Unholy Angels
Prologue The car door swung open. Liz fumbled with the seatbelt, and scuttled across the yellow seat to the passenger side. She yanked on the handle, then realized the caved-in door was wedged against a tree. “Well, hello there.” His tone was mild,pleasant as he slid into the car beside her. He filled the driver’s seat, all but blocking out the sunlight behind him. Liz’s mouth went dry. He reached for her. She shrieked and swung out with her feet, kicking him in the chest. He grunted, but there was no give, just muscle. He grinned, baring straight, white teeth. “If I had more time,
we could stretch this out a bit.” He sighed. “But we got
to get ourselves back on the road.” His hand shot out, seizing the hair at her temple. He wound the long brown strands around his fist. She cried out and clawed at his fingers. They were as thick as her wrist and covered in leather. The son of a bitch was wearing gloves. He dragged her across the seat to him. She grabbed the passenger door handle but he broke her hold. Her eyes watered from the pain of his grip on her hair, but she had to stay in the car. It would be all over if he got her out of the car. Panting, she clutched the steering wheel. It cut into her side, anchoring her, but the reprieve lasted for only an instant before he hauled her off the seat and flung her over his shoulder. She landed hard. The breath left her lungs. Stars burst in front of her eyes. She got in one shallow breath, and then he was on the move. He set a swift pace, bouncing her against his body and keeping her breathless. His sedan was parked behind her car. The engine idled; the trunk stood open. He rounded the vehicle, retrieved a roll of thick duct tape from the empty compartment, then tossed her inside, facedown. She scrambled onto her knees. He grabbed her arms and forced them behind her back. In a moment she would be helpless. She struggled to pull back from him, but couldn't break his grip. The tape screeched, then he was binding her hands. No more than a couple of minutes had passed since he'd forced her off the road. He was efficient and fast. Impossible to elude. Perspiration soaked her body. “Doug knows about you.” It was a lie, and her voice quavered. She forced some strength into it. “When I don't come home, he'll come after you.” Her abductor taped her ankles, then slapped a strip over her mouth.
He leaned in close, close enough that she could smell his minty breath.
“Sheriff Doug won't have to look far. I'm easy to find.”
His gaze slowly roamed her body, lingering on her legs and breasts,
then his eyes stared into hers. “But he won't find all of you.” Liz jogged up the stairs to the narrow hall. The bathroom and bedroom
doors were open. Peter’s study door was closed. No doubt he
was in there thinking of more ways to mess with her life. Liz bit
down, grinding her back teeth. Enough of that. An uncapped bottle of the expensive brand he favored stood on a corner of the desk. It was ten-thirteen according to the digital clock on the desk and he was still out. Too bad he chose last night to party. No way was she going to be put off. She circled the desk, her steps soundless on the inches thick gray carpeting. “Time to wake up, Peter.” She shook his shoulder. It felt stiff. She gasped and stumbled back.
Peter fell forward, striking the wooden desk top with his face. “This is Liz Janssen at ah—” Liz tapped her forehead.
“Fifty Five Kent Street. I think my ex-husband is dead.” Liz glanced up at the man standing in the doorway between Peter’s bedroom and den. Thick, dark hair curled over the collar of a white shirt that was tucked into faded jeans. His dark deep set eyes watched her, studied her. She nodded. “Yes,I'm Liz Janssen.” He left the door way and walked slowly into the room, toward where she stood against a white wall. From the back pocket of his jeans, he withdrew a police shield. He held it up for her to see. “I’m Doug McBride.” The new sheriff and brother to Sean, Peter’s closest friend. Doug was tall and wide in the shoulders like Sean, but his features were rugged, not refined like his brother’s. Doug returned his ID to his pocket. “I’m sorry for what’s happened.” The paramedics had confirmed Peter’s death a few minutes earlier.
She was told an empty bottle of prescription pills was found clutched
in Peter’s fist. It was expected that the medical examiner would
confirm that his death was a suicide. Liz closed her eyes. She opened her eyes. Her hands were almost steady again. She clasped them. “Yes. I’d like to do this as quickly as we can. I have to find Will, my son, and tell him about Peter.” Doug nodded. “Let's talk downstairs.” Liz led Doug out of the bedroom. The living room was dark and now felt too cold. Since she'd found Peter's body, she hadn't been able to get warm. She went to the curtains, bunched them in her fists and drew them apart. Heat and light struck her. She squinted in the sudden brightness, but kept her face to the hot sun. Doug went to sit on the end of the sofa. He placed a tape recorder on the coffee table beside a vase, pressed “record,” then stated the date and their names. “What time did you arrive here, at Peter’s house, Mrs. Janssen?” Liz turned to face the sheriff. She had read the time on Peter’s desk
clock, right before she touched him. Ten-thirteen. She was probably
accurate within a minute or two when she said she got there five minutes
before that. Liz hesitated. Since she filed for divorce, seven weeks ago, Peter had been using his position as manager of the bank in Branville to tie up her finances. Last week, she had handed Wayne Wallace her credit card for a fill-up, then watched his acne-scarred face redden as he stammered, Sorry, Mrs. Janssen, my machine says this here card’s over its limit. That morning she went to withdraw funds from her account, and was denied, though she'd called the bank and confirmed that the check from her publisher had cleared. The money was there, all right. She just couldn't get it. Because of Peter. When she charged into his office to confront him, his assistant told her that Peter hadn't arrived for work yet so drove here. Liz licked her lips. Peter was dead. There was no point in making public that he had been abusing his job by playing games with her finances. “Mrs. Janssen?” “I came by to address a concern I had over the sale of our house, Sheriff.” “That would be this house?” She nodded. She wanted a fresh start in a new place, but Peter had
seen no reason to leave the house until it was sold. Likely, he could
have stayed put for a very long time. Branville was one of the smallest
towns in West Virginia. An hour drive from the nearest city, it was
nestled between miles of farmland and forest. The remote location
made the property a hard-sell. “The door was unlocked.” She hadn't locked a door since moving to Branville, seventeen years earlier. “We always kept the door unlocked.” “How long have you and Peter been separated?” “Almost two months.” “Have you spoken or seen each other in that time?” Liz shook her head. “Not at all.” “How did Peter feel about the separation?” Liz closed her eyes, thinking back to that last evening as she sat waiting for Peter to come home. It had been almost midnight. The houses opposite hers were dark. Crickets chirped somewhere beside her on the front porch. She had no idea how long she would have to wait. She didn't know Peter’s schedule, had no clue what he did with the time he was not at the bank. He arrived thirty minutes later. The glow from the porch light illuminated his casual dress—slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. Though there was no breeze, his hair looked windblown. He finger-combed it as he strolled onto the porch. He passed her chair. She reached out and touched his forearm briefly to stop him. It had been years since they'd made even that much physical contact. When Peter turned toward her, she saw no need for preliminaries. “I want a divorce,” she said quietly. He faced her for another moment; then without saying anything, continued into the house. The next morning, Liz consulted an attorney. She looked up at Doug now. “Peter never told me how he felt about us separating, but the marriage has been over for years, for both of us, Sheriff.” It was Peter’s bruised ego, not a broken heart, that had kept him from letting her move on with her life. Doug stopped the recorder. “That should do it. If I have any further questions, I’ll be in touch.” Liz was anxious to reach Will. She inclined her head to Doug, and left the house. As she rounded the hood of her hatchback, Will’s car squealed to a stop behind the ambulance. Liz met him at the foot of the drive and stopped in front of him. Except for his size which he'd inherited from his father, the seventeen-year-old looked like her - light brown hair that he kept cropped short, brown eyes, and a crooked smile. And like his mother, everything he felt showed on his face. His brows were lowered, his mouth tight and, in his eyes, she now saw fear. “What’s happened to Dad?” Will asked. Will and Peter held a special closeness. How was she going to tell him that his father was dead? In the tense silence, she became aware of Will’s car idling. The Mustang had years and miles on it. Will loved it. She knew most of the affection for the car was due to the hours he spent working on it with his father. “Never mind.” Will brushed by her. “I’ll find out for myself.” Liz clutched his arm. “Dad’s dead, Will.” He had to hear the rest now before someone else could tell him. “An empty bottle of pills was found in his hand.” “I want to see Dad. Now!” Will yanked his arm from her grasp. Liz’s eyes filled with tears, and Will’s eyes widened. “No!” His features tightened in pain and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, honey,” Liz murmured. Will’s eyes opened again. “Sorry?” His voice throbbed. “Save it, Mom. We were a family until a publisher called raving about your book and you figured you didn’t need Dad anymore so you walked!” Though Will had watched the estrangement between his parents grow over the years, the separation had still hurt him. “Our separation didn’t happen because I sold my novel,” Liz said quietly. Branville Books, the store she owned in town, was her business—not hers and Peter’s—and had kept her modestly self-supporting, though Will would not realize that. His eyes glittered with anger. “How do you think Dad felt knowing he’d been used?” “Dad didn’t know about the call. He didn’t even know what I’d been working on.” Will’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Dad knew. I invited him to join us for your celebration dinner. He didn’t answer me right away. I thought he was going to accept, but he shook his head, and told me to have a good time. He’d have come if you’d asked him to.” She would not remind Will that weeks passed where she and Peter failed to exchange a word. Peter would not have joined them, but before Liz could tell Will that, he mumbled, “If only I’d come sooner.” Tears filled his eyes. “I knew he was lonely.” Liz dug her fingers into his forearms. She could feel him trembling. “There was nothing you could have done. He was gone before I got here this morning.” Will broke her grip on him. “Not hours. Days. I came by to tell him I was moving in with him—today.” He gritted his teeth. “Right after I talked to you.” “You wanted to live with your father?” Liz asked softly. When she left Peter, she took Will with her, and made new living arrangements for them both. She never considered that he would live anywhere but with her. Nothing could hurt her worse than hearing her son say he didn't
want to live with her - or so she thought. His face and shoulders
tensed and he leaned toward her. Her little boy was now a man who
loomed over her. The sudden rage in him startled her and for an instant she thought he might actually harm her. Will wheeled away from her now and struck the Mustang’s hood with his fists. “Dad,” he cried out. “Dad!” Her child was suffering and there wasn't anything she could do to take away his pain. She felt helpless and hated it. She reached out and touched his back. “Let’s go home.” “I don’t have a home.” “You’re not alone, Will,” she said softly. “I’m right here.” Will pulled away from her. Tears fell onto his cheeks. “Dad
needed you. Look where it got him.” |