Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 237

He'll be the one who will have to deal with the torment, the pure, soul-sick torture of knowing that, because of him, the woman he loves will be subjected to excruciating, mind-shattering fear and deep, abysmal pain.

But I can't get ahead of myself.

Everything is falling into place, but my mission is far from over. Still undone.

There are those who need to be destroyed, those who have served their purpose by leaking information about Jennifer to Bentz, those who knew her well and now are of no further use. I take a deep breath.

To remind myself of my mission, to stay on target, I reach into my pocket and pull out my Pomeroy 2550, a sweet little multipurpose tool that disguises its sharp blades in an innocuous plastic sh.e.l.l. Designed to look like a pink manicure kit, the tool can become lethal with the flick of a tiny lever. It boasts a corkscrew, screwdriver, nail clipper, a pair of pet.i.te scissors, and a tiny little knife as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel.

My favorite.

The razor-thin blade is perfect.

Grinning at this newfound ritual that solidifies my determination, I hum along to the refrain of "Losing My Religion" as I slowly draw the blade across my inner wrist.

A sharp sting.

I suck in my breath in a hiss, losing track of the words to the song. But it's a bittersweet pain and I locate the melody again, catching up to the band.

With eager eyes, I watch the blood bloom. My My blood rise against my skin. blood rise against my skin.

Reverently, almost mesmerized by the image I'm creating, I drizzle the thick red drops onto the photograph of Olivia.

She smiles up at me through a nearly opaque sheen of red.

Unknowing.

Fearless.

I smear the blood over the plastic that protects her image and yet she grins.

Poor, dumb b.i.t.c.h.

"Don't tell me you need another favor," Montoya said when Bentz phoned him as he drove with the pack on the clogged L.A. freeway. He had the window cracked but closed it and cranked up the A/C.

"You're off work anyway."

"And I thought I'd go home, spend some time with my wife, and relax. This is your deal, Bentz, not mine." Despite his complaints, Montoya didn't sound p.i.s.sed off.

"Okay, okay, but I could use some help."

"What?"

"Some more searches of Internet and police records."

"Great."

"I need the name of an astrologer who may or may not still be alive or practicing. All I have is a first name: Phyllis."

"No last name. Nothing else?"

"She was somewhere in the Los Angeles area. And then, if you can, find out if Alan Gray is still in business. He's a developer in Southern California. At least he was twenty-five years ago."

"Alan Gray?" Montoya repeated "Have I heard of him?"

"Probably. I might have mentioned him. He's a big shot. Multimillionaire, owned a house in Malibu, I think, and maybe had an apartment in New York, and a place somewhere in Italy, too. Even a yacht that he kept moored down at Marina del Rey, if I remember right. He was involved with Jennifer before she and I became an item, and I'd like to see if he's still around."

"You don't ask for much."

"Only what I need," he said and hung up.

It was late in the afternoon, the sun sitting low in the sky, the heat of the day settling into the pavement. Bentz decided to grab some dinner at Oscar's, a restaurant he and Jennifer had often frequented in their old neighborhood. He needed a quiet place where he could find some vestiges of the past and try to put together everything he knew about his ex-wife. Which changed day to day, as if Jennifer really had been a chameleon. Bentz hoped to mesh the old with the new to get some idea of the woman who, with each pa.s.sing day, was becoming more of a stranger to him.

Even in death, Jennifer Nichols Bentz was the ultimate enigma.

Shana McIntyre was p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l as she walked into her cedar-lined closet and yanked the headband from her hair.

She should never have talked with Bentz, never have confided in him, never have told him one solitary thing about Jennifer. The woman was dead, d.a.m.n it. She had driven herself into a d.a.m.ned tree and, thankfully, was at rest.

In the dressing area of her ma.s.sive closet and connecting bath, Shana stripped off her tennis skirt and sleeveless tee to stand naked in front of the floor to ceiling mirror. Not too bad for a woman on the north end of forty, she thought, though she'd have to consider some b.o.o.b work and a full face-lift in the next five years to add to her tummy tuck and lipo. She pulled her b.r.e.a.s.t.s up to a spot where they were perky again and thought she could use another cup size as well. B to C. That would be nice. Then she drew back the skin around her chin and mouth. The lines there weren't too bad yet, but there was a bit of sag that would only get worse. At least Jennifer Bentz would never have to worry about laugh lines, age spots, or cellulite. Early death, though scary, in some ways was seductive.

Shana believed that Jennifer was dead and had been for twelve years. Whoever had sent Bentz those photos was just mind-f.u.c.king him.

So why had Shana thought it necessary to play with Bentz? True, she'd had her own doubts about Jen's death, but come on, there was no way the woman was alive today.

It's because you were attracted to him, her mind silently accused, though she would never admit as much. A cop? Come her mind silently accused, though she would never admit as much. A cop? Come on. on. But, then, Bentz always had been and was still undeniably s.e.xy, and lately Shana had been more than a little denied in the s.e.x department. Leland had once been a wild man, insatiable, but with advancing age and a few health issues his interest in s.e.x, along with his ability, had diminished. But, then, Bentz always had been and was still undeniably s.e.xy, and lately Shana had been more than a little denied in the s.e.x department. Leland had once been a wild man, insatiable, but with advancing age and a few health issues his interest in s.e.x, along with his ability, had diminished.

No amount of talking would get him to go to a doctor and inquire about v.i.a.g.r.a. It was as if even suggesting the idea were an affront to his manhood.

What manhood, she thought unkindly because, truth be told, she was losing interest in the man she once would have killed to marry. Hadn't she seduced him away from his first wife, that imbecile Isabella? she thought unkindly because, truth be told, she was losing interest in the man she once would have killed to marry. Hadn't she seduced him away from his first wife, that imbecile Isabella?

And Rick Bentz, even with his uneven walk, oozed virility. He caused her mind to wander down twisted and darkly seductive paths she didn't dare follow. Jennifer had hinted that he was a great lover. She'd insisted that she hadn't strayed for s.e.x so much as for forbidden s.e.x, with a priest, no less. Her husband's half brother.

But then Jen had been one messed-up woman. Shana had thought so when they'd hung out together.

G.o.d, that seemed like another lifetime.

It was was ancient history, long before she noticed the strands of gray in her hair and the evidence of sagging in certain areas of her body that had once been firm. ancient history, long before she noticed the strands of gray in her hair and the evidence of sagging in certain areas of her body that had once been firm.

Christ, it was h.e.l.l growing old...older, she reminded herself. She wasn't yet fifty and she knew a lot of women who were over sixty and looked fabulous, though they had to work at it. she reminded herself. She wasn't yet fifty and she knew a lot of women who were over sixty and looked fabulous, though they had to work at it.

"Ugh." She eyed her figure again and told herself to buck up. She was told over and over how beautiful she was, how great she looked, and so far no one had dared tacked on the "for your age" line that diminished the compliment.

She threw a cover-up over her body, though there was no reason. The maid had left long ago, the gardener wasn't scheduled for a few more days, Leland was out of town again again wooing some big client in Palm Springs. wooing some big client in Palm Springs.

Hurrying down the marble stairs, she cut through the sunroom and out to the yard, where Dirk was barking loudly at the neighbor's Chihuahuas, who were yipping from the other side of the hedge and fence. "Enough," Shana said and dragged Dirk into the house. She stuffed him into the laundry room and closed the door.

She just needed some time alone, without the aggravation of Leland's dog giving her a headache. These days she spent more time with the d.a.m.ned animal than she did her husband.

She eyed the refrigerator and thought of the chocolate mousse pie within. It was a ritual she allowed herself. Each week she bought a different decadent dessert and left it calling to her on the third shelf of the refrigerator. She allowed herself one bite of pure heaven, then left the rest to slowly dehydrate and turn dark. Lemon meringue or key lime pie, coconut or Boston cream or fudge cake or eclairs. They all rented s.p.a.ce on the gla.s.s shelf at eye level, then were evicted on the next Sat.u.r.day night.

Her ritual of self-deprivation and control.

Today she wouldn't even bother opening the door but hurried back outside and crossed the patio to the pool. It was twilight, the pool light glowing at the far end, the aquamarine water smooth and welcoming.

She dropped her cover-up and kicked off her flip-flops near the edge of the pool. Descending the mosaic tiled steps, she slid into the warm water and relaxed as it surrounded her calves, then her hips, and finally embraced her waist.

Vaguely aware that those nasty little Chihuahuas had quit their incessant yapping, she began her nightly ritual, her second workout today, with even strokes. Freestyle to the far end, b.r.e.a.s.t.stroke back, sidestroke for two laps. That was one set. She'd do five sets and then, only then, would she allow herself a drink. For next to the white box containing the chocolate mousse was a pitcher of martinis, already made and chilling.

It was another test of her willpower, waiting until after her exercise regimen before allowing herself a tall drink with exactly three olives. She'd suck the pimento out of each. G.o.d, Jennifer had loved martinis.

Stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe, turn.

She headed back, changing her rhythm as her body movements altered for the b.r.e.a.s.t.stroke. Night was closing in, the moon high. The subdued outdoor lighting cast small pools of light near the walkways. Brighter beams washed up the trunks of the palms, and the huge arched windows of the house were illuminated from within.

It was a gorgeous place to live.

Even if her life had become lonely.

Stroke, stroke, stroke.

She lost herself in her routine, silently counting off the turns, knowing instinctively from the way her muscles strained when she was coming to the end of her self-imposed exercise regimen.

She could almost taste the martinis as she completed the final lap. Letting water drip from her body, she started up the steps. She was reaching for her cover-up when she heard something.

A footstep?

A chorus of barking arose from the other side of the fence as the Chihuahuas started up again. Inside the house, Dirk responded with a low, warning growl.

"Great," Shana said, intent on marching into the house and giving the dog a piece of her mind. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with him? He never engaged the yappy rat-dogs from inside the house. It would serve the neighbors right if Dirk ever got loose and attacked those ankle biters. G.o.d, she hated them.

From the corner of her eye, she saw movement.

What?

Something dark.

A shadow in the side yard.

Or was it?

Her skin crawled as fear slithered through her.

She peered, staring at the side of the house, telling herself that nothing was out of the ordinary, there was nothing to be concerned about. And yet...

Just beyond a circle of decorative light, she caught a glimpse of movement again, something slinking near the undergrowth.

Heart hammering, she peered through the darkness, told herself she was being a ninny, one of those frightened little women she detested and then she saw it again. Something or someone creeping closer.

Something was definitely wrong.

"What the h.e.l.l-?"

In a flash, a dark figure lunged, running, footsteps slapping across the cement.

Shana started to scream, as the sprinter rushed forward, eyes dark and glittering.

The attacker hit her mid-section, ramming her hard enough that she tripped, fell backward into the pool, her a.s.sailant pushing firmly.

Bam!

Shana's head hit the side of the pool.

Pain exploded behind her eyes. She nearly pa.s.sed out, but tried to hang onto consciousness. To fight.

Still the maniac was on her, in the water with her as she flailed. Gloved hands circled her throat. Held her under. She saw the features of an angry face through the curtain of water. Features twisted in hatred. Oh, G.o.d, she should recognize the monster but she couldn't think, couldn't draw a breath.

Dear G.o.d, help me. Someone, please help me, this psycho wants to kill me!

She struggled and tried to roll in the water, to twist so that the attacker was under the surface. Shana was strong, a swimmer, but she was already tired and she couldn't battle the fierce determination of this would-be killer.

No! Sweet Jesus, no!!!

She was already coughing. Trying to keep her wits. Find a way to survive.

But she was losing ground. Sputtering. Her strength drained even as she tried to pry the steely hands from her throat, hoping to land a blow with her feet. Kick him, Shana, kick! Or bite. Do something, anything! Kick him, Shana, kick! Or bite. Do something, anything!

But the water was heavy.

Her a.s.sailant was agile, even in the water.

Her lungs and nose were burning. Her throat on fire. She was trying to cough again, but couldn't expel the air trapped inside. Her throat was raw, her lungs screaming.

Oh, G.o.d, oh, G.o.d...no, no, no!

Everything was going black, swirling above her, the stars and moon circling her head as a jet cut across the inky sky. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, she thought with sudden understanding and surrender. Her arms moved more slowly, her legs stopped kicking. she thought with sudden understanding and surrender. Her arms moved more slowly, her legs stopped kicking.

She was floating on her back, staring upward as the blackness consumed her and she finally caught a glimpse of the person who had fought so hard to kill her.

Why? she wondered. she wondered. Why me? Why me?