If he’d given the paper to Vartanian, Daniel would have wondered why he’d been the recipient of the warning. Even if he’d sent it anonymously, Daniel would have seen the circle around Kate’s picture and wondered why his sister had been singled out.
You could have cut Kate’s picture away and sent the rest. You could have protected those other seven women. You should have protected them.
And chance that Vartanian’s GBI lab would find his fingerprints on the rest of the paper after he’d cut it apart? No, it was too big a chance. Besides, Vartanian would have started to dig, and God only knew what he’d unearth.
If one of those other seven women dies, their blood will be on your hands.
Then so be it. He had his own family to protect. If the families of the other women who’d gone to school with Janet and Claudia were smart, they’d be protecting their women, too. But they don’t know what you know.
He’d done things in his life. Horrible, deviant things. But he’d never had anyone’s blood on his hands before. Yes, you have. Alicia Tremaine. Alicia’s face whipped into his mind, and the memory of that night thirteen years ago.
But we didn’t kill her. But they had raped her. All of them had. All except Simon. He’d just taken the pictures. Simon had always been a sick bastard that way.
And you weren’t? You raped that girl, and how many others?
He closed his eyes. He’d raped Alicia Tremaine and fourteen others. They all had. Except for Simon. He’d just taken the pictures.
And where were the pictures?
The thought had haunted him for thirteen years. The pictures had been locked away, insurance that none of them would tell what they’d all done. Damn stupid kids that they’d been. Nothing he could ever do would erase what they’d done. What I did.
Every hideous thing he’d done. Recorded in those pictures. When Simon had died the first time they’d all been relieved and terrified at the same time that the pictures would surface, but they never had and the years had passed. Uneasily.
They’d never spoken of the pictures again, or the club, or the things they’d done. Not until DJ became a drunk. And disappeared.
Just like Rhett had disappeared tonight. He knew Rhett was dead. Rhett had been ready to talk and he’d been disposed of. Just like DJ.
I, on the other hand, am smart enough to keep my mouth shut and my head down until this is all over. Back then, the pictures had ensured their silence. If one went down, they’d all go down. But now, all these years later… They were no longer stupid kids. They were grown men with respectable jobs. And families to protect.
But now, all these years later… somebody was killing their women. Women who thirteen years ago had been innocent little girls. The girls you raped were innocent girls, too. Innocent. Innocent. Innocent.
“I know.” He spat the words aloud, then whispered, “God, don’t you think I know?”
Now, all these years later, somebody else knew. They knew about the key, so they knew about the club and they must know about Simon’s pictures, too. It wasn’t one of them, not one of the four that remained. No, not four. He thought about Rhett Porter. Rhett was dead. The three that remained. None of them would do this.
That this whole nightmare began one week after Simon Vartanian’s real death could not be a coincidence. Could Daniel have found Simon’s pictures?
No. Not a chance. If Daniel Vartanian had the pictures, he’d be investigating.
He is investigating, you idiot.
No, he’s investigating the murders of Janet and Claudia.
So Daniel didn’t know. That meant somebody else did. Somebody who wanted money. Somebody who’d killed two women to show them he meant business. Somebody who’d threatened to kill more if they didn’t listen.
So he’d listened. He’d followed the instructions that had come with the photocopy of the yearbook photos. He’d had a hundred thousand dollars transferred to an offshore account. There would be another demand for more money, he thought. And he’d continue to pay whatever he needed to ensure his secret stayed exactly that. Secret.
Chapter Twelve
Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 11:55 p.m.
Meredith’s head was in the refrigerator when Alex closed the bedroom door on Hope and Riley. “I am so hungry,” Meredith complained. “I only ate two bites of that pizza.”
“I don’t think any of us got any more than that,” Daniel said, rubbing the flat of his hand against his equally flat stomach. “Thanks for reminding me,” he added wryly.
Alex looked away from Daniel Vartanian’s very lean torso, startled at the sudden desire that had warmed her inside out. After everything that had happened, she did not need to be thinking about rubbing Daniel’s flat stomach. Or anyplace else.
Meredith put a jar of mayonnaise and some shaved ham on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. She met Alex’s eyes, her lips twitching into a knowing smirk. Alex glared at her, daring her to say a word.
Meredith cleared her throat. “Daniel, can I make you a sandwich?”
Daniel nodded. “Please.” He leaned against the counter, both forearms flat on the granite and his shoulders sagged. When he sighed, Meredith snickered.
“You look like your dog when you do that,” she said, heaping ham on slices of bread.
Daniel chuckled wearily. “They say people resemble their dogs. I hope that’s the only way I resemble Riley. He’s an ugly mug.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think he’s cute,” Meredith said, and gave Alex another smirk as she pushed Daniel’s plate across the countertop. “Don’t you, Alex?”
Alex rolled her eyes, too tired to be amused. “Just eat, Mer.” She walked to the window and pulled the curtains back to look at the unmarked car on her curb. “Should we take them coffee or something?”
“They’d appreciate it, I’m sure,” Daniel said. “If you’ll make it, I’ll take it out to them. I don’t want you all going outside unless you absolutely have to.”
Meredith took her plate to the table. She pushed the Play-Doh- covered Princess Fiona aside and sat down with a sigh of her own. “Are we under house arrest, Daniel?”
“You know you’re not. But we’d be remiss if we didn’t make sure you were safe.”
Alex busied herself making the officers’ coffee. “It’s either that or a safe house.”
Meredith frowned. “I think you and Hope should go.”
Alex glanced up from scooping the coffee. “I was thinking you and Hope should go.”
“Of course you were,” Meredith said. “Dammit, Alex, you’ve got the thickest skull. Nobody’s tried to kill me. You’re the one in the crosshairs.”
“So far,” Alex said. “The reverend is missing, Mer. And I think somebody’s threatened Bailey’s friend. You’re my friend. Don’t think they haven’t noticed you.”
Meredith opened her mouth, then closed it, pursing her lips. “Shit.”
“Eloquently put,” Daniel said. “Think on it tonight. You can decide on the safe house tomorrow if you want. The car outside isn’t going anywhere for at least a day.” He rubbed his forehead. “Do you ladies have any aspirin?”
Alex reached across the counter and lifted his chin. She could see the ache in his eyes. “Where does it hurt?”
“My head,” he said petulantly.
She smiled. “Lean forward.” Eyes narrowed suspiciously, he did. “And close your eyes,” she murmured, and after a last glance, he complied. She pressed her fingertips to his temples until his eyes blinked open.