Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

“Our guy plans out the details,” she said. “He stalks the woman, which he probably sees as courting her. Then he kidnaps her, rapes her and kills her. Since rape is a crime of power and control and not one of passion, I’d say that is what motivates him.”

“I agree.”

“He’s an organized, power/control-oriented killer.”

“That leads us to the question of what,” Jim said. “What was the cause of death in our two murders? Was there any deviant sexual behavior? Is there anything unusual about the murders?”

“He slit both women’s throats. He tortured and raped them repeatedly. And as for anything unusual—I’d say the courtship is unusual, the gifts and notes. But what really sets Stephanie’s and Thomasina’s cases apart from the norm are those frightening S&M sketches.”

Jim wrote hurriedly, jotting down all the information as he and Bernie continued discussing the case. When did the crime occur? Were the dates significant? And where did the crimes occur?

“All three victims were abducted, but it doesn’t seem any of them put up a fight, so that indicates they knew and trusted their abductor,” Jim said.

“Well, the how and why of the actual killings are simple. The how is that he slit their throats with a sharp knife, and if we can’t find Thomasina soon, that will be her fate.” Bernie sighed heavily. “As for the why—only God knows.”

“We’ve got enough information here for me to go ahead and send it to Derek Lawrence,” Jim said. “I’ll fax everything to him before we leave this evening.”

“How did you manage to get a former FBI profiler, who now works independently, to do a profile for us for free?” Bernie leaned back in the swivel chair, crossed her arms under her breasts—her full, nicely rounded breasts, Jim noticed—and pinned Jim with her questioning gaze.

“I have an influential, wealthy friend who has used Derek Lawrence on other cases and he just called the guy and asked him to do me a favor.”

“Hmm … Must be nice to have a friend like that. Mind telling me who he is?”

Jim shrugged. “Griffin Powell.”

“Your old teammate, the Griffin Powell?”

Jim groaned. “No, please don’t tell me that you had a major crush on Griff the way ninety percent of the girls and women in the South did when we were playing ball at UT.”

Bernie smirked. “As a matter of fact …” She laughed. “I did not have a crush on Griffin Powell. But I’m as curious as everyone else about where he went and what happened to him during those ten missing years of his life. All the newspapers and magazines, as well as every radio and TV station in the South, have all speculated about him, about why he disappeared and how he earned his fortune.” Bernie leaned toward Jim. “Do you know?”

Jim noted a distinctly sweet, flowery smell and realized Bernie must be wearing perfume. That was something else he’d never noticed about her. She didn’t seem the type to wear perfume.

“Nope. I’ve never asked him and he’s never volunteered the information,” Jim replied.

“Oh, I see.”

“What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” He suddenly realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. Damn!

“Ah … er … I’m not wearing perfume.” Bernie seemed startled and confused by his inappropriate question.

Jim forced himself to laugh, hoping humor would get him out of the situation his stupidity had gotten him into. What on earth had possessed him to notice gold flecks in Bernie’s eyes or to ask her about her sweet scent? “Hey, somebody in this room smells like flowers and it’s not me.”

“Flowers?” Bernie’s eyes widened; then she smiled. “Oh, I know what it is. It’s this new hand lotion that Mom bought for me.” She held her right hand under Jim’s nose. “Is this what you smell? It’s something called Vanilla Jasmine.”

He grasped her wrist and held her hand in place, took a whiff, and grinned at her. “Yep, that’s it. You know, that hand lotion is some mighty powerful stuff. You’d better not use too much of it the next time you’re around Raymond or he’s liable to sweep you off your feet.”

Bernie’s smile vanished. “I’ll have you know that I am not the least bit interested in Raymond Long. He’s a very nice man, and I’ve known him all my life, but there is nothing between us. Not in the past before he married and moved away from Adams Landing. Not now that he’s divorced and back home running his father’s hardware store. And not in the future. Not ever. Besides, he’s gaga over Robyn, just like all you men are.”

“Are you lumping me in with all men?”

Narrowing her gaze, she looked right at Jim. “Only when it comes to what type of woman interests you.”

“And you think you know what kind of woman interests me, do you?”

“You can’t help yourself. Robyn has that effect on all men, and you are a man.”

“Guilty as charged. I am a man. I appreciate a good- looking woman as well as the next guy. And Robyn is a looker. But I don’t like sharing my woman. I tend to be the possessive type. And your sister seems to enjoy playing the field.”

“Robyn will eventually settle down when the right man comes along.”

“Yeah, she probably will.” He thought about Mary Lee, who was now married to her Mr. Right, Allen Clark. “But I’m not that man. Not for Robyn.”

Bernie grinned. “Don’t tell her that. There’s nothing she likes better than a challenge. If she hasn’t already seduced you, then finding out you’re not interested … Shit. I can’t believe I’m sitting here warning you about my own sister. Whatever’s going on between the two of you is none of my business.” Bernie scooted the chair back and stood. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Want one?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Jim said. “Why don’t we finish up here, then go over to your folks’ house and pick up Kevin. I’ll take you two out for dinner. My treat. You name the place.”

Bernie’s smile widened. “I have an even better idea. Why don’t you pick up Kevin and you two come over to my house for dinner? I’m not as good a cook as my mother, but I can grill some steaks and pop some potatoes in the microwave.”

“Well, come on, woman, let’s fax that profile to Derek Lawrence and close up shop for the evening.” When he stood, she moved away from him as if she thought he was going to touch her and didn’t want him to. He lowered his arm, realizing that he had intended to put his hand on the small of her back.

Okay, Sheriff Granger, I get the message. And you don’thave anything to worry about from me. I’m not going to hiton you. I want us to be friends. That’s all. Just good friends.

He had stripped off her clothes and then bathed her. She hadn’t fought him, and now she wondered if maybe she should have, but she’d been too terrified at the time. Too disoriented. Too confused. She had no idea where she was and saw no means of escape. He had told her that he loved her, that he knew she loved him and wanted to please him. Not knowing what he wanted to hear, she had neither agreed nor disagreed.

“I’m taking care of your personal hygiene for you this time,” he said as he brushed her hair. “But from now on, I’ll expect you to do it. Do you understand?”

She nodded her head weakly, every muscle in her body taut, every nerve rioting, as she sat quietly—obediently—in the wooden chair.

He reached down, clamped his hand around her jaw, his fingers and thumb biting into her cheeks, and glared directly into her eyes. “When I ask you a question, I expect a verbal answer. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I … understand.” Her voice trembled.

He smiled and went back to brushing her hair. “You have beautiful hair, Thomasina. Long and lustrous and so dark it’s almost black. Your hair was the first thing I noticed about you. And then as I studied you, I realized how truly lovely you are.”

Fear ate away at her like an insidious poison, building gradually, increasing with each passing moment of bondage. And despite the fact that he had unbound her feet in order to undress her and take her to the shower to bathe her, she was his prisoner in every sense of the word. Trapped not only in this tomblike room, but by her own terror.

When he bathed her, he had touched her intimately. He’d lingered over her breasts, scrubbing her nipples until they were almost raw. And when he’d washed between her legs, he had slipped his fingers inside her.

“Please,” she’d begged him. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“Oh, Thomasina. I promise I won’t tease you too much before I give you what you really want.” He had then concentrated on her clitoris, rubbing the washcloth over the sensitive nub until she thought she would scream.

“No … no …”

“What’s the matter, darling? Can’t you come without my being inside you?”

He had laughed and moved on to finish her bath.