Where Angels Rest (26 page)

Not anymore.

Here, in recent years, Hilltop had provided plenty of workspace, plenty of privacy. And easy disposal of the body when the work was done.

Rebecca’s eyes grew wide when the Angelmaker neared, her body tensing in the elaborate webbing of duct tape. Her nostrils flared, trying to suck in air. The fools never understood that once their lips were sealed, crying wasn’t smart. It made them sniffly and stuffy, and they had trouble breathing through their noses. Rebecca had become downright hysterical when she finally became aware what was happening, but by then there’d been no use trying to fight or scream. She was already bound to the table with spiraling yards of duct tape, her breasts hiked up by the tape like an ad for a push-up bra, and lips held tight with the glue.

A ready mold.

The Angelmaker lit nine candles, drew in a deep breath of vanilla, and looked Rebecca up and down. The wild terror in her eyes was unimpressive; the Angelmaker had gotten used to that years ago. The first time, with Lauren, had been horrifying—her death had been an act of impulse. Their eyes had met by chance when the Angelmaker had been caught eyeing her artwork at an exhibit—a fleeting look, but one that made everything clear. She
knew.
And she would tell. Panicked, the Angelmaker lured her outside and killed her, hiding the body in the back of the work van.

It was then, in the moments after her death, that reality set in: She was gone, but still watching—like the angel figurines. Her body was there in the work van—filled with supplies—so the Angelmaker set to work, transforming Lauren to an empty shell. Left her there for hours in fear someone might find her and went home to face the angels. One was dead. So the Angelmaker picked up the first figurine and smashed it into pieces, and for the first time in memory, a heady sense of power rushed in. Freedom. Picking up the pieces had been sheer joy—an arm, a wing, a face. They all went in a bucket.

They’ll keep watch.

Not that one. Not anymore.

The terror lifted; the Angelmaker had been born. For the first time, the angels were powerless. The Angelmaker went back and took the mask from Lauren’s face, cleaned her off, and drove her body to the Everglades. Lived on the rush of that kill for years, until another angel came along.

“Mmmm.”
Rebecca strained through her lips. Superglue was good stuff.

“Stop that. You’ll only rip your own skin off. Robin Weelkes did that when it was his turn.” The Angelmaker remembered, sharing aloud. “He was a firefighter, a big burly man, and just about ripped his lips to shreds, waiting for his mask. I thought I’d never get him sanded smooth.”

“Mmm Mmmm.”

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, leaving a black trail of mascara down her temple. The Angelmaker toweled it away. “Stop that. Clean and dry. The mold must be clean and dry.”

She tried to shake her head but couldn’t—the tape. She tried to scream but couldn’t—the Superglue. She tried to fight but couldn’t—her long-awaited destiny.

The Angelmaker straightened and began removing the hoops in Rebecca’s eyebrows. Four of them, all in the left brow. The stud in her nose wouldn’t matter—the clay would go right over that—and finally, she was perfect: Clean and quiet and utterly still.

The Angelmaker turned down the lights to let the candle glow take over, stepped to a boom box and pushed a button.
Regina coeli… Semper angelis conservabor….

V
ALERIA
,” N
ICK SAID
, “set up a press conference.”

“What time?”

Nick took a deep breath. It was four in the afternoon. He’d stuck around the church until the murder scene had been fully processed, talked to Carl’s relatives and friends, and gotten yet another investigation moving. At last count, there were two dozen members of the media swarming the church, and another half dozen here at the station. They would take what little they thought they knew and put it on the air by six o’clock. “Half an hour, in time to make the news.”

Valeria flattened both hands on her desk. “You
want
to make the evening news? Who are you and what have you done with the real sheriff?”

“At least this way, they’ll have accurate information, whether they choose to use it or not.” But that wasn’t the main reason he needed to go on TV. Rebecca was gone and so was Ace Holmes. If they were together, maybe Nick could reach out to her before she got too far. Maybe she’d call or sneak out on Ace. Something.

A thought:
Rebecca uses Mom’s gun to kill ex-lover
then pushes his car off a ledge. The next morning, she kills minister who knew too much, and runs away.

Jesus.

“Is Sims in the back?” Nick asked, but knew she would be. Leni had dropped her off at headquarters when she brought Katie over to the courthouse.

“
Sí
. With Deputy Fruth.”

Erin turned when he entered, her hands clenched. Fruth shot Nick a look that said,
She’s all yours, buddy,
and made a hasty exit. As soon as he was gone, Erin opened her mouth.

“Don’t start,” Nick said, before she managed to get a word out. “It was a fucking crime scene. You didn’t belong there. And I know helping get Katie and Rebecca through the system is right up your alley, but I swear, Erin, you have to stay as far away from those girls and their connections to Huggins as possible.”

She snapped her mouth closed on a curse, then said, “I know. I get it. I just can’t stand being on the sidelines watching Justin’s hours tick by.”

“I’m moving as fast as I can. I have a press conference in a little while and I want you to know what I’m going to say.”

Her fingers loosened a touch and he propped his hips against the edge of the desk. “I think you’re right that Jack Calloway may have been involved in the death of Lauren McAllister.”

Erin lifted a brow. “You’re willing to say that to the press? Confirm the word of a crackpot?”

“Stop it,” he snapped, and crossed his arms. “There’s more than your word. We have confirmation that Jack had affairs with both Lauren and now Rebecca, and Margaret Calloway says there were others.”

“Sara Daniels?”

“I’m not sure of her yet. But in addition to Rebecca Engel there’s a college student named Shelly Quinn who might have known him. She fits the mold—”

“So let’s go talk to her.”

“We can’t.” He could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew why.

“She’s gone,” she breathed. “Oh, God. Just like Rebecca.”

“Rebecca may have slept with Jack, but she was in her bed this morning twenty hours after Jack disappeared.”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t get to her. If he’s still alive.”

“I know,” he conceded. “Still, chances are better she’s with Ace Holmes. It’s what Rebecca said they were going to do and she packed a bag.”

“But he raped her.”

“Not if she says he didn’t.”

Erin cursed. “This Andrew Baker,” she said, “the therapist who’s going to work with Katie… Is he any good? Will he be able to help Rebecca?”

He’s a sixty-four-year-old chauvinist asshole, counting the months until retirement.
“He’ll probably contend that both girls have a great big case of penis envy.”

“You’re kidding.”

Nick put up a hand. “Sweetheart, these girls aren’t your clients. They’re off limits. Andrew Baker’s on his way; he’s gonna debrief Katie so we can be sure what we’re getting about her sister is right, that she’s not—”

“Being an overzealous sister begging to be heard.”

Nick looked at her. Bright, courageous, and christened an overzealous sister begging to be heard. No longer. Nick had heard. “The bottom line is that whether Jack is dead or alive, we know he had an affair with Rebecca. It’s one
more straw to add to the camel’s back. Straws may be all we ever get.”

“How much do you think Huggins might still be out there?”

Nick closed his eyes. “I don’t know.” He told her about the missing gun and Jack’s note asking for forgiveness. Finally, he handed her the letterhead from the Southeast Regional Women’s Clinic in Florida.

“What’s this?”

“Lauren had an abortion eight weeks before she disappeared.”

“What?”

“John Huggins signed as the father of the baby.”

She gaped at him. He could see her mind travel back twelve years, trying to fit that in with Justin’s relationship, then saw the
mea culpas
start rolling through her mind…
Why didn’t I know that? How could I have missed it?

“That would have changed everything,” she said. “Why didn’t I think to check something like that?”

“You’re a psychologist, not a detective.”

“I should have thought of it.”

“The detectives investigating the case should have thought of it. And I wouldn’t doubt that they did.”

She looked at him. “You’re thinking the Senator kept it secret.”

“I don’t know that. But I can see that it wouldn’t have been good for his career, or for their case against Justin.”

She stood, vibrating with tension. “We have to report this to the AG. We have—”

“I already did. And,” he swallowed, startled by how much he wanted to get the case against Justin dismissed. Save the day for Erin. Redeem himself.

Stop it. There’s no redemption for getting the mother
of your child killed.
This wasn’t about being attracted to Erin, or even loving Allison. It was about Justin.

He walked over to her. “And, I sent a lawyer to Florida. Someone who can handle the evidence we’re turning up. She met with Justin, and is probably with the assistant AG right now.”

“What?”

“My sister, Layna. She’s an attorney. And she’s a sucker for an underdog.”

“She saw Justin?”

Yes. And told Nick things he couldn’t shake from his mind.
“She owes me a few favors—you know, for busting up her dates with loser boys all through high school.”

Erin looked shocked but within seconds, the look in her eyes gave way to hope. And gratitude. Nick’s chest went
thmp.

“Somehow I doubt your sister feels that way,” she said.

“That’s her problem. As far as I’m concern—”

Erin kissed him. Grabbed his shirt, pulled him down and met him with lips that were warm and mobile and exuberant. Nick didn’t question it—he deepened the kiss and closed his arms around her, running his hands up her back, into her hair. He kissed her back with everything he had, startled by the depth of his desire and the need to protect her from pain.

A knock broke it up. Erin stepped back and touched her lips with a finger; Nick cleared his voice. “Come in.”

Valeria. “Four-thirty, Sheriff. The vultures are hungry.” She looked at Erin sideways. “You staying here?”

Erin straightened, like a fighter shaking off a hard right hook. “No. I have to go to the press conference.”

Nick turned to her. “Don’t speak, Erin. No matter how much the bastards try to make you. Let me handle it.”

It was a plea not an order, and Nick realized it required a degree of trust he didn’t think she had. Chemistry was one thing, gratitude another. Trust was far beyond.

Erin brushed her hands down her sweater. “All right,” she said.

The sheriff didn’t take any questions. Looking straight into the camera—at the Angelmaker?—Mann announced Carl Whitmore’s murder and ran through details regarding Jack’s disappearance. He stated that new evidence suggested that Jack Calloway had indeed been involved with at least three women who were either dead or whose fates were in question, including Lauren McAllister. With a muscle twitching in his jaw, he asserted that reports emerging about Sims’s instability were unfounded. And he shared that authorities were consulting with the FBI and the college on the possibility that there were other young women who might have been victims—including re-visiting Carrie Sitton’s murder to see if it was somehow related. Finally, he announced that authorities would like to question Rebecca Engel and Ace Holmes, with whom they believed she had left town. If anyone had knowledge of their whereabouts…

The Angelmaker watched, a pulse of fear colliding with anger. Mann wasn’t onto Rebecca yet, but the FBI? Other college students? Carrie Sitton?

No one had ever looked so closely before. No one had ever threatened to connect the angels together.

The Angelmaker shifted, sweat beading up. Mann? Number Ten? As blind as that man had been all his life, it didn’t seem likely. Still, he was looking too closely, and at too many things.

Oh, Sheriff. That’s a grave error on your part.

After the press conference, Nick and Erin went back to his office. They found Luke leaning against the desk looking up at the television.

“You look old on TV,” he said, turning it off. “And ten pounds heavier.”

“Go to hell.” Nick shot. “What did you find out?”

“Ace Holmes’s place is half empty, and the half he left behind is shit. His truck’s gone, though he left an old Dodge there—no plates—and his personal items are gone. His friends, if you can call them that, don’t know where he is, but say he’d been talking about blowing town with Rebecca. If he did blow town, from what I’ve heard, Buffalo is a good bet. I’ve got some names.”

Nick blew out a breath, glancing at Erin. He never dreamed he’d
hope
Rebecca Engel would run off with Ace Holmes, but just now, that would be good news.

Nick turned to Quent, who was just walking in. “What happened with Katie while we were out there with the press?”

Quent said, “Sam Fulton, her defense attorney, finished with her and turned her over to the shrink. Fulton puffed his chest out and told me the sheriff’s department has no case against his client and he dares you—no, he
double-
dares you—to try to charge her with Jack’s murder…”

“Aw, Jesus.”

“Bluster. The media was there, so he hit me with both barrels.”

“That’s how public defenders get hard-ons,” Luke said.

Quent went on. “Sam lost his a minute later when I told him we don’t really think Katie has done anything wrong. That we just want her protected until we know what happened to Jack. We already grabbed her mom’s gun and it
doesn’t look like it’s been fired. We just need time for the lab to confirm that.”