Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (190 page)

“As of a few days ago, yeah.” He nodded and opened the door a little wider.

A deep “woof” escaped from the darkened cab and a huge, muscular dog leaped to the ground. In the streetlight, the animal’s muscles rippled beneath a coat that looked like burnished copper.

Kristi took a step backward.

“This is Bruno,” he said.

“He’s mammoth!”

“Nah, just a little guy.” Leaning down, he stroked Bruno’s big head. “Gentle as a fawn unless you piss him off.”

“I won’t be doing that.”

Jay flashed a smile and scratched the big dog’s floppy ears. “Hurry up,” he said to Bruno. “Take care of your business.” Jay motioned to the edge of the lot where crepe myrtles lined the flower beds separating the campus from the parking area.

Bruno complied, sniffing the moist ground, then lifting his leg on a shrub while staring at Jay with baleful eyes.

“Good boy,” Jay said as the dog finished relieving himself and began to sniff the ground. “Later. Come on, load up.”

Bruno glanced at Kristi, then sprang into the passenger seat of the cab.

“So…why are you teaching here?” she asked.

“Change of pace. Things at the PD are still rough, never been right since Katrina, but I bet you know that.”

She nodded, thinking of her father and his long hours, frustration, and disintegrating attitude. She’d even overheard him talking about retirement, which was years off. It was odd because Rick Bentz had been born to be a cop. He was most alive when he was on the job. That dedication and work-above-all-else ethic had cost him his job in LA and his marriage to her mother. Ultimately, she feared, it would cost him his life. But lately, since the mother of all hurricanes and the storm’s aftermath, he’d been overworked, overstressed, and disenchanted.

“So, opportunity knocked and I answered.”

“And now I’m in your class.”

“Appears so,” he drawled, and for the first time she saw beyond his own frustration to a bit of amusement at the situation. Oh, great. Just what she needed.

“Well, I just wanted to be sure that there were no hard feelings.”

He lifted a shoulder. “No feelings period.”

That stung a little bit, but she let it go. “Then we can go about this as if I’m just a student and you’re the prof.”

“Right.”

“Good.” She was still uneasy with the conversation; there seemed to be a million things they should be talking over, but why drag up all the old, hard feelings? If she could believe what he was saying, then they didn’t have a problem.

“So, can I give you a lift?” he asked.

“Oh—uh, no…I’ll cut across campus.” She hooked her thumb in the opposite direction.

“It’s late,” he said.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Some girls have disappeared.”

“Yeah, I know, but I can take care of myself. Tae kwon do, remember?”

The smile broadened. “Oh, yeah,” he said.

A quicksilver memory slashed through her brain. She’d been a senior on a night not unlike this. They’d been alone in her father’s apartment and she’d made the mistake of telling him that with her martial arts skills she could take down any man who tried to bother her. She’d assured him, then said: “I can take care of myself.”

A don’t-give-me-any-of-that-feminist-crap smile had crossed his face. “Yeah, right.”

“I
can
.”

She’d insisted that with her skills, she could handle anyone who came near her. He’d called her on her bragging and the discussion had elevated into a dare. Then, before the terms had been hammered out, he’d grabbed her, swept her feet from her, and taken her to the ground, using a technique he’d learned as a high-school wrestler. Within seconds he’d pinned her and she’d been unable to twist away from his weight.

She remembered lying on the living room carpet, staring into his triumphant face, breathing hard, so furious she wanted to spit at him. Nose to nose, hearts pumping, they’d lain wedged between her father’s recliner and the television, each waiting for the other to move. Muscles tense. Ready. He’d known if he were so much as to shift his weight, she might be able to twist away; she was waiting for just that opportunity.

“Give?” he’d asked.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I pinned you.”

“For now.”

He grinned, taunting her. “I’ve got to be heavy.”

She glared up at him and tried vainly to ignore her racing heart. The truth was he’d been crushing her, but there was more to it than that. She had to fight to keep from glancing at his lips, so near hers. Her blood pumped hard through her veins and she wondered what it would be like to make love to him. Right then. Right there. While they were still sweating and breathing hard from their wrestling. She saw his eyes darken, his pupils dilate as his own thoughts possibly mirrored hers. “Come on, Kris, I win,” he said, his voice low.

“It’s temporary…” She licked her lips and heard him groan, felt the hardness between his legs. She let out a little moan in reply and he lost control and kissed her. Hard. With a hot lust that spread from his bloodstream to hers. It was glorious.

And then she bit him.

Drawing blood.

He sucked in his breath in pain, his weight shifting just a bit. He swore, too, softly but dangerously as she started to wriggle free, struggling to gain enough room to twist and kick him as she’d learned in her last class.

But she stopped cold when she heard footsteps on the stairs outside the apartment door.

“Get off!” she ordered.

“What?”

Keys jangled on the other side of the door.

“It’s Dad! Get off!”

In one fluid motion, Jay rolled off her and onto his feet. Before she could tell him what to do, he sprang over the couch, landed in the hall, and slipped into the bathroom as Kristi quickly adjusted her clothes and threw herself in her father’s chair. She clicked on the remote just as the door swung open, revealing her father.

“Kristi?” Rick Bentz called as he spied her. “Oh…” Dropping his keys, wallet, and badge onto the entry hall table, he glanced at the television that was flickering on to a sports station. As if she’d ever been interested in a golf match. Cripes!

“Hi,” she said brightly, with more enthusiasm than she’d ever greeted him. She knew her face was red, her hair sweaty, guilt written all over her expression, but she pretended that everything was normal and that her father, a detective who’d spent his life being suspicious and who was an expert in recognizing when someone was lying, didn’t notice anything unusual.

“What’s going on?” he asked casually.

About that time Jay flushed the toilet loudly, ran water in the sink, and walked out of the bathroom. He, too, was red in the face and his lip was discolored, a bit of dark blood visible where she’d bit him. Kristi wanted to drop through the floor and disappear.

“Hi, Detective,” Jay said, and reached for his jacket, which had been slung over the back of the couch. “Gotta run. Work.”

“Good idea,” Rick Bentz said, his eyes narrowing on Jay. “You know there’s a rule in my house. One my daughter seems to have forgotten, so I’ll tell you. It’s archaic, I know, but hard and fast. There are to be no boys in this place when I’m not here.” He glared at Jay, then at Kristi.

“Sorry. Just bringing her home.”

“And ending up with a split lip?”

“Yeah. Kristi can explain,” Jay said, shooting her a look. “’Night, Kristi. Detective Bentz.” And then he left her to deal with her father and “the talk” in which her father asked her if he needed to make an appointment with a doctor; if she needed to be on the pill, or should he be buying her condoms. She explained about the wrestling match, about biting him to gain control, and her father exploded, telling her that she was pushing it, that boys don’t have any control, that she was asking for trouble.

“Way to go off the deep end, Dad,” she declared, furious. “For your information, not that it’s any of your business, I’m fine. I don’t need pills or anything yet and when I do, believe me, I’ll take care of it. Myself.”

And she had. Six months later.

So now, here she was, in the dead of night, declining a ride from Jay McKnight, the boy to whom she’d given her virginity, then tossed over. The boy who was now a man and her college professor.

“I’ll see you next week,” she said, and moved away from the truck.

“I’d feel better if you’d let me drive you.”

Shaking her head, she half smiled. “I can take care of myself,” she said, echoing the phrase from so long ago once more, then turned on the heel of a boot and headed toward Greek Row and the Wagner House.

“Call my cell if you need anything,” Jay threw after her, rattling off his number. Kristi lifted an arm but didn’t turn around as she headed toward the library. From there, she cut to the gate near her apartment house, aware that she was memorizing his number against her better judgment. She didn’t need Jay in her life.

She didn’t look behind her, but heard the sound of a truck’s engine cough, then catch. Good. She’d cleared the air with Jay and she was okay with it.

A second later, she heard the pickup drive out of the lot and she was on her way, hurrying across the dark campus, feeling the wind pluck at her hair.

There were a few other students out, but not many, and the shadows between the security lamps were thick and gloomy, seeming to shift with the rattling of the branches and the turn of the wind. The rain had stopped sometime during the past three hours, but the smell of damp earth was heavy in the air, the grass covered in dewy drops that shimmered in the moonlight.

Kristi angled toward the other side of the campus, to the gate near her apartment building. She cut behind Wagner House and saw a movement…something out of the ordinary. Red flags went up in her mind and she flipped open the flap of her purse, her hand sliding into the pocket where she kept her pepper spray.

Don’t be silly,
she told herself,
it’s probably just a dog.

But she felt nervous sweat gather at the base of her spine. It wasn’t so much what she could see as what she couldn’t. She moved rapidly, on the alert, her pepper-spray canister clutched tight in her fist. She hated being a wimp.
Hated
it. She’d worked hard to be observant, to pay attention to her surroundings, to trust her feelings, and she’d been trained in self-defense so that she wouldn’t have to rely on anyone but herself.

But there was no reason to be foolhardy.

She thought of the weird sensation she’d gotten from the dark car rolling down the street before class, and the feeling every so often that she was being observed, watched by unseen eyes.

The result of all her research on the missing girls. The disturbing conversations she’d had with their families—people who truly didn’t care—were getting into her psyche.

She studied the shadowy shrubbery as she rounded a corner and cut across the quad. A person in a dark hooded jacket was walking in her direction. Kristi tensed, her muscles suddenly tight, her senses honed on the approaching figure.

Until she realized the person approaching her was a woman. A slight woman.

Kristi let out her breath as they passed. She caught a glimpse of a face in the dark hood and recognized Ariel, who, upon spying Kristi, veered a step away.

Kristi was about to say something when Ariel looked directly at her and in that moment, all color drained from Ariel’s face, her complexion turned ashen, her visage in shades of gray. Was it a trick of light? The silvery glow from a cloud-covered moon? The sheen from incandescent security lamps flickering in the mist?

“Ariel?” she said, turning, but the girl had headed down a brick path near the Commons and disappeared into the gloom.

But that draining of color…so much like the vision of her father…. Kristi’s heart pounded hard.

She sensed, with cold certainty, that Ariel was doomed.

CHAPTER 9

“I
diot,” Jay muttered under his breath. He wanted to kick himself five ways to hell and back as he drove through the empty streets surrounding the campus. Bruno gave a soft woof, his nose at the crack in the passenger window, drinking in the smells of the night.

Jay flipped on the radio, hoping the sound of the Dixie Chicks would drown out any thoughts of Kristi. Instead, the song about getting even with an ex-lover only made him grip the wheel even tighter. “Son of a bitch.” He’d kept his cool through class and beyond, when she’d chased him down to set things straight and clear the air between them, but it had backfired. At least for him. As mule-headed and reckless as she was, he still found her damned fascinating.

It was a sickness.

Like a death wish for his soul.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he grumbled, and switched stations to a local radio station where Dr. Sam, a radio psychologist, was dispensing advice to the lovelorn or confused in a special extended program. He figured there must be a lot of loonies in the dead of winter. He slapped the radio button off as he flipped on his wipers to swat away the mist that had collected. It wasn’t raining, but the fog was dense and he wondered if he should have insisted on driving Kristi home.

How? By bodily restraining her? You offered. She declined. She didn’t want to ride with you. End of story.

“Unless she ends up missing,” he said, squinting through the windshield and stopping at an amber light about to turn red. A couple of teenaged boys zipped across the dark street on skateboards, their wheels grating on the pavement. Laughing, one dialing a cell phone as he rode, they turned toward a convenience store sizzling with neon lights but guarded with bars on the windows. A few cars crossed the intersection before the light changed again, glowing green in the mist.

Jay started, only to slam on the brakes as a cat sprinted across the street. “Damn!”

Bruno, spying the speeding tabby, started baying and scratching madly at the dash.

“Stop!” Jay ordered the dog as he eased through the intersection.

Bruno twisted, paws on the back of the passenger seat as he glared through the window of the cab at his adversary. He was still growling and whining. “Forget it,” Jay advised, increasing his speed to thirty. “It’s gone.”

The hound wasn’t about to give up but with a final “Leave it,” from Jay, he gave a single woof and curled up on the seat again. “Good boy,” Jay said, then spying something in his headlights, slammed on the brakes again. “Jesus!”

His truck skidded, frame shimmying, tires squealing. Bruno was nearly dumped into the dash as the truck’s grill barely missed the man in black who leaped to one side and hazarded a quick glance at the pickup, his clerical collar showing white, his glasses fogged and reflecting the headlight’s glare. His washed-out face was twisted in anxiety, as if he were in fear for his life. He kept running, his cassock billowing behind him. “Are you nuts!” Jay yelled, adrenaline shooting through his bloodstream.

Jay’s heart was beating like a drum. He’d nearly struck the guy! But the priest didn’t so much as break stride. Half running, he disappeared into a park that backed up to one side of the campus.

“The guy’s out of his mind,” Jay muttered furiously, mentally counting to ten as he eased off the brakes and once again started driving through the night. “What the hell is he doing crossing the damned street in the dark? Moron! What’s wrong with the crosswalk?”

What the hell was going on…? The holy man looked as if he’d just seen a ghost, and he seemed to want to avoid anyone seeing him.

Jay let out his breath but he was still tense, muscles drawn, nerves stretched thin, fingers clenched over the steering wheel. Within three minutes he’d nearly hit a cat and a man.

The priest had looked familiar. It had been dark, yes, but there was something about him that made Jay think they’d met before. Here. In Baton Rouge. And it wasn’t because Jay hightailed it to mass on Sunday mornings. No…it had to have been on campus or at an All Saints event of some kind.

Letting out a shaky breath, Jay shook his head. He cautiously stepped on the gas again, his eyes narrowing on the quiet road. “Third time’s a charm,” he said, wondering if he were cursing himself. Few cars passed him, nor were any following him as he turned onto the winding street leading to his cousins’ bungalow.

He glanced in the rearview mirror, though he didn’t know why. No one was following him. “Better keep your eyes on the road, McKnight.”

He was still trying to place the priest. It hadn’t been Father Anthony Mediera, the priest who, for all intents and purposes, was in charge of the college, but someone else he’d met on campus. Who? When?

He turned into the driveway of Aunt Colleen’s small house, wondering what the hell the priest had been running from.

Mathias Glanzer!

That’s who it was. Father Mathias, Jay was certain of it, and yes, he was associated with the college in some way.
Huh,
Jay thought.
What’s the deal?

Jay parked, pocketed his keys, and dragged his briefcase and computer into the cottage. With Bruno at his heels, he walked into the kitchen, where he studiously ignored the exposed sheetrock and lack of countertops. As Bruno sloppily drank from his water dish, Jay pulled a beer from the refrigerator and followed a short hallway to his pink office. Bruno, water dripping from his snout, tagged after him.

“I
really
have to paint in here,” Jay advised the dog as Bruno curled into his dog bed in the corner of the room, where once Janice’s—or had it been Leah’s?—twin bed had been positioned under a canopy of posters and album covers of the sisters’ favorite rock stars. David Bowie, Bruce Springsteen, Rick Springfield, and Michael Jackson came to mind.

He sat down at the makeshift desk, then hooked up his laptop, waiting for an Internet connection. Logging on to the Web site for All Saints College, he browsed through the list of instructors until he found a picture of Father Mathias Glanzer, head of the drama department.

Twisting off the cap of his Lone Star, he took a long swallow. In the photo Father Mathias looked almost beatific, his expression warm, friendly, at peace. He sat wearing a white alb with a gold-embossed overlay stole. His hands were folded and his blue eyes, behind rimless glasses, stared straight into the camera’s lens. His chin was sharp, his lower lip slightly larger than the upper, his nose narrow. The entire photograph gave the viewer a sense that they were staring at a composed, calm man of conviction.

Far from the vision Jay had experienced earlier, when the priest had seemed rattled—or furtive—as if a demon straight from hell had been on his tail.

Why?

Jay shook his head. He’d had a long day and had to get up at the crack of dawn to drive to New Orleans. Shoving all thoughts of the holy man from his mind, he found the e-mail addresses of the students in his class and attached his syllabus. He saw Kristi Bentz’s name again and frowned.

Bad luck, that.

He grimaced. Maybe Gayle had been right when she’d charged him with never really being over his high school girlfriend. It had seemed ridiculous at the time, the ranting of a jealous woman.

But…

After seeing Kristi again, he realized she was still under his skin. It wasn’t as if he wanted to get back together with her. No way. But he couldn’t deny that there was something about her that caused him to think stupid thoughts and remember forgotten moments in sudden sharp clarity, memories he’d considered long forgotten.

He exhaled heavily.

The smart thing—the only thing—was to leave her alone as much as he could.

Wasn’t it bad enough that she thought she could predict her father’s death? Did she have to bear this onus for other people as well?

Kristi unlocked the door of her apartment and stepped inside. To the rooms that had been occupied by Tara Atwater, one of the missing students.
Get over it. The apartment had nothing to do with Tara vanishing. She went missing from the campus and that didn’t keep you from signing up for classes. Wouldn’t you have taken this apartment anyway, even knowing?

“Not on a prayer,” she murmured, unable to stop the goose bumps from rising on her flesh. She double-checked the dead bolt as Houdini, who must’ve been waiting on the roof, hopped through the partially opened window, climbed over the kitchen counters, and disappeared.

“My stepmother would have a heart attack if she ever saw you on the cabinets,” Kristi said. The cat peeked out at her. Houdini still wouldn’t let her get close, but he was starting to seem to want to interact.

She filled the cat’s bowl, made herself a bag of microwave popcorn, and spent the next hour and a half organizing her desk, not only for her schoolwork, but also to organize her notes on the book she hoped to write, the book about the missing girls, if it turned out they all had come to bad ends.

She looked around the small space where Tara Atwater had lived. Had Tara, like Kristi, slept on the trundle bed? Had she noticed the small closet smelled of mothballs? Had she complained about the lack of water pressure? Had she made popcorn here, used the same microwave, experienced the uncanny feeling that someone was watching her?

Kristi plugged her laptop into her printer, logged on to the Internet and began downloading and printing any article she could find on the missing girls. She located their MySpace pages and looked for any hint of them belonging to a cult or being interested in vampires. She thought there were some veiled references in their likes and dislikes columns, and decided to check them out further later. Tonight she’d gather information; later, she’d sort and analyze it.

Barely touching the popcorn, she searched cults, vampires, and cross-referenced them to All Saints College. She found that there was a surprising number of groups into the vampire/werewolf/paranormal thing. Some of the Web sites and chat rooms were obviously just for those with a passing interest, but others were more intense, as if whoever created the spaces actually believed demons walked among the living.

“Creepy,” she said to the cat as he tiptoed to his food. He scurried away at her voice. “Definitely creepy.” And Lucretia knew more about it than she was saying. “I guess we’d better stock up on garlic and crosses and silver bullets,” she said…“or wait, are the bullets for werewolves?” Houdini froze, tail switching. Then he ran across the floor, up to the counter, and out the window. “Something I said?” Kristi muttered as she walked to the counter and stretched.

She gazed out at the night, over the wall surrounding the campus to the buildings beyond. A few stars were visible through shifting clouds and the layer of light from the city. Again she had the disturbing sensation that she was being watched attentively, that unseen eyes were observing. Calculating. She lowered the blinds, leaving only enough space for the cat to return if he so deigned.

Returning to the computer, she wondered if Tara Atwater had experienced the same odd sensation that someone was surveying her from the cover of darkness.

It was time.

He had to dispose of the bodies.

As Kristi Bentz snapped the blinds shut, Vlad checked his watch. It was after one in the morning. Perfect timing. He’d been watching her for over two hours and wishing that she was next. He’d caught glimpses of her breasts as she’d pulled off her sweatshirt and unhooked her bra. The mirror over the fireplace was positioned so that if the bathroom door were ajar, he had a view of the shower stall, sink, and even a bit of the toilet. He’d observed Tara from this very spot as she’d spent so much time painstakingly applying makeup or cocking her head as she inserted her earrings, struggling with the backs. He’d held his breath as he’d watched her lift her arms. She’d been unaware that she was also moving her breasts, giving him a better view of those gorgeous, sexy globes and the vial of her blood hanging from a chain surrounding her neck, nestled in her cleavage. Where the hell had she hidden it?

You’ll never find it,
he imagined her taunting him from the other side of the pale. Her tinkling laughter slid through his brain and his fists clenched so hard the skin over his fingers stretched taut.

“I’ll find it,” he muttered, then realized he was talking to no one, a ghost, the figment of his imagination.

Just like his mother.

Clenching his jaw, Vlad snapped back to reality. He couldn’t stand here indefinitely and remember Tara. Nor did he have time to fantasize about what it would be like to watch Kristi as she showered and toweled dry, her wet hair clinging to her white skin. His teeth ground together and he pushed aside the want that always snaked through his blood. He knew that his lust was only one part of his life, and the girls he so lovingly sacrificed were only a means to an end.

Without wasting a second, he hurried down the stairs and out a back door. On quiet footsteps he made his way through the alleys and streets, always taking a different path, never allowing himself the luxury or trap of using the same route, one where he might be seen over and over again.

Noiselessly he unlocked the door to his private space and entered. He was restless and knew the bracing cold water of the pool would settle him, but there was no time. He’d spent too long at the window, watching Kristi Bentz, trying to decipher what it was she was doing at her desk so long. She’d spent hours on the Internet and he doubted that she was studying for any of her classes.

Already dressed in black, he spent a few minutes applying dark face paint, pulled on a wig of light brown, then covered his features with a nylon stocking…just in case. He already had lifts for his shoes, so he appeared taller than he was…no one would recognize him and he’d been careful in his dealings with the women, so that there would be no way to link him to them.

He walked quickly, past the shimmering pool and further to the space beneath the old hotel’s kitchen. He unlocked a heavy door and carefully pushed it open, feeling the cold breath of winter against his skin, the kiss of Jack Frost. He snapped on a light. The single bulb illuminated the interior of the freezer in a glaring light that reflected in the thick bands of ice crystals lining the frigid room and sparkling, almost giving life to the open, dead eyes of the four women who hung on meat hooks, their skin frozen and pale as snow, the muscles of their faces solidified into expressions of sheer horror.