Deadly Sight (4 page)

“Don’t blink or you’ll miss the whole town,” she joked.

“Hence my confusion over why Jeff Winston saw fit to pull us both and send us here.”

“I get it now,” she replied quietly. “It is strange, isn’t it?”

“Luke’s cabin is up that turnoff. I figure we need to head on down the road a bit and hike back.”

She looked at the dirt track winding up a mountain into a heavy stand of spruce trees. She’d read before she came here that scientists had planted spruce trees inside the NRQZ in the 1950s because they believed the needles were the right length to absorb radio interference.

“Could we at least park uphill from his place so it’s a downhill hike?” she asked.

“You’d still have to hike back to the car.”

“I’ll wait at the cabin and you can bring the car to pick me up. After all, you’re
such
a gentleman.”

He murmured as he pulled the car off the narrow road and into the woods. “I’m not always a gentleman.”

Her head whipped around and she stared at him in the dark. That sounded like a come-on. Surely this man was not throwing pick-up lines at her. Not after he’d so strongly signaled his complete disinterest in her earlier. His features might be easy to see, but they were not easy to read. His face was completely devoid of hints as to what he’d meant by that comment. Expressionlessness aside, the innuendo behind that comment had not been her imagination. There was definitely something going on between the two of them. A spark. Or at least friction. But what kind of friction, she had no clue.

Gray hefted the rucksack and started off through the woods. He swore quietly as a tree branch snagged his shirt.

“How ’bout you let the lady who can see in the dark go first, Sparky? You just show me which direction we need to head, and I’ll take point.”

He frowned but said nothing.

“What? You don’t like the idea of the girl going first?”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Keep in mind I’ll be able to see the bad guys
way
before they can see me.”

“I still haven’t had my demonstration of how well you can see.”

She glanced around in the trees, seeing every stick, every leaf. “Follow me.” She led him unerringly around the trees, calling out logs and low spots quietly over her shoulder. They topped the ridge that rose behind Zimmer’s house in a few minutes. She paused at the edge of a clearing and looked out over the town.

“Want me to start reading license plates in the driveways down there?” she murmured. “You can write them down and check them when we head back through Spruce Hollow.”

“What do you see over toward Luke’s place?”

She looked where he pointed and made out a darkened cabin through the trees. “No movement through the windows. Dirty dishes in the sink, though. I see muddy footprints on the porch, leading to the door and away from it.”

Gray stared at her. “You see footprints?”

“Shall we move in close so the blind, normal guy can verify it?”

“No. I’ll take your word for it.”

She studied the cabin for a moment. “If we move off to our right a bit, I ought to be able to see if anyone’s in bed. The curtains are open in the bedroom.”

“By all means,” Gray muttered. “All I see is a dark blob where the cabin is.”

She moved off confidently through the trees. It took her a minute to find a vantage point through the forest to see the cabin again, but she spotted it and reported, “No one’s in bed. Looks like Luke’s not home.”

Gray murmured, “He’s got a big dog. Any sign of him?”

“Nope. There’s no movement at all, and I can’t imagine any dog leaving the food on the kitchen table undisturbed like that. Luke took Fido with him. Want to move in closer?”

“Sure.”

“Too bad we can’t plant a few bugs while we’re inside.”

“I didn’t say we’d go inside!” he exclaimed under his breath.

“What’s the point of getting close if we don’t?” she retorted. “And I saw that eye roll, mister.” She grinned at the startled chagrin that crossed his features. It was good to be able to see in the dark.

She led the way down the hill to the cabin, approaching it using tree cover all the way. Gray touched her arm as they drew near and whispered, “We should check the garage. Make sure his truck’s gone.”

“I see recent tracks in the dirt. It’s gone.”

“Ohh-kay, then.”

“C’mon. The rain barrel on the porch has been moved recently—the ring of dust at its base is disturbed. I bet that’s where the spare key is hidden.” Sure enough, she was right. In short order, she let them into the cabin while Gray muttered his misgivings under his breath. She paused in the doorway and scanned the room.

“What are you doing?” Gray asked. “We know he’s not home.”

“Checking for booby traps, Mr. Impatient.”

Gray subsided behind her.

“All clear.”

He pulled out a flashlight and she slammed her hand over it fast before he could flip it on. “No lights. My eyes are fully dilated right now and you’d injure my retinas. You’ll have to make do in the dark as best you can. Downside of hanging out with me.”

He nodded his understanding and stowed the light. “What do you see, then?”

She frowned. “Actually, I see what could be signs of a struggle. That chair’s at an odd angle from the table. The hand towel lying on the floor was probably pulled off the stove handle and wasn’t hung back up. Fork’s lying halfway across the table from the unfinished plate of food.”

“Those footprints on the back porch. Could those be an intruder coming and going?” Gray asked grimly.

“Find me a pair of Luke’s shoes and I’ll compare the size to the prints on the porch.”

“Good idea.” He left and was back in a minute with a ratty pair of combat boots.

They opened the back door and she stared down at the gray floorboards. “The prints are substantially larger than these boots,” she announced. “Luke had a visitor recently.” She headed down the porch steps to examine the marks more closely. “Oh, wow.”

“What?” Gray was instantly at her back, the heat of his big body close enough for her to feel.

“Drag marks. Two thick, parallel lines. Something heavy was pulled out of there.”

“Like a body dragging its heels?”

“Yup.”

He had a pistol in hand and jumped in front of her so fast she barely saw him move. “Cover your eyes, Sammie Jo. I’m turning on my flashlight.”

She slapped a hand over her face.

“Okay. The light’s off. I need you to come over here,” he announced.

He was crouching a few yards away from her. She joined him and immediately saw what he was looking at. “Do you think that’s blood?” she asked in a hushed voice.

He touched a dark, wet cluster of dead leaves and smelled his fingertips. “It’s blood, all right. Can you pick up anything from here? A trail?”

She walked around slowly, staring at the ground. “There are too many disturbed leaves and sticks. But I’m not seeing any more blood. Maybe someone bled here and then was carried away from this spot?”

“Could be,” he allowed.

She walked in ever wider circles, seeking some clue as to what had happened here. “I only see a few drops of blood near that first bit you found. I’d say someone was punched there. Maybe knocked out. I can’t discern a spatter pattern, and there’s not enough blood for a knife wound or gunshot.”

“Makes sense.” Gray went back into the house to conduct a more thorough search while she continued looking around outside. They’d been at it for maybe ten minutes when she heard something in the woods. And it sounded like it was headed this way.

“Gray,” she called out low. “Bring that gun of yours out here.”

He was by her side in an instant, shoving her behind him. She peered over his shoulder impatiently. She spotted the movement and let out a relieved breath. “It’s a dog.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“That’s why I’m here, Smarty Pants.”

A big yellow Labrador retriever bounded out of the brush a few moments later.

“That’s Luke’s dog,” Gray said. “Take cover. Zimmer may be close behind.” He took her arm, but she stood her ground, staring in horror at the dog.

“Uhh, I don’t think so,” she said thickly. She turned away, retching.

Gray flashed his light at the dog and swore, confirming what she’d seen. The dog’s muzzle and front legs were matted with blood, and he was carrying what looked like a severed human hand in his mouth.

“Here, boy.” He whistled to the dog, who bounced over to them eagerly. Gray grabbed the dog’s collar. “Can you get me a piece of rope or something to leash him?”

She stumbled back to the house and came back with an electric extension cord. Gray had disengaged the hand from the animal’s mouth. It looked badly mauled, and it looked male. “Luke’s?” she choked out.

He shrugged. “Let’s see if we can get Fido to lead us back to the rest of this guy.” He showed the dog the hand and said urgently, “Go get him, boy.”

The dog took off, straining against the makeshift leash. They raced along behind the dog who took off like an arrow through the woods.

The spruce forest had little undergrowth apart from dead, needleless branches that tried to scratch the heck out of her as she barged through them. Were it not for her excellent vision, they’d have succeeded.

The dog whined and Sam strained to see ahead. “There. I see something,” she panted to Gray.

He dragged the dog to a walk, and they approached cautiously.

“No movement,” she reported quietly. She eased forward, taking the lead whether Gray liked it or not. Her vision was simply so much better than his that she had to go first. There. Something roughly human in size and shape lay on a limestone outcrop. She slowed abruptly and Gray slammed into her nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Ooomph,” she grunted as his arms went around her to steady her. Oh, boy. He was as strong as she’d imagined.

“Sorry,” he muttered in her ear.

“About a hundred yards ahead,” she breathed.

“What direction?”

Usually, when she went out in the field, the men she was with had night-vision equipment. She’d forgotten he was as blind as a kitten out here. She stepped around behind him, turned his shoulders slightly to the left and gave him a little push.

He walked forward cautiously, his arms out in front of him. He looked like a zombie, and an urge to laugh might have claimed her if she wasn’t scared to death of whatever was ahead.

They walked for maybe a minute, and then Gray made a sound in his throat. “It’s a body. Looks like animals have been at it. You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”

But that was kind of the whole point of her being out here, wasn’t it? She took a deep breath and stepped out from behind him.

Chapter 3

G
ray stared in dismay at what had once been a human being but was now an eviscerated mess. Fido whined eagerly, obviously sensing a tasty snack. He tied the dog’s makeshift leash to a tree and approached the gory remains cautiously. The guy’s face was intact enough for him to murmur, “That’s Zimmer.”

It could not be good for their investigation that Jeff’s undercover cult infiltrator was lying in pieces on the ground. What in the
hell
was going on around here? What had poor Luke stumbled into the middle of? What were he and Sam in the middle of?

“Uhh, Gray,” Sammie Jo replied, “you might want to take a closer look at the body with a light. I’ll cover my eyes for a second.”

Her tone of voice warned him that he wasn’t going to like what he saw. He flashed the light down at Luke’s head, which was just about the only intact part of him, and reeled back, shocked. The guy’s bloody mouth was frozen in a silent scream of terror and agony.

“His wounds don’t look like the tearing a snacking predator might cause.” Sam swallowed thickly and continued, “The edges are clean. Smooth.”

“Like a knife cut?” he asked, startled.

“Exactly.”

“I need to photograph this. If you need to move away while I use the camera flash, feel free.”

She stumbled away in the dark while he got to work snapping pictures from every angle. His hands shook as he wielded the camera. This grisly scene was all too much like another one, years ago—

Violently, he forced the memory from his mind. This was work. He’d seen plenty of blood and guts before. He could do this, dammit. Besides, how would he explain himself to Sammie Jo if he freaked out and ran screaming?

Clenching his jaw with all his strength, he lifted a flap of skin to examine it. Sammie Jo was right. A blade—a sharp one—had made that cut. Luke had been sliced open from rib to rib and hip to hip, then the two horizontal cuts joined with a vertical slash. He’d been laid open like a book. A methodical killer, then. Possible torture. Not a fight or self-defense.

It looked like a lot of the poor guy’s intestines and other organs were missing. Unless Fido or some other critter had eaten them, it would mean Zimmer had been gutted elsewhere. As Gray photographed the ground around the corpse, nowhere near enough blood was present to go along with the crime. Definitely killed elsewhere and dumped here.

The violence of the murder staggered him. Who felt such rage toward Luke Zimmer? Or worse, who would send such a vicious message to others with this killing? Who could the target of such a message be? Zimmer’s boss, maybe? Gray’s alarm ratcheted up another notch. What in the
hell
had he and Sammie Jo walked into?
Who
was Proctor?

He continued snapping pictures grimly. There were rope burns around Luke’s wrists. He’d fought for his life against those ropes, for the skin was raw and bloody. Gray reached down gingerly to test the rigidity of the corpse’s clawed hand and arm, and it gave way slightly under pressure.

It took about three hours for rigor mortis to set in and about three days for it to wear off. Luke didn’t stink enough to have been dead for three days, which meant his murder—for what else could this be—had been recent, within four or five hours, probably. And that meant he must have been killed relatively near here, too.

He heard movement nearby and whipped out his pistol.

Sammie Jo’s voice floated out of the dark. “It’s just me. But keep that out.”

It was eerie how she could see in this gloom. And why did she want him to keep his weapon drawn? He searched the woods urgently, but saw only darkness and more darkness. She materialized out of nowhere, and even though he knew she was there, she still startled him.

“I’ve got a blood trail,” she murmured. “Is it possible he wasn’t killed here?”

“It’s probable. Lead on.”

“Should we call the police and let them do the tracking?”

“Not until we have a chance to gather data for ourselves,” he replied. “Once they get involved, we’ll be shut out of the investigation.”

She moved off confidently at an oblique angle to the ridgeline. They’d been walking for several minutes when she asked, “Why on earth would the killer kill someone in an isolated spot and then move the body to another isolated spot to dump it? Why not just leave it where he killed the guy?”

“That’s an excellent question. Maybe the end of this blood trail will tell us.”

No sooner had he said those words than she came to an abrupt halt. His night vision was adapted enough by now for him to stop before he plowed into her, but he didn’t see what she was peering at.

“Road ahead,” she breathed.

“I’ll go first,” he bit out. He moved past her and crept forward slowly. Sure enough, a dirt road materialized, although he had to walk a lot farther to find it than he’d expected. He eased up to its margin and checked both directions. Deserted. “Do you see tire tracks?” he asked her.

“Pass me your camera. The tires look new,” she commented as she pointed the camera, closed her eyes, and snapped a few pictures.

“See anything else?” he asked her.

“Looks like a vehicle parked here. There’s a big cluster of footprints like someone pulled something bulky out of the vehicle here. Then the tracks lead into the woods. I think I see the return set of prints, but they’re hard to distinguish.”

“Amazing.”

“Do you recognize this road?” she asked.

“No, and I’ve studied the maps of the area exhaustively.”

“Google Earth will show it—” she broke off, swearing colorfully. “The guys at Winston Ops will have to mail us a hard copy, won’t they?”

He chuckled at her frustration. He’d banged his head against the technology wall out here a few times, too. “You catch on fast, grasshopper.”

“I’ve seen all I can, here. Now what?”

“Now we hike back to the Bronco, drive to town and call the police,” he answered. The cops were no doubt going to want a statement from them. “We need to come up with a reason for visiting Luke’s place that’ll hold up to a police investigation.”

Sammie answered gaily, “Well, obviously I went to college with him and have come to town to visit the NRQZ at his suggestion. You’re too old to pass for his pal, but I’m not.”

“I’m thirty-five,” he retorted indignantly.

“Like I said. Ancient.”

“How old are you?” he challenged.

“Twenty-eight, Grandpa.”

He’d bet she wouldn’t call him that if he made love to her— He broke off the thought, appalled. Where had that come from?

“I guess folks will believe you and I are a couple,” she commented doubtfully.

He made a worried sound back at her. “I dunno. That’s a bit of a stretch. It’s not like you’re really my type.” He didn’t need supervision to see the hurt that flashed across her face. “Just kidding,” he added hastily.

Huh. Who’d have thought swaggering, leather-clad Sammie Jo had a vulnerable underbelly? Intrigued, he climbed into the Bronco without protesting her opening her own door.

“Okay. So you’re Luke’s friend and I’m your...”

“Fiancé,” she filled in promptly.

The wave of pain that slammed into him was so bad it took his breath away. He’d tried over the years to avoid the pain, to ignore it. But he’d learned the only way to survive it was to go straight into the fire, to experience the hellish agony of it head-on. He took a deep breath and let it wash over him. A person would think that, after five years, it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Granted, the waves didn’t slam into him as often now, nor bury him so deep. But they still hurt just as much.

When the worst of it had passed, he glanced over at his companion. She wanted to pose as his fiancée and not just a girlfriend, huh? Interesting. It suggested a level of intimacy that would take their cover story to a whole different place. He ought to be game to go there. He
ought
to be all for it, in fact. Those curves of hers practically begged to be touched.

Then the larger problem hit him. “How on earth are we going to explain your—” He broke off.

“Reptilian eyes?” she supplied wryly.

“They don’t look reptilian,” he retorted indignantly. “Insectoid, maybe, but not reptilian.”

Thankfully, he’d judged her correctly. She laughed at the remark. “Seriously,” he continued. “We can’t waltz into the police station with your eyes exposed. And at this time of night, they’ll think you’re stoned if you wear sunglasses the whole time.”

That made her giggle. She had a great laugh. “I’ve got it covered, Sparky. I wear brown contact lenses in public.”

“All right, then. You’re not an alien, and we’re getting married. Have we set a date?”

“I doubt the police will ask, but no. We’re trying to figure out where to live first,” she answered thoughtfully. “Are we considering moving to the NRQZ?”

He liked that idea. It would give them an excuse to poke around the local area openly. “Can you pull off a back-to-nature hippie persona?” he asked her.

“I can be anything you want me to be, big guy,” she answered flippantly.

For some reason, the comment set his teeth on edge. “How about you just be yourself with me? I don’t need or want pretense from my women.”

She looked shocked and fell silent as he guided the car to the Spruce Hollow gas station and its no-kidding, working pay phone. He mentally kicked himself for making that “my women” comment. No sense in leading the poor girl on.

He dialed the number of the police placarded on the side of the pay phone and reported Luke’s death. He was not surprised when he was ordered to stay right where he was and wait for a deputy to come meet them.

The remainder of the night went predictably. He and Sammie Jo described arriving at the cabin to find their “friend” gone and his dog bloody. They gave detailed instructions to the sheriff as to where to find Luke’s body. They followed a deputy back to the sheriff’s office in the Bronco and were ordered to come inside and make statements.

Fido had arrived at the police station to be held as evidence until a forensic pathologist from Charleston could come down and collect the dog to examine. He could be seen jumping around inside playing with a deputy, already on his way to being spoiled rotten. As Gray stared at the well-lit building, he glanced over at Sammie Jo in concern. She was in the middle of putting contact lenses in her eyes. “Are you going to be okay in there? It’s pretty bright.”

“Artificial light isn’t as bad as sunlight. I’ll survive. Gemma had these contacts specially made for me. They act like miniature sunglasses. I just can’t wear them for more than a few hours at a time.”

When they stepped inside, he rather missed the odd, but uniquely Sammie Jo, gold color of her eyes. In spite of the lenses, she squinted heavily and looked like she was in pain as they were seated at desks, pads of paper and pens shoved in front of them, and told to write down their statements.

He had a hard time concentrating on his because a deputy spent the whole damned time hitting on Sammie Jo. She rebuffed him steadily, but the guy just wouldn’t catch a clue. By the time Gray laid down his pen, his fist ached to punch something.

When Sammie Jo finished her statement, Gray stood up immediately and moved to her side. “C’mon, sweetheart. It’s been a long night. Let’s get back to our place and get some sleep.” Glaring at the deputy, he placed a possessive arm across her shoulder and pulled her to his side.

She was tall enough that her curves fit against him nicely. Her body was lithe and vibrant against his, softer than he’d expected, and a surge of possessiveness flashed through him. Stunned, he walked her to the Bronco and deposited her in the passenger seat in silence.

As he climbed in and started the car, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Dim-witted bastard,” he muttered. “Couldn’t he see you were with me?”

As she popped out the lenses and stored them in their little plastic case, she commented, “Why, Grayson Pierce. Are you jealous of Barney?”

“Who?”

“Barney Fife. From
The Andy Griffith Show.
”

“Not familiar with it.”

“Good grief, man. You’ve lived a freakishly sheltered life! We must rectify this flaw in your upbringing!”

He doubted his grandmother would agree that his upbringing was flawed. At least not until his American mother divorced his British father and hauled herself and her son back to the States to live. He’d gone straight into high school and hadn’t had time or inclination for American television. He’d had enough trouble making the transition to this culture without trying to master that aspect of it.

“Did you get any good pictures of the body?” she asked.

“You tell me. You’re the one with supersight.” He passed her the digital camera and she peered at the pictures closely.

“God almighty, this is nasty,” she muttered. “Somebody really had it in for this guy. I’d love to blow these up on a high-definition computer monitor and have a look at them.”

“At a glance, the wounds strike me as too surgical to have been inflicted in uncontrolled rage. I think the killer wanted to send someone a message.”

She looked up at him sharply. “It would be a heck of message. Who would the killer send it to?”

“That’s what we have to find out.”

“Hey, I’m a desk jockey. I don’t do the whole dangerous, chase-after-psychopathic-murderers thing.”

He glanced over at her in surprise. “With your eyesight? I’d think Winston Enterprises would put you out in the field nonstop.”

“Doc Jones has been keeping me close to home for testing, and that’s fine with me. I’m a big ole chicken when it comes to scary stuff.”

Somehow he doubted that. She’d been fearless trekking through the woods earlier. He commented dryly, “Welcome to the big leagues, kid.”

“And what league is that, exactly? You’re a spy, right? Who for? Please tell me you have tons of field experience and aren’t in over your head here.”

“Sorry. I can neither confirm nor—”

“Oh, stop,” she interrupted. “If we’re going to be working together, you might as well tell me. Besides, if my life’s in danger, I have a right to know who I’m depending on to keep me alive.”