Authors: Beverly Barton

Tags: #romantic thriller

Don't Say a Word (14 page)

BOOK: Don't Say a Word

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No wonder Max thought that, Julia decided, judging by the hard look Will was giving him. Will’s dark eyes didn’t waver.

“Who is this guy, Julia? Is he bothering you?”

“You bet I bother her—hot and bother you, right, sweetheart?” Max reached across the table, extending his hand to Will. “Maximilian Hazard, private eye. M. Hazard Detective Agency. East Brainerd. Glad to make your acquaintance, Julia’s Stern Lunch Companion.”

Julia suppressed a smile. Will looked at Max’s hand as if it were a large, hairy spider, and then back at Julia. She shrugged one shoulder, but she wished Max would go away. She watched Will break down and shake Max’s hand, albeit with distaste. “Will Brannock.”

“You stealin’ my girl, Brannock?”

“Shut up, Max, would you? Will’s a special agent with the TBI, if you must know. We’re working together on a case.”

Max turned to Julia and put all his attention on her. “I’ll shut up, if you’ll go out with me tonight.”

“I’m busy.”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“I’m busy.”

“How about any night between now and the day you die?”

Julia laughed and shook her head. Will stared unblinkingly at Max, this time as if he was thinking about heaving the guy bodily over three or four of the nearest tables. He was probably big enough to do it, too. The idea made Julia laugh again.

“Get out of here, Max. I mean it. We’re talking business. You’re interrupting us.”

One thing about Max, he always knew when to stop. It was an acquired knack of his. Usually right up to the point where he was about to get punched in the nose or thrown out by a bouncer. “Okay, sorry about that, but I saw you and almost passed out from the sheer joy of being so close to you again, so I had to come over. I couldn’t stop myself. I mean it. Charlie told me you were moving to Chattanooga, and here you are. He gave me your cell phone number again when I saw him yesterday, so I’ll be calling you soon. Decide where you want to go on our future first date, and I’ll make it happen. Anywhere you say. Anywhere at all. Anytime at all.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then gave a sarcastic salute to Will. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Brannock. Take good care of my girl here.”

Max strode off with his usual cocky saunter, saying something to their waitress that made her laugh out loud.

Silence reigned at their table.

“So, who’s the clown?” Will asked, his eyes following Max’s retreating back.

“He’s okay. Just likes to goof around. He’s pretty good at his job. I ran into him on a mutual case a couple of years back. Had to arrest him for trespassing. Twice, actually. He’s been asking me out ever since.”

More quiet. “And have you gone out with him?”

“And you’re interested in that, why?”

Will looked nonplussed by her question. “Never mind. You’re right. It’s none of my business. No need to get so touchy, though.”

Well now,
me
touchy? Will Brannock’s one to talk. He is the king of touchy
, Julia thought, but she said as pleasantly as she could, “I’m not being touchy. I’ve never gone out with him, but I might someday. He can be entertaining enough when he wants to be. He’s good at his job, but not above bending the rules now and then. That’s his negative point.”

“He looks like a California beach bum to me. I bet he’s got a surfboard hanging on his living room wall.”

“That pretty much nails him. That’s where he’s from. San Diego. LA before that.”

“Here, I’ll treat,” Will said, conversation now obviously over. “I’ve got to get going. I’m supposed to meet somebody. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Julia immediately stood up and grabbed her brown leather purse. As he put down a tip, she bid him so long, not waiting for him to go to the cash register and pay the bill and walk outside with her. As she left the front doors and stood on the big veranda with the rocking chairs, she wondered who the
she
was that he was in such a hurry to meet. Well, there was probably a myriad of choices in the Will Brannock Magic World of Maniacal Privacy. Why, heavens above, it could be Pam, the redheaded airport bombshell, perhaps, back in town for another romp in the hay. Or Ginger, the vampiest vamp of the Elite Escort crew, who let it be known loud and clear that she was even more available than available could be. But probably for a price—or maybe not, considering Will’s hot factor.

Somehow Julia didn’t like the idea of him meeting up with either one of those women. Her thoughts hit the stop button and skidded to a shuddering halt. Oh my God, she thought, what was this all about? Surely she wasn’t starting to fall for him. Surely his good looks, face and body like a Greek god, and overwhelming masculine sex appeal didn’t affect her. Surely not. But, oh no, yes, it did, Julia realized with not a little trepidation. One thing she did know: she certainly didn’t like the idea of taking a running jump onto the Will Brannock Love ’Em and Leave ’Em Fan Club bus with the arena full of other women who found him just as attractive and desirable. Uh-uh, that would not do, not for one teeny little minute. She was going to have to step back and give herself a biting lesson in self-restraint, corral the troubling thoughts of sexy Will that were beginning to run wild and reckless through her mind of late, and bid those roiling romantic notions a fond adieu. Will was her partner right now—off-limits, and that was that.
So get a grip on yourself, boiling hormones
.

As Audrey Sherrod drove into the Lookout Valley Cracker Barrel’s parking lot, she felt a long shiver course down her spine, and tried not to think about the horrible scene she had experienced the last time she had been summoned to this particular restaurant. It was the day they’d found Jill Scott’s body. Jill was the Rocking Chair killer’s second victim. The poor girl had been propped up in one of the country restaurant’s porch rockers, and in her arms was a child’s tiny skeleton wrapped in a blanket. She swallowed hard, remembering. Those murders had happened over a year ago, but it had affected her in so many terrible ways, revealing deeply hidden secrets in her own family that had come back to haunt her and turn her world upside down.

Trying again not to dwell on the past, she got out of her cocoa-brown Buick Enclave. No, the idea of eating at the scene of a previous murder wasn’t particularly appetizing to her. But she wasn’t there to eat. She was there to visit the gift shop, and she never would have set foot in the place if it hadn’t been for Zoe. The teenager had begged her to pick up a specific T-shirt that she wanted to wear to the surprise party that Audrey was planning, to welcome J.D.’s sister, Julia, to Chattanooga. Tam and her mother, Geraldine, had thrown a surprise party for Tam’s father’s birthday at the Read House in downtown Chattanooga the year before, and it had been a great success. It would be the perfect place for Julia’s party, too.

Grabbing her Coach bag, she got out and hurried across the parking lot, avoiding the end of the porch where the poor girl’s body had been found. All the wooden rockers in that area had been removed, replaced by long benches under the windows. No one sat on them. She wondered if everybody else remembered that day as vividly as she did. Trying again to put it out of her mind, she pulled open the door to the gift shop.

The only good thing about that day, of course, was that she had also met J.D. Cass, right here in this parking lot. Not that she had liked him one little bit at the time. No, at first glance she had considered him a condescending creep. A man she had later learned was alienating his own darling daughter, Zoe. But then, as the case progressed and she’d spent more time with Zoe, and therefore with J.D., she had seen the true man. They’d been together for a year now, and she was ready to commit. She’d told him once that if he hadn’t proposed to her in six months, she would do the honors. So it was long overdue, and another happy reason to have a party.

Once inside the busy eatery, she was surprised to find JD’s colleague, Will Brannock, walking quickly toward the exit. She smiled and held out her hand. She liked Will a lot. He had been the TBI agent with J.D. the night they’d finally captured the Rocking Chair killer as he attempted to smother his last victim. Will seemed like a nice man, not that she knew all that much about him—except that, in J.D.’s words, he was one hell of a TBI agent.

“Hi, Will. It’s good to see you again.”

“Yes, it’s been awhile.” Will Brannock kept looking around at the other customers. Who was he looking for? “Are you meeting J.D. for lunch?” he asked her.

“No. He’s still waiting around at the trial.”

Will gave her one of his half smiles. He was a very handsome man, she decided, but she’d always thought so.

“I guess that tells me what kind of mood he’s in,” Will said.

“He’s no happy camper, that’s for sure.” It was Audrey’s turn to glance around. “Are you here alone?”

“Julia Cass had lunch with me, but she took off a few minutes ago.”

“Really? Well, that’s a coincidence, because I wanted to talk to you about her.”

“Me?”

Audrey grinned up at him. “So, what’s it like working with her? J.D.’s always bragging on her, telling me what a great detective she is.”

“He’s right. We probably ought to try to get her to defect over to the TBI.”

“She’s very pretty,” Audrey noted then, watching for his reaction. What a cute couple they would make, both so tall and good-looking.

“I haven’t noticed.”

Audrey laughed at his obvious lie. She knew enough about Will Brannock to know that he would have noticed something like that first thing. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

He looked uncomfortable with the subject, and she decided he had definitely noticed Julia’s beauty.

“What’s up about her, Audrey?”

“First, you have to swear yourself to secrecy. I don’t want her to find out about this.”

Will hesitated, frowning a little. “Okay, I guess.”

“I’m going to have a surprise party for her. You know, to welcome her to town. It was Zoe’s idea, and I’m inviting all our friends and colleagues. J.D. says she won’t have time to make new friends very fast because she has a tendency to obsess about her cases. Do you think that’s true?”

“Yeah, I’d say so. I can’t find fault with that, though. That’s what makes her so good.”

“True. J.D.’s the same way. I’d like to invite some of her friends, too, if she’s got any here in town. J.D. gave me a few names. Do you know if there’s anyone she might want to have there?”

“She’s staying at a friend’s house. Cathy Axelrod is her name. Her husband’s name is Lonnie. Charlie Sinclair down at the courthouse is an old friend of hers.”

“The bailiff? I know him. He’s so nice. But I didn’t know he was friends with Julia.”

“Don’t know of anyone else. She saw a guy today, here at the restaurant, a man named Maximilian Hazard, but I’m not sure she likes him much. J.D. probably knows more about her friends than I do. Julia and I haven’t known each other very long.”

“I’ve already asked him.” She hesitated, gazing up at him. He was even taller than J.D. “I have another favor to ask you, Will.”

“What’s that?”

“Would you mind picking up Julia and bringing her to the party? We’re having it downtown at the Read House. Just think up any excuse that makes sense. J.D. can probably help you out with that.”

“No problem.”

Somehow, however, Audrey sensed that he wasn’t thrilled with the idea. “Will, I’m getting a funny vibe here. What’s wrong? Don’t you want to bring her?”

Will shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I’m just not sure Julia Cass is the kind of woman who likes surprises. I could be wrong, but that’s the way I see it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just get that feeling. You might ought to ask J.D. if he thinks a surprise party’s a good idea.”

“I’ll do that. He didn’t say anything negative when I first brought it up.”

“Okay. Just let me know when, and I’ll think of a way to get Julia there.”

They chatted a few minutes, and then Audrey watched him walk swiftly away. It hadn’t occurred to her that Julia might not like such a surprise. She had better discuss it a bit further with J.D. and make sure it truly was a good idea. Turning, she headed inside the gift shop, hoping they still had the T-shirt that Zoe had described in such detail to her: black with lots of sparkly sequins in a red-and-silver fleur-de-lis design. Zoe was already like a daughter to her, and she hoped that relationship would become a reality, sooner rather than later. She smiled to herself. And it would, if she had anything to do with it.

Chapter 10

It was nearly nightfall on a hazy and hot late August evening, the heat finally beginning to let up over the city as the sun went down. Downtown Chattanooga was still fairly busy, people straggling out of office buildings, trying to get home in time to cook dinner, make that Little League game, or watch the Atlanta Braves play the St. Louis Cardinals.

City buses, cars, pickup trucks, and SUVs whizzed by in both directions along the street where the Tongue Slasher had parked his vehicle and waited patiently for his next victim to show up. He welcomed the falling darkness, but he seriously doubted if anyone would recognize him. The late-model white Ford Fusion he’d rented for the occasion was suitably nondescript. No one would be expecting him to be there, lying in wait, dressed impeccably in a brown UPS uniform and cap. A large UPS package sat on the passenger seat beside him.

Resting the back of his head against the seat, he tried to sit still, to relax completely and remain calm. It was hard to do, but it took that kind of focus to kill efficiently. He was so eager to do it again, finish off the despicable man that he’d chosen as number Two. How he hated this man, this foul-mouthed, ignorant, biased, filthy, rotten SOB. He clamped his teeth hard, felt his muscles tense up and grow rigid. He wanted so bad for this guy to die, wanted to make him suffer, make him beg, make him crawl. He was going to enjoy every minute of it, even more than he had enjoyed Lucien’s terror and choked-off screams.

He had picked his second victim because he had been the one who’d said the most salacious and vile things back then. Two had caused such pain and heartbreak, such utter despair. He was going to pay, pay dearly, and soon. It was strange, this hardness inside his heart. He had always considered himself a sane man, a rational man, a good man. Maybe he wasn’t so good. Maybe he never had been. If he were, he’d regret what he’d done, what he was going to do. But he didn’t regret anything. He looked forward to the next killing with a pleasure, a kind of sheer ecstasy, that he’d never before felt in his life.

Tired of waiting, bored, he took off his aviator sunglasses, folded them, and slid them into the case he’d attached to the visor. Turning his head, he gazed across the busy street. His next victim worked downtown in a prestigious and beautifully designed chrome and glass building, but even its luxury didn’t measure up to the apartment the bastard lived in. Yes, Two’s apartment building was pure luxury, all champagne and caviar and top-of-the-line everything. It must be nice to have the kind of money that would buy that kind of lifestyle. Only the highest paid, the most elite of Chattanooga’s wealthy could even dream of setting foot inside that spacious marble lobby. The tall doorman in his spotless black uniform and a cap that sported gold trim and a patent leather visor guarded the portal at all times. He made sure that no mere commoner dirtied the shiny, pristine floors of the rich and arrogant.

And yet, a demon lived in the penthouse in that high-end place with its spectacular view of the river and the Walnut Street pedestrian bridge. Yes, his next victim had a good life up there in the clouds, could afford anything he wanted, anything at all, and for what? For spewing nasty garbage over the airwaves about innocent people, every single day of the year. But it would all end soon. His victim had an old friend waiting to make things right. An old friend with a razor-sharp fillet knife.

It took twenty minutes before Two showed up at his workplace. The slasher watched him climb out of a long black stretch limousine, his door opened by his personal chauffeur. He swaggered over to the doorman’s post, ignoring the poor guy’s greeting as if the doorman were a filthy insect to squash beneath his heel. What a condescending jerk, a loudmouth, a liar, a manipulator, one who lived only to hurt and humiliate people who couldn’t fight back. But not tonight. Tonight he would finally encounter somebody who knew how to fight back. Tonight he would die a horrible death.

Closing his eyes, the Tongue Slasher again tried to relax, but his fingers were squeezing the steering wheel, harder and harder, until his knuckles turned white. His victim’s caustic, hateful language came back so clearly, echoing up from the deep, cold cellar of the past, each word like a stiletto jabbing into his heart. This man, this savage, was about to die. Lucien Lockhart had hidden his poisonous ways behind his black robe and ivory gavel and bought-off judgments, true. He’d had to die. But this man, this scum of the earth didn’t hide anything; he luxuriated, wallowed in his vileness. But he wouldn’t for much longer. His time on the Earth was almost done. It wouldn’t be long now. He started up the Fusion and pulled out onto the street. He took a deep breath, calming himself, and then flipped open his inexpensive, untraceable TracFone. He punched in a number and waited.

Shock jock Roc VanVeter was having a very good day. He was sitting in his plush studio, waiting for the current round of commercials to finish so he could continue taking calls. The ratings of his radio talk show had gone through the roof since Lucien Lockhart had breathed his last. The news media had finally gotten hold of all the nasty details, and all day long Roc had managed to get Lockhart’s enemies on the air, deriding the judge as a liar, a corrupt and vindictive animal, and worse. Much worse.

Of course, Roc knew that firsthand. He had often raked the judge over the coals for some of his rather, shall one say, questionable rulings. Yes, they had colluded illegally more than once, but this murder was fodder that would give Roc one good bump in salary in light of the recent through-the-roof ratings. He had been the one who had christened Lockhart’s killer, on air, coming up with the name Tongue Slasher after an anonymous caller had leaked the news about Lockhart’s severed tongue. Brilliant, sheer genius on his part, and the television and newspaper reporters had all picked it up and run with it. Sometimes his knack for creating chaos and notoriety surprised even him.

A satisfied grin curving his mouth, Roc waited for the green light to come on so he could connect with the next caller. The last woman had gotten so irate that she had lashed out at him with a string of profanities so vulgar that his producer had to shut her down. Roc could do that to people—enrage them, make them totally freak out and lose all control. He loved it, too. And that was exactly what his boss wanted him to do, and what his listeners wanted to hear. He always gave it to them. The nastier, the better—that was his personal motto. He had talent, all right; he could find the tiniest chinks in people’s emotional armor and exploit the hell out of them. Oh yes, that was a definite skill he possessed. On top of that, he truly enjoyed infuriating people.

Chuckling to himself, he saw the green light flash and punched the button. “Hello. You’re on the Roc VanVeter Show. How do you feel about Judge Lockhart? Do you think he deserved to have his tongue brutally slashed out of his mouth?”

A short silence ensued. He had shocked the caller to silence. Good. That’s what he was here for, what he lived for. He just wished he could see the look on the listeners’ smarmy faces when he did it.

“Hello, caller. You still there?”

“I’m here.” The voice was muffled; sounded like the caller had his hand over the receiver. Roc wasn’t sure at first if it was a man or a woman. Probably afraid their spouse would hear and get ticked off that they called into a show like his.

“Well, caller, tell my listeners: What’d you think of the judge’s murder?”

“I think a fraudulent tongue shall be cut out.”

Roc grinned. It was a guy, all right, and one Roc had a feeling he could make explode in a fit of crazy anger. “You’re saying the judge was fraudulent. Do you have any proof of that?”

“The fraudulent tongue shall be cut out.”

“Okay, okay, we got it. You think the judge deserved it. What? He mess with your wife or daughter? Or both at once?”

Roc waited, thinking the guy had hung up upon the mention of his female family members. The low voice spoke again. “He deserved what he got. As you will deserve what you get.”

“Uh-oh, now that sounds suspiciously like a threat. You threatening me, sir?”

“The fraudulent tongue shall be cut out.”

“Well, thanks for your call. Afraid we don’t have time to go on, if all you’re going to do is say the same thing over and over.”

Roc flipped the switch and went on to the next caller. Some people were just so damn lame. Thank God, most of his callers had been out boozing and had a few too many drinks in them—that always loosened up inhibitions. He had to keep this Lockhart frenzy going. Maybe he should make up something to get the audience angry and vindictive. Maybe one of them would do something outrageous and cause headlines. That’s what Roc needed. Maybe he could play up that veiled threat he just got. Yeah, maybe if he was a target, he could get even more mileage out of it. Bump up his ratings even higher. That’s what he’d do. He laughed out loud. This murder couldn’t have happened at a better time. He was going to have a heyday with this one.

As soon as the show ended, Roc wrapped up his instructions to his production assistant, summoned his limo, and headed home. There was a private party over at Studio Zero, and he intended to hook up for the night with an exotic dancer there, a woman with long, silky legs and big boobs and no morals—none whatsoever. His favorite type gal. As he arrived at his apartment building, he noted again that his doorman was a moron who grinned constantly and looked a lot like a grown-up Opie from that old Andy Griffith TV show. The man even had freckles. He rode the elevator all the way to the top, strode quickly down the hallway, and let himself into his apartment. He was in a big rush, for obvious reasons. He was horny as hell. And the naughty Aurora Bright was waiting for him with her whips and chains and full, ripe mouth.

Flipping on the recessed lights along the hallway, he entered his bedroom, jerking his blue T-shirt off over his head. He would dress up a little, take Aurora out for drinks and dinner. God, he was so ready for her, and she was always just waiting to jump on him and wrap her legs around his waist. She was a slut, true, but she turned him on like no other woman he’d ever met.

In the other room, the doorbell rang. Roc cursed under his breath and walked back through the foyer. He raised the shield on the peephole and saw a man wearing a UPS uniform.

“Yeah, what d’you want?”

“I’ve got a package to deliver to Mr. Roc VanVeter.”

“Okay, wait just a minute.”

Accustomed to receiving FedEx and UPS packages from fans and sponsors, Roc turned the dead bolt and pulled the door open. He barely saw the stun gun before the deliveryman jabbed it against his chest. He went into spasms, the pain excruciating, almost more than he could bear. He fell backward and hit the floor, his arms and legs jerking spasmodically. His assailant came quickly inside, shutting and bolting the door. He had some kind of club in his hand and a big pair of pliers. Roc saw them coming down hard. The blow hit the top of his head, and everything went dark.

Later, when Roc began to regain consciousness, he was so groggy that he couldn’t think, his head thudding like crazy. For a moment, he couldn’t remember what had happened. Something terrible, he knew that much, but what was it? He forced his eyes open and blearily made out the furniture in his bedroom. It was shadowy; only one light was on, a track light on the ceiling that was focused on him. His bedside table was pulled up beside him. Several objects had been placed on the table. What were they?

Blinking his eyes, he tried to move and realized he was tied to a dining room chair. Panicking, he fought to focus his vision and saw that one of the objects was a small set of scales, a set of scales with intricate crossed swords on top. Beside the scales was a length of neatly coiled yellow ski rope, a large fillet knife, and a bloodstained pair of pliers. Oh God, oh God, were those the things the Tongue Slasher used on Lucien Lockhart? He began to struggle desperately against the bindings, but he was tied much too tightly, his neck to the back of the chair, his wrists to the arms, and his ankles to the chair legs. He could barely move. He froze when a low and muffled voice came out of the shadows. The voice from the threatening caller. The words were low and calm and deliberate.

“Don’t say a word . . . don’t tell more lies . . . for the fraudulent tongue shall be cut out.”

When the killer moved into view and picked up the knife and the pliers, Roc began to scream . . .