some of it was still here from when he’d retired three years ago. “Bingo!” He reached for a box of Earl Grey tea. A name was scrawled in black marker on the side. “You’re in luck. This is Detective Kellogg’s, but I’m sure she won’t mind.”
Behind him, Maddox sighed. “She felt sorry for me, I could tell. I bet she’d never fall for someone like Ethan. She’s too smart for that.”
Jerry thought it best to keep his thoughts about the perky Kellogg to himself. He reached for the kettle and turned on the faucet. “Ethan Wolfe is a smart guy. And a very good liar. He strikes me as the kind of person who could fool anyone.”
“You’re being kind. It’s pretty obvious I was an idiot. Looking back now, there were so many signs. I just can’t believe I didn’t see them for what they were.”
Jerry plugged the kettle into the outlet and bustled over to the fridge to look for some milk. “Like what?” he said, bending over. His nose wrinkled as he pushed some of the contents around. The fridge didn’t smell too good.
“Like when Diana died,” Maddox said. “He was her TA, but he didn’t even seem bothered by it. Considering he was the one who sliced her throat, you’d think he’d have reacted in some way. But he was like stone. It was like he felt nothing. That should have told me something.”
Jerry froze, his hand on a small container of milk he’d found stashed near the back of the fridge. Did she just say that Diana St. Clair’s throat was slashed? His mind flew back to his conversation with Mike Torrance at the Golden Monkey the week before, when his ex-partner had specifically told him that this detail had been omitted from all their press releases.
So how could Abby Maddox know about it?
The kettle whistled. He straightened up slowly, clutching the milk container in his hand. Heading to the counter, he unplugged the kettle and went about the business of fixing them both a cup of tea. His back to her, Jerry said casually, “Where’d you hear that? About her throat being slit?”
A full five seconds of silence.
Then in a soft voice she said, “I think I read it somewhere.”
Bullshit.
Jerry rapidly dunked the tea bags into both their mugs, his mind racing. The police definitely hadn’t released that detail to the media. No way in hell Maddox could know about it. Unless Wolfe had told her. Unless she’d been there when he’d done it. Did she know more than she was telling? What was she hiding? Maybe she knew all along that Wolfe had committed the murders, but she was afraid for her own life if she told anyone. Maybe-
Before his thoughts could fully form, Maddox was right behind him.
Her slender arms encircled his waist and he could feel her head leaning softly against his back. “Jerry.” Her voice had dropped to a throaty whisper and she pulled him closer. “Thank you for being here with me. You’re really helping me through this night, and I appreciate it more than words. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”
Jerry stiffened in surprise, almost knocking over one of the mugs. “Uh… Miss Maddox…” He put his dark hands on top of her milky white forearms. “I don’t think-”
Before he could finish his sentence, her hand was under his chin. Her wrist jerked hard, just once.
As the bread knife slid into his throat, like a Ginsu cutting into a steak, Jerry had one last thought before he lost consciousness.
How could I have been so fucking stupid?
CHAPTER 41
S heila sat naked on the bed, staring into the barrel of the gun she’d had in her hands only moments before.
She had risked it all, and lost. Now he was going to kill her.
Ethan stood over her, his feet planted firmly on the floor. With one hand he pulled his jeans up. “You’ll never win, Sheila. You see that now, don’t you?” His jaw was tight as he pulled up his zipper. “But well played, my love.”
“Ethan-”
“Shut up.” With his free hand he grabbed his T-shirt and worked it over his head. “I admit, I believed you. You had me going. But I should know better, shouldn’t I? I’m a liar, too. Except about the killing part.” His face was unreadable. “You will be my first time. And I have to say, after everything we’ve been through, I’m actually glad it’s you.”
God, he wasn’t even making sense. He’d already told her about his first kill, about the sick, perverted, horrifying way he’d accidentally ended that girl’s life, and how he’d liked it. How it had spawned what he’d become.
He was watching her. “I know what you’re thinking, but I haven’t finished my story.” He lowered the gun an inch. “The girl didn’t die.”
Sheila stared at him, incredulous. What did he want her to say? It seemed as if he actually wanted to convince her of this new absurdity. “But you just finished telling me-”
He laughed, and it was genuine. He really was amused. “She didn’t die, Sheila. She was unconscious for a little while, that was all. She was groggy for a minute after she woke up, and her throat was killing her, but she was okay.” His eyes grew distant at the memory. “But holy shit, was she mad. She smacked me across the face so fucking hard I saw stars.”
Sheila stared at him, feeling as if her brain were swelling inside her head as she tried to process what he was saying. “I don’t understand.”
“She was mad because I’d gone too far. I hadn’t let go when she wanted me to. Believe me, I never made that mistake with her again.” He shook his head. “Eventually we found… other ways to satisfy my need for… that. And we haven’t been apart one single day since then. It’s been over seven years.”
Sheila didn’t get it. She couldn’t see the connection.
“Hold on,” Ethan said. “It’ll come to you.”
It did, an instant later, after she had done the math.
“Seven years… oh God,” she said, shocked. “Of course. Your girlfriend, Abby. You’ve been together all this time?”
He nodded.
“And you’ve kept it from her all this time?”
“Kept what from her?”
“That you’re… a killer?” The words sounded absurd, even here, even after all the days locked away in this godforsaken basement by this godforsaken monster.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Excuse me? I’m not a killer.”
It was dizzying trying to keep up with him, and Sheila felt as if she were the one losing her mind. She worked hard to keep her voice patient. “Ethan, those bodies in the next room. Those dead women-”
“I didn’t kill any of them, Sheila.” Ethan frowned, then stood up and began to pace the room again. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a murderer. I admit I fantasize about it…” He looked at her, a guilty expression on his face. “But I haven’t acted on it. Yet.”
Sheila tried to make sense of it. It was hard to figure out where Abby fit into all this. Maybe Ethan had dissociative identity disorder, also known as multiple personalities. It was the only explanation that fit, not that it mattered now.
Ethan frowned again, the lines in his face deeper. “I might have had fantasies, yes, but I also have restraint. Those women, they come with me willingly. I have… sexual needs. And they’re willing to play along. Sometimes I give them money. But I don’t force them.”
Stepping toward her, he raised the gun high again. “I resent that you think I’m a psychopath.” His face turned pink with anger. “Apologize, Sheila.” He pressed the gun hard to her forehead, just between her eyes, and it hurt.
“I’m sorry.” The words came out a whimper. There was no point in arguing with people who were delusional.
