Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (208 page)

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”

“You should. But whatever you do, just act natural when we’re inside, don’t ask any questions.” He handed her the sack of food as she opened her door and Bruno hopped to the ground. “Take this. I’ll get the bike.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothin’ good.”

He was right behind her as they climbed the stairs and she unlocked the door to her unit. Inside, everything appeared just the way she’d left it. He parked her bike near the door as she dropped the bag and her backpack onto the coffee table. “Are you going to tell me why the hell you’ve been acting so weird?”

“I just couldn’t wait to get you home,” he said, pulling her close. In her ear, he whispered, “Play along.” Then said in a normal voice, “Didn’t I loan you a textbook, you know, the one on DNA analysis?”

“What book?” she asked, but he was already looking at the bookcase near the fireplace.

“The one you promised you’d bring back, oh…I think I see it.” He smiled and slapped her playfully on the butt, then headed to the other side of the room.

Wondering what the hell he was up to, Kristi did as he asked, opening the bags, removing the cartons, and locating spoons and napkins. From the corner of her eye, she watched Jay walk to the very corner of the room, hoist himself onto the bottom half of the bookcase and prop some of her books up against the fireplace.

“Here we go,” he said while she scooped the jambalaya onto their plates. He shoved several books closer to the fireplace, then wiggled a brick loose from its place to expose what appeared to be a black box, the size of a cell phone or pager.

She started to say something but caught him shaking his head. What the hell had he found?

Tara’s cell phone?

Then why all the secrecy?

A pager?

Pocket recorder?

Her blood froze in her veins. Had someone been recording her conversations? She thought back to all the conversations she’d had, one-sided on the phone, or…Oh, no, last night with Jay…!

“I guess you don’t have it,” he said, replacing the brick and hopping to the floor. “I’ll get it later. Let’s eat…. Hey, how about some music? You have a radio?”

“My iPod player.”

“Good.” He found the player, clipped in the iPod, and turned the volume up loud enough to cover any of their conversation. Stomach in knots, shock giving way to anger, she sat on the edge of the daybed, and he pulled the big chair up to the opposite side of the coffee table, his back to the fireplace.

“You’ve been bugged,” he said, hunched over the spicy seafood and rice dish, his voice barely audible over the music. “That little black box is a camera.”

She nearly dropped her fork. Someone had been
watching
her, was trying to see her even now? As she studied, or watched television or slept or…Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she looked up at Jay and wanted to fall through the floor.

“State of the art,” he said.

She wanted to die a thousand deaths as she thought that all last night, while she and Jay were making love, someone might have been watching. Recording their every touch or kiss. Getting off while they were in the middle of what she’d thought was a private, intimate night.

She thought she might be sick.

Jay nodded as if he could read her thoughts. “Even though we didn’t know about it, you and I just made our first sex tape. How’s that for dirty pool?”

CHAPTER 21

O
h. My. God.

Kristi couldn’t believe her ears. Someone was actually using a hidden video to tape her? The contents of her stomach curdled. “This is insane!” she sputtered, keeping her voice low just in case Jay wasn’t pulling her leg.

“Laugh like I just said something funny,” he instructed, tucking in a forkful of jambalaya.

While her home was being bugged, she was supposed to act as if she were amused? But Jay, she could see, was serious. She managed a weak, stupid laugh, but her heart wasn’t in it. Kristi had seen a lot in her twenty-seven years. Her father was a homicide detective and all her life she’d been exposed to his cases. Some more than others. Then there was the fact that her life had been threatened more than once and she’d almost died recently, but never had she felt so coldly violated, so maliciously
used
as at this moment in time.

“Someone’s been watching me?” she whispered, anger burning through her.

“Uh-huh, and, unless I miss my guess, they might have done the same to Tara Atwater as well.”

She wanted to kill the bastard behind the camera. For the love of God, what had he seen? Pictures of the last few days flipped through her brain: She saw herself walking naked from the bathroom to the bedroom, or exercising, dancing like a ninny when a great song came on her iPod, studying at her desk. Then, of course, last night when she was lost in the throes of passion, moaning, crying out, begging for more while she and Jay lay entwined and sweating on the bed. To think some twisted voyeur watched as they made love! Her skin crawled, then flushed hot with embarrassment. “Who?” she demanded.

“That’s what I intend to find out,” he said, and she had to strain to hear him over the music. “It’s a remote camera. I don’t know how much range it has, but the receiver could be anywhere. I made sure I put a book over the lens, so I’m banking that whoever it is will try to get back in here and move things so that his view isn’t compromised. I checked around and I think that there’s only one camera.”

“What?” She withered inside. “You thought there could be more?”

“Of course there could, but they’re not cheap. Someone would have to be pretty intent on spying. I thought maybe the bathroom, but it looks clean.”

“This is outrageous.” She wanted to leave. Pick up everything that belonged to her and get the hell out.

“I couldn’t chance taking out the batteries without jostling the camera and letting whoever it is who’s watching us know we’re on to him.”

“So what’re we going to do?”

“Wait,” he said, and that only infuriated her. She wanted action. Now. To get back at the spying bastard and quick. “Two can play at this game.” He was scooping up his jambalaya so calmly she wanted to scream. His plate was almost empty.

“I’m not great at waiting or pretending.”

“I know. But all you have to do is just act natural.”

“Oh, right.” Like that would happen.

“Or we could go to the police.” His voice was still hushed while the music played loudly and he’d stopped eating long enough to stare at her and evaluate her reaction. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to let the pros handle this now, and don’t—” he said, cutting her off before she began, “suggest that I am a pro. We both know that I’m bending the rules as it is. The smart thing to do would be to call the police, and have them dust for prints as we hand them the vial of blood. Yeah, they might seal this place off and confiscate all of your stuff, but you’ve backed up the computer.”

“You said something about waiting. And ‘two playing at this game.’ What’s that mean?”

He grinned and she felt a little better. The gleam in his eye told her he’d considered the options. “Let’s step outside.” Loudly, he said, “Okay, Bruno, I get it, you need to do your business. Come on.” He whistled sharply and headed for the door with the dog and Kristi on his heels. Stepping onto the porch, he looked up to the rafters of the overhang. Following his gaze with her own, she squinted and saw what he meant. Tucked between the spider webs and old wasp’s nests, mounted over the door just above the porch light, was a tiny black box much like the one that was mounted in the bookcase near the fireplace.

“I decided that if he comes back, we’ll get his mug on video.”

“That’s your camera? Where do you view it?”

“My place, actually Aunt Colleen’s. We’ll go there and wait tonight. So you might want to bring your computer and sleeping bag. Deluxe accommodations, it’s not.”

“As long as we nail the bastard.”

“And just in case we don’t get a clear picture, I’ve got another camera mounted over the window in the kitchen, looking straight at the fireplace. When he turns to leave, we’ll get him.”

“You’ve been busy,” she said admiringly.

“Thanks.”

“He has to be someone who has access…probably Hiram?” She thought of Irene Calloway’s big grandson. He really didn’t seem to have the brainpower to pull off something like this. And Irene? Would she really spy on her tenants?

“He’s at the top of my list, but I’m going to do some checking. I got the name and model number of the camera. Like I said, state of the art, so I’m going to find out who bought one in the last eighteen months or so.”

“By using your connections with the police?”

“See, you are a bright girl,” he teased, obviously not concerned that their little lovemaking session might turn up on YouTube or MySpace or God-only-knew what video-sharing site on the Internet. Someone who recognized her could even send it to her father’s e-mail account.

She winced at the thought.

“Relax,” Jay said, as if reading her thoughts. “The lights were out last night. I don’t think it’s an infrared camera.”

“Oh, God.” She hadn’t thought of
that.
Nor did she want to consider that whoever this techno-geek might be, he could be sophisticated enough to enhance the video imagery.

Things were rapidly going from bad to worse.

Jay reached for the door. “So, let’s both go inside and let him know that you won’t be around tonight, give him plenty of opportunity.”

They reentered and Kristi glanced toward the camera, still blocked by her books. They both made a big fuss about the dog and returned to their spots. Jay turned off the music and they talked about everything and nothing, then made plans to go to “his place” without giving out any specifics. She packed her things, including her computer, sleeping bag, the necklace with the vial they found, the bike, and a change of clothes.

Since she intended to attend Father Mathias’s morality play and Jay had a dinner meeting with the head of his department, they took separate cars through the rain to the address Jay had written on a business card and slipped to her, thus avoiding anyone overhearing where they would be staying. It was also important that she take her car so that her own personal voyeur would realize the Honda wasn’t parked in its usual spot, and he would feel safer and hopefully take the opportunity to break inside and reposition his equipment.

The thought of him skulking around her place, maybe searching through her drawers and touching her underwear, made her shiver. Who was the guy?

She thought about the sicko who got off watching her, as she followed Jay’s truck through the rain-washed streets. Had the pervert watched Tara? Had he learned her routine and plotted her abduction, all with the help of his little camera? Did he have tapes of the other missing girls? Did he keep those tapes for his personal use, his twisted enjoyment, or, worse yet, had he made them public, placed them on the Internet?

If he was into this depraved videotaping, could it be even worse? Could he have films of the girls’ abductions? Their abuse? Even their murders?

Dear God, she hoped not. Her fingers tightened over the steering wheel as she attempted to rein in her imagination. “Don’t borrow trouble,” she warned herself.

And besides, she had no basis for these runaway thoughts. If the missing girls had shown up on the Internet, wouldn’t someone at the college have seen them by now? Recognized them? Surely the police and campus security had searched the World Wide Web.

Taillights flashed ahead.

Jay’s truck stopped at the light.

Lost in her reverie, Kristi had to slam on her brakes. Her Honda skidded, tires squealing. Antilock brakes grabbed, released, grabbed again. She braced herself, ready for the impact and shriek of twisting metal.

Her hatchback’s nose stopped less than an inch from the Toyota’s bumper.

“Oh, God.” She let out her breath, then gasped at the screech of tires behind her. Glancing fearfully in the rearview mirror, she helplessly watched a big van shimmy and slide, narrowly avoiding smashing into her.

Kristi exhaled slowly, her heart pounding. Jay, his silhouette visible to her, looked up. She lifted her hands, palms upward, to acknowledge that she’d been an idiot. She hoped the guy in the van who had barely missed hitting her witnessed her silent apology as well.

“Concentrate,” she told herself as rain pummeled the windshield and the wipers struggled to keep up. She had to pay better attention. The roads were slick with rain, the clouds dark and close, the day gloomy and winter-dark.

The stoplight switched to green. Jay eased into the intersection and Kristi followed carefully. She tried her best to keep her mind on the surrounding traffic and road ahead, but the truth of the matter was that her thoughts were elsewhere. Someone had broken into and wired her apartment. Watched her. Videotaped her. Her skin crawled as she imagined him getting off on watching her undress, or sleep or shower or make love to Jay.

“Bastard,” she muttered as she drove through the city, her wipers struggling with the rain. “You’ll get yours,” she added, following Jay onto a side street. The car behind her, only visible as headlights through the rain, made the turn as well.

It was the same dark van that had nearly slammed into her.

Right?

Another turn.

The vehicle lagged behind.

But eventually the headlights swung in behind her.

As if he were tailing her.

Which was ludicrous. Her imagination really was running wild.

Nonetheless, Kristi’s heart clutched. Every nerve in her body tightened. She told herself to let it go, but she couldn’t drag her gaze from the rearview mirror.

Was the guy in the van—if it was still the van, she wasn’t completely sure—was he the same person who had run the surveillance operation on her apartment?

Jay turned onto a final lane, a cul-de-sac, the street sign nearly shouting out the address that he’d written on the back of his business card, the one lying on the passenger seat.

She shot by. Barely braking.

The vehicle behind her stayed with her, didn’t peel off to follow Jay. “Who the hell are you?” she thought, and made certain all her doors were locked. She angled through the side streets of the neighborhood until she recognized one as being a major arterial. Turning left onto the two-way street, she checked her rearview mirror.

Sure enough, the big rig followed.

But it was more cautious now, blending into the increasing traffic. Her phone began to ring, but she ignored it. She had to concentrate. A half mile later, making certain the dark van was boxed between a Taurus and a Jeep, Kristi saw the light ahead turn amber.

Perfect.

Heart thudding, fingers clenched around the steering wheel in a death grip, she trod on the accelerator, reaching the intersection just as the light changed. It turned a blazing red just as she sped through.

The rest of the traffic stopped.

“You son of a bitch! Just keep coming!” she yelled jubilantly. Her cell phone started ringing again but she couldn’t get it. She had to concentrate, keep moving.

She blew past the first side street, and turned a quick corner at the second one, just as she noticed the stoplight, where the van was held up, changing again.

Damn!

He might try to cut her off. She took another right, spied a church parking lot and slid inside, killing her running lights and cutting a three-sixty in the empty lot, so that she was faced out, her foot off the brake, the car idling and partially blocked from view by an overgrown laurel hedge.

Sure enough, the van sped past, the driver, a dark blur.

Turning on her lights, she edged into the street. She saw the van turn the corner she’d taken less than three minutes earlier. “Bastard.” If she could get close enough to spy the numbers on his license plate, then she could have her father or Jay check with the DMV and nail the jerk.

For the first time since she’d started this investigation she felt as if she might be getting somewhere. She reached the corner and turned the wheel sharply, throwing up a sheet of water as her tires hit a puddle. The van was two blocks up and moving slowly, brake lights intermittently glowing red as he searched for her.

She stepped on the gas, her heartbeat thudding. What if he stopped? He would recognize her car. “Too bad.” She speed-dialed Jay as she closed the distance.

“What happened to you?” he demanded.

“Someone was following us…or me.”

“Jesus, Kris, where the hell are you? Are you okay?” She heard an edge of panic in his voice. “I’m coming—”

“No, I gave him the slip and now I’m following him.”

“I’m calling nine-one-one.”

“Just hang on the line.”

“I’m on my way. Where the hell are you?”

“Don’t know…somewhere off the ten…not far from University Lake.”

“That far south? Holy shit!” She heard keys rattling and he was breathless as if he were running. Then a door slammed. “Tell me the next cross street.”

“Hang on! Oh, no…He’s heading for the freeway.”

“Let it go.”

“Can’t do it.” She tossed the phone onto the seat and hit the accelerator as a sports car, roaring around a corner, cut in front of her. “Idiot!” she screamed, hitting the brakes and feeling the car shimmy beneath her. “You son of a bitch!”

The driver, oblivious, cut around another car and Kristi gunned her Honda onto the ramp for the freeway, but she knew before she merged that the chase was over.

The bastard had disappeared.