Don't Cry Part 20

"All gone," she told him.

"Speaking of gone...I'd better leave. About tomorrow...Thanks for giving Zoe the opportunity to do some things with a woman, things a girl her age should be doing with her mother."

"I lost my mother when I was quite young, so I understand." Audrey cleared her throat. "I'll bring Zoe home tomorrow afternoon, probably with bright purple fingernails and toenails and hopefully with a batch of delicious sugar cookies to give you to soften the shock."

J.D. groaned. "Bright purple, huh?"

"I hear it's one of the 'in' colors for teenagers these days."

Smiling, he nodded, and then moved around Audrey and headed out of the kitchen. She followed him to the front door where he paused before leaving.

"Her name is Whitney Poole," J.D. said. "She's twenty-four, a waitress at Callie's Cafe, and the photo her boyfriend provided Garth and Tam pretty much cemented our fear that she's the Rocking Chair Killer's latest victim."

"Long dark hair, brown eyes, young, slender, and attractive?"

"Yeah, and she bears a more than slight resemblance to Jill Scott and Debra Gregory. Not twin or even sister resemblance, but familial."

"That poor girl."

J.D. snorted with disgust. "The boyfriend is a jerk. All her boss is worried about is being one waitress short this weekend. And our eyewitness-what a joke! A nearsighted old woman who was walking her dog last night and saw a man she didn't recognize outside Whitney's apartment."

"Did she give y'all a description?"

"Yeah. She said he was a medium-size man. But it was dark and he was in the shadows for the most part. She was certain he was a white male and young, but to her young is anyone under fifty."

Audrey laid her hand on J.D.'s arm. "I'm sorry. I know how frustrated you must be. You and Uncle Garth and Tam and everyone involved with these abductions and murders."

He nodded. "Thanks again. Tell Zoe I'll see her tomorrow."

"Good night, J.D."

"Good night, Audrey."

As soon as he left, she closed and locked the door as quickly as possible, shutting out J.D. Ca.s.s, the look in his dark brooding eyes, and the husky timbre of his deep voice.

Whitney was half out of her mind. Her arms and legs ached. She reeked of the smell of perspiration and her own urine. Bound as she was to the chair, she had been unable to do anything more than struggle against the ropes that kept her securely confined. During her repeated efforts to loosen the ropes, she had rocked the chair so furiously as she bucked back and forth that she had toppled the chair. She lay on the floor, her b.l.o.o.d.y, bruised wrists still attached to the chair's arms. Her attempts to free herself had failed, leaving her wrists burning as if the flesh had been eaten away by acid.

She had screamed, begging for help, until she was hoa.r.s.e. She had wept like a baby as the hopelessness of her situation became all too apparent. And oddly enough, she had slept, for how long she didn't know.

A terrifying pitch blackness surrounded her.

Tensing her fingers in and out to relieve the stiffness, she cried out when the rope binding the wrist on which she lay cut deeper into her already raw flesh.

How long had she been there? Hours? Days?

Where was he? Why had he brought her here and left her?

Was that what he'd done with the other two women, left them alone day after day after day until he finally returned and smothered them?

Oh, G.o.d! Why didn't he come back now and go ahead and kill her? She didn't think she could bear this endless waiting and wondering.

Whitney's stomach lurched and the queasiness she had been feeling since she came out of a groggy sleep suddenly worsened. Sour bile rose up her throat and the bitter taste coated her tongue. Try as she might to control the nausea, she could not prevent herself from retching again and again until she vomited violently.

Lying there, surrounded by the sickening stench, she cried quietly, almost choking on her own gulping sobs.

And then she heard a noise.

Footsteps?

Had he finally come back? Would he hurt her? Torture her?

The newspapers and TV hadn't mentioned anything about the other two women being tortured, but that didn't mean anything. The police kept things like that under wraps, didn't they?

A dim, faraway light appeared. Whitney gasped, startled by the relief that spread through her. She could see above her head, her wrist tied to the chair and her arm hanging limply.

The footsteps came closer. And closer.

"What have you done to yourself?" a male voice asked.

"Please, let me go." Whitney twisted and turned, trying to catch a glimpse of her captor.

"I didn't mean to leave you alone for so long, but I'm here now and everything will be all right."

He sounded strangely kind, as if he genuinely cared about her.

Don't freak out, Whit. Don't p.i.s.s him off.

"Help me, please...."

"You've made an awful mess," he told her. "But nothing that a little soap and water won't fix."

She felt him beside her, there in the semidarkness, but all she could see were his arm and shoulder as he lifted her, chair and all, into an upright position.

"There, that's better." He caressed the back of her head, smoothing her tangled hair with his fingers.

She listened to his footsteps as he walked away and then she heard the sound of water pouring as if being transferred from one container into another.

He came up behind her. She held her breath.

A torrent of cold water splashed down over her head, spread out across her shoulders, and soaked her cotton blouse and jeans. She s.h.i.+vered, her body wet and cold. Her senses heightened by the unexpected, Whitney was momentarily distracted.

And then he said, "I can't bring Cody to you while you're like this. We will have to get you cleaned up and in dry clothes first."

Who's Cody? her mind asked, but she was too frightened to voice the question aloud. her mind asked, but she was too frightened to voice the question aloud.

Chapter 16

Tam had left Marcus sleeping when she crept out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for work. Sat.u.r.day was supposed to be an off day, but there was no such thing when she and her partner were working a new case. She hadn't slept worth a d.a.m.n last night despite being exhausted and getting to bed well past midnight. The image of Whitney Poole kept popping into her sleep-deprived brain. Like Jill Scott and Debra Gregory, Whitney was a young woman with her whole life ahead of her, but unless they could find her in time, she would become another of the Rocking Chair Killer's victims.

Tam halfway understood crimes of pa.s.sion when someone murdered out of hurt and anger and misguided love. She certainly understood killing to protect yourself or a loved one. But senseless murder, without rhyme or reason except in the murderer's deranged mind, was terrifying on so many levels, because the victims were random, leaving a large segment of the population vulnerable. In the Rocking Chair cases, it seemed that any young, attractive brunette who fit a general profile was at risk.

Usually on Sat.u.r.days, she and Marcus slept late, woke, and made love. And afterward, he always prepared his delicious Southwestern omelets for their brunch. But this morning, Tam didn't even have time to put on coffee. She'd pick up some at a fast food drive-through on her way to headquarters.

After sliding her Smith & Wesson semiautomatic into the hip holster, she put on her black blazer and headed for the door.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

The unexpected sound of her husband's voice startled her so that she gasped for breath before turning around and smiling at him. He was still wearing only his low-cut gray briefs, his smooth, muscular chest bare and his morning arousal more than evident. She knew that if she had awakened him earlier, he would have wanted to make love, and as much as she usually enjoyed s.e.x with him, there just wasn't time for that this morning.

"I didn't see any reason for you not to sleep late just because I have to work today," she said.

"I'll forgive you for trying to sneak off if you'll give me a good-bye kiss."

She studied his sly, provocative smile and slowly, seductively sauntered toward him, lifted her arms up and around his neck, and then kissed him. When he deepened the kiss, she sighed and opened her mouth completely, her tongue joining his in exploration.

His big hands cupped her b.u.t.tocks and lifted her up and against his erection. Tam ended the kiss somewhat regretfully, grasped his wrists, and yanked his hands off her b.u.t.t. "I have to go to work. Save this for tonight."

Pursing his full lips into a mock pout, he frowned at her, but he let her go.

"I love you, Marcus Lovelady," Tam told him.

He grinned. "I love you, too."

Tam thought she caught a glimmer of sadness in Marcus's beautiful brown eyes, but it was gone so quickly that she wondered if she might have imagined it. Surely, he didn't doubt her love for him. Had she ever said or done anything that might make him doubt how much he meant to her?

"I'm sorry that I have to work today," she said.

"It's all right." He ran his hands up and down her arms. "You have a job to do, Officer Lovelady, an important job." He kissed her nose. "Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?"

"Oh, Marcus..."

He shoved her away from him. "Go to work, woman." When she turned to go, he swatted her on the behind.

She laughed, enjoying that one sweet moment of happiness, knowing it would be the last contented moment she would have all day today.

J.D. had slept like the dead-for four hours. He had set his alarm for six-thirty. When it woke him, he shut the d.a.m.n thing off and lay in bed for a few minutes, his mind in chaos. His thoughts jumped from one thing to another, not concentrating fully on anything.

He needed to call George Bonner and run a few things past him, things like the existence of Corey Bennett, a man who claimed to be Regina Bennett's nephew.

Another young brunette was missing, presumed kidnapped by the Rocking Chair Killer. If they didn't find her within a week, her odds of coming out of this alive were probably nil.

Forcing himself to get out of bed, he headed straight for the bathroom. After taking a leak, he washed his hands and then drew warm water into the sink. As he lathered his face and shaved, J.D. planned his day. Call Bonner on his way to police headquarters to meet Tam and Garth. Call Zoe and tell her to have a good time with Audrey-with Dr. Sherrod-today. Call Holly and...And what? Make a f.u.c.k date for tonight? Why not?

Maybe you should spend some time with your daughter, even if it makes you both miserable.

The family-counseling session yesterday afternoon had barely gotten off the ground when he had received the call about Whitney Poole. Zoe had been p.i.s.sed at him. And he'd gone down a couple of notches in Dr. Sherrod's opinion, although he suspected her opinion of him as a parent hadn't been all that high to begin with.

Audrey Sherrod had surprised him by taking such a motherly interest in Zoe. He'd never pegged her as the motherly type. She came across as cool, controlled, and unsympathetic to the weaknesses of mere mortals.

J.D. chuckled as he stepped under the hot shower. Why was it that he thought of Audrey as an elegant G.o.ddess made of cold marble? She was just a woman. Flesh and blood. Mortal like the rest of us. Mortal like the rest of us. A woman with hopes and dreams and human needs. And emotional baggage. A woman with hopes and dreams and human needs. And emotional baggage.

I lost my mother when I was quite young, so I understand. Was that why she seemed to honestly care about Zoe, why she was being so d.a.m.n nice to his kid? If Audrey was any other woman, he'd question her motives. It wouldn't be the first time in the past year that some woman had pretended to be interested in Zoe when all she really was interested in was luring J.D. into a relations.h.i.+p. He'd give Holly that much-she hadn't even pretended to like Zoe, let alone show an interest in her. Was that why she seemed to honestly care about Zoe, why she was being so d.a.m.n nice to his kid? If Audrey was any other woman, he'd question her motives. It wouldn't be the first time in the past year that some woman had pretended to be interested in Zoe when all she really was interested in was luring J.D. into a relations.h.i.+p. He'd give Holly that much-she hadn't even pretended to like Zoe, let alone show an interest in her.

And Audrey Sherrod isn't interested in you, buddy boy. The lady doesn't even like you.

But she does like Zoe.

Half an hour later, J.D. washed down a sausage biscuit with black coffee, both purchased at McDonald's on Taft Highway, before he hit US-27 and headed south. As he'd gulped down his fast-food breakfast, he had wondered what Zoe and Audrey were having for breakfast that morning. No doubt something homemade and a d.a.m.n sight more appetizing than what he'd eaten. It wasn't as if his biscuit hadn't been good or that it wasn't his usual fare, so why had the thought of a gourmet breakfast crossed his mind?

No reason. Just a wild thought.

Using his Bluetooth headset, J.D. placed a call to George Bonner. Too bad if Mayor Bonner usually slept in on Sat.u.r.day mornings. Halfway expecting to get the former FBI agent's voice mail, J.D. was surprised when Bonner answered.

"I thought you'd be calling this morning," Bonner said.

"I take it that someone has already notified you about Whitney Poole."

"Chief Mullins got in touch with me last night."

"I'm on my way to meet up with Sergeant Hudson and Officer Lovelady. I'm tagging along while they follow up on a few leads."

Bonner chuckled. "Tagging along, huh? Playing backup and trying your d.a.m.nedest not to take charge. I know how it is."

"I had planned to call you anyway," J.D. said. "Before Whitney Poole was abducted. You know I'm primarily working on the old Baby Blue cases, on the off chance that they turn out to be connected to the more recent murders."

"And you've found something you think we missed?"

"No, not that. But I have discovered something interesting."