Over the Line (42 page)

"You've got quite a gathering here tonight, Reverend," a reporter stated off camera. "To what do you attribute your ever-increasing popularity?"

"I am but a shepherd," the reverend said modestly. "It's my responsibility to lead my flock—and they have been looking for leadership for a very long time."

"You've expressed very definitive views on everything from politics to music," Charles prompted.

"I have indeed. We are in the midst of a moral decline, much of which I fully attribute to the music the young people are forced to listen to today."

Here it comes,
Janey thought.
He's going to let me have it.

"You've been a vocal critic of rock. To the point of singling out certain artists."

"Sweet Baby Jane and her ilk are not artists. They are the devil's spawn. They will know retribution someday. In the meantime I merely attempt to steer my flock back to the right path."

The shot flipped back to the studio. "Thank you, Charles. And thank you, Reverend Black, for your insights."

"Pious bastard."

Janey glanced up as Jase touched a hand to her hair. "You okay?"

"It's funny. I've had a lot of time to think lately ... you know. Childhood stuff. Anyway, it's ironic that Black decided to single me out because I remember how my mom used to watch him on TV on Sunday mornings. How she used to watch him and cry."

She lifted a shoulder, let it drop. "Sunday morning penance for a drunk Saturday night. I think she always wanted to be a better person and when she listened to him, it made her realize how ... well, how far she was from the person she wanted to be. I even remember that once, she took me with her to one of his tent revivals."

Janey laughed, but there was no humor in it. "She even tried to get backstage to see him. Funny, huh? That she was a follower—and he considers me evil."

She was beyond anger. Beyond reaction. Or at least she thought she was.

Shawna's voice cut into her thoughts. "And now to a breaking story that's just come across the wire. Ironically, it's about Sweet Baby Jane's drummer, Derek McCoy."

Janey froze, her attention drawn back to the TV at the mention of Derek's name.

"Word out of New York is that McCoy was found with his throat cut in a Times Square hotel earlier tonight. Christine Ramsey, another intended victim of McCoy's murderer, discovered the body and was herself stabbed in the process."

Janey couldn't believe what she was hearing. Beside her, Baby Blue swore.

"Ms. Ramsey is resting in satisfactory condition in the hospital after identifying her attacker and McCoy's killer as one Edwin Grimm, an ex-convict who had been recently released from prison where he'd served time for stalking rocker Sweet Baby Jane.

"We have it from a source on the NYPD that Grimm has been apprehended and freely confessed to not only the murder of Derek McCoy and his attempted murder of Chris Ramsey but also the murder earlier this week of Neal Sanders, another member of Ms. Perkins's entourage. In addition, Grimm produced a list of individuals he had targeted for murder, stating that they all stood in the way of a relationship with Ms. Perkins—a relationship that Grimm maintains Jesus had ordained.

"One wonders what the Reverend Black might have to say on this turn of events," Shawna added with a veiled smile. "And now, on to other news ..."

Jase was worried about her. Since the news report had aired on Derek McCoy's death, Janey had been quiet. Too quiet except for several guilt-ridden statements.

"Derek... he was a bastard sometimes, but he didn't deserve to die. Not on my account."

Jase understood why she was blaming herself. What he couldn't comprehend was how to convince her that she was blameless. It was a hard sell.

"Not my fault? Both Neal and Derek are dead," she'd countered when he tried. "Chris Ramsey is in serious condition."

"And as I've told you before, you have no control over the workings of a madman's mind."

She'd just curled into herself on the sofa and closed her eyes. That had been an hour ago. Even the news from the hospital that Max was rallying and they were very encouraged hadn't roused her.

Time,
Jase thought. She just needed some time. To rest. To heal. To accept that her nightmare was officially over.

And then his phone rang—and the news Dallas Garrett fed him jarred him right out of that little fantasy with the impact of a gut punch. If Dallas was right about his conclusions, not only wasn't the nightmare over, but it had just begun.

Five minutes later, Jase ripped the fax that Dallas had sent free of the machine.

"Jesus," he muttered, dragged a hand over his face and walked toward the living room, where Janey was still curled up on the sofa with her cat.

"Who called?"

He looked up. Breathed deep. "It was a fax. From Dallas."

Jase watched as she slowly sat up. Watched her stretch and shake the sleep from her stiff limbs.

"More news of madness and mayhem?"

He looked at her long and hard. Long enough and hard enough that she slowly shook her head. "God," she said, comprehending. "That was supposed to be a joke."

Jase folded the faxed page in his hand, walked around the sofa, and sat down beside her.

"I need you to bounce one more time, babe," he told her.

"Nope." She shook her head. "I'm all bounced out."

"Wish I could give you that, but you need to hear this."

She leaned back against the cushions, drew her knees to her chest, and hugged them. "I reserve the right to tune out whenever I want to."

He'd give anything to spare her this. "Dallas called while you were asleep. He finally connected the dots on the list. Long story short, he talked to the daughter of one of the victims and found some links."

"Such as," she said, lifting her head.

"Such as, he'd already figured out that all of the women had children. All of them about your age. All of them spread across the country. But the mothers all lived in Mississippi at the time of conception."

When she frowned, he continued. "When he dug deeper, Dallas found that all of these children were illegitimate, fathers unknown."

"And now all of their mothers are dead. Which leads you to what conclusion?" she asked warily.

"That they shared the same father."

He waited for that to settle.

"A father," he continued when she'd latched on, "who has apparently gone to great lengths to ensure his ID wasn't discovered."

"By having the mothers all killed," she concluded. "Jesus. What kind of a monster would do that?"

"Someone who has a lot to lose if he's identified. Someone your mother may have been blackmailing to guarantee her silence."

Janey stared into space. Sifting, digesting. "So ... the money in her lockbox? And Lemans?"

"I have to eat a few words, but it's looking like that was coincidental. The real target wasn't the money, but the list."

She shook her head. "To what end? He obviously knew who they were? He killed them."

"Maybe the list was your mother's bargaining chip. Maybe she was threatening to make it public. After he had her killed, he might have decided to make certain that the list never saw the light of day. I mean—think about it. Every single one of those deaths was made to look like an accident—including your mother's."

"So ... it wasn't the loan sharks after all? I became a target because ... because my own father was willing to kill me for a list of names?"

He couldn't imagine the pain she was going through. "Yeah," he said gently. "Yeah, it looks that way."

She dragged both hands through her hair. "Who is he? God or something? A senator?" she speculated, glancing his way for answers. "The governor?"

Jase exhaled, unfolded the fax. "You were closer the first time. This is a picture one of the children remembered her mother kept. A picture her mother had always told her was her father." He held it out to her.

She took it with a trembling hand. Stared, then went pale.

It wasn't as old as the photo they'd found in Alice Perkins's lockbox. In fact, it was fairly recent, but the resemblance was there. Unmistakable, at least to Jase.

He saw the moment recognition dawned on Janey, too.

"Oh, God." She looked up from the photo, disbelief warring with the heartbreaking acceptance in her eyes. "It's Black."

Yeah. The Reverend Samuel Black.

"He's my father?"

"So it would seem." Just as it seemed Black wanted her dead.

A single tear trickled down her cheek as Jase pulled her into his arms. "Guess it wouldn't be too good for a man of God's public image if the world found out that the rocker he's been touting as the spawn of Satan turned out to be his daughter, would it?"

"I'm so sorry, babe," he murmured against the top of her head.

He was still holding her when the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and he realized they were no longer alone.

Chapter 24

"I'm touched."

Jase whipped his head around—expecting to see Black standing there.

But it wasn't Black. It was his devoted, devout wife, Tonya, who stood just inside the sliders, the business end of a revolver pointed directly at Janey's head.

"Don't try to save her," Tonya cautioned when Jase moved to shove Janey behind him and the "guard" dogs lifted their heads and wagged their tails in welcome. "It's preordained, you know. She must die."

Jase froze as Tonya Black stepped fully into the room and without turning around closed the slider behind her.

The gun never wavered. Tonya Black's lacquered blond hair never moved. And the look of undiluted madness in her heavily made-up eyes told him she'd shoot them both without provocation if he made the wrong move.

"Preordained?" Jase asked carefully, all the while inching slightly forward, easing Janey back behind him.

"It truly is touching," Tonya repeated with a sad shake of her head. "But your loyalty is misplaced, young man. God's will must be done."

"I understand," Jase said, working to keep his voice supplicating, non-confrontational. "I understand why God might want Alice Perkins dead—"

"Who wouldn't understand?" Tonya interrupted, her face flaming the brilliant red of righteousness. "She was a fornicator and a whore. She was the devil's instrument. She lured and tempted and dragged Samuel down in the slime with her."

Jase felt Janey coil as tight as a spring beside him. He squeezed her leg. A caution. A plea to be quiet. To not do something stupid.

"So you hired Alex Marshall to kill her," he concluded with what he hoped passed for an appreciative nod of his head. "And to kill the others, too."

Tonya smiled. "I knew you'd figure it out eventually. You're a smart young man."

"Not smart enough to figure out why you would hire a murderer to do God's will."
Chew on that one, sister.

As he'd hoped, his conclusion shook her. At least momentarily. "Alex Marshall was my instrument. My instrument through which I dealt the Lord's will."