CHAPTER 42

The Fat Lady Has Sung

Our eyes were locked in an intense exchange. By sheer force of will—or Vulcan mind meld—Ranger was trying to compel me to spill my guts. I held my ground, neither of us willing to give an inch. I knew he'd eventually get around to questioning my memory loss, but that didn't mean I was going to confirm or deny his suspicions. I thought it fitting to take a page out of his book and remain stoically silent. He probably thought I was being stubborn. It wouldn't occur to him that I was protecting him from becoming an accessory after the fact to my crime.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and Joe walked in. He stopped short when he saw us sitting close together on his couch in his living room, staring into each other's eyes. His smile slid away and was quickly replaced with his cop face. A spear of guilt hit me. Joe thought he'd interrupted an emotional moment, which was true, but it wasn't the kind of emotions he was thinking.

The tension in the room was thick, more so than usual when the two of them shared the same space. Ranger got to his feet, prepared for a face off, but Joe simply gave him a curt nod. "Manoso."

Ranger returned the greeting with the same bluntness. "Morelli."

The room was swirling with testosterone. I got up and went to Joe, placing my hand on his chest. His arm came around my waist, taking possession and then he kissed me on the lips. I couldn't blame him for his cave man attitude. He'd come home to find another man in what seemed to be an intimate moment with his girlfriend.

Until I woke up in the hospital, I could count on one hand how many times I'd had to deal with both men in the same room. They might not be friends, but they'd found a way to work together, putting their personal feelings aside for my benefit. It helped that Ranger never sticks around once he hands me off to Joe, which is why I wasn't surprised when he put on his coat, gathered Ella's bag, and began walking toward us. "Call me if you need anything," he said, pinning me with his eyes, and then he was gone.

As soon as the door closed behind Ranger, I expected Joe to launch into an argument about how he didn't want Ranger in his house or around me anymore. Instead, he led me over the couch, and pulled me down onto his lap. I rested my head on his shoulder and we sat that way for a while—neither of us talking. There had been something brewing under the surface between Ranger and Joe since I woke up in the hospital. I felt like something had transpired between them that I was unaware of.

"What were you two talking about when I came in?" Joe finally asked.

"Ranger was telling me about Durant's apartment." I waited to see if he was going to fill me in on what he'd found out today. When he didn't say anything, I tried a different approach. "He doesn't think the feds are going to arrest me."

"They won't," he said with certainty.

It was a relief to hear that Joe agreed with Ranger, but there was still a part of me that was unsettled. "How can you be sure?"

"If they tried to prosecute you, the media would have a field day. Besides, I overheard Governor Allen telling Agent Shaw he wanted to meet with you so he could personally thank you for bringing down the man who killed his niece and her unborn child."

"What?" I leaned back to see his face. "I don't want to talk to anyone else."

"I don't think the Governor wants details, he just wants to thank you, but I'll do what I can to keep everyone else away."

We sat holding each other for so long I was about to fall asleep. "Your Mom expects us to come to dinner tonight," he said softly.

I hadn't seen my family since I cut my hair last night. I'm sure my mother was going to have something to say about my new look. Hell, another therapy session sounded better than the interrogation I was bound to get.

Joe must have felt my resistance. "We don't have to stay long," he said. "And I'll run interference between you and your mother."

I burrowed deeper into him. I'd missed my family while I was in the cellar; I just hoped it wasn't a circus like usual.

The next morning when I came downstairs, Joe was in the kitchen pouring coffee. He handed me a mug and put his arms around me from behind, nuzzling my neck. "Last night's dinner with your parents wasn't that bad, was it?" I leaned my head back against his chest, loving the feel of being in his arms.

"No, you were right. It was actually nice and calm for a change." My mom had pulled out all the stops. She and Grandma had spent the entire day cooking my favorites. It was their way of showing me, without words, how much they loved me. They'd made pork stuffed cabbage and cannoli with chocolate syrup dripping over them, but the best part was the stuffed peppers that Grandma only makes for special occasions. My mom doesn't even know the recipe. It's only passed down to the female head of the family on my Hungarian side. I assume Mom will get the coveted recipe in Grandma's will.

The entire evening, everyone walked on eggshells around me, but no one commented on my newly shorn hair which made me wonder if Joe had warned them in advance. Instead of the usually intrusive judgments about the way I choose to live my life, I endured worried stares. They mostly came from my mother and grandmother, but in between shoveling bites into his mouth, my dad also cast furtive glances in my direction. The only one absent was Albert. He hadn't been able to make it because he finally caught a lucrative case, but Grandma, Mom, and Valerie kept up the rambling conversation about the neighbors and remarked on who had died recently. While Mary Alice and Angie practically bit their tongues in half to keep from blurting out questions for me. No doubt they were being threatened with dire punishment if they opened their mouths. Bert and Lisa were asleep in the playpen in the living room and Joe only commented when asked a direct question or to field a question asked of me. For the most part, everyone seemed content to let me eat in peace.

I'd started with my most favorites, working my way through the dishes on the table, but I'd quickly gotten full and hadn't been able to sample them all. When dinner was over, Mom handed Joe a bag filled with more leftovers than we'd be able to eat in a week. Then I was hugged by everyone including my dad who has always been the least demonstrative with his affections. But it was when my nieces hugged me that I nearly broke down and cried. In the past I'd have quickly returned their hugs and then rushed off to do something more important. My time in the cellar had taught me that nothing was more important than family. This time, I squeezed them tight and didn't want to let go. When my eyes started to sting, I knew I had to get out of there before I started bawling.

"I went to the bakery this morning and got a dozen Boston Crème's," Joe said, pulling me out of my thoughts. He gave me one last kiss on the neck and let me go.

"Thanks," I said as I emptied the last of the sugar into my coffee and threw the container in the trash. There was a folded newspaper lying on top. "Is that today's paper?"

"Huh?" Joe busied himself with the coffee maker as if he didn't hear me. He pulled out the tray that held the wet grounds and dumped them right on top of the newspaper I'd been asking about. "Get yourself a donut," he said, "The garbage truck should be by soon. I'm going to take this out to the alley." Frowning, I sat down at the table and grabbed a donut while Joe took the garbage out. When he came back inside, he washed up at the sink, and then Bob started barking. A second later someone knocked on the front door. I started to get up. "You eat and I'll get the door." He kissed the top of my head before stealing a donut. I turned sideways in my chair and leaned back a little to see who was here.

"Burrr, it's cold out there," Lula said as she stepped in and shook the snow off her shiny black stiletto boots. They came up to mid-thigh, but since her skirt was so short, there was a lot of skin still left uncovered. "You put those eyeballs back in your head," she told Joe who was staring wide eyed at her, but not for the reasons she assumed. He gave a slight shake of his head in disbelief as he closed the door behind her. Lula hung her faux leopard fur coat on the hook by the entry and sniffed the air, smelling the scent of fresh pastries. I quickly straightened in my chair, pushing the box of donuts across the table as she trotted into the kitchen. "Oh," she said with more than a little disappointment. "You didn't get the kind with the sprinkles. I guess I'll have to make do with these." She grabbed a Boston crème and took a big bite. With her mouth full, she looked down at me and said, "I like what you did with your hair. It doesn't look near as crazy as I thought it would."

I bit back a smile. There were some things I didn't like about Lula, like the way she always left me at the police station and how she won't let me get in her Firebird if I'm wet or draped in garbage, but I can always count on her to be honest with me. Everyone else just gives me speculative looks as if I'm one step away from slitting my wrists. "Thanks," I said as I patted my hair, "I did it myself." I got up and went into the living room.

"That's not what I heard." She clicked her heels across the hardwood floor, following me with a donut in each hand. "I heard Hector, the scary Rangeman that even Tank's a little afraid of, dragged that poor hairdresser out of his house at knife point and made him come fix your hair." She plopped her purse and butt down on the couch beside me, blowing out a puff of air. "After everything you been through and you didn't even make the front page of the Trenton Times." She stuck one donut in her mouth to free up her hand to search in her oversized purse.

I turned to find Joe, standing in the doorway watching Lula like he could wring her neck. Now I know why he threw the coffee grounds on top of the newspaper and why he was in such a rush to get the garbage out of the house. I narrowed my eyes to let him know he was busted.

After rifling through the contents of her purse, she finally whipped the newspaper out and said, "Do you see this? That political scandal took up the whole front page," as if she was offended on my behalf, she continued, "but don't worry, you're on page two."

Since I'd been missing for weeks, I was behind on the latest news and not sure what scandal she was talking about. I reached for the paper. "Let me see that."

Joe rushed up behind me and tried to grab it before Lula could hand it over. He was quick but not quick enough. I got the paper first and unfolded it. "You don't want to see that," he said, "trust me."

He was probably right, but I couldn't ignore what was being said about me. I turned to the second page. The words 'Curio Killer' was written in big font across the top. For a second, I stopped breathing. The press had given Durant a catchy name. Why would they do that? He deserves to be forgotten, not memorialized. I'm pretty sure I had steam coming out of my ears.

"Hunter Durant, America's Curio Killer," I read out loud, my voice sounding hoarse, "is responsible for the ghastly murders of eight women. He was found dead in an underground bunker in the Pine Barrens. He was reportedly bludgeoned to death by his latest victim, Trenton's own Bombshell Bounty Hunter. A source close to the investigation has said the dead women were displayed as trophies in glass cases."

I was stunned into silence as I tried to breathe.

"They didn't mention you by name," Joe said, trying to put a positive spin on the article.

"Yeah, that was rude," Lula added and pulled out her phone, checking her favorite websites. "They didn't mention your name online either."

Lula's words blended into the background as I finished reading the article. I'd never thought about how intrusive the news is. Everyone wants to know the dirty details and it's none of their business. I closed the paper and tossed it onto the coffee table. It wasn't fit to line Rex's cage.

Lula turned sideways on the couch. "You know what you need? You need a big glass of wine. That always makes me feel better." She nodded her head, satisfied with her diagnosis.

"It's nine in the morning," I pointed out.

"That's the best time to go. They got a good boxed wine down at the Foodmart on Cherry Street. We should head over… " She stopped abruptly when Joe cleared his throat.

I looked at him, accessing. "What are you not telling me?"

He sighed and shot Lula a look that would have sent most people running for the door. But Lula wasn't most people. She sat back and waited for Joe's explanation. The only thing missing was a tub of popcorn in her lap.

"Reporters have been trying to get close to the house since early this morning," he confessed. "Ranger's men are keeping them off the property… for now."

"They're doing a good job," Lula added as she smoothed her hand down her chest. "But luckily some of those reporters have long range lenses on their cameras and they were able to capture me on film. This outfit is going to get me immortalized." She touched her head, running her ridiculously long fingernails over her slicked down hair. "Did you notice the rhinestones accentuating my finger waves? I'm channeling my girl, Lizzo. Now, that bitch got style."

I guess I knew the media would latch onto this story. There's no way the discovery of eight dead women would fly under the radar, but I hadn't expected them to be camped out on the lawn waiting to ambush me if I left the house. Suddenly, I felt claustrophobic. I was aware of a tingling in my chest and recognized the beginnings of a panic attack. An unexpected hand on my shoulder had me gasping. "It's just me," Joe assured, "you're okay."

I used the breathing technique Ranger taught me and slowly the panic began to dissipate. Lula pushed a donut into my hand and Joe sat a glass of water on the coffee table. Several minutes and one donut later, I was better. Joe looked at his phone, checking the time. I felt bad for making him late for work. "Go," I said, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Hector will be here at eleven. We're going to watch his show and eat some of the leftovers from my mom."

"Yeah, and I'll stay till Hector gets here," Lula said. "I won't let no reporters get near my white girl."

Joe stared at Lula for a solid minute, debating her trustworthiness and then he must have decided it was okay. He came over and sat down on the other side of me, kissing my forehead. "Ranger's men are at the front and back of the property. If you have any trouble call me or Rangeman."

After Joe left, Lula pulled a magazine out of her purse and started flipping through it, giving her commentary on the lives of rappers and reality TV celebrities. Once she'd exhausted all her magazines, she told me about her manicurist's dating troubles and Connie's new boyfriend. At some point, I fell asleep curled up at one end of the couch. I woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the door and Bob barking.

"Good Morning, Angelita," Hector said after Lula let him inside.

"What time is it?" I rubbed my eyes and stretched.

"It's almost eleven. I better go see if Connie needs help at the office." Lula pulled her coat on, preparing to leave.

"Thanks for coming by."

"Uh huh," she said, reapplying her lip stick and checking her makeup. "I'm only a call away, but don't call tonight cause I got a date with Tankie." She opened the door and posed as if she was walking the red carpet at a movie premiere. I saw flashes of light and then the door closed.

Hector and I fixed a plate from the leftovers my mom sent home last night and settled on the couch to watch our new show/telenovela. When it was over, he turned to me with a serious expression on his face. "I do not know what you want to do about your living arrangements. But if you stay in your apartment, I would like to install new security measures before you return."

I wanted to be brave and go home, but I didn't think I was ready to be by myself. It was too soon.

Seeing the conflicted expression on my face, he suggested, "Or we could get a two-bedroom apartment together in a safe area."

"You would leave your mama's house for me?" He nodded, but I couldn't let him do that. He'd worked hard to make up for the things he'd done in his youth and I knew how important it was for him to take care of his mama. She needed him. "I've been thinking of just moving in here with Joe," I said.

His hopeful smile fell away, replaced with a hardened look that made me wonder what I'd done wrong. "You should have a safe place to go," he insisted. "If you do not want to move in together at least let me make your apartment safe for you."

"Okay. If it means that much to you." His smile returned, brighter than before. "Hold on a minute." I held my hand up to illustrate my point. "I have a couple stipulations." He nodded for me to go on. "I don't want Rangeman to monitor my movements. I can't feel like a prisoner."

"I make everything safe for you. You will see."

Over the weekend, I was only allowed to lounge on the couch, taking it easy as friends and family dropped by to visit. Joe took it upon himself to cater to my every need. After the tense standoff between him and Ranger the other day, I thought he would insist that Ranger's visits be limited, but he hadn't. Instead, he became more affectionate toward me whenever Ranger was around.

Rangeman was still keeping the stragglers away from Joe's property, but for the most part the press had moved on to a bigger story. Sometime Friday night, Linda Bratcher, US Senator Denton Bratcher's wife, was found drowned in her bathtub. At first, they thought it was an apparent suicide, but the autopsy report revealed she'd been murdered. Immediately, the media's attention shifted from Durant's crimes to uncovering every detail of her salacious death. It had all the requirements for prolonged public interest. It didn't look good for the Senator. He was the prime suspect and the media was out for blood.

On Monday, Joe drove me to my follow up appointment with Dr. Powell where I was given a clean bill of health and told that I didn't need my bandages anymore. I was free to go home to my apartment whenever I liked. The only thing she was concerned about was my ongoing panic attacks. She gave me a stern warning to continue my medication and to make an appointment with a different therapist. I took the card she offered, but I had no intention of making an appointment.

Agent's Shaw and Kinkade had called several times, requesting a follow up interview, but Joe managed to put them off each time. I'd said everything I was going to say already and didn't see the need to continually rehash the events. But after a call from Cyrus, gently advising me it would be in my best interest to be more cooperative, I relented and agreed to sit down with the agents on Wednesday for a quick chat, as they put it. Of course, Cyrus, Ranger, and Joe were also in attendance.

I was in my usual seat on the couch with Joe sitting on my right and Cyrus on my left. Agent's Shaw and Kinkade sat across from us in Aunt Rose's upholstered chairs. Ranger pulled a chair from the kitchen into the living room and sat near the end of the couch where Cyrus was.

Agent Kinkade was the first to speak. "How are you feeling, Stephanie?"

I gave her a perfunctory smile. "I'll be a lot better when this is all over."

"I think we all will." She returned my smile. "This won't take long. We have a few things we'd like to go over again and a couple questions we need to ask before we can close the case."

I was all for closing this chapter and if answering a few more questions helped then I was all for it. I motioned for her to go ahead.

"First, we want you to know that the lab has officially confirmed the identities of the women and we've been able to match the DNA from the seminal fluid on the cases to Durant," Agent Kinkade said. "We also found semen belonging to him on the fabric of eight of the women's dresses and on the genitals of Donna Morgan, Kelly Butler, and Melissa Barnes, his three most recent victim's, besides you of course. The other victim's bodies had deteriorated to the point no foreign DNA could be detected. As a result, the medical examiner cannot conclude with any certainty that Durant had raped all of his victims."

I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap. I couldn't imagine what their last moments on earth had been like. The pain and degradation they had to have experienced made my throat tighten, but to hear confirmation that he'd violated them in the most unforgivable way filled me with so much hatred I'd have killed him again if he wasn't already dead.

"I know this is hard for you to talk about, Stephanie." Agent Kinkade leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, her voice turning even softer as she continued—unaware that my insides were violently churning. "We also found traces of semen on the mattress and blanket. Some of the samples were fresh." She paused, waiting for me to understand her meaning.

Suddenly, it dawned on me what she was getting at. She was waiting for me to admit that he'd raped me. I couldn't do that. I still didn't believe he had. It didn't matter what the law stated, Cyrus was wrong.

She licked her lips and slowly swallowed. "Your examination was inconclusive for rape. Your doctors found no semen on or inside you, but we need an explanation as to how the fresh samples of semen got on the mattress and blanket you were using?"

Joe clasped my hands and put his arm around me. "She already told you he didn't touch her like that. Can't you see you're upsetting her."

I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment. They were talking about my personal business as if they had a right to know all about it. It infuriated me. There was no way I was going to tell them that he wiped his filth on me. I took a breath and gathered my anger into something productive. "I already explained how he used his… stuff to paint on the cases." I looked down at mine and Joe's hands clasped together and slid my hand away. I didn't want to be touched right now. "Sometimes he took the blanket away from me when he was angry. It must have gotten on it then." It was a weak argument but that's all I had.

"Is it possible," she paused to draw in a soft breath, "that in one of your unconscious moments, he did more than you can recall?"

"No." I shook my head adamantly, but she looked like she didn't believe me.

"Can you think of anything else we should know?" Agent Shaw asked his first question of the day.

Sure… there was plenty of stuff I could tell them. But I didn't. Instead, I gave them an answer they could write in their report and hopefully it would be enough for them to leave me alone. "I tried everything to get away from him. I even tried to convince him to let me get him help. I just wanted to go home."

"The coroner has placed Hunter Durant's time of death at three days after you escaped from the cellar. Given that you were sedated during that time and that you were clearly defending yourself, we are comfortable ruling his death as self-defense," Agent Shaw explained. "I know this has been hard, Stephanie. You've gone through a horrific experience and I apologize if our investigation has caused you further suffering." He began putting his notes in his briefcase.

I looked at Cyrus, hope making my chest feel both light and heavy at the same time. "Is it over?" He nodded his head and gave me a gentle smile.

"On behalf of the Federal government." Agent Kinkade let the satisfaction show on her face. "We'd like to thank you for helping us give closure to the other eight victims. Without the information you gave us, we would still be muddling through this case with more questions than answers."

"Thank you," I stammered.

Joe walked Cyrus and the agents to their cars, leaving Ranger and I alone in the living room. He sat down beside me, pulling me into his arms. "Thank you for hiring Cyrus. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

"Nothing to thank me for, Babe. No price, remember?"

I was standing beside the bed later that night when Joe came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. Without forethought, my eyes traveled up and down his chest, appreciating his beautiful body. His mouth tipped up in a smile as he held his arm out for me to come closer. I hesitated, not wanting to confuse either one of us. I wasn't ready to tear up the sheets with him, but I trusted him not to hurt me. I stepped into his arms, feeling his damp chest through my night shirt. I felt him swell against my lower stomach and pushed back until I was standing on my own again.

"Ignore it, Cupcake. It's just an involuntary reaction whenever I'm around you. I know you're not ready."

Joe was saying and doing all the right things. His motives were pure. He wasn't pressuring me to do anything I wasn't ready to do. He wanted me to know that I was safe with him. It occurred to me that I could erase Durant's touch and replace it with Joe's. I wanted him to help me feel clean. I tentatively reached out to touch his chest, running my hand over his damp skin, feeling the soft hair dotting his pecks.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Cupcake." He kept his eyes focused on mine as he gently caressed my jaw.

My knees were beginning to shake. I was reminded of how I felt in the bakery all those years ago when he touched me for the first time. He wasn't holding me or keeping me from leaving. He was simply watching me and waiting for me to do what I wanted. I began dragging my fingertips down his chest like I'd done hundreds of times before but when I got midway, I froze and couldn't go any further. I let my hand drop to my side and stepped back.

"It's okay," he said as he lifted the blanket and motioned for me to get in. I slid under the covers and watched as he got a pair of boxers from his drawer. He turned away from me and dropped his towel. My heart was racing as I waited to see what he was going to do. He slipped the boxers on and came around to his side of the bed. He slid in behind me and pulled me against his chest, spooning. "I know you're scared, but I'm not going to do anything except hold you," he said as he kissed the back of my neck. "I was afraid I'd lost you. Now that I have you back, I'm never letting you go."

I knew how to deal with cocky Joe. Hell, I could even deal with sexy, seducing, Joe. But vulnerable Joe? I was out of my depth. When my silent tears landed on his forearm, he squeezed me tighter. "I'm here," he said. "When you're ready to talk, I'll listen."

Talking wasn't something we excelled at, but under the cover of darkness, I gave it a shot. "Every time I close my eyes, I see the women," I confessed. "It feels wrong that I made it out of the cellar, and they didn't?"

"That's survivor's guilt," he said. "You can't feel bad about being alive, Cupcake."