Forbidden Fruit (28 page)

Jackson nodded and dug into his salad. “I remember.”

Santos took a halfhearted bite of his vegetarian burger, found that it wasn't bad, then returned to the discussion at hand. “I don't know, it's like…I feel the same way, man. And the feeling is strong.”

“Wishful thinking, buddy.”

“Maybe. You're proba—” He wiped his mouth with his napkin, then tossed it down, frustrated. “No, not maybe,” he said. “No, not wishful thinking.”

“Santos—”

“Just hear me out. We both know a serial killer's ritual rarely springs forth full-blown. It develops over time, as he learns what most satisfies him. We also know that serial killers sometimes move around the country, killing, then moving on, sometimes operating for years that way.”

“Sixteen years?”

“Henry Lee Lucas operated for thirteen years. John Wayne Gacy for over ten. The casebooks are full of them.”

“Man, you are dangerously close to losing your objectivity on this one.”

Santos narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well, fuck you.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you, too.”

They looked each other in the eye, then they both laughed.

During the rest of their meal, they talked about their cases, Jackson's family and Lily's health. Santos didn't bring up the Snow White Killer again or the possibility that he might be the same man who had killed his mother, though it stayed on his mind.

When they'd finished their lunches and paid the bill, they stood and started out of the restaurant. Jackson motioned toward the rest room. “I'm going to hit the john.”

“I'll meet you out front.” He started for the door, stopping when he heard his name.

He turned. The woman who had come up behind him was attractive in a quiet, wholesome kind of way. She had light brown hair and a slim, willowy build. She worked at the restaurant; he remembered glancing at her when he walked in. But he didn't recognize her.

She smiled. “Santos? Is that you?”

“It is.” He returned her smile. “But you have me at a disadvantage here. I'm sorry, do I know you?”

“It's Liz. Liz Sweeney.”

It took another moment for realization to dawn. When it did, he shook his head, not quite believing his eyes. “Liz Sweeney?” He laughed. “But you're all grown-up.”

“So are you.” She echoed his laugh and held out her hand. “It's good to see you again.”

He took her hand and smiled, immediately liking the woman she had become. “How are you?”

“Great.” She motioned with her free hand. “This is my place.”

“Really.” Santos whistled softly. “I'm impressed. Good for you.”

He realized that he was still holding her hand, and let it go, though regretfully. He had liked holding it. It had felt…nice.

Liz cleared her throat. “I was glad to see some men in here. I'm afraid that so far, my clientele has been a bit skewed to the fairer sex.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I hope you enjoyed your lunch.”

“It was terrific. You—”

“Actually,” Jackson said, coming up to stand beside them, “you need to add a little dead cow to the menu for this guy.” He held out his hand, and Liz took it. “Andrew Jackson. Victor's only friend.”

“Don't mind him,” Santos said, rolling his eyes at Liz. “He likes to say that. It makes him feel important. My partner, Detective Andrew Jackson. Jackson, this is Liz Sweeney. An old friend of mine.”

“Really? An old friend?” Jackson moved his gaze speculatively between them. “Nice to meet you, Liz.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“So, how did you two know each other?”

Santos looked at Liz, then away. “I dated a friend of hers.” He met her gaze again. “How is Glory?” Even as he asked the question, he cursed himself for it, cursed himself for his weakness.

Her expression cooled. “I don't know. I haven't spoken to her in years.”

Ten, he would bet.

Santos gazed at her a moment, seeing the open animosity in her face. An animosity for Glory that mirrored his own. It made him feel strange, it made him remember more than he cared to.

She shifted, as if suddenly at a loss for words. As if she, too, suddenly felt swamped by the past. She cleared her throat. “So, you're partners. That must mean you did it, Santos. You're a cop, just like you always wanted to be. Your dream came true.”

Beside him Jackson snorted. “Some dream, buddy. Long hours, low pay, no respect. Get a life.”

Santos ignored him. “Yeah, that's me, Detective Santos, supercop, homicide division. At your service.”

They talked a moment more, then Jackson interrupted them. “Look, man, we'd better get back.” He smiled at Liz. “Nice meeting you, Liz Sweeney. I hope I see you again sometime.”

Her gaze slid to Santos, then away. “Same here, Detective.”

Santos coughed. “I guess I'd better…It was great seeing you, Liz. I'm glad you're doing so well.”

She took a step back. “Great seeing you.”

She said another goodbye, then turned and started for the kitchen. He joined Jackson at the door, then stopped and glanced back. At the same moment, she looked back at him.

Their gazes met; he caught his breath.

“Hold on, Jackson,” Santos murmured. “I'll be right back.”

Santos strode across to where she stood, never taking his gaze from hers. He stopped before her. “Would you like to go to dinner sometime?”

She searched his gaze. “With you?”

“Yeah, with me.” He grinned. “Sorry, but Jackson's already taken.”

She laughed. “With you, I'd like to go to dinner. Anytime.”

He grinned, pleased with her answer, her candor and obvious self-assurance. “How about tonight?”

“Tonight's perfect. It has to be late, though. I don't close the kitchen until nine.”

“Great. It's a date, then.” His lips lifted. “I'll see you at nine, Liz.”

L
ater that night, Santos let himself into his and Lily's apartment. He smiled to himself, thinking about Liz, their date, about their good-night kiss. His smile widened as he remembered the way she had melted against him, the way she had whispered for more. They could have become lovers tonight; if he had made the first move, she would have made the second.

Santos locked the door behind him, and moved through the apartment, turning off lights as he went. He liked Liz. He felt comfortable with her; he had enjoyed their conversation—there had been none of those awkward, first-date silences. And kissing her had been better than nice, it had been new and exciting. He had wanted more, had wanted to make love.

He had decided to wait, anyway.

Because of the past; because of Glory. She had been on his mind too much tonight.

Santos scowled, not liking the truth of that, frustrated by it. Glory had been between him and Liz, a ghost from their shared past, a bad memory. If they had gone to bed together, with her between them, it wouldn't have worked. And he didn't want to screw up with Liz, not so soon, anyway.

They had time. They would become lovers, he was certain of that. But not until the timing was right, not until he had completely expunged Glory from his relationship with Liz.

Lily's bedroom light was on, though Santos doubted he would find her awake at this hour. He moved down the hall, stopping at her door. He peeked in. She had fallen asleep while reading. Santos wasn't surprised; he often found her this way—asleep wherever she was sitting. On occasion, she even nodded off during mass or the afternoon or evening meal.

He gazed at her, a lump forming in his throat, sadness moving over him. The last few years had taken their toll on Lily. Her health had begun to fail, she had little energy, little zest for life.

Her regrets and her shame were eating her alive, he knew. As were her longings. She longed for her daughter, her granddaughter. She scanned the society sections of newspapers until he wanted to shake her. Whenever she found a reference to either of them, she clipped it and put it in a scrapbook. Some days, she would do nothing except go through the scrapbooks, wishing for what she didn't have, hating herself for the loss. He could hardly bear to take her places, because she would gaze at other families with so much longing it made him ache.

Sudden, biting anger swelled inside him. And hatred. He hated Hope for what she had done to Lily. He hated her for her cruelty, her holier-than-thou judgment of others, for her prejudices.

And he hated Glory for what she had done to him. She and her mother weren't fit to lick Lily's shoes; they weren't fit to lick his.

Santos crossed to the bed. He carefully extracted the novel from beneath the old woman's hands, then started to ease the pillow from behind her head. Her eyes snapped open, though he saw that they were fogged with sleep.

“Santos?”

“Yes, Lily. It's me.”

She blinked, coming fully awake. “I did it again, didn't I?”

His lips lifted. “At this rate, you'll never finish this book.”

“A damnable thing, getting old.” She squinted at the clock. “What time is it?”

“After one.”

“How was your date?”

“It was good,” he said after a moment, softly. “Very good.”

She inched toward the center of the bed, then patted the edge. “Tell me about her.”

He smiled and sat down, readying himself for the third degree. They had been through this many times before. “She's very nice. Very smart. She owns a little restaurant and bar in the Quarter.”

“She's attractive?”

“Very.” He rubbed his index finger along the side of his nose, amused. “Actually, she's someone I know from a long time ago.”

Lily thought for a moment about that, then nodded, though she didn't ask where he knew Liz from. He was grateful for that.

“That can be a good thing,” Lily murmured. “Do you plan to see her again?”

“I think so. Yes, definitely.”

“Good.” She folded her hands in front of her. “You work too much. You need someone.”

“I have you.”

“I'm old and sick.” She shook her head. “You need a partner.”

He grinned. “I have Jackson.”

“A life partner. A mate.” She bristled at his obvious amusement. “I want you to be happy. I don't want you to be alone.” Her eyes flooded with tears, and she looked quickly away. “Being alone isn't the way the Lord intended us to be. That's why He made Eve for Adam.”

Santos leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Don't you worry about me, Lily. I'm doing good. I'm happy.”

When he drew away, she searched his gaze. “Are you, Santos? Are you happy?”

He understood her question. She hadn't forgotten, any more than he had, that once upon a time he had thought he'd found that partner, that love. And, he knew, she blamed herself for his heartache after.

“Yes. I'm very happy.” He tucked the blanket more securely around her, then reached across her to snap off her bedside light. “Now get some sleep,” he whispered. “Or you won't make it through mass tomorrow.”

He crossed to the door, stopping when he reached it. “I'll be here if you need me.”

“Santos?”

“Hmm?”

“I heard that man killed another girl. I'm sorry.”

“Me, too, Lily. We're going to get him, though. It's just a matter of time.”

“I know you will,” she murmured, her eyelids drooping. “I have complete confidence…in…you.”

She closed her eyes, asleep already. Santos stood at the door, gazing at her, his heart swelling with affection. He had continued living with Lily because she needed him. And because seeing her up and moving around every morning and sleeping peacefully every night reassured him.

But he would lose her anyway, he knew. No matter how often he checked on her, even if he hovered protectively over her around the clock.

One day in the not so distant future, she would be gone.

He sucked in a sharp, painful breath. He had to prepare himself for it, but he didn't know how. How could he prepare himself for something he couldn't even imagine? Life without Lily? His devastation would know no bounds.

He would be alone. Again.

He gazed at her a moment more, a knot of emotion choking him, then dragged his gaze away. He couldn't sleep, he knew. Not now. It would be ridiculous to try. He would make a quick trip to headquarters and see if anything new had come in on the last victim. He had to be missing something. He had to be.