Just Evil (26 page)

Grateful, she launched herself at his chest, hugging him.
“That was so sweet of you.”

Jake found her reaction both amusing and touching. “I just
want to make sure I understand this; because I bought you a CD, I’ve gone from
being a rude, arrogant SOB, the scum of the earth, all the way to sweet?”

 “I like knowing you listened to me, paid enough attention
to what I wanted back then, that’s all.” As if very appreciative, she put her
lips to his and gave him a deep kiss.

“If I get that kind of reaction to buying you a simple CD,
what would happen if I gave you something nice now?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “You just gave me something
nice, something very nice, something I’ve never had before.” She held up her
right hand in a gesture of honor, playfully, teasing him. “And I promise from
this day forward never to give you a moment’s grief about how much control you
have. You were incredible.”

And they both dived for each other again.

He liked Beverly Hills. What was not to like? It was the
cleanest city he’d ever seen. He even got a kick out of Rodeo Drive, where he
strolled down a narrow street that looked more like it belonged somewhere in
Europe than it did in Los Angeles. He walked past Cartier’s and window shopped
at Armani before moving on to Neiman Marcus. There he actually went inside.

He had time before his next intervention, and what better
place to spend time than here, among the world’s richest people, the stores
where they shopped, where the wealthy splurged on whatever whims caught their fancy?

It was really karma, he told himself. In life, they humored
and gratified themselves with whatever whenever the mood hit them, doing it all
without a backward glance to consequences. Like the Boyd, Geller, and Gatz
clans and their massive greed. The philosopher in him kicked in. Well, it was
payback time; time to pay the piper. The bill had come due for all of them.

And he was the collector.

He spent another hour walking around until he looked at his
watch and realized it was time, time to go to work. Pulling out of the parking
lot, he once again headed to Malibu.

As he had with Jessica Boyd, he was sitting in the backseat
waiting for Eva Gatz when she crawled behind the wheel of her sleek late-model
Jaguar and turned the key. Because the backseat of the Jag wasn’t as roomy as
the backseat of Jessica’s Benz, the cramped space had caused the muscles in his
back to tighten and his leg hurt.

He was obviously getting too old for this shit. His mood was
a little dark, maybe on the bad-tempered side, so when she fought the hand over
her mouth, when she screamed and tried to wriggle out of the car, it pissed him
off. “I don’t want to kill you right here, but I will. Now stop the fucking
screaming. Got it?”

At the nod of her head, he told her, “We’re going for a
little ride, to the place your kind wanted so much you were willing to kill to
get it.”

“I’ll give you anything you want; any amount of money;
anything, just please, please don’t hurt me.”

“Now that just pisses me off even more, lady. I don’t want your
fucking money. Come to think of it, it isn’t even your money, now is it? But
I’m getting ahead of myself. We’ll take a little ride, have a little talk. Then
we’ll take a short walk down memory lane. Rumor has it you’re an even smarter
legal eagle than Jess was. Is that true?” He didn’t expect an answer and simply
added, “You’re going to need all the smarts you can manage.”

*******

It was just after two in the afternoon when Jake stepped
back inside Kit’s kitchen. After taking a walk around the house, it hadn’t
taken long to discover why her phone didn’t work. Someone had cut the phone
line.

His money was on Collin Boyd.

As he scoured the refrigerator for eggs and vegetables to
make omelets, he wondered if it would do any good to call the police. Even now,
as he began to chop shitake mushrooms and spinach and melt butter in a skillet,
he wondered if the cops would do anything. He decided they might not, but at
least they’d have a report on file should they need it.

He had to tell Kit.

Jake heard her big feet bounding down the stairs, and in
anticipation of her walking into the kitchen got a funny feeling in his gut.
He’d just had fantastic sex. He briefly turned from the stove to glance in her
direction as she bounced into the room. Just looking at her made the feeling in
his stomach move lower. And pure lust slammed him. He’d just shared an
incredible morning with this woman but he wanted more, much more.

The aroma of coffee hit her the minute she stepped into the
kitchen. She poured herself a much-needed cup and leaned against the counter
closest to the stove. As she turned to take a sip of hot coffee, she noticed he
was staring at her. She put down the cup and crossed to where he stood at the
stove, wedged her body between his and the appliance and wrapped her arms
around him, gave him a deep kiss.

Breaking apart, he patted her on the rear, telling her, “If
I didn’t hear your stomach growling, I’d take you back upstairs. But you need
food.”

She went to the table, watched as Jake beat eggs, poured the
egg mixture into an omelet pan, grated some cheese, and sprinkled a generous
portion on top of the sautéing vegetables. Even though he looked as if he had
breakfast well in hand, she asked anyway, “Can I do something to help?”

He shook his head, “Nope, I know what I’m doing.”

And did he ever, she thought, as she stared at him standing
at the stove with his back to her. Watching him cook caused her juices to
flow—again.

She’d just had the best sex ever. And now understood for the
first time what Baylee and Quinn had tried to explain to her all those years
before. Great sex made a difference. And then it hit her—was it just about the
sex for him? The thought caused a sick feeling in her gut. Well, she’d wanted
him to treat her just like he’d treated every other woman, hadn’t she?

She suddenly took a long look at him at the stove. He was fixing
her breakfast in the middle of the afternoon when he should be at work tending
to his own problems, but here he was unselfishly—and then it dawned on her. The
thought speared straight to her heart. She almost fell out of the chair as the
idea sank in. Good God, I’m in love with him—and it’s a hundred times worse
than what I felt at fifteen. The shock of it inexplicably had her blurting out,
“Shit. Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

She hid her thoughts with aplomb, took a sip of strong
coffee hoping it might ward off insanity. God, he’d run like a deer if he knew
how she felt. So she lied. “Uh, I was just wondering…how…why do you suppose my
phone went dead?”

“Because someone cut the line outside. Did you turn your
cell phone back on?”

“Cut the line?” The warm, fuzzy feeling of love shifted into
cold, hard fear. “Collin,” she said with dread.

“That’d be my guess. I’d even venture to say he had
something to do with that boat exploding. What exactly happened here last
night, Kit?”

Should she mention the nightmare about the elderly couple?
She decided to keep that to herself. She closed her eyes, let the caffeine kick
in, and went into a detailed account of what happened.

When she finished, the look on Jake’s face told her he was
having trouble with the logic of it. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that
both the electricity went off and the phone went dead at the same time. That
only happens during a bad storm. And those breakers didn’t flip by themselves.”

The idea of that gave her chills.

Jake slid a perfect omelet onto a plate and set it down on
the table. “From what I saw of Collin, you have reason to fear him. He’s
obsessed with you.”

Famished from not having eaten since yesterday, Kit attacked
the eggs. Without answering Jake, she focused on the tasty omelet.

But when she didn’t answer, Jake persisted, “How long have
you had this problem with Collin?”

In between mouthfuls of egg, she said, “I told you we grew
up together.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. You were kids then. The
man that showed up on your doorstep is dangerous. You can see it in his eyes.”

“I see it. Why do you think I didn’t want to be alone with
him? I’ve seen that look in his eyes for years and tried to avoid him.
Fortunately, I stopped spending summers at The Enclave when I was twelve. My
situation changed somewhat at the time and I gained a little leverage over
Alana. So the summer visits stopped. But I was still near Collin in school and
then around him whenever we ended up at the same kid parties, that type of
thing. But every time he’d ask me out, I always said no. Much to Alana’s
regret. You can bet, I did my best to avoid being alone with him over the
years. I knew how he felt. I knew he wanted something more. I’ve known it for a
long time.” She thought about all the times he’d bullied her, how many times
he’d hit her. She remembered the time he’d cornered her in the cabana.

“You’ve had other encounters with him where you’ve had to
call the police.”

She took a long time before she said anything. “Yeah. Once
when I was in college. But I wasn’t alone then. Quinn and Baylee were there.
Then there was the one I mentioned two years ago. He showed up here,
unannounced, and drunk. He got physical, started pushing me around, but I
slugged him and got away; ran next door to my neighbor’s and called the cops.
This isn’t Beverly Hills. This time when they got here, they arrested him, made
the man cool his jets overnight in a county holding cell until he made bail.
That pissed off Sumner and Jessica. Their anger wasn’t directed at their son,
of course, but rather at me for getting him in trouble. Somehow, the whole
thing ended up being my fault. Couple of days later, Alana called and tried to
persuade me to drop the charges.”

Jake fumed. “Have there been any other strange events like
the dead telephone and the electricity since Alana’s murder?”

“What about almost getting blown up yesterday? Don’t forget
that.”

“I haven’t forgotten. Anything else?”

She hesitated. “Just the weird dream I had last night. This
omelet’s good, very good, best omelet I’ve ever tasted. How’d you get to be
such a good cook?”

“You’re ravenous; you’d have eaten anything I put in front
of you and said the same thing. I cook one thing well, omelets. You’ve just
eaten the specialty of the house.” He watched her enjoy the food. “What kind of
a dream?”

The man was persistent. “It was kinda weird.”

“Kinky weird?”

She laughed and took another bite. “I like a man who can
cook. It’s an extremely sexy thing for a man to cook for a woman.”

“How sexy?”

“Very.”

“Are you going to tell me about the dream?”

“You’ll just think I’m crazy.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t let go of an issue, do you?” Giving in to his
determined look, she told him, “I dreamed about this couple, two older people,
asleep in their bed—or rather, they’re murdered in their bed at three minutes
past three in the morning. I know because in the dream there was this old
fashioned alarm clock by the bed. The time read a few minutes past three. And
that’s what time I woke up.” 

“You see the exact time on the clock? That’s a pretty
detailed dream, Kit.”

“It is.”

“And how exactly are these two people murdered?” He sat down
at the table, indicated with his hand that he wanted more details. “Let’s hear
it all.”

“Well, the couple looks like they’re maybe in their late
sixties. They live out in the country, like on a ranch or something, very
isolated. They’re asleep, sleeping in a back bedroom. These two people show up
and go into their house...it’s dark...one goes into the bedroom down this long
hallway carrying a knife, but when she gets to the bed, for some reason she
can’t kill them, like she’s having second thoughts or something. But then, her
partner has a gun, and when she comes into the bedroom she gets angry that the
one with the knife hasn’t killed them yet. They have a heated argument. The
noise wakes up the woman, and when she sits up, bam, the one with the gun
shoots the woman, then the man. I think the dream is about a murder that’s
already happened because the house looks old, like maybe it’s from another
decade. The car, however, looks like a new model, but it’s dusty from the
country road. And the furnishings inside the house look old.” When she noticed
his stare, as if he were having a hard time grasping the concept, she stopped.

“Your dream is so detailed you see all that right down to
what the house looked like and the furniture? And the car has dust on it from
the road?”

“Oh yeah, the dream is very vivid, in color. I see what kind
of car the killers drive: a Mercedes, a white one with tan interior. And when
the car turns off the road, as they drive down the long gravel driveway, they
drive past an old wooden sign painted white with orange lettering that
says...hmmm, that’s weird, I can’t recall what the sign says, but it’s the name
of the ranch. The name of the ranch is on the sign in orange letters.

“And the blood...I see all the blood after the couple dies,
the blood’s everywhere, on the walls, the headboard, the floor, the bedding.”
She paused long enough to rub her arms as if she’d just gotten a chill. “But
that isn’t the worst part. One of the killers dips the knife into the victim’s
blood and uses it to write graffiti on the walls with the knife. Ewww, that
part’s just gross.”

“What?” The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

 “Yeah, I know, it’s disgusting. But one of them writes the
words, PIG, DEATH, and DIE on the bedroom walls in blood. I see the murder
scene, the bedroom; I see all the blood and the graffiti written on the walls
in detail; it’s horrible, Jake. It’s the worst nightmare I’ve ever had, and
believe me, I’ve had some doozies. And after they kill this old couple, one of
them goes into the kitchen, opens a bottle of Dom Pérignon, starts chugging it
down before the other one comes back into the kitchen. I see them celebrate
with a whole bottle of champagne, toasting, laughing, and singing,
We’re in
the Money
.”