Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 135

"The revolver...Uh, I put it back in my grandfather's desk in the den," she said vaguely. Then, with more awareness, "But it's not loaded. I don't think we have any bullets."

"That's probably a good thing. What about a rifle or shotgun?"

"No. Nana sold them a long time ago."

So all he had to worry about was whatever weapon the psycho brought with him. If the madman was still around. "Okay. Now"-he grabbed the handheld receiver, quickly dialed 911, then handed the phone to Eve-"have them send someone out and have them locate either Montoya or Bentz. Can you do that?"

She nodded, but he wasn't convinced.

"You're sure?"

"Yes." She held the phone in one hand, still clutching the butcher knife in the other.

"I'll search this floor first then go upstairs."

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"No, Eve, stay here and-"

"This is Eve Renner," she said into the phone, then rattled off her address, begging Cole with her eyes to stay put until she was finished. "I'd like to report a...a break-in.... No, I don't know if anything was taken, but the person left me a sick message of some kind, a doll soaked in blood and...and..." She glanced up at Cole but couldn't force the words of the d.a.m.ning message over her tongue. "Please have Detective Montoya or Bentz call me.... Yes.... No, I'll wait here.... No, I'm not alone. I'll be safe." She hung up, and, clutching Cole's hand in one of hers and the knife in the other, joined him in searching the main floor. Nothing was out of place. With trepidation they mounted the steps to the second floor, but it too was empty. Undisturbed. The unloaded revolver was where Eve had hidden it in the desk drawer.

Only the turret bedroom had been bloodied and scarred.

Cole's thoughts raced. What kind of fiend was h.e.l.l-bent on frightening Eve? On using his name? With mind-chilling certainty, Cole realized these murders were more than a killer looking for prey. Whoever was behind this had a fixation with Eve. She was his ultimate target. Someone wanted to terrorize her. And they didn't like him being close to her.... Why else write his name in blood, for Christ's sake? All the murders, starting with Roy Kajak's, were because of this madman's fascination and ultimate need to control the woman Cole loved.

And that scared him to death.

Eve was still staring at the bed as he propelled her into the closet. "Pack a bag. We're not staying here tonight. There was no forced entry, Eve," he added as he found an overnight bag and handed it to her. "Someone has a key to your place."

"No one does," she argued, opening an overnight case.

"Wrong. I have a key, remember?" Cole pointed out. "You gave it to me when we were talking about marriage."

She nodded.

"Does one of your neighbors have one too? To check on the place when you're out of town? What about your brothers? You never changed the locks when you moved in, did you?"

"No, it was Nana's house."

"And who did Nana trust with her keys? A housekeeper? Maybe a gardener? Her best friend?" He pulled a couple of shirts off hangers and dropped them into the open overnight case.

"I don't know."

"Exactly. Come on. Pack. The police won't like it that we were messing around in here, but they can just deal."

She glanced at the bed one last time then tossed in underwear, a pair of jeans, and two pullovers. "This is insane," she whispered under her breath, and he agreed as they headed to the bathroom, where she scooped up a makeup kit.

Cole grabbed Eve's laptop on the way out, and they were heading out the door when they heard the first sirens screaming in the distance.

For the first time in a long, long while, Cole Dennis felt relief that the police were on their way.

Montoya snapped his cell phone shut then clicked off the television. "Gotta go," he told Abby as he found his wallet, sidearm, and badge.

"Where?"

"Trouble at Eve Renner's."

Abby's head jerked up. "Is she all right?"

"I think so, but I'm not sure." He scooped up his keys. "Doesn't sound like anyone's seriously hurt. I'll find out when I get there."

"I'm coming with you," she declared as she grabbed her purse.

"No way in h.e.l.l. This is police business."

"And she might be my sister."

"'Might' being the operative word." He was already halfway to the door. "I don't know what's going on over there, but you're not not coming with me." He shot her a stern look, his dark eyes serious. coming with me." He shot her a stern look, his dark eyes serious.

"You can't stop me."

"Sure I can. Don't interfere, Abs."

"I'm coming, d.a.m.n it."

"Oh for the love of G.o.d, I don't have time for this. Stay. I'll call you."

She looked like she wanted to fight further but just gestured for him to go.

Montoya flew out the door, and Hershey whined after him.

"I know," Abby told the dog determinedly as she petted the animal's broad head. "Don't worry. We're going too, just not with him."

She waited until Montoya had roared off. Once his taillights had disappeared around the corner three blocks away, she whistled to Hershey and headed outside. As Hershey bounded onto the porch, she locked the door behind her and cut across the gra.s.s to her Honda. "Come on," she said, unlocking the hatchback.

The dog jumped into the backseat, and Abby sped away. She knew that Eve lived in the Garden District, and in a matter of minutes she was driving along St. Charles Avenue, then cutting past stately old manors until she saw the flashing lights of police cars in front of a grand Victorian complete with turret. Reuben's Mustang was double-parked nearby. This had to be it. Curious neighbors wearing pajamas, or shorts and T-shirts, had already wandered onto their porches or huddled together on the curb. Somewhere down the street a dog barked, and Hershey gave up an answering woof. woof.

"Shh. Be good," Abby warned. "I'm gonna be in enough trouble as it is."

She parked a block away. Then, leaving the windows cracked, she locked the car and jogged to the Renner house. There were people cl.u.s.tered around outside. One officer was roping off the area, another taking names of anyone who tried to cross. A van with crime-scene techs had arrived, and just turning down the street was the first news van on the scene.

Abby approached from behind the garage, away from the porch, where Montoya was talking with Bentz, Cole Dennis, and Eve Renner, who stood surprisingly close to the man she'd once accused of trying to kill her. Abby had seen pictures of Eve, of course, and had even jokingly said to her sister, Zoey, that Eve could have been a member of their family, but it had been a pa.s.sing thought. She'd also seen pictures of Eve in the newspapers and in sound bites on the television when Roy Kajak's murder had been front-page news, but not until now, seeing Eve in the glow of the porch light, watching her talk with Montoya, did she get it. In the semi-dark, Eve looked so much like Faith Chastain it was downright spooky.

She must've been blind not to see it earlier.

Before Montoya looked her way, she pulled her cell phone from a pocket of her purse and speed-dialed her sister in Seattle.

Zoey answered on the third ring. "Hey, hi!" she said, recognizing Abby's number. "What's up?"

"I'm at a crime scene, and I'm looking at her now."

"Crime scene?"

"I think everything's cool. I don't know what's happened yet, but I'll let you know when I find out."

"Like I would care? Wait a sec. Who Who are you looking at?" are you looking at?"

"Eve Renner, and I gotta tell you, Zoey, if Eve isn't our sister, she should be. She's the spitting image of Mom."

"I thought that was your claim to fame. Everyone used to say you looked so much like her it was eerie. You were crowned with that particular honor."

Abby was still staring at Eve. "I think I just lost my tiara."

"Really?"

"A definite resemblance, Zoey. Definite."

"But no DNA test results back, right?"

"Not yet."

"If she is our sister, this is going to be really, really weird. Does Dad know yet?"

Abby thought of her father, Jacques, wasting away in an a.s.sisted-care facility, battling cancer and emphysema, and Charlene, his second wife, who was a basket case from trying and failing to care for her once-robust husband. "I don't think we should tell him until we know for sure. Same with Charlene. She'll spin out of control and could end up in the care facility with him."

Zoey snorted. "It'll never happen. But agreed. Let's keep this to ourselves until the DNA comes back." There was a pause. "So...does this woman-Eve?-does she look anything like Dad?"

Abby studied Eve's features-high cheekbones, small, straight nose, short, curly reddish hair. Then she imagined her father's face and build. "No," she said with a certainty that made her stomach twist. "Not a thing."

"Dear G.o.d," Zoey whispered. "You don't think...I mean, is there a chance that she could have been fathered by him? him?"

Abby shivered, her mind winding down a dark chasm of memories. Faith Chastain had not been faithful to their father, either by design, because of her frail mind, or because she was forced to do abominable acts while a patient at Our Lady of Virtues. No one knew for certain what abuse she had suffered.

"Let's not go there," Abby said into the phone.

"But what if she's our half half sister and that sick, twisted psycho is her father. What then?" sister and that sick, twisted psycho is her father. What then?"

"Zoey! Shhh! Let's not borrow trouble!"

"Okay, fine. Then you tell her she's the daughter of a psychotic killer."

"We don't know that for sure."

"Well, brace yourself. I have a feeling our odd little dysfunctional family is about to get a h.e.l.luva lot odder and, if possible, even more dysfunctional."

"I think I'm going to talk to her."

"Go for it. And while you're there, give my love to Sis, would ya?"

Abby ignored Zoey's sarcasm as she hung up. It was now or never. Too bad it was a crime scene. She had to know. Had to. Steeling herself, she walked up boldly and found Montoya still talking to Eve and the man next to her, a man Abby had caught glimpses of on newscasts and in the local paper, the "sc.u.mbag" Montoya had tried like h.e.l.l to convict for Royal Kajak's murder. Abby knew all about Cole Dennis. At least all the bad stuff.

Montoya must've seen her in his peripheral vision because he turned suddenly and, if looks could actually kill, Abby would have been six feet under from that one, black glare. "Excuse me," she said boldly and stuck out her hand. "You must be Eve Renner. I'm Abby Chastain."

The Reviver watched from the shadows.

As close as he dared.

The police were filming; he saw their cameras clicking off pictures of anyone who stepped a little too close to the crime scene. He had to be careful. There were still traces of blood on his clothes and in his truck. He couldn't risk getting caught. Not when there was more work to do.

He saw her in the porch light.

Small, beautiful, standing close to Cole Dennis as another woman approached, someone he couldn't recognize, as her back was to him. But it didn't matter. All he cared about was Eve.

Only Eve.

His back teeth ground together as he saw her shake the woman's hand then familiarly touch Dennis's arm and whisper in his ear. Dennis responded by placing a comforting arm over her shoulder and pulling her even closer against him.

His insides twisted at the display of affection.

In front of the cop.

In front of him him.

In front of G.o.d.

He waited, half expecting the Voice to come to him, to note the blasphemy, to instruct the Reviver on how to deal with the situation. Please Please, he silently begged. Let me kill him first and then Eve...when the time is right. Let me kill him first and then Eve...when the time is right.

He didn't dare pray for a few minutes alone with her, for the time to do what he wanted with her, to force her to kiss him, stroke him, lick him as he suspected she licked Cole Dennis. Oh, he'd known they were rutting, had seen the light in the tower room and smelled smelled the scent of their dirty, vile s.e.x. It had floated to him on a breeze, over the fragrances of freshly mown gra.s.s and magnolia blossoms. He imagined how it was between them and let his mind wander. the scent of their dirty, vile s.e.x. It had floated to him on a breeze, over the fragrances of freshly mown gra.s.s and magnolia blossoms. He imagined how it was between them and let his mind wander.

It was Dennis who tempted her.

Dennis who enticed her into sinning.

Dennis who tore off her clothes, exposing those perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s with nipples that needed to be suckled. Dennis who brazenly poked and prodded her s.e.x, burying his face in the dark curls at the juncture of her legs. Dennis who tasted her, nipped at her, bit her, then mounted her roughly, driving hard into her until she gasped in fear and revulsion, joining with her in a frenzied pa.s.sion sp.a.w.ned by Lucifer, one that she no doubt regretted and feared.

The act was not only a rape of her body but a rape of her soul.

G.o.d would never have blessed so base a union.

Because of Dennis, Eve was a jezebel. A wh.o.r.e. A s.l.u.t. There was no love in their s.e.x act, only l.u.s.t.