She Can Run (14 page)

A special news report flashed on the television in the corner cabinet of his office. He reached for the remote and increased the volume. The reporter on the screen provided the details of yet another woman’s body found in a waterway, this time very close to his Southeastern Pennsylvania constituency, possibly an additional victim of the Riverside Killer.

An image took shape in his mind.

Raped, strangled, and tortured.

Perfect.

He shifted his gaze to Elizabeth’s picture, which still stood on his credenza. As he stared, he pictured her naked body under his, his hands wrapped around her neck, his thumbs pressing down on her windpipe, her final breath leaving her lungs as he forced the life out of her body. The vision was the only fantasy he’d ever entertained about his wife.

Fear and pain were the ultimate aphrodisiacs.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Thanks, Wes.” Jack placed the receiver in its charger and leaned back in his chair. After three days of searching, his former partner had found nothing on Beth Ann Markham from Virginia. It was as if she didn’t exist.

Wes’s call wasn’t much of a surprise. But why would she change her name? What kind of trouble could she be in? It didn’t seem likely she was on the run from the law. Beth epitomized the whole suburban soccer mom package. All she needed was a minivan and a PTA bumper sticker.

So now what was he going to do?

If he confronted her, she’d skip. No question.

Would that be such a bad thing? Did he need this hassle in his miserable life right now? He could barely keep his hands off her, but
she
still didn’t want anything to do with
him
. Limping around with a semi from dawn to dark was making him irritable.

Why had his uncle hired her?

Jack opened the humidor on the corner of the antique oak desk and selected a premium Dominican. He drew the cigar under his nose and inhaled deeply. The worn leather behind his head was infused with the smell of his uncle’s expensive cigars, as was everything in the room. He should look on the bright side of his new life. He’d never been able to afford these on a cop’s salary. Good scotch had been a rare treat as well, reserved for visits to his uncle.

Visits that had been few and far between in the last few years.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he rose, limped to the credenza across the room, and poured two fingers of single malt into a crystal tumbler. Jack wandered to the far wall, covered in framed photos of his uncle’s life. A multitude of familiar faces smiled at him, pictures from weddings, christenings, and other family events. There was a section devoted to Danny’s travels and his army career. His uncle had toured Europe and South America extensively. At the far side of the room, Jack’s eyes lit on a few grainy images of Danny’s unit in Vietnam. His uncle had never, ever talked about that war. Not once. Jack had sensed Danny’s experiences in Southeast Asia had been the stuff of nightmares. There were a half dozen photos, though, all placed at eye level. Danny hadn’t wanted to forget that chapter in his life, however painful it had been.

Jack found his uncle easily in five of the pictures. Danny had been career military, somewhere in his mid-forties during the Vietnam War. According to Jack’s mother, Danny was injured in ‘68. Though his physical injures hadn’t been serious, he’d retired. Would’ve made colonel if he’d stayed in longer.

The last picture didn’t seem to fit the others of Danny and his fellow officers, men he’d been close to, in off-duty type activities. The last shot was a small group of men, taken from a distance as they gathered next to a helicopter. There was something different about these guys. Something edgy. Jack leaned closer, but the images were too small and he couldn’t see much detail.

With a sigh, he paced back to the desk and lifted out the tray from the humidor in search of a cigar cutter.

An envelope rested on top of the next row of stogies.

Jack picked it up. His name was scrawled in Uncle Danny’s handwriting across the front.

Shit
.

Jack opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.

Jack,

If you’re sitting at my desk smoking my cigars, then I guess this feeling in my gut is right on target. Haven’t been up to snuff these last few weeks. Well, damn. Don’t grieve too much. I’ve had a great life, much longer than I thought I’d get on this earth, considering.

I hope you accept your inheritance and its conditions for two reasons. You need to settle down, establish some roots, be near your family. And I still need a favor from you. Aye, here’s the rub.

I hired a woman to take over as caretaker. I need you to look after her for me. She’s in some sort of danger. Sorry, I don’t have any more details. This is a favor for someone I owe the last forty years of my life to. And obviously I’m unable to satisfy the debt. She has no idea the job’s a setup to keep her safe, so keep that to yourself. I trust you’ll take care of the situation.

I’ll miss you boys. Enjoy these cigars with Quinn and Sean. Nothing’s more important than family. I learned that the hard way.

Danny

P.S. There’s another case of The Macallan in the basement.

The letter dropped to the leather blotter.

Son of a bitch.

Well, that certainly answered a few of Jack’s questions. And raised about three zillion more.

Thunder boomed and Jack glanced out the window. Pregnant black clouds blotted out the evening sky. A door slammed. Ben called for his sister as footsteps thudded on hardwood.

Jack set the glass and unlit cigar on the desk next to the letter and headed for the hall. The boy never ran in the house. Or yelled, for that matter.

“Ben, is something wrong?”

“Yeah, I can’t find Katie. She’s really afraid of loud noises. This storm’s gonna freak her out. Mom told me to stay with her. I—I just turned around for a second to shut the door. The wind was pushing it.” The boy raked a hand through his hair.

Before Jack could speak, the lights went out. Another crash of thunder vibrated the windowpanes.

“It’s not your fault, Ben. Don’t worry,” Jack assured him. “She came in the house with you, right?”

Ben gave a quick nod.

“Then she’s here somewhere.” Jack rummaged around in the hall closet in the dark and came out with two heavy-duty flashlights.

“OK.” Ben took one and switched it on. “Where’s Henry? He’ll find her.”

Jack held back a snort of laughter. The children thought Henry was Lassie reincarnated. “You look down here. Check all the closets, under the furniture, behind the drapes. I’ll take upstairs. OK?”

Ben ducked into the living room. “I found Henry. He’s hiding under the coffee table. His teeth are chattering. Is he afraid of thunder, too?”

“Yeah, he is. Doesn’t it figure?” Jack shook his head.

On the way up, Jack leaned heavily on the banister, but he made it. He turned into the first bedroom, obviously Beth’s. Shining the light under the dresser, he absorbed the details in the room as he searched. He couldn’t help himself. Once a cop, always a cop. And geez, this was a moral search warrant, the perfect excuse for him to poke around in Beth’s room without feeling guilty about invading her privacy.

He found a couple of empty duffel bags in the bottom of the closet. Minimal clothing and few personal effects. No Katie.

He checked the attached bath. Jack had never seen a woman’s medicine cabinet that wasn’t full to bursting. Yet Beth only had a couple of cosmetic items—and a box of black hair dye. He’d been right. That color wasn’t natural.

There was one surprise. Over the shower curtain rod. Bras and panties hung in a sexy row of skimpy lace and satin that made Jack’s mouth water. That black satin thong, the item of his most recent sordid dreams, dangled at eye level next to a tiny white number adorned with flowers on the back strings.

Holy hard-on, Batman!

There was definitely no time to stand here and wonder what kind of panties Beth was wearing right now, yet in the blink of an eye, Jack’s mind conjured up a picture of Beth wearing that little white thong. The yellow flowers would nestle under those two dimples she’d have at the base of her spine. He’d run his tongue…Damn.

You are in big trouble, O’Malley.

Jack reminded himself he was looking for a scared child and moved on. He entered the next room, Katie’s. Nothing under the bed. A backpack in the closet contained most of the little girl’s clothes. Apparently, she wasn’t ready to unpack. Sadly, it occurred to Jack she wasn’t sure how long she was staying. A stuffed giraffe was tucked under the covers in the bed.

The beam of light moved across a few well-used children’s paperbacks on the dresser:
Clifford the Big Red Dog
,
Henry and Mudge
. No wonder Katie loved Henry so much. He was a shoe-in.

Jack moved to Ben’s room. The kid had fewer possessions than soldiers kept in a military barracks. Paperback editions of the entire Harry Potter collection sat on the nightstand. Wait, what was that sticking out of Ben’s copy of
The Chamber of Secrets
? A photograph.

It was mostly in plain sight. The kind of thing he wouldn’t need a warrant to see. It also seemed silly to worry about looking at a photo when he’d fantasized about Beth’s panties just a few seconds before.

Jack held the flashlight on a picture of man and a little boy of about four or five years old, standing in front of a fire truck. Jack assumed the boy was Ben. He was standing in an enormous pair of fireman’s boots that engulfed his legs all the way up his skinny thighs. A large, dark-haired man hunkered down on one knee next to the child. Both man and boy smiled for the camera. It was a happy moment, a slice of time captured forever before the family’s life imploded with tragedy.

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat as a wave of sadness passed over him. He couldn’t imagine losing his father, and he was forty-seven. How did a five-year-old boy deal with it? With sad determination, he replaced the photo and exited the room.

Jack limped toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. He opened the linen closet behind the door and shone the light inside. A small figure huddled on the cold tile. Katie’s knees were drawn up to her chest. She hugged her legs and rocked. Looking up at Jack, she opened her mouth to scream, but she was so frightened her throat only emitted a small squeak.

Jack’s heart squeezed. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he set the light on the floor and leaned down as far as he could.

“Come on out, honey, I won’t hurt you.” Jack kept his voice calm and soothing, like he was talking her off a ledge. “Ben’s waiting downstairs for us. He’s worried about you.” Katie didn’t respond. She rocked back and forth, staring straight ahead at the wall with an alarming, blank expression on her pale face.

“Henry is really scared of storms. I’ll bet he’d feel a lot better if you sat with him.”

The little girl swallowed and blinked, slowly shifting her gaze to Jack. She scooted forward a couple inches. Jack bent closer and held out his hand. Katie hesitated for one more second, then set her tiny hand in his palm. Jack curled his fingers around hers. When he started to straighten, she catapulted herself into his arms and wrapped all four limbs around him, sobbing.

Knocked off balance, Jack stumbled backward and leaned against the vanity. He held her close. “It’s OK, baby. It’s only a storm. Nature’s fireworks. You’re safe with me.”

Smoothing the damp hair away from her face, he squinted down at her in the peripheral glow of the flashlight. She leaned against his chest. Her hands clenched his shirt in tight fists, and she hiccupped between ragged breaths. Christ, she couldn’t weigh more than forty pounds.

With a death grip on the railing, Jack carried her down the stairs. A flash of lightning illuminated the foyer, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Katie jumped in Jack’s arms. Holding her hands against her ears, she buried her face in his shirt. Hot tears soaked through his T-shirt. “Shh. It’s OK. I’ve got you.”

“Hey, Ben. I found Katie,” Jack called out, trying to keep his voice casual and relaxed.

“Great. Thanks, Jack.” Ben’s relieved voice came from the kitchen. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to look.”

“Your mother make it back yet?” Jack glanced out the French doors. Rain pounded against the glass. He carried Katie into the room, pulled a camp lantern out of the cabinet, and switched it on.

“She was closing up the barn. I hope she’s OK. It’s raining sideways.” Ben raised a hand to his mouth and chewed on a ragged edge of nail.

The kitchen door burst open and Beth surged through, leaning on the door to force it closed. Dripping, she turned to face the group. Wide-eyed, Beth froze and stared at her daughter. Katie was still wrapped around Jack like a spider monkey. His knee threatened to explode from her extra weight, but he didn’t have the heart to forcibly dislodge her. And even if he could disentangle himself from her embrace, his heart squeezed at the thought of wrenching her off of him.

Beth’s hair was plastered to her head, and her jeans and T-shirt clung to her body like a second skin, outlining her slim legs and rounded breasts. What he wouldn’t give to help her peel those wet clothes off, then maybe lick the raindrops from her skin.

Sigh
. That wasn’t going to happen. If he knew only one thing about Beth, it was that she didn’t want to be touched, especially by him.

A puddle spread around her feet, and Jack bit his cheek to keep from laughing. “You’re soaked. Why don’t you go upstairs and get out of those wet clothes? When you come back down, I’ll go out and try to start the emergency generator.”

He couldn’t help himself. His gaze dropped to her breasts again. Not too large or small, he noticed once again how perfectly they’d fill his palms. Beth caught his look and blushed. She dropped her gaze from his face to the floor, and Jack decided that, although his chances of ever seeing her naked were only slightly greater than winning the Pick-6, he liked her face all flushed and flustered. Ten different ways to get it that way popped into his head simultaneously. They all required her to be naked, which seemed to have become a recurring theme in Jack’s imagination.