No Escape

by Mary Burton

Genres: Romantic Suspense; Crime Fiction; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

HE WAS TAUGHT HOW TO KILL



Even behind bars, serial killer Harvey Lee Smith exudes menace. Psychologist Jolene Granger has agreed to hear his dying confession, vowing not to let the monster inside her head. And Harvey has secrets to share—about bodies that were never found, and about the apprentice who is continuing his grisly work . . .



AND NOW HE'LL TEACH THEM



He buries his victims alive the way his mentor Harvey did, relishing their final screams as the earth rains down. And as one last gift to the only father he knew, he'll make the most perfect kill of all.



HOW TO DIE



Everything about this investigation is unnerving Jo, from Harvey's fascination with her to the fact that she's working alongside Texas Ranger Brody Winchester, her ex-husband. Harvey's protégé is growing bolder and more vicious every day. And soon the trail of shallow graves will lead them to the last place Jo expected, and to the most terrifying truth of all . . .



Contains mature themes.

Release date: November 1, 2013

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

If Texas Ranger Brody Winchester had come to see Dr. Jolene Granger on personal business, he’d have come with hat in hand. He’d have been ready to eat a heaping helping of humble pie, or better yet, crow.

But this visit wasn’t personal. He’d not come to apologize or to make amends. He had no intention of digging up the past or rubbing salt in old wounds. This. Was. Business.

He parked the black SUV in the recreation center’s parking lot and shoved out a breath. He reached for his white Stetson on the passenger’s seat, took a moment to level the silver concho trimming on the hat’s base before he stepped out of the vehicle, straightened his shoulders and eyed the large box-shaped building. The sign above the double glass doors read: AUSTIN ROCK CLIMBING GYM.

As he stared up at the sign, hat in hand, he wondered if the boys back at headquarters had sent him to the wrong place and were having a good laugh at the new transfer’s expense. The Jo Granger he’d known hated heights and if anyone had bet him she hung out in a place like this, he’d have taken the bet, damn sure he’d win.

’Course, he’d not been face-to-face with Jo in fourteen years. And time changed plenty.

Dr. Jolene Granger was no longer a wide-eyed college student but a psychologist who consulted with the Texas Rangers. In fact, her expertise on violent behavior had landed her several television interviews last year when a reporter had been digging for the motivations driving a serial killer that had hunted along I-35.

He’d seen on television that she’d given up the peasant skirts and flip-flops in favor of dark suits, pencil skirts, a tight bun, and white pearls around her neck. Reminded him of a librarian he’d had in school as a kid. Cool. Controlled. Hot.

Yeah, she’d changed in fourteen years. Maybe heights didn’t bother her anymore.

A couple of laughing teens wearing shorts and carrying gym bags raced past him through the front door. He trailed behind them, finding himself in an industrial-style lobby tricked out with a cement floor, solid crate furniture and soda machines. He moved toward a long, narrow reception desk where a young guy was texting. Dark hair swept over a thin, pale face and tattoos covered every bit of skin exposed below his white T-shirt cuff.

If Brody had been in a more charitable mood, he’d let the kid finish his nonsense communication, which likely had to do with gossip or a party. But a foul and dark disposition sapped all patience.

He smacked his hand on the reception desk. “Need to find Dr. Jolene Granger.”

The kid jumped, his initial glance aggravated until he took stock of the Stetson, the Texas Ranger’s star pinned to Brody’s broad chest and his six-foot-four frame. Displeasure gave way to startled deference. “She’s in the main gym. Can I tell her you’re here?”

“I’ll announce myself.”

The kid scrambled around the counter and took a step as if to follow. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

Brody stopped and eyed the kid. “Why’s it your business if she is?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I like her. And if she were in trouble—”

Brody’s own worries sharpened his tone. “What would you do if she were in trouble?”

Slight shoulders shrugged, but the kid’s gaze remained direct. “I don’t know.”

“That’s right. You don’t know.”

“She’s a nice lady.”

Jo had always coaxed this kind of loyalty out of folks. Kind, smart as a whip, she drew people. The kid was no different and Brody gave him props for standing up to him.

He softened his scowl. “Dr. Granger isn’t in trouble. But my business is official. If you don’t mind, I need for you to get back behind that counter and take care of your own business.” He took a step toward the kid who hustled back behind the counter.

As Brody turned toward the main gym he imagined the boy on his cell again, texting his friends as fast as his thin fingers could move.

In the main gym, Brody was greeted by the smells of sweat and freshly polyurethane-coated floors. The walls were covered with gray rocklike facings that jutted and curved as a rock ledge might. Dispersed over the wall were colored footholds and handholds, some large and others so small he wondered how his large hands could maintain a grip.

A collection of climbers scaled the walls from the floor to ceiling. Belayers stood at the bottom, feeding climbers their safety ropes. A young, blond girl scaled the wall as if she were part monkey. A couple of guys in their midtwenties moved between the rock ledges with a power and grace he admired. He couldn’t imagine that fourteen years had changed Jo so much that she now enjoyed this kind of foolishness.

The shouts and giggles of a group of girls in a side room drew him. The ten girls, who looked to be between fourteen and sixteen, stood at the base of a tall rock wall. Several were pregnant and most had tattoos and piercings. Young, but he imagined they all had a lifetime of experiences already under their belts.

There was no whiff of anger or sorrow radiating off anyone. They were cheering, like kids their age should. His gaze trailed theirs to a woman racing a male climber to the top of the rock wall toward a bell.

Squealing young voices chanted, “Go Jo. Go Jo. Go Jo.”

Jo.

Brody stood behind the students, rested his hands on his hips and shifted his gaze from the male climber to the woman. Her chalked fingers clung to slivers of manufactured rock while her feet perched on similar pieces. Tight black pants and a white, fitted spandex top molded a trim athletic body. Long, red hair bound into a ponytail swept across her muscled back as she scrambled haphazardly from rock to rock. Jo? He looked closer.

Damn, if it wasn’t her.

When Jo reached the top and rang a bell, the kids cheered. She looked over her shoulder, suspending from a single handhold and foothold and smiled at them. “Now which one of you girls bet that I couldn’t win?”

The girls laughed, shaking heads and pointing to each other. None fessed up to having any doubts about her.

Jo surveyed the crowd of girls. “And seeing as I won, ladies, that means you all are going to study real hard for the rest of this semester, correct?”

A rumble of laughter and whispers rolled through the teens. “Yes!” they shouted.

The male climber rang the bell. He regarded Jo, his good-natured appreciation clear as he nodded his concession.

Brody assessed the man, wondering if Jo had really beaten him or if he had held back to win points with Jo. If he had to wager, he’d put his chips on the latter.

“Doug buys ice cream for everyone!” Jo said.

The kids cheered.

Doug grinned. “Rematch!”

Jo’s laughter rang clear and bright as she turned her face from the wall and gazed at the girls with tenderness. However, as quickly as she looked down, she looked back up as if the height flustered her. “Gonna have to be a lot of A’s and B’s to get me up here again.”

Brody crossed his arms over his chest, taking inventory of her high cheekbones, pale complexion and full lips. She was more relaxed, and a hell of a lot hotter than the grim woman he’d seen on television last year.

As if she’d read his mind, her gaze shifted from the kids to him. For a moment she stared at him, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. He made a point not to blink or show the faintest sign of curiosity for this new version of Dr. Granger.

Shaking off her surprise, she moved to climb down the wall but missed her handhold and, in a blink, fell. The girls squealed. Brody tensed, moving toward the crowd, ready to shove his way toward the wall’s base. But the rope tightened, halted her fall and the belayer held tight.

Jo immediately grabbed for another rock and swung herself back into position on the wall. For an instant, she didn’t move.

“You okay, Jo?” Doug asked.

“Fine.” She grabbed for a larger rock. Within seconds she’d scrambled to the bottom of the wall. She stared at the kids, and she wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “That’s why I harp on preparedness. Never go into any situation without thinking about what could go wrong. You’ll live a longer, happier life if you are careful.”

The kids chuckled nervously as Doug descended the wall. He moved to Jo, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You’re really okay?”

She briefly studied Brody before dropping her gaze. “Yeah, I’m fine. Would you excuse me?”

She moved through the crowd of girls. Several stopped her and asked again if she was okay. She assured them all she was fine. Her back was straight and her gaze direct as she finally cut through the crowd and closed the distance between them.

Wisps of hair framed her face, which had grown more angular over the years. Though she’d always been slim, her body now was trim and nicely muscular. No hint of apology softened green eyes now as sharp as emeralds. The years had been good to her. And he was real glad. The last time he’d seen her she’d been . . . broken.

Jo stopped a few feet shy of him. Her expression was stern, controlled and mildly interested. “I’m guessing you’re here on business. A case.”

“That’s right.” He removed his hat as he regarded the kids and Doug who stared at them with raw curiosity. “Mind if we talk somewhere else more private?”

“Sure. Let me grab my bag.” She snatched up a gym bag from a wooden bench. “Girls, I’ll be right back.”

“Are you getting arrested?” one shouted.

Jo glanced up at Brody. “Am I in trouble, Ranger Winchester?”

“No, ma’am.” He spoke loud enough for all to hear.

She followed him outside. Sweat glistened from her skin and mingled with a delicate perfume that reminded him of roses. A lot had changed about Jo but not her scent. “What gives?”

“You heard of Harvey Lee Smith?”

“Sure.” She yanked out a hoodie jacket from her bag and pulled it on. “Convicted serial killer. I featured him in my dissertation, ‘The Mind of a Serial Killer.’ You were the original DPS arresting officer, as I remember.”

He’d been a Texas Department of Public Safety officer when he’d collared Smith. But the arrest had been the coup that earned him his Ranger’s star. The Texas Rangers were an elite group of one hundred and forty-four men and women in the Department of Public Safety.

“That’s right. And if you’ve studied Smith you’d know he was convicted of killing ten women. However, it’s believed his murder count is higher than thirteen.”

She zipped up her jacket and tucked her hands in the pockets. “When he was interviewed he confessed to killing the women. Ten bodies were found buried in his backyard in Austin. Three victims linked to him were not found. When pressed he wouldn’t give details.”

“I’ve interviewed him many times over the last three years. But he kept changing his story and ‘forgetting’ where the other bodies were buried. It was all a big game to him.”

She frowned. “He’s dying of cancer, from what I hear. Doesn’t have much time to live.”

“Docs say the disease spread to his liver. Less than a couple of months.”

She was silent for several seconds. “He’s going to his grave with his secrets and will deny closure for the victims’ families. It’s the last bit of control he can exert.”

Brody’s jaw tightened and released. He’d used every trick in the book to get Smith to open up but endless hours of interviews had been a waste. Smith had taken pleasure in jerking his chain.

“Smith told prison authorities late yesterday that he wanted to talk. He knows time is running out, and he wants to cleanse his soul. He’s agreed to tell where the bodies are buried.”

Jo shifted her stance. “He’s made similar promises before. You said it yourself. It’s all a game to him.”

“I know. And I’d love to tell him to rot in hell. But this might be my last chance to talk to him and to find those bodies.”

She nodded. “And you can’t let it pass. I get that.”

“That’s right.”

She met his gaze. “Why me?”

Brody pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Because Smith requested that you hear his last confession.”

She shook her head, her brow rising. “Me specifically? I find that hard to believe.”

“He was clear he’d talk to you and no one else.”

“I’ve done some work for the Texas Rangers and I wrote a paper on the guy, but I’m by no stretch the most experienced psychologist. Others have written more about him and have a lot more to offer.”

No traces of false modesty in the clear-minded assessment. “Your record has been impressive.”

Green eyes narrowed. “I’m building a reputation but again, why me? I shouldn’t be on this guy’s radar.”

He settled his right hand on his belt next to his gun. “The guy’s smart as hell. He’s had all the time in the world to do what digging he can.”

A humorless smile tipped the edge of her mouth. “And he figured out that you and I used to be married.”

“That’s my best guess. I interviewed him more than anyone and each session he did his best to pull personal information out of me.”

“I can’t see you discussing personal matters.”

He caught the comment’s double edge. “No, I did not. But like I said, I’m betting he did some digging.”

“And somehow he figured out about me.”

“Somehow.”

A silence settled for a moment. “Maybe he heard about my dissertation. The university published it online. Maybe this is a quirky coincidence.”

Leather creaked on his gun belt as he shifted his stance. “Could be as simple as that. But I’ve never been a big believer in coincidence. By my way of thinking they are as rare as hen’s teeth.”

She tightened her hand on her bag. “You’ve put some thought into this.”

“Since the prison called me this morning, overthinking is more like it.”

She dropped her gaze to the ground, shaking her head.

“If you don’t want to do this, there’s no harm, no foul. I’ll go talk to Smith again and see if he’ll talk to me. He might give in, seeing as death is close.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

Brody shrugged. “Then our last shot at finding those three bodies is lost.”

She drew in a slow, steady breath and then released it. “I’ll do it. I’ll go. Least I can do for those families.”

Jo might not cross a street to spit on him, but she’d give up her Saturday to talk to a killer to help grieving families. “You sure about that?”

“As I remember, Smith is a control freak who only cooperates if all his demands are met. When does he want to see me?”

“Today.”

A brow arched. “Right now?”

“My plane is gassed and ready to go at the airport. I can have you in West Livingston in two hours.” West Livingston, Texas, was home to the prison that housed death row for male inmates.

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes here. I need to swing by my house.”

“I’ll follow you.”

She fished her keys out of her bag and offered him a less than enthusiastic “Great. Let me tell Doug and the girls I’m leaving.”

Without another word she hurried into the gym. She reappeared moments later, crossed the lot and slid into a sleek, black BMW. He wasn’t surprised that she was doing well. He’d always known she was meant for a big life. From what he’d heard, and he always made a point to listen when her name came up, her easy style was getting big results.

Brody slid behind the wheel of his Bronco and watched her as she pulled slowly out of her space and through the parking lot. She came to a complete stop at the stop sign, put on her right blinker and turned.

“Still following all the rules,” he muttered.

The drive from the gym to her small, earth-toned bungalow in Hyde Park, a central Austin neighborhood, took minutes. Built in the twenties, Hyde Park was now home to mostly university professors, students and professionals.

As she pulled in the driveway he noted her yard had been neatly landscaped at one time, but like everyone else who’d endured the Texas drought for the last few years, she’d had to let her lawn go when the water restrictions had been implemented. Still, even grassless, she managed to keep the place looking tidy.

Because the Rangers had transferred him several times over the last three years, he’d lived a gypsy’s life, settling for short-term leases in nondescript apartments. He’d always figured by this age he’d have been in a home with wife and kids. But work, and maybe his own faults, had kept him single.

Out of her car, she grabbed mail from a white mailbox with carefully lined numbers on the side and motioned for him to follow. “Might as well come inside. It’s gonna take me about a half hour.”

He’d have been fine staying in the car, but now was not the time to put up any kind of fuss. She was doing him a favor when she could have easily told him to fuck off.

“Sure.” He shut off the engine and followed her up the sidewalk, cracked in spots by last summer’s heat.

He studied the empty window boxes freshly painted turquoise and the front door also newly painted in black. Precise. Orderly. By the front porch a one-hundred-year-old pecan tree had grown so large, its leaves hung over the porch and its roots ate into the porch foundation.

As if reading his thoughts, Jo said, “I’m redoing the porch this summer. Last couple of years I focused on the inside of the house.”

“Considering the drought, a good choice.”

Jo had always had her shit together. Back in the day, without trying, she had made him feel like a clod. He’d resented her in those days. Maturity had taught him that he, not her, had been the root of his problems.

She opened her storm door and he caught it, holding it open for her as she fumbled with her keys.

“I’ve three cats,” she said. “They won’t bother you, but don’t be put off when you see them. They’re former strays and look a little rough.”

“I can handle three cats.”

“Great.” She opened the door, flipped on the light and set her purse and keys by the front door as she likely did every day she’d lived here. The living room was warm and cozy, an overstuffed chair in front of a fireplace reserved for cold Austin nights. The floors were a yellow pine and the ceiling high and vaulted. A long farmhouse table filled a dining room that led into a kitchen.

“Have a seat on the couch. There are bottled waters in the fridge. Even a soda or two. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“I could use a soda,” he said. “I came straight from work.”

“There’s luncheon meat and bread in there if you’re hungry. Help yourself.” Her smile fell short of warm.

She vanished into the bedroom, and he made his way past several black-and-white photo images hanging on the dining room wall. It didn’t take a practiced eye to know they were worth money. The kitchen, glittering stainless steel and granite, looked as if it had just been cleaned. Hell, if a surprise visitor showed up at his apartment . . . well, it sure as hell wouldn’t be this nice. He grabbed a cola from the fridge and popped the top. As the cool liquid rolled down his parched throat, he wondered how the hell he’d landed in his ex’s house.

Jo turned on the shower, kicked off her shoes and socks, and then leaned on the sink, staring into the fogging mirror. She was grateful her expression looked calm and her cheeks had not flushed with shock. Brody Winchester. She’d heard he’d moved back to town but had hoped Austin was big enough for her to avoid him.

For several seconds she stared until the steam misted over all traces of her.

“Holy shit,” she whispered as she turned and pulled off her hoodie, workout top and pants.

She stepped into the shower and ducked her head under the hot spray, barely noticing as it streamed over her body and rinsed the salty sweat from her skin.

Brody f-ing Winchester was in her house. Getting a soda out of her fridge. Brody f-ing Winchester was sitting on her sofa like it was old home week.

Brody f-ing Winchester.

Her ex-husband.

It had been fourteen years since they’d last seen each other. For several years after their divorce she’d dreamed of facing him again and demanding an apology. She’d imagined him seeing the error of his ways and offering sincere regret. The dream had sustained her for a time but after several years, she’d simply grown tired of being angry. And so she’d let Winchester go, truly believing he was out of her system.

And then she’d seen him standing in the gym, staring at her as if she were an odd curiosity. She’d been taken aback, lost her hold, and practiced speeches recited too many times after the divorce were forgotten.

She groaned. She’d invited him into her home. Offered him a soda. And a sandwich. You were always a pushover around him.

She willed the water to wash away her thoughts and disappointments. Let go. Let go. The familiar mantra lapped over her, taking with it some of the emotion.

Brody’s arrival wasn’t personal. It was business. And he was acting like an adult, a professional. He wasn’t the newly enlisted twenty-two-year-old Marine who had all the answers, and he wasn’t looking at her as if she owed him. Nor was she an awkward eighteen-year-old, grateful for any kind of love and attention. She didn’t need him, not as she thought she had all those years ago.

The hot water beaded on her forehead. She was thirty-two. He was thirty-six. If they couldn’t act like grown-ups now, when would they ever? The past was the past. Let it go and move on.

This time tomorrow her interview with Harvey Lee Smith would be over and Brody would be out of her life again. Case, hopefully, closed.

She shut off the water, toweled off, dried her hair quickly and dressed in a dark pencil skirt, white blouse and matching jacket. She put on her pearl necklace and earrings and, as she promised, was ready to leave within thirty minutes.

When she emerged from her bedroom, her cats had surrounded Brody. Atticus, a sixteen-pound orange cat, sat at the end of the sofa staring at Brody as if he wanted to attack. Shakespeare, a wiry black cat with a snub nose tail, sat on the floor out of his reach, and Mrs. Ramsey, a small gray tabby, sat in his lap, purring as he rubbed her between the ears.

God, what he must think of her. All these years and she was still not only the nerdy smart girl, but also the single lady with the house full of cats.

She snatched up her purse and snapped it open. “Ready?”

He finished off his soda and gently nudged Mrs. Ramsey back onto the couch. As he rose, his gaze lingered on her a half a beat before he held up the can. “Yep. Where’s your recycling?”

Her first instinct was to take the can and throw it out for him. She’d have done it for anyone but him. “Under the sink in the kitchen.”

As he disposed of the can, she checked her wallet to make sure she had enough cash as well as her ID. She tucked in a notebook, extra pens as well as a point-and-shoot camera. “I’ll follow you to the airport.”

He moved toward her, hat balanced in his hand, each step measured.

When had she forgotten he was so tall and broad-shouldered? He’d been like that in college, possessing a room simply by entering. Age had certainly not whittled away his muscle tone. He was broader in the shoulders and his legs and his forearms had grown thicker.

He’d never been classically or pretty-boy handsome. “Very male” had been the best way to describe him. Age had not only wiped away the traces of youth, but had left his face with a raw-boned leanness that bordered on menacing.

“It could be a late night,” he said. “Better not to leave an extra car at the airport.”

No doubt his frame all but filled the front seat of that Bronco. “I don’t mind.”

“It’ll be easier if I drive.”

A rebuttal danced on the tip of her tongue and then she swallowed it. The more she protested, the bigger deal she made out of the whole situation. And this was not a big deal. It was business.

“Fine.” Atticus meowed, jumped off the back of a chair. “Let me feed the cats.”

He held out his hat, indicating the way to the kitchen. “You’ve wrangled yourself a real herd here.”

“They kinda found me.”

“You’re a soft touch.”

“Maybe.” She opened the kitchen pantry, scooped out a mound of dried food and dropped it into three different bowls scattered around the kitchen and den. Atticus took the bowl by the bin. Shakespeare moved to his bowl under the kitchen table and Mrs. Ramsey ate behind the chair.

“That big red one runs the roost,” Brody said.

She filled a water bowl and set it beside Atticus. “I’ve had him a year. But as soon as he arrived he took over.”

“Is he growling?”

“He growls when he eats. Defense mechanism, I suppose. Vet thinks he fended for himself a good while. He was half starved and pretty banged up when he came to me.”

“Give the ’ol boy credit for surviving.”

“Let me check in with my neighbor and let him know I’ll be gone. There’s a fifty percent chance of rain this evening, and if we get grounded the cats will need to be fed.”

He followed her out the front door. “Still watch the weather every morning?”

Still eat Frosted Flakes in the morning? The unexpected memory had her pulling the front door closed with a too-firm slam. She turned the key in the lock until the dead bolt slid into place. “The first personal reference to our short but brief marriage—the elephant in the room.”

He stood at the base of the stairs, one foot on the bottom step. “I never was good at pretending.”

“Cutting honesty from what I remember.”

He settled his hat on his head. He tightened and released his jaw. “There something between us we need to lance before we get this show on the road?”

“No.” Emotions tightened and released. She nodded toward the house to her right. “I’ll be right back.”

He studied her a moment. “I’ll be in the car.”

Not sure why she needed to push back over weather and memories of cereal, she hurried, her heels clicking against the sidewalk’s cracked cement, toward her neighbor Ted Rucker’s front door. A couple of quick knocks and the door opened to a tall, lean man with blond hair and horn-rimmed glasses.

“Rucker,” she said. “I’m headed out of town. Could you check in on the cats if you don’t hear from me? I should be back tonight, but you never know.”

He looked past her to Brody who stood outside his Bronco, arms folded over his chest. “Rangers?”

“Ranger Brody Winchester.” She never discussed cases. “I should be back late, but if the weather doesn’t hold, we could be delayed.”

Rucker grinned. “I’ll feed The Three Musketeers. How’s that abscess on Atticus’s side?”

“The antibiotics you prescribed did the trick. Hopefully he’s learned not to tangle with the alley cat down the street.”

“We’ll see. He has a mind of his own.” He frowned. “Safe travels.”

“Thanks again.. . .