Deep Freeze (15 page)

“Yeah, I know. Okay, I’ve gone out to dinner twice with Harrison Brennan—he’s my neighbor and does some odd jobs around the place. I’ve had coffee with Travis Settler, the father of one of my daughter’s friends, a couple of times. Believe me, it’s all pretty tame. Nothing X-rated.”

He ignored the jab. “Why haven’t you dated more?” he asked, and looked at her hard again. He had assumed that men would be all over her, but she didn’t seem to be bullshitting him.

“I guess I’m too busy, and I intimidate a lot of men, I think.”

“Because of your fame?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, so tell me who
you
think would send you the letter?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t have a lot of time, Ms. Hughes. Why don’t you give me your best guess.”

“I wish I could,” she snapped, unable to come up with anyone she thought might want to torment her. Then she gave him the names of the people she’d met since moving up here, most of whom Carter knew personally, none of whom he considered a nutcase who would send an obsessive letter like the one she’d received.

But then, no one knew what a person did privately.

He glanced down at the letter she’d found in her mailbox again. So meticulous, the text painstakingly placed so that the words didn’t mar her face nor detract from the sensual atmosphere of the photograph.

“
Resurrection
was the movie where you played a killer, right?”

Little lines framed her mouth. “A psychotic murderess.”

“Who was into sadomasochism.”

“Mainly sadism,” she corrected. “Anne Parks inflicted pain on her lovers, not herself.”

He remembered the film. Had seen it in the theater with Carolyn. Remembered talking during the long drive home about the level of eroticism versus violence in the thriller. “Doesn’t it seem odd that of all the publicity shots of you, he chose this one?” he said, and felt a real sense of foreboding. Gone were any of his thoughts that Jenna Hughes was just a Hollywood princess who was missing a few baubles she’d donated to the local theater.

“I don’t think it was random,” she admitted, and licked her lips nervously. “And that’s what’s scary.”

“But the music you heard was from another movie?”

“
White Out
. The song was a hit. The movie never came out.” She cleared her throat, then explained quickly about the accident that had closed production of the film. He remembered reading about the avalanche and tragedy. Looking at her now, he saw the pain in her eyes, noticed the slight droop of her shoulders and he realized she’d never gotten over the loss of her sister who had been killed during the filming. There had been a freak accident; explosives that were to be used in a later scene had inexplicably gone off, creating a killer avalanche. Jenna’s sister had been in the path of hundreds of tons of wildly rolling, roaring snow and ice. She’d never had a chance. Jenna, he guessed, somehow blamed herself for not being able to save her younger sister’s life.

He asked a few more questions, and they were just wrapping up the conversation when BJ knocked on the door. “When you’ve got a minute,” she said, poking her head into the room. Her usual smile was nonexistent.

“We’re about done here.”

Jenna stood. “Look, I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“I’ll keep this, run it down to the lab,” he said, motioning to the plastic bag. “In the meantime, be vigilant. Lock your house and cars.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll get back to you. Let me know if you hear anything else, get any more disturbing mail or calls, or if you think of anything that might help.”

“I will.”

“You have a security system?”

“Yes.”

“Use it. You might consider a guard dog.”

“I have a dog.”

He remembered seeing the ancient mutt in the old truck and at the theater. For a second he considered telling her to upgrade to a younger, tougher animal that might at least be able to hear, but decided to hold his tongue. “Good.”

He stood and shoved his hands in his back pockets. “Look, you take extra precautions, okay? For you and your kids. I’ll make sure that the road near your house is on the nightly surveillance for the county, but I have to tell you, my men are working overtime already. It’s up to you to be on guard and stay safe. You might consider hiring a bodyguard and getting a more…aggressive dog.” He didn’t so much as crack a smile as he held up the plastic bag. “I’ll have the lab check this out, see if we can get prints or other trace evidence or find out what kind of paper, ink, and printer we’re dealing with.”

“Thanks.”

She seemed sincere. Maybe he’d misjudged her by immediately tossing her into his mental bin of preconceived stereotypes that all Hollywood actresses were egomaniacs. “I’ll let you know what we find out.”

“Great.” She nodded curtly, then hurried out of his office. As he watched her go, he knew he hadn’t seen the last of her. Surprisingly, that wasn’t such a bad realization.

Jenna Hughes was one hell of an intriguing woman.

“Trouble?” BJ asked, watching Jenna walk briskly through the desks toward the front door of the sheriff’s office.

“Always.” Carter, too, was eyeing Falls Crossing’s most famous citizen’s backside. Even hidden beneath fleece-lined layers, her ass was definitely tight and oh, so female. He drew his eyes away, but figured BJ had seen his silent appraisal. “So, what’s up?”

“Charley Perry. Apparently he likes being a celebrity. Station KBST has been offering up sound bites all morning about their ‘exclusive interview’ with him.”

“Give me a break,” Carter grumbled. “I thought I told him to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s like telling a grizzly to be gentle when you’re offering him a piece of steak.”

“I suppose. Any news from missing persons about Jane Doe?”

“No matches yet.”

Great
, Carter thought, and found the remote to the small television that was balanced atop a filing cabinet.
Just…great.

“What’s this?” BJ was looking at the plastic envelope on Carter’s desk.

“Looks like Jenna Hughes found herself another fan.”

“You are every woman? You are one woman?
Jesus, who does this guy think he is? Julio Iglesias?” She was studying the envelope.

“That’s Enrique—you’re dating yourself.” He glanced at the note again and it bothered him. More than he wanted to admit. He considered her beautiful face. “Whoever sent it thinks he owns her.”

“She have any idea who would do this?”

“Nope—but she did come up with the name of a stalker who chased her around a few years back. Vincent Paladin, some creep who hung out in video stores.”

“Does he live around here?”

“Don’t know. Yet.” He tapped the desk and scowled. Was it just coincidence that Jenna Hughes received the note at the same time that a Jane Doe was discovered up at Catwalk Point and Sonja Hatchell came up missing…the incidents seemed unrelated…or were they?

Jane Doe appeared to be the victim of a homicide that had occurred a while back.

Sonja Hatchell was missing. But she could have taken off on her own, or been lost in the storm.

And now Jenna Hughes was being terrorized, if not stalked.

“Hey, what’s going on?” BJ was staring at him. “I see gears grinding in that brain of yours.”

“Just thinking about coincidence. You believe in it?”

“Never.”

“Me neither,” he said, and chewed on the edge of his moustache as he pointed the remote at his TV and clicked it on.

“Uh-oh, here we go.” BJ was already staring at the small television screen and there, in all his glory, was Charley Perry, chatting up a reporter. Charley’s white hair was combed, his beard trimmed, his plaid shirt clean and pressed. “Look at him, all gussied-up and dignified-looking.”

“Idiot.” Disgusted, Carter clicked up the volume and listened as Charley Perry shot off his mouth. “I should have his ass arrested for impeding an investigation.”

“And think of all the negative publicity the sheriff’s department would get then.” BJ winked at him. “Remember, you’re an elected official, sworn and dedicated to upholding the law and—”

“Yeah, I get it.” He watched Charley expound on his theory of what had happened to the unidentified woman, then tell the story of how he and his faithful dog, Tanzy, had found the remains. The screen had switched to the dog in question, a white-and-liver-spotted mutt that seemed to have some springer spaniel in her. Tanzy whimpered and hid behind Charley’s bowed, jean-clad legs, avoiding a treat offered by the reporter. The segment was soon over, and Carter clicked off the set. “That was newsworthy,” he groused.

“Charley’s harmless.”

“And a moron.” Carter’s mood darkened. With no news on the Jane Doe, Sonja Hatchell’s disappearance, Jenna Hughes’s stalker, and Charley Perry mouthing off to the press, the day was going rapidly from bad to worse.

God, it’s cold. So cold…and the music…where are the strains of music coming from?

Teeth chattering painfully, Sonja opened a bleary eye and struggled to stay awake. She’d been in and out of consciousness, she thought, though her mind was thick, her thoughts disjointed. She knew time had passed, though she wasn’t certain if it was in minutes, hours, or days. Her brief seconds of wakefulness had been without clarity. Vaguely she remembered being abducted, but she couldn’t recall her captor—had it really happened? And there was a fragmented image of stripping her, but again, the memory was dreamlike…surreal. Then she remembered that the monster had not only shaved her head but filed her teeth…she tried to feel her incisors with her tongue, but tasted blood and felt only sharp little nubs where once her teeth had been.

Oh, God…it hadn’t been a dream.

So where was she now? Why was she still alive?

She seemed weightless, but freezing…every inch of her skin felt as if it were cloaked in ice. Shadows crawled around her, colors that blurred and had no form or meaning in the vast, dark expanse.

Where am I?

Where the hell am I?

This is wrong. So wrong. And weird as all get out!

She strained to see, but the shifting shadows were without form. Her ears were tuned to every noise, but all she heard were the plaintive notes of a ballad that seemed familiar, a song she should recognize.

Was it her imagination, or did she detect malice lurking in the surrounding murkiness, something or someone evil observing her?

Shivering, she tried to concentrate, to remember…to think. Beyond the cold. Beyond the fear that threatened her.

Come on, Sonja! What the hell is this?

Fragments of memory, jagged shards like serrated icicles, cut through her brain.

Jesus, it’s cold!

She stirred and everything around her shifted. Traces of dim light playing eerily around her naked body—yes, naked, she thought frantically and a new, horrifying dread began to pulse through her brain. Every inch of her skin was exposed and colder than it had ever been in her life. She struggled to breathe, felt as if the liquid in which she was nearly immersed was freezing her body from the outside in.

Don’t panic! Just figure your way out of this.

She had the sensation that she was standing, though she felt no pressure on her nearly numb feet…as if she were suspended. Without wires.

Oh God, this was one weird trip…like LSD gone bad. Think, Sonja, think!

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to clear her mind, hoping that the distorted images would disappear, but when she opened her eyes again, nothing had changed.

With every bit of strength she could muster, she strained to tilt her head and look down at her feet. Her bare feet. Her bare, frozen feet that stood on nothing. Dangling, but not moving. What the hell? Her heart clutched as she tried to focus and looked straight ahead again, to the warped images, the odd play of bits of light. It was as if she were captive in some big tank…a huge glass vat filled with something clear and thick, like water about to freeze, and she did have some kind of straps holding her still, straps connected to a huge lifting device—a mechanical arm, stretched overhead; she just couldn’t feel them, as she was so cold.
What is this? What kind of weird sci-fi crap is this?
Frantic, she tried to look around. The tub of water itself was housed within a darkened building, a vast warehouse with faint light and shadows that wavered eerily. Through the curved glass, she saw women, softly backlit and unmoving, in odd poses, juxtaposed to each other. The mannequins! They were on the stage, but the dentist’s chair and drill had been moved.

How long had she been out? She remembered him adjusting the IV drip, adding something with a hypodermic needle before passing out and then…then she’d woken up here.

There was still music, a haunting melody from some movie, seeping through the cavernous room.

Desperately she tried to move, to propel herself to the side of the tank and try to climb up the sheer glass walls and over the rim.
Move, Sonja. NOW!

She strained. Put every bit of strength into her efforts. Her heart pounded. Her blood pumped. But her arms and legs remained slack. Motionless. Unheeding.

No! Oh, no!

Again she tried. So hard, her filed teeth clenched and she felt as if a blood vessel might pop.

Nothing.

Oh, God.

Help!
She tried to scream, but her voice came out in a squeak. As if already beginning to freeze.

Fear surged through her.

Adrenaline spurted through her near-frozen blood, and yet she didn’t move. Couldn’t so much as wiggle a finger.

Why the hell couldn’t she move or speak?

Why couldn’t she scream?

What happened to her voice?

What the hell is this?

Stay calm
, she told herself, as the music reverberated through her head.

The water seemed even more dense as if it, along with her body, was slowly turning to ice. But that was crazy. Insane.

Suddenly the music halted.

There was silence, which was worse, and then footsteps, quiet but steady…deadly…approached. From behind.

Frantically, she tried to turn, to scream, to plead for help, but it was useless. Her neck wouldn’t budge a fraction of an inch.

“Awake so soon?” The voice was a deep, male whisper. Yet it echoed through the room, bounced through her brain. The same voice she’d heard before.
His
voice.

Let me out of here, you bastard!

“I wondered if you’d come to, Jenna.”

Jenna? I’m not Jenna!
She tried to yell to tell him that he had the wrong woman, that this was all a mistake, but her voice failed her.

“Or should I call you Faye?”

Faye? No! I’m not Faye. I’m not Jenna. I’m no one you want, you idiot!
Frantically she struggled, trying to move, but her brain was fast becoming as sluggish as the rest of her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t feel…she knew instinctively that if she were to let go, to allow herself to slide into the seductive blackness of unconsciousness, she would never reawaken, never breathe again, never see her boys…
Let me go, please, oh, please…don’t do this…it’s a mistake!
But even as her words came to her mind, even as she tried to scream, she felt herself slipping under, giving up her valiant struggle to maintain clarity, realizing that she was soon to embrace death.

She fought hard to stay awake, but her eyelids became heavy, her body numb, and as the man who had been only a disembodied voice stepped around the tub. She saw his face, distorted through the curved glass, the sadistic beast.

“Your time has come, Faye,” he said softly, as if savoring each syllable, and as Sonja’s gaze met his, she recognized the pure evil lurking in his icy, unblinking eyes.