"Fade To Black" - читать интересную книгу автора (Parrish Leslie)5They started the search early. With a lot of land to cover, and only seven people-Stacey, Taggert, three of her deputies, and two other FBI agents who’d arrived last night-to do it, the job was shaping up to be a major one. Better, in Stacey’s opinion, to get started just after dawn and take advantage of whatever brief amount of coolness the day might provide. Despite their being shaded from the vicious sun by a thick canopy of pine, oak, and cedar, the woods hugging Warren Lee’s fence had a closed-in, cavelike feeling that held the heat in and made even the simple act of breathing difficult. Besides, it wasn’t as though she’d slept for more than twenty minutes at a stretch all night, anyway. She’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to fathom what Dean Taggert had told her: that there might very well be a serial killer living right here in Hope Valley. It was so far beyond her comprehension, he might as well have told her aliens had landed. That wasn’t the only thing that had inhibited her rest. The mourning she’d done for poor, sad Lisa hadn’t helped. And when she had fallen into minutes of fitful slumber, she’d found herself dreaming of Dean Taggert. Odd dreams she couldn’t quite remember, but which had left her feeling tense and uncomfortable. “You’re sure your guys know what they’re doing?” She made an effort not to stiffen at Special Agent Taggert’s bluntness as they paused, shoulder-to-shoulder, having cleared another section of their search area. He might have been Dean at the diner, but today he was again all hard-edged FBI agent. Which was fine with her. She’d spent enough time wondering why on earth she found a man who brought murder and horror into her safe, secure world so damned attractive. She almost wished Taggert had been the one who’d left this morning, rather than his boss. Blackstone had stopped by only briefly before heading back to Washington, apparently because of a new lead in the case. Maybe that was just as well; she had a hard time picturing the supervisory special agent mucking around in the woods in his crisp black suit and highly shined shoes. “They’re not going to go tromping on any potential evidence, are they?” “They’re fine,” she snapped. “Completely trustworthy.” Stacey had thought long and hard before deciding which of her deputies could be counted on to do this job right-not only the search, but keeping the reason for it quiet, at least for the time being. She’d have to tell Winnie Freed, and soon, but she’d be damned if she’d go to the woman without at least trying to find her daughter’s remains first. News of a death was bad enough for anyone to deal with. Not having a body to bury meant Winnie would doubt-would question. Would torture herself with false hope. So Stacey had to put off telling the woman at least long enough for one good search for Lisa. “We need to pick up the pace,” Taggert said. “This is taking too long.” “Are you sure your guys know what they’re doing?” she asked, not sure why she wanted to goad the man. He frowned, his mouth pulling tight. Not a great sense of humor on this one. “Pretty sure. Want to hear their qualifications?” “I’m sorry. But we’re not even sure what we’re looking for, Agent Taggert,” she said, her tone remaining cool. She was pretty impressed with how well her deputies had reacted today and didn’t appreciate the implied criticism. She only wished her chief deputy hadn’t put himself out of commission by falling off his damn roof. “We’re looking for anything,” he said. “Absolutely anything we can use.” “Even if any blood could possibly survive in the elements, we know Lisa was standing on a tarp that would have caught most of it. I don’t imagine we’re going to stumble over an enormous red circle on the ground with a neon sign saying ‘It happened here.’ And I doubt this killer was stupid enough to leave his knife lying around for us to find.” He thrust a hand through his thick, dark hair, frustration oozing out of his every pore. “I know. But a complete visual pass is imperative. Then we’ll move on to dogs, see if we can get something of Lisa’s and try to get them to pick up a scent.” “That’s a long shot.” “Tell me about it.” His jaw flexed as he cast a slow look around the clearing in which they’d parked, and which he’d designated as base of operations. She sensed he was seeing the entire forest, not just the trees. “This whole thing is an incredible long shot, and God knows we don’t have time to spare on a wild-goose chase.” Realizing he hadn’t been criticizing, merely expressing his own anxiety, she unbent a little. Glancing at the sweat on his brow, the dampness of his unbuttoned dress shirt molding against his broad shoulders and thick arms, she murmured, “How are you holding up in this heat?” “I’m fine.” “I sense you spend more time in an air-conditioned office than in the woods.” “You might be surprised. I’ve never been a desk-jockey type.” “Have you been a Boy Scout? Because any ten-year-old with half a brain would have known better than to dress like that today.” He jerked his head up, as if unused to women throwing snarky comments in his direction. A guy as tough and good-looking as this one probably got lots of compliments and come-ons instead. A tiny smile that looked more menacing than friendly, as if it didn’t get much use, appeared on his lips. His eyes narrowed, his dark gaze homing in on her, every ounce of his attention focused in her direction rather than on the search. The full onslaught of that heated concentration suddenly made her heart skip a beat in her chest. “I wasn’t exactly the Boy Scout type. But something tells me you already knew that.” That frankly assessing look would have sent any self-respecting good girl running in the opposite direction. Stacey shivered despite herself. Because he was about as far from a Boy Scout as she was from a suburban housewife. “Nobody’s ever called me Mr. Nice Guy,” he warned. And again, she had the suspicion he was talking about more than just this moment, this case. As if confirming that he might have spent some of last night thinking about her, too. She wasn’t scared off. Because nice guys? They were a dime a dozen in Hope Valley. And she was a good girl who’d been good so long she couldn’t even remember why she kept getting her birth control pill prescriptions refilled. She’d started having a suspicion, though, ever since he’d walked into her office yesterday afternoon. “Maybe nice is overrated,” she murmured. Finally, as if realizing he was watching her a little too closely, building the already thick tension between them, he shook his head, hard. “You’re right about the clothes. But I didn’t exactly pack shorts and flip-flops.” She chuckled, unable to picture it, and glad he’d coasted back into safe territory. Away from that confusing awareness that seemed to wash over both of them at the most unusual times. Because if he wasn’t as aware of her as a woman as she was of him as a man, then she had no business calling herself female. Every intuition she owned told her it was true. And the words he’d said when he’d joined her at the diner the previous evening- He hadn’t been talking about working together, having dinner or a drink together. Something had made him say those words in that way, and something in her had responded, even if she’d managed to keep her cool and pretend she’d misunderstood. She hadn’t misunderstood. She got the message loud and clear. She just didn’t know what she was going to do about it. Dean gestured toward her own pants and shirt. “You’re not exactly up for a day at the beach yourself.” “At least mine are lightweight and light colored.” Unlike Taggert’s dark trousers and long-sleeved shirt. She’d bet money he’d had a long mental argument with himself over whether or not to remove the suit jacket. If they’d been in public, where others could have seen the.40 Glock strapped in the holster at his hip, she doubted he would have, no matter what he’d had packed in his overnight bag for his trip to Hope Valley. “Just make sure you drink plenty of water,” she cautioned. “I can handle myself,” he retorted as he unbuttoned his sleeves and shoved them up his thick forearms. Every inch of tanned skin he revealed glistened, though they’d been out for only an hour. The muscles flexing in those arms confirmed his strength, the blunt power of him. “I noticed,” she muttered before she thought better of it. Oh, boy, had she noticed. Fortunately, he either didn’t hear the frank interest in her voice, or didn’t correctly interpret it. “You look pretty capable of handling yourself, too.” “I guess,” she admitted. “You’ve been on the job somewhere else,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Virginia State Police down in Roanoke.” He studied her. Thought about it. “How long ago?” “I quit in May of ’oh-seven.” She watched him make the connections. Saw the truth click in his brain. “You responded to the attack at…” “Yeah.” She didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t even want to remember what had happened that April day on that once-beautiful campus. The nightmares had finally ended. She’d do anything to make sure they didn’t return, and she put up a big mental stop sign to keep the memories tucked away in the darkest recesses of her mind. “That’s rough.” She nodded, then quickly changed the subject. “And you were a street cop if I’ve ever seen one. Something tells me ViCAP wasn’t your first stop in law enforcement.” “ Baltimore Vice.” “Knew it.” “What gave me away?” “Your boss screams fed. You don’t.” “Was that a compliment?” She stiffened, wondering how to answer. Because it had been. While she had noted his supervisor’s handsome looks, Dean’s outright ruggedness, the rough street edge, appealed to her more. A lot more. Common sense said to keep that to herself. To maintain a professional wall, help this man get his job done, and push him out of Hope Valley as soon as possible. But Stacey suddenly wondered if common sense was just a little bit overrated. The cop in her said it absolutely was not. The woman who hadn’t been touched intimately by a man in more than two years had other ideas. Stacey honestly wasn’t sure which of them was right. Their current situation demanded that she maintain a professional footing. Even so, she found herself unable to outright lie. “Yes, Special Agent Taggert. Unfortunately, I think it was.” Suddenly averting his eyes, he swiped the back of his forearm across his sweaty forehead. As if he’d bitten off a little more than he could chew, given their current location. She didn’t know him well yet, but she suspected Dean wasn’t used to this. He didn’t know what the vibes between them were, what they meant, and where they were going. Hell, neither did she. But she wasn’t about to pretend they didn’t exist-there was that honesty thing again. Having had enough of dancing around it, she cut to the chase. Stacey had learned as a kid that directness usually worked best with men. After all, she’d been raised in a house full of them, with no woman around. Maybe if she’d had a mother, she’d have learned the art of subtlety. From her father, however, she’d learned bluntness. “Are you seeing anyone?” His jaw unhinged. “Look, we both know there’s something here. What you said when you showed up at the diner last night proves it. Let’s just get it out in the open so it doesn’t get in the way of our work.” Silence. He simply studied her, as if shocked that she’d been so candid. But finally, he admitted, “My divorce was finalized ten months ago.” She’d get married someday. Probably. Maybe. If she found someone who understood her position on the whole kids issue. And if someone who could stand up to her-physically, mentally, emotionally-ever happened to wander into Hope Valley. Her gaze lingered on him a moment too long… His gruff laugh acknowledged her sarcasm. “She remarried weeks later.” “Ouch.” Knowing it was none of her business, she asked anyway. “I take it she… knew the guy before you two split?” “Knew him? Oh, absolutely. In every way.” He shrugged. “But maybe not so surprising. We got married right out of college. For some reason she thought being married to a cop would be exciting and impressive.” Snorting, Stacey replied, “Guess she doesn’t read statistics very much.” Divorce rates in law enforcement were staggering. “She figured it out. Then she urged me to go for the FBI. I guess saying she was married to a special agent sounded more romantic at the watercooler than, ‘My hubby busts dope dealers on Charles Street.’ ” “ViCAP. Uh-huh. I’ve heard that’s a regular hotbed of romance.” His shoulders started to shake as, unbelievably, he began to laugh. They were sweating and shooing away mosquitoes, looking for a crime scene in the middle of nowhere, talking about something two near-strangers almost never openly addressed, and able to laugh about it. She liked this man. A lot. “We’re both better off. My son, however, is not.” Sucking in yet another surprised breath, Stacey absorbed that tidbit. A hard-ass FBI agent. A former street cop. The sexiest, toughest-looking man she’d ever seen. And a father. Tension churned in her stomach, but she quickly swallowed it away. She was contemplating a fling with the man. Not any kind of long-term relationship. So the fact that he had a child was completely irrelevant. “How old?” “He’s seven.” “Custody?” “Not even standard. I get to take him to play at Mc-Donald’s every Wednesday night, and he sleeps on a futon at my apartment one weekend a month.” His eyes widened, the sun bringing a gleam to the brown depths, revealing a glint of emotion, either at the unfairness of his situation, or the fact that she’d figured it out so quickly. Or both. Then he moved again, into a pool of shadow cast by a towering overhead tree, and glanced away. “Yeah.” “I’m sorry.” “Me, too.” “Look, I know it probably doesn’t help, but honestly, I’d much rather have had a part-time mom than none at all at that age. I know it isn’t enough, but the time you spend with him is really important.” He fell silent and Stacey instantly regretted the words. She wasn’t one of those people who always brought every conversation back to herself. In fact, she couldn’t stand those types. Yet that was exactly what she’d done: taken his sadness over a recent divorce and how it affected his son and related it to her own childhood drama. “I shouldn’t have said that.” “No,” he replied, watching her, quiet and contemplative. “Actually, you’re right.” Stacey realized they’d taken a step forward. They were no longer near-strangers sharing an unexpected attraction. They’d first spoken less than forty-eight hours ago, yet they’d already reached a crossroads in their relationship, where secrets were revealed and hurts shown. And they’d passed it. In the silence of the morning, where even the birds were too heat-exhausted to chirp, their stares locked. Words clamored to escape her throat-an invitation to dinner, to have a drink, to grab a beer later. “Guess we should get back to it,” he muttered before she could say anything. “Sure.” He glanced at his watch. “Might be a good time to check in with the others first, though. See if they’ve found anything.” If they had, she probably would have heard the shouts of her own men from their search quadrant a quarter mile away. But she didn’t point that out. “I could use a water break, anyway,” she said. Taggert lifted his radio and got a brief report from Special Agent Stokes, leaving Stacey a moment to pull herself back together. And to remind herself of all the reasons she should not be letting herself grow more interested in this particular FBI agent. He lived a dangerous life, worked a dark and bloody job. He was fresh off a divorce, a single father. He lived in a world she’d intentionally left behind when she’d moved back here from Roanoke. But none of those things chased away the interest, the pure, electric attraction she felt for the man whenever she looked at him. Instead, she kept going over what she already knew about him, what she already liked about him. He was strong and determined. Stubborn, even. Like her. He was good at his job, wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of doing it to the best of his abilities. Also like her. He was smart. Intuitive. And deep down, beneath all the gruffness and the swagger, he had both a sense of humor and a genuine warmth. The latter appeared at the oddest of times, like when he’d tossed her that gum, when he’d tried to prevent her from watching the video of Lisa’s death. Even now, when he’d genuinely appreciated the comment she’d made about his son. Oh, yes, Dean Taggert had more depth than she’d first imagined. And aside from all that, he was incredibly masculine, incredibly tough… incredibly big. That last one doomed her. Because despite resenting the darkness he’d brought into her safe, secure, nice world, she couldn’t deny she wanted him. That was all, just plain wanted to go to bed with him. It had been a long time since she’d been so aware of a man. Longer since she’d been so aware of herself as a woman. That it should happen now, in the midst of this horrific case, confused her more. Not two minutes ago, in the middle of this nightmare, she’d had one of the most intimate conversations she’d had with a man in years. No doubt about it, working with Taggert was messing with her head, putting strange ideas in it at the strangest of times. She’d found her stare tugged back to him time and again this morning, watching the way his white dress shirt grew damp with sweat and molded itself against his thick chest and muscular arms. Unlike his boss, Taggert looked as though he knew how to get down and dirty. Despite the clothes she’d harassed him about, he seemed more than ready for some rugged action with that powerful body and that rock-hard determination in his jaw. She had to get over it. Because she needed to work with the man. Taggert was leading this investigation, and he was desperate to solve it. He hadn’t told her the whole story, but she knew enough to know they were working against a clock here. This killer could be stalking his next victim right now. The thought that he could be someone she knew, someone she’d interacted with here in Hope Valley, made her stomach heave. Anything she could do to help, she would. That included setting aside her response to the man and being one of seven people sifting through hundreds of acres of woods, looking for evidence that had probably been washed away months ago. Utterly futile, perhaps. But she owed it to Winnie. And to Lisa. By three p.m., Dean was beginning to regret not bringing the shorts he’d mentioned to Stacey. Heat radiated from each molecule of air, baking and assaulting the senses. His clothes clung to every inch of him, and his eyes had glazed over. His sunglasses didn’t help; they merely steamed up, so he’d shoved them into his pocket early this morning and hadn’t touched them since. If he had to inhale one more mouthful of hot, pine-scented air, dry and redolent with the must of decaying trees and ancient dead leaves, he was gonna gag. The great outdoors. Give him the D.C. Metro during rush hour any day. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Absolutely nothing.” The three teams scouring the perimeter of the fence hadn’t turned up anything other than the remnants of an old, illegal campfire and a few crushed beer cans, there for a month at most. “We’ve still got a lot to cover,” Stacey reminded him.As if he needed reminding. With only seven of them working, this was shaping up to be a weeklong project. They’d expected to have more help with Brandon and Lily, but Wyatt had kept them in the city for today. Another auction could be taking place at any time, and the IT experts would be more valuable trying to track it than searching for the bloody needle in this forest-wide haystack. “I know, but we’ve got to be thorough.” He’d seriously considered doing a trade-off when they’d all broken for a quick lunch: letting Stacey partner up with one of her men, leaving him with just about anybody else. Because despite the fact that he liked working with her, those moments this morning when things had gotten a little on the personal side had been a bonehead move. He had no time to get personal. No interest in getting personal. No room in his life for anything resembling personal. Right? Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to hear himself say that when his head was filled with nothing but her words: God, she was so direct, one more thing he really liked about her. That and the way her sarcastic sense of humor emerged every once in a while. The things he knew about the woman-the details she’d let slip-only made him want to know more. And despite the way she’d answered his question the previous night, he suspected he understood what she was doing here in small-town Hell Valley. “I dunno. I somehow think I’ve seen this tree before,” she mumbled as she leaned against a staggeringly tall pine. “Or maybe it was one of his nine thousand brothers.” He got the point. “Can I be honest?” she asked. She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I’m afraid this is a waste of time. The guy’s smart. Would he really have left anything for us to find?” “It’s possible. You’d be surprised at the mistakes criminals make.” “But he’s got to be a genius, right?” “Not necessarily. Brilliant monsters are a Hannibal Lecter fallacy; most organized serial killers are of just slightly above-average intelligence. Disorganized types can have low IQs, but they’re cunning. In fact, the less intelligent the perpetrator, the more persistent and brutal he can be. Like an animal going after a treat, he just doesn’t give up. Doesn’t relent. Doesn’t see anything wrong with what he’s doing.” “Doesn’t have a conscience,” she whispered. “Exactly. No moral compass. Combine that with a bloody streak, a hint of cleverness, determination, and a good survival instinct and you’ve got yourself a John Wayne Gacy, who was no rocket scientist, yet killed dozens before he was caught.” “He’s savvy, though. Using the Internet the way he does…” “Every sixth grader in America is savvy enough to utilize the Internet. You’ve got teenagers beating each other up and proudly sharing the video on YouTube. While it might be unbelievable, it’s not that difficult. Any asshole with a digital camera and a DSL connection can get his fifteen megabytes of fame.” She fell silent. The reality of what they were facing was probably worse than what she’d been imagining. Because a brilliant criminal, while hard to catch, might trip himself up through his own arrogance and certainty of his intelligence. An average one often escaped notice, his sheer blandness allowing him to fly under the radar. For years. “Okay. So maybe he left something.” She shook her head, eyeing the hundreds of trees in all directions. “But seventeen months?” There, he agreed with her. It was a long shot. And they were all exhausted. They needed more men, and they needed dogs. About to call it a day and suggest he, Stokes, and Mulrooney start on their interviews of Lisa’s family and friends, he paused when Stacey’s staticky radio came to life on her hip. “Sheriff? You better get over here,” one of her deputies said. Their eyes met and locked. “They found something?” he asked. “What is it, Frank? Over.” “Sorry ’bout that, Stacey. I forgot about the ‘over.’ Uh, over?” Dean’s teeth clenched and his temples began to throb. “It’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.” “We got company. Damn it now, Warren, you put that away unless you want to get yourself shot.” “Oh, hell.” Stacey’s slim body stiffened and she immediately began to move, her long legs pistoning as she blew past him. The radio at her mouth, she ran toward the next quadrant, where her three deputies had been working. Mulrooney and Stokes were south of them, too far to be of any use. Dean took off after her, his feet tangling in mounds of overgrowth. Sharp branches and brush tore at his clothes, and he thrust them out of the way. Every instinct he had screamed at him to tell her to wait, and the sudden panic that she might be running into something dangerous made his feet fly over the ground. Still, he wasn’t as nimble as Stacey at maneuvering through this crap, so she beat him to the others by a few yards and a few deep breaths. His numbed brain started working again as soon as he skidded to a stop beside her, seeing that she was fine and totally in control. Tense. But in control. Stacey had unsnapped her holster, and the tips of her fingers hovered over the grip of her weapon. She didn’t betray the effects of her hundred-yard dash by so much as a gasp, and neither her hands nor her chin trembled in the least. She was entirely focused, as she warily eyed the metal fence topped by that vicious razor wire. On the other side of it sat a hulk of a man on an ATV. With grizzled gray hair cut close to his skull, his dark green camouflage clothes, and combat boots, he could be nothing other than a vet. Something kick-ass and violent had shown this guy some action and had left his brains a little scrambled up about whether or not it was peacetime. The scowl-not to mention the shotgun lying across his lap-made that obvious. His own hand went to his hip. But Stacey shot him a warning look, silently telling him to wait. “Did he point that shotgun at you?” she asked one of her deputies, not turning her head, keeping her attention on the man glaring at them through the metal fence. “No, Sheriff,” one of them said. “Just waved it around a little.” She nodded but didn’t lower her hand. “ Warren, you want to fire up that four-wheeler and ride on back to your house right now. You hear me?” Warren. The name sounded familiar. And suddenly Dean knew for sure who they were facing. This was Warren Lee, the man who owned the property on the other side of this fence. The violent one who Stacey seemed certain hadn’t been the man in the tape. Dean wasn’t so sure. The shadowy figure who’d killed Lisa and the others had been covered from top to bottom, a black hood hiding his entire head, a shoulder-to-toes cape doing the rest of the job. But he’d been tall, and obviously strong, given the way he’d overpowered his victims. He’d also been disgustingly impressive with weapons. The proximity and this man’s violent personality meant they could be looking at the man who’d killed those women. Tensing, Dean slowly removed his sidearm from its holster, keeping it low, down by his side. He didn’t want to inflame the situation, but damned if he’d be caught unawares if that mean-looking bastard started shooting. Noting that none of the deputies had done the same, all following Stacey’s lead, on alert, but not unholstering, he gave her the benefit of the doubt that she knew what she was doing. This was their territory; the man was one of their townies, whom they all knew. “What’s going on? What do you people think you’re doing on my property?” “This isn’t your property,” Stacey said, maintaining her cool so easily he wondered if she had a little ice in her DNA. “We’re on federal land and we have every right to be here. Now, I mean it. Get on back to your house and put that shotgun away before you wave it at the wrong person and end up with a bullet in you.” Despite the words, her tone was even, not exactly threatening but not one bit weak, either. Damn, the woman was cool under pressure. “This is my fence…” “And we’re not touching it,” she snapped. “I got a right to protect my property and make sure you don’t come on it.” “We’re officers of the law performing a legal search, who have the right to respond if we find ourselves threatened. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Lee?” Her hand wrapped around the butt of her nine-millimeter. She’d reached the end of her patience with the man. “I don’t care if you’re on your own property; if you point that gun at one of my men, or any other officer in these woods, they will be perfectly within their rights to take you down.” The man’s eyes narrowed and he remained still for a moment, engaging in a staring contest with the female sheriff whose entire posture said she would not back off. Then, as if someone had whispered some sense into his ear, he pushed the shotgun, muzzle down, into a scabbard on his ATV. “Saw activity, had the right to arm myself to come out and see what was going on.” Dean wondered just how much this man actually knew about his rights. Because if he was stupid enough to shoot and kill anyone merely for stepping over his property line, the guy would be looking at manslaughter at the very least. “We’ve talked about this, Warren. There’s a big difference between protecting yourself if someone breaks into your house and you coming out here to look for trouble.” The tension drew out a moment longer, as the big, gruff-looking man continued to glare. Then, slowly, as if someone had poured a modicum of malicious pleasure into his brain, a creaky smile cracked his face. It looked more menacing than friendly, as though it didn’t get a lot of use. “Good luck on your search,” he said with a sarcastic salute. The smile widened, going from creaky to crafty. All Dean’s senses reacted to the change. He almost smelled the malevolent humor rolling off the man, as if he had a great, dark secret and knew the sheriff was wasting her time. He stepped forward, wanting to question Lee about whether he really knew something, as his expression and tone seemed to indicate. Before he could, though, Mr. Lee started the engine and revved it up. “Stay on that side of the fence,” Lee called before speeding away. When he was gone, Stacey questioned her deputies. “Tell me everything he said and did.” Exactly what Dean wanted to know. Seeing her deep frown, he wondered if Stacey, too, had been struck by the unfriendly man’s strange mood swing. Her men, despite their rusty radio skills, proved pretty observant. They succinctly related the details of Mr. Lee’s arrival, his belligerent attitude, and his comments. One thing was apparent: He did not immediately question what they were doing. He had been focused only on whether they were coming too close to his own property. “He didn’t ask what you were looking for?” The deputy who’d been doing most of the talking, a middle-aged guy with a bulbous red nose, answered, “Nope, he never did. Only…” Stacey stiffened. “Only what?” “Only, Carl mighta said something about us investigating a murder.” “Shit,” Dean muttered. The last thing they wanted was to tip off the Reaper that they were onto him. Getting out here and conducting a search as secretly as possible had been one reason for keeping the response team so small, despite the availability of some of Stacey’s other officers. They did not want to scare the guy off and send him into hiding. The revelation also made his impressions of Warren Lee tighten to a sharper point, a tension that pounded into his gut like every good instinct did. Because that man had “God, I don’t want to deal with this.” Stacey’s heavy sigh reminded him that there was yet another reason they didn’t want word to get out. When he saw her rub a weary hand over her eyes, and noted the slump of her shoulders, he knew what she was thinking. “I’m going to have to go talk to Winnie Freed,” she mumbled. “Lisa’s mother.” Dean stepped closer, instinct making him drop a hand on her shoulder. “So soon?” She nodded. “ Warren ’s going to be screaming to anybody who’ll listen that we’re trampling on his rights while looking for a murder victim. There’s only one missing person in this whole town. Word will get back to Winnie by nightfall.” She finally appeared to notice Dean’s hand. Staring at it, then casting a quick glance at her deputies, she stepped away, but not before offering him a small nod of appreciation. “I’ve never had to do that before. Personally notify the next of kin.” It was her job; she’d have to do it sooner or later, but he didn’t envy her. He’d delivered that kind of news enough to know she was in for a rough scene. And her friendliness with the family was going to make it harder. “Let me come with you,” he offered. The idea made sense. He, Stokes, and Mulrooney would need to question the victim’s family and friends. They’d intended to start after completing the entire search, but the potential exposure of the reason for their presence in Hope Valley had put them up against a ticking clock. Interviews were the better bet right now. Compiling a list of suspects, people who’d known Lisa, who’d been at the tavern that night, who frequently left town, who flashed new money around. There were lots of questions to ask, lots of people to talk to. The victim’s soon-to-be-grieving mother was as good a place to start as any. There was another clock clicking even louder in Dean’s mind. The one at Satan’s Playground. Another auction was going down soon; it could already have taken place. As much as he wanted to locate Lisa’s body, he already feared that any evidence they found wouldn’t give them enough to nail the bastard in time to stop him. Or to save whomever he targeted next. Amber Torrington’s day had blown from the start. First, her lame parents had refused to pay the deductible to repair her dented car. As if it was her fault dumb-ass drivers kept pulling out in front of her, or going too slow, causing her to hit them. She’d broken a nail and couldn’t get an appointment to have it fixed for two days. Time to find another nail salon, because they’d been rude on the phone when she’d demanded that they squeeze her in. Then Justin had told her he hadn’t been able to score tickets for tomorrow night’s concert she’d been dying to go to. That fat cow Kelsey had acted all disappointed for her, rubbing it in that she had tickets. She’d even had the nerve to ask Amber to use her employee discount so she could get something new to wear to it. This had to be her worst hair day ever. She felt a zit forming on her chin. And her psycho of a boss at the trendy shop where she worked had spent the last hour, after closing, grilling her about some missing clothes until they’d ended up in a screaming match. Might be time to get another job. One where she could wear all her new clothes. Thank God the day was almost over. There was only an hour for something else to go wrong in her life. God, what she wouldn’t give to get into her convertible, head for 95, and drive south. Florida would be good. Anywhere but the boringest place on the planet, known as Rockville, MD. Imagining riding with the top down along the coast-maybe with some Southern hottie who’d be way better than Justin-she didn’t even notice that she was not alone until she almost ran into the black-cloaked figure in front of her. “Watch where you’re going, dickhead,” she snapped when the guy stepped in her way as she walked through the darkened parking lot to her car. Too bad she hadn’t parked it close to the mall exit. She always left her baby way out in nowhereland so no careless asshole would open his door and ding it up. But since it was already banged up from last weekend’s fender-bender, she needn’t have bothered. “Can you help me?” asked the guy who’d almost bumped into her. “No, I can’t. Now get the hell out of the way.” “That’s not very nice,” he whispered. “Not very ladylike.” Finally really looking at him, she noticed his clothes. He wore a long, dark coat, with the collar turned up to shield most of his face. On his head, covering his hair and tugged almost down over his eyes, was a plain black baseball cap. Not exactly normal dress for eleven o’clock on a hot summer night. Suddenly uncomfortable, she stepped to the side, to go around him. He mirrored the movement, blocking her again. “What’s wrong with you? Are you some kind of a retard?” He A hint of fear clutched at her spine and crawled up Amber’s back like a tiny spider. “Leave me alone.” “I can’t do that. Wouldn’t be gentlemanly to leave you here all on your own.” Gentlemanly. Was this dude for real? “I can take care of myself.” She felt around in her purse, mentally kicking herself for not getting her keys out inside, like they always said you should. And for parking on the opposite side of the mall, far from where her boss usually parked. She was mad at the sour-faced witch, but right now, she would like nothing more than to see her come walking out that door, especially if she was accompanied by the security guard who’d stopped by the store fifteen minutes ago to see what all the yelling was about. But she knew that wouldn’t happen. The guy had gotten a radio call about an exterior break-in alarm going off at one of the big, high-end department stores. The last time she saw him he and the other guards had been racing there to check it out. That store was all the way on the other side of the enormous mall. “I mean it; get out of my way or I’m going to scream.” He laughed softly, as if knowing nobody was close enough to hear. “Go ahead.” Maybe he did know. Even tenser now, she looked around frantically. Her car was a good twenty spaces down the aisle. The only other vehicle in sight was a covered pickup a few yards away. Nobody anywhere. The blacktop suddenly seemed as big as a dark sea, the distance between her and her car enormous. Small puddles of gold fell here and there from the overhead lights but did nothing to spotlight the two of them. She suddenly realized why when she saw glass twinkling on the ground. The closest one had been shot out. As had the one past that. And the next. Growing frantic, she glanced toward the glass doors she’d just come through. There were video cameras posted above every entrance into the mall, and at least one guard was supposed to be watching them from the security office at all times. If she waved, maybe… The camera was dangling by its own wires. “I heard what you said to that girl.” All the air left her lungs in a quick, shocked exhalation. “The one who wanted to use your discount.” The guy had been watching her? Following her? And she’d never noticed? “I heard you and your boss yelling at each other, too. Those were some bad words you were using, Amber. I could hear you all the way in the back of the stockroom.” He’d been in the stockroom. Apparently seeing her shock and confusion, he explained, “Your boss probably should have locked the back door after that delivery.” The delivery. At six o’clock. God, he had been watching her for hours. He’d sneaked into the store through the rear employees-only entrance by the trash Dumpsters and they’d never even realized it? Genuinely panicking now, she tried to dart around him, but he lunged after her, his fingers digging painfully into her upper arm. He spun her around, grabbing the other arm, keeping her in place. She struggled violently. Her purse fell, its contents spilling onto the ground. Remembering a safety tip she’d once heard, she forced herself to let her legs collapse, leaving her entire body weight in his hands. The move took him off guard, and he dropped her with a grunt. Amber landed on her knees, hard on the blacktop. She thought about the keys, but instead lunged for her phone. “I’m calling the cops!” He stared down at her, not appearing the least bit concerned. Swinging his hand, he slapped the phone out of her fingers as easily as he would have shooed away a bug. That was when she saw what was in his other hand. And fear turned to terror. “They won’t get here in time.” |
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