“I think I’ll tape it so we can watch it together. Does that scare you, Max?”
“I think you’re pathetic, praying on little girls and confused women.” His words did something to her, made her think of the times she’d done desperate things, made desperate choices. Like Bethany. Like all the women who had died and climbed inside Max’s body, forcing her to find their killers.
Every one had led straight to Bud Traynor. Their Pied Piper. Her nemesis.
Even with the list of his crimes running through her head, there was one more thing Max had to know. “Why’d you call Bethany and pretend to love her?”
“I called Helen, and maybe neither of us was pretending.”
“Don’t give me that line of bullshit. Somehow you found out what she was doing, and you called her to torment her.”
“I told her what she wanted to hear. I told her that I loved her.”
“You set her up. You started pushing to meet her. You wanted to terrify her.”
“I told her she was beautiful. No one else could tell her that.”
“You tell me everything else you do blow-by-blow. Why won’t you tell why you did that to Bethany?”
The phone crackled. She heard him breath. Finally he answered. “She hated it when I touched her. So I found a way to make her beg for my touch.”
The hairs on her arms stood straight up. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was smiling.
His voice came again, soft, cajoling, hypnotic. “Isn’t that how it was for you that night, Max?”
She shivered in the sunny warmth of her car. “What are you talking about?”
He laughed softly. The sound of it chased the breath out of her throat. “Remember ride ’em cowboy, Max?”
Oh Jesus. It was a fantasy, just a fantasy she’d told some guy on the phone because she had to. It was part of trapping Bethany’s killer. All along it had been Bud, another voice, another incarnation. She’d fallen right into his trap.
“It made you so hot, didn’t it? You wanted me so bad you almost came with the sound of my voice.”
The way Bethany had used her voice, over and over, with hundreds of men, loving it, enslaving them, enslaving herself.
If Bud had been sitting next to her, Max would have gouged his eyes out.
“I’m right, aren’t I, Max?”
She cut the connection, threw the phone onto the seat, jammed the car into gear, Sutter’s package undelivered beside her, and raced away as if a monster were on her tail.
The monster had a name. It was Bud Traynor.
Max knew she’d never be rid of him. Not until one of them was dead.
Epilogue
The red numbers of her clock flipped over to twelve. Midnight.
Cameron wrapped his ethereal being around her. “I love you. Don’t think about it.”
How could she not think about it? He’d died on this day two years ago.
“Sleep with me, Max, and we’ll wake up tomorrow night when it’s all over.”
“It’ll never be over, Cameron. You’re dead.” Tears pricked her lids, and she dug her nails into the flesh of her palms.
The phone rang, and she grabbed at it like a lifeline, an excuse not to think, not to remember. “Hello.”
“Helen.”
Didn’t the guy know Helen didn’t live here anymore? The service was supposed to have cut them off. She almost sniped at the voice.
Then she realized who it was.
Witt.
“You must be my Achilles heel, sweetheart,” he said. “Can’t seem to leave you alone. Even when I should.”
“Please, don’t use the name Achilles.”
She heard a soft snort of laughter. “Are you still Helen on your message machine?”
“I haven’t gotten around to changing it yet.”
“Then I’m still gonna be Achilles. Your Achilles, no one else’s.” His voice dropped a note, and he whispered, “Make love with me.”
“Now?” she squeaked like a mouse. One day, sooner rather than later, their weird relationship would end. Badly. But right now? She wanted him more than anything.
“Yeah. Now.”
“Over the phone?”
“Yeah. On the phone.”
She thought of phone sex, Bud Traynor’s tricks, and Bethany Spring’s desperation. Suddenly she knew exactly why the young woman had craved the anonymity of it.
She’d been safe. She’d been wanted, desired, lusted after. And safe. In the end, when the threat came, it had not been from the outside; it had come from within.
Max heard Witt’s breath over the phone and knew she, too, was safe. She didn’t have to remember Cameron’s death, she didn’t have to think about Traynor’s threats, and she didn’t have to plan tomorrow.
Doing what Witt had asked her to do, she wove a tale. Damn if she didn’t make sure it included a Dodge Ram and a cowboy, too.
In spite of that bastard Bud Traynor.