Killer Heat (23 page)

Twisting in his seat, he leaned against the door. “Give them to me.”

“What will you do with them?”

“There's a lab we use at Department 6. I'll have them tested. If the tech finds sufficient DNA, I'll have him create a profile.”

“At whose expense?”

“If my company won't cover it, I will.”

She changed her grip on the steering wheel. “Why would you do that?”

He stared at her. “You have to ask? Why wouldn't I if it might stop a murderer?”

“You make it very difficult not to like you,” she said grudgingly.

That crooked smile reappeared. “Too bad you're still fighting it.”

T
he panties were gone. Butch searched his office, retraced Paris's steps to the house, even went through his jockey box, where she claimed to have found them. But they weren't there, didn't seem to be on the premises.

Where had she put them? He had no idea, but he hoped it was someplace safe.

“Daddy? What are you doing?”

Spotting his son playing in the planter by the front door as he came around the house from the carport, Butch conjured up a smile he didn't feel. It hadn't been an easy morning. First they'd had to put on that circus act for local television. Then they'd had to bury Demon. That had just about killed him. He'd cared more about that dog than ninety-five percent of the people in his life. “Looking for something I've lost, buddy.”

“Demon?”

“No, Demon died, remember?” Champ didn't understand; he seemed to think Demon was sleeping, and his next words proved it.

“When's he going to wake up?”

“He won't be waking up. But we'll get another dog, okay?” Butch couldn't believe another dog could really replace Demon, but he hoped Champ would.

“Okay.” He continued to drive his miniature cars around the dirt roads he'd created between the plants. He even had a watering can beside him, so he could refill his “lake.”

Butch brushed past him, then stopped. Champ ran around the property all day, picking up one item or another for his pretend worlds. He couldn't go into the salvage yard during working hours, when it was open to the public, or when Butch was using the big machinery, but it was a wonderland for him after hours. Was there any chance…

When Butch didn't go inside, Champ angled his face up, squinting to avoid the glare of the sun. “Do you like my racetrack, Daddy?”

Butch moved over to provide him with some shade. “I do. Listen, bud. Mommy's lost a pair of panties. Have you seen them?”

He wrinkled his nose.
“Panties?”

“Yes. Underwear. The kind women wear. She dropped them after…after she finished the laundry, and I'm trying to find them for her. You haven't seen them, have you?”

“Nope.” Champ made the sound of a motor as he pushed his cast-iron truck to the top of a small hill he'd created.

“You're sure?” Butch asked.

His first question already forgotten, Champ looked up again. “What, Daddy?”

“Never mind.” What would Champ want with a pair of women's panties? At that age, Butch's fetish had already taken strong root. He could remember stealing his mother's panties and bringing them to his room to fondle while hiding under the bed. But Champ hadn't encountered what Butch had encountered. He was normal. Butch
was eternally grateful for that. It offered him hope that he could create something positive from his life.

Tousling his son's hair, he went inside, letting the screen door slam behind him. “Paris?”

“What?” She came out of the kitchen but didn't give him a chance to tell her why he'd called out for her. “Have you seen Champ?” she asked. “Is he still out front?”

“Yeah, he's playing in the planter.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I wish I could put him in the dog run.”

“We just buried Demon and you're already taking over his cage?”

“That dog was mean. He only liked you. And I'm thinking about Champ's safety.”

“The run is filled with dog shit.”

“It wouldn't be if you cleaned it.”

“Can't your brother do anything?” Slipping past her, he went into the kitchen and poured himself some coffee.

She followed him. “You know how Mom and Dad protect him. They'll think we're being abusive if we give him such a nasty job.”

“Then clean it out yourself,” he grumbled, adding cream to his cup.

“I can't. No time. So don't blame me if Champ wanders off.”

Champ was as well-balanced as Butch could've hoped to be, and Butch wanted to be sure his son never met up with anyone or anything to change that. “You'd better watch him.”

“I try to. But if you want the house clean and the laundry done and the meals prepared, someone's got to do it. And that someone is always me.”

“Bring him in when you're in the house. And quit acting like you have it so damn rough.”

She muttered under her breath. He couldn't tell exactly what she'd said, but he noticed that she was careful not to let her irritation go too far. Somehow, she still loved him. That realization brought a flood of relief because he had to ask her a difficult question.

Lowering his voice so no one else in the household would hear him, he spoke over the rim of his coffee cup. “Where'd you put those panties you found in my jockey box?”

She checked the mudroom behind her as if she feared Dean might be hiding there. Her brother seemed to overhear everything, to be right where they didn't want him to be all the time. If it wasn't for the old folks and the fact that this was their place, Butch would've kicked him out long ago. Dean didn't have an outside job, so he didn't contribute financially. He didn't do much around the house, either. Occasionally, he volunteered to watch Champ, but Butch wouldn't allow him to babysit without supervision. He understood better than most the damage a twisted adult could wreak on a young mind. Except for a few hours a day spent answering phones, filing, filling out invoices or accepting deliveries in the yard, Dean was a total waste of space. Mostly, he rambled aimlessly around town, bothering people who'd rather be left alone.

“I don't know where they are,” she said. “Unlike you, I'm not attracted to other women's underwear.”

When he ignored that, she backed off a bit, grew less combative. “Why?” she asked, now sulky.

“I can't find them,” he admitted.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you
want
to find them? So you can jerk off while you remember?”

“Because we can't afford to have them floating around, that's why!”

The color drained from her face. “So they
do
belong to the Bonner woman.”

“No.” April had worn the ugliest old-lady panties he'd ever seen, probably because she'd never planned on getting naked with him. Her underwear had been as practical and unattractive as he'd found her, once they met. Like so many others, she'd posted a far more flattering picture of herself on the Internet. Maybe Butch occasionally lied about his name and his exact location, but he was truthful about everything else. He wished the women he met were that honest.

“Then why are you worried?” Paris wanted to know.

Because the sexy leopard-print panties Paris had brought into the yard last night connected him to someone else entirely. Someone he'd promised Paris he'd never mention again. “I'm afraid that Moretti woman got hold of them. That she'll try to make more of them than she should.”

“How could she do that?”

He preferred not to go into detail. Paris was already a nervous wreck. And that hang-up call last night certainly hadn't helped. “She's convinced I'm guilty. She might even try to say they belonged to April.”

“That can be proven one way or another. If they were ever worn, there's DNA on those panties, like in the movies, right?”

“That's why I've got to get them back.” He'd said more than he wanted to, so he concentrated on stirring his coffee.

“What if she has them? She was inside the yard while
we were arguing. She could've heard about the panties, decided to steal them.”

If she'd heard about the panties, she could also have heard Julia's name…. “You would've had to drop them for that to happen. Did you?”

She blinked rapidly as she struggled to remember. “I don't know. I was so upset. I—I wasn't worried that someone might find them. I—”

“When's the last time you saw them?” He broke in to keep her focused so she wouldn't fall apart.

“In your office.”

“I checked there.”

Nonplussed, she shook her head. “Then they have to be in the yard.”

“Son of a bitch.” Setting his cup aside, Butch grabbed his truck keys off the hook.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I need to take care of some business.”

She grabbed him by the arm. “What kind of business?”

“Let me go.”

“You're not going to confront that Francesca woman…”

“I have to. Don't you understand? I need to get those panties back before she hands them off to someone else. It might be too late already.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Don't worry. I'll be home as soon as I can. If your parents ask, tell them Dean's watching the yard. He should be able to handle it for a couple of hours.”

“Butch?”

He turned.

“If only you'd quit like you promised.”

He wished he had, wished he could. What compelled him to do what he did? He'd asked himself that since he
was a boy, but he was just…different, and there didn't seem to be anything he could do to make himself normal. “I'm sorry.”

“Be careful,” she said. Then she closed her eyes and her lips moved in what looked like a silent prayer, but Butch knew prayers wouldn't save them. He'd never been acquainted with any god, couldn't believe one existed. Even if there was some deity that took a benevolent interest in humankind, he wouldn't protect Butch's family. Not with the life Butch had lived. Not with the things he'd done. Butch had to take care of his own.

With a wave, he headed for the door.

“When will we be able to put it all behind us?” she whispered from the entrance to the kitchen.

He paused to look back at her, and gave her the same empty promise he'd given ever since she'd first caught him cheating. “Soon. Real soon.”

“It won't end, Butch. It'll never end, will it.”

“Sure it will.” Flinching at the tears in her eyes, evidence of pain
he'd
caused, he stepped out on the porch, where he stood gazing down at his son.

“Look, Daddy!” A grin spread across Champ's face as he held up his Corvette. “This car goes fast.”

“That's a cool car,” Butch agreed. He knew in that instant that he wouldn't hesitate to do whatever he had to, but another voice interrupted him before he could leave the porch.

“Going somewhere?”

Butch jerked his head around to see Dean standing in the shade of the overhang near the empty dog run. “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “You're supposed to be in the yard.”

“Don't worry. I'm keeping an eye on things.”

“Not the things you're supposed to.”

His smile grew faintly mocking. “For now, I'm keeping an eye on you.”

“Be careful with that,” Butch warned.

Straightening his frail, slim body, Dean pulled a woman's thong from behind his back and twirled it around his finger. “Don't worry. Your secrets are safe with me.”

 

Francesca watched Jonah from her driveway as he moved his luggage into his rental car. “I guess this is goodbye,” she said.

Jonah wondered how quickly he could arrange a flight. If he didn't do it fast, he might change his mind. “I guess so.”

“I never dreamed I'd see you again. Let alone kiss you,” she added.

“Yeah, well, that kiss could've turned into a lot more,” he teased. “My mistake.”

“Actually, you did the right thing.”

“Why's that?”

“It taught me something about you.”

“Like…”

“You're not
all
bad.”

“Is that meant to be a compliment?” he said with a laugh.

“Yes. I appreciate all you've done.” She held up her injured arm. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“You're welcome.” He bent his head in farewell as he took his keys from his pocket, but she surprised him by closing the distance between them and putting her arms around him.

“It was good to see you again,” she murmured.

He wanted to apologize to her, to finally let her know how guilty he felt about what he'd done when they were together. She seemed more open now. He thought she
might allow him that opportunity, might actually
believe
him this time. But a blue van pulled up at that moment, and Adriana got out.

“Hi.” She fidgeted with her keys while glancing from Francesca to him. She looked a lot different than when he'd seen her before. With her hair curled and her makeup on, she'd obviously gone to some trouble to clean up. Jonah wished he didn't get the impression she'd done it for him, but that old feeling came over him, the one he remembered from ten years ago, and it had the same suffocating effect.

Francesca's smile tightened as she released him and moved away. “Hi. What's up?”

“I just came by to make sure you two are okay. I've been so worried, what with the case you're working on. That Dean guy really gave me a bad feeling.”

“I've got to go.” Eager to extricate himself from the conversation, Jonah walked toward his car. “Nice seeing you both.”

It appeared as if Francesca had more to add to their earlier exchange, but now that Adriana was here, he knew she wouldn't say it. She nodded instead. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

He waved at Adriana, who smiled a little too broadly in return, and got in his car. That moment when Francesca had softened, when she'd looked up at him with a hint of the old trust, had rattled him—and given him hope. But he was foolish to reach for it. What they'd had was long gone. They'd be crazy to try and resurrect it.

“Just get the hell out of here,” he told himself. “Do the safe thing for once in your life.”

And he did. He almost couldn't believe it, but less than an hour later, he was waiting to board a plane to L.A.

 

Butch waited until Champ went inside, like he'd told him to do, before addressing Dean. “Where'd you get those?”