For Her Eyes Only (25 page)

Jade had taken the ice and starch out of the woman, had drained her of her strength. Conversely, Jade felt...unmoved by the woman’s apology. She felt stronger than ever, alive. Euphoric. She was no longer a victim.

She was taking control.
Damn
,
it felt good
.

She smashed Margie’s head against the floor. Again. And again. Margie had long stopped struggling, her pupils fixed and dilated, her muscles lax, by the time Jade stopped.

She sat back, her arms trembling. Her shoulders were sore.
Huh
. She stared down at the mangled mess that had once been Margie and waited. Waited for the triumph, the sense of victory.

It rolled over her like a tsunami, sweeping her along on a tide of joy and elation. God, it felt good. But she could feel more, feel even better.

Maybe she had to get all of them.

Yes, that was probably it. She had to get all of them. She rose, looking down at the tableau she’d created. She needed to do something, though, to lure them in. She eyed the other fallen woman and shrugged. It had worked for her.

She positioned herself in front of the sink, and took a deep breath. It was going to hurt. She closed her eyes and bent over quickly, hitting her head against the rim of the sink.

“Oh, God,” she gasped, blinking at the starburst of pain that exploded at the front of her head. It hurt, damn it hurt. Hopefully it left a mark.

Dazed, she staggered against the wall, trying to cling to the surface in order to stay upright.

Yes
,
that would do
.

She collapsed on the floor and closed her eyes against the pain. Now, she just had to wait.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Ryan stood over Kurt, who sat, quiet and subdued, in one of the armchairs in the lounge. “Now, tell us everything.”

Kurt glanced up at Ryan, then at the others gathered around him. Jeffrey and Elliot sat in one of the lounges, Paula in another, sitting next to a nervous Deborah. Neil leaned against the wall near the door. Hank and Vicky stood close, but off to the side. For once, Kurt didn’t look movie star gorgeous. He was pale, sweating, and looking sick. “It was back when I was in college.”

Ryan nodded, waiting. Hank shifted on his feet, his expression fierce, looking every part of a former deputy sheriff.

Kurt swallowed. “I, uh, there was this party. I was already getting teased about not having a girlfriend. The guys on the team were beginning to get nervous around me, and it doesn’t take long to go from nervous to mean.”

Ryan cocked an eyebrow. Was he trying to justify the act?

“I, uh, I met this girl. Cute. Quiet. She was really, really drunk. One of the guys on the team dared me to get into her pants.” Kurt blinked, and looked like he was going to cry. “I convinced her to come upstairs with me. She was so drunk. I could tell she wasn’t really into it, but I kept thinking about my friends outside the door, and what I would cop from them if I didn’t. So I did.”

“Did what?” Vicky asked, her voice quiet. Ryan turned to glance at her. She’d come up right behind him, so quiet, but one look at her face told him how upset she was at hearing this.

“We had sex.” Kurt wouldn’t raise his eyes to look at any of them.

“You had sex, or you raped her?” Vicky said, her voice cold. “There is a difference.”

“I raped her.” Kurt whispered. “At first, I thought she was just going to let me do it, but then she started to try and push me off. I couldn’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t,” Neil inserted from his position at the door. “Not couldn’t. Wouldn’t.”

“So how the hell do I fit into this sad pile of crap?” Hank asked, his tone rough, as though he was offended by the association.

“She went and reported it later. You were the deputy on duty.”

Hank frowned, trying to remember. He finally shook his head. “I saw a lot of stupid things in that job. There were so many cases...”

“My name back then was Mike. Mike Parker. I changed it because my folks didn’t want me to wrestle. They wanted me to go into business, and insisted I use a stage name.”

Hank’s eyebrows rose as recognition crossed his features. “Parker, yeah, I remember now. Your folks have some sort of blue-chip company. I remember your father, coming down to the station.”

Ryan frowned. “So what happened?”

Hank put his hands on his hips, frustration in the movement. “Well, he told us a completely different story back then. Unfortunately, the whole football team, as well as some of the other partygoers, backed up his cockamamie bull of her pursuing him. We had so many witness statements to the effect that it was a consensual act, there was no way we could draw up any charges that would stick.” Hank nodded at Kurt. “Your father got some sort of hotshot lawyer, and we couldn’t even detain you.”

The story triggered a memory in Ryan’s mind, and he twisted to face Hank. “Was there a boyfriend?”

Hank frowned. “What?”

“The victim. Did she have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, my God,” Vicky gasped behind him and he turned to see realization dawn in her eyes.

“Yeah, actually, she did. I had to arrest the guy. He attacked our perpetrator here.” Hank sighed. “That was sad, the way that panned out, especially after hearing this today.”

“How so?” Ryan asked, although he thought he already knew the story.

“Well, his lawyer,” Hank said, indicating Kurt, “pressed charges. Unfortunately, as there were witnesses, we had to charge the guy. He ended up going to prison.”

Paula gasped, her hand rising to cover her mouth as she stared at her husband. “Is this true, Kurt?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Kurt nodded, a tear rolling his down his cheek. “Yeah,” he rasped. He brushed the tear away with a rough hand. “I’m not proud of myself. There is not one day that goes by when I don’t think of that guy.”

“Why didn’t you do something? Say something?” Paula wailed.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “You know my father, Paula, and you have to ask me that? No son of his will ever go to jail. No son of his will ever be gay, and no son of his allows anyone to hit him and get away with it. That would be weak.”

“Oh, my God.” Jeffrey said, stunned, as he stared at Kurt and Hank. “Was this at Berkeley?”

Hank nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“I think Margie told me about this, ages ago. She was visiting a cousin at the college, and went to a frat party. She told me she ended up having to give a witness statement to the police about some girl, and how there had been a fight.”

“She was one of the witnesses?” Ryan asked.

Jeffrey shrugged. “I think so.”

“What is your surname?” Hank asked.

Jeffrey shook his head. “This was before we met. She would have used her maiden name, Madeiros.”

Hank winced. “Margie Madeiros, huh? Rings a bell. I’m surprised I didn’t put it together—but she looks different now, right?”

Jeffrey nodded. “Yeah. She’s had a little cosmetic surgery done.”

Hank jerked his chin at Kurt. “What about you? I didn’t recognize you. Sure, you were just a college kid back then, but normal people don’t change that much.”

Kurt nodded. “I had some work done, mainly just my nose.”

“So many people having a nip and tuck,” Vicky muttered in a voice only Ryan could hear.

Ryan drifted away for a moment, and Vicky followed him. “This isn’t a poaching or recovery holiday for the Maxwells,” he told her quietly.

She shook her head. “No. It’s a vendetta.”

“They must have planned this for some time,” he said. “The surgery, coordinating these guys to be here at the same time,” he shook his head. “That’s a whole new level of twisted.” The machinations, the patience this couple would have employed to get everyone in the one spot at the one time...it was disturbing.

“The question is, where are the Maxwells now?”

He shrugged. He eyed Elliot. Jeffery was with Margie, a witness to the attack. Kurt was the rapist, and Hank, the arresting officer. How did Elliot fit into this? And his wife, Jennifer? As Simon and Jade Maxwell?

A faint cry for help echoed into the room. He frowned, trying to figure out the source. He started to walk toward the door.

“Help!”

This time it was louder, more panicked.

* * *

Ryan bolted out of the room, down the hall and across to the ladies’ restroom. He could hear others behind him, but didn’t bother to turn and look. He slammed through one swinging door, then another, and halted at the sight that met his eyes.

Meagan sat on the floor, holding a shaking hand to her forehead, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared at the scene with horrified, stunned eyes. “Help!”

Jennifer lay unconscious on the floor, a visible lump on her forehead, and Margie—Ryan’s shoulders sagged. Her eyes stared fixedly at the ceiling, a dark crimson puddle slowly pooling around her head. She was beyond help.

He turned, barring access to the door as Jeffrey ran up behind him. “No, you shouldn’t,” he told the man quietly.

Jeffrey looked at him, confused, and then dread filled his expression. “What’s happened?” he asked hoarsely. “Please, let me in.”

“No—” Ryan said as Jeffrey tried to push past him. He held him back. He felt the tension drain from the man, the muscles relax as he caught sight of his dead wife.

“Oh, Margie,” Jeffrey wailed, sagging against Ryan. “Margie, please, no.”

Ryan met Hank’s eyes over Jeffrey’s shoulders. Hank wore a curious look on his face. Ryan shook his head. Just once. Hank’s shoulders sagged, and he covered his mouth with his hand. Paula gasped, trying to crane her neck to see past him, stunned, wary, and just a little fascinated. Deborah just turned away, her shoulders shaking.

“Please,” Meagan said from the floor, weakly. She looked up at them, her gaze shocked as she pulled her hand away from her head. Ryan saw the blood on her hand at the same time she did, and thrust Jeffrey toward Hank. Paula put her hand on his shoulder, half in support, half in restraint.

Ryan quickly crossed to the dazed woman and lightly grasped her chin. Her complexion was pale, her eyes drawn. He turned her head gently, inspecting the wound. Her head had split open near the hairline. “What happened?” he asked her quietly as he turned to Jennifer.

“I don’t know,” Meagan whispered, her breath hitching.

“No, Jeff,” Hank called, and Ryan looked up in time to see Jeffrey break free of Hank’s hold and stumble inside the bathroom, sinking to his knees and sobbing at his dead wife’s side. His hand trembled as he smoothed back a hank of hair off Margie’s face. He got out a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and proceeded to wipe the spittle and refuse off Margie’s face, crying uncontrollably as he did so.

Ryan felt for Jennifer’s pulse, and he dipped his head with relief. Her pulse was slow but regular, and her eyelids fluttered at his touch. She was alive.

“Sure you do, Meagan,” he said, watching Jennifer slowly regain consciousness. She had sustained head injuries in the attack as well. She shook her head, scrunching her pale face up in pain, and he made a soothing sound as he brushed a curl from the woman’s head.

They’d underestimated the Maxwells. The couple weren’t here as guests. All of the others were accounted for, having been in the guest lounge while he questioned Kurt. So whoever had attacked these women wasn’t on the guest list.

They had to be hiding as staff. But all the staff had been evacuated. He surveyed the bloodied bathroom. Apparently not all of the staff, from the looks of things. Somewhere the Maxwells were hiding, and one by one, they were killing the guests.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” He asked Meagan, turning to her briefly.

She was trembling. Shock was setting in. “I don’t know,” she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “One minute we were looking after Margie, and then the next thing I know, BAM! It went black.”

Jennifer’s hand rose to her forehead, covering her eyes, and she tried to lift herself up. Ryan quickly braced his arm around the back of her shoulders and helped her.

“Oh, God, what happened?” Jennifer said as she held her head as though trying to stop it from splitting open. It took her a moment to notice Margie lying on the floor before her.

“Oh, no! Oh, heavens, what happened?” She rocked forward a little, covering her face as she started to cry.

Ryan shook his head. These women had been put through hell. He glanced briefly at Margie. She’d died from having her head bashed in. The other two had both been knocked unconscious. That was cold. Cold, violent and just plain mean.

He pulled a square of linen from his breast pocket and held it to Meagan’s forehead, applying pressure to the wound. “Did you see anyone?” He asked her.

Jennifer tried to shake her head, and cried out at the movement. “No,” she sobbed. Her eyes, dark with pain, met his. “Where’s Elliot? I want Elliot.”

Ryan looked to the door, only Elliot wasn’t there. He frowned.
Where is he?
And where is Vicky?

* * *

Vicky watched as Ryan, Jeffrey, Hank, Paula and Deborah raced out of the room. She hung back. Someone had to keep an eye on Kurt. Neil had stayed, Elliot, too, and she wondered briefly why he hadn’t moved to follow. His wife was out there.

Not an action kind of guy, maybe. Not like Ryan.

She walked over to the window, and stared into a whiteout. Snowflakes and ice whipped against the double-paned glass. She tapped the cold panel lightly.

She could barely believe it. Kurt—or Mike, or whatever his name was——had assaulted Jade all those years ago, and his actions had started a series of events that were panning out with fatal consequences, several years later.

The Maxwells must have worked several cons, more than was first suspected, in order for them to afford the operation that had changed their appearance. That took a whole lot of shored-up hate to fuel such a sustained plot for revenge. The operation, coordinating all of their victims into the one spot at the one time...

She peered outside, angling her head one way, then another. She couldn’t even see where the horizon met the sky. No trees were visible, either—had the Maxwells factored the weather in also?

No. That would mean that they’d thought of everything. She frowned. Except for her and Ryan. Luke had coordinated their attendance at the last minute. She and Ryan would have been a surprise, something they hadn’t planned for. No wonder the Maxwells had tried to run them off the road. A nice accident to get rid of the complications.

She frowned. But what about Gavin? How did he play into this? She thought of his recordings.
Ugh
. The guy really was a sleazebag. He’d slept with married clients and eavesdropped on conversations, trolling relationships for weak spots to exploit and blackmail. She shook her head. That type of guy would have a lot of people wanting him dead. But why would the Maxwells kill him? Had he overheard something he shouldn’t have? Something that had ended up killing him?

“All those years, Mike. Did you ever wonder about the guy you sent to prison?” Neil asked conversationally as he wondered around the lounge. He stopped at one of the brass-based leadlight lamps on the end table near the sofa Kurt sat on. Vicky turned from the window as she watched the counselor finger the edge of the lamp. For once, his friendly demeanor was replaced with a coolness that struck her as being out of character. But then, they’d all heard information that was hardly heartwarming.

Kurt looked down at his shoes. “Every day, Neil.”

Neil nodded. “I see. Yet you never did anything to address it...”

Elliot slumped into the lounge opposite, ignoring the conversation. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Vicky noticed the faint tremor in the man’s fingers.

“Are you okay, Elliot?” she asked from her position at the window.

“Yeah, fine.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, effectively shutting everyone out.