Scream For Me

Chapter Six

Atlanta , Monday, January 29, 10:15 p.m.

Vartanian brought his car to a stop in his driveway. “Are you all right?” His voice was deep and calm in the darkness of his car. “You’ve been very quiet.”

She had, in fact, been silent as she struggled to process all the thoughts and fears that warred in her mind. “I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking.” She remembered her manners. “Thank you for going with me tonight,” she said. “You’ve been very kind.”

His jaw was tight as he came around to open her door. She followed him up to his house and waited while he disarmed the alarm. “Come in. I’ll get your jacket.”

“And my satchel.”

His smile was grim. “I didn’t think you’d forgotten about it.”

Riley sat up, yawning again. He padded across the room and plopped down at Alex’s feet. Vartanian’s lips twitched. “And you’re not even a pork chop,” he murmured.

Alex bent over to scratch Riley’s ears. “Did you say ‘pork chop’?”

“It’s a private joke, mine and Riley’s. I’ll get your coat.” He sighed. “And satchel.”

Alex watched him go, shaking her head. Men were not creatures she’d ever fully understood. Not that she’d had much practice. Richard had been her first, if she didn’t count Wade, which she never did. So that would be… one. And wasn’t Richard a sterling example of her finesse with members of the opposite sex? That would be… no.

Thoughts of Richard always depressed her. She’d failed at their marriage. She’d never been able to be what he needed or the kind of wife she’d wanted to be.

But she wouldn’t fail Hope. If nothing else, Bailey’s child would have a good life, with or without Bailey. Now both depressed and terrified, she looked around Vartanian’s living room for a distraction and found it in the painting over his bar. It made her smile.

“What?” he asked, holding her jacket draped over one arm like a maître d’.

“Your painting.”

He grinned, making him look younger. “Hey, Dogs Playing Poker is a classic.”

“I don’t know. Somehow I took you for a man with more sophisticated taste in art.”

His grin dimmed. “I don’t take art too seriously.”

“Because of Simon,” she said quietly. Vartanian’s brother had been a painter.

What was left of his grin disappeared, leaving him sober and haunted. “You know.”

“I read the articles online.” She’d read about the people Simon had killed, including Daniel’s parents. She’d read how Daniel assisted in Simon’s capture and death.

I’ll see you in hell, Simon. She needed to tell him. “Agent Vartanian, I have information you need to know. When I left the morgue today, I drove to Bailey’s house. While I was there I met a man. A reverend. And a soldier, too, I guess.”

He sat on a bar stool, dropping her jacket and satchel to the bar and focusing his piercing blue eyes on her face. “A reverend and a soldier came to Bailey’s house?”

“No. The reverend was a soldier, an army chaplain. Bailey had an older brother. His name was Wade. He died a month ago in Iraq.”

“I’m sorry.”

She frowned. “I’m not sure I am. I guess you think that’s pretty rotten of me.”

Something moved in his eyes. “No. I don’t, actually. What did the chaplain say?”

“Reverend Beardsley was with Wade when he died. He heard Wade’s last confession and wrote three letters Wade dictated, to me, his father, and Bailey. Beardsley mailed Bailey’s and her father’s to the old house where Bailey’s still living. He didn’t mail mine because he didn’t have my address, so he gave it to me today.”

“Bailey would have received the letters a few weeks ago. The timing is interesting.”

“I told Beardsley that Bailey was missing, but he wouldn’t divulge what Wade had said in his last confession. I begged him for anything that could help me find Bailey, anything that wasn’t privileged. Before he died, Wade said, ‘I’ll see you in hell, Simon.’ ”

She blew out a breath and watched as Vartanian paled. “Wade knew Simon?”

“Apparently so. Just like you know something you haven’t told me, Agent Vartanian. I can see it in your face. And I want to know what it is.”

“I killed my brother a week ago. If nothing showed on my face, I wouldn’t be human.”

Alex frowned. “You didn’t kill him. The article said that other detective did.”

His eyes flickered. “We both fired. The other guy just got lucky.”

“So you’re not going to tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell. Why are you so sure I know something?”

Alex narrowed her eyes. “Because you’ve been way too nice to me.”

“And a man always has an ulterior motive.” He said it darkly.

She shrugged out of his letter jacket. “In my experience, yes.”

He slid off the stool and stood toe-to-toe with her, forcing her to look way up. “I’ve been nice to you because I thought you needed a friend.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. I must have ‘stupid’ tattooed on my forehead.”

His blue eyes flashed. “Fine. I was nice to you because I think you’re right-Bailey’s disappearance is connected to that woman we found yesterday and I’m ashamed at how the Dutton sheriff, who I thought was my friend, hasn’t lifted a goddamn finger to help either of us. That’s the truth, Alex, whether you can accept it or not.”

You can’t take the truth. As it had that morning, the taunt sprang from nowhere and Alex closed her eyes, quelling the panic. She opened her eyes to find him still staring, every bit as intently as before. “All right,” she murmured. “That I can believe.”

He leaned closer. Too close. “Good, because there’s another reason.”

“Do tell,” she said, her voice cool despite the way her heart now pounded.

“I like you. I want to spend time with you when you’re not scared to death and vulnerable. And because I respect how you’ve held up now… and back then.”

Her chin lifted. “Back then?”

“You read my articles, Alex, and I read yours.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. He knew about her breakdown, about her suicide attempt. She wanted to look away, but she refused to be the first to do so. “I see.”

He searched her eyes, then shook his head. “No, I really don’t think you do. And maybe that’s for the best right now.” He straightened and took a step back and she sucked in a deep breath. “So Wade knew Simon,” he said. “Were they the same age?”

“They were in the same class at Jefferson High.” She frowned. “But you have a sister who’s the same age as I am and she went to Bryson Academy.”

“So did I and so did Simon at first. My father went there, too, as did his father.”

“Bryson was an expensive school. I imagine it still is.”

Daniel shrugged. “We were comfortable.”

Alex’s smile was wry. “No, you were rich. That school cost more than some colleges. My mother tried to get us in on a scholarship, but our kin hadn’t fought alongside Lee and Stonewall.” She injected a drawl into her voice and his smile was equally wry.

“You’re right. We had financial wealth. Simon didn’t graduate from Bryson,” he said. “He got expelled and had to go to Jefferson.”

To the public school. “Lucky us,” Alex said. “So that’s how Wade and Simon met.”

“I assume so. I was away at college by then. What was in Wade’s letter to you?”

She shrugged. “He asked my forgiveness and wished me a good life.”

“What was he asking forgiveness for?”

Alex shook her head. “It could have been any number of things. He wasn’t specific.”

“But you’ve got it narrowed to one,” he said, and she lifted her brows.

“Remind me not to play poker with you. I think Riley’s dog pals are more my speed.”

“Alex.”

She huffed a breath. “Fine. Alicia and I were twins. Identical twins.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “I got that this morning.”

She grimaced in sympathy. “I truly had no idea you’d be so startled.” He was still hiding something, but for now she’d play his game. “You’ve heard all the twin stories about switching places? Well, Alicia and I did that more than a few times. I think Mama always knew. Anyway, Alicia was the party animal and I was the practical one.”

“No,” he said, deadpan, and she chuckled, in spite of herself.

“A few times we’d switch places for tests, until the teachers wised up. I felt so guilty, cheating like that, so I told them and Alicia was so mad. I was a ‘downer,’ no fun at the parties, so Alicia started going alone. She had a string of boyfriends from Dutton to Atlanta and back and a couple times she double-booked. Once, I stepped in.”

Daniel became suddenly serious. “I don’t like the direction this is going.”

“I went to this B-list party-the one she didn’t want to go to, but didn’t want to get excluded from the next time around. Wade was there. He was never an A-list party kind of guy, although he always wanted to be. He… put the moves on Alicia. Me.”

Daniel grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”

It had been. No one had ever touched her there before and Wade hadn’t been gentle. It still made her sick to her stomach to remember. “Well, yes, but technically we weren’t related. My mother never married his father, but it was still gross.” And terrifying.

“So what did you do?”

“I slugged him, on pure reflex. Broke his nose, then kneed him in the… you know.”

Vartanian winced. “I know.”

She could still see Wade lying on the floor, in a cursing, bleeding fetal ball. “We were both shocked. Then he was humiliated and I was still shocked.”

“So what happened? Did he get in trouble?”

“No. Alicia and I got grounded for a month and Wade walked away whistlin’ Dixie.”

“That wasn’t fair.”

“But that was life in our house.” Alex studied his face. There was still something… But he was a far better poker player than she. “I never thought I’d get a deathbed apology. I guess you never know what you’re gonna do when the Reaper knocks.”

“I guess not. Listen, do you have that chaplain’s contact information?”

“Sure.” Alex dug it out of her satchel. “Why?”

“Because I want to talk to him. The timing’s too convenient. Now, about tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Your cousin leaves tomorrow, right? How about I bring Riley to meet your niece tomorrow night? I can bring some pizza or something, then we can see if Hope likes dogs before we take her to talk to Sister Anne.”

She blinked, a little stunned. She’d never thought he’d been serious. Then she remembered his hands on her shoulders, supporting her when her knees wanted to buckle. Maybe Daniel Vartanian was really just a very nice man. “That will work. Thank you, Daniel. It’s a date.”

He shook his head, his expression changing, almost as if he was daring her to disagree. “Not hardly. A date doesn’t typically involve children or dogs.” His eyes were totally serious and sent a shiver down her spine. A nice shiver, she thought. The kind she hadn’t had in a very long time. “And it definitely does not involve nuns.”

She swallowed hard, certain her cheeks were red as flame. “I see.”

His hand lifted to her face, hesitating a moment before his thumb swept across her lower lip and she shivered again, harder this time. “Now I think you finally do,” he murmured, then flinched. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket where it had apparently buzzed him out of what was becoming a very interesting mood.

“Vartanian.” His face went expressionless. It was his case, then. Alex thought of the woman on the table in the morgue and wondered who she was. If someone had finally missed her. “How many tickets did she buy?” he asked, then shook his head. “No, I don’t need you to spell it. I know the family. Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”

He hung up and stunned her once again by pulling his sweatshirt over his head and jogging toward the stairs. On his way he balled the sweatshirt and shot it basketball style at a laundry chute in the wall. He missed, but didn’t stop to try again. “Stay there,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she watched him disappear up the stairs. The man had a beautiful back, broad and well-muscled and covered with smooth, golden skin. The glimpse of his chest hadn’t been half bad either. Hell. There was nothing half bad about that man. Alex realized she’d reached out to touch. Ridiculous. She considered the look in his eyes just before his cell had gone off. Maybe not so ridiculous after all.

She drew a shuddering breath and picked up the sweatshirt, indulging the urge to sniff it before stuffing it down the chute. Be careful, Alex. What had he called it? Unfamiliar ground. She cast a wistful look up the stairs, knowing he’d probably pulled off the jeans when he’d reached the top. But damn fine unfamiliar ground it was.

In less than two minutes he was thundering back down the stairs, dressed in his dark suit, tugging his tie into place. Without slowing down, he picked up her satchel and kept walking. “Get your jacket and come on. I’ll follow you back to Dutton.”

“That’s not necessary,” she started, but he was already out the door.

“I’m going there anyway. I’ll bring Riley to your house by six-thirty tomorrow night.” He opened her car door and waited till she’d buckled up before closing her door.

She rolled down the window. “Daniel,” she called after him.

He turned to face her, walking backward. “What?”

“Thank you.”

His steps faltered. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Dutton, Monday, January 29, 11:35 p.m.

Daniel got out of his car and looked up at the house on the hill with a wince. This was not going to be good. Janet Bowie had used a credit card to buy her own admission ticket to Fun-N-Sun and the tickets of seven other people, a group of kids.

Now he got to tell state congressman Robert Bowie his daughter was thought dead. With heavy steps he climbed the steep driveway to the Bowie mansion and rang the bell.

The door was opened by a sweaty young man wearing running shorts. “Yes?”

Daniel pulled out his shield. “I’m Special Agent Vartanian, Georgia Bureau of Investigation. I need to talk with Congressman and Mrs. Bowie.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “My parents are asleep.”

Daniel blinked. “Michael?” It had been nearly sixteen years since he’d seen Michel Bowie. Michael had been a skinny fourteen-year-old when Daniel had gone away to college. He wasn’t skinny any longer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

“You, on the other hand, haven’t changed a bit.” It was said in a way that could just as easily be taken as a compliment or as an insult. “You need to come back tomorrow.”

Daniel put his hand on the door when Michael started to close it. “I need to talk to your parents,” he repeated quietly but firmly. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.”

“Michael, who’s calling at this time of night?” a booming voice thundered.

“State police.” Michael stepped back and Daniel stepped into the grand foyer of Bowie Hall, one of the few antebellum mansions the Yankees hadn’t managed to burn.

Congressman Bowie was tying the belt of a smoking jacket. His face was impassive, but in his eyes Daniel saw apprehension. “Daniel Vartanian. I heard you’d come into town today. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night, Congressman,” Daniel began. “I’m investigating the murder of a woman found in Arcadia yesterday.”

“At the bike race.” Bowie nodded. “I read about it in today’s Review.”

Daniel drew a quiet breath. “I think the victim may be your daughter, sir.”

Bowie drew back, shaking his head. “No, it’s not possible. Janet is in Atlanta.”

“When did you last see your daughter, sir?”

Bowie ’s jaw hardened. “Last week, but her sister talked to her yesterday morning.”

“Can I talk to your other daughter, Mr. Bowie?” Daniel asked.

“It’s late. Patricia’s asleep.”

“I know it’s late, but if we’ve made a mistake, we need to know so we can keep searching for this woman’s identity. Somebody is waiting for her to come home, sir.”

“I understand. Patricia! Come down here. And make sure you’re properly dressed.”

Two doors opened upstairs and both Mrs. Bowie and a young girl came down the stairs, the girl looking uncertain. “What’s this about, Bob?” Mrs. Bowie asked. She recognized Daniel and frowned. “Why is he here? Bob?”

“Calm down, Rose. This is all a mistake and we’re going to clear it up right now.” Bowie turned to the young girl. “Patricia, you said you talked to Janet yesterday morning. You said that she was sick and not driving down for supper.”

Patricia blinked innocently and Daniel sighed inside. Sisters covering for each other.

“Janet said she had the flu.” Patricia smiled, trying for sophisticated. “Why, did she get a parking ticket or something? That’s just like Janet.”

Bowie had grown as pale as had his wife. “Patricia,” he said hoarsely, “Agent Vartanian is investigating a murder. He thinks Janet is the victim. Don’t cover for her.”

Patricia’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Did you really talk to your sister, Patricia?” Daniel asked gently.

The girl’s eyes filled with horrified tears. “No. She asked me to tell everybody she was sick. She had somewhere else to go that day. But it can’t be her. It can’t.”

Mrs. Bowie made a panicked sound. “Bob.”

Bowie put his arm around his wife. “Michael, get your mother a chair.”

Michael had already done so and helped his mother sit while Daniel focused on Patricia. “When did she ask you to cover for her?”

“Wednesday night. She said she was spending the weekend with… friends.”

“This is important, Patricia. Which friends?” Daniel pressed. From the corner of his eye he watched Mrs. Bowie sink into a chair, visibly shaking.

Patricia looked miserably at her parents, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She has a boyfriend. She knew you wouldn’t approve. I’m sorry.”

Ashen, Bowie looked at Daniel. “What do you need from us, Daniel?”

“Hair from her brush. We’ll need to fingerprint the room she uses when she’s here.” He hesitated. “The name of her dentist.”

Bowie blanched, but swallowed and nodded. “You’ll have it.”

“Oh, God. We never should have let her have that apartment in Atlanta.” Mrs. Bowie was crying, rocking, her hands covering her face.

“She has an apartment in Atlanta?” Daniel asked.

Bowie ’s nod was barely perceptible. “She’s with the orchestra.”

“She’s a cellist,” Daniel said quietly. “But she comes home on weekends?”

“Sunday evenings, mostly. She comes home for supper.” Bowie tightened his jaw, struggling for composure. “Not so much lately. She’s growing up. Away. But she’s only twenty-two.” He broke, dropping his chin to his chest, and Daniel looked away, giving him privacy in his grief.

“Her room is upstairs,” Michael murmured.

“Thank you. I’ll have a CSU van out here as quickly as possible. Patricia, I need to know everything you know about Janet and her boyfriend.” Daniel put his hand on Bob Bowie’s arm. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

Bowie jerked a nod and said nothing.

Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 12:55 a.m.

“What’s going on here?”

Daniel stopped short. A wave of anger swept through him and he tamped it back. “Well, if it isn’t the elusive Sheriff Loomis. Let me introduce myself. I’m Special Agent Daniel Vartanian and I’ve left you six messages since Sunday.”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Daniel.” Frank scowled at the small army that had descended on Bowie Hall. “Goddamn GBI has overrun my town. Like locusts.”

In truth, only one car and one van belonged to GBI personnel. Three of the police cars were from Dutton’s small force and one was from Arcadia. Sheriff Corchran himself had come, offering his condolences to the Bowies and his help to Daniel.

Deputy Mansfield, Loomis’s second in command, had arrived shortly after Ed’s crime scene van had pulled into the drive, outraged at not having been the one to process Janet’s bedroom, in direct contrast to Corchran’s helpful attitude.

Of the other cars that lined the drive, one belonged to Dutton’s mayor, two others to Congressman Bowie’s aides. Still another belonged to Dr. Granville, who was currently overseeing the near- hysterical state of Mrs. Bowie.

One of the cars belonged to Jim Woolf. The Bowies had given him no comment and Daniel had held him off with the promise of a statement when the ID was confirmed.

It had been, just minutes before. One of Ed’s techs had brought a card bearing the victim’s fingerprints with him and had almost immediately matched the prints to those taken from a crystal vase next to Janet Bowie’s bed. Daniel himself had confirmed the news to Bob Bowie and Bowie had just climbed the stairs to his wife’s room.

Shrieking from the upstairs bedroom told Daniel that Bowie had told his wife. Both he and Frank looked toward the upstairs, then back at each other. “Do you have something to say, Frank?” Daniel asked coldly. “Because I’m a little busy right now.”

Frank’s face darkened. “This is my town, Daniel Vartanian. Not yours. You left.”

Again Daniel tamped down his temper, and when he spoke, it was evenly. “It may not be my town, but it’s my case, Frank. If you really wanted to be of some help, you might have returned any of the messages I’ve left on your voicemail.”

Frank’s gaze never faltered, becoming almost belligerent. “I was out of town yesterday and today. I didn’t get your messages until I got back tonight.”

“I sat outside your office for nearly forty-five minutes today,” Daniel said quietly. “Wanda said you couldn’t be disturbed. I don’t care if you needed to get away, but you wasted my time. Time I could have been looking for the man who killed Janet Bowie.”

Frank finally looked away. “I’m sorry, Daniel.” But the apology was stiffly delivered. “The last week has been difficult. Your parents… they were my friends. The funeral was difficult enough, but the media… After dealing with reporters all week, I needed some space. I told Wanda not to let anybody know I was gone. I should have called you.”

A little of Daniel’s anger melted away. “It’s okay. But Frank, I really need that police report-the one on Alicia Tremaine’s murder. Please get it for me.”

“I’ll get it for you first thing in the morning,” Frank promised, “when Wanda comes in. She knows how everything’s filed in the basement. You’re sure it’s Janet?”

“Her fingerprints match.”

“Dammit. Who did this?”

“Well, now that we know who she is, we can start investigating. Frank, if you needed help, why didn’t you call me?”

Frank’s jaw squared. “I didn’t say I needed help. I said I needed space. I went up to my cabin to be alone.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Okay,” Daniel murmured, trying not to feel stung. “Frank?”

Frank looked back. “What?” It was very nearly a snap.

“Bailey Crighton. I think she really is missing.”

Frank’s lip curled. “Thanks for your opinion, Special Agent Vartanian. Good night.”

Daniel shook off the hurt. He had work to do and couldn’t afford to worry about Frank Loomis. Frank was a grown man. If and when he needed help, Daniel would be there for him.

Ed came up behind him. “We’re dusting her room. I found a few old diaries in a drawer. A few matchbooks. Not much else. What did you find out about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Lamar Washington, African-American. He plays in a jazz club. Patricia didn’t know where.”

Ed held out a baggie filled with matchbooks. “Could be one of these places.”

Daniel took the bag. “I’ll write down the names, then give them back. Patricia said Janet made it sound like a fling, that Janet never intended to bring him home.”

“That could make a man mad enough to beat a woman’s face in,” Ed said. “But it doesn’t explain copying the Tremaine scene.”

“I know,” Daniel said. “But it’s all I have for now. I’m going to check out the jazz clubs once I’m done here.”

“We’re going to check out Janet’s apartment.” Ed held up a key ring. “Janet’s brother Michael got us the key to her place.”

When Ed was gone, Daniel went into the sitting room, which was standing room only. Michael Bowie was the only family member in the room. He’d changed into a black suit and his face was haggard in his grief, but he was ever the politician’s son. “Can you give them a statement so they’ll go?” Michael murmured. “I just want them all to go.”

“I’ll make it fast,” Daniel murmured back, then cleared his throat. “Excuse me.” He’d already introduced himself when he’d taken their statements and whereabouts at the time of Janet’s death Thursday night. A few postured, but all complied. “We’ve tentatively identified the body found in Arcadia Sunday afternoon as that of Janet Bowie.” No one was surprised at this point. “We’ll run confirmatory DNA testing and I’ll schedule a press conference when we have definitive findings.”

Jim Woolf stood up. “What was the official cause of death?”

“I’ll have an official statement as to cause of death tomorrow.” Daniel checked his watch. “I mean later today. Probably after noon.”

The mayor smoothed his tie. “Agent Vartanian, do you have any suspects?”

“We have some leads, Mayor Davis,” Daniel said. That title felt odd. He’d played football with Garth Davis in high school. Garth had been a thickheaded jock back then, one of the last people Daniel would have expected to run for mayor, much less win. But Garth did come from a long line of politicians. Garth’s daddy had been Dutton’s mayor for years. “I’ll have an official statement tomorrow.”

“Toby, how is Mrs. Bowie?” Woolf asked, directing his question to the town’s doctor.

“Resting,” Toby Granville said, but everyone knew that meant “sedated.” Everyone had heard the poor woman’s shrieks when her husband told her the ID was official.

Daniel gestured toward the door. “It’s very late. I’m sure everyone here means to offer their support, but you all need to go home. Please.”

The mayor held back as everyone exited. “Daniel, do you have any suspects?”

Daniel sighed. The day was catching up to him. “Garth…”

Davis leaned closer. “I’m going to have all the residents of Dutton calling me as soon as the Review hits their front porches. They’re going to be worried about the safety of their families. Please give me something more to tell them than you’ve got leads.”

“That’s all I can tell you because it’s all we know. We’ve only just identified her in the last two hours. Give us a day, at least.”

Frowning, Davis nodded. “You’ll call my office?”

“I promise.”

Finally everyone was gone and it was just Daniel and Michael and Toby Granville. “I thought they’d never leave,” Michael said, his shoulders sagging wearily.

Granville tugged on his tie. “I’m going to go check on your mother before I head out. You call me if she needs anything during the night.”

Daniel shook both men’s hands. “If there’s anything you or your family needs, Michael, please call me.” He stepped through the Bowies ’ front door and was immediately hit by a strong gusty wind. A storm was blowing in, he thought as he looked down the big hill to the street where three additional news vans had now congregated. The reporters swarmed from the vans when they spied him up on the stoop. Like locusts, Daniel thought with an inner wince. He could kind of see Frank’s point, in the smallest of ways.

He steeled himself for the onslaught as he made his way down the hill past a Mercedes, two BMWs, a Rolls-Royce, a Jag, and a Lincoln Town Car to where he’d left his own state-issued vehicle. Reporters from the news van had been interviewing Garth, but they swarmed toward him as he passed by.

“Agent Vartanian, can you comment…” Daniel lifted his hand, silencing them.

“We’ve identified the Arcadia victim as Janet Bowie.” Lights flashed as they took their pictures and rolled their video and Daniel put on his best press face.

“Has the congressman been notified?”

Daniel fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, or I wouldn’t be telling you now. No more comments for tonight. I’ll be scheduling a press conference for tomorrow. Call the PR hotline at GBI headquarters for the time and venue. Good night.”

He started walking and one of the reporters followed. “Agent Vartanian, how does it feel investigating a murder in your hometown just a week after your brother’s murder?”

Daniel stopped and blinked at the young man holding the microphone. Simon hadn’t been murdered. To use that word was an affront to victims and their families everywhere. Simon had been exterminated. But that word was inflammatory in its own right. So Daniel said only, “No comment.” The man opened his mouth to push and Daniel gave him a look so cold the reporter took a physical step back.

“No more questions,” the man said in answer to the threat Daniel had left unvoiced.

It was a look Daniel had learned from his father. Freezing men with a single look was one of Arthur Vartanian’s many skills. Daniel didn’t employ the skill often, but when he did, it was effective. “Good night.”

When he got to his car, Daniel closed his eyes. He’d dealt with grieving families for years, and it never got easier. But it was Frank Loomis’s behavior that bothered him the most. Frank had been the closest thing Daniel had had to a real father. God knew Arthur Vartanian hadn’t filled that role. To be the object of Frank’s… scorn. It stung.

However, Frank was human, and learning of Arthur Vartanian’s duplicity in Simon’s “first death” must have been hard to take. It made Frank look foolish, and the press had exacerbated it all, making Frank appear a hokey hometown sheriff who couldn’t tie his shoes without help. It was no wonder Frank was angry. I’d be angry, too.

He pulled away from the news vans headed toward Main Street. He was exhausted and he still had to find Lamar Washington’s jazz bar before he finally got to sleep.

Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 1:40 a.m.

They were leaving, Alex thought, standing at the window of the bungalow, watching all the cars come down the hill. Wondering from whose house they’d come. She pulled her robe closer, fighting a chill that had nothing to do with the thermostat.

She’d dreamed again. Thunder and lightning. And screams, jagged piercing screams. She’d been at the morgue and the woman on the table had sat up and stared through sightless eyes. But her eyes were Bailey’s, her hand Bailey’s as she reached out, her flesh waxy and… dead. And she’d said, “Please. Help me.”

Alex had woken in a cold sweat, shaking so hard she was sure she’d wake Hope. But the child slept heavily. Unsettled, Alex had come out to the living room to pace.

And to worry. Where are you, Bailey? And how do I take care of your baby girl?

“Please, God,” she whispered. “Don’t let me mess this up.”

But there was no return whisper in the dark and Alex stood, watching car after car come down the hill. Then one slowed and stopped in front of her bungalow.

Her stomach tightened in fear and she thought about the gun in the lockbox until she recognized the car and its driver.

Daniel’s car rolled down Main Street, past the park with the carousel, stopping outside Alex’s rented bungalow. He’d lied to her tonight and it was eating him up.

She’d asked him straight out what he knew and he’d told her there was nothing to tell. Which, he averred, was not a total lie. He didn’t have anything to tell her yet. He certainly wouldn’t show her the pictures of her sister being violated. Alex Fallon had been through enough without seeing that.

He thought about Wade Crighton. I’ll see you in hell. Her stepbrother had known Simon, and that could never be good. Wade had tried to rape Alex and for that alone Daniel was glad he was dead. Alex thought she’d kept her story light, but Daniel had seen the truth in her eyes.

And if her stepbrother had tried to molest her once thinking she was Alicia, maybe he’d done so again. Maybe it was Wade in the picture with Alicia Tremaine. The man had two legs, so Daniel was positive it was not Simon, but if they’d known each other…

And who were the other girls? It had been nagging him. Maybe they were local girls. Maybe they’d gone to the public school. Daniel wouldn’t have known them, but Simon might have. Daniel wondered if there were any other small-town murders he just hadn’t heard about yet. He wondered if the other girls in the pictures were dead, too.

Give the pictures to Chase. The thought had been circling his mind for a week. He had turned the pictures over to the Philly police, which was the only thing that was letting him get any sleep at all. But Daniel was sure Vito Ciccotelli hadn’t had time to do anything with the envelope full of pictures he’d given him less than two weeks ago. Vito and his partner were still up to their asses cleaning up the mess Simon had left behind.

I’ll see you in hell, Simon. Daniel wondered what messes Wade and Simon had left behind, although any crimes they’d committed would be more than ten years old. He had a brand-new crime. He owed his concentration to Janet Bowie. He needed to find out who hated her enough to kill her in such a way.

Then again, Janet Bowie might have simply been a convenient target and not the object of any rage or revenge. Or… Daniel thought of Congressman Bowie. The man had taken some tough stances on controversial issues. Maybe somebody hated him enough to kill his daughter. But why the tie to Alicia? Why now? And why leave a key?

He’d put his car in gear when the bungalow door opened and Alex stepped onto the porch and his breath caught in his throat. She wore a sensible robe that covered her from her chin to her toes. It should have made her look dowdy and plain, but all he could think about was what lay underneath. The wind had kicked up, tossing her glossy hair, and she scooped it back with one hand to stare at him across the tiny front yard.

There was no smile on her face. The thought registered as he killed his engine and crossed her yard, single-minded in his intent. To leave her, to drive on by, never entered his mind, only to have now what he’d wanted earlier, what the call from the Fun-N-Sun security chief had kept him from taking. He needed to see that wide-eyed wonder again, the look in her eyes when she’d finally understood what he wanted from her. He needed to see that she wanted him, too.

Without slowing for a greeting, he took the porch stairs in one step, took her face in his hands, covered her mouth with his, and took what he needed. She made a hungry sound deep in her throat and leaned up on her toes, trying to get closer, and the kiss exploded into motion and heat.

She let go of her hair and her robe to clutch at the lapels of his coat, propelling her mouth into his. Daniel let go of her face to pull her arms around his neck. He splayed his hands across her slender back and pulled until her body was flush against him and he took what he wanted as the wind whistled and screamed around them.

It had been too long, was all he could think, all he could hear over the wind and the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. Too long since he’d felt like this. Alive. Invincible. Too damn long. Or maybe never.

Too soon she slid back down until her heels hit the porch, ending the kiss and taking her warmth with her. Needing more, he ran his lips over her jaw and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. He shuddered, breathing hard as her hands stroked his hair, soothing. And as his pulse slowed, his mind returned and his cheeks heated in embarrassment at the depth of his need. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, lifting his head. “I don’t normally do things like that.”

She traced his lips with her fingers. “Neither do I. But I needed it tonight. Thank you.”

Annoyance bubbled up through him. “Stop thanking me.” It was almost a snarl and she flinched as if he’d struck her. Feeling about an inch tall, he bowed his head and caught her hand, bringing her fingers back to his lips when she tried to pull away. “I’m sorry. But I don’t want you thinking I’m doing this for any other reason than that I wanted to.” Needed to. “I wanted to,” he repeated. “I wanted you. I still do.”

She drew a breath and he could see her pulse throbbing at the hollow of her throat. The wind was whipping her hair and once again she scooped it back out of her face. “I see.” Her lips curved to lighten her words, but her eyes were stark. Haunted, even.

“What happened?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

Daniel clenched his jaw. “Alex.”

She looked away. “Nothing. I just had a bad dream, that’s all.” She looked back and met his eyes. “I had a bad dream, so I got up. And there you were.”

He pressed his lips to her palm. “I stopped here because I was thinking about you. And there you were. And I couldn’t stop myself.”

She shivered and he glanced down as she shifted, covering one totally bare foot with the other. He frowned. “Alex, you’re not wearing any shoes.”

Her lips curved, sincerely this time. “I wasn’t expecting to stand out on my porch kissing you.” She leaned up and into his mouth, kissing him a good deal more softly than he’d kissed her. “But I liked it.”

And it was suddenly as simple as that. He smiled down at her. “Go back into your house and lock your door and cover your feet. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Six-thirty.”