Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 (36 page)

THIRTEEN

T
his wasn't possible! Laurel's heart raced, and her breathing pumped shallow and fast.

Two minutes after requesting David remove the bodyguard, she was waiting for the security agent to burst into her home by any means necessary and save Caroline and her from whoever was downstairs.

Another thud sounded below, then a crash of breakage— one of the new lamps? An eerie, raucous cry scraped like claws down Laurel's backbone. The man with the cold! She'd been half expecting another threatening phone call since she deduced he must have her cell number. Instead, he was in their house? How? All of the locks had been changed.

Laurel's arms tightened around Caroline. The girl's slender body shuddered. The two of them were in Caroline's room behind a closed door barricaded by a wooden desk chair under the knob. The protection looked mighty flimsy.

“Mo-o-om!” The girl's familiar whimper bled forth.

“It'll be okay, sweetheart. Help is on the way.”

Faint rattling drifted upstairs from the area of the front door. Must be the security guy. When she called Mack Simmons, he'd directed her to secure herself and her daughter as best she could and not to worry about letting him in. He had the equipment and skills to deal with the lock on his own, and when the alarm went off, so much the better.

The alarm blared, which meant Mack must have gained entrance. The electronic screech drowned any other noises from downstairs. Laurel drew her daughter to the bed and sat on the edge with the girl still clutched in her embrace. Both pairs of eyes stayed riveted on the door. Beneath Laurel's clinging arms, Caroline's heart fluttered like a caged bird. Laurel's wasn't much less frenzied.

A sharp report echoed through the house, and Laurel jumped with a cry. Caroline burst into tears. The gun roared again, followed by a shattering sound, faint but distinct against the backdrop of the alarm's wail. Then nothing but the alarm.

A minute passed. Then another.

Laurel scarcely dared breathe. Who had been shot down there? The intruder or their hired defender?

If the latter, then she and Caroline were on their own. Laurel eased away from her daughter and pointed to the corner of the room where Caroline's softball bat leaned against the wall. Caroline's lips trembled, but her gaze firmed as she nodded.

Laurel crossed the room and grabbed the bat. Caroline went the other direction and returned with a tennis racket. What good these weapons might be against a firearm, Laurel didn't care to contemplate.

She took up a position on one side of the barricaded door while Caroline took the other side. Laurel gazed into her daughter's eyes, so like her own in their rich shade of brown. In this moment, even though fear fixed her child's eyes wide, the pupils had darkened. Gone steady. Determined.

A strange peace wound around Laurel's heart. Yes, misunderstandings and contests of will remained ahead for the two of them. Inevitable with two such stubborn women in the household. But Caroline was going to be all right. She'd find her way through the land mines along the path to adulthood. Laurel knew that now. Provided they survived the next few minutes.

The doorknob rattled, and they raised their weapons as one.

* * *

David's cell phone played its tune, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as he paced up and down on the sidewalk in front of the last tattoo parlor he'd visited. He hadn't moved from the spot while the longest fifteen minutes of his life crawled past on hot coals. Scarcely glancing at the caller ID, he keyed to answer.

“Yes!”

“Mr. Greene?”

It was Mack. David exhaled a pent-up breath. “Are Laurel and Caroline all right?”

“Yes, sir. Shaken up and scared white, but they're troopers.”

David wilted against the outside wall of the parlor. If the stucco-coated cement wasn't holding him up, he'd be on his knees literally as well as in spirit.

Mack chuckled. “If I'd been the wrong person attempting to get at them through that barricaded bedroom door, they were going to bean me with a bat and a tennis racket.”

“Sounds like them.” A grin began to grow on David's face. “I take it there was an intruder. Did you catch him?”

“Negative. It wasn't a human intruder. It was some kind of large bird.”

“A bird?”

“Yes, and vicious, too. It attacked me. Came at me with beak and talons. I took a couple of shots at it and unfortunately managed to break the picture window in the living room. The thing flew away. Probably got in down the chimney. Critters do that sometimes when the weather gets cold. Then they don't know how to get out and go nuts.”

“What kind of bird was it?”

“I don't know. Big and black. There are a few feathers lying around the living room. Maybe some bird expert can tell us— Oh, hey, the cops are here now. I'd better go.”

“Have Laurel call me when she's free, would you?”

“Will do.”

The connection went dead. David slid the phone into the pouch at his belt. Now a live bird was involved in this deadly mystery. He didn't for a minute think that bird got down the chimney by accident. Someone clever and vindictive was at work. A bird that could be described as having talons was a bird of prey, the kind of bird depicted by those tattoos.

David got into his car. He was going to find answers tonight. How he could force that to happen, he didn't have a clue, but that was the way it was going to be.

Forty-five minutes later, he entered a hole-in-the-wall place called simply Jake's Tattoos that looked like it had seen better days. The tools of the trade sat ready on shelves and benches, but there were no customers lying on tables or reclining in chairs. Scents of ink and blood pervaded the air the same as they had in the other parlors David had visited. He was almost getting used to the odor.

“What can I do for you, man?” A youth with scruffy shoulder-length hair and a wisp of a goatee rose from behind the counter wearing a lopsided smile. “We've got some great specials going.”

“I'm tracking down the origins of a particular design.” David presented the photo on his phone and braced himself for another blank stare. The kid didn't look old enough to be in college himself, much less old enough to have been in the tattoo business a decade ago.

The young man frowned at the photo, started to shake his head then peered more closely. “Do you mind?” He reached for the phone.

David released it to him. The kid flicked on a gooseneck lamp and studied the picture while he stroked his goatee.

“Can't tell for sure,” he said at last, “cuz the photo's not the best. Looks like there were white flecks in the air between the lens and the subject. Ashes?”

“Snow. What are you thinking but not saying?” Throttling the information from this young man could be a viable option at the moment. David's hands fisted, and the tips of his fingernails bit into his palms.

The kid flicked the photo to zoom in on the image and let out a hum. “Looks like my grandfather's work. Nobody—but nobody—did a talon like Grandpa Jake.”

“The Jake from the name above the door.”

“That's him. People used to come from around the world for his work if they needed something with a bird or a dragon in it. He was a true artist.”

David's heart hit his toes. “Was?”

“Retired now. Couldn't do a tat if his life depended on it. Arthritis in his joints.” The kid's mouth drooped.

David inhaled, then exhaled a cleansing breath of air. “Would it be possible to talk to your grandfather?”

“Prob'ly.” The young man smiled. “He lives in the apartment upstairs.”

Within twenty minutes, David had more answers than he'd wanted. He staggered out to his car and leaned on the hood. A fist—no, talons—clutched his heart.

Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe—forget it! No maybe. The facts fit too neatly to call his thoughts a flight of fancy. His gut chewed on itself.

Pachelbel began to play. David swiped the phone from his belt and narrowed his eyes at the caller ID.

“Hello, Laurel.” Did his voice sound as cold as he felt? “I wish I could say it's good to hear from you.”

“David? What's going on? Are you all right?”

Less than a half hour ago, that would have been his question for her. Now he had a different one. “Where did you attend college?”

“I got my master's degree right here in Denver from—”

“No. You mentioned you met your ex-husband when you were a freshman in college. Where was that?” As if he didn't know the answer.

“San Antonio. I—”

“That's what I thought. I'm flying back to Denver tonight. I'll be on your doorstep first thing in the morning.”

“We're at Janice's again until that picture window can be replaced.”

“Of course. Be prepared to answer more questions. Lots more.”

“David, you're scaring me.”

“You can't be half as scared as I am.”

FOURTEEN

“W
hat has gotten into you, David?” Crossing her arms, Laurel stared into David's storm-cloud eyes.

They glared at each other across the length of Janice's family room.

“Do the words Jeweled Talon Society mean anything to you?”

“Should they? Get to the point, will you? My life has been terrorized enough. I don't need any more suspense.”

“Five women—” David raised his left hand with the digits spread apart “—freshmen at the same college, each one an outstanding beauty, made a pact to wed only wealthy men. In fact, it was a contest to see who could snare the wealthiest husband. They sealed the pact by each getting the tattoo of a raven's talons gripping a jewel—every jewel as unique and beautiful as they were. They wore their tattoos right here.” He lifted his left hand to cover a spot below the breastbone but above the heart. “Starting to ring a bell?”

The bitter twist of his lips jabbed Laurel's heart like a knife. “No bells. No whistles. Not even a gong. Where did you discover this information, and what does a shameful pact have to do with my situation?”

A realization zapped through Laurel's brain and she gasped, covering her mouth with her fingers.

Heat flared in David's gaze. “Suddenly remembering?”

“You mean Alicia and Melissa had these tattoos? They were part of this foolishness? Do you think something to do with this Raven Jewel Society got them killed?”

David expelled a burst of air. “Jeweled Talon Society—as if you didn't know. Laurel, it's time for the truth. You admitted to me you were a freshman at the University of Texas in San Antonio.”

“No, David, I said I started college in San Antonio, but you never let me finish my sentence to tell you which school. I was a freshman at Northwest Vista College.”

If she'd brained him with that bat she held in her hands last night, he couldn't look more stunned. Served him right for leaping to conclusions. She was on a roll and not about to back off.

Laurel marched up to him and poked a finger into his breastbone. “I never finished that first year of college because a narcissistic shark who thought his money could buy me body, soul and spirit conned my starry-eyed younger self into believing he was my knight in shining armor. I never got to go back to school until after the divorce, and I did it on my own—with God's grace, and not a dime of his filthy lucre.”

“But—”

She jabbed his breastbone again. “You think I'm wearing a tattoo under this sweater?” She yanked the neck down to expose her collarbone. “Never had a tat. Never plan to get one. Satisfied?”

David's gaze rolled upward, then down and captured hers. “Thank You, Jesus!”

Joy burst across his face, but then she couldn't see his expression because her nose was mashed up against his shoulder. Powerful arms wrapped her close. Her body ached to relax into the embrace, but she stood stiff. Stunned and energized at the same time. Did she even know how to let a man hold her?

“I was petrified!” His breath ruffled the hair by her ear. “Thinking you might be one of the Talons hurt so bad I thought it might kill me. I'm so glad. So thankful.”

Laurel wriggled against him, and he released her. She stepped back, wary gaze fixed on him. “I'm glad you're glad, but I'm confused. And I'm still angry that you thought for one moment that I could be a part of this...this...whatever it is.”

David backpedaled to one of the easy chairs and plopped into it. “Have a seat, and I'll tell you what I found out about the tattoos.” He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving the thick waves in pleasing disarray. “Apparently someone else also knows the significance of these tats, and he must have come to the same conclusion about your involvement as I did. A big, black bird of prey was let loose in your house last night. It's not much of a leap of logic to think the creature was a raven.”

The awful sense of David's statements struck Laurel, and she sank into the chair opposite his. “I can see how easily carrying out a pact such as you're describing could make bitter enemies. If someone has it in for these Talon women, that person might be responsible for the deaths of Alicia Gonzales and Melissa Eldon.”

“Bingo.” David jerked a nod. “Last night I located the tattoo artist who painted all five of the co-eds. He remembers the incident vividly. These five raving beauties descended on his shop demanding identical tats, except for the type of jewel held in each set of talons. From chatter between the ladies while he was doing the work, he pieced together the gist of this pact and the arrogant name they called their little clique. He told me that if he hadn't needed the cash, he would have booted their shapely bottoms out onto the street.”

Laurel leaned forward. “Why would anyone think I was a part of this? Why did
you?
”

“Who you married—an obscenely wealthy man. Where you started school—the city anyway. And what you look like.”

“What I look like?”

“The participants were one Nordic Amazon with blue eyes—”

“Melissa.” Laurel nodded.

“One Hispanic bombshell with ebony hair and eyes—”

“Alicia.”

“A willowy redhead with green eyes, a statuesque brunette with amber eyes and a petite heart-stealer with honey blond hair and enormous brown eyes.”

“Me?” Laurel poked a thumb at herself. “I've never thought of myself as a heart-stealer.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Trust me, you are.”

She warmed beneath David's grin and looked away, gnawing her lower lip. “Steven's second wife—the woman he replaced me with—looked enough like me to be my sister. And she had a tattoo right where you described. I met her once and caught a glimpse of ink. Just not enough to make out the design.”

David breathed out a low whistle. “Somebody got his wires crossed between the two of you. The golden blonde and the one with coal black hair are already dead. The honey blonde—who our killer thinks is you—is under attack. I wonder where the brunette and redhead are, or if they're dead, too.”

“What did you say?”

“I wonder if they're dead—”

“No, you listed the hair colors. Golden blonde, black, honey blonde, brunette and redhead. I had five china figurines with exactly those shades of hair. And the eye colors matched your descriptions of these women.”

David nodded. “I remember picking up the pieces of those figurines, but I didn't notice what all the hair and eye colors were. Caroline told me you got those figurines as a gift from—”

“Janice!” Laurel finished David's sentence, then hit her knees on the carpet and grabbed his hands. “Janice is a redhead. She colors her hair chestnut, because she says the red is too vivid for some of her stuffy, high-end clients. And she's got a scar right here.” She patted beneath her collar bone. “It's faint, but it shows up in the summer when she tans in her bathing suit. It's the kind of scar you'd get from having a tattoo removed.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Was Kurt one of those humble millionaires who preferred to live in a middle-class neighborhood?”

“Hardly.” Laurel laughed. “Kurt was a regular working guy, not even that good-looking, but he and Janice loved each other deeply. Kurt wasn't her first husband, though. She had a nightmare of a marriage to a rich, older man who cheated on her constantly and then divorced her without a dime or a backward look.”

Laurel rocked back on her heels. A shiver coursed through her, and she let out a moan. “I can't believe this. My best friend is a Talon!”

David dropped to his knees in front of her and gripped her upper arms. “Worse. Could she be the one eliminating the other Talons?”

“No!” Laurel shook her head and broke free of him. “She knows I'm not a Talon.”

“If she's still in possession of her sanity. Who knows what happens in people's minds when they go homicidal.”

“I don't buy it, David.” Laurel rose. “She was out of the country when Alicia was murdered.”

He snorted. “Wonderful alibi, don't you think? Isn't it odd she hasn't mentioned knowing Melissa Eldon?”

“It's not that odd if she wanted her past to remain in the past. Why would she think Melissa's death would have any connection to some co-ed foolishness from ten years ago?”

“Merely stating that she knew the woman in college would hardly be incriminating, but she didn't say a word.”

Laurel frowned. Was she being stubborn? Refusing to see the truth? But she owed Janice so much. The woman had been there for her and Caroline through every hard knock of life. They'd told each other secrets about themselves no one else knew—except for this glaring omission. The Talon business was pretty huge to leave out.

“Yes, I have doubts,” she said. “But I'm not ready to condemn her. In fact, she could be in danger if someone really is targeting the Talons.”

“Where is she? And where's Caroline?”

“Oh, no!” Laurel's pulse stalled.

“What?”

“I knew you were headed our way with a bone to pick, and I didn't want her or Caroline to be here. When Janice suggested we go out for breakfast this morning, I told the two of them to go on without me. Didn't even mention you were coming. Janice said she was going to take Caroline with her to a house showing after they ate.”

Laurel looked at her watch. “They've been gone nearly three hours. They should be back by now.”

She grabbed her cell phone from a side table. The call rang until it went to voice mail. Laurel's stomach turned at Janice's perky message. Could this woman she thought she knew actually be a calculating manipulator? That wasn't the Janice Laurel knew...or thought she knew. If Janice's best friend act had been just that—an act—had Laurel sent her daughter off to breakfast with a killer?

“Let's check Janice's office,” she said, laying her phone on the small table. “Maybe we can find out something that will tell us where they went for the house showing.”

“Lead the way.”

They skirted the kitchen, went up the hall and then turned a corner through French doors into a spacious office. All the tools of a business were there—fax machine, copier, printer and a large desk that served as home to a landline, a computer and numerous file folders, forms and assorted glossy fliers.

“Does she have an appointment calendar?” David asked.

“It would be on her computer as well as the PDA she carries with her everywhere.”

David wiggled the mouse, and the computer screen lit up. “Do you know her password?”

“No.” Laurel flapped her arms against her sides.

“Let's start looking. People sometimes keep their passwords handy under their phone or the mouse pad or somewhere like that.” He lifted the pad up and shook his head.

Faint music from the family room reached Laurel's ears. “My phone! Maybe it's her.”

“Maybe. You go check, and I'll keep looking.”

Tight knot in her middle, Laurel scurried up the hallway.
Please let it be Janice. I need to know that Caroline is okay.
But even as she prayed, her heart throbbed like a mashed thumb. What could she say to this friend who might more aptly be named Judas than Janice?

She picked up the phone. The caller wasn't who she'd hoped. The ID window said Unknown Number. Laurel's pulse became staccato hoof beats in her ears.

“Hello?” The greeting emerged a croak.

“If you want your daughter to live to see another day, leave the house now and meet me in the south parking lot of the Cherry Creek Shopping Center.” The deep rasp sounded male, but a woman could mimic such a tone, or even use an electronic device to create the effect.

“Tell no one,” the voice went on. “Speak to no one. Leave our phone connection open so I can hear everything happening around you, and so you cannot place any calls or send any texts. You have ten minutes to arrive. Eleven minutes will be too late for pretty Caroline.”

“Ten minutes isn't much time.”

“Then you'd best hurry.”

“Janice?”

The caller chuckled. “Your daughter is your only concern.”

Had this maniac already done something to Janice? A soundless scream echoed through Laurel's brain. But he was right, Caroline must come first.

“I—I'm grabbing my jacket now.” She scurried to the entryway by the kitchen.

Small sounds of a search issued from up the hallway. Laurel dared not attempt to get David's attention. He was too likely to speak, ask questions, which would alert this psycho that she'd communicated with someone.

David! If only you could hear my heart's cry for help! God, are You there?

* * *

If Janice kept a written reminder of her password anywhere on her desk, David was at a loss to find it. He picked up a sheaf of papers, but several fell from his grip and fluttered to the floor. As he bent to pick them up, a name leaped out at him from the top sheet.

Gilbert Montel.

David scanned the document. It was a representation agreement for Janice to act as seller's agent. Gil was selling his house? The form was dated a couple of weeks ago, around the time the millionaire became engaged to Melissa Eldon. Did Melissa want them to move out of the house where Gil had lived with his first wife? Not an uncommon scenario.

Is that how Janice became aware that one of her sister Talons was about to score large? Did she eliminate Melissa because she had set her sights on Gil for herself?

Knowing what he now did about the Jeweled Talon Society, Laurel's friend had motive and opportunity, but Laurel might be glad to know he wasn't sold on her guilt. After all, if the woman were still on the prowl for rich prey, why had she remained single for so long?

But if Janice was innocent, why had she never told Laurel she was seller's agent to the murdered woman's fiancé? That detail seemed rather pertinent under the circumstances. When they caught up with Janice, she had some tall explaining to do. If an innocent explanation was even possible.