s
a vampire. I don’t know. But a person like that, Jay? Someone deluded or obsessed…They’re dangerous. This guy is dangerous.”

A whisper of something slid over Jay’s skin. Fear? Premonition? “Maybe you’ve let your imagination carry you away,” he said, but could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

Kristi simply shook her head.

“Just listen to me, Lucretia,” he said angrily from his end of the wireless connection. “I know that you’re concerned. Hell, I even know that you’ve been trying to sort all this out, wrestling with your conscience, but you can’t have it both ways. You either trust me or you don’t.”

“I trust you,” she said, her heart thumping with dread as she imagined his handsome face, remembered their first kiss, a gentle, tender meeting of lips that had promised so much more. They’d been standing on the back porch of Wagner House, in the dusk while rain poured from the dark heavens. Some people claimed the house was haunted; she thought of it as magical. The only light had been the strands of tiny Christmas lights strung over the building. Each bulb seemed a miniature candle, glowing softly in the December night. She remembered the smell of the rain on his skin, the tingle of her nerves as he’d brushed his mouth over hers so tenderly.

She’d ached to give herself to him and he’d sensed it.

Hours later, in her room, they’d made love, over and over again, and she’d felt a blending of her soul to his.

And now he was ending it?

“I don’t understand,” she said weakly, and they both knew it was a lie.

“If I can’t have absolute faith—”

“You mean power, right?” she said, finding some of her old spunk. “And obedience. Blind obedience.”

“Faith,” he said in a soft voice that reminded her of his breath whispering over her ears, his lips working magic on her naked body. How he could make her sweat and tingle all at once…

How willingly she’d lain beneath him, staring in wonder at the power of his body as he raised himself on his elbows and kissed her nipples. She’d watched as their bodies had moved, his cock sliding in and out of her.

Sometimes he’d stop for a heartbeat, pull out and flip her over, only to take her from behind more forcefully. Often he would nip at her, biting a bit, leaving the sheerest of impressions upon her neck, or breast or buttocks, and she’d spend the week being reminded of their long, sensual session.

“I said I trust you.”

“But I can’t trust you. That’s the thing. We both know what you did, Lucretia. How you betrayed me. I know you were confused. Frightened. But you should have come to me instead of going outside the circle.”

“Please.”

“It’s over.” The words rang in her ear. Hard. Final.

“No, I’m sorry, I should have—”

“There are lots of things you should have done. Could have done, but it’s too late. You know it.”

“No! I can’t believe—”

“That’s right, you
can’t
and therein lies the problem. I hope that you know what you experienced is sacred and as such it’s never to be talked about. Can you keep your tongue? Can you?”

“Yes!”

“There is a chance then, a slim one, but a chance that you will be forgiven.”

Her heart did a stupid little flip. She thought he might be lying again, tantalizing her in order to keep her from going to the police or campus security.

“But if you say a word, then I can’t keep you safe.”

“You’re threatening me?”

“I’m warning you.”

Dear God.
Tears welled in her eyes, clogged her throat. Misery surrounded her heart. She couldn’t give him up.

“I love you.”

He paused a minute, the silence heavy, then said, “I know.”

The phone went dead. She stared at it a minute, the pent-up tears sliding down her cheeks, falling onto her chest. This was wrong, so wrong. She loved him. LOVED him. “No,” she wailed softly, feeling as if someone had ripped out her very soul. She was hollow inside without his love. Empty. A useless vessel.

She was sobbing now, hiccuping even as she tried all sorts of mental panaceas.