All the Beautiful Brides (14 page)

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut, his husky assurance only making her ache to hold him.

Another sigh escaped him, then he pulled her into his arms and held her against him.

Cal silently cursed himself for giving in to his need to hold Mona, but he’d wanted her too damn long to walk away when she looked terrified and heartbroken.

She was missing Brent.

But she said she couldn’t stand to lose
him
.

He didn’t want to be second to Brent, but Brent was gone and he was here, and for the life of him, at the moment, he couldn’t think of one damn reason he shouldn’t touch her.

Kiss her.

Have her.

His lips closed over hers, hungrily, greedily, and she wrapped her arms around him and rubbed his back, parting her lips for his entry. He drove his tongue inside her, aching to be naked and hot in bed with her.

She slid one hand into his hair, tangling her fingers through it, her need just as evident.

Mona had wanted Cal for so long that she shoved thoughts of all else from her mind as he teased her mouth with his tongue. She threaded her hands deep in his hair, urging him closer, hoping the kiss would last forever.

Need and desire collided. Heaven help her, she wanted more.

She reached for the top button of his shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin, and twisted the top two buttons free. His breathy moan echoed between them as he gripped her hands to stop her from undressing him.

“Please,” she whispered.

His dark gaze met hers, hungry and passionate. “Not here in the car.”

She smiled, her body rippling with sensual sensations as she opened the car door. He was right behind her, his hand at the small of her back. By the time she unlocked the front door, their lips were locked again and he was tugging at her coat.

Her scarf hit the foyer floor, along with both their jackets, his body moving against hers as he claimed her mouth again. They kissed fervently, tongues dancing, bodies humming to life with need.

He carefully removed his gun and laid it on the side table. She tugged at his shirt, popping buttons in her haste to feel his chest, and he walked her backward toward the den. She kicked off her boots, frantically raking her hands over his muscled torso, and he trailed his fingers over her back, then slid fingers beneath the bottom of her sweater to slide it off.

But her hip bumped the back of the sofa, and suddenly she stumbled. Cal caught her before she fell, and she glanced down to see what she’d tripped over.

Shock made her go very still.

“What the hell?” Cal muttered.

He gripped her arms, both of them looking around the room in shock.

Someone had been inside her house and trashed it. The frames holding photographs of her and Brent were shattered, the pictures torn to shreds and scattered across the floor and sofa.

Even more disturbing, the words
LEAVE TOWN
had been spray-painted on the wall.

Carol slipped into the Boar’s Head, anxious to talk to Sara Levinson, mother to one of the Thorn Ripper’s victims.

The vacant eyes of a bobcat stared at her from the counter that ran along the wall. In fact, dead animals were everywhere she looked in the bar/restaurant.

Even though her father had been a hunter and had the same fascination with preserving the animals he’d caught, they gave her the creeps.

She’d had nightmares about the gators attacking her during the night and ripping her apart. Sometimes when she’d tried to sleep, she could hear their teeth gnashing as their hunger for human flesh intensified with the smell of blood.

Shaking off her sudden nerves, she chose a corner booth. The place was half-full with men chowing down on burgers and steaks. Country music boomed from an old-fashioned jukebox while three men played pool in the back corner.

She’d talked to the nail tech earlier, and she’d been a wealth of information about the town’s history and told her that Tiffany Levinson’s mother waitressed here.

She recognized Sara from the memorial, her frizzy reddish-brown hair piled on top of her head, a pencil stuck in the teased, lacquered strands. “What can I do you for?” she asked in a smoker’s voice.

Carol ordered a draft beer and the venison stew. She waited until the woman placed the order, then when she returned to bring her drink, Carol introduced herself.

“I heard you might be willing to talk with me about your daughter’s murder.”

“I don’t know who told you that.” The waitress’s eyes glazed over with anger. “Why are you dragging the families through the past?”

“I’m a reporter covering the recent murder in town.”

“I know who you are,” Sara hissed.

“People are wondering if there is a connection between the Thorn Ripper and the Bride Killer,” Carol continued, ignoring Sara’s obvious disdain for her.

Sara’s face paled. “How should I know? The man who killed my baby is in prison. Has been for nearly thirty years.”

Carol had done her research. “But his parole hearing is in less than a week. Don’t you think it’s odd that a similar murder has occurred?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Sara said, her lips stretching thin. “Sheriff Buckley locked up the man responsible for my daughter’s death. I owe him for that.”

Carol didn’t quite know where to go with this, but she wanted emotion in her story. Emotion sold copies.

“Are you sure Pike was guilty?”

Anger slashed the woman’s face. “What are you saying?”

“I looked at the files for the original investigation, and he never confessed. In fact, over all these years, Johnny Pike has maintained his innocence. He said he was framed.”

“He wouldn’t have taken a plea bargain if he was innocent.”

“I’m not so sure of that. He was young and scared, and was facing the death penalty.”

Sara leaned over, her nostrils flaring. “Listen here, you nosy bitch, those of us who lost kids back then have suffered enough. Leave it alone and let Johnny Pike rot in jail.”

She stomped away, leaving Carol irritated and with nothing to report. But a man with short brown hair seated across from her was watching her with interest. He looked to be in his late twenties and was slightly nervous.

If he was a local and had grown up in Graveyard Falls, he might be useful. He raised a brow, a shy smile curving his mouth, and she smiled back, then motioned for him to join her.

His blood heated with excitement. The blonde woman had just invited him to join her.

When he’d heard her order venison stew, he’d decided she might be his soul mate. Venison stew was his favorite. Well, next to rabbit stew.

He wondered if she knew how to make them.

Fancy meeting her here at his favorite spot, surrounded by the animals he’d preserved with his own hands. A hobby he’d turned into a side business.

Beer in hand to give him a little liquid courage, he walked over and claimed the chair beside her.

Her hazel eyes were almost a muddy color, but as she looked up at him, he envisioned her in the wedding gown his mama had made.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said, remembering what Mama had told him.
Don’t talk about yourself all the time. Ask about her.

“My name is Carol Little,” the woman began. “I’m a reporter. You might have seen the front-page story I wrote about the Bride Killer in Graveyard Falls. And you are?”

“Will.” He slipped the pin from his pocket and stabbed his palm with it in an effort to stifle a reaction.

He didn’t know whether to be thrilled that she thought writing about him was newsworthy.

Or nervous she might know who he was.

Either way, she wasn’t wife material.

She would have to die.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mona trembled at the sight of the message.

LEAVE TOWN
.

The torn pictures and shattered glass strewn across her living room made her feel violated. “Why would someone do this?”

Cal retrieved his gun. “Stay here. Let me check the house.”

She nodded, fear clogging her throat as she strained to listen for signs the intruder might still be inside.

Cal held his gun at the ready, glanced in the kitchen, and murmured that it was clear, then eased his way to the bedrooms.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. The fact that someone had been inside her house made her feel sick inside. What else had the intruder touched?

She stooped down to pick up the photograph she and Brent had taken on their honeymoon in the mountains, but Cal’s voice stopped her.

“The house is clear. Don’t touch anything, Mona.”

She curled her fingers into her palms and straightened. God . . . now her house was a crime scene.

Cal held his phone to his ear and was already calling for a crime team. When he hung up, his expression was grim. “The bedroom is a mess, too, Mona.”

She exhaled a shaky breath and rushed toward her room. Cal caught her at the door, and she gasped at the sight. Her underwear and nightgowns had been shredded and scattered across the bed like confetti, the mirror above her dresser marked with another message—
LIARS MUST DIE
.

Cal fisted his hands to keep from pulling Mona back up against him. Dammit, he hated the fear in her eyes. He moved closer and examined the message.

“It’s lipstick.” Maybe the same kind the Bride Killer had used. He’d have the lab check.

“Who hates me enough to do this?” Mona whispered.

“That’s a good question,” Cal said. “And one only you can answer.” Unless the intrusion had something to do with her dead husband and his secret.

“The only person I can think of is Whit Combs, and he’s still locked up.”

“Let me make a call and verify that,” Cal said. “Meanwhile, think about your other clients. Is there someone else you’re seeing who recently split? Maybe a couple who divorced after undergoing therapy with you?”

Mona’s face paled. “Even if they did, I can’t name names, Cal.”

“You can’t protect someone if they’re dangerous.”

“But—”

“Just make the list, Mona,” Cal said. “We can keep it quiet until we know more.”

She still looked hesitant, but walked back to the kitchen, grabbed a notepad from a drawer, and sat down at the table. She was still sitting there lost in thought fifteen minutes later when the CSI team arrived.

“I want this place processed,” Cal said. “And be sure and compare the lipstick on the mirror to the one the Bride Killer used.”

Mona wrapped her arms around her waist, her face stricken at the thought. “You think he did this?”

Cal squeezed her hand. “I don’t know, but we’ll find out.”

Unable to sleep or leave Mona alone tonight, he finally agreed to let her ride with him to check out the names Peyton had given him while the crime team processed her house.

They talked about her patients as they drove. “A couple of my clients are filing for divorce,” Mona said. “But I don’t think their spouses are dangerous or angry enough to break into my house.”

“How about a stalker? Maybe a man you’ve dated since Brent died?”

“It’s only been three months, Cal. I haven’t seen anyone else,” she said in a strained tone. She fiddled with her purse strap. “Although I’ve been asking questions about my birth mother. But I haven’t gotten very far. No one seems to want to talk to me about it.”

“Jesus, Mona, you may have opened up a can of worms.”

“I realize that, but I have to know the truth.”

He laid his hand over hers. “Listen, drop the search for now, and when this case is over, I’ll help you. Right now, I have to focus on finding the Bride Killer. Another woman’s life might be in danger.”
And that woman might be you.

His phone buzzed. The medical examiner. “Yeah?”

“Coulter, we have an ID on the second victim. Her name is Constance Gilroy. Twenty-three years old. Cause of death is the same as the first victim, asphyxiation due to strangulation. The lipstick on her lips is not only the same brand, but it’s from the same tube.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. Traces of Gwyneth’s DNA were found in the lipstick on this girl’s mouth.”

Jesus. “What else?”

“We found traces of saliva on her cheek as well.”

“So he kissed her good-bye just as he did the first victim.”

“It looks that way. There was also a burn mark from a stun gun, just like with Gwyneth.”

“How about the dress?”

“Peyton said she sent photos of it to local tailors, but they didn’t recognize it. She’s still searching the Internet, but so far no hits.”

If the person who’d made the dresses had sold them online, they would probably find one similar. But the seamstress could have sold them in some little mom-and-pop boutique across the country, which would be more difficult to track down.

Unless the dresses were hand-made for the victims . . .

“Anything more on forensics?”

“Yes. We found a strand of hair in the lace of the dress. Must have caught it when he leaned over to kiss her.”

“Then if we find the guy we can nail him.”

“Yes. I just wish I could tell you
how
to find him.”

“I’m working on it,” Cal said, determination kicking in. “Right now I’m on my way to check out a possible lead.”

He maneuvered the switchbacks, slowing as they passed a white van going too fast. The damn thing suddenly sped up and careened toward them.

Mona gasped as he cut the wheel to the right to avoid hitting it, and they slammed into the mountain wall. His front end crunched, air bags exploded, and rocks tumbled down.

Cal looked up, saw the car spin around and head toward them. He braced himself as the front end of the van rammed his side.

Fuck. The driver had intentionally hit them.

Dr. Wheeland was yelling his name over the phone, asking what was happening, but Cal had dropped his phone. He ripped the air bag with his pocketknife, determined to get a look at the driver or get the license plate.

But his eyes were blurry from the impact.

The van backed up, then accelerated and slammed into his side once more. Metal crunched and glass shattered.

“Cal!” Mona cried.

“Hang on!” He grabbed his gun from inside his jacket, aimed, and fired at the maniac. One, two, three shots.

Tires screeched, the van revved its engine and backed away, then it swung around and flew down the mountain.

Cal fired at him again, hoping to at least hit a tire, but the van was too fast.

Mona was shaking all over as the van roared away. She pushed at the air bag, her chest sore from the impact, and Cal took his pocketknife and sliced through it. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know, the windows were tinted,” Cal said. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, although she was trembling so badly her teeth were chattering. Wind swirled through the shattered glass, and shards had pelted Cal’s face and arms.

“You’re bleeding.” She reached up to pluck a small glass fragment, wincing at the drops of blood splattered across his cheek.

“I’m fine.” He brushed off her concern, then leaned down to retrieve his phone.

Wheeland was still on the line.

“We got ambushed by a van,” Cal said. “Have Peyton search for anyone who owns a white cargo van around Graveyard Falls.” A pause. “No, I didn’t get the license. It was an older model, tinted windows. Also have her issue an alert to all body shops and garages in the area. Look for a dented front fender. If anyone tries to get a van repaired, I want to know about it.” He angled his head toward Mona. “Call the deputy and tell him to send a tow truck up here, and to bring an extra car.”

Mona touched his cheek with a tissue to dab at the blood. “You need to go to an ER, Cal.”

He shook his head. “No way. For all we know, the unsub has another girl right now and her life is in jeopardy.”

Fifteen minutes later when the tow truck and Deputy Kimball pulled up, Cal was royally pissed. While the mechanics loaded the SUV onto the tow truck, Cal coaxed Mona to sit inside the Jeep the mechanic had brought for him to drive, then he talked to the deputy. Kimball filled him in on what he’d learned about the families of the Thorn Ripper’s victims.

“Do you think the driver of the van was the unsub?” Deputy Kimball asked.

Cal swiped his hair back from his forehead. “No. It doesn’t fit his MO. But earlier Mona had a break-in, so whoever did this may be after her.”

The deputy blew on his hands to warm them. “I checked. Whit Combs is still locked up.”

So that ruled him out. “Then we’ll concentrate on finding the van. First I need you to notify the second victim’s sister of her death.” Cal skimmed the text Peyton had sent. “The victim’s name is Constance Gilroy. She was twenty-three. Studied early-childhood development and worked part-time babysitting her sister’s two kids. The sister’s name is Tanya Gilroy, she’s a—”

“Nail tech,” Deputy Kimball muttered.

“You know her?”

Deputy Kimball’s eyes darkened. “Yeah. Tanya and I had a couple of dates. She’s going to be devastated. She raised her little sister after their folks died.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She was a good girl, Coulter.”

“I’m sorry.” Cal didn’t know her, but no young woman deserved to have her life snuffed out before she’d had a chance to live it. “I would offer to break the news myself, but I have two possible suspects I intend to question.”

Deputy Kimball wiped a hand over his eyes. “Then get to it. I’ll talk to Tanya and find out everything I can about Constance, if she was seeing anyone, had any male friends, if she met someone online.”

“Also find out if she knew Gwyneth,” Cal said. “If we find a connection between the two victims, it might tell us where or how the unsub is choosing them.”

The deputy nodded and jogged to his car. Cal gave the mechanic his card and told him to call with an estimate for the repairs, then slid into the driver’s seat of the Jeep.

“You okay?” he asked Mona.

She nodded but she looked pale, and he squeezed her hand. How could she be okay when someone had just tried to kill them?