Worth Dying For (8 page)

But would that make it easier for her? Has being unable to remember what happened to you made it easier to accept that you were raped, brutalized and impregnated by a subhuman psychopath?

D
ANTE HAD CATNAPPED
in the biggest, most plush chair in the library after he finished his phone calls and concluded his business. He’d awakened fifteen minutes ago, found the nearest bathroom and washed his face. He badly needed a shower and a shave. When he glanced in the mirror, the guy staring back at him looked like a seedy bum with scruffy stubble on his face wearing an expensive but wrinkled black suit. Since his usual morning routine of a shower, a shave and a cup of coffee was out of the question at the moment, because his suitcase was at the local motel, he would have to settle for just the cup of coffee.

When he finally found the kitchen, he was surprised to discover a plump, gray-haired woman buzzing about in the huge, state-of-the-art kitchen. After all, it was barely five-thirty. The moment he opened the door, he smelled the heavenly aroma of coffee brewing.

“Good morning,” the woman said. “Come on in, Mr. Moran. Coffee’s almost ready.”

“Thank you. I’m afraid I don’t know your—”

“Eustacia Bonner,” she told him. “I’m the housekeeper and cook, although I mostly do the cooking. I
oversee an outside staff who comes in daily to do the cleaning. I’ve been with the Westbrook family since I was a girl. My mama worked for old man Leslie, Miss Tessa’s grandpa.”

“Nice to meet you, Eustacia.”

“You the only body up?” she asked.

“As far as I know.”

She surveyed him from head to toe. “Looks like you slept in your clothes.”

“I did. I caught a nap in the library.”

“I want to thank you for finding our Leslie Anne and bringing her home to us.” Eustacia lifted her large white apron and dotted the tears from her eyes. “She’s a sweet thing, just like her mama. And spoiled just like Miss Tessa was when she was a girl, but it hasn’t made her a little hellion the way it did her mama when she was that age.”

Puzzled by her comment, Dante stared quizzically at the old woman. “Tessa Westbrook was a hellion as a teenager?”

Eustacia chuckled. “She sure was. You’d never believe it to see her now, would you? Ever since she recovered from that bad accident she had when she was eighteen, she’s been the sweetest, kindest person I’ve ever known. And such a devoted daughter. You should have seen the way she was with her mama when Miss Anne was dying, one slow, difficult day after another. She would sit with her and read to her and hold her hand. And if it hadn’t been for Miss Tessa and little Leslie Anne, I don’t think Mr. G.W. would have survived after his wife’s death. That man worshipped the ground Miss Anne walked on.”

“Before the accident, Tessa…Miss Tessa wasn’t kind and sweet?”

“Lordy no! That gal was wild as a buck and downright
hateful sometimes. I swear she was the bane of her mama and daddy’s existence.”

“I suppose what happened to her—the accident and all—would have changed anybody.”

“I suppose so. Terrible thing, the automobile accident that killed Leslie Anne’s daddy. But it sure did perform a miracle on Miss Tessa.” Eustacia reached up in the cupboard, got a mug and handed it to Dante. “Coffee’s ready.”

Just as he poured the cup full of steaming hot coffee, Hal Carpenter entered the kitchen. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Eustacia replied.

“Mr. Moran, you’ve got a visitor,” Hal said. “Ms. Evans is waiting in the library for you.”

“Lucie’s here?” What was she doing here this early?

“Yes, sir.”

After taking a sip of coffee and sighing quietly, Dante exited the kitchen and headed back to the library. He found Lucie, looking fresh as a daisy, standing in front of the fireplace, gazing up above the mantel at the oil painting of a young and lovely blond woman.

“You’re out and about mighty early.” Dante entered the room.

“Wonder if that’s Anne Leslie Westbrook?” Lucie turned around and smiled at Dante.

“I don’t know. I suppose it is. The dress is rather old-fashioned, so it could even be Mrs. Westbrook’s mother, couldn’t it?”

“Hmm.” Lucie nodded to a small package on the massive mahogany desk. “I brought Leslie Anne’s things from her friend Hannah’s car.”

“You’ve already exchanged the cars? I’ll bet the servants at the Wright household appreciated being roused so early.”

“The housekeeper was already up,” Lucie said.

“Thanks for bringing the—”

“You’d better take a look inside that padded envelope,” Lucie told him. “It’ll explain why Leslie Anne Westbrook ran away.”

“I already know why.”

“You know that someone sent her a letter telling her that her biological father was a serial killer who raped and tortured his victims?”

“What?”

Lucie walked over, picked up the package and dumped the contents onto the desk. “Not just a letter, but dozens of newspaper clippings from when the man was finally arrested, put on trial and convicted. By that time he’d killed at least ten women whose bodies had been found and the police suspected him of murdering many more whose bodies were never found.”

Listening to Lucie, thinking about the monsters out there who preyed on innocent people made Dante’s blood run cold.

Following his graduation from college, he’d joined the FBI. One major reason he’d chosen the FBI as a career was because he’d thought he could use the bureau’s vast resources to find out what had happened to Amy. After years of probing into various possibilities, he’d finally come to the conclusion that Amy might have been the victim of a serial killer. Amy had fit the description of all the other victims. All the women he had kidnapped and murdered were young, pretty blondes. Not one of his victims had been older than twenty. The madman had operated in several states—Louisiana, Texas, Arkansas, Oklahoma and Mississippi—over a period of nearly six years. Definitely at the time of Amy’s disappearance.

Dante placed his coffee mug down on a heavyweight ceramic coaster on the desk, then picked up a couple of the newspaper clippings. The moment he read the name of the man who had brutalized Tessa Westbrook, his heart stopped beating for a split second.

Eddie Jay Nealy.

Dante closed his eyes in an effort to shut out the pain, but the rage and hatred burning inside him couldn’t be contained. Eddie Jay Nealy was the man who had terrorized five states for half a dozen years, each of his victims a beautiful, blue-eyed, blond teenage girl.

The man Dante believed could have murdered Amy—although her body was never found—was the same man who had raped and beaten Tessa. And that man was Leslie Anne Westbrook’s biological father.

T
ESSA FOUND
Dante in the kitchen eating breakfast with Hal. The two were drinking coffee and discussing football. She paused in the doorway and studied Dante, trying to discern what it was about the man that attracted her so. He was good-looking, but not drop-dead gorgeous. It was more an aura of raw masculinity, that dark brooding male of fiction women seemed to be drawn to even when they knew said male was dangerous. Not that Tessa believed for one minute that Dante Moran posed a physical threat to her or any woman. She’d seen the gentleness in him when he’d dealt with Leslie Anne. No, the threat was to a woman’s emotions. This man could easily break her heart, and she simply couldn’t take that kind of risk. In her thirty-five years, she’d experienced enough suffering. None of her making. But if she chose to pursue her interest in Dante and got hurt, then it would be her own fault.

When Eustacia said, “Good morning, Miss Tessa,” Hal and Dante glanced up at her.

Squaring her shoulders, Tessa breezed into the kitchen, smiled at the three other occupants and headed straight for the coffee. “Good morning.” She looked directly at Dante.

“How’s Leslie Anne?” he asked.

“She’s still asleep.” Tessa lifted the coffeepot from the warmer and filled her cup.

“Do you have any idea why that child ran off the way she did?” Eustacia asked as she placed two slices of wheat bread into the toaster. “Anything could have happened to her out there all alone the way she was.”

When Tessa didn’t respond immediately—after all what could she say that wouldn’t be a lie?—Eustacia shook her head. “It’s just the age she is, I guess. Lord knows she came by it honestly. You were wild as a buck at sixteen. Yes, sirree, you sure kept your mama and daddy on their toes.”

“So I’ve been told.” Tessa placed her coffee cup on the table and sat down with Dante and Hal.

“You about got Mr. G.W.’s breakfast ready?” Hal asked. “It’s almost seven-thirty.”

“Just as soon as I get Miss Tessa’s toast ready, I’ll set things up on a tray for Mr. G.W.”

As if on cue, the crisp browned bread popped up. Eustacia removed the two slices, buttered them lightly, put them on a plate and brought them over to Tessa. “You should eat more than toast and coffee for breakfast. No wonder you’re so skinny.”

Hal finished off his coffee and rose to his feet. “I don’t think you’re skinny, Miss Tessa. I’d say you’re just right. What do you think, Mr. Moran?”

Apparently taken off guard by Hal’s direct question, Dante jerked around and stared at Tessa for several seconds before responding. “I imagine Ms. Westbrook knows she’s a very attractive woman.”

“Attractive, but skinny,” the plump Eustacia said.

“Can’t win with that woman.” Hal removed a large breakfast tray from the bottom drawer in a massive oak cupboard.

Tessa ignored Hal and Eustacia’s conversation as they prepared her father’s breakfast tray. G. W. Westbrook ate
breakfast in his bedroom suite every morning promptly at seven-thirty. The menu seldom altered—bacon, eggs, grits and biscuits laden with butter, real butter, topped off with one of Eustacia’s homemade jellies or jams. All the warnings from his doctor and the pleadings from Tessa hadn’t changed G.W.’s eating habits.

“If I die,” he’d said on numerous occasions, “I’ll die happy with a full stomach.”

Tessa sipped on her black coffee and waited for Dante to say something to her. He remained oddly quiet. She sensed something had changed between them since they’d put Leslie Anne to bed.

Don’t be silly, she told herself. After all, there’s really nothing between you two. Just a mutual attraction. How could that have changed in a matter of hours?

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked.

“I caught a catnap in the library.”

“Hmm…”

“As soon as your father comes down, I’ll finalize my business with him, then I’ll meet up with the other Dundee agents at the motel and we’ll head back to Atlanta.”

No, please don’t go, she wanted to say, but didn’t. “I have a request. I’d like you to delay your departure.”

Furrowing his brow and narrowing his gaze, he stared at her.

Tessa wasn’t in the habit of asking favors. She’d spent the better part of the past seventeen years struggling to be strong and independent; her goal had been to become self-sufficient. After she’d been raped, beaten and left for dead, she had been at the mercy of doctors, nurses, therapists and psychiatrists. And she’d been totally dependent on her family. Only her father and her aunt Sharon had known the
complete truth. Everyone else believed the lie her father had told—that she’d been in a horrible car wreck.

Whenever she brought up the past with her father, or asked him any questions about how he’d been able to keep the truth hidden, he always told her not to concern herself with those details. She suspected that G.W. had used his money and vast political connections to manipulate the law. It never ceased to amaze her how powerful her father was, not only in Mississippi, but in the entire South.

Whatever he’d done, he’d done it for her. And her mother. And Leslie Anne. To protect them. He had rewritten history so that no one, especially her mother, would ever know the truth. In doing so, he’d given his wife one final gift in the last days of her life.

But now those once protective lies had become a threat to Leslie Anne. The safe, secure world she’d known had now become a dangerous, ugly place. A place where monsters preyed on teenage girls. Where innocent children were born as a result of rape. Where children couldn’t trust their parents.

Dante cleared his throat. Tessa’s mind jumped from introspection to the moment at hand. “Sorry,” she said. “My mind wandered.”

“What’s the request?”

“Oh, yes, the request. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay until Leslie Anne wakes up and has a chance to say goodbye. She apparently formed some type of bond with you.”

He hesitated, then spoke quickly, as if he really didn’t want to see Leslie Anne again, but would do it anyway. “Sure, I’ll stay long enough to say goodbye to her.”

What was wrong with him? Tessa wondered. The change in him, in his attitude, was subtle, but it was quite apparent.

“Would you mind if we finish our coffee in the library?” she asked, wanting to get him alone before she asked him, point-blank, why he was acting so strangely.

“I’ve finished.” He rose to his feet.

She nodded, then stood, left her cup on the table and walked to the door. Dante followed, leaving Hal and Eustacia bickering good-naturedly while preparing G.W.’s tray.

Once in the hallway, out of earshot of the others, Tessa paused and confronted Dante. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

He gave her an I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about look.

“Something has changed with you,” she said.

“The only change is that my job here is finished.”

“No, it’s something else. You’re acting different—”

He grabbed her arm. Her mouth opened on a surprised gasp. “Let’s discuss this in private.” He glanced back at the closed kitchen door.

“All right.”

She allowed him to lead her down the hall and into the library. Once he closed the sliding pocket doors, he turned to her. Her stomach fluttered with nervous trepidation. Instinct told her that she wasn’t going to like whatever he told her.

“Lucie came by earlier.” Dante pointed to the large mahogany desk that dominated the room. “She brought a package she’d gotten out of Hannah Wright’s car. It’s a package that was delivered to Leslie Anne via the U.S. mail before she ran away from home.”

With her heartbeat thundering in her ears, Tessa glanced at the large padded envelope on the desk. “What’s inside that envelope?”

“Take a look for yourself,” he told her. “But be prepared
to come face-to-face with your past.” He watched her with a mixture of sympathy and sadness.

Fear clutched Tessa’s chest, momentarily making it difficult for her to breathe. Garnering her courage, she walked across the library to the desk. For several moments, she simply stared at the padded paper bag. She could do this. She had to.

After lifting the envelope, she turned it upside down and dumped the contents onto the desk. Her hand trembled when she reached for the newspaper clippings scattered on the green felt blotter.

“Are these newspaper articles about
him?
” Tessa asked.

“Yes,” Dante replied. “They’re all about Eddie Jay Nealy.”

Tessa clutched her throat. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—look at those newspaper clippings. Just the mention of the man’s name shot a dose of instant fear through her mind and body. She laid the clippings on the desk hurriedly, as if by merely touching them she could somehow become contaminated. “This doesn’t make sense. Are you telling me that someone sent these—” she eyed the clippings “—to Leslie Anne?”

Dante nodded. “Someone who wanted her to know the truth about her biological father.”

He came over to where Tessa stood by the desk. She sensed that he wanted to touch her and she wished he would. Right now, she needed a strong shoulder to lean on.

“There’s a note enclosed,” Dante told her. “Typed. No signature.”

“I don’t understand how this is possible. No one, except Daddy, Aunt Sharon and I knew the truth—other than the authorities who were involved at the time. I seriously doubt any of them would dare risk Daddy’s wrath.”

“Obviously someone else knows. Or at the very least suspects. Someone who wants to hurt your daughter or you. Possibly both of you.”

“Whoever sent Leslie Anne that package must hate her…or hate me.”

“Do you know of anyone who—”

Tessa whirled around and glared at Dante. “You think it’s someone I know?”

“Yeah.” Dante looked at her as if she’d grown an extra head. His simple yeah response had sounded a great deal like duh.

“Stupid question. Of course it’s someone I know. But I can’t imagine who.”
We will have to find out who. Once Daddy realizes
…“You can’t leave Fairport. Not yet. We’ll need the Dundee agency to investigate and find out who sent that package to my daughter.”

“I agree you need to find out this person’s identity and there’s no agency better than Dundee’s to do the job, but I may be the wrong man for this assignment.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I want to stay on this case. I want to help you. But I have my own agenda. A very personal reason for being interested.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something you have a right to know,” Dante said. “You may not want me involved once I tell—”

“What is it?” Without even realizing she was leaning toward him, her body language told him she needed his touch.

He took both of her hands into his and held them, then looked into her eyes. “Years ago, the girl I loved—my fiancée—disappeared one night from Colby, Texas. She was waiting for me to pick her up after work, but when I
got there, she was gone. She became a missing person who has never been found.”

Tessa maneuvered her hands so that she could grasp one of his. “Oh, Dante, I’m so sorry. How terrible that must have been for you.”

After taking a deep breath, he caressed her cheek. A shiver of pleasure rippled through her, a feeling like none she could ever remember.

“I don’t know for sure what happened to her, but I’ve done some digging over the years and…” He gazed into Tessa’s eyes.

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“Amy was a blue-eyed blonde. About your size. There’s even a slight resemblance between the two of you.”

He’s attracted to you because you remind him of her
. Disappointment surged up from deep inside her. She wanted Dante to like her for herself, not because of some vague resemblance to his lost love.

“I remind you of her.”

“Yes, you do. And so does Leslie Anne, who’s closer to the age Amy was when she disappeared.”

“How old was she when—?”

“Seventeen.”

Tessa knew then what he was going to tell her. Oh, God, she knew. Don’t cry, she told herself. Don’t cry. She was strong enough to talk about what had happened to her all those years ago without falling apart.

“You think Eddie Jay Nealy killed your Amy, don’t you?”

Dante swallowed. “Nealy kidnapped, raped, tortured and killed women in several connecting states, including Texas and Mississippi. When he was finally captured, stood trial and was convicted, he admitted that he’d killed
dozens of pretty young blondes, but he would never tell the police where the missing bodies could be found.”

Tears misted her eyes, drops gathering in the corners. “I vaguely remember being told how lucky I was to be alive. My memories of that time aren’t clear, but I think it was a police officer or maybe a doctor who told me that my attacker’s other victim hadn’t survived. Or maybe he said other victims.”

“You were the only one of Nealy’s victims who survived until Helene Marshall,” Dante said. “She’s the young woman whose testimony, along with some overwhelming evidence, sent Nealy to death row.”

“I didn’t keep track of his trial,” Tessa confessed. “Daddy told me when the man was captured, when he was convicted and when he was executed. Other than that, I didn’t want to know any details. I couldn’t bear to think about him. About what—” Her voice cracked.

Dante moved away, putting some distance between them. “Tell me something—why isn’t your name listed as one of Nealy’s victims? I’ve studied his records backward and forward. There’s no mention of Tessa Westbrook.”

“When your father is G. W. Westbrook, he can handle things so that you aren’t involved, so that any mention of you or what happened to you can be erased from the records.”

“Nothing like having local law enforcement in your daddy’s hip pocket.”

“That’s true enough,” she said. “But I wasn’t attacked in Fairport. At least that’s not where I was found.”

“Where were you found?”

“I was lying in a ditch off Interstate 20, over in Louisiana somewhere.”

Scowling, pain etched on every feature, Dante clenched
his teeth and his eyes darkened to pitch-black. “Interstate 20 cuts straight across Louisiana and into Texas. Colby is about forty-five miles southwest of where that highway goes through Abilene. All the reports on Nealy stated that almost all of his victims were found near Interstate 20. I found out through my personal investigation after I joined the FBI that only a few days after Amy disappeared, a silver hair barrette with the initial A was found just off Interstate 20, along with a pair of white tennis shoes. The authorities figured they might have belonged to one of Nealy’s victims, but they never found a body.”