The Perfect Murder (26 page)

beep confirmed it. He'd reached her answering machine.

"Mary, take the kids and get out of the house! Immediately! Go somewhere safe. Malcolm knows you've been helping me. God, Mary, please pick up."

The machine beeped again, this time to signal the end of the tape. Then a dial tone sounded. Sebastian would've redialed, but he was in too big a hurry. After he hung up, he called the police. Then he grabbed his keys and his coat and dashed out the door.

The telephone was his first clue that something wasn't as it should be. When it rang, Malcolm didn't wake Mary, although he'd been about to. He shrank back, into her walk-in closet. There was a phone on her nightstand, but she didn't even stir. She probably didn't get many phone calls in the middle of the night and assumed it was the TV, which got louder whenever a commercial came on. Or maybe she'd taken a sleeping pill. He knew she didn't like living alone. She'd said so.

After what felt like an eternity, the ringing stopped. He could hear someone talking. An answering machine? It seemed to be coming from the middle of the house. But some guy selling exercise equipment on TV made it impossible to hear anything more than a low murmur.

What should he do? Get it over with? Or get out? Would lingering for another ten minutes get him caught?

The thought of prison terrified him. He knew what the inmates did to cops gone bad--even former cops. And what about his parents and siblings, and the men with whom he'd served on the force? They'd hear about it; they'd learn the truth.

Mary stirred as he left the closet. "Curtis?"

The phone had awakened her, after all. She believed the kids were up.

He hurried to the door and hustled down the hall.

"Brandon?" she called. She sounded more alert, almost frightened. Damn whoever had interrupted with that phone call! He'd been so close....

But he'd fix it, Malcolm told himself. He'd have another chance.

Afraid he might run into someone--like the police--if he went out the front, he darted into the laundry room and crossed to the back door. Without any streetlights, the yard was dark and provided more places to hide.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, he slipped into the yard and maneuvered through the shrubs. Then he hopped the fence, crouching in the corner 187

of the neighbor's yard to watch and listen. If that random call turned out to be nothing, maybe he could still get to her, demand Sebastian's address before he killed her and disappear before dawn.

She'd heard movement. Mary was sure of it. Someone had been in her bedroom. She'd seen a large dark shape move quickly to the door just as she was coming awake. But both her boys were asleep and, when she roused them, they insisted they hadn't gotten out of bed even to go to the bathroom. What was going on?

A sense of foreboding gripped her as she walked through the house carrying her son's baseball bat. Looking in closets and peering around corners, she paused every few seconds to listen. But she heard nothing she didn't hear every night.

When she reached the study, a rush of cold air hit her. It seemed to be coming from the laundry room....

Taking a slight detour from her frightened trek to the living room, she poked her head into the laundry and flipped on the light.

The back door stood ajar. She'd been right. Someone--a man, judging by the size of the shape she'd seen--had been in her house.

Fear made her knees go weak as she gaped at the fog blanketing her yard. If he was still out there, she couldn't see him.

Her hands shook as she closed the door and drew the bolt. She hadn't left it open. She knew that much. She'd locked this door and every other before bed, checked them twice. So how had he gotten in? And what did he want?

Was it a robbery?

Gathering her courage, she turned on the rest of the lights in the house. As far as she could tell, nothing had been stolen or disturbed. And she'd already made sure the boys were safe. Whoever it was hadn't taken anything, but she figured it was best to report the incident. The police needed to be aware that there were burglars in the neighborhood.

She was about to call 9-1-1 when she heard a brisk knock at the front door.

Parting the blinds on the closest window, she saw the flashing red lights of a squad car in her driveway. The police were already here. Someone else must've called them.

"Thank God," she muttered and raced to her bedroom for a robe.

A second knock rattled the front of the house as she reentered the living 188

room. "Coming," she called. But she didn't need to unlock the door in order to open it. Because it was already unlocked.

Even more confused, she swung the door wide, expecting the young, clean-cut officers on her stoop to offer some sort of explanation.

"Hello, ma'am."

Now that she could make out their faces, she could tell that one was clearly older than the other. He was the one who spoke.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but we received a call about a possible intruder at this address."

His words only created more questions. "You did?" she said. "I was about to place that call myself, but I haven't had a chance."

"Maybe it was your husband."

"I'm divorced. Maybe it was a neighbor. Please come in. I don't know what's going on, but something's up." She waved them toward the couch. Then she spotted the flowers on her dining room table and caught her breath. Had it been Malcolm? Sebastian had warned her that he might act now that he had her address.

The thought that her home, her safety and her children's safety might be compromised made her ill. She'd been through so much with the divorce, had just gotten on her feet again. She didn't think she could deal with another upset, not like this.

The officer who'd greeted her cleared his throat. Dimly, she realized that he'd asked her a question. "Excuse me?"

"How do you know something's going on?" he repeated.

She was about to explain when she heard the screech of tires. Someone else had arrived. Dropping the ends of the tie to her robe, which she'd been nervously fingering, she ran to the window to peek through the blinds again. Then she relaxed. This man she recognized.

Throwing open the front door, she waited for Sebastian to get out of his car and come charging up the walk. "Oh, my God, what's happening?" she cried.

He pulled her into his arms and squeezed her tightly. "Are you okay?"

The man she'd come to know over the past two months normally had an olive complexion. Tonight, he looked pale and drawn. "I'm fine, but--" she worried her lip "--is it Malcolm?"

He nodded. "He knows, Mary. He knows it was a trap."

She reached for the door frame to steady herself. "He was in my
bedroom,"

189

she whispered.

By the time Sebastian had dropped Mary's children off at her ex-husband's apartment and taken Mary to her mother's house, it was almost five o'clock in the morning. He was relieved that she and her children were safe. Last night could've ended so badly. But he still couldn't avoid an overwhelming sense of loss. Now that Malcolm knew they were on to him, they didn't stand a chance of catching him, of making him pay for his crimes. After all the careful plotting and planning and the interminable chase that had carried Sebastian through more than twelve months, he was back at square one.

It was too disappointing to even contemplate. Maybe the exhaustion that weighed on every muscle was part of the problem, made it that much more difficult to cope with such a setback. But Sebastian couldn't bring himself to return to his motel. He didn't want to see those same four walls, his computer on the desk, half his clothes in the bag he'd send out to have laundered and the other half hanging in a closet where he couldn't even remove the hangers.

All he wanted was to see Jane.

He'd parked in a visitor slot at her condominium complex almost before he realized where he was. Letting the engine idle, he tried to talk himself out of going in. Jane had enough to deal with. He wouldn't be doing her any favors by piling his frustrations on top of hers.

And yet, if anyone could understand the disillusion that threatened to consume him, it was Jane.

A truck turned in at the driveway. The newspaper delivery person. Sebastian watched as an older driver double-parked and had his teenage son run the paper to the various residences. The boy was about Colton's age....

Memories of taking his son to play racquetball, go dirt-bike riding or waterskiing at the lake--or even wash the cars--swept over him.
Why?
Why had Malcolm done what he'd done? Colton's death was so unnecessary. Malcolm must have known that Sebastian would've gladly finished raising him, must have known how badly it would hurt Sebastian to lose his only child.

That was the reason, Sebastian decided. Malcolm had
wanted
to hurt him, had refused to show even that much compassion.

A young boy murdered...

"You bastard," he said through gritted teeth.

190

Life could be fleeting, he thought. Sometimes you didn't even know what you had until it was gone. So why spend the night alone?

Removing his keys from the ignition, he got out, slammed the door and locked it.

A knock at the door brought Jane to full consciousness. As usual, her thoughts reverted to Oliver. It'd been five years, but whenever she was startled, she automatically wondered whether she was really safe. She had to remind herself that he was gone. Then her pulse settled. But it was still odd that someone had come to her condo so early in the morning. Her alarm wouldn't go off for another two hours.

Praying there hadn't been some sort of emergency involving Kate, she got up, yanked on her robe and hurried to the living room. "Who is it?" she called through the door.

"Me."

Sebastian. Was he okay? She checked the peephole.

He appeared to be fine.

Throwing the bolt, she opened the door.

She thought he'd explain why he was on her doorstep at five-thirty in the morning, but he didn't. He just stood there, rumpled and exhausted and disheartened, and she realized he hadn't come to talk. He was looking for comfort.

A warning voice in her head told her not to invite him in. He was already the subject of every fantasy she had. But she couldn't see him so miserable and do nothing.

Taking his hand, she drew him inside.

As soon as she'd shut the door, his arms went around her, holding her close.

Jane held him in return, wishing she could somehow soothe away the pain that was obviously tearing him up. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. He buried his face in her neck and, seconds later, she felt the moisture of tears.

When Jane woke, she was in her bed, naked, with Sebastian. They hadn't done anything before falling asleep except curl up together. But he was touching her now--intimately. With his chest to her back and his legs tucked up under her behind, he held her to him, cupping her breast as he kissed her neck.

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This was the moment to stop him, before it was too late, she told herself.

Even if she came clean about her possible ability to conceive, all the condoms she'd bought were at his motel. She couldn't make love with him.

"Sebastian..." She rolled over to face him so they could talk, but he simply brought her up against his chest and kissed her parted lips.

His kiss started out as more of a request, a soft, tempting lure, but the more she responded the more passionate it grew.

"Sebastian," she gasped when he moved to her neck. "We can't do this."

He didn't comment. Apparently, he wasn't any more interested in talking now than he'd been before--except, perhaps, with his hands. They let her know exactly what he thought they should be doing.

She tried to say
no
one more time, but his fingers had found the sensitive spot that'd brought her such pleasure the previous morning, and his name on her lips came out as a moan.

"Trust me," he whispered.

"I'm the one who can't be trusted," she told him, but he didn't take her seriously enough to stop. Slipping one arm beneath the small of her back, he lifted her slightly off the bed and covered her breast with his mouth. At that point, she knew she'd give almost anything to let him continue--anything except being as irresponsible as she had before. That was a line she couldn't cross again.

She was about to stop him, to blurt out the truth, if necessary. She had no choice. But then she remembered that her doctor had sent her home with a barrier device called a Lea's Shield at her last visit. She'd kept telling him she wasn't sexually active, but he'd pressed her to take one, even shown her how to use it, just in case.

Now she was incredibly glad.

"Sebastian?"

"Hmm?"

"I need a minute," she said and slipped away, into the bathroom.

She'd made love without being completely honest, but at least she'd used birth control. That made it okay, didn't it?

Still, Jane wasn't sure her conscience was
totally
clear....

How was it that she'd wound up in bed with Sebastian again? She'd said good-night, locked her door and gone to her room
alone.
Could she help it that he'd 192

returned when she least expected? That he knew exactly how to break down her resistance?

Hearing him in the kitchen, she allowed herself a muffled groan of frustration as she rolled onto her side. It wasn't his fault. Just the way he looked at her could demolish her defenses. She obviously hadn't changed as much as she wanted to believe. After spending five years proving to Wendy, and to herself, that she possessed some restraint, she'd once again been humbled by her own shortcomings.

"Hey, breakfast is ready." Sebastian poked his head into the room.

Jane was facing away from the door. "I'm not hungry."

She thought he'd gone back to eat until he spoke again. "We're both consenting adults, Jane. And neither one of us is in a committed relationship. We haven't hurt anyone."

He knew she was berating herself, but he didn't understand why.

Dragging the blankets with her, she sat up. "I've never had a tubal ligation, Sebastian."