The Lover. BEVERLY BARTON

of course you are. How’s Mary Lee?” His ex-wife had always considered herself a sexy woman and had used her body as both a weapon and a reward for the men in her life.

      “She’s okay. Scared. Upset. Worrying about Kevin.”

      “Was my taking Kevin for the next few weeks her idea or yours?” Jim asked.

      Allen Clark cleared his throat. “Mine, actually. She’s concerned that with you starting a new job, Kevin might be alone too much.”

      “I’ll see to it that he’s not.”

      “Then you’re okay with my bringing him to Adams Landing next Thursday?”

      “Yeah. Sure. But what about Kevin? Have y’all told him—”

      “Not yet, but we will. This weekend. And … uh … I’ll call you Monday and set up a time and … Thanks, Mr.—”

      “Jim.”

      “Thanks, Jim.”

      For several seconds after their conversation ended, Jim stood in the small bathroom, his gaze fixed on the mirror in front of him. He no longer saw his reflection, no longer thought about shaving. His emotions were torn between genuine concern about his ex-wife’s health and absolute joy over the fact that he was being given the gift of spending so much time with his son.

      Jim snorted. Wasn’t life always this way? He had a chance for his son to live with him for several weeks, maybe more than a month, and this opportunity came at the worst possible time for him. Just as he was starting a new job that had become exceedingly complicated on his very first day. How was he going to balance giving Kevin the quality time he needed and deserved and giving his all to the investigation into Stephanie Preston’s brutal murder?

       Chapter 5

      Jim had listened, commented when asked a point-blank question and otherwise let the others carry the conversation. He was the new man on the job and despite the fact that he was in charge of this case for the sheriff’s department, it was officially now an ABI case. He had sized up Agent Patterson within twenty minutes of meeting him—laid-back and easy to get along with, intelligent without being the least bit cocky. Bernie had informed Jim that Patterson held a B.S. degree in Criminal Justice, as did she, which didn’t surprise him in the least. He figured Bernie probably also had, as he had, gone through the ten-week program at the FBI National Academy in Quantico. Besides taking forensic classes, he’d learned something about management techniques during the course.

      The four of them—Patterson, Hensley, Bernie and Jim—sat around in Jim’s office, everybody on their third cup of coffee and rehashed the situation.

      “I think we can eliminate Kyle Preston,” Patterson said. “The guy’s a basket case. He’s been under a doctor’s care for over a week now, sedated a great deal of that time, and if I ever saw a grieving widower—”

      “I agree,” Ron Hensley said. “But without the husband as a suspect, who does that leave us with?”

      “It leaves us with nobody,” Patterson replied. “At least for tonight. But somebody knows something, even if they think they don’t. It’s our job to dig deep until we come up with a workable scenario. Some nut job kidnapped Stephanie Preston, raped and tortured her for two weeks, and then killed her. Was he some guy just passing through Adams County or has he lived here all his life? Did he have something personal against Stephanie? Or maybe against her husband or another family member? Or did she just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

      “And how was he able to kidnap her from the college campus without anyone noticing?” Bernie grimaced. “Where had he kept her for the past thirteen days? If he’s done this once, will he do it again?”

      “Yes,” Jim said.

      All eyes turned to him.

      “Are you saying that, yes, he’ll do it again?” Bernie asked.

      Jim nodded. “Is this the first case of its kind in the area that you know of?”

      “What are you implying?” Hensley asked.

      “You’re not thinking we’ve got the makings of a serial killer on our hands, are you, Captain?” Patterson asked.

      “Oh, God.” Bernie cringed. “Whatever y’all do, don’t repeat that outside these four walls. If the phrase serial killer gets bandied about, we’ll have all-out panic on our hands.”

      Even though Jim’s gut instincts told him that there was a possibility that the man who killed Stephanie would do it again and she might not have been his first victim, he wasn’t about to go out on a limb on his first day on the job. Not when he’d been wrong in the past and been slapped down for it. Not if the opinion of a seasoned ABI agent differed from his. He could always do some snooping around on his own, if he felt strongly enough about it once they had a few more facts.

      “Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” Hensley glowered at Jim. “Shouldn’t we wait on the official autopsy report and other forensic findings before we automatically assume anything about this case?”

      “Nobody’s jumping to conclusions,” Patterson said. “And we’re not assuming anything. But every opinion counts. We can’t rule out anything at this point.” He turned to Jim. “It won’t hurt to check with neighboring counties to see if there’s been any similar murders. But if our killer is nomadic, it’ll make solving this case more difficult.”

      Jim nodded. “I hate to bother her husband and her parents, but I think we should talk to them again and also take a look at her home.” Jim glanced at Bernie. “Maybe Sheriff Mays can help us with that.”

      “You still think the husband might have done it?” Hensley asked.

      “No, not really,” Jim said. “But it’s possible there’s something he or her parents haven’t told us.”

      “Why would they have kept anything from us?” Hensley’s harsh gaze narrowed until his eyes were mere slits. “They were desperate to find Stephanie. They’d have done anything to—”

      “I didn’t say they deliberately kept anything from us,” Jim said. “But the husband and the parents were under unbearable emotional stress and could have easily forgotten something or dismissed something they thought insignificant. Didn’t y’all mention that the husband’s been sedated for a good part of the past seven or eight days?”

      “I see what you’re getting at,” Bernie said. “And you’re right. I’ll contact Ed first thing in the morning and arrange for us to talk to Stephanie’s husband and her parents and get Kyle Preston’s permission to search the house.”

      “He’ll think he’s under suspicion,” Hensley said. “Even if he’s innocent, he’s liable to clam up and hire a lawyer.”

      “Not if we handle things right.” Agent Patterson glanced at Jim. “We have no reason to suspect the husband and he needs to know that up front. But if he refuses to allow us to search his house, well …”

      Bernie glanced at her watch. Twenty till eleven. “It’s getting late. Why don’t we call it a night, get some sleep and start fresh first thing in the morning?”

      “Sounds good to me.” Patterson rose from his chair.

      Hensley got up and stretched. “Agent Patterson, do you need a ride to the hotel or do you have your car with you?”

      “I think I’ll walk back to the hotel. It’s not that far and it’s a nice night. Besides, I do my best thinking when I take leisurely walks.”

      Hensley nodded, shook Patterson’s hand and said good night to Bernie and then to Jim before heading for the door.

      Patterson shook hands with Jim and Bernie. “Is seven in the morning too early for