Robin realized that her act, her public persona, was all she had. No one believed she had anything inside, anything that needed love and respect and care. All she was to men was a body, a smile, and a wink. And whose fault was that? Stripping had been her choice. She had only herself to blame.
“Hi, Robin.”
She walked behind the bar, putting the solid mahogany counter between them. She pulled a water bottle out of the cooler. Opened it. Drank half of it. Tried to slow her racing heart, cool her hot blood.
He’d hurt her, betrayed her, and still she reacted to him. Still she remembered his lips on hers, felt his hands on the back of her neck. She’d once felt like she was the only person in his world, the only woman in his universe.
An act. Like her, Will Hooper was all about the attitude. The public act. Did he care about anything or anyone other than himself?
“Shouldn’t you be out looking for a certain psychopathic killer?”
His jaw tensed. “I’m heading the task force-”
She cut him off. “I saw the news conference.” She wanted him out of her club. Her emotions were too exposed, her fears too raw. She could picture herself falling into his arms, letting him hold her. Touch her. Kiss her. Make love to her. In Will’s arms, she had felt
But she wouldn’t do that to herself. She was far too valuable a human being to allow her body to be used by a man who didn’t respect her, who didn’t love her, who didn’t believe in her.
“Robin, please-”
“I don’t want you here.”
“Hear me out.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t listen to his excuses. She didn’t want his lies. “I can take care of myself, Will. I’ve been doing it a long time. I did it before you came into my life, and I did it after you left. I’m ready for Theodore Glenn. I won’t let him walk away.”
Will’s temper rose, his face deepening in color, his jaw even tighter. He leaned forward. She stood firm.
“Dammit, Robin! Listen to yourself. The Lone Ranger. Just because you have a gun and some self-defense training, you think you can protect yourself against that crazy bastard?”
She leaned forward, hands on the bar. “You investigated me?”
“Damn straight! I had to find out where you lived so I could increase patrols in your neighborhood. I ran your record and found out you managed to snag a concealed carry permit. Well, good for you. But do you think that Glenn isn’t prepared?”
“Oh, and only you, the big and mighty Will Hooper can stop him?” She barked out a laugh. “A lot of good you did for Anna!”
Robin had gone too far. She saw it in Will’s face. He pushed back from the bar. Hurt and angry. Just like her.
She swallowed her own guilt. She was just as much to blame for Anna’s death as Will. Maybe even more so.
What Will was about to say, Robin didn’t know. His cell phone rang and he turned from her, answered it. “Hooper.”
A moment later he exclaimed, “What the fuck happened? Where were the-” He stopped, glanced at Robin with a mixture of anger and worry. “I’m on my way. Call Detective Kincaid and have her meet me there.”
He hung up and stared at Robin with a pained expression. “Sherry Jeffries, Theodore’s sister, is dead.”
SIX
Sherry Glenn Jeffries had lived in El Cajon, a suburb north of San Diego. Technically out of the jurisdiction of SDPD, Police Chief Causey had been called when the arriving officers identified the victim.
Will arrived before Carina. The Jeffries lived in a two-story house in an upper middle class neighborhood where similar two-story homes stood close together. Judging by the size of the trees, the neighborhood was less than five years old.
Sherry and her family had a confidential address. How had Glenn found out where she lived?
“Detective Hooper?” A uniformed cop approached. “I’m Lieutenant Ken Black.”
Will nodded. “Thanks for calling us so quickly.”
They stood on the driveway. The garage doors were open and Will saw the corpse lying on the floor right by the inside door. Glenn had waited for her in the garage. For how long?
“What happened?” Will asked Black.
“When Mrs. Jeffries didn’t pick up her daughter from school, the principal called the house and got no answer. Normally they wouldn’t do that, but Mrs. Jeffries had told the school that Ashley’s uncle was in town and might want to harm the girl. When Mrs. Jeffries didn’t pick up on the house or cell phone, the principal phoned Dr. Jeffries at the hospital.”
Sherry Jeffries’s husband was a surgeon, Will recalled.
The lieutenant continued. “Dr. Jeffries called police to check on the house, then went to pick up his daughter. He has a solid alibi. He was in surgery when the teacher called, had been since ten this morning.”
It was common to immediately rule out the spouse or boyfriend whenever a woman was killed.
“Police arrived on scene and when there was no answer, they walked the perimeter of the home. Looked in through the window of the garage door and saw the body. The officers called for backup, broke in to determine whether the victim was still alive. She wasn’t. When backup arrived, they searched the house and found no one. However, the killer left a message in the kitchen.”
Carina drove up then and joined them. Will filled her in. He wanted to see the message, but said, “Let’s check out the body first.”
Sherry Jeffries had died quickly. Her neck had been broken and she lay crumpled on the smooth concrete floor next to her minivan. Her purse and keys lay next to her body. A dead cat lay on top of her. Will vividly remembered Sherry’s testimony about her brother killing her kitten in front of her. This psychological torment practically screamed Theodore Glenn.
Sherry Jeffries’s wallet had either fallen out of her purse, or was dropped there. “Has the body been photographed?” Will asked.
“Yes.”
Will pulled on gloves and picked up the wallet. Empty. Credit cards gone, no money.
But this wasn’t a robbery. Glenn might have needed the money, but he didn’t kill his sister for it.
He killed her for revenge.
“Let’s see the message.”
They walked through the house. In the kitchen, the crime scene techs were still working, so Will and Carina stood back.
“Shit,” Carina murmured.
Will stared at the message meant only for one person.
On the wall of the breakfast nook, Theodore Glenn had written in black permanent marker:
He was talking about Robin.
“Will, what does he mean?”
Will didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His entire body filled with a fear he’d never known before, a foreboding that told him Glenn’s sick games had just begun. If Will hadn’t just left Robin-with a marked car outside the Sin-he would have immediately gone to her.
