J. Jance - Cruel Intent

It struck Ali that this was almost the same thing Bryan Forester had said about not wanting to lose his girls. Although the situations were very different, they were also surprisingly similar-a father choosing to live a lie rather than risk losing his kids.

“I’m sorry,” Ali said.

“I am, too,” Leland admitted. “I thought that once Patrick’s wife was gone he’d find the courage to live his own life and be who he really is, but it turns out he can’t. I suppose I should have mentioned it to you.”

“No,” Ali said. “There was no need to tell me. Your personal affairs are none of my business.”

“Not telling you was rather cowardly on my part,” Leland Brooks said thoughtfully. “I just didn’t want to get into it.”

Ali reached over and took one of his hands in hers. “No, Mr. Brooks,” she said quietly. “That’s not it at all. I don’t think you could ever be a coward. That’s not who you are.”

A while later, once Leland had drifted back to sleep, Ali ventured out of the room long enough to use the restroom. Studying her face in the mirror, she was shocked by what she saw. The stitches were the least of it. An ugly bruise stretched from the corner of her left eye and down across her jawline. It ended halfway down her neck.

Not a pretty face, Ali thought ruefully. If Jacky Jackson sees me now, it’ll all be over between us.

A nurse came through the doors at the end of the hallway. Before the doors swung shut again, Ali heard the sound of familiar voices and caught a glimpse of her mother’s steel-gray page-boy. Hurrying into the lobby, she found it packed with people she knew-both her parents and Athena and Chris were there, along with several concerned neighbors from Andante Drive. All of them were worried about her.

“Oh my,” Edie Larson said tearfully, rushing over to her daughter. “Look at you. If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, or should I say, a sight of sore eyes! They said you were in with Mr. Brooks and that he couldn’t have any more visitors, but I was so afraid that animal had hurt you.”

Bob Larson stepped between Edie and Ali and engulfed his daughter in a crushing bear hug. “You and your mom are quite the tag team,” he said. “But what about Mr. Brooks? Is he going to be all right?”

“He’s a little worse for wear,” Ali said. “But he’s sleeping now. The doctor says he’ll be fine.”

“Too bad he didn’t have a Taser,” Edie said. “Maybe you should give him one for Christmas.”

That broke the tension in the room, and everyone laughed. For the next few minutes, Ali told her collection of well-wishers as much of the story as she and Leland had managed to put together. Peter Winter had expected Ali to show up in response to his tile-delivery ruse rather than Leland Brooks. Once again, as she had with Chris and Athena, Ali recounted for everyone what Peter Winter had done to her and to Leland Brooks, shoving them under the water in hopes of their telling him who had taken his files.

“Those files were the tip of the iceberg,” Edie said. “Dave thinks Winter is the one who killed Morgan Forester.”

“He did,” Ali confirmed. “He told me so himself.”

“That means Bryan is off the hook, then?” Bob Larson asked.

“I hope so,” Ali said.

An hour or so later, a nurse shooed everyone out of the lobby, and Ali returned to her spot next to Leland’s bed. She had dozed off briefly when someone touched her shoulder. She awakened to find Dave Holman standing next to her chair and beckoning for her to follow him.

“I know you’re tired,” he said once they reached the lobby. “And this probably isn’t the best time to do this, but we need to take your statement as soon as possible.”

“We?” Ali asked.

“This is Detective Marjorie Hill from the city of Sedona,” Dave said, as a woman who had been seated near the windows rose to greet them. “She’s here because the attacks on you and Mr. Brooks occurred inside the city limits. I’m here because of Morgan Forester.”

“So you believe me, then?” Ali asked, glad of the confirmation.

Dave nodded grimly. “We found Morgan’s missing wedding and engagement rings on a key ring in Peter Winter’s pocket. But there’s a problem with that.”

“What kind of problem?” Ali asked.

“There are four other sets of rings there, which leads me to think there are at least four other victims. We just don’t know who they are. One them may have been his wife, Rita.”

“You’re saying Peter Winter is a serial killer?”

“Most likely,” Dave said. “It also means you and your mother had a very close call.”

It was after midnight when Dave drove Ali to the Majestic Mountain Inn. “You’ll be all right?” he asked. “Yes,” she told him.

When she got out of Dave’s Nissan, Ali was gratified to see that someone had driven her Cayenne to the hotel and parked it there. She limped toward the door of her room, still wearing the jacket Chris had placed on her shoulders much earlier in the afternoon. On her feet were ill-fitting bedroom slippers that the nurse at the hospital had produced for Ali’s use.

Ali opened the door, expecting to find the room empty. To her surprise, both Chris and Athena were there waiting for her. Chris was asleep on the bed, while Athena dozed in an armchair with Sam curled comfortably in her lap.

“She was hiding behind the dryer in your laundry room,” Athena explained. “Chris dragged her out of there, and we brought her here, but we couldn’t leave her in this strange place all by herself.”

In actual fact, Sam didn’t seem all that upset. She opened her one good eye, gave Ali an appraising glance, and then closed it again.

“Thank you,” Ali said.

“We packed a suitcase for you,” Athena added. “It’s there in the closet. We brought your robe and nightgown and some clothes for you to wear tomorrow. No toiletries, though-the cops said your bathroom was off limits-so we stopped by the drugstore and picked up a hairbrush, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste. For makeup, you’re on your own.”

The idea that Chris and Athena had managed to talk their way into bringing anything at all from the crime scene was impressive. “They let you into the house?” Ali asked. “That must have taken some convincing.”

“A little,” Athena agreed. “One of the CSI guys helped.”

Grabbing her nightgown and robe, Ali went to the bathroom to change. In addition to the bruises on her face and neck, there were bruises on her legs and arms. She had been in a fight for her life, and it showed.

When she came back out of the bathroom, Chris was sitting up on the side of the bed, and Sam was stretched out on one of the pillows.

Chris stood up. “Mom,” he said, giving Ali a hug. “You’ve got to stop doing stuff like this. You scare me to death.”

“It scared me, too,” she admitted.

“It’s late,” he said. “I’m going to Athena’s. If you need anything, Grandpa and Grandma are right next door. And here’s Athena’s cell phone. You can use it until we can get you a new one. According to the cops, there’s one sitting at the bottom of your bathtub at home. I think that one’s a goner.”

Ali let Chris and Athena out and then locked both the deadbolt and the security chain behind them. Crawling into bed a few minutes later, she was grateful to feel Sam’s stolid presence snuggled up next to her. She fell asleep almost immediately, but three times she was awakened by the same recurring nightmare: Someone was holding her head underwater, and Ali was drowning.

She was awakened shortly after sunrise by someone knocking sharply on her door. It took a moment to gather her wits and figure out where she was. Meanwhile, Sam skittered away and disappeared under the bed.