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Tried to work her hands out of the zip-ties, but they were tight around her wrists and her hands weren’t doing what she wanted anyway. The same with her feet. They were nearly immobile.
However her hands were tied in front of her and that was a mistake, probably because he hadn’t had much time. Still she was pretty sure that if she could get control of her quivering, unreliable body, she would be able to at the very least take the tape from her mouth with her fingers, then either scream or try to unlatch the ties with her teeth.
He took a corner a little too fast, and the car rocked and slid, fishtailing, and then she noticed the beard and hat, tucked into one of the backseat pockets—the psycho’s disguise. He’d knocked into her table on purpose and in the melee, he’d grabbed her phone before shuffling out of the café. Her heart sank even further as she recognized how she’d been duped. Her gaze moved to the far pocket, on the back of the passenger’s seat. It held a rosary, glittering beads dangling from it. They sent a drip of terror through her bloodstream as she saw the winking cross swaying from the deadly noose.
Oh. God.
Still quivering, her body seizing, she realized then that she was on her own.
No one was going to rescue her.
If she couldn’t find a way to save herself, she was most certainly doomed.
CHAPTER 36
Kristi reviewed the security tape for the fifth time. Try as she might, she couldn’t determine who the prick was who had dumped a damned snake into her garbage bin.
“Jerk-wad,” she muttered, then absently patted Dave’s head as he’d come up to her office and placed his nose on her knee.
She was over this!
Whoever was terrorizing her needed to back the hell off.
But they wouldn’t.
Not until she did something about it.
Not until she faced the freak.
Don’t be crazy.
You’re not just putting yourself in danger.
Think about the baby.
She’d be careful. Of course she would. And it wasn’t as if she wasn’t able to defend herself. She’d practiced tae kwon do for years, though admittedly, she was a bit rusty. She pulled out her phone, looked again at pictures of the cards she’d received. Studied them.
So neat.
So precise.
So threatening.
Not exactly Ned Zavala’s style; the Bayou Butcher was a brute of a man, not known for his light touch.
As for Father John, she had no idea where that psycho was, and though he had always been more refined than Zavala, she didn’t fit the profile of his victims, all prostitutes except for Dr. Sam, his ultimate target. Was it possible that he might be behind the cryptic notes with their religious references? Yes, but unlikely.
Nor did she see Mandel Jarvis, busy and outgoing as he was, scripting the notes with the roses. And he had a good thing going with his family and church. He’d threatened her after her trip to the New Faith and Glory Church of Praise, but it was reactionary, she thought, because she’d crossed the line, stepping on his turf. She remembered how he was with his wife and children. She couldn’t rule him out with any certainty, but Pastor Mandel was definitely on the back burner.
That left Hamilton Cooke.
She thought about it as she pushed back her chair and walked down the stairs and into Jay’s office, which remained nearly the same as it had been when he’d last sat in the chair with the creaking roller. The police had taken his laptop and a few other items for their investigation, but the pictures and awards remained, the books in the case, the tie he’d left slung over the back of his chair. She’d never put it away and now she stopped, running her fingers over the silk fabric. Her throat grew thick and she blinked rapidly. The horrible words she’d flung at him, “I don’t know why I ever married you,” echoed through her brain.
She imagined him huddled over the desk, books scattered around him, reading glasses on the end of his nose reflecting tiny images of his computer screen. “But I do know,” she whispered now, fighting tears. “Because I loved you, Jay. I still do.”
“I know.”
Jay’s voice sounded so much clearer in here—in his room—and if she closed her eyes she could imagine the scent of his aftershave and the faint sound of his laughter.
