What was next? His heart? The hell with that.
“Have you talked to Agent Knolte yet?”
“No, I was waiting for you to come upstairs. Were you going to leave without saying good-bye?” The big jerk. She would not cry, no matter how angry he made her. She took a breath to steady her resolve, walked across the room, and thrust her hand out. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”
He ignored her hand. “Avery . . . if you want—”
She interrupted. “Chief Tyler came upstairs looking for you. He wanted to talk to you, said it was important.”
“I just talked to him not five minutes ago.”
She shrugged. “He must have something else to say to you. He’s waiting in the restaurant.”
“Yeah, all right.”
“Have a safe trip home,” she said. She turned around and walked back to the window. “Good-bye, John Paul.”
He couldn’t believe she was blowing him off. He stared at her back for a minute, then abruptly turned and went downstairs. Her cold farewell had been that of a stranger, and he was too pissed off to try to figure out why her attitude had changed.
Fortunately, he didn’t get swamped by agents as he walked through the police station. Knolte and a couple of other young hotshots were studying maps and talking on their cell phones. One agent did try to engage him in conversation, but he ignored him, shoved the swinging door open, and crossed over to the restaurant. The front was deserted, but he could hear whistling coming from the kitchen. He walked behind the red Formica counter and spotted the chief at the grill. The aroma of sizzling meat filled the air.
“You ready to take off?” the chief asked.
“Just about.”
“You want to take a hamburger for the road?”
“No thanks. Where is everyone?”
“My restaurant crew? I sent them home a while back. If Knolte and his friends want something to eat, they can fix it themselves.”
“Did you want to see me about something?”
Tyler frowned. “I already said what I had to say. I went ahead and put that sheet of directions in your car just in case you change your mind and decide to take me up on my offer to use my cabin. You ought to think about it,” he urged. “I can’t get up there for another month, thanks to my wife’s relatives. She informed me last night we have two weddings and a reunion to attend.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” he said. “Thanks for your help, Chief, and for the food and bed.”
“Glad I could help,” Tyler said. He unlocked the back door and stepped into the alley with John Paul.
“You take care of yourself.”
“I will,” he said as he opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. He noticed the folded paper the chief had placed on the seat next to him and picked it up with the intent of handing it back.
“You sure that little girl’s gonna be all right?”
That was the third time the chief had asked him that question. John Paul gave him the same answer. “She’ll be okay.”
He didn’t believe that nonsense, not for one second, and he could tell from Tyler’s expression, he didn’t believe it either.
“I’ll be seeing you,” Tyler called, raising the spatula he was holding in farewell.
John Paul put his key in the ignition, dropped the paper on the seat, and then sat there, brooding. His conscience wouldn’t quiet down. Avery had made her choice, he reminded himself. Yeah, she had let him know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want or need him.
There was only one problem with her decision. He wanted and needed her.
He thought he’d gotten rid of his feelings years ago when disillusionment had taken root, but now he realized he’d only been fooling himself with his hate-everyone, don’t-need-anyone attitude and that he was as human and flawed as everyone else. Who would have thought?
Did he even like Avery? Yeah, he did, he admitted. The woman was a real smart-ass. How could he not like her?
He shook his head and turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred like a well-fed kitten as he put the gear into drive.
God knows he tried, but he couldn’t summon up the strength to drive away. Damn it, she was making him nuts. She was just like a chigger, itching and irritating. She wanted him to leave. Right? Hell, yes. She was sure she was going to be fine and dandy with that super-duper team watching out for her safety. . . . God help her.
Avery was a fighter, and she could certainly handle anything that came her way. But could she control the actions of the agents assigned to protect her? Could she prevent them from screwing things up? And while she was watching them, who would be watching her?
He put the gear back in park and turned the motor off. What the hell was he going to do?
Let the FBI worry about her. Damn right. That was definitely what he was going to do. He started the motor again, but this time he didn’t get the gearshift into drive. He sat there like a lump of ice, frozen with indecision, while the car idled.
What a game player he was turning out to be. He was now desperately trying to convince himself he didn’t care what happened to her.
She made him laugh. She made him want things he thought he could never have.
Hell, she humanized him.
John Paul fought the good fight, but when all was said and done, he lost the battle. He bowed his head in submission as the truth sliced through him. Son of a bitch.
Face it, Renard. You aren’t going anywhere without her.
He turned the motor off and reached for the door.
The voice stopped him. “Will you get going? Move it, Renard. I’m suffocating back here, and your sleeping bag smells like dead leaves.”
He swung around. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Don’t start with me, John Paul. Put the damn car into drive and get us out of here. Don’t make me tell you again.”
His smile was slow and easy. The tension eased out of his shoulders, and his stomach stopped aching. The world was suddenly right again. Avery was snarling at him like a mountain cat, definitely giving him attitude.
He started the engine and changed gears, but he didn’t accelerate. “If you go with me, sugar, I’m calling the shots, and you’re going to do what I tell you to do. Can you deal with that?”
She didn’t hesitate in answering. “When I jumped off the fire escape ladder, I landed on the roof of your car and dented it. You deal with that.”
He grinned as he drove down the alley. How could he not be crazy about her?
Chapter 28
JILLY WAS ANXIOUSLY WAITING TO HEAR THE BODY COUNT. SHE paced around her hotel bungalow while the television, tuned into a local Colorado station, droned on and on, but each time that wonderful film clip showing the explosion of the house came on, she hurriedly sat down on the edge of the bed. Enthusiastically and greedily, she devoured every second of the magnificent footage.
How fortuitous that a hiker just happened to be filming the landscape at the exact second the house disintegrated. His lens had captured every bit of the back of the house. Had Jilly not been able to watch it on television, she would have been irate. Admittedly, she was still a little irritated because she had been looking forward to pushing the button, but this clip that the station kept showing over and over again was almost as good.
The phone rang just as the clip ended. She hit the mute button before she answered.
“Hello, darling.”
A second’s pause followed. “Did you see it on television?”
He sounded so eager to please, yet nervous at the same time. “Yes, of course I saw it. Wasn’t it marvelous?”
“Yes . . . yes,” he replied. “Two bodies so far.”
“One to go,” she said. “You sound nervous, darling. What’s wrong?”
“I was worried that, after the fact, you might feel bad. I’m glad to know you’re okay.”
“Feel bad about Carrie? She ruined my life and stole my daughter from me. I’m overjoyed,” she said.
“I miss you,” he said. “I want—”
Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. “I know what you want. Are you in the car now?”
“Yes,” he whispered back.
“You’d better pull over,” she said. And then in the most erotic detail she told him what she would do to him when they were together. His breathing amused her. The rapid panting of a dog in heat, she thought. The power she had over men excited her.
“Will you like that?” she asked breathlessly so he would think she was as out of control as he was.
And then she gave him more until he was whimpering with his need. A sudden silence followed a low groan. She knew what was happening and smiled with satisfaction. She could have had a wonderful career doing phone sex, she thought, but she certainly wouldn’t make the kind of money she wanted. Still, it was nice to know she had options.
“Are you feeling less lonely now, darling?”
“Yes,” he answered with a sigh. “I’ll be with you soon. I love you, Jilly.”
“I know you do, darling. I love you too.”
She hung up the phone and began to pace again. Would the police be able to tell who was who from what little was left of the bodies? She knew that skulls and teeth were one way of identifying victims, but what if those had also been blown to smithereens?
Umm. What would they do then?
The film came on the television again. Jilly rushed to the bed and sat down to watch. Oh, it was lovely, so lovely.
When the news bulletin ended, she went to her overnight bag and took out her precious videotape. She carried it with her wherever she went. She popped it into the VCR and knelt in front of the TV to watch. How many times had she seen it? A hundred? A thousand? And yet, she never grew tired of it . . . or the feelings it provoked.
“Now do you see why you have to die?” she whispered to the screen.
She happened to notice one of her nails was chipped and rushed into the bathroom to repair it. Checking the time, she realized that Monk would be arriving soon. She needed to get ready to greet him properly. And reward him, of course. Like a dog who’d performed a difficult trick, Monk would be anxious for his treat.
Virginal white, she decided as she pulled the negligee from her overnight bag. He’d like that. But then he liked everything she did to him, didn’t he?
She mustn’t forget to put on red lipstick. Oh, how men loved pouting red lips.
They loved her perfect body. They loved her angelic face.
They all loved her.
Chapter 29
THE PARAMEDICS TOLD CARRIE SHE WAS IN SHOCK. SHE DIDN’T agree, but she understood how they had reached their diagnosis. Granted, there was something a little peculiar about her behavior. When they’d lifted her out of the ravine, she had been sobbing uncontrollably and incoherently. She knew the words she wanted to say, yet she couldn’t seem to get them out in the right order or at the right time. Still, their conclusion was a bunch of nonsense. They weren’t doctors. What the hell did they know? Her mind was working just fine, thank you very much.
Camera lights glared in her face as she was carried on the stretcher and placed across from Sara in the waiting ambulance. Carrie struggled to sit up until she realized one of the paramedics had rudely strapped her down. She was able to move one of her arms, though. Reaching across the narrow aisle, she took hold of Sara’s hand.
Her friend was in terrible pain. Both paramedics were working on her leg. “Is she going to be all right? Is she going to be all right?” The question became a chant she couldn’t stop. Even though both men tried to assure her that yes, yes, she was going to be fine, Carrie felt compelled to keep asking.
One of them gave Sara an injection, and she closed her eyes seconds later. Her hand went limp in Carrie’s. After they finished immobilizing her leg, one of them checked her blood pressure again while the other worked on Carrie.
“He’s going to kill Avery. Make them stop him. Do you hear me? He’s going to . . . going to . . .”
Carrie passed out. The terror of what she had been through, added to sleep deprivation, had finally caught up with her. Her body simply rebelled and shut down.
When she next opened her eyes, she was in a hospital bed. And, oh, how she ached. It seemed every muscle in her body throbbed. Had someone taken a stick to her?
She desperately tried to clear the fog in her mind. Avery. Oh, God, she had to find Avery before it was too late. She saw the call button pinned to the sheet on her left and tried to reach for it. Pain shot up through her elbow and she cried out. Looking down, she saw the cast on her arm and let out a low curse.
How had that happened?
The ravine, of course. She’d fallen headfirst into that deep pit, and she remembered putting her arm out to try to brace against the fall. She knew she’d injured her wrist, but she thought she’d just sprained it. It hadn’t hurt all that much at the time, had it? She couldn’t remember. Maybe it had gone numb, as numb as the rest of her at that point. She did remember landing on top of Sara, though. Her friend had been writhing in agony, and Carrie distinctly recalled putting her hand over her mouth to stifle her cries, terrified that Monk was lurking in the dark waiting to catch them.
Where was Sara? Carrie could hear men’s voices in the hallway, and she couldn’t reach the call button. She was about to shout when the door opened and a young doctor dressed in blue scrubs and a white lab coat came inside. He was holding a chart in his hand.
His name was Dr. Bridgeport, and he looked as if he hadn’t had any sleep in a week. That can’t be good, she thought. Then she noticed his hands. They were huge, as though he’d had them transplanted from a bigger body, along with the new row of dark hair plugs in his scalp.
“Are you my doctor?”
“I’m a neurologist. I’ve reviewed your X rays and CAT scan,” he began.
“I had those tests?” she interrupted.
He nodded. “You suffered a mild concussion. I’m going to keep you overnight for observation. I didn’t see anything alarming on the scan,” he added.
“What about my arm?”
“You broke it.”
“Obviously,” she said.
He was writing in her chart and, without looking up, said, “Your primary physician will be in to check on you in a little while. Meanwhile, you’ve got quite a few eager law enforcement officers waiting to talk to you. I’m going to allow two in the room . . . if you’re feeling up to it.”
“My head hurts. May I have something for pain?”
“In a little while,” he promised.
