Darker Than Desire (27 page)

“Well, there are other things I want to say, but that's unprofessional.”

Rubbing the back of her neck, she looked around and spied the jewelry store across the way. “Thorpe. Go talk to the manager at Beringers. I want the security tape for the past twenty-four hours. If he gives you grief, tell him I'll be over there in five seconds flat and I won't be happy.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

As he walked away, she stripped off the gloves and then sanitized her hands. It didn't do shit to eliminate the stink of death that filled her nose, but she'd tried.

She wasn't done here, but she had a call to make.

They'd had plans.

After punching in a number she knew by heart, she waited until he answered.

“Hello, darlin',” Dean murmured, his voice low and rich, wrapping around her. It was like a brush of velvet and silk against her skin.

For a moment she closed her eyes and lost herself to it. A sigh drifted out of her before she said, “Hello back.”

There was a brief pause and then Dean said, voice a little more brisk, “That isn't the voice of a woman who's going to be rushing back home anytime soon.”

“You're a man of stunning intellect.”

“No.” Sardonic humor colored his words. “I'm a man who knows the difference between cop Jensen and my Jensen. It's all cop Jensen I'm talking to right now.”

“Even cop Jensen is yours.” Every part of her belonged to him.

“I know that. But cop Jensen has other priorities besides a naked breakfast in bed with me. As it should be.”

She made a face. “Yeah.” Darting a glance behind her, she watched as Gardiner continued marking the scene, his face set in an unreadable mask.

“We found him. We … think.”

“Exactly what do you mean, you think you found him? Found who? Brumley?”

“Yeah.” She mentally braced herself for what she had to do next.

“You don't know for certain, though.”

“No.”

Dean was quiet and then he said, “That won't be pleasant, then.”

He'd been a lawyer in Lexington. He knew too much about the kind of work she did. Thankful she didn't have to explain, she closed her eyes. “No.”

“I'd hoped you could come back here, get a decent meal in you … nap. She laughed, despite herself. “You mean you wanted to feed me, then fuck me.”

“Well, yes. But then I wanted you to rest. You've barely slept the past few weeks. The past few
months
.”

“Doesn't matter. I'll sleep when this is over. For now, I have to deal with this—take care of Brumley, or what's left of him. If it's him.”

“Somebody got to him before the cops did.” Dean's voice was grim. “Fuck, I hope I'm not going to have to go after that Sutter guy. He's already been through hell.”

“You're not.” Jensen shook her head, her gaze on the window. “He's … I think he's connected to this somehow, but he's not
involved
in it.”

Hearing the approach of more cars, she peered around the corner. “The ambulance is here. I think I see the ME's car, too. I have to go. I'm sorry I'm missing out on brunch and ‘
spend the day naked'
plans.”

“So we'll do dinner, and spend all night naked instead.” His voice dropped to a low, smoky drawl. “Love you.”

“Hmmm. Love you, too.”

Then, as the phone disconnected, she turned back to the bloody, grim death that awaited her.

*   *   *

The wail of sirens faded.

The misery building inside him didn't.

David kept waiting for that rush of anger, because anger won out over pain any day. He'd nurtured the anger, giving in to that red rush of rage over and over again. When the pain crept too close, he'd blocked it off and turned to anger instead.

For twenty long years, he'd fed that ravenous beast and starved the misery.

That was how he'd managed to cut off almost all the emotion in his life. How he'd choked it out of himself, or so he'd thought. He'd been wrong, a fact that he'd slowly been forced to accept over the past few weeks. Since Abraham had died, and the fact had been driven home even more vividly after David had stood at the graveside as they laid Max to rest.

Abraham gone.

Max gone.

And now, according to Sybil's friend, she was gone, too.

Not
dead
gone, but still … lost. Lost to him.

It was a blow more crippling than he could imagine.

Because it hurt too much to sit there and just think about it, he surged upright and started to pace.

But the wide, open yard of Max's house felt too small, so David started to move up and down the sidewalk. Before he knew it, he was striding down Main Street, but even that wasn't far enough.

Sybil
.

Gone.

Fuck
—

Then he was running.

That pain was one he couldn't escape, and he couldn't outrun it.

He wasn't sure he could live it with it, either.

*   *   *

What is wrong
?

He sat there for the longest time after the black woman had left. The woman was a nurse. She was familiar. Had taken care of Maxwell Shepherd.

Is she one of them?

She'd seemed to be kind to the man sitting in the yard, but now he looked … sad.

Abruptly he stood.

The look on his face was one of misery and rage.

Don't let him see you. Not yet
. The voice of caution was strong, drowning out that insidious, taunting whisper.

Hidden eyes watched as he started to pace, first in the yard. Then up and down the sidewalk.

By the time he was heading into town, he was so far ahead, there was no hope of catching up with him.

His face was tortured. Angry.

It was that woman's fault.

She'd have to be dealt with.

Just like all the others who'd gotten in the way.

*   *   *

Taneisha finished the shopping before she called Sybil.

It was that or clue her in on the fact that she'd paid a visit to that big, beautiful bastard Sibyl had, sadly, fallen for. Once she'd packed all the groceries in, Taneisha
almost
felt calm, so she made the call.

“I'm on my way home. They drive you nuts yet?”

“Oh, that ship has sailed, my friend.” Sybil's voice was just this side of despondent. “We went out to lunch. Fortunately, I was smart enough to tell Drew about David's … accident before we did, because Meg Hampton decided to drop by the table and chat all about it. Of course, David's now being hailed as a hero, but if I hadn't told Drew—”

All over again, Taneisha got pissed. “
He
should have told you. Then you could have told Drew before this.” Swallowing back everything else, she blew out a breath and shot a look at the mirror before swinging over into the right lane. “Is he okay?”

“As okay as I can expect. You going to be home soon?”

“In about three minutes. Finished up grocery shopping. Where are you?”

“Ah … probably three minutes behind you. Want me to just bring Darnell home?”

“Go ahead.” She was tempted to invite Sybil over, but she suspected it was a waste of air. If she knew Sybil, the woman would want some time alone.

“See you soon.” They disconnected and Taneisha pulled up in front of her house. To herself, she started to mutter about David Sutter all over again. “What a fricking ass.”

As she climbed out of the car, she used the key fob to pop the trunk. She glanced around out of habit, her gaze bouncing off the black work truck parked in front of the house next door. The woman sliding out of it didn't look familiar, but Taneisha didn't waste more than a glance on her.

How in the hell could that son of a bitch just brush Sybil aside like that?
Yeah, yeah, she should
probably
be more patient, more understanding, but what the hell ever. Sybil loved him, and as far as Taneisha knew, Sybil hadn't fallen for anybody else. Ever.

Just him.

“Stupid fucking jerk. He ain't
ever
going to find somebody like her,” Taneisha said to herself, hauling a bag out.

“Excuse me, but can you help me, please?”

She turned around. The only thing she saw was a flash of hair, a reflection of light.

Then pain exploded through her head.

*   *   *

Sybil caught a flash of light reflecting off something near Taneisha's house and she grimaced, tugging the sunglasses off her face as she went to press on the gas.

But her heart froze, blood going to ice as she caught sight of what was going on.

Taneisha—body still, limp.

Somebody shoving her into a trunk—

Black truck—

Laying on the horn, Sybil gunned the engine. The woman's head whipped around. For one second their gazes connected, and then the woman dropped Taneisha and took off running.

Instinct screamed at Sybil to jump out of the car, but she didn't. Instead she grabbed her phone. The boys were in the back, shouting, and then Darnell saw his mother, started to scream. Sybil just barely had the presence of mind to hit the child locks.

And all the while, she watched the woman.

In the truck now, and then, with a screech of tires, she was whipping down the street in reverse.

But Sybil could still feel those eyes. Muddy brown, dead like a shark's.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“I need to report an attack,” she said. Woodenly she repeated Taneisha's address, still looking around for that black truck. It looked to be gone, but Sybil couldn't take the chance, not with the boys.

*   *   *

“Witnesses report seeing a black truck near this alley.” Thorpe went over the list, his eyes studiously avoiding the board in front of him and the pictures. “Meg Hampton, in particular, reports seeing a black truck, one she says she didn't recognize, and a woman driving it.”

Meg owned a salon a few doors down and she spent more time just outside the door than
inside
. She claimed she liked the fresh air, but people knew she just liked poking her nose in everybody else's business.

While Thorpe continued to detail information from the local business owners, Jensen slid a disc into the DVD player and leaned against the table.

On the far side of the wall, they had numerous corkboards. Three were mounted to the wall, but easels had been brought in for the others. They'd had to get yet another board for Clay. They were running out of office supplies, she thought grimly. Small town going broke trying to solve murders.

“Let's see what we can find on Beringers' security feed,” she said, hitting the remote and fast-forwarding. She stopped every so often, checking the time stamp. As it edged closer to the time of the incident between Brumley, Redding and Sutter, she put it on regular speed.

People passed back and forth in front of the screen. A few stopped in front of the door, blocking the camera.

“Is that…” Thorpe murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

“Brumley.” She gripped her arms in front of herself, watching as the man bolted down an alley. She checked the time. Minutes after the shots had gone off. That alley was two blocks from the police station.

“Somebody had been watching,” she said softly.

A truck whipped down the alley, almost plowing into a work van. The color was something pale, indeterminate thanks to the imperfect grainy image, but she recognized the logo. Delivery truck. FedEx. She could track the driver down. They probably wouldn't remember anything.

Didn't matter.

The angle of the camera wasn't great.

She could only see the tail of the truck as it tore down the alley.

Her breath hitched, caught as the truck backed up. But it didn't come
out
of the alley. She could practically hear the wheels squeal as it lurched forward again.

And again.

And again.

She looked away after the fourth time. She watched the people on the screen, saw them look on with puzzlement before shrugging and carrying on.

“Somebody really wanted him dead,” she mused.

Less than ninety seconds elapsed before the truck backed out, for good this time. The driver had long hair—the color, again, was indeterminate, and when she turned her head the shape of her face was impossible to make out. Jensen had the vague impression of soft cheeks, a softly rounded nose, but nothing more.

The driver checked traffic. Carefully. “A conscientious killer,” Jensen murmured, feeling sick to her stomach.

“Very much so.”

Startled, she looked up, realized the chief had quietly slid in behind them. His gaze lingered on the image of the truck that Jensen had frozen on the screen. “White female. Brown hair. That's about all we're going to get from this. I bet my left nut the feds wouldn't get anything more even if they tried.”

“From this? No. From
this
…?” Jensen smiled, then shrugged as she waggled the report she'd conned out of Pittenger a few hours earlier. “I got all sorts of juicy goods out of this.”

Sorenson's eyes sharpened on the report and he strode over to her. There was a knock on the door and Thorpe moved to answer it as Sorenson started to read.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

“Yeah. Pretty much.” A sour smile curved her lips. “And people say
we
are the weaker sex.”

“Chief. Jensen.”

The taut sound of Thorpe's voice had them turning.

Jensen looked at her partner, something in her gut going tight at the look on his face.
Ah, hell.
“What?” she demanded, one hand curling into a fist.

“Attack,” he said, his voice flat. “Taneisha Oakes.”

“What in the
f—
”