Lost Souls. Lisa Jackson

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СКАЧАТЬ he would meet the bloody and horrifying end she’d witnessed in her dreams.

      These past eighteen months she’d been worried sick for him as she’d recovered from her own injuries, but today, on this day after Christmas, Rick Bentz was the picture of health. And he was pissed.

      Reluctantly he’d helped lug her suitcases out to the car while the wind chased through this part of the bayou, rattling branches, kicking up leaves, and carrying the scent of rain and swamp water. She’d parked her hatchback in the puddle-strewn driveway of the little cottage home Rick shared with his second wife.

      Olivia Benchet Bentz was good for Rick. No doubt about it. But she and Kristi didn’t really get along. And while Kristi loaded the car amidst her father’s disapproval, Olivia stood in the doorway twenty feet away, her smooth brow wrinkled in concern, her big eyes dark with worry, though she said nothing.

      Good.

      One thing about her, Olivia knew better than to get between father and daughter. She was smart enough not to add her unwanted two cents into any conversation. Yet, this time, she didn’t step back into the house.

      “I just don’t think this is the best idea,” her father said…for what? The two-thousandth time since Kristi had dropped the bomb that she’d registered for winter classes at All Saints College in Baton Rouge? It wasn’t like this was a major surprise. She’d told him about her decision in September. “You could stay with us and—”

      “I heard you the first time and the second, and the seventeenth and the three hundred and forty-second and—”

      “Enough!” He held up a hand, palm out.

      She snapped her mouth closed. Why was it they were always at each other? Even with everything they’d been through? Even though they’d almost lost each other several times?

      “What part of ‘I’m moving out and going back to school away from New Orleans’ don’t you get, Dad? You’re wrong, I can’t stay here. I just…can’t. I’m way too old to be living with my dad. I need my own life.” How could she explain that looking at him day to day, seeing him healthy one minute, then gray and dying the next, was impossible to take? She’d been convinced he was going to die and had stayed with him as she’d recovered from her own injuries, but watching the color drain from his face killed her and half convinced her that she was crazy. For the love of God, staying here would only make things worse. The good news: she hadn’t seen the image for a while, over a month now, so maybe she’d read the signals wrong. Regardless, it was time to get on with her own life.

      She reached into her bag for her keys. No reason to argue any further.

      “Okay, okay, you’re going. I get it.” He scowled as clouds scudded low across the sky, blotting out any chance of sunlight.

      “You get it? Really? After I told you, what? Like a million times?” Kristi mocked, but flashed him a smile. “See, you are a razor-sharp investigator. Just like all the papers say: local hero, Detective Rick Bentz.”

      “The papers don’t know crap.”

      “Another shrewd observation by the New Orleans Police Department’s ace detective.”

      “Cut it out,” he muttered, but one side of his hard-carved mouth twitched into what might be construed as the barest of smiles. Shoving one hand through his hair, he glanced back at the house to Olivia, the woman who had become his rock. “Jesus, Kristi,” he said. “You’re a piece of work.”

      “It’s genetic.” She found the keys.

      His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened.

      They both knew what he was thinking, but neither mentioned the fact that he wasn’t her biological father. “You don’t have to run away.”

      “I’m not running ‘away.’ Not from anything. But I am running to something. It’s called the rest of my life.”

      “You could—”

      “Look, Dad, I don’t want to hear it,” Kristi interrupted as she tossed her purse onto the passenger seat next to three bags of books, DVDs, and CDs. “You’ve known I was going back to school for months, so there’s no reason for a big scene now. It’s over. I’m an adult and I’m going to Baton Rouge, to my old alma mater, All Saints College. It’s not at the ends of the earth. We’re less than a couple of hours away.”

      “It’s not the distance.”

      “I need to do this.” She glanced toward Olivia, whose wild blond hair was backlit by the colored lights from the Christmas tree, the small cottage seeming warm and cozy in the coming storm. But it wasn’t Kristi’s home. It never had been. Olivia was her stepmother and though they got along, there still wasn’t a tight family bond between them. Maybe there never would be. This was her father’s life now and it really didn’t have much to do with her.

      “There’s been trouble up there. Some coeds missing.”

      “You’ve already been checking?” she demanded, incensed.

      “I just read about some missing girls.”

      “You mean runaways?”

      “I mean missing.”

      “Don’t worry!” she snapped. She, too, had heard that a few girls had disappeared unexpectedly from the campus, though no foul play had been established. “Girls leave college and their parents all the time.”

      “Do they?” he asked.

      A blast of cold wind cut across the bayou, pushing around a few wet leaves and cutting through Kristi’s hooded sweatshirt. The rain had stopped for the moment, but the sky was gray and overcast, puddles scattered across the cracked concrete.

      “It’s not that I don’t think you should go back to school,” Bentz said, leaning one hip against the wheel well of her Honda and, today, looking the picture of health—his skin ruddy, his hair dark with only a few glints of gray. “But this whole idea of being a crime writer?”

      She held up a hand, then adjusted some of the items in the back of the car, mashing them down so that she would be able to see out her rearview mirror. “I know where you stand. You don’t want me to write about any of the cases you worked on. Don’t worry. I won’t tread on any hallowed ground.”

      “That’s not it and you know it,” he said. A bit of anger flashed in his deep-set eyes.

      Fine. Let him be mad. She was irritated as well. In the last few weeks they’d really gotten on each other’s nerves.

      “I’m worried about your safety.”

      “Well, don’t be, okay?”

      “Cut the attitude. It’s not like you haven’t already been a target.” He met her eyes, and she knew he was reliving every terrifying second of her kidnapping and attack.

      “I’m fine.” She softened a bit. Though he was a pain in the ass often enough, he was a good guy. She knew it. He was just worried about her. As always. But she didn’t need it.

      With an effort she tamped down her impatience, as Hairy S., her stepmother’s СКАЧАТЬ