Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (191 page)

He hated to let them go.

He enjoyed visiting them after a long swim.

He’d walk between their cold bodies feeling the icy air on his own naked flesh. He would rub against them, feeling an erotic high, his white-hot blood almost boiling in his veins, the arctic air against his skin and the hard, smooth frozen muscles of these, the first of what would be many.

Licking his cracked lips, he leaned forward and ran his tongue over Dionne’s breast, darker than the others, the nipple taut in icy death.

“I’ll miss you,” he breathed, before suckling a bit and feeling his erection strong as he rubbed it against her hanging legs. One hand cupped her buttocks and he remembered the hot joy of entering her….

“In the next lifetime, my sweet,” he vowed, turning his attention to Rylee…perfect, petulant Rylee. He hadn’t had enough time with her. Her perfect, icy body called out to him and he thought of saving her, playing with her bloodless body, but he knew it was best to take her away as well.

He kissed her frozen, twisted lips and stared into her open eyes. Then he smiled as he viewed her neck, so perfect, arching back, the icy strands of her hair falling away to show the two perfect holes at the base of her throat, and he imagined the taste of her blood. Salty. Warm. Satisfying.

Yes, it would be difficult to let her go.

But there would be others…so many more.

He smiled in the darkness as their faces came to him.

Kristi couldn’t sleep. The clock at her bedside table told her it was nearly one in the morning and the events of the past few days had been swirling in her mind. Over and over again, the pictures of the missing girls revolved and she remembered the phone calls she’d made between classes and work and a few face-to-face meetings with students who had known the girls who disappeared.

“Always knew she would come to no good…bad blood just like her father.” It was Tara’s mother’s words that kept her awake the most. “He’s in jail, y’know. Armed robbery, not that it’s any of your business. My guess? She took off with some boy and somehow I’ll end up having to pay the loans she took out to go to school. You just wait and see. And me with two other kids to support….”

But Monique’s mother had been no better, seemingly pissed off that her daughter had gone away to school and left her to deal with a husband with Alzheimer’s disease. “She couldn’t deal with it…not that she could deal with anything. That girl!” Monique’s mother had snorted from somewhere in South Dakota.

Dionne’s brother had thought she was a “cheap-ass ho,” while her last boyfriend Tyshawn Jones was still MIA, or so it seemed. Dionne’s coworkers at the pizza parlor had insisted they didn’t get to know her and that she’d kept to herself.

Rylee’s mother was a nightmare, inferring her daughter would just get herself “in trouble” as if that were the worst thing that could happen.

Kristi threw off the covers, disturbing Houdini, who had ventured close to the bed as she was sleeping. “Sorry,” she said as the cat scrambled to his hiding place. She padded barefoot into the kitchen area, flipped on the faucet and, holding her hair away from her face, took a long swallow of the tap water.

How many times had Tara done this?

Kristi twisted off the tap and wiped her lips by turning her head, using the shoulder of the oversized T-shirt she used as pajamas. She leaned her hips against the counter and stared into the room where she and the ghost of Tara Atwater resided. The desk chair had come with the place, probably used by Tara to study for the same classes that Kristi was now taking.

She listened as the clock ticked off the seconds, the refrigerator hummed, and her own heart kept a steady beat. It was almost as if she was tracing Tara’s life, walking in her footsteps, becoming the girl who had just left class one day and never shown up again.

It didn’t make any sense.

Tara had no car, but she did have a credit card, a computer to log on to the Internet, a MySpace page, and a cell phone, none of which had been used since. The last person Tara had seen was the head of the English Department, Dr. Natalie “No comment” Croft. So far Kristi hadn’t been able to get through to her.

Kristi’s mind jumped to Rylee. The last person she’d met with was Lucretia Stevens, something Kristi’s ex-roommate had failed to mention. “Curiouser and curiouser,” she said to Houdini, who’d slunk to the far side of the room, luminous eyes focused on Kristi. Closing her eyes and rotating her neck, Kristi took in five deep breaths; then knowing that sleep would be far too elusive, she rolled out her desk chair, sat down, turned on her computer and, ignoring the charts she was making, logged on to the Internet. She’d found several vampire sites and some of the kids were chatting with her anonymously.

Maybe tonight she’d get lucky chatting with people who had names like ILUVBLUD, or FANGS077, or VAMPGRL or whatever. She hadn’t had much luck with getting information about a cult or whatever, nor had anyone yet admitted to knowing any of the missing girls. Either they knew something and were keeping it secret, didn’t recognize the coeds’ real names as opposed to their screen names, or were totally clueless. Kristi was betting on the last, but she still kept up a conversation while checking out the missing girls’ MySpace pages, reviewing their “groups” and pictures, trying to find a clue that she might have missed before.

Surely she’d find something.

People didn’t just vanish off the face of the earth.

Even if they did believe in vampires…

Right?

The Mississippi rolled by thick and dark as he stood on the levee downstream from New Orleans. Ghostlike, Spanish moss drooped from the branches of the live oaks planted near the river’s banks.

Vlad drew in a deep breath, smelling the damp earth mingling with the overpowering odor of the slow-moving water.

He was alone on this remote stretch of riverbank, yet he felt it still too exposed. If the bodies were to float to the surface, to be discovered, things could get dangerous, and he still had so much work to do.

For her.

Always for her.

He closed his eyes and thought of her.

So perfect.

So beautiful.

A woman who, beyond all others, heated his blood. He could hardly wait until he saw her again…watched her from a distance, feeling himself grow hard at the thought of her warm body and the blood…always the blood.

He ran his tongue across his teeth in anticipation. A surge of excitement sped through his veins and need coursed to his soul.

Discarding this spot as his dumping ground, he walked swiftly from the rise, through the long grass, and into the trees where his van was parked. He climbed behind the wheel and turned around, then drove out the long lane and onto a back road that cut into the bayou.

Here, the sound of crickets chirping and toads croaking cut through the stillness. Every once in a while there was the soft, nearly inaudible splash of an alligator slipping into the water.

He parked by the dilapidated cabin, walked to the back of his van, and pulled on hip waders. He slid a miner’s helmet onto his head, then switched on its light. In the bright beam, he worked quickly, yanking on a pair of gloves, then pulling out each body from the back of the van. Wrapped in tarps, weighted with bricks strapped to their torsos, they had begun to thaw, but each was a deadweight as he carried her firemanlike, over his shoulder. Down a deer trail to the edge of the water. He unwrapped the first and stared down at her face and her naked, frigid body for just a second. In the harsh glare of his light, Dionne stared sightlessly up at him, her black skin taking on a bluish tinge, ice crystals in her hair beginning to melt.

He hadn’t wanted to leave them all together. That would make things too easy should anyone discover one of the bodies, but he was running out of time. He’d waited too long, putting off this part of his mission. He’d wanted to keep them near him forever, but, of course, could not. “Eternal rest,” he said as he pushed Dionne’s smooth body into the water. Once she submerged, the bricks ensuring that she sank to the bottom, he returned to the van.

Next he pulled out the tarp wrapped around Tara. The third. He’d watched her from his hiding spot as she’d walked nude around her apartment, the same upstairs studio Kristi Bentz now occupied.
How fitting,
he thought as he lugged Tara’s frozen body to another point a little further downstream, opened the tarp and viewed her again. Her skin was pale, though tan lines that hadn’t quite faded from summer were still visible. Her big breasts with their incredible nipples were puckered, begging for him to kiss them, lick them one last time. Yet he resisted. She, too, was pushed into the motionless water to be found by the creatures of the night.

He made two more trips, first with Monique. Tall and statuesque in life, an athlete, and now heavy and stiff, unbending. He untied the tarp with his gloved fingers and noticed that even in death, her muscles were defined. Her long red hair fell stiffly past her shoulders and was mimicked by frosty curls at the juncture of those long, incredible legs. His gut tightened as he looked at her before rolling her body into the water.

Finally he carried the last, smaller tarp far from his parking spot, where he untied the lashings, let the plastic fall free, then gazed long and hard at Rylee, with her cheerleader good looks and blue, sightless eyes. Even in the harsh beam of the headlamp, she was still beautiful. Her curves were perfect, her tiny waist nipped in beneath the globes of round breasts with pale pink nipples. A butterfly tattoo was frozen on the inside of one thigh and he remembered licking the icy decoration with his tongue as he’d explored her.

Yes, he would miss her and was irritated that he hadn’t had longer to view her, touch her, feel her icy smooth skin against his own.

There will be others…give her up. Make room for the next.

His heartbeat quickened. He had but a week to wait and then…oh, and then…

With renewed energy, he pushed her body into the shadowy swamp water. With the beam of his light cutting through the inky depths, he saw her staring up at him through the wavering current as the water slid over those pale features.

Her blood, he’d thought, had been pure.

Perfect.

Slowly she disappeared from view.

CHAPTER 10

A
riel knelt in the chapel.

Her knees ached and her shoulders were tight as she bowed her head and asked for guidance. Again. As she had every morning this week.

Ariel had always had a strong faith, hoping it would carry her through the tough times in her life: the death of her older brother Lance; her parents’ divorce; her new stepfather and the string of boyfriends who had left her from the time she was fourteen, boys whom she’d given her heart and so much more before they all moved on.

No one had stayed.

Even her mother, after the divorce, had lost a ton of weight, started coloring her hair, and dating men who, like her, all tried to look younger and more hip than they really were. Eventually Claudia O’Toole had remarried. Tom Browning, a long-haul trucker, was nice enough, but he’d destroyed Ariel’s tiny dream that her parents would get back together.

So, Ariel had turned from her family to her faith…until college.

“God forgive me.”

From her knees she glanced up at the life-sized crucifix hanging between two tall stained-glass windows. The statue of Jesus, wearing his crown of thorns, his head, hands, and side bleeding, arms stretched wide, stared benevolently down upon her.

I am the light….

She could hear the words He told all of those who believed in Him.

“Dear Lord.” She squeezed her eyes shut against her tears. Why, if Christ was so near, so caring, was she always so lonely? Why did she feel abandoned?

“Be with me,” she intoned. “Please, Father.”

Never before had she been so confused about her religion. Never before had she questioned the tenets of the church, never had she been so tempted…

She made the sign of the cross deftly, as she had thousands of times in her life.

She’d never been away from home before…well at least not for any length of time. Sure, she’d stayed with her father every other weekend for a while, then less often. And yes, there had been the time she’d run off with Cal Sievers when she’d found she was pregnant…even that precious little baby hadn’t survived. Ariel, unfit to be a mother, had miscarried in her third month.

Now she bit down on her lower lip and felt her shoulders shake. She’d wanted that baby, that small little life who would love her, but even the infant, whom she sensed was a girl and had named Brandy, had left.

Knees aching, she swallowed hard, tasted the salt of her tears in her throat, and thought about the group she’d joined, those who had willingly embraced her.

No questions asked.

No judgments made.

And the leader…She stared up at the crucifix, felt that Christ could see into her soul, notice the tarnish around its edges.

She loved God. She did.

But she needed friends. A family here on earth.

Her own parents weren’t interested.

The girls in the sororities were a bunch of shallow, self-indulgent snobs.

But her new friends…

She made the sign of the cross and stood, turning only to spy Father Tony standing in the balcony, gazing down upon her. Dressed in black, his clerical collar in stark contrast to his black shirt and slacks, he was a tall, handsome man. Too handsome to be a priest. She glanced away, sniffing and self-consciously dashing her tears from her eyes, but she heard his tread on the staircase, knew she couldn’t make it out the carved doors of the chapel without facing him, talking with him, maybe even being persuaded into the confessional.

She sent up another small prayer and hurried past the rows of pews and was nearly to the front doors when he rounded a corner on the stairs and descended the last few steps into the vestibule, where candles had been lit, their small flames flickering as he passed.

“Ariel,” he whispered, the hint of an Italian accent discernible. His dark hair gleamed in the candlelight, the expression on his even, handsome features solemn and concerned. “You are troubled,” he said softly. Knowingly. Gently, he touched her hand with his warm fingers.

“Y–yes, Father.” She nodded, unable to keep the tears from running down her cheeks.

“So many are. You know you’re not alone. You must trust in the Father.” Dark eyebrows drew together and his eyes, a pale ethereal blue, searched hers. She noticed the tightness in the corners of his mouth, the fact that his nose had obviously once been broken. “Talk to me, my child,” he suggested, softly, almost seductively.

Ariel swallowed hard. Dare she trust him? Her private thoughts were so personal, her dilemma one no mortal man would understand, and yet she was tempted. Staring into a gaze that could surely see into her soul, she wondered how much she could bare her soul and how far she could stretch her lie.

Kristi gulped down her final swallow of coffee and left her cup in the sink, then made sure the window was open a crack for Houdini to enter and leave at will. Sunlight filtered into her apartment, the first time there had been a cloudless day since she’d moved in. And the clear skies had a way of lifting her spirits, a welcome change after she’d immersed herself in cults, vampires, and missing girls, doing research, making charts, logging in hours on the Internet searching news articles and personal pages. She was beginning to understand the missing girls, getting a sense of their dysfunctional family lives.

Didn’t anyone care?

Kristi had approached the dean of students and had received a frosty “none of your business” indicating to her that the school was covering its ass, worried about bad press.

Frustrated, stretched thin, and running on only a few hours of sleep each night, Kristi barely had time to breathe. She’d taken on a few hours working at the registrar’s office to gain access to files regarding the missing girls’ addresses and families, and insight into the inner workings of their jobs and backgrounds. She was still working at the diner, taking a full load of classes, and struggling to keep up with the mounds of homework assigned.

And the missing girls were forever with her.

On her mind during class, or walking across campus, or while she was working. She’d started making a few social inroads, meeting friends of the girls, but they were few, far-between, and extremely closemouthed. Of the girls she’d tried to interview, no one had any idea about a special group to which any of the coeds had belonged, but she sensed they had been hiding something.

Something she damned well was going to uncover.

Even if she had to enlist help from someone on staff. She’d been fighting the idea, but was tired of hitting her head against a brick wall.

Today, in the sunlight, she felt uplifted. For over a week the overcast days had seeped into her bones, the thickness of the night had made her want to curl up by the fire and double-and triple-check the locks on her doors.

She’d never had serious issues with fear, not after her mother died, not even after the attempts upon her life. It was odd, she thought, that she wasn’t one to experience panic attacks considering all she’d been through. But lately, in the dead of winter, in this apartment from which a woman had vanished, on the campus where she had few friends, things had changed. At times she felt as paranoid as her cop father, who, even though he hadn’t left New Orleans, seemed to be breathing down her neck.

But not today. Not with the January sun chasing away the clouds.

Grabbing her backpack with her laptop computer, she headed out of her apartment.

It was Thursday of the second week and already she was caught on the horns of several dilemmas. First, there was the matter of Jay and her conflicted feelings for him. During the second class he’d been all business, his gaze never touching on hers for more than an instant, no more than anyone else’s as he’d reconstructed the evidence of a crime scene involving the serial killer Father John. Jay had been coldly clinical in his analysis of the differing pieces of evidence that the police had found. During the break, he’d been besieged by interested students as he had been after class. He hadn’t seemed to notice when she’d left.

So what? Big deal. All for the better, she’d tried to convince herself.
He’s your professor. End of story.

And yet the fact that he’d basically ignored her had bothered her more than she wanted to admit. But then, she knew she was about to fix that, for like it or not, she had to approach Jay, talk to him, engage him and hopefully enlist his help.

“That should be a lot of fun,” she said to herself.

Her other quandary was more difficult to deal with, she thought as she found a jacket and threw it on. For the past ten days, off and on, Kristi had caught glimpses of Ariel O’Toole, Lucretia’s friend. Once at the bookstore, another time in the student union, a third time near Wagner House, and each and every time Kristi had seen the girl, Ariel was pale, washed out, her skin the color of cold ashes.

Was she ill?

Or about to meet with an accident?

Or was this all a figment of Kristi’s imagination?

No one else seemed to notice. Could Ariel’s appearance be all in her mind? Very much like the death she was certain she’d seen in her father’s features time and time again? Should she approach Ariel? Talk to her? Mention it to Lucretia?

She frowned at that thought as she stuffed her cell phone into her purse. If she told anyone about her newfound ability to predict a person’s death, she’d be considered a kook. And did she have any proof of this “gift”? Well, a little. One woman she’d seen on a bus who’d turned gray before her eyes had died a week later. But then she’d been, according to the obituary, when Kristi had looked it up, ninety-four.

She tried to shake off her worries but she didn’t even have time to relax. On today’s schedule was Creative Writing with Dr. Preston, another hunky instructor. He had the looks of the quintessential California surfer dude, complete with shaggy blond hair and hard, sculpted body, which he didn’t bother to disguise in his tight jeans and old T-shirts. During class he had the habit of pacing across the room, looking at the class, all the while tossing a piece of chalk up in the air and catching it. He never broke stride, never quit lecturing, and never dropped the piece of chalk, which he kept at the ready in case he had to scribble some inspiration on the chalkboard before starting his pacing again. Ezma had labeled him rude, but he was definitely eye-candy.

If Dr. Preston was sun and surf, Professor Deana Senegal was at the other end of the spectrum. Since Althea Monroe had taken a leave, Professor Senegal was Kristi’s only woman instructor. Senegal, who taught journalism, was a woman around forty who spoke in rapid-fire sentences and stared through sleek, rectangular glasses. Deana Senegal was pretty, smart, and had worked at newspapers in Atlanta and Chicago before getting her master’s and accepting a position here at All Saints three years earlier. She’d taken a sabbatical for the birth of her eighteen-month-old twins, but now was back to work. With thin lips stained a deep wine color, porcelain skin, and green eyes that snapped fire behind those designer frames, Senegal was all business. She’d barely cracked a smile for the entire class period.

Kristi made her way down the stairs, thinking how she’d met several people who resided in the building. A married couple lived next to Mai on the second floor, and on the first, in the unit abutting Hiram’s, was another single man, maybe a student, but one who kept odd hours; she’d only seen him late at night, either coming or going. He was tall and usually wore a dark coat, but she’d never seen his face well enough to decipher his features.

Today, as Kristi grabbed a textbook she’d left in her car, she spied Mrs. Calloway’s PT Cruiser roll into the lot. The white car with its convertible top was distinctive, and not what Kristi had expected the older woman to drive.

Kristi reached her driver’s door just as Irene was climbing out and scowling at some dead weeds growing at the edge of the crumbling asphalt. “Damned things,” she said, then caught sight of Kristi. “Oh. Hello. I heard you fixed those locks yourself.” She was already shaking her head and reaching inside for a wide-brimmed hat to add to her outfit of brown corduroy slacks, a pink flannel shirt, and a beige cardigan sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. “I told you Hiram would handle it.”

“I couldn’t get hold of him in time.”

She plopped the hat upon her head, covering her curly salt and pepper hair. “Well, then, I’ll need a set of keys to your unit, and if you think you can take the expense of changing the locks off your rent, then you can think—”

“I’ll see that you get a set,” Kristi said, irritated with the money-grubbing landlady. “I heard that Tara Atwater lived in my apartment.”

The older woman reacted and Kristi knew she’d hit a nerve. “Tara? The girl who ran out without paying her last month’s rent? That’s right, she lived upstairs.”

“And she’s missing.”

“All I know is that she took off on me without paying.”

“Or was taken. Some people think she was abducted.”

“That girl?” Irene snorted derisively. “No way. She was a partier and a runaround. My guess is she took a notion to take off and did.”

“And no one’s seen her since.”

“Probably because she was messed up with drugs.” Irene squinted at Kristi. “I know the press gets worked up when girls drop out of college, making something out of nothing. The police don’t seem to think there’s foul play. Those girls who went missing? They’ve done it before. Their families aren’t even concerned and I can vouch for that as far as the Atwater girl goes. I called her mother, and the woman could barely talk to me. Complained of working two jobs with two younger kids to support. As for the dad, now there’s a lost cause. Been in and out of jail. The last I heard he was still serving time. No one wants to ante up the back rent.”

“You’re saying no one really cares about Tara.”

Irene lifted a scrawny shoulder, the pink and brown plaid of her shirt shifting in the sunlight. “She was a party girl. Always with the boys.” She clucked her tongue, then leaned down and picked out one of the weeds daring to grow in the cracks of the parking lot. “That spells trouble to me.”