Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (177 page)

Montoya missed a turn, hit the brakes, backed up, spewing gravel, then turned down the road and stepped on it again. Bentz’s phone rang again, and he saw the caller ID. “Hell. It’s Cole Dennis.” He felt compelled to answer. “Bentz.”

Dennis didn’t bother identifying himself, just said, “Eve’s missing. I just called 911. I thought you and Montoya should know.”

“I heard. We’re looking for her.”

“Wasn’t someone watching her back?”

“She didn’t want protection.”

“But you gave it to her anyway,” Cole accused. “We saw the cops parked just down the street.”

Bentz frowned as the gloom of the day seemed to seep into the interior of the cruiser.

“We thought it would be a good idea.”

“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t very effective. She left to meet her sister-in-law and then disappeared.”

“Where is Anna Maria Renner now?”

“I don’t know, Bentz, but you guys have to find Eve. You have to!”

“We will,” Bentz promised, but he had a bad feeling.

Obviously Dennis was angry. And scared. And probably riddled with guilt.

A few miles down the road, they spied a state trooper’s rig parked at the end of a long drive that was partially obscured by brush.

Montoya slammed on the brakes and the Crown Victoria shuddered to a stop. He was out of the car in an instant, with Bentz at his heels. The troopers had already sealed both the front and the back entrances to the place, which was little more than a shack hidden from the road by a long, weed-choked lane.

Bentz knew they should wait for more backup, or the FBI, or a damned SWAT team, but he was too hungry. This was way too personal. He didn’t want to chance Le Mars somehow slipping into the coming night because protocol wasn’t observed.

Through the storm, two state troopers ran to the back of the building and took up positions at the rear door. Bentz flattened his back against the cheap siding by the front door, while Montoya pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the door. Troopers covered the windows.

He waited.

Gathered himself.

“No signs of life,” Bentz said.

No light shined from any of the windows.

No smoke rose from the chimney.

“Nice and quiet,” Montoya observed. “Kind of spooky.”

Weapons drawn, Bentz nodded at Montoya through the dripping rain, then banged on the door. “Ronald Le Mars! Police! Open up!”

No response. Just the steady beat of the rain.

Bentz didn’t wait. He twisted on the door handle, certain it would have to be forced, and was shocked when the door swung open to a room as dark as death.

“Le Mars!” he yelled again as Montoya shot a look inside. “Ronnie! Give it up!”

“Police!” Montoya shouted.

Taking a deep breath, Bentz whirled through the doorway, hitting the floor, his weapon drawn. There was no light inside, so Bentz lay still, hardly daring to breathe, trying to get his bearings. He didn’t dare use his flashlight in case Le Mars was hiding and lying in wait, searching for a target.

“Le Mars!” Montoya shouted as Bentz’s eyes adjusted to the gloom and he saw the bodies. Naked and shadowy, lying faceup in front of the fire. His stomach lurched, and he felt something wet on the floor. Too thick to be run off from a leaky roof. He rubbed a thumb and finger together then lifted the substance to his nose.

Blood.

He was half lying in a pool of blood.

He climbed to his feet and, using his flashlight, exposed the bodies.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Montoya whispered as, with his weapon drawn, he stepped into the room. “It’s Le Mars.”

“Yeah,” Bentz agreed, staring at the woman. “And Anna Maria Renner.”

“So where’s her sister-in-law?”

Bentz was already reaching for his cell phone. “Nowhere good,” he said, sick inside. “That’s for damned sure.”

Kristi hardly dared breathe.

She heard the footsteps climbing the stairs. Slowly. With a heavy tread. But never faltering. Over the sound of the rain peppering the roof and gurgling down the gutters. She swallowed back her fear and strained to listen, all the while trying to figure out what to do.

She had her cell phone…. She could call someone.

And say what? That you’re hiding up in the attic of the old hospital? That you’re trespassing and someone else is here? Grow some damned balls, Kristi, and think, damn it. You don’t want to sound the alert until there’s a reason to.

So she’d play it safe. Quietly she extracted her cell phone. It was still on mute and vibrate, so she didn’t have to worry about anyone calling her and the phone ringing. Biting her lip, she typed out a text message
: I’m at OLOV asylum. Not alone. Send help. K.
Then she picked two people to send it to. She just wouldn’t press the send button until she was certain she was in a dangerous situation.

The footsteps paused.

Kristi’s heart nearly stopped.

Had he heard her?

How?

She strained to listen, thought she heard a moan, and clenched her jaw so that she wouldn’t scream.

She doused her flashlight and wondered if someone outside had seen the moving beam through the few small windows that allowed natural light into this garret. That was ridiculous, right? No one ever came onto the property.

The footsteps started up again, climbing upward until she was certain he’d stepped onto the third-floor landing.

God help me,
she thought and made the sign of the cross over her chest.

Send the message. Send it now. It will take a long time before anyone can come here anyway. Send it!

He walked slowly down the hallway, and her eyes followed the sound, her gaze traveling over the floorboards that lay directly beneath the center of the attic. He slowed, and she heard the moan again as he switched direction, entering one of the rooms.

She crept silently to a spot directly above and knew that he’d entered Faith Chastain’s room. Without making a sound, she got to her knees and looked through the hole. Oh Lord, it was so dark, but she saw a shadow pass beneath the peep hole. More than a shadow: a large man, and he was carrying something. Oh dear God. She watched as he dropped a woman onto the floor.

Kristi pushed the send button on her phone.

Help would soon be on its way. She just had to wait for a few minutes, keep her head and—

She heard a trill, loud and sharp.

Somewhere a cell phone was ringing.

Echoing through the empty hallways of this hospital!

Oh dear God.

No, oh please, NO! It couldn’t be!

The footsteps stopped completely.

And the trilling ceased.

Kristi knew her message had been received.

By the man in Room 307.

By her contact in the police department. A. J. Tennet would know she was on the floor above him.

All her hope died.

CHAPTER 35

B
entz wanted to throw up.

Once they’d found the light switches and illuminated the cabin, he’d been sick as a dog.

Fortunately the FBI was now on the scene, securing it, waiting for the crime techs, who were on their way.

Bentz looked over the cabin one last time. The naked bodies were still stretched in front of the dying fire, posed together. Anna Maria’s corpse was unmarked aside from a single bullet hole in the back of her head. Along with his matching head wound, Ronnie Le Mars also sported tattoos that were repeated over and over, inked into his body as well as scribbled across the walls of the room:

Eve, 323, Renner, 444, Nun, Viv, Xanax, 101, evil, Kajak,

212, Deified, Reviver, Dennis sinned, Live not on evil.

Never even. Evil live.

The tattoos were all recent; no mention of them were in the file on Ronnie Le Mars.

“A real nutcase,” Montoya said, shaking his head. They were waiting for the crime-scene specialists, but time was slipping away.

As far as they knew, the killer might already have Eve Renner.

“Look at this place, it’s all wrong,” Bentz said, eyeing the cabin. Though parts of it were neat and organized, the rest was filthy, as if all that really mattered was the fireplace, a kind of shrine. He eyed the rosary hanging from the mirror and the blackened windows. He’d been at enough crime scenes to sense when something didn’t quite fit. “This place doesn’t match our mastermind. Do you think Ronnie Le Mars was capable of pulling off all the killings? Getting away clean? The guy was a maniac.”

Montoya tensed. “What’re you saying? He’s our killer. The tattoos are evidence…” He stepped closer to the fireplace. “You think he had a partner.”

“I think he had someone calling the shots.”

“That’s a helluva leap.”

“I’ve read Ronnie’s file, talked to his parole officer and yeah, he was our killer, but something’s just not right.”

“Hey!” an officer shouted from outside. “We found the truck. Got a scratch on it consistent with a round.”

“Shootout with Tiggs,” Montoya muttered. “This is our guy.”

Bentz swallowed hard as he searched the room, carefully examining the mantel, mirror, and desk. He found tattoo supplies and patterns and again, a notebook with pages of pages of palindromes, as if the guy lived for them.

It still seemed wrong. A bad feeling ate at him, roiling his stomach. He eyed the bed. Carefully made. Obviously the man spent all of his time either at the fire doing God knew what or here in the bed. “Hey, hand me a flashlight.”

“Looking for bedbugs?” Montoya asked, grabbing a flashlight from a uniform.

“Maybe.”

On his knees he shined the harsh beam over the sheets, pillows, and quilt. When he peered under the springs, he saw it. “Jesus H. Christ,” he whispered. Hidden deep inside the springs and mattress, he found tiny speakers, some kind of receiver and electronic gadgets he didn’t recognize.

“What is it?” Montoya asked.

“I don’t know.” He glanced around, searching for a radio or stereo that would transmit to the speakers and found none. “I don’t get it,” he said, but the bad feeling that had been gnawing at him just got worse.

“So who killed them?” Montoya said, motioning to the victims. “Obviously not Ronnie as he’s now a vic. So who’s left? The son? Eve’s twin? The guy we can’t find?” He shook his head. “Why would he off Ronnie Le Mars?”

“Good question.” Bentz popped a couple of antacids and walked outside, where the rain was a welcome relief from the stuffy, hideous cabin. “Somehow he knew Le Mars was here. No one else did.”

“Except the anonymous caller,” Montoya pointed out, scratching at his goatee. They walked toward the cruiser, wending their way through the other vehicles that had arrived, including a news van.

Bentz was not in the mood. Fortunately a spokesperson for the Feds was fielding the questions of two reporters.

As they reached their car, Bentz’s cell phone rang. Caller ID told him the call originated at Our Lady of Virtues.

“This is Detective Bentz.”

“Oh, hello, Detective. This is Sister Odine, with the convent.”

She got right to the point. “Remember, you asked me to let you know if anyone showed up here? Well, I thought you should know there’s a car parked at the cemetery. A red Volkswagen Jetta, I be lieve. I have the license plate.”

“What is it?” Bentz asked, but he could barely hear the nun’s words over the crashing of blood pounding through his brain. She rattled off the letters and numbers of the plate, confirming his suspicions. The Jetta belonged to his daughter.

“We’re on our way. I’ll meet you at the front gate of the convent. We’ll need the keys to the hospital.” He climbed into the passenger side of the cruiser. “How fast can you drive to Our Lady of Virtues?” he asked Montoya.

“Twenty minutes,” Montoya said, firing up the engine. “Give or take.”

“Make it ten.”

“Why?” Montoya was already cranking the wheel and hitting the gas. “What’s up?”

The cruiser shot forward.

“Kristi’s there.” Bentz hit the speed-dial button for his daughter and waited. No doubt she wouldn’t pick up. For the first time in a long while, he sent up a quick, short prayer.
Please keep her safe!

The phone connected.

“Kristi!” he said. “Kristi!”

But she didn’t answer.

The phone indicated he’d just received a new text message.

I’m at OLOV asylum attic. Not alone. Send help. K.

Cole drove his Jeep as if he were fleeing Satan himself. As the wipers tossed off sheets of rain, he mentally kicked himself up one side and down the other. Why had he let Eve go to the bar alone? He’d known it wasn’t safe. He shouldn’t have allowed her to bully him, and now she might be lost to him forever! Now, after they’d just crossed so many hurdles, when they’d finally come together. He thought of their last night of lovemaking, in the hotel, and his jaw clenched so hard it ached.

He had nothing to go on but gut instinct.

He had no weapon, just the tools in the back of his rig.

He didn’t doubt that she was with the madman, though he had no idea where he’d taken her or what he’d done to her. In sharp, jagged pieces, he remembered Royal Kajak’s mutilated body, then Sister Vivian’s naked corpse, and the doll propped on the bloody bed.

His only hope was to piece together the messages that the killer had given them, the clues. Palindromes and numbers, backward and forward.

Through the slap of the wipers, in quick tempo, he thought
101; 212; 111; 444; 323; Eve; Renner; Kajak; Viv; Nun; Dad.

He was certain the numbers referred to rooms at Our Lady of Virtues, and he intended to walk those rooms and decipher their meaning. Somehow he would piece together the clues. He had no other options, and time, he felt with every breath he drew, was running out.

Eve opened an eye.

Where the hell was she, and why was the darkened room spinning?

Lying on her back, staring upward at a high ceiling, she heard the beat of rain, steady and hard. Her headache was back, pounding in her skull, and as she fought it, images came back. Fuzzy bits of memory. She’d been abducted. At the bar. And Anna…Oh, God, was she dead?

She blinked hard, remembering the cabin and Ronnie Le Mars and a woman weeping…. then…oh, God! Someone had come in and shot them both then hauled her away. She’d passed out again, only to wake up here.

In the hospital.

He’d brought her to the mental asylum.

She realized now that she was in Faith Chastain’s room, lying on the stained floor.

For the love of God, why?

And where was he?

She tried to sit up, but her arms and legs were still uncooperative and useless.

Try again, Eve.

It’s a situation of mind over matter!

Concentrating, she willed her right arm to move.

Nothing.

Come on, come on, don’t give up!

She tried again, focusing and straining, and her arm slid a bit, though in no controlled fashion.

Again! Hurry! Who knows how long he’ll be gone?

This time she was able to get her finger to twitch, but that was it. No great show of strength, no ability to push herself upright, no chance of running.

Then find a weapon.

She looked around frantically, but the room was empty.

Don’t give up. Be creative, damn it!

She looked frantically again, her gaze scraping every corner of the room. Nothing…Oh God…And then a little glitter near the hearth. Glass?

She started to try and move closer to the fireplace, but she heard something and froze.

Footsteps?

Overhead?

In the attic. What was he doing up there? Spying down on her? Using the peep holes in the attic, the ones she’d used as a child. How ironic that someone now might be spying on her. No, that didn’t make any sense. What the hell was he doing up there?

She was going to die. She knew it. There was so much she had planned for her life, so many things she still wanted to do. Cole’s image came to mind, and she nearly wept as she realized how much she loved him and that, recently, she hadn’t had the nerve to tell him how she felt. She remembered making love to him, feeling his body entwined intimately with hers and how he’d whispered words of love as he’d pushed her hair from her face. But never had she told him how she’d felt.

Fear of being hurt again had paralyzed her.

How foolish she’d been.

Now, she might never get the chance.

A lump filled her throat, but she ignored it. She had no time for “could have beens” or “should have beens.” She had no time for anything.

She looked again at the little bit of glitter near the fireplace. A piece of glass? Not much of a weapon.

But better than nothing.

He was coming for her.

Kristi’s only hope of escape was down the very stairs he would ascend into the attic.

His footsteps thudded as he ran down the length of the hallway. Hers were silent. While every instinct told her to run in the opposite direction, she quickly tiptoed to the chimney and melted against its far side, the rough bricks pressed hard against her back.

How could she have been so foolish? So stupid as to trust him?

She reached into her backpack and fumbled until she found the pepper spray. Then she waited.

And felt sick when she saw the beam of a flashlight. So much for hiding. So much for surprising him.

Not daring to breathe, she waited.

“I know you’re up here,” he said, standing in the doorway, sweeping his flashlight to the farthest reaches of the garret. In the illumination, she saw a rat scamper into a hole in the roof, and she bit back a gasp.

“You know, Kristi, you are such a tease. After everything I’ve done for you, now you’re going to hide?” There it was again, that sexy, cocksure tone that she found nauseating. “You know I’ve got Eve, don’t you? Your half sister.”

What? Half sister?

“Funny thing about that. She’s my sister too. Did you know that? My twin. She and I have the same mother, you two share the same father. How incestuous is that? We’re all just one, big, happy, sick family.”

Don’t listen to him. He’s talking crazy.

“Now wouldn’t that make one helluva story?” he asked nibbling on a pinky nail.

She was sweating, waiting for him to step deeper into the attic.

“I guess your dad never got around to calling and telling you the news. Maybe that’s because he’s not really your dad, now, is he? Old Rick is really, what? Your uncle? Isn’t that how it works? Your mother fucked around with a priest, right? Good old Father James. If only he could have kept his pants on.”

How does he know all this?
Her heart was pounding, her muscles strung tight.
Don’t let him bait you. That’s what he’s counting on. Do not listen.

“So the story is that your mother wasn’t the first woman that let the good priest into her panties. Oh, no. Father James was nothing if not persuasive and charming. Faith Chastain, a woman of…well, less than high moral standards, went for him too. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was mentally disturbed. Did that stop the good priest? Hell, no! And bingo, she got pregnant. My mother, oh, make that my
adoptive
mother, she saw them, you know. Told me how Faith screwed the priest, really shook my mama’s faith.” He snorted as if the idea were absurd. “She considered herself a good, God-fearing Catholic, but it didn’t stop her from coming into my room at night now, did it?” he said, his voice rising with emotion.

Kristi felt her stomach lurch. She had to fight to keep from throwing up, to stay still and quiet. “So what’s really interesting,” he continued, his voice causing her to shrink against the rough bricks, “is that somehow Faith managed to hide her pregnancy from just about everyone.”

The guy was nuts! Insane! Kristi swallowed back her fear. Tried to keep a clear head.

“So you see…You and I, we’re blood, little sister. I can call Father James ‘Daddy’ too!”

No. This was unbelievable. No friggin’ way!

He swept the beam across the floor again and stepped into the room. “Come on, Kristi. Where are you? Believe me, you do
not
want to make me mad.”

You are mad. Crazy. Insane!
But there was a grain of truth in his words, enough fact woven into his fiction to give her pause and make the skin on the back of her skull tighten in revulsion.

He turned the flashlight toward the ceiling, as if he thought she might be in the rafters. She clenched the pepper spray in a death grip.

He took one more step, and she sprang.

Just as he turned and shined the light right in her eyes. Blinding her.

“Stupid girl,” he muttered, and she blasted him with the spray, shooting a stream straight into his eyes.

He dropped the flashlight. It rolled onto the floor, shining in a wide arc.

For the first time, she saw the gun.