Trust Me (Last Stand #1)(30)
Author: Brenda Novak

For the heck of it, Skye tracked down the name of Burke’s brother and ran a few searches on him, too. Now that she knew he was having an affair with Jane, she was curious to learn more about him.

Noah was definitely married, with three kids ages ten, eight and five. He lived in Orangevale and ran what appeared to be a successful construction business: NSL Construction. He had excellent credit, coached Little League, seemed to be a pretty upstanding guy. Except with regard to Jane.

Skye wondered if his wife had any idea what was going on. Then she decided she was too emotionally spent to imagine the heartbreak and put it from her mind. She had to focus, keep working, find something that would give her an advantage over Burke….

Besides all the newspaper stuff and magazine articles, Oliver’s name came up on some civil litigation—two lawsuits, both initiated by people who’d once lived on the same street as the Burkes. The first dated back ten years and was filed by a man named Markum. He claimed that Oliver had killed his dog. In the second, a Mr. and Mrs. Harold Simmons had sued the Burkes for throwing acid on their lawn.

Skye wasn’t sure whether the information she’d managed to dig up would mean anything in the end. David had probably found it already and discarded it as too old or inconsequential. But, at the very least, she had the names of two neighbors who might be willing to share what they knew about Oliver Burke.

Planning to visit both households, she jotted down the house numbers. But before she could grab her purse and set off, the phone rang.

“Any more threats?” It was Jasmine. She sounded tired, depressed and worried—and she didn’t even know about their financial predicament at The Last Stand or that Sheridan was struggling with her past again.

“No more threats,” she responded. “But then, I haven’t been home. I spent the night with Sher.”

“Smart move. I don’t like you living all the way out in the boondocks.”

“Don’t start.” Skye’s nerves were frayed enough. The minutes seemed to be marching past her, indifferent to her growing anxiety, carrying her forward, ever closer to Burke’s release.

Would he come after her right away? Part of her wished he would. Better to get it over with than spend God knows how long looking over her shoulder, afraid to sleep or even breathe in case she missed some sign.

“A place in town would be safer,” Jasmine said.

“Not necessarily. That would only prolong the inevitable.”

“Don’t be so fatalistic. It doesn’t have to end that way.”

A gut sense told Skye it could end no other way, but she didn’t attempt to explain the unexplainable. “Maybe, maybe not,” she said to avoid an argument. Then she got up and closed her office door because she could scarcely hear above the solicitations going on over the phone in the lobby. “How’s it going in Ft. Bragg?”

“Not good.”

Skye returned to her seat. “You haven’t found her?”

The quality of Jasmine’s voice changed. “They found what was left of her.”

“Oh, Jasmine. I’m so sorry.”

Silence, followed by a muffled sniffle, let Skye know Jasmine was crying. She waited, giving her friend time to grieve.

Finally Jasmine spoke. “They found her in a trash bag, tossed onto a rocky section of beach from the highway above. Can you believe it?”

Unfortunately, Skye could. “When was this?”

“Just after dawn.”

“Will you be okay, Jas? Should I come get you?”

“No, I can drive. I wouldn’t want to leave my car behind. Anyway, how long have we been doing this? I’m getting used to the worst possible outcomes. But the hardest thing, the thing I will never get over, is the senselessness. Why? Why would anyone do this to a child?”

“That’s the age-old question,” Skye said. “Do you know who did it?”

“Not yet. But I’ve finished the profile. It’s up to the FBI and the local police now. I might as well go home. I’ve got work to do.”

“It can wait if you need the time.”

“It can’t wait. It’s all so…critical.”

And that was why working at The Last Stand was draining, heartbreaking, thrilling and rewarding. The emotional pendulum swung so wide. “Maybe you should take a break.”

“I prefer the distraction.” There was another lengthy silence while Jasmine tried to control her emotions. “I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Okay, do.”

“See you soon.”

Jasmine hung up, and Skye sat at her desk staring at the wall, which held the photographs of several famous serial killers—Ted Bundy, Son of Sam, Leonard Lake. They all looked so ordinary. That was why she’d hung them there, to remind her that their appearances masked the monsters they were.

Reaching into her drawer, she took out the picture she couldn’t bear to put on her wall—the picture some reporter had wangled out of a family member of Oliver’s and published the day after the trial. It showed him as a ten-year-old boy, scrubbed and polished in a suit and tie with his hair slicked back. He’d been a small kid for his age, a cute kid, which was the reason Skye had clipped his photo from the paper. He, more than any of the others, reminded her that predators could come in all shapes and sizes, that even little boys with good parents could turn out to be conscienceless criminals who destroyed anyone and everyone they could.

“You won’t win,” she whispered, staring into his black, grainy eyes. But she shivered when she glanced at her calendar.

It was Wednesday afternoon. Oliver would be released on Friday.

Oliver lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling while listening to the snores of his cellmate below. The tap of footsteps on concrete, an occasional moan, even the echo of various conversations ebbed and flowed in a constant hum. But the noise, the cold and the drafty air that smelled heavily of body odor wouldn’t be part of his life much longer. It was nearly Thursday. One more day and he’d be born again, out of the bowels of hell….

He couldn’t believe the torturous wait was nearly over. All he had to do was continue avoiding Vic. And, now that it was down to a matter of hours, Oliver felt confident he could do that. He would simply remain in his cell until Friday morning. Then Jane would pick him up and off they’d go.

Vic could go to hell. Vic wouldn’t be able to hurt him.

Closing his eyes, he pictured his wife’s eager greeting. Three years was a long time to wait for a man. But Jane was an incredible woman. Maybe Skye had cost him a lot, but she hadn’t cost him Jane—or Kate, who’d just turned seven.