Suspense/Intrigue
Web of Deceit
By Deb
Sep 1, 2007, 14:15

In her heart, she knew this situation was not of her making, but Jenna thought it would help everyone ease into the new living arrangements if she spent the first week away. Alex’s reaction hadn’t really surprised her. Though she knew her husband didn’t understand, she’d been taken aback when he’d spent the better part of last evening trying to talk her out of leaving. Tears welling in his eyes, he’d actually pleaded with her to stay at the cottage only through the weekend and come home on Monday.

That had just pissed her off. Men could be so stupid. He just didn’t get it. As if his emotional purging would have any effect on her at this point. She pushed out a derisive laugh. "You have no clue, buddy." Jenna spoke to the reflection in the rearview mirror. "You’ve made this bed, now we all have to sleep in it."

How long had she been talking to herself? Is this what loneliness brought? Too many nights, just she and the kids, too many days at home on the weekends without another adult to help with the responsibilities of parenting? How many times in her marriage had Alex not been there for her? She stopped counting a long time ago. It hurt less that way.

Jenna only wished there was another way to do this without dragging her three children through the fires of her hell. But for the last several months, she’d been trying to figure something out and this was the only solution she’d come up with.

She turned into the driveway of the beach cottage. Shutting off the engine, she looked at the house with its bedroom dormer, blue shutters and white siding. What wasn’t to like about this humble bungalow? Jenna had always wanted to live near the ocean and finally she had her chance. Of course, her young imagination filled with handsome princes and white knights had never had her in her dream castle alone. For a moment, so brief she barely recognized it had passed over her, she felt pity for that little girl with the illusions of "happy ever after" endings. Life just didn’t work out that way. Her mother had always told her that.

Jenna fell against the seat. The weight of her decision was almost more than she could carry. She was about to gain membership into the not-so-elite portion of the population who had at least one ex-spouse. Alex just didn’t know it yet. Like all the important decisions in their life, he wouldn’t have listened even if she had explained, so she hadn’t tried.

It wasn’t Alex she was worried about; it was four year old Hannah, ten year old Luke, and twelve year old AJ—her babies. Renting the beach house was the only way she could help them transition into the inevitable. She’d seen too many good kids fall apart after their parents’ divorce and there was no way she was going to let that happen to her children.

No, this school year, with Alex and her sharing the house in the suburbs and the quaint cottage would be a perfect way to shift the children into the single-parent life. They would come out on the other side of this in a healthier environment and well-adjusted to the new lifestyle. Jenna knew she was only trying to convince herself, but when it came right down to brass tacks, it didn’t matter anyway. She wouldn’t remain married to a man who treated her with so little respect. Casting her off for another had just been the final blow.

Jenna dragged herself out of the Volvo. She would contact the lawyer after the first of the year. Six months from then, right after the children finished school, it would be over. Her stomach rolled at the thought, so she pushed it into the back to the corner of her brain, encapsulated with the happy memories of her marriage she no longer allowed to bubble into her conscious thoughts. On a heavy sigh, she pulled two bags of luggage from the car. No more stewing.

She stood in the upstairs bedroom, looking out the dormer window. The only sounds were the eternal wash of the ocean and the living room clock counting the moments of isolation. Not like home with the raucous sounds of the boys or the sweet strains of her daughter’s lilting voice filling the quiet. This house screamed of emptiness.

Her children would have liked it here. Her heart pinched, stealing the air from her lungs. She bit down on her knuckles, trying hard not to think about Luke and the tears he’d shed last night. Jenna had almost changed her mind when he began bargaining with her in exchange for her compliance. Finally, he’d fallen asleep in her arms, clutching the ragged bear he still turned to for comfort. The thought of leaving them had nearly been enough to keep her bound to the house. Nearly.

Not wanting to give into the second guessing of her decision, Jenna had packed her suitcases and the Volvo right after that. She left before the children got out of bed this morning. It had been gutless, but she wasn’t sure she could have gone to work at Summit Wellness and Rehabilitation clinic today carrying the fresh burden of their grief with her. Her heart wasn’t hardened to their sadness, only Alex’s.

No sense wallowing in things she couldn’t change. She’d done that long enough. Jenna shed her business suit and donned a bright yellow T-shirt, jeans and sandals. The rest of the unpacking could wait. It was early September and the night was perfect for a stroll.

She walked the short distance down the street to the beach. The sun slipped slowly behind the cottage roofs. The last rays stretched out to paint the clouds above the ocean muted shades of pink and orange. The breaking waves reflected the same colors as they gently massaged the hard packed sand exposed by the receding tide.

A few surfers rode the swells and Jenna smiled at their acrobatics. Slipping off her sandals, she dug her feet into the moist sand. She inhaled and let the tangy salt air replace the bitter flavor of failure. The gentle breeze danced with her hair. She felt light. An odd sense of freedom swept over her.

This week, there would be none of Alex’s morose looks to ignore, no attempts at meaningless caresses to dodge. Jenna felt the tension roll out of her with the gentle lapping of the waves on her bare toes. The cold water felt good, so much better than the numbness that had coursed through her veins last night as she’d packed.

Clasping her hands behind her, Jenna let the shoes dangle from their straps. She strolled to the end of the beach. Her progress was impeded by a narrow river meandering its way though a salt marsh toward the Atlantic. She lingered a moment to listen to the screeching calls of the gulls dipping and swaying on the air currents over the river.

As the deep purples of evening slowly pushed away the pale shades of day, the wind shifted, bringing the breeze across the ocean. Disappointed she hadn’t brought along a sweater to ward off the chill, Jenna turned, quickening her pace back to the cottage. She wished she could stay a bit longer. Well, she needed to get back to make dinner, so no harm.

Then it struck her. For the first time in years, she didn’t need to do anything. Alex was home tending the fires for the first time in their relationship. No, she had no responsibilities. No one was waiting for her or complaining that supper wasn’t on the table. No one needed a ride anywhere, or help with their homework, or a bath, or bedtime stories read. Nothing. Her actions had forced her workaholic husband of fourteen years to finally step up and carry the load of parenting.

This time Jenna couldn’t help herself and she yelped in sheer joy at her independence. Spinning in a circle, she stretched her arms wide, turning her face toward the sky, not caring what other people thought of her actions.

But she would have cared that he was watching her—had she known.

                            ***

Like most nights, he sat in the alabaster sand, sifting the grains slowly from hand to hand as if measuring time. He was watching, always watching.

People rarely saw him, unless he chose for it to be so and the woman meandering along the water’s edge was no exception.

The thought empowered him.

With the tide so low, he’d been able to enjoy the sight of her the whole length of the beach. She strolled along without a companion. That was comforting. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her here before. Surely, he would have noticed this exotic creature with hair blowing like black silk on the evening wind. Lord, she was beautiful.

He laughed when she unexpectedly spun in the hard sand, her head thrown back as in some victory cry. He held his breath, listening to the timbre of that sound. Mesmerized by her actions, he watched her practically skip away down the beach, enjoying the view of her as she retreated.

He didn’t know he was searching. Didn’t realize the moment had come. It had been a long time since he needed anyone. But as he replayed the scene over and over, thinking about the grace of her walk, the curve of her slender neck as she’d looked into the sky, the rolling delight of her laughter—he knew. He committed to memory every detail of their encounter. How serendipitous for her to be here on his beach.

"You are the one. I’ve been waiting for you."

In the solitude of the new moon, he sat for a long time, formulating a plan to make the woman his own. Satisfied, he meandered back to his cottage—his heart and soul as dark as the murky shadows swallowing him.

                            ***

Jenna leisurely stretched her limbs, striking nothing but cool sheets. Flinging her arm onto the pillow next to her, her mouth curved in a lazy smile at the empty space beside her. No Alex, just the soft cotton of the bedding. This wasn’t loneliness she was experiencing. It was a liberating sense of aloneness, something totally different. She shouldn’t feel this good.

The room was cloaked in darkness, the heavy blinds drawn tight against the early morning light. Only the sun pouring down from the skylight gave any hint of night or day. She rolled over and scanned the bedside clock. 9:42? That couldn’t be right. Sitting up, she rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes and tried to bring the numbers into sharper focus.

"Nine forty-two, in the morning! I slept until nine forty-two!" Jenna flopped back onto the pillow, snuggling under the weight of the blankets. Her face hurt from the wide grin spreading from ear to ear. Inhaling the quiet and the scent of the new sheets, she giggled again. "A woman could get used to all this solitude."

The guilt squeezed and made her chest ache. She knew Hannah had probably crawled into bed with Alex in the middle of the night, Lucas too. They would be missing her. Without warning, the anguish of leaving her children flooded over her. Regret weighed heavy. Like an unexpected chill, it blew over her and she hugged herself, burrowing deeper into the warmth of her cocoon.

There was no other way. Her children loved their father, even if she no longer did. She couldn’t have asked Alex to simply move out, the children would never have understood. This new living arrangement was the answer to her prayers. But she shouldn’t be enjoying this solitude. It just wasn’t how most moms behaved. Hers had. Perhaps she was simply wired wrong.

Getting up, she opened the curtains and let the bright sunlight of late summer spill into the small bedroom. The sky above was deep azure paling to a powder blue closer to the horizon. Wisps of white cotton floated low on the otherwise flawless canvas. It was the only delineation between sky and sea.

From this vantage point she could see most of the small spit of sand known as Fisherman’s Harbor. This beach community of nearly three hundred cottages was used primarily by land owner’s or summer renters. Few visitors used this particular beach, with its limited parking and lack of public bath facilities. It was one of the things that attracted Jenna to this rental. In another month, there would be only a few hearty year-round residents braving the brutal weather of winter in this small coastal neighborhood. She would be one of them. If nothing else, this time alone would make her strong enough to face an uncertain future.

Padding out of the bedroom, she stood for a moment on the landing and looked at the unfamiliar kitchen below. Both the linoleum and the appliances were new, like this living arrangement. Jenna sighed and dragged down the spiral stairs to the first floor. She didn’t even glance into the small bedroom at the foot of the stairs where Alex had agreed to sleep when he was living here. Turning left, she bypassed the living room with its hardwood floors, large, stone fireplace, and tongue and groove walls and headed straight to the coffee pot. The familiar motions helped take her mind off what she missed most—her children.

Jenna listened to the water gurgle and sputter through the coffee grounds before she stepped into the steamy shower in the adjacent bathroom. Today, she would try to enjoy her solitude and the beach.

                            ***

Lounging lazily on a rock wall, blending in with the crowd, he watched her. He was sure she hadn’t noticed him. Cruising the sand for over an hour this morning, he scanned the growing mass of people invading his beach like ants swarming a discarded piece of food. The thought trailed a shiver up his spine. Oh, how he loathed this gathering of people. Labor Day had passed and they should have gone with the holiday.

He’d been unnerved inspecting the groups of families as they unloaded their flotsam and jetsam, fearful he would find her among them. Increasingly satisfied each time he didn’t.

His timing had been faultless, fated actually. He’d been standing in the perfect spot to watch her as she strolled carelessly onto the sand. He knew her the moment he saw her, despite the oversized hat and large sunglasses shading her face.

Armed only with a book and a small chair, he surmised she lived somewhere nearby. Perhaps she was a weekend guest, but he hoped not. She was alone once again. He stood frozen. Every muscle tensed as he watched her open the chair and neatly spread her towel next to it. Her movements were graceful and fluid, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her.

His heart skittered in his chest as he watched her remove the hat, momentarily disappointed the silken black hair was pulled back in a single long braid down her back. Clenching and unclenching his fingers, he itched to release the strands from their bonds and run them through his fingers.

"Oh, excuse me." A petite woman bumped her shoulder into him as she passed and broke his concentration. Flanked by a small group of her cronies, she fluttered her lashes. Her lazy smile let him know it hadn’t been an accident.

"No, my fault." He was unnerved for a moment that he had let his guard down. His white teeth flashed like fangs and his eyes glinted with disgust. Four sets of female eyes missed the contempt written in the lines on his face as their gaze roamed his body with frank appraisal. Despite the hours he spent keeping his body in top physical condition, he hated women who were so forward.

"I’m just enjoying the lovely view." Though his voice oozed with sarcasm they didn’t seem to notice. "You ladies have a nice day." Tipping his head, he turned quickly lest they try to engage him in conversation.

He walked in the opposite direction, listening to them titter like young school girls in his wake. His breakfast churned uncomfortably and he swallowed hard trying to control the nausea that accompanied interactions like that. Stupid women. No wonder they were alone. How dare they skulk around like that? When would they learn that men were programmed to be the aggressor, the provider, the protector? Frig women’s lib.

Even in the heat, goose bumps rose on his muscular forearms and he scrubbed at them, brushing away the feeling of their touch. Confident the group of women had left, he settled on a pile of rocks that served to buffer the nearby homes from the ocean waves. Draped languidly on the boulders, he once again blended into the crowd. He had the casual air of a man enjoying the late season sun, but inside, he was a coiled snake searching for prey.

It took him a moment to locate her. The chair she set up was empty, the towel undisturbed on the sand. Searching the area, he saw her wander unhurried the short distance to the mid-tide line. The ocean was rising, high tide only hours away. Dipping her toes delicately in the gentle wash of the waves, she turned her face up to the sun. He found her more intoxicating than the night before.

She looked down the beach then back to the chair as if deciding which direction to go. Returning to the chair, she removed the knee length cover up. His exhilaration quickly turned to disgust.

She shamelessly flaunted her olive skin in two tiny pieces of material that passed as a bathing suit. She had a belly-button piercing he found downright indecent. Though he enjoyed the beautiful curves of her supple figure, he selfishly wanted them for his eyes only. He hadn’t expected his first glimpse of her nearly naked body to be in public. He turned away until she was seated. Sitting in the chair was at least a little more reserved.

He studied her as she enjoyed the late season sun, her head turned up gracefully. The warmth poured down from the sky and kissed her high cheekbones, delicate nose, and full lips. She was more beautiful up close.

He passed several hours in her company. When she stood to leave, modestly covering her body, he walked toward her, unable to control his impulse to meet her. He wanted nothing more than to hear her voice, discover her name, and hear her say his. He wanted to know where she lived. He wanted her to belong to him.

"Why hello again." The petite woman stood before him, once again obstructing his progress. "I was hoping to bump into you." She giggled at her own wit. The sound grated like fingernails down a chalkboard.

Looking down at her, he contorted his disdain into false delight. "Beautiful day made for a beautiful woman." Of course he didn’t mean her. "Excuse me." He began to walk away, but her hand on his arm stopped him. He looked at her fingers as if they were crawling worms wriggling uncomfortably on his skin.

"Now you don’t have to be in such a hurry do you? Forgive me for being so forward, but…" Her words carried the heavy accent of a local.

He wanted to gag, to shake her hand off him. Instead, he lifted it gingerly to his lips.

"I’m sorry, miss, but I do have to go."

She nearly swooned when he brushed his lips feather light across her knuckles. Despite his revulsion, he enjoyed the power he held over women. They were such weak creatures. He left the offensive woman with her mouth unhinged, filled with words unspoken.

Striding toward the spot where her chair had been, he stopped. She was gone. Though the interaction with the vile woman had taken only a minute, it had been long enough for the stunning creature to slip away. Searching the beach, he couldn’t find her anywhere. For a moment panic coursed through him. Just as quickly, it subsided. Fate. Everything for a reason. Obviously, this wasn’t the time for them to meet.

Sauntering back down the beach, he whistled as he walked in the rising tide, his mood considerable lighter. He chose to remember her in the outfit from last evening and pushed away thoughts of the degrading attire she’d worn this morning.

Their interludes over the past two days had awakened in him the old desires. He would have her soon enough. Until then, a little diversion always did a man good.

                            ***

He shouldn’t be doing this. Rainmaker knew it and continued to berate himself for his poor decision. But this case had gotten under his skin years ago. Why? Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with an answer to that question. Perhaps because it involved his first unsolved murder as a special agent with the FBI or because he could still see the haunted look of the first woman’s husband in his nightmares right beside the parents of the young teacher identifying their daughter on the video screen as she lay on the cold slab at the morgue.

None of that should have mattered. He should have let those murders slip into the morass of cold cases like the rest of the Bureau and Boston PD had done. Only his boss, Beeler, believed all the kidnapping and the assaults were related. Or perhaps, like everyone else, Beeler hoped this time away would give him new perspective.

He stopped at a traffic light and looked down at the manila folder sitting on the bucket seat of his beat up pickup truck. It was barely more than a quarter of an inch thick. It’s all they had on the suspected killer. Now, his victims—they were another matter. The possible abductions associated with this sociopath filled two boxes. He just couldn’t convince anyone they were all the work of the same guy. Crimes involving knives and drugs were too common to attribute them to one person. But there was something different about the way this one chose his victims.

Rainmaker had pulled in favors with a friend at the Bureau to get someone in NCAVC, national center for the analysis of violent crimes, better known to the public as a profiler, to go over the most heinous crimes. The fact that multiple women had been abducted and assaulted, pointed to the suspect being male. A very angry male at that. Someone’s son, brother or uncle who had probably been assaulted himself.

The car behind him beeped. The light was green.

Turning the truck into the complex of condos, he parked in his usual spot. The temperature was unusually warm for September in Maine. But the chill filled the evenings and it wouldn’t be long before the maples sporadically planted at the complex would be resplendent in their sunset hues of fall.

On a heavy sigh, he picked up the file labeled simply, Black Widower, aptly named after the first murder of the college professor and the killer’s affinity for black haired victims. It was the second victim, the young elementary school teacher who had been kidnapped and held for a week before being found in the Charles River that had originally brought the FBI in on this case. He could still remember how his stomach had heaved at the sight of the butchered young woman. He pressed a fist to his gut trying to quell the outrage churning the stomach acid and burning a hole.

He’d been promoted since this case first opened. He now held the title Assistant Special Agent in Charge, but the agents under his command referred to him simply as Rainmaker. Everyone believed information came his way like flies to crap, but they didn’t see all the work behind his luck. He didn’t mind the name. It was better than Pop or Old Man which he feared would be something they’d come up with considering he’d entered the academy at Quantico at such an advanced age. He wasn’t old, just not as young as the new FBI trainees they sent to the Boston office.

Leafing through the pages, he hoped something new would reveal itself in the black maze of letters. Nothing but frustration bubbled to the surface. Rainmaker slammed the file on the seat.

In the last decade with the Bureau, he’d been undercover before with no results, but this time it was just pissing him off. There were two dead women in the Portland area, more than half a dozen others drugged and assaulted during the summer and the only thing linking the crimes was the blood toxicology, the weapon used and the fact that all his victims were brunette. What the hell did that have to do with anything? He didn’t know, but somehow it was significant.

He let his head fall back against the seat. The familiar throb behind his temples warned of the migraine itching to pound its way into his skull. Pressing his thumbs into his eyes, he ignored the pain and focused on the perpetrator of the crimes. The descriptions never matched: fat, thin, balding, long hair, cropped hair, whiskers, clean shaven, who the hell was he chasing anyway? Damn, he should let it go. Maybe none of these crimes were related to the criminal in Boston. His gut told him otherwise.

Rainmaker dragged himself out of the truck, intent on putting the case and his melancholy aside for one day. He’d feed the angry beast of a headache with a scotch and beer chaser. He hadn’t given up vacation time just to spend it all stewing over a lousy serial killer.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? That’s exactly what he intended to do.