Trust Me (Last Stand 1) - Page 32/100

But it didn’t always require brute force to rape a person.

The guard on duty didn’t seem to notice that Oliver was out of bed. Or he didn’t care. As he paced the length of the gun rail, he paused to adjust his machine gun. Then he pivoted and started walking in the other direction.

Confident there’d be no intervention, Oliver knelt by T.J.’s bed.

What got him from one minute to the next in here didn’t matter. The wait was almost over….

9

An e-mail from Miranda Dodge came Thursday morning. David had just climbed out of bed, grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a piece of toast and fired up his in-home computer when he received it. It was later on the East Coast, so she’d probably been up for at least three hours.

Of course I remember Oliver Burke. When we were in high school, the little weasel would call me incessantly and beg me to go out with him. The moment I refused, he’d hang up on me. But then he’d call back and apologize. It was weird. He did other stuff, too. One time, I caught him outside my bedroom window spying on me. I told my parents, and my father called his father, but his father shrugged it off, saying any red-blooded American boy would like to see a girl undress. That made my father really mad. He said it was almost as if Mr. Burke applauded the behavior.

Anyway, it’s early in Sacramento. I’ll call you later. I’m not sure I know anything that can help with your investigation, but when I heard Oliver went to prison for rape, I was probably the only person on the planet who wasn’t surprised.

Miranda Dodge

David drummed his fingers on the desk. Was this where it had all started? With Miranda? He’d spoken to Burke’s hygienist yesterday. She still claimed she’d never worked for a finer man. But she was a member of Burke’s church. It was entirely possible that he treated her differently because of the connection, or that loyalty caused her to look more kindly on his indiscretions. It was also possible that she wasn’t attractive enough to warrant Burke’s attention. With a triple chin and straggly blond hair, she hardly fit the profile of his other victims.

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. “Hello?”

“Will you meet me for lunch today?”

Lynnette. “You’re up already?”

“I have to go to work early. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not? Did you have a setback?” She was on medication intended to slow, if not arrest, the progress of the disease, but it didn’t seem to be doing much. Her MS manifested itself in weakness and fatigue. Her balance had been affected, and she was losing some of the dexterity in her hands, which was a constant worry, considering the kind of work she did.

“It wasn’t that. I’ve been thinking.”

“About…”

“I’d rather discuss it over lunch. Can you make it?”

“You can leave the lab?” She got off midafternoon, so she generally took a sack lunch and clocked out for less than thirty minutes, just long enough to sit outside on the grass and eat.

“I’m off at one today. That’s why I’m going in early.”

David wasn’t excited about the prospect of another emotional encounter, especially in the middle of his workday. As much as he wanted Lynnette to be happy, he couldn’t seem to stop being the cause of her unhappiness. And with Burke’s imminent release, it was difficult to concentrate on anything else.

But now he felt guilty about his reaction last night and the fact that he didn’t really want to see her. Maybe making her more of a priority in his life would be a good thing. Maybe it would help him keep his head on straight when it came to Skye. “Where?”

“Pyramid House.”

They’d gone there to celebrate the last time they’d officially reunited. Was that significant? Or was it simply a restaurant she liked and they were both familiar with? “Sure.”

“I’ll see you there right after I get off work,” she said and hung up.

David frowned as he set the handset back in its cradle. He didn’t know what lunch was all about, but he was almost afraid to find out.

Skye smiled brightly when a completely bald man in his late fifties or early sixties opened the door. “Mr. Markum?”

“Yes?” Wearing a jogging suit, he had several expensive-looking rings on his fingers and a medallion at his neck, reminding Skye of a Hollywood producer.

“My name is Skye Kellerman. I’m with The Last Stand.”

“The Last What?”

“The Last Stand. We’re a victims’ assistance charity.”

He pointed to a little sign next to the doorbell that said No Soliciting. “This is a gated community. How’d you get in here?”

“I waited until someone else came through and followed him in. And I’m not soliciting funds. I’m here to talk to you about Oliver Burke.”

The expression on his face changed from annoyance to interest. “Burke went to prison for attempting to rape some woman.”

Skye shoved the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and took a deep breath. “I’m that woman.”

His eyes widened. “No kidding? You stabbed him, right? With a pair of scissors?”

She tried not to wince, but mention of the incident always evoked a visceral response. “It was the only thing I could do.”

“How’d you happen to have a pair handy?”

“They were on my nightstand. I’d been doing some cross-stitch before bed.”

“Good for you! You’re a survivor!” Grinning widely, he reached out to shake her hand.

“How well did you know Oliver?” she asked.

A small dog, some kind of spaniel, kept trying to escape between his legs. Using one foot to hold back his pet, he stepped onto the porch and shut the door. “Why?”

“He’s being released tomorrow.”

The dog barked from behind the door, but he ignored it. “That didn’t take long.” He whistled. “What’s it been…two, three years? Must make you sick, eh?”

Worse than sick… “I’m concerned because I think he’s still dangerous.”

“He is dangerous. To animals as well as humans. That bastard killed one of my dogs.”

Skye didn’t want to reveal that she already knew about the lawsuit. Many people didn’t realize how public most records were, and it made them uncomfortable to learn that someone had been snooping around. So she remained vague. “How do you know it was him?”