The Perfect House. Блейк Пирс

with Crutchfield’s cell.

      “You’ll want this,” she said, holding up the small key fob with the red button in the middle. It was the “in case of emergency, break glass” device. Jessie considered it a kind of digital security blanket.

      If Crutchfield was messing with her head and she wanted to leave the room without letting him know the impact he was having, she was to push the button hidden in her hand. That would alert Kat, who could remove her from the room for some official, made-up reason. Jessie was pretty sure Crutchfield was aware of the device but she was glad to have it nonetheless.

      She grabbed the key fob, nodded to Kat that she was ready to enter, and took a deep breath. Kat opened the door and Jessie stepped inside.

      Apparently Crutchfield had anticipated her arrival. He was standing up, only inches from the glass wall dividing the room in half, smiling broadly at her.

      CHAPTER SIX

      It took Jessie a second to rip her eyes away from his crooked teeth and evaluate the situation.

      On the surface, he didn’t look that different than she remembered. He still had the blond hair, shorn close to his head. He still wore the same mandatory aqua-blue scrubs. He still had the slightly pudgier face than one would expect of a man who was about five foot eight and 150 pounds. It made him look closer to twenty-five than the thirty-five years old he was.

      And he still had the probing, almost stalking brown eyes. They were the only hint that the man across from her had killed at nineteen least people and perhaps twice that many.

      The cell hadn’t changed either. It was small, with a narrow sheetless bed bolted to the far wall. A small desk with an attached chair sat in the back right corner beside a small metal wash basin. Behind that was a toilet, set off in the back, with a sliding plastic door for a modicum of privacy.

      “Miss Jessie,” he purred softly. “What an unexpected surprise running into you here.”

      “And yet, you’re standing there as if you expected my imminent arrival,” Jessie countered, not wanting to give Crutchfield even a moment’s advantage. She walked over and sat down in the chair behind a small desk on the other side of the glass. Kat took up her usual position, standing alertly in the corner of the room.

      “I sensed a change in the energy of this facility,” he replied, his Louisiana accent as pronounced as ever. “The air seemed sweeter and I thought I could hear a bird chirping outside.”

      “You’re not usually this full of flattery,” Jessie noted. “Care to share what has you in such a complimentary mood?”

      “Nothing in particular, Miss Jessie. Can’t a man just appreciate the small joy that comes from having an unexpected visitor?”

      Something in the way he said that last line made Jessie’s scalp tingle, as if there was more to the comment. She sat quietly for a moment, allowing her mind to work, unconcerned about any time constraints. She knew Kat would let her handle the interview however she chose.

      Turning over Crutchfield’s words in her head, she realized they might have more than one meaning.

      “When you talk about unexpected visitors, are you referring to me, Mr. Crutchfield?”

      He stared at her for several seconds without speaking. Finally, slowly, the wide, forced smile on his face twisted into a more malevolent—and more believable—smirk.

      “We haven’t established the ground rules for this visit,” he said, suddenly turning his back on her.

      “I think the days of ground rules have long since passed, don’t you, Mr. Crutchfield?” she asked. “We’ve known each other long enough that we can just talk, can’t we?”

      He walked back to the bed attached to the back wall of the cell and sat down, his expression slightly hidden in shadow now.

      “But how can I be certain that you’ll be as forthcoming as you’d like me to be with you?” he asked.

      “After ordering one of your flunkies to break into my friend’s apartment and scaring her to the point that she still can’t sleep, I’m not sure you’ve fully earned my trust or my willingness to be accommodating.”

      “You bring up that incident,” he said, “but you neglect to mention the multiple times I’ve assisted you in cases both professional and personal. For every so-called indiscretion on my part, I’ve compensated with information that has proved invaluable to you. All I’m asking for are assurances that this won’t be a one-way street.”

      Jessie looked at him hard, trying to determine how accommodating she could be while still keeping a professional distance.

      “What is it exactly that you’re looking for?”

      “Right now? Just your time, Miss Jessie. I’d prefer you not be such a stranger. It’s been seventy-six days since you last graced me with your presence. A less confident man than myself might take offense at the long absence.”

      “Okay,” Jessie said. “I promise to visit you on a more regular basis. In fact, I’ll make sure to stop by at least once more this week. How does that sound?”

      “It’s a start,” he replied noncommittally.

      “Great. Then let’s get back to my question. You said before that you appreciated the joy that comes from having an unexpected visitor. Were you referring to me?”

      “Miss Jessie, while it is always a delight to revel in your company, I must confess that my comment was indeed in reference to another visitor.”

      Jessie could sense Kat stiffen in the corner behind her.

      “And who are you referring to?” she asked, keeping her voice level.

      “I think you know.”

      I’d like you to tell me,” Jessie insisted.

      Bolton Crutchfield stood up again, now more visible in the full light, and Jessie could see that he was rolling his tongue around in his mouth, like it was a fish on a line that he was toying with.

      “As I assured you the last time that we spoke, I would be having a chat with your daddy.”

      “And have you?”

      “I have indeed,” he answered as casually as if he were telling her the time. “He asked me to pass along his regards, after I offered yours.”

      Jessie stared at him closely, looking for any hint of deception in his face.

      “You spoke to Xander Thurman,” she reconfirmed, “in this room, sometime in the last eleven weeks?”

      “I did.”

      Jessie knew that Kat was bursting to ask her own questions in order to try to confirm the veracity of his claim and how it might have happened. But in her mind, that was secondary and could be addressed later. She didn’t want the conversation to get sidetracked so she followed up before her friend could say anything.

      “What did you discuss?’ she asked, trying to keep the judgment out of her voice.

      “Well, we had to be rather cryptic, so as not to reveal his true identity to those listening in. But the gist of our chat was about you, Miss Jessie.”

      “Me?”

      “Yes. If you’ll recall, he and I chatted a couple of years ago and he warned me that you might one day visit. But that you would have a different name than the one he’d given you, Jessica Thurman.”

      Jessie flinched involuntarily at the name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud by anyone but herself in two decades. She knew he saw her reaction but there was nothing she could do about it. Crutchfield smiled knowingly and continued.

      “He wanted to know how his long-lost daughter was doing. He was interested in all kinds of details—what you do for a living, where you live, what you look like now, what your new name is. He’s very anxious to reconnect, Miss Jessie.”

      As he spoke, Jessie told herself to breathe slowly in and out. She reminded herself