Goldie(Night Rebels MC Romance Book 4)(20)

With a backdrop of crickets in the long grass, nighttime erased all remnants of twilight. The predator's gaze fixed on his prey's lighted bedroom window. Very soon now it would go out. Licking his lips, he shoved his hands in his pockets and waited. Darkness brought the primal nature to the front, an invigorating state for those who craved fear and dominance.

Then the light went out. Jittering a foot against the ground, his heart pounded as he imagined the look of fear on Linda Salinas's face. Slow down. Keep cool. You've got time. You want to make sure the bitch is fast asleep. Waking up a woman from sleep when she thought she was safe hit him below the belt each and every time. He doubted that he'd ever tire of the rush of excitement the woman's fear brought to him. And it only got better as he threatened her and told her all the awfully nasty things he was going to do to her. There was really nothing like it.

A little less than two hours later, he was in Linda Salinas's bedroom doorway. In the glow from the moonlight, he saw her form encased in a blanket. The air conditioning made the room cool, and it reminded him of a tomb. He smiled at his analogy, then pulled the knife out of his pocket. The blade gleamed as he slowly approached the bed, his heart beating, his excitement through the roof. And still she slept, oblivious to how drastically her life would forever change.

Standing over her, he saw her black hair curled around her forehead and her body moving up and down as she breathed. Showtime, my sweet lamb. Grasping her shoulders, he shook her firmly, loving the way her eyes flew open and confusion masked her face. When her sleepy gaze became clear, it fixed on his ski mask, then on his brown eyes. Her gaze was terrified. Perfect. You didn't disappoint me, darling.

"Don't move or I'll kill you," he gritted as he held the blade against her quivering neck. Her fear kept growing and his desire pushed him on.

He threw off her bed coverings, and the small whimpers and ever-present fear etched on her face fed him and pushed him on. He cut off her clothes with the knife, his eyes feasting on her breasts. I'm going to have fun with those. Out of instinct, her hands flew to her breasts in an attempt to cover them from his piercing gaze. He shoved them off and leaned close to her ear.                       
       
           



       

"You're going to do everything I tell you to do. If you don't, I'll fucking kill you. If you scream, I'll cut you bad, then fucking kill you. And if you ever try to cover yourself, I'll fuck you with the knife. You got it?" She nodded, her face pained with terror. "Then we understand each other."

For the next four hours, he brutally raped her. She was compliant, not even daring to cry out. The only evidence of her grief, fear, and shame was the tears that kept rolling down her cheeks. Of course, he fed off those wet streams just like he did with her fright.

When he was fully sated, he took out a camera and snapped a slew of pictures of her in various poses, and then he dragged her to the bathroom and made her sit in the tub. Turning on the cold water, he ordered her to stay there until he came back. He returned to the bedroom and stripped the bed of all coverings, shoved her clothes in a large plastic bag, and carefully cleaned anything that could have any trace of his DNA. He went back to the bathroom and ordered his victim to wash herself while he watched, grabbing the soap from her and roughly cleaning her vagina and rear end. Throwing the soap into the bathwater, he said, "Don't move. If you call the police, I'll put all the pictures I took of you on the Internet. Be smart, not stupid. Remember, I know where you live."

Past experience taught him that, fearful he may still be in the house, Linda Salinas would most probably stay in the cold bathwater for at least an hour before her courage allowed her to venture out. By then, he'd be long gone.

He disposed of the bedsheets and clothes, then headed to his house. After checking on his children, he slid between the sheets and tugged his wife to him. She moaned slightly and snuggled close to him. In a matter of seconds, his exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a deep, restful sleep.





Chapter Fourteen





Wexler took a big sip of day-old coffee and thumbed through the report Deputy Miles Carmody had given him concerning his inquiries at Cherry Vale. In the report, the number six stood out like a beacon. Six deaths in four months. That doesn't sound right. Either Cherry Vale had a slew of very sick, unlucky patients, or something sinister was going on beneath the surface.

He scrubbed his face and leaned back in his chair. I need a damn vacation. There was nothing he'd rather be doing at that moment than sitting on his boat on La Plata River, fishing with his son and throwing back a few beers. Instead, he was sitting in a stuffy office, dripping in sweat thanks to the air conditioner breaking down again, and waiting to get a verbal chewing out by Mrs. Heller's daughter for the umpteenth time. Shit. He grabbed the handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face.

"Rhoades!" he yelled.

A tall, lanky deputy stuck his head in the doorway. "Yes, sir?"

"Call the goddamn town council and tell them we're on day three of a heat wave and our AC is still broken."

"Yes, sir." The young deputy went over to his desk.

Taking out the autopsy report, Wexler reread it. Under the heading "Immediate Cause of Death," the medical examiner indicated "Congestive Heart Failure." Even though the report indicated that there seemed to be an unusually large amount of digoxin in the deceased's body, the coroner noted that Mrs. Heller was taking digoxin intravenously as part of her treatment for heart problems. Then under the heading "Manner of Death," the coroner wrote "Natural Causes." Then why was there so much of this heart drug in her body? Where the hell did that come from?

After reading it several more times, he couldn't find a place where the medical examiner addressed the reason for the surplus of digoxin in the deceased's body. A stab to his gut told him something wasn't copacetic at Cherry Vale.

As he picked up the phone to call Terri Crews to share with her the autopsy finding, Rhoades stood in the doorway. Wexler put the phone back in its cradle and raised his eyebrows.

Rhoades cleared his throat. "Our air conditioner is next in line for repair. The guy should be here within the hour. A call came in that there's been another rape."

The sheriff pounded his fist on the desk. "Fuck! When?"

"Seems like it started last night and ended sometime this morning. I was going to head over there, but I knew you'd want to know."

Wexler pushed up from his chair and pulled at his pants that were sticking to him. "Let's go."

When they arrived at Linda Salinas's house, all the curtains were pulled, and she sat on one of the straight-backed dining room chairs staring at the floor. Since Mesa County was small, and Alina even smaller, there was no provision for a victim advocate program; it was up to him and Rhoades to try their best in helping her out with the aftermath of a rape.                       
       
           



       

After giving the victim some names of local counselors and a program St. Joseph Hospital offered for coping with violent crime, the sheriff left the other two deputies to finish investigating the crime scene. Even though the perpetrator had her bathe, Wexler held out hope that the rape kit would turn up some DNA. He knew it was a long shot, but he had to explore all the possibilities.

This is the third one in two months. The last one was only ten days ago. Shit. We're in over our heads.

Knowing when to call for experienced detectives who could help find the guy responsible for the attacks was part of the sheriff's strength. Taking out his phone, he dialed Detective Contreras to see if he could offer any help. He knew the detective worked in the homicide division of the Durango police department, but he hoped he could offer some insight, or at least recommend someone to help him and his deputies.

"How're you doing, Doug?" Contreras said.

"Shitty. It's hotter than hell and the AC's been out for a few days. Typical county bullshit. And we got what seems like a serial rapist in our town. How're you?" Wexler walked over to the oak tree and stood under its leafy branches for some much-needed shade.

The detective chuckled. "Cool in our air-conditioned office, but up to my neck in shootings. The hot weather brings out the worst in people. The homicide rate always goes up in the summer. So all the rapes have the same markings?"

"Yeah. The bastard enters late at night, wears a ski mask, brutalizes the women for several hours, takes pictures of them, makes them bathe, and takes all the bedsheets and clothes before leaving. It's the same fucker. We haven't had a rape in Alina in years, and not any for the last year in the county. I don't have the manpower and my deputies don't have the expertise to handle this one. You got someone who can help us out?"

"Sounds like you have an experienced perpetrator. Jack Barnard is the one you want. He's in our Sex Crimes Unit, and he never gives up until he gets a case solved. He's been with the department for about six years. Before coming on-board, he lived in Los Angeles and did eleven years with LAPD. Jack knows his stuff. I'll e-mail you his chief's number and you can talk to him to see if he can spare him. It sounds like your perp isn't going to stop."