The Killing Edge (19 page)

In another twenty minutes they reached her house. Leo was waiting at the door for them.

“I called him,” Chloe explained.

“Good thought,” Luke told her.

Victoria stumbled, getting out of the car, so Luke picked her up and walked straight for the main house.

Leo took in Vickie’s state and apparently decided there would be no discussion about their working for the agency, being alone, or leaving at all. “Chloe, I know you like having your own place, but this house is huge and everyone’s staying here tonight. Just pick rooms upstairs.”

For a second Chloe looked as if she was about to argue with him, but she said, “Vickie and I will sleep in my old room. Luke can take one of the guest rooms.”

“Point me in the right direction,” Luke said. Chloe led him up the stairs, where he laid Victoria down on the king-size bed, then turned to meet Chloe’s eyes. “I’m going to head back down and talk to your uncle for a few minutes.”

She started to go with him, but Victoria called out and reached for her hand.

“I’d better stay with her,” Chloe said.

He nodded. “I’ll be back up soon, see if you two need anything.”

He turned to leave.

“Luke.”

He looked back.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and left. Downstairs, he found Leo pacing the kitchen.

“What the hell is going on?” the older man demanded, raking a hand through his hair. “Did you actually see the—the bodies?”

“Yes.”

“Was there writing on the wall?”

“No. But our arrival might have interrupted the killer—or killers.”

“And the victims…?”

“Myra’s throat had been slit. The two other women were stabbed in the back of the head. The killer knew what he—or she or they—was doing. This was someone with experience. I’m thinking someone who has been in the military, someone who has studied the art of death.”

“I can’t imagine what it was like for Chloe and Vickie, walking into that house—after what they’ve already been through,” Leo said. “They have to catch this maniac, fast. People are going to go crazy over the similarities to ten years ago, but it can’t be the same killers. They’re dead.”

“Maybe. But there’s something off about this. I wasn’t around for the Teen Massacre, but something about
that
doesn’t feel right, either. Doesn’t feel closed. I’m not sure they did get the right guys for that.”

“I
was
here,” Leo said. “I remember every horrific minute of it. I remember shaking with gratitude that Chloe made it out alive, and feeling guilty at the same time, that I could be so grateful and relieved when other families… I saw the dead men. I went to the morgue. I saw the confession and the writing on the wall. Those men were murderers. I believe it with my whole heart. Chloe sketched one of them to a T.”

“What if there was a third killer?” Luke asked.

Leo stared back at him stonily. “You had to have been around at the time, trust me. In a way, it was like trying to restrain a mob bent on vengeance, and that was just the police. Every single member of that church was brought in. Held as long as the law allowed. They were questioned, and they were furious, demanding to know if the other eleven apostles were guilty because Judas betrayed Christ. Every single member provided an alibi, and the church itself was searched top to bottom, and so were the members’ homes. The church fell apart, the lawsuit they filed against the city disintegrated, and there was simply no solid evidence of a third killer. Not to mention the fact that nothing resembling the murders occurred again.”

“Until tonight,” Luke said.

“But there was no writing on the wall,” Leo said flatly.

“No.”

“No message of any kind?” Leo asked.

“Not one that was discernible, no,” Luke told him.

“There’s always another maniac out there,” Leo said. “And this one wouldn’t be the first to copycat an earlier crime.” He shook his head as if to clear it.

“Hey, I could be wrong. Maybe the Church of the Real People really was totally innocent and those two ‘brothers’ just went off the deep end. All I know is, they were dead, the case was dead, nothing else like it ever happened.”

A sound at the foot of the steps alerted them that Chloe had come down. They turned toward her in unison. “Actually, I feel rather sorry for the members of the Church of the Real People,” she said. “I don’t think they’re all fanatics—just people searching for something, maybe desperately, maybe pathetically.”

Leo walked over to her and put his arms around her. “I know this had to be really hard on you. You can’t let it get to you. You have to be good to yourself, maybe take something so you can get a good night’s rest—I’m assuming Victoria is passed out?”

She nodded. “The EMTs gave her a shot to calm her down. They wanted to take her to the hospital, but I wouldn’t let them. I wanted her here with us, where she’ll be safe.”

“Of course,” Leo said, then frowned. “Wait. Why would Victoria be in danger?”

“She should have been there when it happened. Me, too. We both had fittings tonight. If I hadn’t had to work late, we would have been there when the killer came,” Chloe told him.

“That’s it. There will be no more modeling going on,” Leo said. “Don’t you agree?” Leo asked Luke.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Luke said. “Logically
speaking, Myra might have been the target tonight. It was her house, after all. She was the one person the killer could expect to be there.”

“But,” Leo argued, “you’re only involved yourself because a girl is missing and—let’s face it—presumed dead, and the parents of a second girl were afraid for their child’s life. Now—this.”

“Uncle Leo, let’s see what the police come up with, okay?” Chloe said. She glanced at Luke, and something in her expression seemed to be speaking to him alone.

Please don’t say anything to make him worse
.

They were eloquent eyes. But then again, she had been the one to suggest that Victoria might be in danger. Oddly, she didn’t seem particularly worried about the other girls—and at least two of them had lived at the mansion.

Luke had his own thoughts on the matter, but he wanted to investigate before speaking.

“I do think a good night’s sleep might help everyone think more clearly,” he said.

“Sleep would be good,” Chloe agreed. “After a drink. I don’t have any sleeping pills around—I’ll have to go straight for the alcohol.”

She walked over to the bar and poured herself a large Jack Black, and she didn’t add soda. She tossed it down in one long swallow, then winced. Both Leo and Luke stared at her. “Oh, sorry. I should have offered you two drinks, too.”

“What the hell,” Leo muttered, and strode over to join her at the bar.

Luke joined him, but he sipped his Scotch slowly. He didn’t need to be knocked out—didn’t
want
to be knocked out.

No one was coming to this house, he thought. The killer would know the odds were against him here.

“Good night, then,” Chloe said. “I’ll be in my room. I think Vickie’s out for the count, but in case she wakes up frightened…I’ll be there.”

“You should be afraid, too, you know,” Leo pointed out.

Chloe put a hand on his shoulder. “Uncle Leo, I’m always careful—I learned that lesson ten years ago. But if we become terrified of living, then life is wasted on us. I had a major close call then, and it would be a disservice to my friends if I were to waste the life I was granted. But I love you for worrying, now good night.”

She kissed Leo on the cheek. After that, to Luke’s surprise, she came straight over to him, stood on her toes and kissed his lips.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss.

But it spoke of something between them.

As she turned and headed for the stairs, Leo stared at Luke.

“I thought she didn’t like you,” he said.

Luke shrugged. “I guess I’ve grown on her.” He cleared his throat. “I’d better try to get some sleep, too.”

“A lot,” Leo said, eyeing him like a protective father. “You’ve grown on her a lot.”

Luke lowered his head, aware that he was trying not to smile, and amazed to realize that he was blushing.

“I, uh, like her, too. A lot,” he added.

“Hmm. Well, at the moment, I’m glad. If you two are sleeping together…”

Luke looked up at him calmly, hoping the color had faded from his face and that his expression betrayed nothing. It was up to Chloe to share whatever she wished with her uncle.

Apparently, Leo realized he wasn’t going to get anything out of him.

“If you are,” he said gruffly, “don’t let me stop you. God knows, she never gets out and even if she’s hell-bent on a relationship that could easily be a train wreck, right now I feel safer with her sleeping with you.”

Luke still didn’t reply—unless his silence was a reply in itself.

“Good night, Leo,” he said after a long moment. “And thanks for the hospitality.”

“Thanks for the guard duty.”

Luke headed up the stairs and found a comfortable-looking guest room. He set his gun on the table next to the bed, removed his jacket and lay down. He kicked off his shoes but stopped there. In the morning, he would head back to his own place for a shower.

Tonight, even as certain as he was that the killer was basically a coward who waited until his victims were vulnerable, he intended to sleep lightly.

When she finally woke up late the next morning, Victoria was much better. If anything, she was angry, though still very sad for Myra.

“Why would anyone hurt her?” she demanded.

Chloe had decided that the best thing she could do for
her friend that day was keep her at the house, away from prying eyes, even though she was amazed to see that neither of their names—nor Luke’s—had wound up in the paper or on the news.

Stuckey really had issued a gag order, and it seemed it was being obeyed. None of the details had leaked out, and in a press conference, Stuckey stated flatly that none of them
would
be released. Police had arrived at the mansion at approximately eight-fifteen after being called by three visitors. Two models had departed the property at approximately 7:30 p.m., which meant the murders had taken place in a span of less than forty-five minutes. As it was an active investigation, that was all he was willing to reveal. He wouldn’t even say how the victims had been killed, but given that the families had been notified, he did release their names.

Given the surface similarities—multiple murders at a beachside mansion—the press naturally brought up the Teen Massacre, but Stuckey calmly deflected the question, pointing out that these were not the first murders in a mansion or on the beach in the past ten years.

The Church of the Real People also came under scrutiny again, but a pastor or elder or whatever he called himself made a brief statement to the media, and, like the press conference with Stuckey, it played on TV over and over again as the day went on.

Though Chloe didn’t know much about the church’s tenets, it was obvious that Brother Mario Sanz believed in them wholeheartedly. His speech was passionate. He was, he said, horrified, as all good men must be, at the terrible
events of the previous night, but he was equally horrified that people were instantly looking at the church, ready to lay blame at the feet of a fine congregation. The Church of the Real People, he pointed out, was no less vulnerable to those who might interpret religious texts according to their own misguided views than any other religion. The Koran specifically stated that no woman or child should be harmed, ever. Christ would have never condoned the terror of the Inquisition. There was nothing to indicate that the murders had been committed by someone with ties to any church whatsoever, much less to the Church of the Real People. He invited the authorities into the church to search for evidence, and every member of the congregation was willing to be questioned, and to open their own homes to be searched.

Chloe was sitting out by the pool, watching yet another repeat of Brother Sanz’s speech on her cell phone, when Victoria came up behind her, startling her.

“It’s a crock,” Victoria said.

“The Church of the Real People?” Chloe asked.

Victoria shook her head. “Blaming them.”

“You don’t think it’s a repeat of what happened when we were kids?”

Victoria drew her finger through the sweat on the glass of iced tea she was carrying and shook her head. “I don’t believe the church was guilty back then. Oh, yeah, those two guys were guilty. But I don’t think the church made them do it. They’re pretty weird, but…I don’t know. I think those two men were disturbed to begin with, and then they
decided to start killing kids who they thought had too much and might go to hell. Someone taught them that—but not the church.” She looked at Chloe and smiled. “And you don’t have to coddle me. I fell apart last night, but I’m okay now. I’m going to go home.”

“No, Vickie, not yet, please!” Chloe said, sounding more desperate than she’d intended. She took a calming breath and went on. “Not this soon. The police may have something by tonight.”
Luke
might have something by tonight.

Victoria smiled. Chloe knew that she hadn’t spoken out loud, but Victoria said, “Or ‘Jack’ might. Jack Smith, my ass. So his real name is Luke? Luke Cane? That’s right, isn’t it? Is he an undercover cop or something?”

Chloe shook her head. “P.I.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone. He was going to the island to find out what happened to Colleen Rodriguez, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he now?”

“Investigating, I guess,” Chloe said. The truth was, Luke had been gone by the time she woke up and she had no idea where he’d gone.

Victoria looked at Chloe. “I think we should go.”

“Go where?”

“Potluck supper.”

“What?”

“I heard it earlier. The Church of the Real People announced that they’re still having a potluck supper tomorrow night, and that everyone is welcome.”

“Victoria, we can’t go. You’re too recognizable, for one thing. And it might be just plain dangerous, for another.”