A Marked Man (16 page)

“I’m not.”

“Do you like your brothers?”

“Dumb question. Of course I do.”

“I had a brother, still do somewhere, and I don’t like him.”

“My brothers are extraordinary at what they do. Especially Max. We all knew he was amazing from when we were kids. He could make the folks swell up with pride without trying. They gave him all their attention and that way he kept them out of our hair. He knew the deal but he didn’t mind taking the fall.”

“Doesn’t sound like a fall, sounds like he was the fair-haired boy.”

Roche sat, then sprang to his feet. She saw what a mess they both were.

“There was never any favoritism in our house.”

He hadn’t made it sound that way. “Kelly’s mother is gorgeous.”

He grew still, like a stone. “Yes, she is.”

From his expression, she could assume she’d scratched a raw area for Roche. “How old was Kelly when his parents divorced?”

“How do you know they divorced?” he asked through his teeth. He hauled Lee to her feet and bent threateningly over her. “Maybe his mother died. What business is it of yours?”

“I’m a journalist,” she told him, holding her ground. “I research most things. Did your father meet your mother before, or after he and Kelly’s mother—”

“Keep your nose out of our business.” He was making sure she knew where he was vulnerable.

She rolled her eyes. “No offense meant. I was interested, is all. You and Kelly must have suffered with all that scrutiny Max got after those women died. It’s not fair when we suffer for other people’s problems.”

“You have been doing your research,” Roche said. “Is that why you came here and behaved like a bitch in heat? Because you’re digging for a big scoop? Were you ready to lay Kelly—but you decided it didn’t matter which one of us you got
close
to?”

Sickness caught at Lee. “Of course not.” She twisted her face into an unhappy mask. “How could you say things like that?”

“Don’t try to dig dirt on Max. There isn’t any.”

“Okay,” she said. “Is Kelly as protective of him as you are? I’ve heard the way he talks and I think he sounds jealous of Max.”

“It’s time you went,” Roche said.

“Okay,” she said and walked, her destroyed thong hanging by threads, to the treatment room. She threw away what was left of her underwear, took a rapid shower, and pulled her denim dress over her head.

Roche didn’t show.

So she’d leave. The evening had been more entertaining than any she recalled enjoying before. And without Roche saying much, she’d got the idea that at the very least, there might be some dirt to dig about the Savage family, about Leo Savage and his two sexy wives—and how much their boys suffered in the wrangles of divorce and remarriage.

Max could be so damaged he hated women. She rubbed her hair, tossed it back and fluffed it with her fingers. He wouldn’t be the first man, twisted by his suffocating mother, who turned to killing and mutilating women.

“That’s some smile,” Roche said from behind her.

Lee faced him and smiled even more broadly. “You gave me something to smile about.” He had, she noted, come by a pair of jeans and some boat shoes. He looked cool and relaxed.

“Glad to have been of service,” he said. “Let me see you out.”

He disquieted her but she picked up her purse and looked around for anything else she might have put down. And she frowned, searching through the purse.

“Something missing?” Roche asked, leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed.

“I don’t see my recorder. I expect I left it downstairs.” Just as well, she thought.

“Is this it?” Roche asked. He dangled the little chrome instrument before him. “It does a great job.”

Lee held out her hand. “Thanks for findin’ it.”

“You didn’t lose it,” he said, his eyes hard. “I carried it along all the way.”

“Yes,” she said, still holding out her hand. She didn’t like being here anymore.

Roche switched on the tape and she heard herself sobbing and climaxing, and goading him into more.

He switched off. “Insurance,” he said. “You’ve got quite a way with words, to say nothing of with your body. You’re a natural whore.”

She winced and anger built. “Give me that. And I never want to set eyes on you again.”

“Keep your mouth shut,” he told her. “Whatever you think you know, forget it. There’s nothing to know and if there were, you wouldn’t find out about it.”

Lee lowered her eyelids. Staying calm counted. Figuring a way out really counted.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” she said. “We had fun. Thank you.” She’d like to claw his eyes out.

“Yes, we did.”

Lee smiled and walked past, wiggling her fingers goodbye, as she went.

He didn’t even guess she’d snatch the recorder from his hand and run with it. When she did, he failed to react quickly enough.

The elevator was open and the door slid shut the instant she hit the button to close it. Roche all but lost his face trying to force his way in.

At the bottom, she shot out and made for the front doors. The one she’d used to come in would take too long to reach.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Roche said, gripping her around the waist and hauling her away. The doors had been locked anyway.

She kicked at him with her heels, caught him hard and he dropped her.

Before she made it out of the lobby he was on her and they went down together, writhing, Roche going for the recorder she continued to hold in her hand.

Her skirt rode up and air around her hips reminded her she’d abandoned her thong.

His weight pinned her. “Just give it to me nicely,” he said, deliberately fitting himself between her legs.

“Okay,” she said, smiling at him. And with her free hand she grabbed him where she knew it would hurt most and squeezed.

The noise he made was unintelligible. He curled off her, doubled over, and she took off.

“Never underestimate a small-town woman,” she yelled, running down the side corridor. Her throat hurt. She went as fast as she could, slammed into the door and shot outside, stuffing the recorder into her bag.

Roche caught up with her beside her car and held one of her arms in a grip she wasn’t going to break.

“Let me go!”

He held her against the car, looked from her one empty hand to her purse and took it away so easily she wanted to cry.

“Let’s see what we have here,” Roche said. He tipped the bag upside down and the contents scattered on gravel. Still holding her, he scooped up the recorder. “Thank you.”

“Get off me.” She kicked at him but missed.

He let her go and stepped backward at the same time. “My pleasure. But I do think we’ll have to meet again.”

She frowned at him.

“We both enjoyed ourselves, remember? Why waste a good thing?”

“A
nnie. Annie!”

Max’s shout tore into her.

“Don’t say my name,” she told him, grabbing for the flashlight. “I’m nothin’ to you.” She couldn’t feel her feet or hands.

“Stop it.” His left wrist caught her neck hard and her breath rushed out. “Back off. Get hold of yourself.”

With one brush, he bruised her windpipe and she held her throat. “Okay,” she whispered, her stomach roiling. She would not throw up in front of him. “I can’t stop what you’re going to do, so do it. But I’ll fight you. You should have stopped the killing. You’ve gone on too long. This time you’re makin’ a mistake and they’ll get you for it.”

She took several short steps away from him but he followed, shone the blinding light directly into her face.

“You figured out I’d come back here eventually, didn’t you? You were right. Here I am and you intend to make sure I don’t bother you anymore. You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? Waiting for me?”

“No,” Max said.

“How did you know to come after me tonight?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“You think I deliberately found out the names of the two women you killed. Why would I do that? Your ego is so huge, you can’t imagine I might have issues of my own. You aren’t the center of everything for me.”

The moment she moved again, he reached for her. He missed.

Great breaths barely reached the tops of her lungs. She saw red, flaming red. “Stay away,” she said. The crimson hung deeper in the trees.

“Come here. I mean it, Annie. You’re going to calm down and listen to me.”

He wanted to overpower her with as little noise as possible—not that anyone would hear if she screamed. “I’m not doing anything you say. Who did you have watching me? Guy Gautreaux? Did he tell you I’d headed this way? Poor Guy. He believed you cared about me.”

Kicking up clots of rotting leaves, she rushed at Max again. She clawed for his face, aimed for his eyes, but he fended her off.

“Damn you, Max Savage.” Annie hit out again. She ducked her head and cannoned into him. She wanted his blood under her fingernails to lead the police to him.

And she did it. The neck of his shirt was open and her fingers landed there. When she pulled her hand away, she dragged out hairs from his chest.

“Goddammit,” he yelled, shoving her. “Stop it. I’ve never hurt you, you little fool. You’re mad.”

Annie’s heel came down on something hard and slick. She fell, caught herself on her hands—and quickly curled her fingers around a rock that dug into her palm.

Following his flashlight beam he loomed over her, gradually got closer.

She tried to twist away.

Max caught her by the shoulders, lifted and landed her on her feet. The light shone straight up and she couldn’t see his face anymore.

With both arms she tried to break his hold. She didn’t have a chance, but she wouldn’t give up. Her head felt light and she saw firebugs glint.

Not in the rain.
“Not in the rain,” she said aloud. “Firebugs don’t come out in the rain.” There were embers in the air, floating from a fire. He’d lighted a fire. “No! Don’t do it. I can’t stand it again. Don’t burn me.” Her own thin scream jolted her brain, deep pains ripped at her temples.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. Never. I came to make sure you were safe. Annie, someone called and said they saw you heading toward St. Martinville. I don’t know who it was. He sounded…forget that. Remember what happened here before? You had some sort of hallucination and went crazy.”

“No!”

“You’re doing it again, now. You saw fire then, didn’t you? You’re seeing fire now.”

It crackled behind the trees. Sparks spat and spun toward the leafy canopy. “You don’t know what I’m seeing.” Annie shook her head. Again sweat soaked her body and quickly turned icy. “It’s getting worse. It never used to happen when I was awake.”

“What is it?” he said. “Tell me. Explain it to me.”

She couldn’t stop her legs from trembling. “I can’t. What are you going to do?”

“Get you back to Toussaint and ask Reb to see you.” He sounded angry. “Better yet, Roche will look at you.”

“I don’t need a shrink.” Had she gone mad? “I don’t need anyone.”

“Dammit, Annie. You do need someone and you’re coming with me now.”

In an arcing motion, she swung the rock.

The blow made a sound, like a bullet hitting a range target.
Thud.
She made out the way his head whipped sideways from the impact.

Annie whirled about and staggered forward. Getting lost, out of Max’s sight, might be her only chance.

“Annie, don’t run. Please, Annie. This is my fault.”

She stumbled, grabbed at vines and climbed over logs, pushed through bushes. In front of her, a shadow arose, thin and wavering. A faint moan came from whoever, or whatever it was.

Closer, it came.

“Who is it?” Annie said. In the darkness, and with her eyes stinging, she scarcely saw anything. “Stay still, please.”

Her head felt light and she blinked. Her body shook. The shadow moaned again and she smelled it, scorched flesh, burned hair.

Somewhere a shovel scraped on stone. Annie’s knees buckled and the world turned suffocating, and black.

Max threw himself across the final space separating him from Annie. She wasn’t like this. If he believed in possession he’d think her mind had been taken over.

Damn, now he was thinking like Wazoo and other folks like her around here. Stress could do this. Cases of duress leading to complete mental and physical collapse were common. He hadn’t come across any of them, but they were hardly in his area of expertise.

She huddled on the ground, her arms and legs folded beneath her.

His forehead hurt but it could have been a lot worse. Her blow had glanced off but he did feel blood above his eyebrow.

Careful where he trod, Max worked his way to her head and crouched beside her. “Annie?” Gently, he touched her back and rubbed her shoulders. “Come on, let me help you.”

She stayed where she was.

He had stopped bleeding from her scratches at the open neck of his shirt. His skin stung. That wasn’t something the Annie he knew would do. That and the way she’d swung a rock at him.

For a moment he recalled the evening he’d spent in her apartment.

Annie had been wild…

But he couldn’t get rid of the notion that her behavior had been out of character. What was happening with these bizarre episodes—there had been no sign of them when they first met?

Walking away from her wasn’t an option anymore. He cared too much.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

When he gathered her up into his arms she fell against him, limp and boneless. He put his cheek near her mouth and nose to wait for escaping air, couldn’t help it, instinct always kicked in. Annie breathed, shallowly, but breathed and that was all he cared about. He shifted her weight to check the pulse in her neck. Thready, but she’d been through shock after shock.

Darth Vader had called again, sending him to St. Martinville.

How the hell did the man know what Annie was doing and what he was doing? Annie stirred in his arms, but only to turn more toward him. She muttered, but he didn’t make out what she said. Heaviness settled deep in his chest. Annie had entered a darkness where he couldn’t reach her. It coincided with her knowing him. Not at first but soon enough. How could he doubt he was responsible. If she’d started projecting, why couldn’t it be because she had found out about the women he’d been accused of killing, then moved on to a fear that he would do the same to her.

And now there was Michele. Spike told him how Toussaint, and areas for miles around had been searched and searched again. He’d also hinted that the lack of a body—and a single linking clue—was all that kept Max a free man after so many days had passed.

Her fist, thumping his chest, jarred him. “It’s okay,” he told her, although her eyes remained shut…for a few more moments.

Annie looked at him, her eyes luminous by flashlight. Recognition came into her stare. She buried her face against his chest, but planted her hands as well, and pushed. “Put me down,” she said clearly.

“It’ll be easier if I carry you.”

“No.” Her voice rose as if she held back tears. “It’s over now. I have to leave. I have to go to work.”

“You finished at Pappy’s for the day. You should be at home. When you go, it’ll be to bed.”

“You don’t decide what I should do.” She became more shrill. “You don’t understand me. I don’t want you to. Are you going to kill me?”

He caught his breath and felt almost ill. “How could you ask that? I care about you—we’re not strangers or just lunch companions.”

“Yes, we are.”

“We are not, Annie. You can’t hide from the truth. We had sex. We made love and it was good.”

She struggled, kicked her legs. “Don’t talk about it again. I know what happened and what I did.” She choked on her next breath, and coughed. “I’m not sorry. At least I…It was important but I want you to forget it.”

“I never will.”

“Put me down.”

“Not until you admit you’re wrong to be afraid of me.”

She remained silent.

“Annie? It’s damned wet out here. I want to take you home.” Cautiously, he set her feet on the ground.

“She’s still missing,” Annie said. “Michele. I just have to believe a whole lot more is being done about it than we think. That poor man she’s engaged to is staying at the Majestic all this time.”

“Search parties have been out every day.” Each morning he awoke, tense and listening for footsteps in the hall at Rosebank. He expected the arrival of Spike at his door, with deputies, come to arrest him.

“They need more than search parties. Toussaint should be crawling with official types.”

“It is,” he said, biting down on his back teeth at the thought. “Spike has called in help. The latest he told me was that they’re watching for Michele all over the country. Some think she ran away.”

“What do you think?”

“I think she’s dead.” He’d stopped pretending. “Annie, you’ve been seeing things, haven’t you?”

If the episodes she had got around, she’d be branded as crazy. Who knew how Pappy would react if the news got to him?

“Don’t hold back,” Max said. She heard him struggle with his temper.

“I’ve already said too much,” she told him. “Don’t push me.”

She felt as if she could reach out and touch his exasperation.

“Okay,” he said, taking her by the arm, none too gently. “Let’s go.”

He hurried her along.

“Did you think I’d be vulnerable here? Alone? Did you think I could somehow spill my guts and help you? What do you think I know?”

“You can’t blame a man for hoping. What happens in these visions you have, or whatever they are?”

She resented his tone. “Forget about them. They’re probably a hysterical reaction. Isn’t that what they always call emotional or uptight women, hysterical?”

“You are so angry. Why be angry with me? I’m on your side.”

Leaving Toussaint might be the best answer. Her stomach clenched. Leave Toussaint, leave Pappy’s—and leave this man she couldn’t bear to be without, even if he did frighten her, puzzle her.

What was the matter with her? They said some women wanted to be victims. No, she wasn’t one of those people.

The evidence against him was too strong to ignore.

Annie opened her mouth to breathe. If he killed her here, and buried her, chances were she’d never be found. She thought of Wazoo and got some comfort thinking that the other woman knew where she was.

“You don’t trust me.” Max stopped. He continued to hold her arm. “Do you? You believe I’ve killed people for the hell of it.”

I’m not sure what I believe.
“Of course I don’t.” This wasn’t the time or place to invite more trouble.

“You look at me as if you think you’re about to die. You asked if I was going to kill you. How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”

“How do you think it makes
me
feel? I can’t be sure. I have feelings for you, a lot of good feelings, but look at the evidence.” She had shouted and she lowered her voice. “I’m so afraid, but I can’t make myself believe you’re a killer.”

Another flashlight was switched on without warning and she saw Guy Gautreaux. “Let go of the lady’s arm,” he said. Guy, rangy, built like a tall, whiplash-proof cowboy, braced his booted feet apart and held a gun in a way that spelled business.
“Do it!”

Max looked sideways at Annie. “Do you even have a cell phone with you?”

“No, I forgot it,” she said. “And if I did have it with me, when would I have had a chance to call Guy?”

“Just do as I ask,” Guy said. “Then we can all keep calm and get through this without getting hurt.”