“Really?” He studied it more closely, seeming impressed.
“She’s dead now.”
“Oh.” The photo slipped from his trembling hands. “Is she the one from the net?”
“Yes. Are you sure you haven’t seen the others?”
He shrugged. “Rhoda invites a lot of people over. Strangers. I don’t pay that much attention to the girls.”
Sonny arched a brow. “Are you more interested in the boys?”
A flush crept over his cheekbones. “No. I keep an eye on anyone who might cause trouble. Girls usually don’t.”
She believed him. Being wary of the opposite sex and repulsed by them were two separate issues; she was proof of that. She’d only asked because DeGrassi had posed a similar question to James, and it had made her wonder about the killer’s profile. Strangulation was usually sexually motivated.
She thought of a question DeGrassi hadn’t asked James. “Do you know any surfers? Someone Rhoda invites over, or a friend of your dad’s?”
He looked doubtful. “My dad didn’t have any friends. And surfers don’t usually hang around with…”
“Meth addicts?”
His cheeks darkened further, but he inclined his head.
She cut to the chase. “James told us that your father sexually abused prostitutes on numerous occasions. Can you confirm that?”
He snuck a glance at her, his blue eyes swimming in the sun. “Yes.”
“Do you think he killed these women?”
“I don’t know,” he said, returning the photos. He was silent for a moment, watching the steady flow of traffic on Harbor Drive. “I hope not, but I really don’t know.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
His mouth formed a thin, hard line. “No. I wish I did.”
“Why?”
“So I could shake his hand.”
Sonny took a deep breath, dreading the words she was about to say. Having little choice in the matter, she looked her half-brother in the eye and told him that his mother had been murdered, just like all of the young, vibrant women in the pictures she’d just shown him.
Ben felt like he hadn’t been surfing in a week. Over the past couple of days, the physical activities he’d engaged in weren’t quite as meditative as time on the water.
He’d wanted to talk to Carly the night before, but she’d been asleep by the time he finished his discussion with Nathan.
Now she was still asleep, as was James, snoring softly on the living room couch. Ben wandered around the house aimlessly for a while, checking every window and lock. Then he gave up, abandoned paranoia, and surrendered to the call of the waves.
JT was already out, standing at the edge of the water with an insulated mug in his hand. When Ben came up beside him, his lackadaisical friend greeted him with a complicated handshake and an engaging grin. JT didn’t keep up with most current events, so he must not have heard about Lisette. Thank God.
“How is it?” Ben asked, nodding toward the surf.
“Better than yesterday,” JT replied. “Way less eggy.”
Ben grunted at the expression, which pretty much meant that the waves didn’t suck.
“So what’s up with that new wahine of yours?” JT asked. “She wax your stick?”
“No,” he said, staring out at the ocean.
“Really? I thought you were in to her.”
“Maybe she wasn’t in to me.”
JT laughed, taking another sip from his mug. Knowing him, it was laced with Kahlua. “Too bad. She was hot.”
“You think so?” Ben wasn’t surprised, exactly. JT thought most women were hot, and Summer certainly fit that description, but his friend’s tastes had always run more toward young, empty-headed, and easy.
“Not like Olivia,” he amended. “Kind of scary hot. Like she might throw you down and slap you around first.” He shuddered a little, as if he had water in his ears. Then he gave Ben a sharp glance. “You didn’t get cold feet, did you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, dude. Every time a good-looking chick walks by, you run the other way. It’s embarrassing.”
Ben wished he hadn’t stopped to talk to JT. Even with a foggy head and bloodshot eyes, his friend saw him a little too clearly. He didn’t want to talk about Summer-Sonny, he corrected silently, gritting his teeth. He didn’t want to talk about anything. He just wanted to go out on the water and surf it all away.
“Seriously, man. Isn’t it time you got back in the game?”
“What do you know about it?” he returned, his frayed nerves snapping. “Sleeping with every woman you meet isn’t a game, it’s a cop-out. You’re the one who’s afraid to commit, not me. You’ve never even had a real relationship!”
For a moment, JT actually looked offended. “You’re right,” he acknowledged with a stiff nod. “But we’re talking about your issues, not mine. You can’t live in the past, bro. Holding on to Olivia won’t bring her back.”
“
JT’s eyes darkened with anger. “You don’t know shit about my goals,” he said. “So what if I surf all day? You do, too! And maybe I see a lot of different women because I haven’t found the right one yet.”
Ben was struck speechless. He’d never seen JT this fired up before.
“What you had with Olivia was special,” JT allowed, his tone quiet with intensity. “And you were lucky to find her. But she’s been dead for three years now. If you let Summer go because you’re still hung up on Olivia, then you’re a fool.”
It was on the tip of Ben’s tongue to explain that the rift between Sonny and him was her fault, not his. She’d lied to him and used him, manipulated him and betrayed him. He kept his silence because the conversation was veering uncomfortably toward the chilling subject Nathan had brought up last night.
He was
“I’m not in love with her,” he said out loud, his voice rising with panic.
A strange expression crossed JT’s face. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Whatever you say, dude. Now, are we going to stand here like a couple of old-timers, lying to each other about how good the waves were yesterday, or are we going to get out there and show these young fuckers how it’s done?”
Ben went along with him, relieved that the tension between them had dissolved, but growing increasingly disturbed by his feelings for Sonny. When JT headed toward the lineup, Ben went the opposite direction, paddling out to a promising section of break that would have been heavily populated on a Saturday afternoon. At this hour, the ocean was wide open, and he wanted to be alone.
The Pacific was dishing out some of the same stuff he’d seen on Christmas Eve, chest-high sets with perfect form, just about the best you could get this time of year. During heavy storm conditions, Ben saw double overheads every once in a while, but those were few and far between, and sometimes so powerful even he got pounded.
If he wanted big waves that were more or less manageable, he’d move to Hawaii. Days like this reminded him why he stayed in San Diego.
The first reason had always been Carly. He couldn’t uproot her from the friends and family she’d known her entire life. When Olivia had been alive, he’d come and gone as he pleased, following where the surf (and the money) led him. As a single parent, he no longer had that luxury, and he was a better man for it.
He also stayed because he liked San Diego. Even when the waves were unimpressive, they were there, every day, like clockwork, and he’d come to appreciate constancy, to draw strength from and find comfort in stability. Ben had been everywhere, and he could honestly say that La Jolla, California, was the most beautiful place in the world. The weather was awesome, the sky was endless, and the views were breathtaking. Windansea Beach wasn’t just ordinary surf-meets-turf, it boasted cliffs and tide pools, seals basking on rocks, waves crashing against the shore, and sand as smooth and soft as cream-colored silk.
