She started to go with him, but Victoria called out and reached for her hand.
“I’d better stay with her,” Chloe said.
He nodded. “I’ll be back up soon, see if you two need anything.”
He turned to leave.
“Luke.”
He looked back.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and left. Downstairs, he found Leo pacing the kitchen.
“What the hell is going on?” the older man demanded, raking a hand through his hair. “Did you actually see the—the bodies?”
“Yes.”
“Was there writing on the wall?”
“No. But our arrival might have interrupted the killer—or killers.”
“And the victims…?”
“Myra’s throat had been slit. The two other women were stabbed in the back of the head. The killer knew what he—or she or they—was doing. This was someone with experience. I’m thinking someone who has been in the military, someone who has studied the art of death.”
“I can’t imagine what it was like for Chloe and Vickie, walking into that house—after what they’ve already been through,” Leo said. “They have to catch this maniac, fast. People are going to go crazy over the similarities to ten years ago, but it can’t be the same killers. They’re dead.”
“Maybe. But there’s something off about this. I wasn’t around for the Teen Massacre, but something about that doesn’t feel right, either. Doesn’t feel closed. I’m not sure they did get the right guys for that.”
“I was here,” Leo said. “I remember every horrific minute of it. I remember shaking with gratitude that Chloe made it out alive, and feeling guilty at the same time, that I could be so grateful and relieved when other families… I saw the dead men. I went to the morgue. I saw the confession and the writing on the wall. Those men were murderers. I believe it with my whole heart. Chloe sketched one of them to a T.”
“What if there was a third killer?” Luke asked.
Leo stared back at him stonily. “You had to have been around at the time, trust me. In a way, it was like trying to restrain a mob bent on vengeance, and that was just the police. Every single member of that church was brought in. Held as long as the law allowed. They were questioned, and they were furious, demanding to know if the other eleven apostles were guilty because Judas betrayed Christ. Every single member provided an alibi, and the church itself was searched top to bottom, and so were the members’ homes. The church fell apart, the lawsuit they filed against the city disintegrated, and there was simply no solid evidence of a third killer. Not to mention the fact that nothing resembling the murders occurred again.”
“Until tonight,” Luke said.
“But there was no writing on the wall,” Leo said flatly.
“No.”
“No message of any kind?” Leo asked.
“Not one that was discernible, no,” Luke told him.
“There’s always another maniac out there,” Leo said. “And this one wouldn’t be the first to copycat an earlier crime.” He shook his head as if to clear it.
“Hey, I could be wrong. Maybe the Church of the Real People really was totally innocent and those two ‘brothers’ just went off the deep end. All I know is, they were dead, the case was dead, nothing else like it ever happened.”
A sound at the foot of the steps alerted them that Chloe had come down. They turned toward her in unison. “Actually, I feel rather sorry for the members of the Church of the Real People,” she said. “I don’t think they’re all fanatics—just people searching for something, maybe desperately, maybe pathetically.”
Leo walked over to her and put his arms around her. “I know this had to be really hard on you. You can’t let it get to you. You have to be good to yourself, maybe take something so you can get a good night’s rest—I’m assuming Victoria is passed out?”
She nodded. “The EMTs gave her a shot to calm her down. They wanted to take her to the hospital, but I wouldn’t let them. I wanted her here with us, where she’ll be safe.”
“Of course,” Leo said, then frowned. “Wait. Why would Victoria be in danger?”
“She should have been there when it happened. Me, too. We both had fittings tonight. If I hadn’t had to work late, we would have been there when the killer came,” Chloe told him.
“That’s it. There will be no more modeling going on,” Leo said. “Don’t you agree?” Leo asked Luke.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Luke said. “Logically speaking, Myra might have been the target tonight. It was her house, after all. She was the one person the killer could expect to be there.”
“But,” Leo argued, “you’re only involved yourself because a girl is missing and—let’s face it—presumed dead, and the parents of a second girl were afraid for their child’s life. Now—this.”
“Uncle Leo, let’s see what the police come up with, okay?” Chloe said. She glanced at Luke, and something in her expression seemed to be speaking to him alone.
Please don’t say anything to make him worse.
They were eloquent eyes. But then again, she had been the one to suggest that Victoria might be in danger. Oddly, she didn’t seem particularly worried about the other girls—and at least two of them had lived at the mansion.
Luke had his own thoughts on the matter, but he wanted to investigate before speaking.
“I do think a good night’s sleep might help everyone think more clearly,” he said.
“Sleep would be good,” Chloe agreed. “After a drink. I don’t have any sleeping pills around—I’ll have to go straight for the alcohol.”
She walked over to the bar and poured herself a large Jack Black, and she didn’t add soda. She tossed it down in one long swallow, then winced. Both Leo and Luke stared at her. “Oh, sorry. I should have offered you two drinks, too.”
“What the hell,” Leo muttered, and strode over to join her at the bar.
Luke joined him, but he sipped his Scotch slowly. He didn’t need to be knocked out—didn’t want to be knocked out.
No one was coming to this house, he thought. The killer would know the odds were against him here.
“Good night, then,” Chloe said. “I’ll be in my room. I think Vickie’s out for the count, but in case she wakes up frightened…I’ll be there.”
“You should be afraid, too, you know,” Leo pointed out.
Chloe put a hand on his shoulder. “Uncle Leo, I’m always careful—I learned that lesson ten years ago. But if we become terrified of living, then life is wasted on us. I had a major close call then, and it would be a disservice to my friends if I were to waste the life I was granted. But I love you for worrying, now good night.”
She kissed Leo on the cheek. After that, to Luke’s surprise, she came straight over to him, stood on her toes and kissed his lips.
It wasn’t a passionate kiss.
But it spoke of something between them.
As she turned and headed for the stairs, Leo stared at Luke.
“I thought she didn’t like you,” he said.
Luke shrugged. “I guess I’ve grown on her.” He cleared his throat. “I’d better try to get some sleep, too.”
“A lot,” Leo said, eyeing him like a protective father. “You’ve grown on her a lot.”
Luke lowered his head, aware that he was trying not to smile, and amazed to realize that he was blushing.
“I, uh, like her, too. A lot,” he added.
“Hmm. Well, at the moment, I’m glad. If you two are sleeping together…”
Luke looked up at him calmly, hoping the color had faded from his face and that his expression betrayed nothing. It was up to Chloe to share whatever she wished with her uncle.
Apparently, Leo realized he wasn’t going to get anything out of him.
“If you are,” he said gruffly, “don’t let me stop you. God knows, she never gets out and even if she’s hell-bent on a relationship that could easily be a train wreck, right now I feel
safer with her sleeping with you.”
Luke still didn’t reply—unless his silence was a reply in itself.
“Good night, Leo,” he said after a long moment. “And thanks for the hospitality.”
“Thanks for the guard duty.”
Luke headed up the stairs and found a comfortable-looking guest room. He set his gun on the table next to the bed, removed his jacket and lay down. He kicked off his shoes but stopped there. In the morning, he would head back to his own place for a shower.
Tonight, even as certain as he was that the killer was basically a coward who waited until his victims were vulnerable, he intended to sleep lightly.
When she finally woke up late the next morning, Victoria was much better. If anything, she was angry, though still very sad for Myra.
“Why would anyone hurt her?” she demanded.
Chloe had decided that the best thing she could do for her friend that day was keep her at the house, away from prying eyes, even though she was amazed to see that neither of their names—nor Luke’s—had wound up in the paper or on the news.
Stuckey really had issued a gag order, and it seemed it was being obeyed. None of the details had leaked out, and in a press conference, Stuckey stated flatly that none of them would be released. Police had arrived at the mansion at approximately eight-fifteen after being called by three visitors. Two models had departed the property at approximately 7:30 p.m., which meant the murders had taken place in a span of less than forty-five minutes. As it was an active investigation, that was all he was willing to reveal. He wouldn’t even say how the victims had been killed, but given that the families had been notified, he did release their names.
Given the surface similarities—multiple murders at a beach side mansion—the press naturally brought up the Teen Massacre, but Stuckey calmly deflected the question, pointing out that these were not the first murders in a mansion or on the beach in the past ten years.
The Church of the Real People also came under scrutiny again, but a pastor or elder or whatever he called himself made a brief statement to the media, and, like the press conference with Stuckey, it played on TV over and over again as the day went on.
Though Chloe didn’t know much about the church’s tenets, it was obvious that Brother Mario Sanz believed in them whole heartedly. His speech was passionate. He was, he said, horrified, as all good men must be, at the terrible events of the previous night, but he was equally horrified that people were instantly looking at the church, ready to lay blame at the feet of a fine congregation. The Church of the Real People, he pointed out, was no less vulnerable to those who might interpret religious texts according to their own misguided views than any other religion. The Koran specifically stated that no woman or child should be harmed, ever. Christ would have never condoned the terror of the Inquisition. There was nothing to indicate that the murders had been committed by someone with ties to any church whatsoever, much less to the Church of the Real People. He invited the authorities into the church to search for evidence, and every member of the congregation was willing to be questioned, and to open their own homes to be searched.
Chloe was sitting out by the pool, watching yet another repeat of Brother Sanz’s speech on her cell phone, when Victoria came up behind her, startling her.
“It’s a crock,” Victoria said.
“The Church of the Real People?” Chloe asked.
Victoria shook her head. “Blaming them.”
“You don’t think it’s a repeat of what happened when we were kids?”
Victoria drew her finger through the sweat on the glass of iced tea she was carrying and shook her head. “I don’t believe the church was guilty back then. Oh, yeah, those two guys were guilty. But I don’t think the church made them do it. They’re pretty weird, but…I don’t know. I think those two men were disturbed to begin with, and then they decided to start killing kids who they thought had too much and might go to hell. Someone taught them that—but not the church.” She looked at Chloe and smiled. “And you don’t have to coddle me. I fell apart last night, but I’m okay now. I’m going to go home.”
“No, Vickie, not yet, please!” Chloe said, sounding more desperate than she’d intended. She took a calming breath and went on. “Not this soon. The police may have something by tonight.” Luke might have something by tonight.
Victoria smiled. Chloe knew that she hadn’t spoken out loud, but Victoria said, “Or ‘Jack’ might. Jack Smith, my ass. So his real name is Luke? Luke Cane? That’s right, isn’t it? Is he an undercover cop or something?”
Chloe shook her head. “P.I.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone. He was going to the island to find out what happened to Colleen Rodriguez, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“Investigating, I guess,” Chloe said. The truth was, Luke had been gone by the time she woke up and she had no idea where he’d gone.
Victoria looked at Chloe. “I think we should go.”
“Go where?”
“Potluck supper.”
“What?”
“I heard it earlier. The Church of the Real People announced that they’re still having a potluck supper tomorrow night, and that everyone is welcome.”
“Victoria, we can’t go. You’re too recognizable, for one thing. And it might be just plain dangerous, for another.”
Victoria shrugged. “I’m over twenty-one. I can do what I please. Besides, you’re forgetting, I’m an actress. I know makeup and costuming.”
“But, Vic—”
“I’m going. With or without you.”
“Any sane person would try to stop us,” Chloe told her.
“Then,” Victoria said, “we shouldn’t tell anyone sane that we’re going. Come on. Cops will be all over the place like ants, with everything going on.”
She was right about that, Chloe had to admit. They would just have to keep quiet about what they were doing, because Luke would definitely try to stop them if he knew. And so would Uncle Leo.
But fate seemed to be intervening on their behalf, because just then her cell phone rang, and she knew from the caller ID that it was Luke. “Hello?”
“Hey, are you still at the house?” he asked her.
“Yes, of course. Where are you?”
“On my way to you, but I don’t have long. Meet me at the gate and we’ll go back to the carriage house, all right?”
“All right,” she said.
She told Victoria that Luke wanted to see her for a little while alone, and Victoria smiled and nodded. “I’m fine, so don’t rush because of me. In fact, if you come anywhere near me in the next few hours, I’ll hit you, I swear.”
“I don’t think he has that much time,” Chloe said, grinning despite herself.
Luke must have been close when he called, because it was just a matter of minutes before he appeared at the gate. She let him in, and was startled by the intensity in the way he looked at her, and touched by the strength in his arms when he wrapped them around her, and then looked into her eyes again, as if assuring himself that not a hair on her head had been harmed in any way.
“Where have you been?” she asked him.
“Up at the Broward sheriff’s office. I’ll explain. Let’s go in.”
She led him into the carriage house. They had barely gotten through the front door before he pulled her into his arms again, and once again it was as if he simply had to feel the beating of her heart, the heat of her existence.
He drew away finally and found her eyes again, and then her lips. His kiss was passionate and charged, but finally he broke the contact and said, “I’m sorry. I know you’re in a traumatic tangle at the moment and that—”
She rose on her toes and shut his mouth with her own, threading her fingers through his hair and darting her tongue into his mouth, pulling him closer and closer, then letting her fingers slide down his back to force him even more tightly against her. She was definitely
eliciting a reaction; she could feel the rise of his erection against her abdomen, and her own arousal and need increased as if swept along by a tidal wave.
And yet he still tried to step back. “Chloe, I know—”
“No, you don’t know. Right now I want the…the reaffirmation of life. Something wild and wicked and beautiful, but why do I always have to be the aggressor?” she asked softly.
His slow smile was devastating. But the way he picked her up, as if she weighed nothing, and headed straight up the stairs, was even more devastating. He was talking, she realized, erotically, but not with the words she might have expected. “Sofa…no, we’re too tall…kitchen table, looks sexy in films but kills the back…how about the bed? What a concept.”
He all but dropped her on the bed when they got there, then practically fell on top of her, clearly having decided to take the role of sexual aggressor to heart. Then he had her breathlessly laughing as they struggled to remove their clothing while still kissing, stroking, fighting not to lose touch with each other.
Even so, she could barely move against his onslaught. His lips, his tongue, his hands, were everywhere, his touch so tender and light and elusive, followed by the pressure of his lips and teeth and tongue in a way that seemed to demand everything. She trailed her fingers down the length of his spine, cradled the tight muscles of his buttocks, teased a finger back up his spine and then down again, all the while losing herself in the fever of his kisses and caresses.
He was an amazing lover. A man unafraid to show tenderness, adept at teasing, he could be gentle, and then, when he moved, it was with a force and passion that left her breathless and fulfilled, and yet somehow longing for more.
His mouth grazed the whole of her length, first avoiding her most erogenous zones, then focusing on them in a way that sent waves of lava and electricity shooting through her. She teased and taunted in return, relishing each word that escaped his lips as she stroked, caressed, licked and teased, until the world was on fire and so were they.
And then his eyes met hers and he moved inside her, and all her cares and fears were gone as they transcended heaven and earth, joined together in the most raw and physical way known to man, tangled in the sheets, dampened with sweat. Finally, wrapped around one another, rigid and alive, they climaxed nearly simultaneously, gasping and moaning as their hearts thundered, then slowed, and their breathing once again hit normal.