Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 138

"Like Kimble," she said bitterly. "Now you're pleading both sides of the argument." She shook him off. "I told myself over and over, don't believe him, he's a liar, don't go with him, and for G.o.d's sake don't fall in love with him all over again!" She climbed to her feet, and when he tried to step forward and touch her again, she pointed a finger at his nose. "Don't! Just...don't! Not ever again! As soon as this is over, you and I will never speak again. Never!"

"Eve..."

"But we're stuck with each other for now," she said, her voice quivering.

He saw it in her eyes, the angry, disgusted resolve that stiffened her backbone and flushed her cheeks. G.o.d, she was beautiful. Enraged or sleeping soundly, scared out of her mind or teasingly playful, she was the only woman who had ever turned him inside out. And she was right. He'd failed her miserably.

"Think about the last few days-"

"You mean since you got out of prison? Those days?" she demanded.

"Everything I've done has been to prove to you how much you mean to me. I want to find out the truth as much as, maybe more than, you do."

"By making me look like a liar to the DA? By denying the truth and having people, even myself, suspect that I might be crazy? That's what you did to show me how much I mean to you. Everyone else was right about you, Cole, and I was wrong. You're just a slick attorney who will turn the truth around to make it serve his own purpose. Worse yet...worse yet, you're a lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d who only cares about his own d.a.m.ned hide, so just leave me the h.e.l.l alone!"

She was so mad, she was seething, her breath coming in short gasps, her eyes filled with a dark fury that sliced right to his soul. He wanted to grab her, to hold her down, to promise that he would make things right, that he loved her and would do anything, even die for her, but he knew that she wouldn't believe a word he said. His fists opened and closed as he stared at her.

"Just think," he tried again.

"That's all I've done for the last three months. And all the while I was 'thinking,' trying to figure out if I was going out of my mind, you knew knew the truth. You didn't 'think' enough of me to confide in me. So don't even try to tell me what to do." the truth. You didn't 'think' enough of me to confide in me. So don't even try to tell me what to do."

"I love you. That hasn't changed."

She looked at him coldly. "Go to h.e.l.l, Cole. Don't talk to me about love or feelings or any sort of emotion. That's over."

He didn't call her a liar, though he wanted to, because it wouldn't change anything. Beneath her fury was pain. He didn't blame her for that. Maybe she'd never get over it. But for now he wasn't going to let her out of his sight.

Not until this nightmare was over.

"Now we've lost a cop!" Montoya raged when Bentz caught up with him at the station the next morning. They were in the kitchen, each grabbing a cup of coffee.

"Last I heard, Tiggs was still hanging on."

"By a G.o.dd.a.m.ned thread!" Montoya sputtered, running a hand through his hair and swearing again. "We've got to bring the b.a.s.t.a.r.d in. I was close last night, man, so close!"

"You know what they say-"

"Yeah, I do. Don't give me any c.r.a.p about horseshoes and hand grenades!"

"Ouch." Lynn Zaroster walked in and winced at Montoya's outburst. "Wrong side of the bed?"

"Is there a good side?" he grumbled.

She shot Bentz an I'm-glad-he's-your-partner look, then picked through a box of m.u.f.fins left on the table. "What's the occasion?"

"Brinkman's birthday."

"So who-?" she motioned to the box.

"Vera, in Missing Persons." Bentz took a sip, and the coffee nearly scalded his tongue. "Who knows why she does what she does, but help yourself."

"You think any of them are lite or no-fat?"

Montoya sent her a look that spoke volumes.

She held up one hand to ward off another verbal attack, grabbed a m.u.f.fin that appeared to be liberally laced with chocolate chips, then hustled down the hallway.

Bentz chose poppy seed. "Don't blame anyone here. Everyone's working their a.s.ses off on this case."

"Yeah, tell that to Tiggs."

"I mean it, Montoya. Cool it."

"No way. Not until we catch this f.u.c.ker."

"Let's get out of here." They'd already discussed why Bentz hadn't shown up at the crime scene and what had gone down at the Renner house.

"Where to?" Montoya poured coffee into a paper cup.

"Our favorite place. Our Lady of Virtues. Already got an excavation crew on call, just in case we need to dig up a grave or two."

"Great." Montoya picked up his cup and sloshed hot coffee onto his hand. "d.a.m.n it!"

"Looks like you could use a cigarette," Brinkman observed as he strolled in, reeking of smoke.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"You enjoy being a pain in the a.s.s, man?" Montoya demanded.

"Rough night?" Brinkman asked.

"f.u.c.k you."

"Not my fault that you haven't been able to catch the Three-Digit Slasher."

"The what?" Bentz asked.

"That's what they're calling him. I heard it on the radio on the way in today."

"No one knows about the numbers," Bentz said swiftly.

"They do now."

"Jesus Christ, what's with all the leaks!" Montoya was blistering now, as hot as Bentz had ever seen him.

"Your case," Brinkman pointed out as he strolled in the room. He took his time making his selection then finally picked up a fat m.u.f.fin with thick chocolate icing. Licking frosting from his fingers, he added, "You might want to tell your people to put a lid on it."

Montoya tensed, and Bentz thought for a second he might throw a punch. Instead, he forced a frigid smile. "Thanks for the advice, Brinkman, and happy f.u.c.kin' birthday." To Bentz, he said, "Let's roll."

They walked through the department, and Bentz paused at Zaroster's desk. She was just picking up the phone but hesitated, lifting her brows at him in a question.

"You're working on tracking down Ronnie Le Mars?"

"Already got a call in to his parole officer.... Get this. Ronnie wasreleased from prison about five months ago and kept his nose clean for a while then just disappeared, just quit checking in with the parole officer, and no one's seen or heard of him since."

"He can't just vanish into thin air," Montoya muttered.

"But he could've left the state."

"Has to work somewhere. There are records," Montoya argued.

Zaroster shrugged. "Fake ID or under the radar. Happens all the time."

Bentz took a bite of his m.u.f.fin. "So, what about the priest? You workin' that too?"

"Yeah, but I just started. The Archdiocese is a little touchy these days, but I think they'll come around. It'll just take time."

"Which we don't have," Montoya pointed out.

"I understand."

Bentz said, "Let me know the minute you get a location on either of them, Le Mars or Swanson."

"You'll be the first to know." Then she cast a glance at Montoya. "Or maybe the second. I'll flip a coin."

Bentz tapped on her desk. "Thanks." Montoya just headed down the stairs.

"I'll drive," Bentz said, taking another bite of his m.u.f.fin before tossing the remains into the trash near the back steps. Because of the mood Montoya was in, Bentz didn't plan to get into a car with his partner at the wheel. There were times when Bentz had ridden white-knuckled while Montoya had lead-footed it down the city streets as if he were in the d.a.m.ned Daytona 500.

He was surprised that Montoya didn't fight him for the wheel but didn't mention it. One less argument. He drove, and Montoya cracked his window then slid a pack of cigarettes out of an interior pocket of his jacket, lit up, and offered his pack to Bentz.

He almost gave in but shook his head. He'd been known to break down and have a smoke when a case got tough, and maybe he would later, but for now he'd stick to gum. Montoya slipped his hard pack of Marlboro Reds into the inner pocket of his jacket. Finally he said, "That nurse claims Faith had a boy, born dead and buried somewhere at the convent's cemetery."

"Uh-huh."

"You believe her?"

"She believes her," Bentz said as he sped around a truck pulling a horse trailer. "I called the convent and talked to Sister Odine, but she was no help. She didn't like the thought of equipment up there, digging up graves, but I convinced her it was necessary if we were ever going to catch Sister Rebecca's killer." believes her," Bentz said as he sped around a truck pulling a horse trailer. "I called the convent and talked to Sister Odine, but she was no help. She didn't like the thought of equipment up there, digging up graves, but I convinced her it was necessary if we were ever going to catch Sister Rebecca's killer."

"Eve looks like Faith. Abby's already bought into it after seeing her in person." Montoya shook his head. "h.e.l.l, she's nearly written Eve's name down in the family Bible."

"We should get DNA results soon. I put a rush on it. Then we'll know at least that part of the story."

Montoya took a pull on his cigarette. "So, where does that leave us with Eve Renner? If she's not Faith Chastain's daughter, why did she get that bundle of newspaper clippings all about Faith and the hospital?"

"Besides the fact that Eve grew up there? Beats me," Bentz admitted as he switched lanes again, maneuvering for the exit ramp.

"It makes ya wonder," Montoya said, blowing out a stream of smoke and crushing his cigarette in the ashtray. "Just who the h.e.l.l is Eve Renner?"

Kristi walked out of the offices of Gulf Auto and Life and felt freer than she had since college. She'd known she wasn't the type for a siton-your-b.u.t.t, eight-hours-a-day, forty-hours-a-week job, but she'd had to eat and pay rent, and there was no way she was ever going to move home again. No way. Especially now, when she suspected her stepmother might be trying to get pregnant. The last time Kristi had been over to their house, she'd spied the discarded package of a pregnancy test in a wastebasket in the bathroom. Which was just plain weird. To think that she might have a half brother or half sister that would be over twenty-five years younger? She couldn't imagine.

Besides, technically, the kid wouldn't be your half brother or half sister. At least not biologically.

She didn't want to think about it or deal with it, nor had she wanted to be under her father's thumb or watchful eye when she'd graduated from college, so she'd taken whatever jobs she could find: waitressing, clerking, just about anything steady. Finally, as luck would have it, insurance claims had become her way of life.

But now, thank G.o.d, she was done! Never again would she have to listen to someone whine about their deductible!

When Kristi had told her boss this morning that she was leaving, she'd been surprised at her response. "Well, you've acc.u.mulated nearly two weeks of vacation pay, so why don't you clean out your desk?" Her boss had smiled falsely, and Kristi guessed maybe Gulf Auto and Life was as glad to see her go as she was to leave.

It was perfect.

She took in a long, deep breath and actually saw this part of the city, the downtown area, with new eyes. She could walk through the aquarium. Situated on the waterfront, it was supposed to be fabulous, and she'd never set foot inside. Now she could go put some money in the slot machines and have a free drink if she wanted, even though it was only ten in the morning. Maybe a mimosa or a b.l.o.o.d.y Mary. Wouldn't her father, the teetotaler, have a hemorrhage if he knew? She smiled to herself. It wasn't that she didn't respect her old man. Good Lord, no. He'd done everything he could for her, raising her as a single parent, putting her needs above his. Most of the time. She hadn't been all that crazy about moving here from LA all those years ago but had finally blended in and now loved this city, couldn't imagine moving back to California.

She strolled along the sidewalk then up over the levee. The river, wide and dark, moved slowly. In one direction she saw an old paddle-wheeler docked at the Toulouse Street Wharf while tugboats were guiding a large cargo ship through the channel. The sun beat down on her head and glittered off the water while clouds piled on the horizon, moving steadily closer. Yeah, she liked it here, but she discarded any idea of wasting what was left of the day. The sharks and slots could wait. If she was going to make this true-crime-writer aspiration work, she had to get on it, follow this investigation.

She pulled her cell phone from her purse and speed-dialed her contact at the police department.

Today, she thought, the tables were turned.

She was the one checking up on dear old Dad, not the other way around.

Eve wasn't about to waste a single second. In the hour since she'd rolled up her sleeping bag, she'd cleaned out the cardboard box full of sand that she'd set up in the bathroom as a makeshift litter box, called a locksmith and made an appointment to have the locks changed, even found a maid service to do the cleanup, though she intended to scrub down her bedroom and any place else the creep had touched with gallons of disinfectant.

Last night she'd fallen asleep sometime around two in the morning, though Cole had still been awake, going over his notes, logging onto the Internet by way of her laptop with its wireless connection and some neighbor's unsecured server. While she'd been awake, he'd been animated, talking about theories of who and why and how they were going to crack the case. All the while Eve had seethed. How had she been so foolish as to trust him again? Hadn't she known better?

What a lying piece of dirt!

If it hadn't been for Samson, she would have checked into a hotel.

Or so she'd tried to convince herself.

She was conflicted; that was the problem. Mad as h.e.l.l and conflicted to the n nth degree!

He'd told her to think about the past few days; since then she'd thought of little else. True, Cole had been nothing but determined to figure out who was behind the murders, and he'd risked his own neck in trying to save hers and been her rock when she'd wanted to fall into a billion pieces, but that didn't change the fact that he was a liar, out to save his own hide.