In Her Sights (23 page)

Jazz gasped, her insides clenching at the thought of Luke being killed, of Joy without her father. “Anyone ever tell you that you fight dirty, Montgomery?”

“Only when I need to. So are you in?”

She stared at him, but fear took root. Could she really protect Luke and his family from a killer with no conscience? Or would everyone she loved be taken from her…again? “You die on me, Luke, and I’m going to be extremely irritated.”

“Back at ya, babe.” He started the SUV then shifted into gear. “We’d better not go to my house. Nick suspected someone was watching it earlier. We’ll get a room and hook up my computer. I’ve got some serious hacking to do.”

Jazz barely held herself together for the remainder of the ride to a Victorian bed and breakfast Luke knew. They didn’t speak; he didn’t turn on the radio. Odd how she could be so comfortable in silence. Either Luke understood she needed the quiet or he was doing the same thing she was. Trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

She’d gone over and over the details with one inescapable conclusion. The person who’d called Luke and written on the ball in the park had called her Jane. Not Jazz. Jane. Tower knew her first as Jazz. She didn’t believe he’d made that call. She could only deduce he’d hooked up with someone from her past who hated her enough to involve a three-year-old girl. She didn’t know who, but she could think of only one reason why.

When they reached the bed and breakfast, she burned with humiliation as the proprietor checked them in, frowning at their filthy clothes and more so when they told her they had no bags. She remembered too well those disgusted, judgmental looks from her childhood.

God, she couldn’t break the sensation that she was hurtling back into that oppressive place again. Every option closing off—one by one—until she was reduced to the streets. Starving. Desperate. Relying on primal instincts, like an animal, to survive.

Heartsick, she followed Luke and surveyed the pristine bedroom. The white comforter gleamed bright on a four-poster cherry bed. A small sitting area with large, overstuffed chairs invited a body to sink into oblivion. She didn’t belong here. She was unclean, unworthy, inside and out. She glanced at Luke, saw his closed-off expression. He’d recognized the truth too. That she didn’t belong here or with him.

“I need a shower,” she choked.

The look in his eyes held too much sympathy as he nodded. “Take as long as you want. I’ll set up the computer and see what I can find.”

He’d backed off from challenging her. He was walking on eggshells, and she didn’t blame him. She was so ready to crack. She staggered to the bathroom and closed the door. The antique lock didn’t work. Great.

She stripped off the smoky, filthy clothes and dropped them on the white tile floor. The whole place was white, making her feel even dirtier. She turned the water on in the tiny shower enclosure and shuddered at the thought of going in there and closing the curtain, blocking off most of the light. It was barely the size of a closet, and she was struggling enough to fight off nightmares of the past.

Bracing herself, she stepped inside. Water beat down on her in the tiny space, and she fought to contain a growing panic. She grabbed the soap, desperate to finish and get out, only to drop the bar. Crouching down, she watched the dirty water swirl around the floor drain and suddenly the tears and horrible memories started to flow.

The years disappeared. She huddled in the dark. Locked in a closet. Waiting for the bad man to come. That last time, he didn’t come for her mother.

He came for her.

Luke’s laptop lay open on the rolltop desk, the screen black. The quiet room should’ve been the perfect place to concentrate on the investigation, but he’d gotten nowhere. He kept glancing at the closed mahogany door. Jazz had disappeared behind it too long ago. She’d held it together, barely, but he’d recognized the symptoms of someone on the edge.

Only putting the pieces together—and quickly—would save her. But the puzzle didn’t fit. He needed more information. His investigator hadn’t had any luck at the
Sentinel’s
archives. Jane was a ghost, but obviously not to everyone. There had to be something more. Something Jazz hadn’t told him. An expunged arrest record didn’t engender this kind of stalking. And how was Tower connected?

Desperate for a break in the case, Luke snagged his cell and placed a restricted call to Grace.

“You’ve reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service—” He slammed the phone next to his computer. He just prayed it was Grace who’d cut the phone off and not her husband.

Which meant he’d have to push Jazz. He needed to know everything, and they had no more time. His nerves raw, he paced the floor and finally paused near the bathroom door again. An unfamiliar sound mixed with the drum of the pounding spray.

Crying?

Every instinct screamed at him to break down the door. He laid his hand flat against the dark wood, as if he could touch her through the barrier, and closed his eyes. Should he pretend he didn’t hear, back away and give her space?

Another muffled sob decided him. He rapped once before turning the knob. He eased open the door and his heart twisted in agony. Through a break between the curtains, he saw her crouched in the corner of the shower, huddled against the white tile, her head buried in her arms. Her body shuddered as she gulped in air.

He didn’t hesitate or take time to strip. She needed him. He wrenched open the curtain and stepped under the streaming water into the cramped space. His clothes soaking, he hunkered down beside her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Jasmine.”

Her body jerked away from him. “Don’t hurt me! Don’t—” Her eyes flew open, her expression wild. Then, to his relief, the panic cleared, and she recognized him. “Oh, God. I thought you were…”

Nausea burned the back of his throat. He’d seen that look before. In Afghanistan. On women and children who’d been assaulted and raped by the insurgents ravaging their towns. He’d never thought to see it on the face of someone he cared about.

He reached out to her, but then clenched his fist and dropped his hand. “Who did this to you?”

She shook her head and turned away from him, curling into a tight ball of misery, hiding as much of her body as she could from him.

Luke shut off the shower and slowly, calmly, backed away from her, giving her some room. He could hardly bear to watch her sink into herself, and he didn’t know how to comfort her. This wasn’t a skinned knee. This was a deep secret that had devastated her soul and that she’d kept hidden for a lifetime. Blindly he reached for a towel then gently covered her.

“Please go,” she whispered, letting her hair fall across her face, shielding her expression from him. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He dropped his hands, knowing he couldn’t alleviate this kind of pain. “I…I’ll wait for you outside,” he said and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

She couldn’t face him.

Jazz’s hands trembled as she dried her body. Her entire soul was brittle, shaken. Empty.

She dropped her dirty clothes into the sink and filled it with soapy water. She couldn’t put them back on until they were clean. Terrycloth hospitality robes hung on the back of the door, and she pulled one on, grateful for the warmth and the fact that it covered her nearly head to toe.

Emotion welled again and she fought back tears. She had to stop this. She owed Luke an explanation, but she dreaded it. She’d never meant for him to know everything. Never wanted anyone to know.

She stared at the closed door, wishing she could scrub away the past and never face the world. But even in this room, there were too many memories. With a resigned sigh, she grabbed the brass handle.

Wearing an identical robe, his hair still wet from his unplanned shower, Luke sat in one of the overstuffed chairs across the room. Waiting. He said nothing, just stared with tormented eyes.

She took the chair facing him, arranging the terrycloth precisely so no bare skin showed. “I haven’t had a flashback in years.”

“Jasmine, I’m sorry.”

She raised a hand to stop him, to ward off the crushing panic that threatened to steal her breath again. “It wasn’t your fault. Too many things have happened. And I haven’t slept.”

Shame burned hot within her and she looked away. “I never wanted you to know.”

“Did you believe I’d think less of you? Blame you for something that wasn’t your fault?”

“I’m not…I pretended I wasn’t that person anymore. That…victim. That helpless creature that others could control.”

“And you’re not.”

“But I feel like her again, and I hate it.” She heard her voice helplessly crack. “I hate being out of control.”

He started to get up.

“Don’t.” If he touched her, she’d break. “I…can’t do this if you’re close to me.”

He stopped, eyeing her warily, then settled down. “What can’t you do?”

“Tell you the rest of the truth,” she whispered. “About the man I killed.”

Luke sank deeper into his chair. “Talk to me.”

Jazz’s nails bit into her palms. She had to get through this, but she wanted to stop. To hide from the way he would look at her soon. Like she was white trash. No, far worse than that. “Growing up, we never stayed in one place long. Usually we were run out of town or escaped in the night because we couldn’t make the rent.” Struggling against the flashback, Jazz forced herself to continue. “When I was ten, my mother and I lived in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, on the wrong side of the tracks. Literally. Men who came to our house wanted to get laid or have a punching bag who wouldn’t report them to the police if they got a little rough. Mama always promised that someday we’d make it big. We’d leave town, change our names, and start over. I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe every word.”

“Jasmine…”

Jazz tried to keep the tears from falling, but they simply flowed. She could do nothing. If she released her hold on her robe to wipe them away, she’d shatter into a thousand pieces. “One night, a man named Gary Matthews showed up. Drunk, horny. Itching for some action.”

In her mind the bed and breakfast morphed into the grimy shack she and her mother lived in, the moldy scraps in the refrigerator, the mixture of fear and anticipation when a client would visit them. Would they bring food? Or maybe a treat to keep her quiet? Would they come after her when Mama was too drunk to notice? Or care.

“Mama locked me in the closet, like she usually did when her men came over. This time, she hadn’t been drinking, but Matthews had. This time, he wanted me. She said, ‘No.’”

Luke’s face went white, and the muscle in his jaw throbbed, but he said nothing. Thank God.

“Matthews was drunk and angry. They were shouting, and I was so scared.” Even now, her body shook. The images in her head were sickeningly real. “I was huddled in the closet with a baseball bat gripped in my fists. He unlocked the door and yanked it open. I just froze. My mother screamed and threw herself at him. He punched her. I saw her go down. He hit her, again and again and again, but I did nothing.”

Luke knelt by her chair and tried to pull her against him. “You were a child.”