Deadly Relations (21 page)

Once a deputy was in place at Jennifer’s bedside, Tim, Lane and Blake gathered to talk confidentially in a corner of the hospital’s dining room.

Tim sipped his hot coffee then asked, “Blake, did you get a good look at the guy in Jennifer’s room?”

Running his fingers through his hair, Blake tried to visualize the man in Jennifer’s room. “He was about six feet tall, brown hair, brown mustache and black-rimmed glasses. The mustache didn’t look right and may have been part of a disguise.”

“
Anything else?” asked Tim.

“
He wore brown leather hiking boots that looked well-used, like he’d worn them for a long period of time.”

“
Why would this guy target Jennifer?” Lane wondered.

“
I think he may be the same guy who left Catherine’s cell phone in Jennifer’s house.” Blake began. “He killed Catherine, and maybe he thinks Jennifer knows something that would connect him to the murders.”

“
Guess that leaves Evan off the hook,” said Lane.

“
Evan Hendricks no more killed those girls than I won the lottery last week,” said Tim. “We’ve got a serial killer on our hands and he’s still out there planning his next move.”

Looking confused, Lane said, “I thought you had to have three or more murders to determine serial killings.”

“
I personally don’t give a damn what the definition is, we’ve got two girls dead, both tortured and murdered the same way by the same offender. We’ve got an organized and intelligent killer who knows enough about forensics to cover his tracks. I’m not waiting until we have a third murder until I call it the way I see it. I’m also not too proud to call out for help. The FBI has resources and experiences with this kind of thing. We need help.”

“
I have a direct contact with the FBI who has experience with serial murders,” offered Blake.

“
Who is it?”

“
My sister, Carly, is a special agent in the Criminal Investigation Division of the FBI division office in Tampa. She’s dealt with serial murders. She’s on leave now. I could ask her to fly here to help us.”

“
Why was she put on leave?” asked Tim.

“
She’s just coming off a sex trafficking case where her partner was killed.” Blake explained.

“
What happened?”

“
The traffickers made Carly’s partner as an agent and beheaded her before Carly and backup got there. Carly discovered her body. Her backup had secured the others, but the leader drew a gun on Carly and she shot him in the face. He died at the scene.”

“
But why was she put on leave?” Lane wondered aloud.

“
Carly and her partner had worked together several years and were close. She took her murder hard, so her supervisor put her on leave.”

“
Do you think she’ll be up for helping us?”

“
The time off is driving her nuts. Carly needs something to do, something that requires her specialized talents. If I ask her, she’ll be on the next flight to Indiana.”

“
Ask her.”

<><><>

Blake relieved the deputy at Jennifer’s bedside and watched her sleep, the clear plastic oxygen mask covering her face. He picked up her hand to kiss it.

“
Honey, I am so sorry I left your room,” Blake whispered, his voice cracking. “I was supposed to protect you and I let you down. I promise you I won’t do that again.”

Jennifer whimpered softly in her sleep, so Blake lifted the mask. “No, don’t lock me in the blue room.” She wrapped her arms protectively around her body. “Don’t hurt my baby.”

“
Can you hear me, Jennifer?”

Though she didn’t open her eyes, she nodded fearfully.

“
Honey, I’m here and I promise you that no one is going to lock you anywhere. They won’t get past me. Don’t you worry. Just sleep. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll be right here.”

<><><>

Two days later, Blake opened Jennifer’s front door to find a petite woman with a slender build waiting on the porch.

“
Hello, my name is Allison Wade. I need to talk to Jennifer.”

“
I’m sorry, but Jennifer is resting.”

“
Blake, I’m not an invalid. Let Allison in.” Jennifer called out.

Reluctantly, Blake stood aside and directed Allison to the living room, where Jennifer sat on the sofa.

“
Hi, Allison. Is everything okay? What brings you here?” Jennifer recognized the woman as the cashier at the 7-Eleven where she filled her car with gas each week. They’d exchanged short friendly conversation for the past year.

Blake headed to the kitchen to make some coffee while the two women talked.

Allison sat near Jennifer, looking down at her clenched hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. She said, “It’s my fault that Evan Hendricks is dead.”

Confused, Jennifer responded, “Fred Thomas killed Evan, not you, Allison. Why would you think it was your fault?”

“
I didn’t come forward.” She began. “It was more important for me to keep the family secret than to help Evan. It’s just that I thought, he’s innocent, so there’s no way anyone could prove he did anything wrong the night Tiffany was abducted.

“
Start from the beginning, Allison.”

“
My boy, Danny, got involved in the youth activities that Evan ran at the church. He trusted Evan, and one day after Evan questioned Danny about a new set of bruises on his arms, Danny told him about his father’s drinking. It took a lot of courage for Danny to tell the family secret. We were so ashamed; we didn’t want anyone to know about Wayne’s problem. I feared his employer would find out and he’d lose his job. Then what would happen to us?” She paused for a long moment, looking out the front window.

“
My husband, Wayne, is a good man with an evil addiction to alcohol. When Wayne’s drunk, he becomes a different person — one who is angry and violent. Though he’s been drinking a long time, it’s only been the past year that he hit us. I used to be able to protect Danny by sending him to his room, but the older he gets, the more he wants to protect his mom. He puts himself right in front of me and he bears the bruises to show for it.”

Allison glanced at Jennifer, her brow furrowed. “Danny came home the day he talked to Evan and begged me to meet with the youth minister, too. So we started family counseling. I begged Wayne to go with us, and at first he refused. When he saw how much it meant to Danny, he joined us.

“
Evan talked to us about getting Wayne into rehab. Easy thing for folks with money, but that’s not us. Wayne drives a truck for Holden Dairy, and as you know, I’m a cashier at the 7-Eleven. We make enough for the essentials, but the costs of rehab were beyond our reach. But Evan found a place that would take Wayne and worked out payments based on our income.” She paused, visibly trembling with intensity.

“
Jennifer, that’s what we were discussing the night Tiffany Chase went missing. Danny, Wayne and I were with Evan until after ten that night. Because Wayne had been drinking and I’d just worked two shifts, Evan was worried about us driving home, so he followed us in his car. Evan couldn’t have abducted Tiffany — he was with us. So you see, Fred Thomas may have killed Evan, but it was my fault. If I had come forward sooner, he would have never been considered a suspect.”

<><><>

From the window, Jennifer stood watching Allison walk to her car; the woman’s shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested on them. No matter what Jennifer said, Allison remained convinced she caused Evan’s death. Jennifer felt guilt of her own. She turned to see Blake standing near her.

“
Blake, is there anything we could have done differently to prevent Evan’s shooting?”

“
I’ve thought a lot about that. In a perfect world, we could have prevented the media from discussing and speculating on Evan’s guilt or innocence, thus preventing Fred Thomas from knowing about Evan’s involvement in the case. Grace Cohn may market her program as informative, but when she uses talking heads to speculate on an active investigation, she seriously jeopardizes the case and puts viewers, like Fred Thomas, at great risk.”

“
But what would our country be without freedom of speech?”

“
It’s a question of professional ethics,” Blake said, glancing at Jennifer, and noticing the dark circles under her eyes. “Honey, sit on the sofa or go upstairs for a nap. The doctor told you to rest.”

“
I’ll take a nap upstairs if you take one with me.” Jennifer’s eyes glittered mischievously.

“
Not a good idea. We both know if I go up there with you, we won’t be napping.”

“
Okay, you’re right. I am a little tired,” Jennifer said as she headed for the stairs.

“
Good, get some rest. There is someone I want you to meet later.”

She stopped in her tracks, and turned to face him. “Who?”

“
You’ll see. Just get some rest.”

<><><>

He pulled his Jeep in front of the empty house for sale, which sat about a block from Jennifer Brennan’s house. He surmised she must be home from the hospital since a police cruiser was parked in front. The lucky bitch was like a cat with nine lives. If that damn detective hadn’t barged in, he would have unloaded the syringe in her neck. As it was, it was sheer luck that any of the Rohypnol was injected. Not that he knew, since he’d panicked and left the syringe in the bitch’s neck.

Finding an empty patient’s room when Blake Stone was chasing him was a godsend. He’d locked himself in the bathroom, stripped off the scrubs and dumped them in the waste can. Then he removed the fake mustache and glasses, depositing them in his pocket. By the time he reached the hospital lobby, the place was crawling with cops. He stayed calm, walking right past them and out the door. Once he reached his Jeep, he nearly vomited from the tension.

He looked in the rearview mirror and brushed his fingers through his hair, then opened a bottle of water and took a gulp. The whole hospital escapade was a joke; he shouldn’t have attempted in the first place. He had to do a better job of tapping his behavioral controls, or his next impulsive act could be his last.

Behavioral control. That’s what his old-bag fifth grade teacher, Miss Sing, had told his Mama after she caught him beating up Jerry Groden, then taking his new bike. “Your son has poor behavioral controls,” she’d said. “He doesn’t accept responsibility for his actions. Instead, he blames others.”

He’d gotten the crap beat out of him when Mama returned from school later. He hated Mrs. Sing after that, and kept a close eye on her house, which was one of those white houses with a manicured lawn and white picket fence that other people lived in — certainly not he and Mama. He discovered that the teacher loved cats and fed all the stray cats in the neighborhood. That’s when he’d taken the box of liquid ant killer in Mama’s cupboard and laced any cat food he found on Miss Sing’s porch. She must have found two dozen dead cats littering her lawn before she wised up and stopped feeding them. She called the police, too, not that they ever found anything.

Miss Sing had gotten off easy. If he’d been older, she’d have gotten a taste of a leather belt across her bare ass. He would have taught her a thing or two about behavioral controls, and she wouldn’t have lived to tell about it.

While Jennifer napped, Blake made a pan of homemade lasagna. Now it was in the oven, garlic bread ready to go in next, and a fresh vegetable salad waiting in the refrigerator. He’d sent a deputy to pick up his sister at the airport an hour ago, so Carly was due to arrive any minute.

Jennifer awoke to the most delicious aroma that had ever filled her home — spicy and Italian, just like the gorgeous man downstairs in the kitchen. He’d obviously whipped up something amazing. She couldn’t wait to get downstairs to thank him.

In her bathroom, Jennifer showered, dried her hair, applied fresh makeup and finished with a swipe of rose gloss across her lips. She changed into a sexy black knit shift she’d never worn, and obeying doctor’s orders, slipped on a pair of ballerina flats instead of the sky-high heels she liked to wear. As she brushed her hair, she heard the doorbell and remembered that Blake had mentioned a surprise guest.

<><><>

Blake answered the door and pulled his sister into a hug, while the deputy who had driven her stood awkwardly on the porch holding the handle of her rolling suitcase.

Once the deputy left, Blake pulled her inside the living room and looked at her. Carly was five feet and ten inches, like Jennifer, but she was too thin and lacked Jennifer’s curves. She’d always been slender, but Carly looked like she’d lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose.

Like Blake’s, her eyes were the color of espresso, and filled with intelligence, but today there were glints of sadness. Her tanned skin was more the result of her rich Italian lineage than the hot Florida sun. She was only twenty-seven-years-old, but the worry lines across her forehead suggested she’d already known more trouble than people twice her age.

“
Are you hungry? I made lasagna. Gram’s recipe.”

“
It smells delicious. Thank goodness, one of us learned how to cook like Gram.”

Blake led her to the kitchen, where he pulled the lasagna out of the oven and pushed in the cookie pan of garlic bread slices.