Jeff Abbott - A Kiss Gone Bad

Heather blanched. ‘Just give me my money.’

‘Yes, Darling,’ he said, and the knife swung up hard, burying itself in her stomach, deep. His hand slammed over her mouth. Heather’s eyes widened in agony and disbelief, and blood bubbled out of her, from the wound and surging past her lips.

Sam, oh Jesus, Sam help me, and then she tried to scream for her mother and then the knife was gone and she didn’t even feel the flick across her throat but she slid into a strange darkness quite different from night.

The Blade held her close against him, smelling peanut butter crackers on her breath, feeling her death shuddering through him, then ended the embrace. Heather Farrell fell bonelessly onto the sand. Blood soaked his clothes, but after all, that was very easily remedied.

He wiped the knife on Heather’s jeans. He pulled a large folded square of plastic from the back of his pants. It was warm from resting against his butt, like the knife had been. Carefully he rolled the body onto the plastic sheet and wrapped her in the shower-curtain shroud. He carried her toward the far end of the beach.

The fishing skiff bobbed in the shallow waves. He dumped the body into the boat, grabbed a small shovel and a plastic bucket, and dug up the blood-sodden sand. He motored the skiff into deeper water and aimed the prow across the heart of St Leo Bay.

He trembled. He really had nothing against her, didn’t really want her the way he desired his Darlings, but now it was done and a shaky rush of triumph dried his mouth. Again, he was okay. Again, no one had seen. Again. For all the times he felt dumb as a stump, lost among other people, this he could do and do it okay.

The Blade steered the skiff out into the night, deep into the bay. He spotted a rather grand fishing trawler anchored in the middle, halfway between Port Leo and Santa Margarita Island, but its lights were down and he gave it a wide berth. The clouds lay heavy and low over the sky, like a second shroud, blocking out the clear stars, and he moved unseen on the waters.

At nine Thursday morning Claudia, supercharged by a large chocolate croissant from an art district bakery and a double espresso stronger than Gulf crude, waited to interview Jabez Jones about the Marcy Ballew case. David stood in the small bare study, hands on trim hips, inspecting the photos of Jabez body-slamming a thick-barreled antagonist during his pro wrestling days. David’s uniform needed pressing, and she wondered if he wore it as a silent you-fled-domestic-bliss rebuke.

‘I’m pretty sure all this wrestling’s faked,’ David said.

Delford had called her last night, asking her to work with David, per his request.

Are you pissed at me or what? she had asked. Why are you putting me through the wringer? First you cut me from the Hubble case. Now you’re inflicting my ex on me.

I’m just expecting you to work with the man. It’s a whole hour out of your day, Claudia. Just do it.

She wondered if the pay was better in Rockport or Port Aransas than Port Leo.

Jabez Jones entered, filling khaki shorts and a crisp T-shirt that read BE STRONG – I SAMUEL 4:9. His thighs looked like wooden blocks and a light sheen of sweat coated his face. Morning workout or morning prayer? she wondered. He mopped at his face with a hand towel.

‘Hello, Deputy Power.’ He shook David’s hand warmly and nodded toward Claudia. ‘Detective Salazar, we’re blessed again with your presence. Carrot juice? Smoothie? We probably even have coffee, although I’m not fond of polluting my temple with stimulants.’

His temple. But Jabez’s expression remained perfectly serious.

‘No, thanks,’ Claudia said. David shook his head.

‘Well, I could use a protein shake,’ Jabez said. ‘Why don’t y’all come with me and we can talk in the kitchen?’

They followed him to a kitchen where a young woman sliced cantaloupe with the precision of a jeweler. She gave Jabez a come-hither grin, but her smile froze when she saw Claudia and David.

Claudia thought: Where do I know you from? The girl’s slender, doe-eyed face looked vaguely familiar. She moved with a complete awareness of her small body, setting down the knife with a shrug of short-snug hip, turning from the counter and leaning against it slightly to bring her breasts to full tilt against her shirt.

‘Good morning,’ she said.

‘Rachel, would you mind excusing us?’ Jabez said.

‘Just a moment.’ Claudia sidestepped around Jabez. She held up the picture of Marcy Ballew. ‘Have you seen this young woman?’

Rachel glanced at Jabez, who shrugged. She studied the flyer. Claudia remembered her then, the girl from the volleyball game when she and Whit had interviewed Jabez before.

‘No. I’ve never seen her,’ Rachel said.

‘Thanks,’ Claudia said. Jabez nodded, so Rachel left. Claudia noticed David watching her exit. It was probably inspiring to a newly single guy, and she thought, Quit it, quit looking at her.

Jabez startled her. ‘May I see the picture of who you’re looking for?’

‘Yes.’ She handed it to Jabez.

‘Her name is Marcy. We think she was in this area recently,’ David said.

Jabez handed Claudia back the photo after a blink’s worth of looking. ‘I don’t know her.’

‘Her mother told us that she was a big fan of your wrestling career and your new show,’ Claudia said.

The Adam’s apple rose slightly in his oak of a throat. ‘A fan? Well, I’m sorry I don’t know her, then, and sorry I can’t be of further help to you.’

Claudia smiled. ‘I don’t know about Deputy Power, but I think I will take one of those shakes you offered, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid I skipped breakfast. Then we can ask you a few other quick questions.’

Jabez’s smile was as tight as his shirt. ‘Certainly. Melon or strawberry? I load them with vitamin mix and wheat germ as well.’

It would nullify the chocolate and the espresso. ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having.’

‘Nothing for me, thanks,’ David said. ‘Fruit tears up my stomach real bad.’

Jabez turned to fix the beverages.

‘Do you take in runaways here?’ she asked.

Jabez pushed aside the cantaloupe that Rachel had been slicing and began to peel a banana. He peeled a second one and upended both in a blender. Then he began to wash and slice several strawberries. ‘People come to our camp for succor, for comfort. I believe they are safer with us than on the road, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know much about what all you do here.’

‘We pray, we minister.’ He dumped the cut berries in with the bananas, poured in some milk and ice, and thumbed on the blender. Claudia waited until the pureeing stopped.

‘This girl’s ID turned up alongside a road two miles outside Port Leo.’

‘She didn’t come here.’ He sprinkled wheat germ and shaved carrots and some other powder Claudia hoped wasn’t strychnine into frosted glasses and poured the blended froth over them. He rummaged in the industrial-size fridge and held up an egg to her with a raised eyebrow. She shook her head and he cracked the raw egg into his frosted glass. She heard David gulp. Jabez garnished her glass with a slice of cantaloupe and handed it to her.

‘Thank you.’ The drink tasted sweet on her tongue but had the texture of cement mix. Jabez gestured for them to follow him.

They went into an adjoining living room-cum-training center. If Jesus preached poverty, Jabez wasn’t listening. A state-of-the-art Nautilus machine towered in the corner. Expensive contemporary furniture – Danish, and out of character with the Victorian exterior of the home – adorned the room. A wide-screen television dominated one corner. Photos of Jabez’s glory days in the wrestling ring covered the wall. In one he held aloft a weighted championship belt and snarled at the screaming audience of modern-day gladiator junkies.