Malice. Lisa Jackson
BRUTAL DISCOVERY
Something was off.
Bentz felt it in the air, in the silence of the night. When he pulled up in front of Lorraine’s home, the street was empty. Hadn’t Lorraine said she’d seen Jennifer from her window? Worse yet, as he approached he noticed the front door was ajar.
Had she left it open for him?
No way. When he’d talked to her, Lorraine had been scared out of her mind. “Lorraine,” he called, slowly and silently withdrawing his weapon from his shoulder holster. “Lorraine? It’s Rick Bentz.”
Silence.
Moving silently through the hallway toward the back of the house, Bentz approached an empty dining room with mail piled on the table. As he approached the darkened kitchen, he smelled it.
The distinctive, metallic odor of blood.
Bracing himself, he stepped into the kitchen doorway and caught a glimpse of feet, one slipper knocked off, poking out from behind a cabinet. He stepped closer. Her body lay facedown, blood matting the back of her head.
Lorraine…
Books by Lisa Jackson
SEE HOW SHE DIES
FINAL SCREAM
WISHES
WHISPERS
TWICE KISSED
UNSPOKEN
IF SHE ONLY KNEW
HOT BLOODED
COLD BLOODED
THE NIGHT BEFORE
THE MORNING AFTER
DEEP FREEZE
FATAL BURN
SHIVER
MOST LIKELY TO DIE
ABSOLUTE FEAR
ALMOST DEAD
LOST SOULS
LEFT TO DIE
WICKED GAME
MALICE
CHOSEN TO DIE
WITHOUT MERCY
Published by Zebra Books
MALICE
LISA JACKSON
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Acknowledgments
There are many people I would like to thank for their expertise and help in the writing and publication of this book. Special thanks to Rosalind Noonan, fellow author and friend, for her tireless help, and to everyone at Kensington Publishing for their patience, especially my editor, John Scognamiglio. Also, in no particular order, thanks to Nancy Bush, Ken Bush, Matthew Crose, Niki Crose, Michael Crose, Larry Sparks, Ken Melum, Kelly Foster, Darren Foster, and my agent, Robin Rue.
If I’ve missed anyone—hey, no surprise there, but please accept my apologies.
Author’s Note
I know I’ve bent the rules and played around with the police department procedures just to keep my story moving; this book in no way reflects the actual police departments of Los Angeles, California, or New Orleans, Louisiana, or their procedures.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Culver City, a Suburb of Los Angeles
Twelve Years Earlier
“So you’re not coming home tonight, is that what you’re getting at?” Jennifer Bentz sat on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to her ear, as she tried to ignore that all-too-familiar guilty noose of monogamy that was strangling her even as it frayed.
“Probably not.”
Ever the great communicator, her ex wasn’t about to commit.
Not that she really blamed him. Theirs was a tenuous, if sometimes passionate, relationship. And she was forever “the bad one,” as she thought of herself, “the adulteress.” Even now, the scent of recent sex teased her nostrils in the too-warm bedroom, reminding her of her sins. Two half-full martini glasses stood next to a sweating shaker on the bedside table, evidence that she hadn’t been alone. “When, then?” she asked. “When will you show up?”
“Tomorrow. Maybe.” Rick was on his cell in a squad car. She heard the sounds of traffic in the background, knew he was being evasive and tight-lipped because his partner was driving and could overhear at least one side of the stilted conversation.
Great.
She tried again. Lowered her voice. “Would it help if I said I miss you?”
No response. Of course. God, she hated this. Being the pathetic, whining woman, begging for him to see her. It just wasn’t her style. Not her style at all. Men were the ones who usually begged, and she got off on it.
Somewhere in the back of her consciousness she heard a soft click.
“RJ?”
“I heard you.”
Her cheeks burned and she glanced at the bedsheets twisted and turned, falling into a pool of pastel, wrinkled cotton at the foot of the bed.
Oh, God. He knows. The metallic taste of betrayal was on her lips, but she had to play the game, feign innocence. Surely he wouldn’t suspect that she’d been with another man, not so close on the heels of the last time. Jeez,