Jack of Diamonds Page 14

  “You’re worried that you’ll be kicked off the investigation,” Paula said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. Morrison has allowed me to be a consultant, for now, but that can change in a heartbeat.”

  “He brought you in because of your fiancée.” Paula twisted the wedding ring on her left hand. She must have picked up on Jack’s surprise that she knew. “I have other sources in the police department. You’re risking a lot giving me these.”

  “I’m torn about it,” Jack admitted, rubbing the spot of tension behind his head. “Sheriff Morrison is a good man. I don’t want this to come back negatively on him. He’s brought in a profiler—Special Agent Frank Thomas, FBI. He doesn’t care for the press.”

  Paula shrugged. “The feds usually don’t.”

  “He doesn’t feel the gravity of the situation. These women are targets of a killer. They have a right to know that. Before there’s another murder.”

  Paula glanced down at her wedding ring and smiled ruefully. “I know that journalists are . . . unpopular with the police these days. But I have nothing against law enforcement. And the last thing I want to do is sow unwarranted panic. You may not believe it, but there are reporters who still have journalistic integrity. And . . .” She looked down at her glistening ring again. “My husband passed away four years ago. Heart attack. But . . . he was a cop.”

  Jack felt his eyes widen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t mention it to many people. I was going to tell the sheriff when he was railing against my defense of the freedom of the press and my ‘bias’ against the police. But it felt cheap bringing it up then. It hurt. I’m not anti-police.” She reached over and squeezed Jack’s hand.

  He didn’t expect the sudden contact, the sudden empathy. It moved him. And so did her story. He had misjudged Paula. Badly. “I apologize,” he said simply.

  She squeezed his hand again and reached for the door handle. “No need. Just don’t think I’m on the same level as an ambulance chaser or tax collector.” She opened the door but didn’t get out. “I understand your need to protect your fiancée, the sheriff, and yourself. And I respect what you’re trying to do for these women. I’ll do the best I can.”

  Jack watched her walk back to the news building. He had been wrong about her. Prejudiced, actually. It was a behavior he hated, yet he’d let himself slip into it.

  His guilt shifted to fear, his heart skipping a beat. If he was wrong about Paula, was he making the same mistake about Marisa?

  27

  When I see Jack, I’ll have to congratulate him. Bringing Alice back to his old neighborhood so his friends could babysit her was sheer genius.

  The residents know that I’m not from Darrington, and they make me feel it, too. Their distrust of outsiders is palpable. Everyone watches me as I drive down the street. All heads turn to look. I feel their eyes bore into me. I don’t meet their gaze. I try to act as natural as possible.

  It’s a bit of a thrill, really. My stomach flutters with this unexpected twist. It’s the same feeling I get when I walk too close to the edge of someplace high. I’m walking on the razor’s edge now. They’re looking right at me. They judge me. Am I a threat? Then I see the answer written on their faces. No. They dismiss me.

  They think I’m weak. They believe they’re stronger than me. They think they have nothing to fear, but they’re so wrong. They have no idea what I’m capable of. After all, how many have I taken? The ones I found don’t count. By the time I’m done collecting, I’ll have fifty guests at The Wedding. Alice and Aunt Haddie will make fifty-two.

  And the others? I can count them too, can’t I? All the husbands who vainly tried to protect their wives from me. The children who, instead of running, wanted to help their mothers.

  No. I can’t count them.

  I hide my smile in a blank expression. Let the world think less of me—they already do anyway. Artists are never really appreciated.

  I roll to a stop at the traffic light, and my thoughts drift back to Jack.

  I can see his face if I close my eyes. It’s a handsome face. Expressive. I should sketch his many different looks, thousands of different faces. There’s a confidence there that must be captured. An underlying one. It’s been growing. I’ve underestimated him. I didn’t think Jack would move Alice as quickly as he did. I never believed he’d allow her to leave his side with someone like me in pursuit.

  That was a foolish mistake on his part. They’re stronger together. Still, his strength worries me, I’ll admit. His intelligence intimidates me. But it’s the raw power of the emotions churning inside him that really scares me.

  His childhood was much harsher than mine. No one could escape that without scars. But you can’t see Jack’s scars, except the rough one that encircles his wrist. He took all that pain and hurt and buried it. It’s like spent nuclear waste. Buried. It usually leaks out and kills people. But Jack has found some way to use that hate and pain as a kind of fuel. Is that what drives him? Is that why he won’t give up?

  I wonder what will happen to all that pent-up hate once I kill Alice. Will he be able to hold back that rage? Or will it break free from its cage and rip Jack apart?

  I drive through the green light but only make it a block before the next street light turns red. I stop. More people stare. I don’t meet their gaze. I keep my eyes forward like most people in this neighborhood.

  This is the fourth time I’ve driven around Shawna’s apartment. I’ve seen the same man twice now. He looks at me suspiciously. I take out my phone and pretend to look at some unseen map—puzzled that my GPS has let me down. I like this game. Will he believe my acting?

  He seems to buy it and goes on his way. But I can’t make another loop around the building now. If he saw me again, what would he do? I’ll never know.

  I take a left instead, and head for the highway. It was nice being so close to Alice, if only for a moment. I picture her often, pretty and sweet, perfect proportions too, an artist’s dream. Did she feel my presence? I hope so. She’s as busy as I am getting ready for the wedding. There’s still so much to do.

  I pick up my phone, to use it for real this time. I bring up my software. The screen blinks and flashes as it makes the connection to the cameras I mounted inside. My church is quiet. The people sit silently in the pews, waiting for The Wedding to start. With a touch of my thumb I can check on my art from anywhere in the world. The Internet is truly a gift. A microphone allows me to listen in. I love listening almost as much as I love watching, and it’s so quiet here. But when the time comes, there’s a speaker so I can speak to my guests right from my phone.

  It’s that special moment right before a wedding, where everyone is waiting. The anticipation is building. The bride will soon be here.

  And there’s nothing Jack Stratton can do to stop me.

  28

  Alice listened patiently as Erica went through the upcoming schedule of events. They were gathered in Shawna’s apartment, which was smaller than Jack’s and had a cozy feel, thanks to all the family pictures; it reminded her of Aunt Haddie’s a little. It was nice, and a welcome change from cake tasting and dress fittings and photoshoots, but it did little to improve her mood. There just seemed to be no end to it all. Every minute of every day before the wedding was packed and planned.

  As Erica prattled on, Alice’s phone buzzed. It was Mrs. Stevens, their friend and landlady. “Sorry, Erica. I have to take this,” Alice said as she got up and moved toward the kitchen.

  Bobbie G., Boomer, Shawna, and Kendra Murphy, the sheriff’s deputy assigned to protect Alice, all rose. Alice didn’t know if they were that eager to guard her or simply eager for an excuse to get out of the room, too.

  “One second, Mrs. Stevens.” Alice covered the phone. “Guys, I’m just going into the kitchen—alone.”

  The others sat back down, except for Kendra, who pushed open the kitchen door and scanned the small room. It was just a tiny functional
kitchen: fridge, oven, dishwasher crammed in side by side, and a single window above the two-chair table.

  “There’s only the one door,” Alice said, trying to smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Stay away from the window,” Kendra instructed.

  Alice was relieved to close the kitchen door behind her and get a moment of privacy. Kendra was a great cop, but she was acting as though she were protecting the president.

  “Hi, Mrs. Stevens. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, dear. Lady and I are having a ball, but you sound sad. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Alice lied, trying to keep her voice steady. “Just a little frazzled with all the wedding plans and everything else going on.”

  Jack had told Mrs. Stevens about the sketches and the wedding invitation pinned to the killer’s wall. Mrs. Stevens was keeping an eye on Lady while also watching their apartment for anyone suspicious.

  “Well . . .” Mrs. Stevens cleared her throat. “The last thing I want to do is add to your stress, but this older gentleman and his daughter have stopped by a number of times. He said he’s your uncle and asked me if I could give him your phone number. I refused, of course, but they asked if I would take their number and pass it on to you.”

  Alice’s throat tightened; her eyes burned with unshed tears. Between the wedding planning and a killer stalking her, she hadn’t reached out to her uncle yet. Maybe it was because she wanted to tell Jack first. Or maybe part of her just couldn’t believe that she had a family. It didn’t seem real. The memories that Alice had lost, they knew. Her great-uncle could tell her all the things about her parents that she wanted to know.

  “One second, Mrs. Stevens.” Alice scanned the cramped kitchen for a pen and spotted one on the magnetic pad hanging on the refrigerator. “Okay. What’s their number?”

  Mrs. Stevens read it off twice. “Are they really your relatives?” she asked, her voice thick with concern. “I don’t mean to pry, but I thought all of your family . . . had passed on.”

  “I did, too.” Alice exhaled. “But it’s true. He’s my great-uncle. My grandfather’s brother.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. I hope they didn’t think it rude of me not to give them your number. But you and Jack always tell me to be careful. Especially now.”

  “And you should. You did great, Mrs. Stevens. I’m going to call them now.”

  “Give my love to Jack!”

  Alice hung up and leaned wearily against the refrigerator. Right now, she’d like to give her own love to Jack. She missed everything about him. Closing her eyes, she imagined him wrapping his strong arms around her shoulders. She’d squeeze back and nuzzle up against his broad chest, inhale his warmth . . . “Soon,” she whispered. Even though he wasn’t there, just thinking about him had given her the boost she needed. She dialed the number Mrs. Stevens had just given her.

  Her cousin answered. “This is Yana.”

  “Hiya, cuz.” Alice decided to go the lighthearted, informal route.

  “Alice!” Yana said her name in a way that made Alice feel missed and wanted all at the same time. “How are you?”

  “Swamped.” Alice chuckled. “In a good way. I’m planning my wedding and it’s just been so crazy.”

  Yana laughed. “Maybe you should have eloped.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “I hate to impose . . .” Yana paused. “But my father really wants to see you again. There’s so much he wants to tell you. He and your mother were very close . . . but I understand how busy you are.”

  “It’s not just the wedding.” Alice moved away from the kitchen door, then stepped to the side of the window, letting her eyes wander the streets. “It’s really complicated.”

  “Is there any way you could see him? Just for a few minutes?”

  “I want to see him too. But . . .” Alice closed her eyes, and she felt tears coming. She thought she’d lost her family, and now that she’d found them, she couldn’t bear keeping them away. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her uncle. She really did. She was desperate to talk with him and find out more about her family. This was a chance that she’d dreamed of and yet had never expected would actually arrive.

  “I’m in the city. Fairhaven Avenue.” She gave Yana directions to get there and where to park.

  “Excuse me one minute, Alice, let me tell Papa.” She heard muffled voices on the other end. Then Yana came back on the line. “You made Papa’s day. He’s dancing around the living room. We’ll be right over.”

  Alice smiled. “I can’t wait.”

  As she hung up, she tried to brace herself for Erica’s guilt trip. Her great-uncle’s visit was sure to derail something “vital” that was scheduled. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Alice walked back into the living room.

  “That was my great-uncle. He’s coming over with his daughter.”

  Erica shook her head. “Right now?”

  “I don’t know if you’re allowed to have visitors,” Kendra said, though her voice lacked conviction.

  Alice crossed her arms. “I’m not under arrest.”

  “That’s right,” Boomer said. “This is America.”

  “Shut up, Boomer.” Bobbie G. stood. “Kendra’s just thinking about Alice’s safety.” He winked at Kendra, and she returned the gesture along with a smile.

  Shawna got up, scowling. “Is Jack cool with this?”

  “I haven’t had the chance to talk to him. He doesn’t even know they exist. I just found out myself.” Alice crossed the room and flopped down onto a chair.

  “Hold the phone, girlfriend.” Shawna hurried over to her. “You’d better dish.”

  Alice explained to them all the events of meeting her great-uncle and cousin. When she was done, Erica’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “Are they coming to the wedding? Of course they are! Oh, no. The whole seating arrangement will have to change!” She scooped up her tablet, rushed to the bathroom, and slammed the door.

  “That woman is really starting to freak out,” Boomer said.

  “Wait a second, Alice.” Bobbie’s voice was soft as he crouched down in front of her chair so his big brown eyes were level with hers. “You’ve never met them before now?”

  “No, I did. Long ago. I don’t remember my cousin, but I do remember my great-uncle. Why?”

  Bobbie placed a huge hand on top of hers. “All I know is that I owe it to Chandler and Michelle to keep you safe. I’ve got no clue how to do that. Don’t tell Jack this, but I keep thinking, what would he do? And when some great-uncle just happens to show up outta the blue while a killer is running around and drawing pictures of you— Well, I put all that through my Jack filter, and it makes me real nervous.”

  Alice squeezed his hand. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. They’re my family.” She smiled, but it was short-lived. “And they’ll be here any minute.”

  Bobbie stood, and he and Kendra exchanged looks.

  “Of course there’s nothing to worry about!” Shawna declared. “We’ll be right here. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

  29

  Jack sat at the computer desk near the window and Lady lounged by his chair while he pored over the data on the missing women. The tiny home office had been transformed into his own command center. Perfect for a task force of one.

  As if reading his thoughts, Lady growled beside him. Jack looked down at the dog and chuckled. “Okay, two.” For a moment he thought she was asleep and dreaming, but then she opened one eye and peered up at him. “Now you’re creeping me out. If you’re so smart, help me figure out the link here.” Lady huffed and closed her eyes. He heard her loud and clear: they were both missing Alice.

  The police had identified ten women. They’d disappeared from five different states, all in the last year. Besides their gender they had very little in common. All different ages. Seven white. Three black. Six were married. Two divorced. Two widowed.

  Where does Alice fit into this? Just placin
g his fiancée onto the list of missing women made Jack’s stomach sour. But he had to. Serial killers usually have a pattern. Typically, there would be a commonality among the victims.

  Jack needed to find it.

  He hoped Special Agent Thomas was having more success. Jack didn’t care for the man personally, but right now, he was happy to have an experienced FBI profiler on his side. A lot of profilers concentrate on motive. But when it comes to serial killers, the motives involved are different from those in typical murder cases. Some killers murder because they think someone is ordering them to do so. Some kill just because they enjoy it, savoring the adrenaline rush of hunting their prey. Those are the psychopaths.

  The thing about psychopaths is that they seem normal. Like they have it all together. But they’re far from sane. They were typically abused as children, and most were also bullied.

  This killer was different in one major aspect. Most serial killers have a cooling-off period between killings—days, weeks, sometimes even years. But the pace was increasing, if anything. They were on fire. And that was consistent with the pressure serial killers sometimes have to kill, and kill again, around an event that’s symbolically charged for them.

  Jack thought back to the rickety house on Buck Mountain. There was one clear inconsistency in the pattern: the wedding invitation. Why was that there? Did the wedding somehow bother the killer? Was the killer trying to get to Jack through Alice?

  Marisa’s face flashed in his mind. He shoved the thought aside. It was ridiculous. Maybe Marisa still had feelings for him, and maybe she wasn’t exactly happy about his getting married, but she would never . . .

  Always watching. Never seen. She said it. There was no denying that fact. Marisa was an artist. And she didn’t want Jack to get married.

  Jack stood suddenly and Lady lifted her head, shaking her head and herself awake.

  “Shhh.” Jack reassured the dog as he picked up his phone.