The Killing Edge

Chloe showered and threw on a long casual halter dress, then headed down the stairs. She keyed in the code to open the gate in the fence that surrounded the property, and waited on the sidewalk for Victoria. She thought back to the ghost she’d thought she’d seen and gave herself a shake to banish the memory.

She saw Victoria’s little Subaru sweep into the cul-de-sac and hurried out to meet her. As she slid into the front seat, she asked, “Are you sure Brad and Jared are showing up today? I’m not sure I’m ready to be awake, and they were still at the party, last night, when I left.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Victoria asked her. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

It was just an expression, Chloe told herself. And here, in the bright light of the sun, sitting next to Victoria, the memory seemed absolutely ridiculous.

“I’m fine. So what do you think? Are they going to make it?”

Victoria shrugged. “They were talking to Myra when I left, but it looked like they were getting ready to leave, so I imagine they’ll drag themselves out of bed.”

“I like Myra,” Chloe said. “When you think about her position, it’s pretty amazing. She’s not cold or snobby or any of that.”

“Yeah, but she can be hard as nails, too. You should see her when she’s negotiating,” Victoria said. “Watch out, that’s all I can say.”

“Well, I know she was questioned intensely when Colleen Rodriguez disappeared, and the cops were impressed with her.”

Victoria glanced over at her. “And you know this because …?”

“Because my uncle’s office was involved.”

“But Colleen disappeared in the Keys and he’s Dade County.”

“Doesn’t matter. Both counties were involved in the investigation, not to mention that cops talk. My uncle doesn’t believe for an instant that she just took off.”

Victoria flashed Chloe a glance as she drove. “You’re forgetting that I was on that shoot, too.”

“I know you were.”

Victoria shook her head. “There was nothing, just nothing, to suggest that anyone did anything to her. I do know she’d sort of been seeing one of the bar managers down there, a really nice guy. He’s half American, half Bahamian, and he’s so gorgeous he should be modeling himself, but he wants to go into hotel management. He wasn’t with her that night, though. And even though they seemed to really like each other, they hadn’t been together all that long. Who knows? Maybe she did meet someone else. Or maybe—just maybe—she disappeared on purpose. You know, some kind of a publicity stunt.”

“I doubt it. From what I know about Colleen, neither scenario sounds like her.”

They had reached the restaurant by then, so they stopped talking and turned the car over to the valet. Brad came walking down the steps just as they started up them. “I was afraid you two had forgotten about breakfast. I just sent you a text message, Vick.”

“I was driving, and I don’t text and drive,” Victoria said.

“Sorry,” Brad said. “Anyway, come in. Jared is holding down the table.”

They walked through the crowded restaurant and found Jared at a table next to the plate-glass window that overlooked the bay—one of the best in the place. It wasn’t that they were such big spenders, just that they showed up regularly, in season and out, and had been doing so for years.

“Hey there,” Jared said, standing and giving them each a kiss on the cheek as they were seated.

“You’re looking good,” Victoria told him.

He blushed, and Chloe wondered if Victoria had any notion that Jared was in love with her, that he had been forever. She didn’t understand why he tried so hard to hide his feelings. In the beginning, she was certain, he hadn’t let on because he was convinced, as they all were in those days, that they were damaged goods, too scarred psychologically to form relationships based on anything other than shared trauma. They had lived through a nightmare, and the aftermath had just been a nightmare of a different sort. They had been hounded by the media, and whenever they met people, whether at school or work, or even casually at parties, they were items of curiosity. Everyone wanted to know the gory details, details the four of them were trying hard to forget.

At least the killers had been found.

Dead.

The sketch Chloe had done of one of them—an image burned into her memory when she and the killer had stared each other in the eye—had allowed the police to identify him when his body was found.

Brad took a seat next to Victoria and picked up the menu. Chloe found herself watching him and feeling a sense of pride. Brad had a trust fund, but he worked hard and had grown his business into a real success, even though one day soon he and Victoria would inherit the entire family fortune. And he never acted like a rich jerk.

He worked out, and he spent time with his friends. He loved women, loved going to the parties Victoria got him into. He’d been deeply religious before the massacre, but he had lost his faith in the aftermath, so now, since he’d never found the woman, he played the field and they remained a platonic foursome.

Jared, of course, had no desire to be platonic where Victoria was concerned, but since he wouldn’t speak up …

Like Brad, he, too, was extremely good-looking and hardworking. There was no inheritance ahead for him, but he was brilliant with the money markets, and he womanized alongside Brad, while he pined for Victoria.

She wondered if any of them would—or could—get it right in the future.

Brad caught her staring and lifted a brow. “Why the serious look?”

“Just thinking, you two are getting kind of old for a life of nonstop partying and debauchery,” Chloe teased.

“Excuse me,” Brad said, “but what’s so wrong with appreciating beautiful women?” He smiled. “Luckily for us, there will be at least twelve of them on the calendar shoot.”

“Speaking of, you are doing the shoot with me, right?” Victoria asked Chloe. “Myra told me that she’s reserved June for you, so if you’re not interested, you need to tell her right away.” Victoria smiled. “Myra really loves your look. When you think of all the women who try to get hired by the agency, it’s really cool that she’s offered you a spot.”

Chloe laughed. “Was that a compliment, or are you wondering why she’d choose me?”

Victoria laughed. “It was a compliment. Cross my heart and hope to die. It’s just that you don’t care, and so many people do. I heard her talking to Harry Lee last night, and she was wishing you’d take a greater interest in a modeling career, and he agreed.”

“But you are going to be Miss June, right?” Brad asked.

“Yes,” Chloe said. “Yes, I’ll do it.” She’d been hoping she would be asked. She needed to be a part of things so she could get onto the island and see what was going on. And Stuckey didn’t need to be afraid for her; she would be in the company of dozens of other people the whole time.

Of course, Colleen Rodriguez had been in the company of those same people, a little voice nagged. Then again, no one had been suspicious then; there had been no need to be. This time everyone would have their guard up.

“And if anyone comes after you, you can just hit them with that jujitsu stuff you do,” Brad said, then grew suddenly pensive. “Not that even that would have helped … then.”

For a moment she had no idea what to say. Finally she managed to mumble, “Mixed martial arts. I do mixed martial arts.”

He reached across the table, touching her hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up the past, not really,” he said huskily.

Chloe shrugged and squeezed his hand in return. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all. It doesn’t bother me to talk about it. In fact, I do talk about it now and then. I still don’t believe the finale, though.”

“Why not?” Victoria asked, frowning. “They found the guys. They were dead.”

“Two guys, dead, and a suicide note taking full blame in the name of the Church of the Real People? I’m sorry—the rest of the world may have bought it. I still don’t,” Chloe said.

Jared cleared his throat. “Chloe, the experts said it was a ritualistic murder and that it all made sense. And I did a lot of research into cults myself, after that, and I have to agree.”

“The church officials were horrified, and of course their membership really dropped,” Brad said.

Chloe looked back at Brad. They’d all grown up going to the same beautiful church in the Grove. She had found comfort in returning to that church, but Brad and Jared had gone in the opposite direction. It made her feel sad that Brad, in particular, had lost something that had once meant so much to him.

“Earth to Chloe, you’re staring at me,” Brad told her.

“Sorry,” she said. “But I still don’t buy it.”

“Chloe, you’re the one whose sketch ID’d the one guy,” Brad said.

“The dead man was one of the killers, yes. I just don’t think it stopped with the two of them.”

“Chloe,” Jared said, “if there had been someone else—a Charles Manson or whatever—the killing wouldn’t have ended when it did.”

“I know what you’re saying makes sense, but I’ve just never believed it, that’s all.” She picked up her menu to end the conversation. “I’m thinking waffles, but the eggs Benedict are really good, too.”

She could feel her friends looking at each other and knew they were worried about her.

She looked from one to the other of them. “Honestly, I’m fine. It’s just the way I feel.”

“It’s okay. We still love you. So, how about I get the waffles, you get the eggs Benedict, and we share?” Jared suggested.

Luke was surprised by how quickly and easily he had learned so much about Chloe Marin. She had started college late, after going on an extended tour abroad after high school, earning a double major in psychology and art at NYU. She had worked with patients doing art therapy at the Dade County Hospital for three years after graduation, and had been working freelance, with an office on Brickell, for the last two.

She had survived what they called the Teen Massacre during her senior year of high school. Eight of her friends had been slaughtered. Chloe had survived by being one step ahead of a pair of killers, Michael Donlevy and Abram Garcia, members of the Church of the Real People, a cult with socialist leanings and strict versions of the code of God—their God. To their way of thinking, the teenagers had been sinners, and the killers had saved them from eternal damnation, or so claimed the suicide note found carefully sealed in a Baggie next to the bodies in a wildlife park just off the Tamiami Trail in the Everglades.

Information regarding the massacre had been easy to dig up—the newspapers had carried the story until there was nothing new to carry.

The details were horrifying.

Death to defilers! written in blood, on the living-room wall. Eight dead, six wounded, two who had been passed out on the beach, unaware of the tragic events unfolding inside, and four who had miraculously escaped.

Victoria Preston, Brad Angsley, Jared Walker—and Chloe Marin. Victoria claimed that Chloe had saved her life, but Chloe hadn’t wanted to talk about any of it. She had given one interview, and that was that. He’d found a picture of her standing at a news podium, with a tall man at her side. There was a definite family resemblance. He had to be her uncle, the A.D.A., Leo Marin. Chloe had long hair then, falling nearly to her waist. Bangs, and huge eyes. Innocent eyes showing the pain of what she’d been through. She’d been so young, seventeen, and she’d been forced to grow old overnight.

The survivors had spent hours in the police station, giving their individual statements. They hadn’t been able to shed much light. The killers had worn black dive suits with hoods, working swiftly and efficiently in the dark.

Only Chloe had been able to give a description that had been any help at all. She had even drawn a picture of the man whose face she’d briefly seen. A picture that had matched one of the bodies that had been discovered later.

Death to defilers! And something else. An odd drawing … like a hand.

Everything done in blood. Obviously the work of a cult.

There were also pictures of the two “brothers” who had been found dead in the Everglades. Apparently, Brother Abram Garcia had killed Brother Michael Donlevy, then turned the gun on himself. They had done God’s work, saving the teenagers from the greed and gluttony of their parents, the cruelty born of excess, and sent them to God before they could sin beyond redemption.

Brother Abram was tall and looked strong enough to kill. Brother Michael was a smaller, slimmer man. Somehow, he didn’t look like the kind of guy who could overpower a bunch of high-school jocks—even drunk jocks, and even in the dead of night.

Luke typed in the name of the sect church and was surprised to find that it still existed, that it even had a welcoming Web page. Those who were lost and seeking the real truth of God were invited to a potluck supper on Thursday night.

Luke sat back. He’d always found it fascinating to explore the mind-sets, religions and philosophies of people the world over. A potluck dinner would be a perfect opportunity to see what made the Church of the Real People tick.

He drummed his fingers on his desk. He wasn’t sure why he had such a fascination with Chloe’s ten-year-old horror. He had a job to do, two cases to work, and he didn’t see how the dinner was going to get him any closer to finding out the truth behind Colleen Rodriguez’s disappearance, but he had to eat—and he couldn’t fight the desire to know more about Chloe Marin.

He searched until he was able to go back ten years, then made a list of known members of the cult at the time of the murders, but nothing he tried got him to a site where he could find a list of current members. In fact, for the five years following the massacre, the church hadn’t kept any kind of a Web site at all. Now, however, the Church of the Real People had been revived.

As he contemplated that, he heard a car coming down the path. He closed the page and went topside.

He didn’t need to go see Stuckey. Stuckey was coming to see him.

“You busy?” the cop asked.

Shirtless, barefoot and in swim trunks, his hands on his hips, Luke said, “I think I can spare a few minutes.”

Stuckey hopped down onto the boat, wiping his hand across his brow. “Hot out here today, huh?”

“The cabin is air-conditioned,” Luke said.

“You could just live in a house, like normal people do,” Stuckey told him.

“I could. But I like the boat. I can leave without packing whenever I get the urge.”

Shaking his head, Stuckey ducked and went down the steps to the cabin, heading straight to the refrigerator, helping himself to a beer before flopping down on the sofa. Officially, Sunday was his day off. Unofficially, he was a workaholic and used the weekends for the cases that weren’t technically his to solve.

“I got a present this morning,” Stuckey told him.

“Oh?”

“A food basket. Rene Gonzalez’s folks sent it. They think you can save Rene, and they wanted to thank me for sending them to you.”

“So you got the food basket and I got nothing?” Luke said, then helped himself to a beer as well, and sat down across from Stuckey.

“Can you really do anything?” Stuckey asked him. “Is she even in danger? None of us believe Colleen just disappeared, but we can’t prove any differently. So maybe we’re wrong. Maybe it’s a publicity stunt.”

“A six-month publicity stunt?” Luke asked.

“Right. I know. And not that it would change anything where Rene is concerned. She’s hell-bent on going out to that island.”

“And she’s over twenty-one, so if she wants to go, she can.”

“And that leads me to my point. She will go on the photo shoot, but so will you.”

“So far, so good,” Luke said. “As long as Miss Marin doesn’t give me away.”

“Chloe Marin is as solid as the day is long,” Stuckey assured him.

“Yeah, I’ve been reading up about her. Why the hell didn’t you tell me who I was dealing with?” Luke demanded, shaking his head. “That she survived a massacre like that? The kind of work she does? That she’s not just some wannabe?”

“You know, in hindsight, I should have told you about her and what she was doing at the mansion for us. She was raised by her uncle—A.D.A. Leo Marin—so she learned a lot from him, and she comes in when we need her to sketch for us. It started the night of the massacre. She drew a likeness that helped us identify one of the cult members found dead in the Everglades.

“She has something that’s close to a photographic memory, and an eye for detail.” He shook his head. “The night of the massacre … I can only imagine the terror. Chloe got Victoria out of there, and Brad and Jared were there and survived, too. The four of them have been close ever since, but it changed their lives in ways I don’t think they’ll ever completely get over. Victoria could have done a dozen fashion shoots in Paris, but she didn’t accept. You know why? She works down here because she can be with her friends. Not one of them has ever formed a serious romantic relationship. They pretty much lose themselves in their jobs. Brad has a trust fund and his boat business, and he and his cousin Victoria stand to inherit a fortune when their maternal grandfather dies. Jared trades stocks. And Chloe counsels trauma survivors, in addition to her work for us.”

“I should have known all this before I went into that house.”

“Other than the fact that Chloe was there to listen in for us, what does the past have to do with a missing girl in the Keys? With a father who worries about his daughter, since it was her best friend who went missing?” Stuckey demanded. “Besides, you said you wanted total anonymity. In my defense, you’ve been worried that Chloe is going to spill the beans about you. If she didn’t know about you, she couldn’t have said anything.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have known about her. And now that she does know about me, how the hell am I going to keep my anonymity if Chloe Marin is as close as you say with the others?”

“I told her not to say anything, and she won’t,” Stuckey insisted.

“Not even to Victoria—who’ll end up telling someone else?”

“No. Believe me. Chloe’s rock solid. So what’s your next move?” Stuckey asked.

“Let’s go back for a minute. You were sure, absolutely sure, that the men who committed that massacre were the two men found in the Everglades?” Luke asked.

“Why are we back on the past? I’m sure. The killers were found, along with a bag holding black, hooded dive suits, one with the mask ripped, and knives covered with dried blood from the victims were found. Not to mention that one of the men matched Chloe’s sketch. Yeah, we’re sure. Why?”

“Those ‘killers’ just didn’t look the type, that’s all,” Luke said. “Especially the smaller guy.”

Stuckey shrugged. “They were found two days after the murders, with enough evidence to put my grandmother away. And the suicide note—the Church of the Real People denied any involvement, of course. They were devastated, claiming they had never condoned murder, that the killers must have been insane. The church pretty much fell apart after that, though it started rebuilding a few years later.”

“What I find interesting, if not out-and-out suspicious,” Luke said, “is that the kids were all killed with knives, but Abram Garcia shot Michael Donlevy, then himself.”

“What would you rather do? Cut yourself or die clean and neat from a bullet to the head?” Stuckey asked.

“So Garcia shot Donlevy in the head?”

“Yep. Point-blank range. Then himself.”

“He didn’t put the gun in his mouth?” Luke asked.

“No, shot himself in the temple.”

“Hmm.”

“Why ‘hmm'?” Stuckey sounded annoyed.

“I just find it odd. Suicides have a tendency to eat the gun.”

“Maybe he never took lessons on the proper way to commit suicide,” Stuckey said, sounding exasperated. “Here’s another thing. The killers were found, and nothing like the killings happened again.”

“Sounds odder still,” Luke said. “They weren’t caught, so why stop? They could have kept going with their mission and ‘saved’ more kids from going on to lead lives of sin. Instead, they just killed themselves.”

“It was guilt,” Stuckey insisted. “You should have seen that place. It was a bloodbath. Those kids died without ever knowing what hit them.”

“There’s another thing,” Luke pointed out.

“What now?”

“Think about it. Mass murders are generally messy. People die trying to get away. This was methodical. Organized. Someone knew enough to wait, and then those kids were killed before they were really awake. And you know as well as I do, as easy as it sounds, it’s damn hard to slit a throat. Slice right through. It takes skill and strength, and it’s pretty hard to believe no one struggled and alerted the rest, which makes me think there were more than two killers, so it all got done quickly.”

Stuckey groaned. “What do you want me to do? Reopen the case? It was closed over ten years ago. And it has nothing to do with whatever happened to the Rodriguez girl. She’s what we have to worry about now.”

Luke shrugged. “Well, I promise you, I will find out what happened to Colleen Rodriguez, and if need be, I’ll keep it from happening to Rene Gonzalez, too. Because until we know what happened to her, every young woman out there could be in danger. Victoria and Chloe are going on that shoot. Something could happen to them, too.”

“Don’t you think I’d stop them if I could?” Stuckey demanded.

“Is that really why you called me?”

Stuckey shook his head. “No. I called you because one girl’s missing and another girl’s parents are scared. And I sent you in undercover because there’s a strong possibility an insider is involved. And does it bother me that two women I know, women who have already been through more than their share of torment, may be in danger, even when no one can put a finger on what that danger might be …? Of course it does. But I’m a cop—I have to act like a cop. I have to follow the letter of the law, not to mention that this isn’t even my investigation. My hands are tied precisely because I’m a cop.”

“Stuckey, what exactly do you want from me?”

Stuckey paused for a moment, then said, “I pulled you in because you’re not a cop, but you’re no-nonsense and you have integrity. I want you to do whatever you have to do to discover the truth. Without warrants. Without reading anyone their rights. Just do me a favor, huh? Don’t go getting caught—or shot up or sliced to ribbons—when you’re doing whatever illegal thing it is you need to do to get to the truth.”

FOUR

She should have been expecting him.

And maybe, in a way, she had been.

When Victoria drove into the cul-de-sac to drop her off at her house, Chloe saw Luke Cane leaning against his car just outside her driveway. She was annoyed to realize that just seeing him made her heart start pounding a little too quickly. She had never seen anyone who appeared to be so relaxed and at ease, and yet ready to spring. She rationalized that it was the tension in the man that made him so sexually attractive, though it didn’t hurt that he had the whole rugged-good-looks thing down pat.

“Odd car for a designer, don’t you think?” Victoria asked.

It was a Subaru Forester, a few years old, though not in bad shape; in fact, it looked as if he even washed it regularly. Lots of people in south Florida—including herself, on occasion—believed that the rain came just to keep cars clean.

“Maybe he likes driving up mountains,” Chloe said.

Victoria stared at her. “Right. The mountains of Miami.”

“Okay, so maybe he rides out to the Everglades to spy on the Miccosukees and Seminoles so he can work their traditional designs into his clothing line,” Chloe suggested.

Victoria laughed. “I guess he could be a sportsman. He looks like one. Odd for a designer, but I suppose you can be artistic and … masculine. Anyway, he’s hot, and he’s obviously into you. I mean, you guys already took off for a walk on the beach.”