Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 210

Her heart froze.

A dark figure stood behind the panes, a shadow with a cruel, twisted smile.

"s.h.i.+t!"

The light s.h.i.+fted on the blinds and the image was gone-maybe just a figment of her imagination.

Or was it?

She didn't wait to find out, just hit the gas pedal, racing down the street as old Mr. Van Pelt decided to back his ancient tank of a Buick into the street. Jennifer hit the brakes, her tires screeched, and then once past the startled neighbor she floored it.

"There was no one in the window. You know that," she tried to convince herself. "No one was there."

Driving with one hand, she searched the pa.s.senger seat for her purse and cell, which, she now remembered, sat in the bedroom where she'd seen the dark figure.

"Just your imagination," she said over and over as she drove out of the subdivision and onto the main highway, melding into the thick traffic. Her heart pounded and her head throbbed. Blood from her hand smeared the steering wheel. She checked her rearview often, searching for a vehicle following her, looking through the sea of cars for one that seemed intent on chasing her down. Metal glinted in the sunlight and she cursed herself for not having her sungla.s.ses with her.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Tons of cars heading east: silver, white, black sedans and sports cars, trucks, and SUVs...at least she thought that was the direction she was going. She wasn't sure. She hadn't paid a lot of attention and she was starting to relax, starting to think she'd eluded whoever had been after her. If anyone really had.

Just another Southern California day. She spied a dark blue SUV coming up fast and her heart jumped, but it sped by, along with a white BMW on its tail.

She flipped on the radio, tried to steady her nerves, but she was sweating, her finger still bleeding. The miles pa.s.sed, nothing happened, and she began to breathe easier...really relax. She drifted a bit, nearly sideswiping a guy who hit the horn and flipped her off.

"Yeah, right, whatever," she said, but realized she shouldn't be driving, not in all this traffic in her altered state. At the next exit, she turned off...dear Lord, where was she?...in the country? She didn't recognize the area, the spa.r.s.eness of the homes, the stretches of brush and farmland. She was inland somewhere and the Valium had kicked in big-time. Blinking against the sunlight, she looked in her side-view mirror and saw another big blue SUV bearing down on her.

The same one as before?

No!

Couldn't be.

She yawned and the Explorer behind her stayed back, following her at a distance on the two-lane road that led into the hills.

It was time to turn around.

She was so d.a.m.ned tired.

The road before her seemed to s.h.i.+ft and she blinked. Her eyelids were so heavy. She'd have to slow down and rest, try to clear her head, maybe drink some coffee...

There was a chance no one had been in the house. Jeez-G.o.d, the way she was imagining things, the way her nerves were strung tight these days, the way guilt was eating at her, she was probably letting her mind play tricks on her. Her thoughts swirled and gnawed at her.

She saw the curve in the road and she braked. As she did, she noticed the dark Explorer riding her a.s.s.

"So pa.s.s, you idiot," she said, distracted, her eyes on the rearview mirror. The rig's windows were tinted and dark, but she caught a glimpse of the driver.

Oh, G.o.d.

Her heart nearly stopped.

The driver stared straight at her. She bit back a scream. It was the same intruder she'd seen in the upstairs window of her house.

Scared out of her wits, she tromped on the accelerator.

Who the h.e.l.l was it?

Why was whoever it was following her?

She saw the corner and cut it, hoping to lose the SUV, but her judgment was off and one of the van's tires caught on the shoulder, hitting gravel. She yanked on the wheel, trying to wrestle the car onto the road, but the van began to spin.

Wildly.

Crazily.

Totally out of control.

The van shuddered. Skidded.

And then began to roll.

In slow-motion certainty, Jennifer knew she was going to die.

More than that, she knew she was being murdered.

Probably set up by her d.a.m.ned ex-husband, Rick Bentz.

CHAPTER 1.

"Talk to me in six weeks." Melinda Jaskiel's voice was firm. Clear. Propped on his good leg on the back veranda, his cell phone nearly stuck to his ear in the sweltering bayou heat, Rick Bentz realized his boss wasn't going to budge. Sweat dripping off his nose, he balanced on one crutch, the thick rubber tip wedged between two flagstones. His back ached and walking was a strain, but he wouldn't admit it to a soul-especially not to Jaskiel. As head of the homicide division in the New Orleans Police Department, she had the authority to put him back on active duty. Or not. It was her call.

Once again, Melinda Jaskiel held the fate of his career in her hands.

Once again, he was begging. "I need to work." Jesus, he hated the desperation in his voice.

"You need to be at a hundred percent, maybe a hundred and ten to be back on duty."

His jaw tightened as the intense Louisiana sun beat down on the back of his neck and a fine mist rose from the swampland that backed up to the cottage nestled into the woods. Jaskiel had given him a job when no one else would touch him after the mess he'd left in L.A. And now she was shutting him down.

He heard her mutter something under her breath and thought for a split second she was reconsidering. "Look, Rick, I don't see you pus.h.i.+ng papers at a desk from eight to five."

"I've been in P.T. for a couple of months now, strong as ever."

"Strong enough to chase down a suspect? Wrestle him to the ground? Break down a door? Hit the deck, roll, draw your weapon, and cover your partner?"

"That's all TV BS."

"Is it?" Jaskiel's voice was skeptical. "Seems to me you were doing just that kind of 'TV BS' when you ended up in the hospital." She knew him too well. "You know the drill. Bring in a doctor's release and we'll discuss your reinstatement. Discuss Discuss. No promises. You know, retirement's not a bad idea."

He snorted. "Gee, Melinda, I'm getting the idea you're trying to get rid of me."

"You're still in physical therapy and you're wound too tight. End of subject. I'll talk to you later." She hung up.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" He flung his crutch across the flagstones of the veranda, where it skidded, clattering noisily and startling a mockingbird from a nearby magnolia tree into flight. "Son of a G.o.dd.a.m.ned b.i.t.c.h." His fingers clenched over his cell and he considered hurling it into the swamp, but didn't. h.e.l.l, he didn't want to explain that. that. So far, the department only questioned his physical ability. He didn't want to give the powers that be an insight into his mental state. So far, the department only questioned his physical ability. He didn't want to give the powers that be an insight into his mental state.

No shrinks. No soul searching. No pouring out his heart. No thank you.

He stood with difficulty, his balance not what it had been before the accident, despite what he'd told Jaskiel. And sometimes his leg hurt like h.e.l.l. He knew he wasn't really ready for active duty, but he was going out of his freakin' mind staying at home. h.e.l.l, even his relations.h.i.+p with his wife Olivia was beginning to wear thin. Her biological clock was ticking like crazy and she was pressuring him to have a kid. His own daughter, Kristi, was in her twenties. He wasn't sure he wanted to start over.

No, what he needed was to get out of the house and back to work. It had been nearly three months since the accident and he couldn't take sitting around another second.

"So do something about it," he ordered himself.

Gritting his teeth, he took a step unaided.

First one foot, then the other.

None of the namby-pamby putting one foot forward with the walker and dragging the second one up to it. No way. He was going to walk across this d.a.m.ned patio one foot in front of the other if it killed him. He'd show them all. In a month he'd be running across these stupid stones. A crow sat on one of the roof's gables and cried noisily, its raspy caw echoing through the scrub oak and pine.

Bentz barely noticed.

A third step.

Then four.

He was sweating now. Concentrating hard. The heat was oppressive, sun beating down, the dank smell of the swamp heavy in his nostrils. The crow kept up his incessant, mocking caw. Irritating b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Another step and Bentz looked up, away from uneven stones and to the bench, his destination. He was crossing his patio on his own two feet.

Just as he would have if he hadn't been injured.

Just as he would have if he hadn't nearly lost his life.

Just as he would have if he hadn't been forced to consider early retirement.

He moved forward again, more easily, more confidently.

And then he felt it.

That cold certainty that he was being watched.

His gut tightened as he looked over his shoulder. Dry, brittle leaves rustled on the windless day.

The crow had disappeared, its scolding cries silent.

A flicker of light between the branches. Something in the thicket, just on the other side of the veranda, moved. A shadow pa.s.sed quickly, darting through the undergrowth.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

Instinctively, Bentz reached for his sidearm.

His hand came up empty as he rounded to face the woods.

He wasn't wearing his shoulder holster.

Not in his own house.

He squinted.

What the h.e.l.l was it?

Sunlight played through the lacy canopy of needles and leaves. His heart thumped crazily. The spit dried in his mouth.

It was just his imagination.

Again.

Right?

But the goose b.u.mps crawling over his flesh and the tightening of every muscle in his body told him otherwise.

Idiot! You're in your own d.a.m.ned backyard.

He turned slightly, trying to make out if the intruder were an opossum, or a deer, or even an alligator crawling up from the swamp, but he knew deep in his soul that this was no wild creature wandering too close to his house.

Uh-uh.

The s.h.i.+vering leaves stilled on this hot, breathless day.

Bentz squinted into the forest. He had no doubt that he would see her.

Again.

He wasn't disappointed.

Through the s.h.i.+mmering heat her image appeared. Dressed in that same s.e.xy black dress, flas.h.i.+ng him the barest of smiles, she stood between the bleached bark of two cypress trees.

Jennifer.

His first wife.

The woman he'd sworn to love through all his days.

The b.i.t.c.h who had betrayed him...And she was as sensual and gorgeous as she had been all those years ago. The fragrance of gardenias wafted through the air.