Chapter 12

Special Agent Vernon Price slammed the phone on its cradle and cursed.

"What?" Green said.

Janice Green was Price's partner. They'd been working a serial rapist case for eight months, a serial rapist case that had turned into a serial killer case in Flagstaff, Arizona. They'd made little progress.

"Another one. This one was a little different. He scalped his victim," Price said.

Green shuddered with the image Price's words conjured in her mind. "He's evolving," she said. "We knew that. Where this time?"

"Palm Desert, California, a student at the College of the Desert," Price said.

"What tribe?"

"The Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians, a small tribe, but they've got clout. Casino gambling," he said and pushed himself to his feet reluctantly. "Let's go. We'll be meeting with..." He checked his notes. "Detective Ralph Snipe with the Palm Desert Police Department."

"Any real evidence this time?" Green asked.

Price grinned. "Maybe. She scratched him. Maybe. If she did, we'll have DNA."

"Which won't do us any good until after we determine who he is, unless his DNA is in the system. That isn't likely. This case is so frustrating, Vern. It's all over the map. Tucson, Arizona; Albuquerque, New Mexico; St. George, Utah; Colorado Springs, Colorado; Pocatello, Idaho; Flagstaff, Arizona; Salt Lake City, Utah, and now Palm Desert, California. Where is Palm Desert anyway?"

"Near Palm Springs," Price said. "We'll be flying into Palm Springs."

They walked out of their offices, moving toward the parking lot.

"All the victims have been college students or worked for colleges. The unsub has to be associated with colleges in some capacity, probably traveling from college to college, probably in sales," Green said.

"And that's how we'll identify him. The College of the Desert isn't that big. We should be able to isolate the names of everyone who visited the college over the last week or so. Then we can crosscheck those names with the names we put together that visited the other colleges just before the unsub struck. Janice, if there's no match, we'll interview everyone on the list of visitors for the College of the Desert. We've got a chance to catch the bastard this time."

"He scalped the victim, huh?" she asked, not for an affirmative answer, but instead to set up a follow-up question. She did that a lot. It came from her training as a lawyer.

"Yes."

"Maybe he's Native American," she said.

"Maybe."

"Or carries some Native American blood in him. Does DNA... ?"

"No, Janice, DNA can't tell us the race of a donor. Dr. Francis Collins, head of the Human Genome Project, says there is no evidence so far that would distinguish DNA from one race as opposed to any other." He pulled out his cell phone. "But I will order a forensic team to Palm Desert. The scalping is new. Maybe the scientists can identify the knife the unsub used."

"Did he take the scalp with him?"

"He did."

"Keepsake?" Green said.

"Probably."

We bought the promising yearling appaloosa stallion and two yearling mares in Idaho and arranged to have them shipped to Respite. Then we flew to Williams Field. Frank met our flight and drove us to Refuge.

As expected, Leah was waiting at Refuge when we arrived. I think I noticed the engagement ring on her finger before her mother. And Leah wasn't the only person waiting for our arrival. John Savage, Leah's fiancé, was with her, which I thought was cruel of her. I entered her mind to see how she'd react. Would she tell me to get out?

I'm sorry, Clint, Leah said with a silent thought when she noted my presence in her mind and the anger in my eyes. Mother wanted to meet John as soon as possible, so ... Ah, hell, I'm sorry.

You're forgiven, I told her silently. I've got a get-even. Loni is going to Egypt with me.

Sudden tears filled her lovely eyes. I'd gone too far. She turned and rushed away, locked herself in the guest bathroom, and didn't rejoin the group for about twenty minutes. When she returned, I could tell she'd been crying. I considered a silent apology and decided to leave well enough alone.

I wasn't the only person to notice Leah's swollen, red eyes.

What was that all about? Loni asked herself.

"Are you all right, Leah?" John Savage asked solicitously. "You look like you've been crying.

"A piece of dust or something in one eye, and then I poked the other eye with a finger while trying to wash out whatever was in my eye," Leah said. She smiled wanly. "Sorry."

A little later, I entered her mind again. Would she tell me to get out this time?

What? she said silently.

We need to talk, I said with a thought.

We do but not now. Telling me about Loni that way was cruel, Clint, but then what I did to you was just as cruel.

I felt vindictive. I went too far. I'm sorry, I said.

And I'm sorry. Let's just forget and forgive. Now, get out of my mind, please.

I did as she asked.

As Loni and I were walking to the dining room for dinner, her arm through mine, she leaned to my ear and whispered, "Leah didn't get anything in her eye. She ran away because she started to cry. Do you have that effect on all the woman from your past?"

I pulled Loni into my office and closed the door. "I agree with you. I don't know why, but Leah rushed away to cry in private." A lie, and then I lied some more. "I won't lie to you, Loni. For a very brief time, Leah and I were very close, but ... well, to be frank, I'm sterile, the residue of the mumps I contracted in my youth. Leah wanted children more than she wanted me, so she took a hike."

"Oh, I know about that. Sable told me."

I nodded. "I figured she would. Well, how about you? Are you going to take a hike like Leah because I can't give you children?"

She grinned and brushed her lips to mine. "Nope. I don't want children. I'd make a lousy mother. I might take a hike, but not because you're sterile." She smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Impotent, yes, sterile no, and your virility, you adorable man, is not in question."

"Good. I'm hungry. Let's go eat."

Leah and I didn't get to talk until the next evening. I was sitting on my favorite rock smoking a cigarette and anticipating a glorious sunset, but it appeared I'd be disappointed. The heat had waned, and a skiff of rain early that morning had taken the dust out of the air. Plus, there wasn't a cloud in the sky to capture the disappearing rays of the sun from behind the mountains to the west.

Leah walked out of her parent's house, saw me, hesitated and walked toward me. When she was in range, I entered her mind.

Let's have our talk, she said silently when she felt my presence.

It was a good time for it. John Savage wasn't in the compound, and Loni was out shopping with Sable. Loni had only packed for one week. She needed clothes.

Leah sat next to me but far enough away that we didn't touch.

I still love you, she said.

And I still love you, I said. Love's that way. It seems to arrive almost with a whim but hangs on like crazy.

I took a drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke in the air away from Leah.

She chuckled. Yes, love is like that. I love John, too.

I figured, I said. Many, many years ago, probably before you were born, I realized that it is possible to love more than one woman at the same time, and I'm talking about romantic love, not the love for a child or a parent or sibling.

She won't leave you, Clint, not to pursue a career. She's like me; she's head over heels in love with you. She giggled. She'll hang on like crazy.

I sucked in the last lungful of smoke and put the cigarette out against the rock, flipping the butt toward a cholla cactus. I missed.

I said, Yes, it wouldn't be fair to steal too much of her time to satisfy my needs at the expense of hers. She, no less than you, deserves a man she loves who also loves her, a man she can grow old with.

She growled, a low sound of frustration. There have been times when I wished you hadn't been fair with me, but in retrospect, I appreciate deeply that you told me your secrets so early in our relationship.

She turned and looked at me.

John Savage isn't Clint Wilson. He can't touch my mind with his, but he's a good man, Clint, and I love him. We'll make a good life together.

With children, I said.

Yes, she said. John wants children as much as I, maybe more.

I wish you only happiness, Leah. My offer still stands. If you ever need anything, let me know, and if it's in my power, you shall have it.

She stood up, and our eyes met. I can't hug you and kiss you, she said. I want to, desperately, but I can't. Goodbye, Clint.

Do I have your permission to join our minds from time to time?

Yes. She grinned. I enjoy our silent conversations.

I nodded. Goodbye, Leah.

She turned and walked out of my life. Oh, I'd see her, probably frequently, and we'd talk silently, but we both knew that was the moment Leah left me forever.

I sat on my rock with a heavy heart until the sky turned black and the stars shined bright.

Five days later, my architects arrived at Refuge. The new designs for Respite were stunning. Ginger had taken my suggestions to heart. With the changes she'd make to the stables and other out buildings after seeing my horse facilities at Refuge, I turned her loose to complete the working drawings, telling her that I'd select the general contractor after my return from Egypt, with the goal of starting construction in the spring as soon as weather permitted.

Loni had a blast shopping in Manhattan en route to Egypt. Cost me a bundle, but I didn't mind. Her unbounded joy made every penny well spent. She also enjoyed being recognized as Zane in just about every store she entered, but I noted no desire on her part to return to the world of fashion. The new Loni remained steadfast and in control.

Shopping in Manhattan had been a good test for her. It solidified the new Loni as her dominant personality. Zane was a has-been. The old Loni no longer existed. She'd been Zane's alter ego, and with Zane no longer in the picture, the old Loni was not necessary.

Then Loni took me shopping, and not just me. She insisted that Greg and Owen also had to look sharp while visiting the Land of the Pharaohs. She made us shop until we almost dropped. We returned to the hotel ladened with bags and packages and for a well-earned drink.

"Figure on a day at Savile Row in London, Clint," she said as we relaxed in our hotel suite. Owen and Greg had joined us for that well-earned drink. "You need custom-made clothes for all occasions," she continued, "and I know the perfect bespoke tailor for you."

"Bespoke?" I said.

"Bespoke means the clothing is made specifically for your body shape, and just as importantly, for your personality. The process starts with a series of detailed measurements by a bespoke tailor. From the measurements, the tailor creates a paper pattern, which represents the shape and component parts of the suit. The tailor uses the pattern for all the clothes he makes for you. When your body shape changes, the tailor will adjust the pattern accordingly."

"Doesn't that process require a number of fittings?" I said.

"Yes. Four or five fittings for the first suit. Between each fitting, the suit is chalk marked, taken apart, the pattern updated, and amendments made. Subsequent suits require only two or three fittings."

"Loni, I won't fly to London three or four times just for suit fittings."

"I know that, silly. The Savile Row bespoke tailor I have in mind travels to the United States frequently. I don't believe he travels to Phoenix, but I know he sets up shop in Hollywood at least three times a year, which wouldn't take much flying time."

"Those kind of suits ain't for me," Owen said.

"What do they cost?" Greg said.

"$3,000 to $4,000," Loni said.

Greg laughed and said, "They ain't for me, either."

"You need a bespoke-tailored suit more than Clint," Loni said to Greg. "If for no other reason than to hide that pistol under your arm better than an off-the-rack suit."

"She's right, Greg," I said. "And I'm buying. When we're out and about, I want you to look as good as me. Dashing figure of a man that I am, I know that's not possible, but you can get close dressed as a gentleman of good taste."

"I'm not a gentleman of good taste or bad," Greg said. "I'm a warrior."

"Hmph," Owen said. "Waste of good money." Then he grinned. "This bespoke tailor, does he do Western?"

"If your personality is Western, and it most definitely is, Owen, a bespoke tailor does Western," Loni said, although in her mind she wasn't positive she was speaking the truth.

"We'll all get Western suits," I said. "So we look good at horse shows when we accept the trophies for our champions."

"Some Western shirts, too, and what about accessories?" Owen said. "Do bespoke tailors carry a line of big belt buckles?"

"Hey, that reminds me," Greg said. "Do bespoke tailors do camouflage fatigues and boonie hats?"

Loni shook her head with dismay. "You're incorrigible, all of you."

"Yep," Owen said, grinning.

Loni and I were dining at Twenty-One. Owen had begged off, claiming he was all tuckered out, that shopping was more work than a trail drive. He said he'd order dinner from room service, call Maria to say goodnight, put his feet up and listen to his wife tell him all about the decorating falderal goin' on. Greg had not looked any livelier than Owen, so I told him to take the night off.

"What can happen, Greg?" I'd said when he started to protest. "Got a limo to take us to the restaurant and drive us back to the hotel, and we won't stop anywhere in between. We'll be fine."

With gratitude, he took the night off.

So, Loni and I had an evening out without Owen and Greg tagging along, and Loni was taking advantage of the situation. I didn't mind. I enjoyed her touches and whispered endearments and naughty thoughts.

She looked like a dream in a little black dress. A strand of pearls twined her sensuous neck, and pearls dangled from her ears. Her makeup was perfect, not too heavy, but what there was enhanced her natural beauty. She made every other woman in the restaurant dowdy by comparison.

And she made me laugh. Some of her anecdotes about college life with weird but interesting students and even weirder professors cracked me up. I related some anecdotes about some of the characters in the companies in which I'd invested. We were having fun.

And then we weren't having fun anymore.

She stiffened suddenly, and terror momentarily entered her eyes. She recovered quickly, but I'd followed the direction of her eyes with my mind and connected with the man who had terrified her.

How about that? Zane. Zany girl. Carl's girl. Oh, oh, she's trying to ignore me. Can't let that happen, he thought. He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He was a big man, probably six-three, probably two hundred forty pounds. Forty to forty-five years old, but in pretty good shape for his age. His expensive suit fit well, probably a bespoke-tailored suit, I thought inanely.

It's been a few years, he thought, but she remembers me. How could she forget? She and Carl spent a week with me on my yacht, and Carl made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I gave Carl some insider information and a loan to buy some stock in one of my companies. Carl made a bundle, paid off the loan when he sold the stock ten days later, and I got Zane that week for half of nothing. Yeah, she'll remember me.

He stopped at our booth. "Hi, Zany girl," he said. "It's been a while."

I looked at him, smiled and said, "Go away."

He ignored me, didn't even look at me. For him I didn't exist.

I sat next to the aisle; Loni sat next to me on my left. She was close to me, not in the center of the booth, and the jerk stood, leaning over the table a little, dominating her with his size and attitude, and ignoring me.

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