Serial Love: Saints Protection & Investigation (32 page)

One week later,
the Saints gathered at Jack’s house, not heading down to the command center but piling up in the living room instead, surrounding Jack who was sitting on the sofa with Bethany tucked into his side. Each leaned over, kissing Bethany’s head or offering a hug as they entered. Jack caught her nervous smile as her eyes sought his and he winked his encouragement. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her more tightly into his embrace.

“You okay, babe?” he whispered.

Biting her lip, she breathed, “Yeah.”

He kept his arm around her as the men took their seats and settled in. Engaged in small talk, the group avoided discussing the Campus Killer.

Jack’s mind wandered back to the events of the past week.

Sitting in the hospital ER bay with her while she was checked out, he began to shake as the adrenaline wore off. With antibiotic salve on her scratches and her bruised and injured wrist wrapped in a cast, she was ready to be discharged.

It was afterward that took him over the edge. Monty came in to let them know an FBI investigator needed to question her. “Would you be more comfortable doing this at home?” Monty asked, concern on his face.

Shaking her head fiercely, she cried, “No! I can’t go there!” The idea of seeing her cabins was terrifying.

Jack squeezed her, saying, “She’s coming to my place.”

“No!” Bethany cried. She glanced up at him, seeing his concerned expression, and explained, “I don’t want it there. I don’t want to relive it there.” Her gaze begged him to understand. “I want to get it out and then leave it. I don’t want it to stay with me.”

Jack and Monty shared a glance, both knowing that she was not going to be able to talk about it without dealing with the after effects. Monty nodded and said, “They’ll meet us in the local sheriff’s office and do the interview there.”

Two hours later, sitting with Jack at her side and the Saints listening in as well, she recounted her tale. All of her encounters with Stan and his family. How he always asked for the same cabin when they came to stay and no, she did not think that was weird. And then, the events of the day.

She maintained her composure until describing the wall of photographs. Her voice faltered as her eyes filled with tears. Face pale, she began to shake. Jack wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to share his body heat with hers, but her mind had completely taken over her body. Haltingly, she talked of finding the jar of bones. Finding the knife. Having him rush at her and placing a rag over her mouth. Waking up in the room, shackled by chains to the wall. Seeing what she thought was a rusty table, before realizing it was blood. Then the photographs.

“Do you need a break, Ms. Bridwell?” the investigator asked.

She did not hear him. All she could hear in her mind were the screams of the women on the wall.

“Enough!” Jack growled, starting to stand.

“No,” she whispered, her tearful eyes imploring his. “I need to do this for them.”

“These investigators will get their information from the evidence. They don’t have to have you relive this fuckin’ nightmare.”

“No,” she whispered again, her small hand on his arm. “I have to do it. For them. For the women.”

He searched her eyes, seeing fear mixed with strength. Then, sighing, he nodded as he settled back down, pulling her into his side. His eyes met the investigators, daring them to keep their mouths shut as she talked.

She finished her tale of terror, recounting his unstable ramblings, explained her attack on him and subsequent escape. “I think the only reason I had a chance was that he kept saying ‘this wasn’t how it was supposed to be’.”

“Most serial killers have a routine they’re comfortable with. You didn’t fit that profile, nor was he expecting to have to kill at that time, so your situation threw him off of his norm.”

Finishing the interview, she suddenly turned to Jack and said, “Take me home.” The investigator informed her that Mountville had been barricaded from the public and the cabin had been sealed off for the investigation.

“Oh, Jack, what about my guests?”

Assured that Roscoe and Sally had taken care of them all, she leaned heavily against him. He took her weight wordlessly, with another squeeze around her shoulders. “I’ll have to close Mountville,” she said, bringing her hands up to her face. Twisting around to face him, she moaned, “The publicity will kill me.”

Now it was a week later and the gathering in Jack’s living room kept the conversation lively, no one wanting to upset her. Neither she nor Jack had brought up the events, each dancing around the subject.

Finally, not able to stand it any longer, she blurted, “I need to know.”

Jack gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and the others stared. First at her. Then at Jack. Then at each other.

“Babe, there’s no need to—”

“Jack,” she interrupted, twisting around to look up into his scowling face. “I’m fine. Don’t you get it? I’m fine. Yes, what happened sucked and I’ll have nightmares about that horrible room and wall for years. But honey,” she said, bringing her face in close while cupping his jaw, “I got out. I’m safe.”

“If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget how fuckin’ scared I was,” he confessed. Leaning forward, touching his forehead to hers, he forced his heart rate to return to normal, giving a little nod.

With a nod from Jack, Monty began, “When all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, it appears that Stan began killing when he saw his father bang—uh…having sex with a young woman that he knew. Whether his mom asked him to get rid of her or he did it on his own out of spite to his father, who knows.”

Luke added, “We assume that started his journey into killing. He thought of her as a good girl and was upset that she was being…well, in his mind…being a slut.”

“But he was married! He had kids!” Bethany exploded. “And he seemed so nice!”

“It’s a myth that most serial killers are loners and completely antisocial,” Luke continued. “From what we can tell, he had to leave college after stalking a woman who spurned him.”

“He worked for a marketing company selling advertising and would continue to go to campuses, try to pick up women he had watched and determined were good girls. Maybe he wanted sex with them, and if they turned him down, that’s when he would go after them. We have no idea how many he may have watched, but when he would come across one who changed their patterns, like going dancing or to bars, or one-night-stands. He would kidnap them, and then…um…”

Chad had taken over the explanations but hesitated at this part of the story. His eyes darted to hers and his voice faltered.

“He would rape them, torture them, and kill them,” Bethany finished for him. “What about what I found? In the bathroom?”

Bart replied, “It appears those were souvenirs. He would…um…” he stumbled over his choice of words, looking to Jack for guidance when he saw Bethany’s wide eyes.

Jack, hating the conversation, squeezed her shoulders. Sucking in a deep breath, he said, “Babe, you’ll go over all of this with your counselor, but I’m trying to get these images outta your head. So this is the last of it. Some killers keep something to remind them of what they’ve done. For memories, for a power trip, for the fuck of it.”

“But why here? Why not at his house? Or that…that…place?”

“Don’t know, but if I had to guess, it was because he felt safe at the cabins. He always asked for the same one. Figured no one would find them. If they were found, it wouldn’t be tied to him since you have lots of guests who stay there. It was…safe.”

The room grew quiet, each to their own thoughts while attuned to the young woman, so close to the same fate, that had come to mean so much to their boss…and to them.

After a few minutes of reflection, she said, “While I never thought it was one of my guests, I would have assumed Horace over Stan.”

“The writer?” Blaise asked.

“The who?” Bethany asked, in surprise.

Chuckling, Blaise continued. “Yeah, when he was checked out by the FBI, he was indignant he had to leave his cabin. Seems he lives in a very noisy building so he would come to Mountville at least once a month for the quiet and solitude to write his mystery novels under a pen name.”

Before Bethany could respond to that, Jack interrupted her thoughts and said, “You’re also gonna have to talk to Roscoe.”

Jerking her gaze to his, her brow furrowed in question. “Huh?”

“He’s been keeping some hooch stashed in the tool shed,” Bart laughed.

“Hootch?”

“Uh, moonshine,” he explained. “He’s been buying some locally distilled whiskey and found the storage shed to be a good place to keep it.”

The idea that one of her favorite guests was a serial killer, one of her unusual guests was a mystery writer, and her handyman was storing his bootleg whisky in her shed had her falling back against Jack’s body.

“So much for my idea of a wedding venue,” she mumbled. “So far the press hasn’t come around, but I know they will and I’ll be ruined.”

“It’ll be fine, baby,” Jack murmured against her hair.

Monty shook his head slightly, saying, “Bethany, don’t worry. The FBI is keeping Mountville out of the press.”

Jack’s eyes darted to his friend as she jerked her gaze toward Monty.

“How?” she asked incredulously.

Chuckling, Monty looked down for a few seconds before lifting his gaze back to hers. Softening his tone, he just replied, “Called in a few favors. Racked up quite a few while I was with the Bureau so it was time for a little payback. Press gets the story, but Mountville is kept out.”

Her throat clogged with emotion as she mouthed her appreciation to him.
Thank you so much
.

Monty smiled in return, offering a simple nod to both her and Jack.

“It’s a good thing you were wearing your grandmother’s tracer,” Bart said.

She smiled as she nodded. “When Gram moved to the memory-care facility, I felt so alone. She never wore jewelry or I probably would’ve worn that. But since her tracker bracelet was the only thing I had, I kept it in my pocket and whenever my fingers would happen across it, I felt as though she were right here with me.” She looked into Jack’s face, “Kind of like my own personal Saint.”

Looking down at her face, Jack said gruffly, “We done?” his voice belying his need to take away her fears.

“Yeah, sweetie,” she said, knowing he hated talking about what had happened, “We’re done.” She smiled remembering what he told her last night.
“You need to talk, beautiful, we’ll talk. You need to see a counselor to get over the nightmares, we’ll do that too. Whatever you need…that’s what I’ll give to you.”
She then smiled wider, remembering what she needed last night…his powerful body rocking into hers, the moonlight streaming through the windows, two major earth-shattering orgasms, and then cuddling.

Yeah, whatever she needed…he gave to her.

Epilogue

Seven months later

A
new gazebo
sat near the pond on the west side of Mountville, the Blue Ridge Mountains in the background. Decorated with white, billowy sheers and sprigs of early spring flowers, Jack stood underneath its covering. Looking out into the small gathering, he grinned at his former Special Forces brothers-in-arms, Tony, Gabe, Vinny, and Jobe with their beautiful wives.

He had come to the area for privacy, but found friendship and love along the way. Behind him, on either side, stood his seven Saints, all friends as well as employees.

Two months after her ordeal, he took Bethany riding back up to the scenic overlook on his property where they picnicked on a blanket and watched the sun begin to set. Watching her mesmorized by the brilliant evening sky, he pulled out a princess-cut diamond ring and held it up in front of her. The sunset colors flashed off of the gem and her eyes grew wide. She turned quickly, gasping in disbelief.

“I told you before,” he said. “I want you in my home, in my bed, and in my life…permanently.” He watched carefully as her expression morphed into joy as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

It was a rush to put together a wedding in only five months, but the vineyard next door was thrilled to help with the occasion. The wedding coordinator volunteered her services since Bethany would be promoting her as Mountville’s wedding guru.

His gaze wandered to the back, wondering when things would get going. Just then the music began and he lifted his eyes to see his bride walking between the chairs, her ivory dress fitting tightly at the bodice, then floating behind in layers of lace. It was her tribute to Gram even though she could not be there. She had a seamstress re-work Ann’s wedding dress, which had been much simpler, and incorporate it into the vision in front of him right now. Her hair, pulled back in the front with a crown of flowers, flowed down her back in waves. Her eyes never left his and the smile on her face pierced his heart as it always did.

How did a cuss like me get so fuckin’ lucky?
he wondered. Smiling as she made her way toward him, her hand on her father’s arm, he stepped forward as they neared the gazebo.

The ceremony did not last long, but the vows spoke of everything that was in their hearts. Bethany smiled up at the man holding her hand as he promised to chase away all of her dragons while allowing her to follow her dreams.

Mountville had been her dream and Jack had made sure it still was. She never stayed overnight there after the kidnapping. From that moment, she shared his home…and his bed. They demolished cabin seven, planting a beautiful flower garden so there. A myriad of seasonal flowers with a bench in the middle would be all anyone would see.

Encouraged by Jack, she continued to pursue her dream of turning Mountville into a wedding venue, while still allowing rentals when a wedding wasn’t taking place. Building the gazebo was a start and their wedding was the first to take place there.

She now worked with several local wedding coordinators and had weddings scheduled for the next year. The vineyard nearby was thrilled to work with her and, in fact, was hosting her reception later that day.

Mountville had been her grandparents’ dream and Bethany was determined to keep it going…just her way now.