Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (217 page)

Bentz saw the exit for Baton Rouge and angled the Crown Vic toward the ramp. “All I know is my kid’s missing and there’s a whole lotta weird shit going on.” He thought of Kristi. Her smile. Her green eyes, so much like her mother’s. The way she loved to bait him, or play up to him and call him “Daddy” when she was trying to wheedle something from him. Inside he felt empty. How many times would he have to go through this? She was the light of his life, and he suddenly felt a jab of guilt for the happiness he’d found with Olivia. Had he ignored Kristi, his only child? Shit, he’d even blamed Jay McKnight for abandoning her when he’d really been pissed at himself.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this,” Montoya said, lighting up, the smell of smoke drifting through the car. “And don’t say you’re not. I see it in your face. I’ve been through this with you before. We’ll find her.”

Dead or alive.

The phrase cut through Bentz’s brain, but he didn’t repeat it. Couldn’t think that he’d never see his daughter alive again.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mai demanded, her gun trained on Jay, who’d immediately dropped to the floor.

“I’m the boyfriend, remember? I think I should be asking you that question. I’m with the crime lab, for Christ’s sake.”

“FBI.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m a field agent with the FBI. I’ve been working undercover on the missing coed case ever since the second vic went missing.”

He looked up at her and saw the hardness in her small face. She was dead serious as she pulled out a badge. “Get up.” She motioned with the gun, then crossed to the door and pulled it shut.

As she slid her sidearm into her shoulder holster he got to his feet and examined her badge. He’d seen enough in his life to recognize its authenticity. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not at liberty to say—”

“Kristi’s missing,” he snapped. “I don’t know where the hell she is so don’t give me any federal crap. What the hell do you know?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Then you can explain yourself to Rick Bentz.”

“Stop it! You can’t intimidate me.”

“We don’t have any time.”

That seemed to get to her. She pushed a hank of black hair from her eyes, glanced at him, and mumbled something about a loss of protocol, but sat on the edge of the couch and said, “Tit for tat, McKnight. You spill everything you know, and we’ll work this together.” She held up a finger. “Just for now. I need clearance.”

“Deal.” He didn’t hesitate.

“I’ve been working this case for months, undercover, and then your girlfriend comes along and starts screwing everything up, jeopardizes and threatens everything I’ve been doing for half a year!”

“You had the camera in here?”

“It was already in place. Hiram, the so-called manager, used to watch it for fun. His own private girlie show.” She couldn’t hide the sneer in her voice. “Should’ve run him in, but once again, I was working things out. We discovered the camera after the Atwater girl went missing and left it up, just in case the killer returned.”

“You used Kristi as bait?”

“We did not put her in harm’s way,” Mai insisted.

“Nor did you warn her off.” Jay was furious, ready to throttle the little woman.

“Couldn’t blow our cover. You obviously discovered it, so I came back to adjust the books you put over the lens.”

“You came in through the window,” he guessed, and she nodded, a hint of a cold smile twisting her lips. “So where’s Kristi?”

“Don’t know. I thought she might be with you.”

“You didn’t have anyone following her?”

Mai met his gaze. “You don’t know where she went?”

He shook his head. “She mentioned going back to see
Everyman,
Father Mathias’s production—”

“I work on the crew,” she cut him off. “We know something is up with Mathias, but nothing we can prove, and no, Kristi, wasn’t at the performance tonight. We tape them.”

“You tape them?”

“With the administration’s approval.” She was stone-cold serious. “We don’t know everything about this guy, but we’re pretty sure he’s a whack job of the highest order.”

“But you don’t know who he is?”

“We’re working on it.”

“And you haven’t arrested Dominic Grotto?”

“He’s not our guy.”

“He’s the one who’s into all the vampire crap!” The cat hopped through the open window, took one look at the strangers, and shot under the couch. Jay pulled the window shut and rain slid down the panes.

“I’m telling you we don’t have a case against him.”

“You mean you didn’t,” Jay pointed out. “That’s changed. Now we have bodies,” Jay said. “Bloodless bodies with evidence of homicide. Bite marks on the victims’ necks. I’ll bet my right arm those bruises match Dr. Grotto’s bite impression.”

Mai stared at him. Weighing her options, as if she might renege on her previous agreement. Finally, glancing at her watch, she said, “Okay, let’s do this thing. We’ll go talk to Grotto and see what the Vampire King has to say. On the way, you tell me everything you know and don’t leave out a word.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Father Mathias whispered as he knelt at his bedside. How had he been so tempted, so easily led astray? He’d thought it was all for the greater good.

Or so he’d tried to convince himself.

But God knew. The almighty Father could so easily view the darkness that was Mathias’s soul and recognize the deceit, the evil, that lingered deep inside.

How many times had he attempted to confess all his sins to Father Anthony? How often had he wanted to seek the counsel of a wiser and more devout man than himself? And yet he hadn’t.

Coward,
he mocked, knowing his weakness.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, his hands clenched in heartfelt supplication. “Please, Father, hear my prayer,” he whispered, hearing the sound of the rising wind, the approach of a heavy storm. Already rain was beating on the windowpanes and running through the gutters, gurgling noisily in the downspouts.

Somewhere above, a branch was pounding, banging against one of the attic windows.

Evidence of God’s fury.

His all-powerful rage.

A reminder of how small and insignificant Mathias was.

He lost himself in his prayer and missed the soft tread of footsteps slipping along the hallway. He was unaware that he was no longer alone. Absorbed in absolving himself of his wrongdoings, offering up his repentance, he didn’t realize an intruder had entered until it was far too late.

And then, the creak of one floorboard made him freeze, his intonation lost….

The hairs on the back of his scalp prickled as he turned, looking upward into the face of evil. Dark, soulless eyes stared down at him. Liver-colored lips drew backward into a hideous grimace. White fangs, seeming to drip with blood, caught in the dim lamplight.

Mathias gasped, but it was too late.

Lucifer incarnate had descended upon him. The devil to whom he’d sold his soul so willingly had returned to collect his due.

Mathias started to rise, but the creature lunged, its fangs bared.

Mathias screamed to the heavens, throwing up his arms to ward off the evil. But he was no match for the devil, this maniac with a thirst for blood.

Vlad bit down. His teeth ripped into the soft flesh of Mathias’s throat, biting off another scream. Blood sprayed.

Searing pain tore through Mathias’s body. He scratched and clawed but Vlad, having satisfied his taste for the priest’s unholy blood, unsheathed his knife.

He raised it high in a deadly arc.

Lamplight glinted against the blade.

Mathias wriggled in fear. He was sweating, nearly urinating on himself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No…he wanted God’s forgiveness, expected to live long and repent his sins and—

Slash!

The blade sliced downward in a silver arc.

Father Mathias was dead in an instant.

The feds, Jay thought, of course.

The FBI had been at work all along.

And still hadn’t arrested Grotto.

Jay drove with Mai Kwan on the seat next to him, Bruno relegated to the backseat. She knew Grotto’s address, and as Jay told her everything he and Kristi had discovered, she showed him where to park, a block away from the vine-covered Victorian where Grotto resided. The house was fitting with its sharp angles and pitched roof and gargoyles decorating the downspouts.

“I just don’t think whoever pulled this off would point a big red arrow at their head by teaching vampirism,” Mai said. “Our killer seems too smart for that.”

“Ego,” Jay said, taking out his pistol. “God complex. He thinks he’s brilliant, more clever than everyone else. Now he wants to rub our noses in it.”

“Or he’s being set up.”

“Either way, he knows something.”

Mai snapped a clip into her weapon. “Agreed. Let’s go.”

They didn’t wait for backup. She had already phoned a higher up, asked for a warrant, and when told to “stand down” had said that of course she would. Which was a bald-faced lie. Jay figured the guy on the other end of the phone had known it.

“Looks like he’s not alone,” Mai whispered, frowning when she spied a car parked in the driveway. “We’ll have to wait.”

“No way. Kristi could be inside.”

“We can’t risk it.”

“You mean
you
can’t risk it. I’m going in.”

Kristi woke up slowly.

Her entire body ached.

Groggy and disoriented, she opened one eye to darkness.

Pain slammed through her head and she wondered faintly where she was.

Shivering, she realized she was naked, lying on a cold stone floor, her hands and ankles bound, the dank smell of the earth deep in her nostrils.

The world spun a bit and she had to work to think clearly, if at all. As if through a long tunnel, she heard water dripping and muted voices rising in anger. An argument?

She started to cry out, then held her tongue as images—sharp, kaleidoscopic shards—cut through her brain so painfully she winced. She remembered being on the trail of a vampire.

Wait! What? A vampire? No, that wasn’t right, or was it? Her skin pimpled at the thought.

Think, Kristi, pull yourself together.

She remembered a bright red drink, a dazzling concoction that someone called a blood red martini…and…and…there had been others with her. Her memories were coming back now, faster and faster. She’d been duped by two girls, Grace and Marnie…no three, that damned waitress, Bethany—she’d been in on it and then there was the surreal image…Dr. Grotto approaching her on the stage, bending over her in the mist, showing an unseen audience what he could do to her before he plunged his teeth into her neck.

She recoiled at that memory.

She tried to croak out a sound but her throat still wasn’t working. It was all so surreal. Maybe just a bad trip? Whatever Bethany had slipped into her drink had given her hallucinations…of course that was it.

Then why are you lying naked on a stone floor?

Her eyelids, at half mast, flew open and she tried to see, to gain some vision in the near-total darkness…. Where the hell was she? Why had she been part of that horrible ritual?

Why are you still alive?

Panicked, she tried to stand, but she wasn’t strong enough.

She couldn’t get her stupid limbs to do what she wanted.

Grotto’s image came to her again.

He’d called her by name, told the unseen audience of one person? Five? A hundred? Told them that she was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice.

And then he’d apologized to her. Whispered that he was sorry. For what? Sticking his goddamned teeth into her? Abducting her? Holy God, what the hell had she gotten herself into?

So dizzy she thought she might throw up, Kristi forced herself onto her hands and knees. If she couldn’t walk, she could damned well crawl. Head pounding, holding one eye closed against the incredible pain, she started to move. Maybe this was only a dream. A really bad dream. She stopped for a moment, wobbling on her knees, and reached up with her tied hands to touch her neck.

She bit back a scream when her fingertips came into contact with the wound: two holes in her neck, not bandaged, just crusted over with her own blood.

Her stomach revolted and she had to swallow back the bile that burned up her throat.

It hadn’t been a bad trip or a nightmare. Dr. Grotto had actually bit into her neck and sucked her blood. She touched the tracks of the blood that had dripped down her shoulder and over her breast. Sick, sick!

Fighting the blinding headache, she told herself she had to find a way out of this dark, stone hole.

A tomb, Kristi, you’re in another tomb.

Her skin crawled at the thought, the memory of the last time she’d been sealed away, certain of her death.

Don’t give up.

It hadn’t happened before and it damned well wasn’t going to happen now. At least not without a damned good fight.

She eased across the cold rocks, moving slowly, feeling with her bound hands. She listened for any noise over the drip of water, but heard only the scratch of tiny nails, as if rats or mice were scurrying out of her way.

Inching her way, she finally ran into a wall. It, too, felt made of stone. There had to be a way out, she reasoned, her mind clearing bit by bit. Somehow she’d been placed in here and unless she was in some huge reservoir with only an outlet in the ceiling, there had to be a door. She just had to find it.

Don’t give up. You’re not dead yet.

She was just getting her bearings when she heard the footsteps, coming closer.

She scooted back and lay down again. She wasn’t strong enough to fight, not yet. She’d have to feign that she was still unconscious.

This was it.

Her chance.

A key rattled in the door.

Kristi closed her eyes.
Give me strength,
she silently prayed,
and help me kill this son of a bitch.

CHAPTER 28

S
o it had all come down to this, Dominic Grotto thought as he sat, cell phone in hand, the ice cubes in his untouched drink melting. Even the Vivaldi drifting from the hidden speakers mounted on the bookcase of his study could not soothe his soul. What had begun as a unique way to get kids interested in all kinds of literature had ended up in death.

Four girls dead so far.

Probably more. No doubt Ariel O’Toole and Kristi Bentz had died and would be found in the river as well.

He knew it now. The blind eye he’d so willingly turned could now see perfectly. No more did he delude himself into thinking that he was doing the right thing and helping girls whose lives were a shambles start over.

Since returning from his own personal performance, his last performance to his private audience, he’d switched on the television and caught news reports of bodies being pulled from the Mississippi. There had been few details, no names listed until next of kin were notified, but he knew. Deep in his heart he knew exactly what had happened to those girls.

And it was his fault.

Even now, he tasted the blood of Kristi Bentz upon his lips. All part of the show. All part of the plan. All for the greater good.

Like hell.

All part of your own personal aggrandizement.

He’d gotten to know the girls personally and told himself that they were willing participants, that the fear he’d seen in their eyes was all part of the show, that the reason they’d been paralyzed and weak was only their acting ability.

He’d convinced himself that nothing illegal had happened, that there were no victims, that no one had been hurt.

But deep down, he’d known.

But he might be able to save Ariel O’Toole and Kristi Bentz. There might still be time. He might be able to stop this horror from ever happening again. Even if he had to turn himself in for his part in the debacle—his very integral part.

Outside the storm was raging, rain lashing at his windows, and the flash of lightning lit up the sky in sizzling bursts, thunder rolling afterward.

He should have come clean when Kristi Bentz had visited his office, wanting answers. Oh, hell, he should have come clean a year ago, when he’d first heard that Dionne had gone missing.

He’d suspected that things had gone wrong then.

Over the soft music and angry storm, he heard the front door creak open and his heart clutched. He’d locked it, hadn’t he? Or had he forgotten?

They’re coming for you.

They know.

A drip of fear slid down his spine as he climbed to his feet to investigate. “Hello?” he said, disgusted with himself. He was a strong man. He’d never known real fear in his life.

Footsteps clicked determinedly down the hallway.

“Who’s there?” He was at the den door when it swung open in front of him and the woman he’d claimed to love stood before him in trembling fury.

“No more, Dominic,” Lucretia said, her voice hoarse, her eyes sunken, skin as pale as death. Her head was bare and wet, mascara tracking down her cheeks. Rainwater ran down the folds of a long black raincoat. She hadn’t bothered closing the door and it banged open against the wall, cold winter air rushing through the hallway. “No more lies. No more disappearances. No more making me think I’m crazy.”

“Lucretia, I’m going to the police—”

“Now? When they’ve found the bodies?
Now
you’re going?” She shook her head from side to side. “I loved you,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

“I know. I loved you, too—”

“Liar!” she spat, nostrils flared.

She pulled her hand from the pocket of her raincoat, her fingers curled around a small black handgun.

He froze. “Oh, Christ, Lucretia, what’re you doing?” he asked, but he knew. In his heart, he knew. “Don’t!” His stomach dropped as she raised a pistol, the one he’d given her months before.

“You killed them,” she said, her voice trembling, her hand shaking.

“I tried to save them! I just put on a show for the others, but it was all an act, I swear!”

“No…” The pistol wobbled in her hands.

Maybe he could talk her out of this. Maybe he could take the weapon from her.

“Just listen. There might be time. Kristi and Ariel might still be alive.”

“Kristi? Kristi Bentz? You dragged her into it? And Ariel? Her, too?” Her eyes hardened as she aimed the gun at his head. “She’s missing. Has been since last week…and it’s your fault. Oh, God, she’s dead. I know she’s dead. I should have warned them, told them.”

He took a step toward her, but her fingers moved on the gun’s trigger. He stopped. Held up both hands in an attempt to calm her. “We just have to find Preston. He’s…he’s the one who got to know the girls, who helped them…. He has a place, it’s connected to the Wagner House by the old tunnels that Ludwig Wagner used.”

“They’ve been sealed for a hundred years,” she said dully. “This is another lie.”

“No, no, I swear. Preston claimed he was helping them all start over, gain new lives, disappear….”

“Helping them die.”

“Lucretia, I didn’t know. I swear, I did not know,” he said, trying to keep her engaged in conversation as he thought of a way to strip the weapon from her, to tackle her and take his chances.

“But you suspected. Just as I did.” She focused on him, the gun steady but lowered to his chest again.

His heart shuddered and for just a second, over the howl of the wind that shrieked down the hallway from the open door, he thought he heard something. Footsteps?

“You’re guilty, Dominic. We’re both guilty.”

“No! Lucretia, just wait. Listen to reason. I’ll call the police and tell them all about Preston, about the girls, about my part in it. I’ll confess. Please, my love, just give me a chance,” he said, changing tactics, smiling at her, stepping toward her. She wanted to believe he still loved her, so he would give it his all. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said in the voice that always had made her melt. “I’ve always loved you. You know that. I’ll tell the police about Preston and the plays and the tunnels from Wagner House. They might be able to find Kristi and Ariel. They could still be alive. Come on, honey. Trust me.”

She flinched, then looked him straight in the eye.

“Lucretia, baby—”

“I’ll see you in hell, and when I do, I’ll remember to spit on you.”

She pulled the trigger.

Jay didn’t wait.

He and Mai had seen Grotto’s open door and considered it an invitation. They ran through the rain, up the steps of the front porch. Weapons drawn, they surged into the building. A light emanated from the end of the hall where voices rose in an argument that could be heard over the rise of the wind and the slamming rain.

Mai signaled to him to stay back, that she would handle it, but he was right beside her, hearing every word of the conversation, hearing Kristi’s name and mention of tunnels running from Wagner House. Grotto’s statement, “They could still be alive,” propelled him. Glock raised, he pushed open the door.

Bang!

A gunshot boomed through the house.

Thud!

“FBI!” Mai yelled, rushing the room behind him. “Drop your weapon!”

Bang!

Jay watched helplessly, yelling to no avail, as Lucretia fell to the floor. The weapon slipped from her fingers, blood oozing from a self-inflicted wound to her head.

Grotto was down, bleeding from the chest, a red stain spreading over the carpet. His eyes were open, staring blankly toward the ceiling.

Jay punched 9-1-1 on his phone as he knelt beside Grotto. “He’s still alive!” he yelled, finding a pulse as the emergency dispatcher answered.

“She’s gone.” Mai removed her fingers from Lucretia’s neck and came to Grotto’s side.

Jay stayed on the line with the operator, giving the address, explaining what happened.

“Stay with me, Dr. Grotto,” Mai said. “Hang in there.”

Sirens shrieked over the keening wind, and through the window Jay, still talking to the operator, watched police vehicles, lights flashing, screech to a halt in front of the house. An ambulance and fire truck arrived in tandem.

“They’re here,” Jay said into the phone, his mind still racing. “Thanks!” He dropped to a knee as footsteps thundered through the hallways.

“Back here!” Mai yelled.

“Where is she?” Jay demanded, leaning over Grotto, his face only inches from that of the wounded man. “Where’s Kristi?”

“With…Preston…”

“Where?” Jay demanded.

“Tunnels…” Grotto wheezed, his voice faint.

“Out of the way. Step back.” An EMT muscled in, taking over, trying to save the bastard’s life. “Get these people out of here!”

Frustrated, Jay backed away from the wounded man, his fear for Kristi more acute than ever. He stepped into the hallway—right into the path of Rick Bentz.

“Where the hell is Kristi?” Bentz demanded.

“With Preston.”

“Who’s he?”

“Dr. Charles Preston. A professor at the college, English Department,” Jay explained. “Grotto says Preston has her, maybe somewhere in Wagner House. I’m guessing the basement, which is always locked. It leads to old tunnels, at least that’s what Grotto claims. Kristi was convinced there were some kind of weird vampire rituals taking place there.”

Mai Kwan joined them. “Those tunnels have been sealed for a century. I know. I checked. We’ve looked into Wagner House.”

“Who the hell are you?” Bentz demanded, ready for a fight.

“Mai Kwan, FBI. And you?”

Jay wasn’t interested in pleasantries. While Bentz, Montoya, and Kwan straightened out jurisdiction, levels of authority, and fucking protocol, he walked into the night.

If he ran, and cut across campus, he could reach Wagner House in less than five minutes.

Portia Laurent had spent all day going over information from the school concerning their employees. She’d found several who owned dark vans and, of course, she’d immediately thought of Dr. Grotto, Professor Vampire himself, as the primary suspect. But it just didn’t make any sense. Why would he be so blatant? He’d never struck her as an idiot. An egomaniac, yes, certainly, but not a cretin.

So she’d dug deeper, finding nothing, hoping for another shred of evidence that hadn’t come through. She’d placed calls and e-mails, searched the Internet along with criminal and banking records, DMV, anything she could think of.

“Strike three hundred and three and you’re out,” she told herself, and placed a call to Jay McKnight. He didn’t pick up. “Story of my damned life,” she thought. Then she glanced up and saw an e-mail that had been written earlier in the day but, probably because of all the spam filters, had taken hours to get to her.

She read the damned thing three times before she realized what it was saying. It was from a private college in California and said simply:

You must have made some mistake; the person you’re asking about is deceased. We’re sorry to inform you that Dr. Charles Preston passed away on December 15, 1994.

Portia immediately checked the Internet, finding the obit and confirming the story. Preston had died in a surfing accident. The photograph was clear and there was no way that he was the same man who taught writing at All Saints.

On her way to the car, she called Del Vernon and left him a message. No way was she waiting for him. She and Charles Preston—or whoever he was—were about to have a heart-to-heart.

The door to Kristi’s prison opened silently. She didn’t move. Her heart was slamming into her ribs and she had to force her muscles to go slack. Her eyes remained closed except for the tiniest crack that she allowed herself, just a glimpse of her surroundings.

Until a flashlight was trained on her face.

“Hey!” A man’s voice echoed through the chamber. “Wake up!”

Dr. Preston?

The surfer-dude writing teacher?

Not Grotto?

Her head still pounded, but her mind was beginning to clear. She knew her arms and legs worked, but not completely. She’d never be able to overpower her captor. But Dr. Preston?

“Kristi! Wake up!” he yelled at her as he approached. He bent down, grabbed both her arms and gave her a little shake. “Wake up. Come on.”

She let her head loll forward, then back as he shook her. Though she wanted to kick his teeth in, she knew she had to wait until just the right moment, when her faculties were sharp, when her body obeyed her mind.

But what if it’s too late? What if he kills you first? Are you going down without a fight?

She thought about trying to overpower him and knew she should wait. She had to, if she wanted to escape.

“Dumb cunt,” he muttered, and left her on the floor. He closed the door again and turned the key.

You missed your only chance! You should have fought, tried to run!

No…she knew that wouldn’t have worked. Shaking inside, she took deep calming breaths. She had to outsmart the son of a bitch.

She remembered little of the previous hours. She had fuzzy memories of being nude on a stage of sorts and Dr. Grotto biting her neck, but after that, after she’d passed out from fear, from the drugs she’d been given, or whatever else, she remembered nothing.

She tried her legs again. They wobbled, bound as they were, but she could move her hands, and if she could somehow untie the ropes…no, not ropes or chains, but tape, thick duct tape that held her ankles together.

She sat on the floor and wished for the first time in her life that she had sharp nails. But her fingers were nearly useless as she tried and failed to tear at the plastic-coated tape.

She thought of Jay. Why hadn’t she told him she loved him? Now, there was a chance, a very good chance, that she might never see him again and he’d never know how she felt, how she’d fallen in love with him.

You have more important things to think about.

Again she tried to rip at the tape, but to no avail. But her body was responding now; she could give it commands and her muscles did as they were bid.

She levered her legs upward, pulling her ankles as close to her torso as possible, then leaned forward. She was flexible from years of athletics. Tae kwon do and swimming had helped. She stretched her spine and positioned her mouth over the tape between her ankles. Then she bit down hard and flung her head backward. Her teeth skated over the tape. No purchase.