Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (81 page)

James kissed her hard and she tried to blot out Rick’s image—for God’s sake he’d rejected her—but when she found the zipper of his slacks, and James, breathing hard, started to guide her hand inside, she stopped.

“I … we can’t,” she said in a rush. This was so wrong in so many ways.

His eyes flared angrily and she felt like an idiot, a tease. She pulled the quilt around her as he leaned backward. “Olivia—”

“Shh … I know … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean things to go this far,” she said and fought tears. Regret tore through her as she saw the pain etched in his features. “I think, no I
know
I was using you. I was hurting and …” Her chin trembled. “… you know you’re just too damned good-looking to be a priest. I think the term today is ‘hottie.’ ”

He groaned, but cracked a weak smile. “Is that some kind of consolation?” he asked thickly.

“No.” She shook her head and took in a deep breath as she pulled the afghan more tightly around her naked body. “It’s a compliment. I care too much about you for this to happen.”

“Forgive me, but that sounds like a cliché, part of a rehearsed speech. I’m not buying it.”

Wrapping her arms around her knees, she sighed. “Okay, so I feel like the ultimate tease here. But it wasn’t intentional. Really. I care for you. A lot. But if we took this one step further, I think—no, I’m sure, that we’ll both regret it. Maybe even before morning.”

“You’re in love with someone else.”

She gritted her teeth. “I was. Yes. No more.”

He snorted as he scooped up her bra and panties and handed them to her. “You’re kidding yourself, Olivia.” His blue eyes held hers. “You and I both know it. Now, I think we should both get dressed and I’d better leave before I change my mind.”

Grabbing his wrist, she said, “Please. I don’t think you should drive. You can stay. In the spare room. It seems kind of empty now that Sarah’s gone.”

“I don’t know…” But he hesitated. “I am a little dizzy.”

“I promise to make you the most fabulous breakfast you’ve ever eaten in the morning,” she said, wanting him to stay, to cement their friendship, so that she would know that they could get over what had just happened between them. “Boiled crawfish, shrimp omelette, biscuits with gravy … my grandmother’s favorite recipes.”

He hesitated, then glanced around the cozy room with its sparkling colored lights and the crackle of the fire. “Okay, you’ve tempted me and I can’t resist.” His eyes grew serious. “I guess I’ve already proved that.”

Wiggling into her clothes, she said, “We’re putting that behind us, right?” “Right.”

“Good.” She pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Thanks, James. For understanding.”

“No problem,” he said, though she guessed it was a lie. “It’s all part of the job.”

Chapter Thirty-three

“Are you nuts?” Kristi said as she shoved her extra pair of running shoes into her backpack. “Me, not go back to school? Come on, Dad, I thought you were into me getting a higher education.” She glanced at her father standing in the doorway, his chin all rock-hard, his lips compressed. Jesus, did he always have to play the heavy? She was
not
in the mood for it. Her period had started this morning and she’d already had to deal with Jay. For God’s sake, he’d actually gotten red-faced and cried when she’d handed him back his ring in the parking lot of the Dairy Queen. On top of all that, Brian hadn’t called this entire four days and she had two papers due. One for Zaroster and another for Sutter. Now her dad was pulling this overprotective stuff again.

She didn’t have time for any of this crap.

“I just don’t see what it would hurt if you waited a few days to go back,” Bentz said, walking into the room and looking all tough. As if
that
would change her mind.

“It’s college, Dad, and no, they don’t take roll, but I’ve got some assignments that are due pronto and I can’t afford to miss class. It’s not like I’m this brainiac stellar student, you know.” She zipped up the bag and glanced around her room one more time. The bed was still unmade. Just the way she’d kept it when she lived here and she knew it bugged the hell out of her father. She flipped the covers over the pillows in a halfhearted stab at straightening up, then noticed the bouquet of carnations and rosebuds, still fresh, that her father had placed in the vase on her nightstand before she’d arrived. “Look, I know you’re worried. There’s a serious bad guy on the loose, but I still have to live my life, you know.”

“I don’t think you get how dangerous this is. The creep is lurking around college campuses. There’s a connection to All Saints.”

“Is it serious? Or just a theory? I thought some of the victims went to Tulane or Loyola.”

“That’s true, but I think his hunting ground is wider.”

“ ‘Hunting ground?’ Yuk, you
try
to make it sound creepy.”

“It is,” he said soberly. “I don’t have to try. These women weren’t just killed, Kristi. They were sacrificed. Butchered. The public information officer is letting out some more info on the son of a bitch, to warn the public and to ask for their help in tracking him down.”

“Good. You’ll catch him faster.” She hauled her backpack onto her shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

“I want you to have a bodyguard,” he said, trying a new tack.

“What? No friggin’ way.” But she could tell he was serious. “Think about it. I can’t have some guys following me all over campus like I’m the daughter of the president or anything. No, Bentz. It’s not going to happen. And don’t start messing with my friends, either. Doing background checks and all that shit. It’s not going to work. Come on, Dad, I’ve really got to get back to campus.” Then she saw it, a tightening in the cords at the base of his neck. “You already have, haven’t you? You’ve checked into someone— oh, no, don’t tell me it’s Brian. You wouldn’t.” She saw it in his eyes. “You can be such a bastard!”

“Did you know that he was in trouble with the law?”

“Yeah, he told me all about it. Statutory rape. And he doesn’t get along with his folks. Okay. Yeah, I know. Now, let’s go.” She stormed out of the room. “It’s time to rock ‘n’ roll.”

The dogs were driving him out of his mind. They howled from dawn to dusk and then some.

The Chosen One reminded himself that he didn’t have long to wait. December second was barely a week away … and he needed to spend that time flogging Bibiana while the dogs watched and grew hungrier.

He crossed himself at the altar and changed into street clothes, surveying himself in the mirror, smiling as he thought of his next mission. This one was more personal than the others … Bibiana … Sister… it was time to meet … How had it happened that his mother, named for St. Bernadette of Lourdes, had been such a whore? A woman capable of giving up her child, her only son, then marrying the very man who had sired that boy and having more children—girls—which she kept. Never once had she tried to contact him. Never once had she attempted to explain. It was as if he’d never existed.

It was an outrage; a sin.

Who had the son been given to? Hayseeds! Hicks! A barren farming couple who wanted him only to put him to work, sunup to sundown, a couple whose strict interpretation of Catholic dogma had been corrupted by their need to survive. He, the son they’d wanted so desperately, had been flogged and cursed, forced into servitude, told incessantly how much he cost his parents with his parochial education which, of course, they’d insisted upon. And a strict school it had been, an institution where there had been no girls, no distractions, a school which concentrated on learning and higher education, a school where he’d excelled and managed to receive scholarships and where he’d learned that he’d had a different calling, that God had chosen him to suffer, the Father in all His wisdom, had picked him to rid the earth of sinners … first his parents, but slowly … so that it would appear natural.

First the “accident” with the tractor that had left his father a cripple. Then, over time, the slow effects of the fertilizer supplements added to his medications, swirled carefully into tall glasses of sweet-tasting, over-the-counter concoctions for everything from cough syrup to constipation remedies. His “mother” had been just as easy with her belief in “natural” herbs, pills that could be easily doctored, capsules that could be swapped all too easily. She’d been half-blind, so dependent. No one had suspected. They’d been in their late forties when they’d adopted him, and then, when he’d found his calling, when God had first spoken to him, they had already started to decline.

Freda had died in her La-Z-Boy watching
Jeopardy!
, Tom from a heart attack not a year later.

Simple.

Neat.

Tidy.

And just the beginning, he thought now as he heard the dogs’ howls over the soft strains of classical music. Bach. Usually calming. But not tonight.

Tonight he was restless. He needed to find Bibiana, to convince her to meet with him. She would be wary, so he would have to be careful. But then … he had just the bait.

Adjusting his jacket, he walked down the stairs to the basement where a single red bulb glowed, giving the old cement walls a faint crimson glow.

The woman laying naked in the straw was still unconscious. Her hands were bound behind her, a shackle chaining one ankle to the wall. He’d left her a bucket to use should she need to defecate and he gave her enough water to keep her alive. She was groggy still, the discoloration on her face unfortunate. He hadn’t expected her to struggle. Stupid bitch of a woman. Whore. Out drinking and flirting … a married woman. He would keep her. Alive. For a while. Until she’d lured St. Bibiana here. His hands clenched as he thought of his sister. Olivia Benchet, the privileged one.

Soon to be sacrificed.

God was waiting for her.

The dogs bayed and growled from their kennels and he noticed that their ribs were beginning to show. Drool dripped from their muzzles. He tossed them each a bone from the meat market… and they, snapping and snarling, dark eyes glittering, pounced on their morsels.

The woman moaned. He’d have to tend to her. Take off her gag so that she could lap water … stupid whoring bitch …

One eye opened, blinked, and focused for a second. She jerked away, scrambling as best she could toward the wall. Fear widened her eyes over the gag. One cur growled and the woman snapped her head, caught sight of the dogs and scrambled closer to the wall.

His cock twitched when he saw her terror. He thought of what he could make her do … the sexual acts he’d imagined … he was suddenly hard. It would be so simple to rut with her. To debase her. To show her what a filthy whore she was … but he couldn’t. It would be unclean. Unworthy.

Carnal pleasure is not part of the mission.
His headache grew. The tic beneath his eye began again. His mission seemed cloudy.

Confess. You need to confess.

The prisoner’s gaze was fastened on the spasm on his face, then when he caught her looking, her eyes moved and saw the bulge in his pants. Her terror was complete … or was it … there was something else in her eyes—a cool calculation. She was planning her escape. Even in her foggy mind. He clucked his tongue. He thought of putting her under again, then decided to let her consider her fate. One dog sent up a wild yip and she glanced over at it, new horror showing in her eyes. She hated them. And rightly so.

The Chosen One turned to the stairs and he heard her mewling behind him. Soon she would beg for her life, do anything he wanted, and he’d have absolute power over her. He turned on the third step and gazed down at the windowless cavern with its reddish light. She scooted closer, supplicating.

Yes, she was beginning to understand. He was her master. He alone decided her fate. He felt a spot of tenderness for her shackled and naked. But he had work to do. Time was passing. He felt a twinge of regret, of conscience. Sometimes his mission seemed wrong … other times he knew he was right. His head thundered.
Remember, you are the cleanser, one whom the Father has told to go forth and purge the earth from the depravity of sinning women. This is about purity. And retribution.

The Chosen One fought the pain and doubts knifing through his brain. He needed counsel, direction. To reaffirm that which he knew to be true. He sucked in his breath against the agony roaring through his head. Unlike the sweet bite of the whip, the pleasure that the kiss of the leather straps invoked, this was sheer agony. This pain was far different. Debilitating. Blinding. He needed to talk to someone. Father James … yes …

The woman made another strangled cry and The Chosen One turned from her. Before he clicked off the light, he glanced back. She knew only fear. She had no concept that he was going to make her immortal, that she would become a saint.

His was a heavy burden. He snapped off the light and said, “Good night, Sarah.”

“… it’ll all be in my report,” Officer Calvin Smith, one of the deputies assigned to watch Olivia, was saying, “but I thought you’d want to know that besides her friend, Sarah Restin, who left and drove to the airport, Ms. Benchet has had another regular visitor. He visited her for Thanksgiving and then stayed over the next night. I wasn’t too worried about it because I saw her greet him and they obviously knew each other, but now I’m thinkin’ it was kinda odd.”

Every muscle in Bentz’s body tensed. “He stayed over?” Bentz repeated, jealousy spurting through his blood.

“Yeah, and that’s what’s odd. I ran the plates of his vehicle a little while ago and the car belongs to the Church.”

“What?” Bentz whispered, dread chasing away the jealousy. “The Church?”
No!

“Yeah. The guy’s a damned priest.”

Bentz shot to his feet. He wanted to reach through the phone lines and strangle the man. Fear gelled in the darkest reaches of his soul. “Who?” he demanded, envisioning Olivia tied up somewhere. Tortured. Images of Leslie Franz strapped to the wheel of death and Stephanie Jane Keller chained to a pedestal sink zipped through his mind in horrid, vibrant technicolor.

“Father James McClaren.” The officer laughed. “I guess even priests have to get their rocks off sometimes.”

Bentz’s teeth ground together. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know we’re looking for a priest? That the serial killer—”

“Jesus, no! I’ve been on vacation. Just got into town and pulled this duty. My partner never said anything about the suspect being a priest.”

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. I’m off duty.”

“Dammit. Find out and call me back. On my cell phone. Pronto.” He gave the idiot his number. “You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Repeat it back to me.”

Smith did. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Pray, Smith,” he said. “Then sit tight. I think you’ve done enough.” Swearing, Bentz slammed down the phone. He strode out of his office and flew down the steps. He was in his Jeep within minutes. Throwing the rig into gear, he closed his mind to the grotesque images that chased after him. Olivia and James … lovers … like Jennifer and James … no way. No way! He pounded a fist against the steering wheel and snapped on his lights. Blowing through a stop sign, he considered the evidence. James? James was the killer? He was the right size, athletic, about the right age if Norm Stowell, the profiler, was to be believed and hell … he had blue eyes … didn’t he? But why would Olivia get herself entangled with a priest after experiencing the horror of her own visions? It didn’t make any sense. What had she said? That she’d gone to St. Luke’s because it was the closest church to the fire that had taken Stephanie Jane Keller’s life? That she’d asked Father James, the parish priest, to get the list of babies who’d been christened about the time of her brother’s birth?