Insatiable Desire Page 9

  His sinister laugh chilled her to the bone, and her body jerked as death began to claim her.

  “Trade me your soul,” he murmured in a menacing voice that sounded inhuman. “Be my slave, and I’ll breathe life back into you. Then you will live forever.”

  Her son’s tiny face flashed in her mind just as the well of death consumed her. She’d promised to take care of him, protect him. What would happen to him if she was gone?

  “Your soul?” he asked.

  A snake darted his tongue out and licked at her ear; another brushed her cheek, its scaly skin scraping her tender flesh. Little Petey’s face flashed in her head again. She couldn’t leave him . . .

  “Yes, please, whatever you want. Take my soul, and I’ll do anything for you.”

  Clarissa shivered as a scream reverberated in her head. “Help me! Save me!”

  Startled, she hugged her arms around herself and closed her eyes, struggling to see the girl’s face.

  But the images blurred, and instead, she saw a faceless black monster.

  The demon . . .

  Then a bed of snakes as they covered the girl’s body. A timber rattlesnake, then another and another . . .

  God . . . this creature, whatever it was, was sadistic and without mercy.

  Nausea clawed at Clarissa’s throat and stomach, but she fought it and ran for the phone. She had to call Vincent and the sheriff. Tell them there had been another victim.

  And let them know that the killer they hunted wasn’t human. He was a demon monster with a black, soulless face.

  Laughter burst from Pan’s lungs as he waved his hand and made the snakes disappear. Only a whisper of his demonic breath into Sadie Sue’s lungs and her body surged back to life. The woman was his—a victory on his part, a soul for his collection that would aid in his journey to a higher level in the underworld.

  All she needed to do now was make her first kill, and she would be Satan’s servant forever.

  Had Clarissa heard Sadie Sue’s screams? Were the other voices he’d sent taunting her?

  Another smile curved his mouth.

  She had to be growing weak now, her sanity teetering on the brink of destruction.

  Yes, soon she would be his, as well. He could almost taste the joy of victory and the sweetness of her demise.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Vincent’s cell phone rang just as he finished the ham and biscuits he’d ordered in the lodge. Designed for hunters and vacationers, the oak-paneled walls held deer heads, along with stuffed trout, farm tools, hunting rifles, and photos of various hunters and fishermen showing off their prizes.

  He’d requested a copy of the registry for the last six months to search for frequent visitors, out-of-towners, a name that might appear more than once or stand out. Maybe he’d find the killer here. He might be staying in the cabin next to him or in the lodge, sipping coffee this morning and enjoying the view, smug and thinking the police had no clue as to his identity.

  His phone jangled again, and he checked the number, noted it was the sheriff, and connected the call while he gestured for his bill.

  “Valtrez, it’s Waller.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Clarissa called and thinks there’s been another murder.”

  Hell. He cursed, then tossed some cash on the table to cover the tab, slurped down another sip of coffee, and scraped his chair back from the table.

  “Does she have a name?”

  Waller sighed. “No, just that the girl screamed for help and she saw rattlesnakes.”

  He crossed to the lobby, a massive space with a two-sided stone fireplace in the center.

  “I know you wanted to question the family and friends of the other victims, too, so I called and they’re coming in at eight.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  The waitress, a twentysomething brunette with a tattoo of a butterfly on her ankle, winked at him as she rushed by with fresh coffee to fill the bar beside the registration desk. “Hurry back, sugar.”

  He offered her a slight smile, for a fleeting second contemplating taking her to bed. Last night’s hand job had left him less than satisfied, wanting more. He needed to assuage that ache, because the woman in his fantasy the night before wouldn’t end up in his bed.

  Clarissa was too damn complicated, whereas the brunette had a fuck ’em and leave ’em kind of look, as if she’d been around. The kind of woman he used on a regular basis to quench his insatiable thirst for fleshy raw sex.

  But he had pressing business to take care of, so he strode outside without setting a date.

  Normally, even in summer, the mountain ridges offered shade and cooler temperatures, but today the blinding sun beat down on him, blasting him with heat so oppressive it was hard to breathe.

  Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he walked to his Land Rover and climbed in. He activated the GPS system and headed down the mountain into town, his gaze tracking the winding road into the forest. A doe paused to stare in his direction, and his gaze caught the animal’s, its eyes huge with innocence, yet a heartbeat later a hunter’s shot sounded in the air, and the deer scampered away in search of safety.

  Neither man nor animal was safe in these mountains.

  Deputy Bluster tossed the printed article about Valtrez on Waller’s desk. “Take a look at that. See who you’ve invited into our town.”

  Sheriff Waller glanced up from his desk with a scowl and took a sip of his coffee. “What the hell is this about?”

  “Just read it, Waller.”

  The older man’s jowls shook as he worked his mouth from side to side, but he lowered his gaze and read the printout. “You think I didn’t know this?”

  “You did, and you asked him here anyway?” Shock strained Bluster’s face. “For all we know, he killed his parents. And who’s to say he isn’t the one killing these women?”

  Waller took another sip of coffee, then leveled a calm look at Bluster. “He was only ten when his parents disappeared, and the truth is, if he had killed his daddy, I wouldn’t have blamed him. That man was one mean SOB.”

  “All the more reason to suspect he’d be just like him.”

  Waller poked his tongue in his cheek. “Valtrez has an impeccable record as a closer. Besides, he was in Nashville when I phoned and requested his help.”

  Bluster crossed his arms. He’d expected more of a reaction. “So you’re defending him?”

  “You don’t understand. That’s the reason I requested Valtrez in the first place. He went into the Black Forest and survived. He’s seen things that we don’t know how to deal with. And I’ve lived through too many of these damn eclipse years to play around.” Waller scowled. “Now, stay out of his way, Bluster, and let him do his job.”

  Furious, Bluster stormed out the door. Waller was going to keep the guy around.

  Bluster would have to be on guard. Not draw suspicion from the feebie.

  He’d covered himself too well to let Valtrez find out the truth about him.

  Blocking memories of forced hunting trips, of running from the pack of killer dogs on his scent, Vincent braked as he drove down the ridge, feeling the blistering heat seeping through his vehicle all the way to his bones. Five minutes later, he parked and strode inside. Waller had a pot of coffee brewed, so he poured another cup, needing the jump start of caffeine to make up for the sleepless night.

  Waller greeted him in the front reception area. “Billie Jo’s mama is in my office,” Waller said. “And I pulled the phone records for each victim. Nothing suspicious, no similarities or common friends.”

  “How about Bennett’s?”

  “I checked those, too. No phone calls from Tracy Canton.”

  Vincent frowned and started toward the office.

  “Wait a minute, Valtrez.”

  Vincent halted. “What is it?”

  Waller waved the printout at him. “Bluster came in with this. I thought you should know he found it.”

  Vincent clenched his hands into fists. “
Does this mean you want me off the case?”

  Waller shook his head. “No. We need your help.”

  Vincent stared at him for a long minute, wondering at what Waller wasn’t saying. But Waller turned and headed to his office.

  Vincent followed him into the sparsely furnished room, bracing himself for an emotional scene. Beverly Rivers looked haggard and frail, her skin a pasty green.

  Vincent took a seat across from her. “Mrs. Rivers, do you know anyone who would have hurt your daughter?”

  “No.” She wadded a tissue in her gnarled hand. “We’ve lived here all our lives and have lots of friends. And we were getting ready to plan Billie Jo’s wedding.”

  She twisted her hands together until the tissue disintegrated into shreds. “It’s the damn moon again. Another year of the eclipse. Bad stuff always happens then. I just never thought it would touch my family.”

  The anger and sorrow in her voice resurrected Vincent’s anguish over his mother’s death.

  Vincent had seen photos of his parents when they’d married, had heard his mother talk about how Vincent’s father had charmed her, how their love was as vibrant as a summer storm. But then he’d changed.

  It had been a year of the eclipse then, too . . .

  Vincent hadn’t understood the significance. Now he wondered . . .

  Was that the trigger that had caused his father to change? To mentally and physically be so cruel that he’d take his own wife’s life?

  Exhaling, he turned back to the case at hand.

  The next hour and a half passed, strained, as he questioned Billie Jo’s fiancé, as well as Jamie’s father and her roommate, Wanda, who claimed Jamie had gone to Six Feet Under to meet some friends for a drink. But according to the waitress Waller had spoken with, Jamie had never showed.

  Vincent made a mental note to stop by the establishment and question the bartender, see if he remembered a stranger in the bar or someone who might have looked suspicious.

  As soon as Wanda and Mrs. Rivers left, Deputy Bluster stormed in, hands on his hips. “I told you I already questioned these people. Why do you have to put them through this again?”

  “Because it’s my job,” Vincent snapped. “When a tragedy first occurs, sometimes the victim’s family and friends are in shock and can’t focus enough to recall details. After a few days, they begin to look back and remember little things, sometimes something important that offers a lead.”

  Irritated, Vincent strode back to the front room for more coffee, leaving Bluster to cool his heels. The bell on the door jangled, and Vincent glanced up as the door screeched open. Clarissa entered, a green tank top hugging her voluptuous breasts, a long, gauzy skirt floating around her ankles and drawing his eyes to her toes. Red-hot like the center of a burning coal.

  Shit.

  He’d never had a foot fetish, but for some reason he imagined licking those toes.

  Sick bastard, that’s what he was. He didn’t even like the woman—how could he lust after her?

  His need had nothing to do with her, he told himself.

  He was simply a sexual animal who couldn’t be satisfied.

  Not with any one woman.

  Desire rippled through Clarissa at the blatant hunger in Vincent’s eyes.

  But she couldn’t explore a fantasy with him, not when they were standing in the middle of the police station with her mind crowded with pleas from the dead.

  Not when they had another girl’s body to recover.

  Heat flamed in his eyes again, though, the hard set to his jaw sending a frisson of need through her.

  She tensed. Tim was right—Vincent was dangerous to her. But not physically. On a sexual level. He made her imagine doing things she’d never fantasized about before.

  Like being on her hands and knees and loving him. Even now, with anxiety over the evil in the town needling her, she felt drawn to him, knew that if he ever took her to bed she’d let him do whatever he wanted to with her.

  Deputy Bluster stormed into the room, muttering under his breath, but paused when he noticed Clarissa. His expression immediately changed into a smile. “Morning, Clarissa.”

  She struggled for composure. “Hi, Tim.”

  Vincent’s expression hardened, but he stepped aside, and Tim moved nearer as if to claim his territory.

  Vincent poured himself a cup of coffee, then filled a second one and handed it to her. “You called the sheriff about another missing girl?”

  She nodded, surprised at his gesture. “Yes. He used snakes this time.”

  Vincent’s jaw tightened. “You don’t have a name or face?”

  She shook her head, mentally straining for a clear picture of the girl’s face, but everything was vague. “Not yet. But I hope she’ll talk to me again.”

  “How about Mrs. Canton? I thought you were bringing her in.”

  “She wasn’t feeling well.” Clarissa sipped the coffee, grateful for something to do with her hands. “I suggested she try to eat something, said we’d stop by later.”

  Waller loped in, pulled at his chin, the craggy lines of his face more pronounced this morning, as if the case had already added ten years. “Clarissa, you know anything else about the girl?”

  “I’m afraid not. Have you heard anything?”

  He rubbed a hand across his cell phone where it was belted to his waist. “No bodies have turned up, but I just got a call from Trina Lamar. She babysits little Petey, Sadie Sue LaCoy’s little boy. She said Sadie Sue didn’t come home last night at all.”

  Tim sighed. “You know she works at the Bare-It-All. She probably got hooked up with a john and just hasn’t shown up yet.”

  “Maybe.” Sheriff Waller shrugged. “But Trina’s worried and upset. Petey is crying for his mama, and Trina says that Sadie Sue is always home by five. She’s obsessive about being there in the mornings when the baby wakes up.”

  Vincent brushed Clarissa’s arm, a gentle touch that took her off guard.

  She expected him to argue, but instead he cleared his throat. “Let’s go check it out. Then I want to talk to Mrs. Canton.”

  Their gazes locked, the heat between them simmering as his dark eyes pierced hers. She read his distrust, suspicion, hesitation. For a brief second, something else flickered in his eyes, a moment of truth, as if he accepted, maybe even suspected that she might be right.

  Or had she imagined it because she wanted him to believe in her more than she’d wanted anyone’s approval in a long time?

  Daisy Wilson had crawled in bed as soon as she’d arrived home this morning at seven a.m. She’d been working the swing shift for so long that she’d adjusted to the hours and slept during the day, but the heat in the house woke her midmorning.

  Or maybe it was the noise.

  She jerked her eyes open and reached to tear off her sleep mask, but before she could rip it off, a breath fanned her cheek.

  J.J.? Had he slipped inside without her hearing him come in? Was he here to surprise her? Tell her he’d stopped drinking, that he wanted to be with her more than he wanted the bottle? Or that he wouldn’t ask her to play out his twisted fantasies?

  The scent of something rancid teased her.

  When J.J. was drunk, he liked to get rough. The very reason she’d broken it off with him.

  She tried to scream. But two large hands pressed her down into the mattress. She tried to fight, but her body was paralyzed.

  What had he done to her? Why couldn’t she move her arms and legs? Had he drugged her in her sleep?

  Please, J.J., she whispered. But no sound emerged from her mouth. Only the sound of him moving. Suddenly she realized he was undressing her. She tried to see his face, but the room was so dark, all she could make out was shadows. A hulking, large black shadow.

  Panic seized her. Was it J.J., or someone else?

  Hot air seared her skin, air that she realized was his breath as he moved down her body, pulling at her clothes until she lay completely naked.

  A sob caught in
her throat, and tears spilled down her eyes. He was going to rape her, then kill her.

  But instead of climbing on top of her, he tore off a long strip of plastic wrap and wound it around her feet.

  Oh, God . . .

  He bound them tightly, then worked upward, winding the wrap around her legs, then around her midriff and breasts, stretching it so tautly that it cut off her circulation. He bound her arms to her sides and wound the plastic wrap around them, gluing them to her body like a mummy, then lifted her head and began to wind it up her throat.

  A scream echoed in her mind. God help her. Please. She’d always been terrified of being suffocated.

  The room spun. She felt light-headed and nauseated. Then a numbness seeped through her, robbing her of feeling. Snippets of her life flashed in the darkness. A time when she was little and played dolls with her sister. The day she’d buried her mama. Her brother’s wedding last year, when she’d been a bridesmaid. The babies at the hospital that she tended to daily.

  The fact that she wanted one of her own and hadn’t had a chance to have one.

  He secured the plastic wrap totally around her mouth, then her nose and eyes, and pure terror shot through her. She gasped for air, struggling to make her lungs work, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe . . .

  “Give me your soul and I’ll let you live,” he murmured against her ear.

  What?

  “Your soul,” he whispered.

  Then a sliver of light shattered the darkness. Her mother’s hand reaching for her.

  “Don’t give in to him,” her mother whispered. “He’s evil, Daisy. He’ll make you evil, as well.” Her mother began to sing a hymn about redeeming grace that Daisy remembered from childhood, the very song she had sung at her mother’s funeral. “There’ll be no sorrow in heaven . . .”

  Daisy’s chest heaved for a breath, but it was futile. Her mother’s hand brushed Daisy’s head, soft and beckoning, comforting. Daisy stopped fighting and latched on to her voice.

  “Come with me—heaven is beautiful.”

  She reached for her mother, let the darkness swallow her completely, knowing that the light waited for her on the other side.

  That her mother would help her enter it. And then the pain would be over.