Deep Freeze (32 page)

Stupid woman! With all the worry that’s going on around here, the last thing, the very last thing, you need is an entanglement with a man—especially Carter. Don’t even think about him like that!

Letting out her breath, angry with herself and her silly fantasies, she glanced in the rearview mirror. As promised, Carter was following her, but beyond the reassuring glow of the Blazer’s headlights, her gaze skated to the theater disappearing rapidly from view.

She felt another chill. Cold as midnight. Something in the ancient church wasn’t right. The lonely building, with its opaque stained-glass windows and sharp-peaked, desolate belltower, stood stark against the frigid night and seemed sinister in the snowfall.
That’s ludicrous. It’s all your perception, your imagination. The building has nothing to hide, no heinous secrets. It was a church, for God’s sake, a joyous place for worshippers to gather and give praise.

So why did she feel like Satan himself resided there tonight?

“Because you’re a drama queen, maybe, or an over-the-top paranoid,” she muttered. There was nothing wrong with the building housing the theater.
Nothing!
“You’ve seen one too many horror flicks.” She was just letting her own fears get the better of her, that was it. Right? Even if there was some horror hidden within the old clapboard walls, it had stayed secreted away for the night and Sheriff
Shane
Carter, an extraordinary hunk of a lawman, had come to her supposed rescue. Even now he was driving behind her through the snow. Things could be worse. Lots worse.

With one eye on the road ahead, she snapped open her cell phone and tried to call the house. It took several attempts, as the phone seemed to have suffered some damage when it had dropped to the floor in Rinda’s office. Finally, it connected.

Allie answered quickly. “Hello?” Her voice was barely audible over the static.

No reason to beat around the bush. “Hi, hon. Hey, look, I’m sorry, honey, the backpack’s not in the car and it’s not at the theater. I checked.”

“But it has to be!”

“Maybe you left it at school,” Jenna suggested, straining to listen.

“Uh-uh.”

“Or it’s in Jake’s truck or your room or—”

“Mom!” Allie cut in angrily, her voice wavering. “I
know
where it was. In the back of the Jeep!” She sounded near the verge of tears, but it was hard to tell with the blips in the conversation.

“Listen, don’t worry about it. Call someone in the class, see if they can give you the questions over the phone, or…if they have a fax machine, they can send a copy over.”

“Not if they’ve already done their homework! And I need the book!”

“We’ll talk about this when I get home. If I have to, I’ll call Mrs. Hopfinger in the morning.”

“I can’t hear you.”

Jenna repeated herself, nearly shouting, and Allie tried to argue.

Jenna’s frayed nerves snapped. “Hey, slow down, Allie. I’ve done the best I can do. You can pout and get mad and whatever else you want to do, but it won’t help, now, will it?”

There was a long, brutal silence. Jenna waited it out. Wondered if she’d lost her connection. Finally, just as she was about to hang up, Allie muttered almost inaudibly, “Jake wants to talk to you.”

“Good.” Jenna forced enthusiasm into her voice as she stopped for a streetlight. “Put him on.”

A second later, the bodyguard was on the line.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Aside from the backpack being AWOL, and my cell phone trying to give up the ghost, yeah, things are fine,” she said, glancing in the mirror again. Carter’s rig was still following her. “Can you hear me?”

“Barely.”

“Well, the cavalry came to the rescue. Thanks.”

“Just doing my job,” he said, his voice breaking up.

“And I appreciate it. Really. I’ll be home in twenty minutes.”

The connection failed before he could respond. “And a fine piece of crap you are,” she said to the phone as she flung it into the seat next to her and drove, with Carter on her tail, out of town.

He watched her go.

Closeted in the darkened spire, hiding in the shadows, he trained his night-vision glasses on her and silently observed Jenna Hughes as she drove off in her Jeep.

With the damned sheriff on her bumper.

He hadn’t counted on the police showing up.

Nor had he expected Jenna,
his Jenna,
to press her face into the cop’s, and kiss the bastard on his goddamned cheek. Rage surged through his blood and a tic developed under his eye. She shouldn’t be kissing anyone, or talking to anyone, or laughing with anyone.

No one but him!

The police should never have come. Never!

Next time, think things through more carefully.

Still, despite the lawman, he could have taken Jenna tonight. If he’d wanted to. If it had been her time.

It would have been so easy.

But rushed.

Not part of the plan.

Precision. That was the key. Precision.

Tonight he’d nearly been discovered.

Because he’d been too eager.

Again he berated himself and he closed his eyes for a second let the cold breeze blow across his face, chill the anger in his blood. Tiny crystals of ice caressed his face and he imagined Jenna’s chilled lips kissing him. Oh, such sweet, sweet surrender.

But she’d not kissed him. Not tonight. No, she’d stood on her tiptoes and swept her chilled lips over the bastard’s face.

His muscles tensed in fury.

The sheriff’s arrival had caught him off guard. He’d barely finished his mission and had lingered to look through the bags of clothes Jenna had donated, searching for a perfect scarf for Zoey Trammel…a green scarf, with threads of gold woven through the coarse fabric—just like the one she always wore and fingered in
A Silent Snow,
a fitting title, one with ironic overtones.

He’d hoped, when he’d heard that she was giving the theater troupe more things, that he would find a few little gems for his collection. Including the scarf. He’d been sadly mistaken. Most of what he’d pawed through was trash. Old clothes her children had outgrown, or things she’d given that weren’t associated with her films. He’d pressed those articles of clothing to his face, hoping to smell her scent, a lingering aroma of her perfume, but had been disappointed. He’d also thought she might have included some panties or bras, but there had been no underclothes, not even a slip or teddy.

Frustration boiled through his blood.

The search had nearly proved fruitless. Until he’d seen the backpack and recognized it for what it was. Bait. An ugly little piece of bait. That thought brought a smile to his face and he opened his eyes. From his high perch, he gazed down at the lights of the little town spread upon the shores of the murky Columbia River, its waters thick and burgeoning with ice floes that were stalling river traffic, panicking the populace. Even the streams that fed the mighty river had frozen solid, the falls tumbling over the surrounding cliffs, becoming plumes of ice.

A perfect time for killing.

A thrill curled down his spine. He recognized this new, fresh snowfall as an omen, a sign that things were nearly in place.

He waited a few more minutes, surveying the parking lot and icy streets, assuring himself that the sheriff hadn’t assigned another patrol to the theater. Finally, assured that he wouldn’t be disturbed, he returned to his work.

Shouldering the kid’s backpack, he started his descent, his steps quick and stealthy as he hurried ever downward. The musty, skeletal interior of the belltower sheltered him from the weather, its rickety, circular stairs groaning softly against his weight.

He didn’t stop until he reached the basement. It was an area he knew well.

He crept past old scenery stacked against a wall, down an aisle where makeup mirrors and lights were now darkened, and around a corner to a nearly forgotten storage area, hidden deep beneath the stage of the floor above.

His pulse pounded in anticipation as he reached the closet he considered his, a small, compact, dark space where he’d hidden behind a rack of folding chairs as a child. From this secret spot he’d heard the minister giving his loud sermons, felt the shuffle of feet overhead, listened to piano music, beautiful, tinkling notes of each hymn’s introduction before the choir or congregation began to sing so loudly he covered his ears.

This was his own private sanctuary, a cold, dim place where he could sequester himself, unknown to anyone.
His
closet. Rarely disturbed.

Now, with his key, he opened the closet door, the musty air filtering out as he shined his penlight over the few boxes, crates, and trunks that had been stored and long forgotten. He flipped through his keys again, and finding the smallest on his ring, he unlocked one of the large trunks, a dusty crate no one seemed to notice.

He pushed.

The rounded top creaked open.

Electricity sang through his blood as his gaze landed on the barely breathing body stuffed inside. Unconscious. Unaware of her fate.

Just as he’d left her.

One small hand was visible, and he stared at her fingers. Not unlike Zoey’s, if he found the right rings to decorate them…He fixated on her ring finger and frowned when he noticed the wedding band and gaudy engagement ring. They would never do. Zoey was a single woman. He’d remove the band immediately, but as he stared at the finger, he imagined what he could do with it. A shiver of adrenaline swept through him, caused a tightening in his crotch.

Oh, yes. The finger was perfect.

“Come on, Zoey,” he whispered gently, dragging the small woman from her cramped confines. “It’s curtain time.”

“…I was hoping that we could have dinner sometime,” Travis was saying as Jenna held the phone between her ear and shoulder. Forcing the corkscrew into a bottle of wine, she tried not to think about Shane Carter. From her rearview mirror, she’d watched Carter follow her home and hoped he’d turn into her driveway, but as the gates to her house had swung open, he’d driven past, his Blazer disappearing into the ever-worsening snowstorm. Disappointed, she’d come into the house, talked a few minutes to Turnquist and the kids, then finally, reluctantly, returned Travis Settler’s phone call. He hadn’t answered, but had called her back within ten minutes.

Dinner with him had suddenly lost a lot of its appeal.

Because of a country sheriff who doesn’t care about you when this man does? This smart, good-looking, single father who has a great sense of humor? And you’re pining for the lonesome lawman? Come on, Jenna, wake up!

She suggested, “Maybe you and Dani could come over once the roads are cleared. I could even cook, though my repertoire is pretty limited.”

“When the roads are cleared?” He laughed and again, because of the connection, she had the sensation that he was driving somewhere in this hideous storm. He hadn’t called her back from his house, but his cell phone. “When will that be? In May?”

“I was thinking more like a barbecue in July,” she joked back, relaxing a little as she stared out the window and worked on extracting the cork. Long icicles hung from the eaves and gusts of wind blew against the house, rattling the windows and sending the barely visible windmill slats spinning crazily. The wine cork popped and she poured herself a long-stemmed glass. “How about the Fourth?”

“I’ll check my calendar.” He paused, then added, “Looks good. You’re on. Remember, we already discussed hot beaches and drinks.”

She’d forgotten about the conversation. “That’s right.”

“So what about sometime sooner? Seriously, Jenna, I’d really like to see you. Without the girls. I was hoping that Cassie would babysit and you and I could go in to Portland. There’s a restaurant in the Hotel Danvers that’s supposed to be excellent.”

He sounded closer now, but that was probably a trick of the weather. She tasted her wine, then asked, “Where are you?”

Was there just a beat of hesitation?

“In my truck, trying to get home.”

“Is Dani with you?”

“With a sitter,” he said.

“At home?”

“I’m picking her up on the way home. Why?”

So that explained why no one had answered when she called his house. He must’ve picked up his messages from the road. Nothing sinister about that. Dear God, was she suspicious of everyone now, even Travis? “I just wondered how the roads are,” she lied, as she’d been driving home from the theater less than an hour earlier.

“Miserable.”

Sipping her chardonnay, she squinted through the swirling snow and saw taillights barely visible on the road. The hairs on the back of her arms lifted. Was it possible that he was passing by and not mentioning it?

“Are you anywhere near my place?”

“No. Why? Is anything wrong?”

Everything,
she thought, as she watched the taillights disappear.
Everything’s wrong.
“Nothing but the weather,” she lied again.

“Let’s make a date when the storm lets up,” he suggested. “I’ll call.”

“Do that. You know, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

Jenna steeled herself. “Allie has it in her mind that you were in some kind of elite military group, some kind of special forces.”

“Does she?”

“Is it true?”

“Yeah, but not something I like to talk about,” he said.

“She also mentioned that you’re a private investigator.”

“Hell.” He let out a long breath. “Dani talks too much. Brags. It’s true. I do some insurance fraud or help attorneys find deadbeat dads or people who skip on their bills. That kind of thing. It’s not nearly as glamorous as television would like you to think.”

“And here I thought you were a rancher.”

“I am. But I supplement.”

“Do you carry a gun?” she asked.

“Only when I think I’ll need one, but yeah, I have a permit. Jenna, what’s with all the questions?”

“I was just curious,” she said, wondering why she couldn’t confide in him, why she suddenly didn’t trust him, why avoiding the truth seemed so important.

“Listen, I’ll tell you all about myself over dinner, but I’m afraid I’m not nearly as exciting or mysterious as my daughter would like people to think. Hey, I’m at the sitter’s, so I’d better go.”

“Tell Dani ‘hi,’ and don’t be too hard on her for bragging you up, okay?”

“Never,” he promised, his voice softening slightly at the mention of his daughter. “She’s the president of my fan club. Probably the only member. I’ll call later.”

He hung up and Jenna was left feeling ambivalent. Was he the caring father she’d thought he was, or someone she didn’t really know, a man with a fiercely guarded secret life?

Oh, get over yourself, Jenna. You’re jumping at every shadow that crosses your path. Travis Settler is a good guy. You
know
that. Trust your feminine instincts, for God’s sake, and quit longing for Shane Carter. Now
there’s
a man with problems!

She walked closer to the window. Through the blizzard, she saw a movement near the stable, a dark figure moving silently. Her heart jolted before she realized the man was Turnquist, walking the perimeter of the grounds. Just as he did each night. He varied the times he checked the fence line, sometimes taking Critter with him, sometimes wearing night goggles. He secured the stable, sheds, and barn, double-checking locks, doors, and windows, and rarely seemed to sleep. Yet Jenna didn’t feel completely safe and wondered if she ever would. She corked the wine bottle and put it in the refrigerator before carrying her near-finished glass upstairs. She heard water running and a radio blaring over the rush of water in the bathroom as Cassie showered. Allie, the dog at her feet, was curled on her bed and watching television. Critter heard Jenna in the doorway and lifted his head, his tail bouncing off the quilt in soft thuds.

“Everything okay?” Jenna asked, walking into the room.

Allie shrugged. “I guess.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find your backpack, but it just wasn’t there.” Allie didn’t respond. “Look, the bad news is that the storm is getting worse.”

“I hate good news/bad news jokes,” Allie grumbled.

Jenna pressed on. “The good news is that school will probably be cancelled and you won’t have to turn in your homework anyway. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” She winked at her daughter. “How ’bout that?”

Allie managed a little grin and held up crossed fingers. “That would be waaay good.”

“I thought so. Good night, honey.”

“Night, Mom.”

Jenna paused again at the bathroom door, where the shower and radio were still audible, then decided not to interrupt Cassie and slipped down the half-flight of stairs to her bedroom.
The room where he’d been.
She felt the same sick, crawly sensation she always did when she considered the creep walking through her house, touching her things, opening her drawer. Her eyes were drawn to the bedside table and she wondered…no, it wouldn’t be possible…but her heart thudded in dread at an inner vision of her stalker having left another missive in her room.

That’s crazy. You
know
better
.

Swallowing back her fear, she finished her wine in one gulp, walked to the nightstand, and slowly opened the drawer. Her breath was tight in her lungs as she peered inside.

Empty.

Thank God! She let out a breath and the lights blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Damn.”

From the upper floor, Cassie squawked and the sound of music and running water stopped simultaneously.

Quick little footsteps pounded down the half-flight. Paws clicked against the hardwood floors. “Mom?” Allie asked, her voice tremulous, opening the door. “My television blinked.”

“I know. Come on in.”

The invitation was too late. Allie was already through the door. Not to be left out, Critter scrambled into the room and flew onto the bed.

Another set of flat, wet footsteps slapped against the floor. “What the hell’s going on?” Cassie, wearing a hastily donned nightgown, her wet hair wrapped turbanlike in a towel, appeared on the landing just outside Jenna’s open bedroom door. Her eyes were smudged with mascara and bits of shampoo clung to her forehead and cheeks.

“I’m afraid we might lose our electricity.”

“Oh, great. You’ve
got
to be kidding!” Cassie was angry, her arms crossed over her chest, the towel starting to list to one side. “Living up here is a nightmare, Mom.
Beyond
a nightmare.”

“So you’ve said.” The lights flickered again, Cassie swore under her breath, and Jenna’s tight nerves began to unravel. She forced a smile. “Everyone calm down.” For once she didn’t take Cassie to task on her foul language. They had bigger problems. “Okay, we’ve got the fire going and we all have warm pajamas, down quilts, flashlights, and candles. Jake is outside, so we’re fine.”

“You call this fine?” Cassie asked, righting her turban.

“Think of it as an adventure.”

“Yeah, right,” Cassie mocked, but left the room. “Oh, Mom, you are sooo pathetic. An
adventure!”

“Watch it, Cass,” Jenna warned her retreating daughter’s backside. “I’m in no mood for this.”

Cassie closed the door to her room.

Give me strength
, Jenna thought.

“She’s a pain!” Allie observed.

Amen.
“Sometimes.”

“
Most
of the time.” Allie threw herself onto her mother’s bed and the dog curled into a ball beside her. “I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

“Good idea.” Jenna decided not to run after Cassie. Let her cool off. They were all upset. She sat on the corner of the bed. “Why don’t we watch a movie together?”

“’Cause there’s no school tomorrow?”

“We think.”

Again, Allie flashed both hands, showing that all her fingers were crossed for good luck, her thumbs crossed as well, her fears about the blinking lights allayed for the time being.

“Not a scary one, okay?”

“I think we can find a comedy.” Using the remote, Jenna turned on the television, lit a couple of candles, and found extra pillows for their backs. She couldn’t admit it to the kids, but she, too, was jittery as all get-out about the potential loss of power. The last thing they needed was to be trapped in a house without any lights or heat.

And someone out there…

Knowing. Watching. Waiting.

She walked to the windows and snapped all of the blinds shut. As she did, she caught a glimpse of Jake Turnquist trudging past the stable, his boots breaking a new path in the piling snow, white powder visible on his dark jacket and hat.

A lonely sentry on a cold winter night.

Jenna shivered and crossed her own fingers, silently praying that the bodyguard was enough protection from whatever evil was watching her.

I will come for you.

Like hell
, she thought, and remembered the shotgun lying ready beneath the bed.

Carter mentally kicked himself all the way home.

What the hell had he been thinking at the parking lot of the theater?

When women were being abducted in his county and a murder was yet unsolved, he was hitting on Jenna Hughes? Thinking horny high-school-kid thoughts of a Hollywood princess? Jesus H. Christ! What kind of idiot was he?

Well, actually, she had been hitting on him, he reminded himself. He’d caught a glint of desire in her eyes, felt more than a hint of arousal as she’d swept her cool lips against his face. But had she really been interested? Or had her little display been just a performance by a convincing actress?

“Damn,” he muttered, craving a cigarette.

Squinting as his wipers tried to keep up with a fresh onslaught of snow, he nosed his rig along the winding road that passed his property. “Put it out of your mind,” he told himself. He’d done his duty. She was safe. Nothing had happened. So she’d kissed him out of gratitude. So what?

He passed Roxie Olmstead’s accident site and wondered about the missing woman. From the notes on her laptop computer and information gleaned from her co-workers, the police had decided that she’d been on her way to Carter’s house to try and pry information out of him, information regarding the mystery of Sonja Hatchell’s disappearance. Had someone found out about her quest and tried to thwart Roxie’s attempts at a story, or had she been the next victim? Was she stalked purposely. Or selected at random?

How organized was this guy?

Did he plan his abductions in advance, search out his victims, or just run across a woman who appealed to him and then get lucky? He couldn’t wait to see what the FBI’s profiler thought.

Cranking on the steering wheel, he felt the tires spin a little before finding purchase. The Blazer whined as it plowed through the drifts covering his drive.

Though the OSP and FBI weren’t completely convinced that the two missing women were connected, Carter trusted his gut. Both he and BJ considered those cases, Mavis Gette and Jenna Hughes, somehow linked. Carter just hadn’t figured out how they were associated yet, though that elusive link teased at the edges of his brain. He felt that same frustration he always did on a hard case, that teasing niggle that he was missing something—something important enough that it could break the case wide open.

So what was it?

Through the curtain of snow his headlights flashed on the rustic siding of his cabin, a home that was comparable in size to Jenna Hughes’s garage. The Blazer rolled to a stop and he cut the engine. The differences between Jenna Hughes and himself were so vast, it was ridiculous that he even entertained fantasies about her. He was, he’d always told himself, a realist.