Chapter Eighteen

While working with the Fire and Brimstone Killer task force, comprised of local, regional and state law-enforcement officials, Jack had come to respect Derek Lawrence. Heck, he was beginning to like the guy, something Maleah wouldn’t want to hear. Yeah, sure, the man could rub you the wrong way with his cockiness, but once you got past that character flaw, you had to admire his brilliant mind, his great sense of humor and his keen insight into human nature. It wasn’t that he and Derek had become good friends. A relationship like that was built over time and required a foundation of trust that had to be earned. But they had reached the drinking-buddies stage, and each night this past week, they had grabbed a quick bite and a few beers together before heading their separate ways. Last night, Mike had joined them and they had talked business before their minds wandered off in a different direction after a couple of rounds. The subject had changed from how to catch a serial killer to the bra size of the bosomy waitress and bets on whether or not she had implants.

This morning, Jack needed caffeine. He poured himself another cup of the office sludge that vaguely resembled coffee and tasted more like thin tar. Having had way too much on his mind at bedtime, he hadn’t drifted off to sleep until after two this morning, and then he hadn’t slept worth a damn. A war-related nightmare that he preferred not to think about in the hard, cold light of day had interrupted his four hours of on-and-off sleep. And right now, he was feeling the aftereffects. He placed his mug on the desk, pulled out his chair and sat. After taking a couple of sips of the strong, hot brew, he put the mug aside and stared at the stack of file folders beside his computer.

The task force was no closer to finding their killer than when the investigation first started. Without any witnesses and with no definitive evidence linking the three murders to a specific person, they were pretty much spinning their wheels. Out there somewhere, possibly living in Dunmore, was a murderer who, according to Derek, probably seemed relatively normal. He or she could be anyone’s next-door neighbor, a regular guy or gal, someone who, on a day-today basis, looked and acted like everyone else. But a monster existed inside this killer.

“You’ve got to be a really sick bastard to be able to set another human being on fire,” Lieutenant Wayne Morgan, the ABI agent who headed the Fire and Brimstone task force, had said during their most recent meeting. His statement had been a consensus of the others on the task force.

So, how did you recognize a monster if he or she didn’t have horns and a tail? If this person spit fire, had glowing red eyes or their head twirled around and around, it would make law enforcement’s job a lot easier.

If their killer stayed true to form, he or she wouldn’t kill again for a good while. Mark Cantrell had been killed more than eighteen months ago, and then, six months later, Charles Randolph had met his maker. Father Brian Myers had become the third victim, murdered almost a year after the second clergyman’s death. Would the killer wait six months or even a year before striking again? Derek seemed to think that it would be a lot sooner.

“Call it gut instinct,” Derek had told them, “but I believe there will be another similar murder sometime in the next few months.”

“There was six months between the first two murders, then nearly a whole year before the killer struck again,” Huntsville police detective Jeremy Vaughn had said at yesterday’s meeting. “What makes you think he’s going to strike again so soon?”

“Other than going by my instincts, you mean? Nothing, really. Just an educated guess. There’s a fury inside our killer that is bound to intensify as time goes by. All that’s needed is the right incentive, and he or she could go into a killing frenzy.”

A killing frenzy!

Jack knew all about killing. When he’d been in the Rangers, he had not only witnessed horrific murders more times than he could count, but he, too, had killed-numerous times. It was all a part of being a soldier, part of being at war. It was kill or be killed. And although he was no longer a soldier, no longer living in a war zone, he was now a member of a select group of men and women who fought crime on a daily basis.

The one thing everyone on the task force agreed about was the fact that another murder was imminent. Jack couldn’t help wondering how Cathy would react when another clergyman was killed.

Damn! He didn’t want to think about her so much, but she’d been on his mind all week. Although he hadn’t seen her since Sunday night, she had phoned yesterday to tell him she had finished the preliminary plans for renovating his house. The call had been brief and to the point. They were meeting for lunch today, a strictly business lunch. Yeah, sure. He didn’t for one minute believe that anything could ever be strictly business between Cathy and him.

My life is far too complicated already to have to deal with an affair with you or anyone else. He had replayed her words over and over inside his head for the past five days and knew he had to accept the fact that she meant what she’d said. But God in heaven, the way she had responded to his kiss told him that her body was more than ready to take a lover. And he wanted to be that lover.

You and I are friends, and that’s all I can handle right now. So if you want to date someone else, I’ll understand. I won’t like it, but I’ll understand.

He had gotten along just fine without Cathy in his life for the past seventeen years. He might want her, but he didn’t need her. He just needed a woman. Any woman would do.

Okay, if that’s the way you really feel, why aren’t you dating someone else? he asked himself. Why haven’t you gone out and gotten yourself laid?

Damned if I know.

Cathy told herself that she had bought a new dress because she needed to gradually replace old clothes with new. But if she were completely honest with herself, which she tried to be these days, she’d have to admit that her lunch date with Jack had influenced her decision to purchase a new outfit.

After she emerged from her car, she adjusted the navy bolero jacket she wore over her red and white striped sundress. The navy purse and shoes were stock items that had been a part of her wardrobe for several years, as were the small gold hoop earrings. But the five inexpensive little red, white and blue bangle bracelets were a recent purchase. She could tell herself that she simply wanted to look nice for a client, but that would be a half-truth. Of course, she always wanted to look her best, but she had gone to extra trouble and expense to impress Jack.

Sighing heavily because she knew that she was sending him mixed signals, Cathy squared her shoulders and walked toward the restaurant entrance. If she was smart, she would sever her ties to Jack. After today, she should turn the house-renovation project over to Lorie and tell Jack that they couldn’t date. She’d been a fool to think she could keep him at arm’s length, not when she still had feelings for him. What if they fell in love again? How would that affect Seth?

With her portfolio containing all the renovation plans she had worked on every night this week tucked under her arm, Cathy entered the restaurant. The Cedar Hill Grill, which had opened only a couple of years ago, was the nicest place in town and was locally owned and managed by Patsy and Elliott Floyd’s twenty-five-year-old son, Drew.

An attractive young hostess with a pleasant smile met Cathy. “Table for one?”

“No, I’m meeting someone. Mr. Perdue. I’m probably a little early.”

“Not at all. Mr. Perdue is already here.” The hostess, whose name tag read Krista, led Cathy straight to a secluded back booth, where Jack sat with a glass of iced tea in his hand.