Chapter Twelve #2
“Yeah. With the right inducement, I do.”
Not surprisingly, the Twenty-Fourth Street gym agreed. He’d send the bill to La Belle, but it wouldn’t cost as much as he’d figured, and the benefits of a good, solid workout were worth it to both of them.
By the time they had finished and returned to the house, he and Val were both feeling better. The stiffness was gone from his muscles, along with some of the tension he’d been feeling.
All but the sexual variety. Thank Jesus, Val had worn loose-fitting yoga pants and a T-shirt, not the skintight gym clothes a lot of women wore.
Still, watching her moving gracefully through her workout routine had him gritting his teeth to keep from getting hard.
No way around it, the woman flat turned him on.
Once they got home, he kept his distance. Val worked on some of her Internet study courses and, that evening, called out for pizza, which they ate watching an old movie on TV. He didn’t expect to feel so comfortable sitting next to her on the couch, wished to hell he didn’t.
After Val went to bed, Ethan checked the house and grounds half a dozen times before curling his tall frame into the too-short sofa.
Early Monday morning, the day of the funeral, he was sitting at his laptop, going over the last of the background information Sadie had dug up on the top models.
They all had interesting stories: a lot of them were world travelers, some married, some even had kids.
Hard to believe with their perfect figures, but apparently true.
A fanatic might think a mother was an even bigger sinner than the rest. He made a note to speak to Caralee Peterson, the woman he remembered as the Southern belle from Atlanta.
Caralee had a husband and a four-year-old daughter.
He hadn’t seen anything in the file that pointed to a problem with anyone from her past, but he wanted to speak to her, make sure she stayed alert.
He was surprised to see Megan O’Brien was a single mom with a two-year-old boy. Dirk hadn’t mentioned it and neither had Megan. He needed to talk to her, too, make sure she didn’t get singled out because she had a kid.
With the biblical tone of the notes, Ethan had asked Sadie to cross-check any religious affiliation, but Ian’s middle-aged computer whiz had come up with zip.
The women’s religious preferences were as varied as their backgrounds: Agnostic, Protestant, Jewish, Catholic, Buddhist, nothing that specifically connected them to anyone who might be a threat.
He wanted to talk to the men Delilah had dated, hoped to get the names from Hoover, see if the cops had come up with anything in that regard. He also wanted to know if the police had found any old murders with a similar MO.
He glanced up to see Val walking out of the bedroom dressed for the funeral in a black knee-length suit, black high heels, a wide-brimmed black felt hat that dipped over one eye, and a veil that wasn’t pulled down.
She looked elegant and remote and completely untouchable.
A shot of lust rippled through his blood like a heat wave.
Her blond hair was swept up severely and her face looked pale, but her unadorned appearance did nothing to deter the kick Ethan felt.
Damn, she was beautiful. He went hard just standing there watching her. And now that he knew the brutal past she had endured, how she had worked to lift herself out of it, he was even more attracted to her.
It didn’t matter. He had a job to do and it didn’t include hauling one of La Belle’s top models down the hall into bed. It didn’t involve ripping off those dark, forbidding clothes and taking her every way he could imagine.
Exactly what he felt like doing.
“I’m ready,” she said, and the tremor in her voice calmed his raging libido. This wasn’t a day to be thinking of anything but a needless death and catching the bastard who had stolen a young woman’s life.
He picked his shoulder holster up off the side table and slid into it, walked over to the entry hall closet to retrieve the black blazer he’d brought to wear over his T-shirt and black jeans for the service.
His cell chimed just as he shrugged on the coat. He dug the phone out of his jeans, saw Dirk’s name, and pressed it against his ear. “What’s up?”
“Turn on the TV. Local news. KIRO 7.”
Ethan picked up the TV remote and pressed the power button, brought up the guide and tuned in the channel.
“What is it?” Val asked, but as their attention focused on the flat screen above the bookshelves, the reason for Dirk’s call was clear.
“. . . new information has surfaced on the brutal murder of supermodel Delilah Larsen. A reliable source has confirmed that within the last two weeks, Delilah, as well as nine other top La Belle models, received notes threatening their lives.”
A cell phone image of the first note flashed up on the screen, the photo clear enough for each word to be read.
SINNERS, SLUTS, and WHORES--BEWARE. Your TIME is at HAND.
Ethan swore softly. “Just what we didn’t need.”
“A second note similar to the first was found at the murder scene,” the commentator went on, “which clearly establishes the killer as the same man who had previously threatened the women.”
A photo of the second note appeared.
Sinners, SLUTS, and WHORES--BE WARE. REPENT or you WILL be NEXT.
The reporter’s voice came through the speaker. “The question now—will another La Belle model be the target of this deranged killer? And if so, what are the police doing to protect them?”
Ethan silently cursed.
“For more on this breaking news story and the killer the press is calling the Hellfire Preacher, we go to Sheryl Altman, standing outside the Evergreen Memorial Cemetery where Delilah Larsen’s funeral is set to commence today at one P.M.”
Angrier by the minute, Ethan listened to the rest of the segment, then clicked off the TV.
“The Hellfire Preacher?” Val repeated. “That’s what they’re calling him? How did they find out about the notes?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to get my hands on the bastard who leaked the information.”
“A lot of people knew about them. It’s hard to keep a secret like that for long. It’s going to make everything more difficult, isn’t it?”
Ethan worked a muscle in his jaw. “Yes.” He didn’t say more, and in the silence that followed, the sound of voices coming from outside filtered in through the window.
Crossing the living room, Ethan pulled back the curtains and stared through the panes at the crowd of reporters gathering on the front lawn. “Jesus, they didn’t waste any time.”
Val walked up beside him. “Oh my God.”
Still connected on the phone to Dirk, Ethan lifted his cell back to his ear. “You still there?”
“I’m here. Meg’s with me. I’ve got you on speaker.”
“The vultures are already out front.” Even the heavy mist hadn’t deterred them. “No way we can get to my Jeep without a problem. We’re in Montlake. How far away are you?”
Megan answered, her voice tinny over the open speaker. “My house isn’t far from Val’s. It won’t take us long to get there.”
“There’s an alley behind the house,” Ethan said. “Call me when you get close and we’ll meet you out there.”
“On my way,” Dirk said.
“Get away from the window,” Ethan said to Val. “We don’t want to stir them up.”
She cast him a glance. “You mean like a nest of angry hornets?”
His mouth edged up. “Exactly.”
“My neighbor, Mrs. Oakley, is going to freak out.”
“You can phone her as soon as we get on the road. Let’s head for the back door, be ready to go when Dirk calls.”
“Give me a sec.” Val ran back to her bedroom, came out a few seconds later wearing her sneakers, her black high heels in her hand. “I’m a heckuva lot more sure-footed in these.” She lifted a shoe to show him and he chuckled.
“Good thinking.”
The call from Dirk came a few minutes later. So far the media hadn’t wanted to risk trespassing into the backyard, and the alley was kind of hidden by the foliage at the end of the block, not easy to spot if you didn’t know where to look.
Val grabbed her umbrella. Ethan strode over and opened the back door, stepped out into the chill. “Let’s go.”