Have You Seen Her? (7 page)

He glanced up at the rafter beams and smiled to himself. He could truly hone his craft in a place like this. He should have thought of this place sooner. To hell with sacrificing his victims under a starry sky. Starry skies clouded and threatened rain. And then didn’t deliver. He scowled. He couldn’t believe he’d aborted his plan on a false alarm. Not a single drop. He glanced down at the form at his feet. He’d stored her in the trunk of his car all night long on a goddamn false alarm.

His scowl darkened and he flexed his fist. Only to go back again this morning and be derailed by a damn dog. He’d always hated dogs. He wished he’d chased the mutt and finished him off, but if he’d left her unattended in the woods, someone would have come. That was just his luck.

He mentally took inventory of what he’d so stupidly left behind. One of his hypos was gone from his toolbox and her panties were gone from the pile of clothes he’d quickly thrown in the trunk. Damn. He’d planned to keep her dainties as a souvenir. But noooo, that fucking dog had to come sniffing, then had to play Lassie. Now there were damn cops all over the place. Luckily he’d worn his gloves. He smirked. And he’d been sure to gather all
that
before exiting stage left. They wouldn’t find anything of a more . . . personal nature he’d left behind.

He scowled again. Damn dog. Spoiled everything. The next time he came across a dog . . . His scowl melted into a smile as he pictured the scene in his mind. Knives and blood and gore. He nodded, satisfied with the picture. He’d take care of the next dog he met in the manner of Bundy or Dahmer. He’d read about their mutilations. First for practice, then for fun. He’d practiced himself. Often. Of course, he didn’t need to practice on animals anymore. He looked down at his feet.

Not when he had the real thing.

He nudged her with his toe, then again when she didn’t respond, harder this time. Her eyelids fluttered, opened. Her eyes widened. Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. He’d taken the tape off—no need for her to wear uncomfortable duct tape over her mouth when they were miles away from everywhere. He smiled down at her.

“Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, would we, Sammie? That just wouldn’t be civilized.” He walked across the barn, each step kicking up a cloud of the sawdust that littered the floor. He crouched in front of his toolbox and surveyed the interior with the air of a sommelier choosing the night’s fine wine. He chose a syringe, a needle—fully sterilized of course—and a vial. He frowned. He was running low on supplies. He’d need to get more soon.

He stood up and crossed back to where she lay. He drew the precious liquid from the vial and withdrew the needle. He knelt down at her side. “Ready for some more dreams, Sammie?”

She struggled, but there really wasn’t much she could do under the situation. She went stiff when the needle penetrated her upper arm, then moaned. “No,” she whispered, her voice pathetically weak. “Please.”

He tilted his head to one side. “But I do please.” And he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, the suggestions as horrific as he could conjure. Her reemergence dreams would be... interesting.

“Welcome to the k-zone,” he intoned in a deep voice. But she was already too far gone to hear him. He swept the sawdust aside, sat back, and waited for the show to begin.

S
IX

Friday, September 30, 6:45
P.M.

B
RAD
’
S
D
R
. M
ARSHALL HAD BEEN QUIET FOR MOST
of the ride to her apartment, speaking only to give him the most basic directions. Steven pulled into an empty slot in front of her apartment and turned to study her face. After Raleigh PD took her statement she’d become subdued, as if the import of the threat was finally real. He saw it often. After an incident people tended to behave with excessive bravery or optimism—until the adrenaline wore off and reality sank in. He suspected that’s where Dr. Marshall’s mind was at this point. Mulling over the possibilities. Who could have written that note? And would they carry through on their threat?

She sat very still, looking down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her hair hanging down so that all but the tip of her nose was obscured. Her left hand was bare, as he’d noticed before, but now he noted the thick silver ring she wore on her right thumb. A Celtic design. A man’s ring.

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that she wore a man’s ring or that she worried it. But, of course, it didn’t matter what he didn’t like as he’d only see her this once.

Only this once.

He didn’t like that, either. To his great irritation, he realized he didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want their time together to come to an end. Hah. As if “they” had “time together.” They’d met, talked, and would likely never meet nor talk again. Still, he hesitated. She sat so quietly, staring down at her hands. Miles away. He was almost afraid to break into her thoughts. He leaned toward her and caught the coconut scent of her hair. Breathed deeply. Then cleared his throat.

“Dr. Marshall?” he said quietly.

Her head jerked up, sending her hair sliding back against her cheeks. Her eyes, wide and startled, met his, blinked, then focused. And her cheeks turned the most becoming shade of rose.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize we were here already.” Her eyes dropped to her fingers, busily fidgeting with the silver ring. “I guess I just realized that someone hates me enough to slash my tires and threaten me with hate mail.” Her lips quirked up. “Without a spell-checker of course.”

He smiled back. “Are you ready to go in?”

She reached to the floorboard for her purse. “Sure. Just give me a second to find my keys.” She rummaged for a minute, then stopped and looked back at him, her eyes almost black in the shadow of the Volvo’s overhead light, her dark brows bunched. “I think you still have them.”

“Oh.” Without taking his eyes from her face, Steven reached in his coat pocket and pulled out her keys. “Here you go.”

She took her keys gingerly, not even brushing his hand in the process. And he felt disappointed. Then felt annoyed at feeling disappointed. He sat back firmly in his seat. “You put the card for the towing company in your purse. They said your car would be ready by tomorrow at noon. And don’t forget to call the Raleigh PD for their report for your insurance company.”

Her expression went blank for just a moment and she blinked. “I’m sorry, my brain just crashed. What was the name of the officer again?”

“You’re feeling the aftereffects of an adrenaline high,” Steven explained, reaching for a pen and one of his business cards. He scrawled the officer’s name on the back. “His name is Al Pullman and he’s with the Investigative Division.” Steven hesitated, then blurted, “My office number’s on the front. Call me if you need anything else.”

She took the card, her lower lip clamped between her teeth. “Do you have another card?”

Silently he gave her one and watched as she wrote on the back in neat block letters. She looked up, still biting her lower lip, and he felt the sizzle of lust head straight down along with the urge to bite her lip himself. But that was crazy. Primal and crazy. In a few minutes, he’d be gone, never to see her again.

She held out the card. “I’m not making a ...a... pass at you, Mr. Thatcher,” she said softly. “Truly. I just wanted you to know I care very much about Brad. If you need to talk, here’s my home number and my e-mail address.” She gave a little shrug. “He’s important to me, too.”

He slipped the card into his pocket. “Thank you.”

“I guess I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for everything.” She got out and waved.

He watched her limp up the sidewalk. The apartment unit had a floor-to-ceiling window, three stories high, and through it he could see the flights of stairs winding to the top. That meant there was probably no elevator. And she’d written Apartment 3-D on the back of his business card. Third floor. He continued to watch as she limped inside and climbed to the first landing, one plodding step at a time. Then stopped to rest. And slip off her ridiculous shoes.

Steven sighed. He was the cause of her injury, even though her shoes were ridiculous. Sitting here while she navigated the stairs alone went against everything his mother had ever taught him. Open doors, hold umbrellas, pull out chairs and assist those you’ve maimed. Well, Mom had never said the last one, but she would have, had the occasion come up. Helping would be the gentlemanly thing to do. Helping would also give him one last opportunity to feel her brush against him and to smell the soft fragrance that made him wonder if it was any stronger on her bare skin. He drew a deep breath.
Bare skin.
That particular picture was one he should put out of his mind that minute. But once there, the picture stubbornly refused to budge. It was a very nice picture.

If he was perfectly honest, he wanted to see her to her door, whatever his motivation.
So do it, putz,
he told himself. He didn’t need to tell himself twice. He was out of his car and at her side by the time she was halfway up the next flight of stairs.

She made a face at his appearance. “Now I’m really going to feel guilty at keeping you from your kids. I’m fine. Go home, Mr. Thatcher.”

He took her shoes in his right hand and offered his left arm. “Steven,” he said before he realized the correction was coming out of his mouth. Once said, the wall of formality couldn’t be rebuilt. Even if he’d wanted to. Which, given the picture still flashing in his mind, he didn’t want to.

She took his arm, embarrassed gratitude in her expression. “Jenna. And thanks. You really don’t have to.” She hopped up a step, leaning on his arm. “But thanks just the same.”

By the time they reached her apartment she was flushed and heated and he more so, and very glad he was wearing his suit jacket. It was a good thing he was never seeing her again. His heart couldn’t take it.

“Thank you, once again.” She smiled and extended her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Steven. Thank you for being there when I needed you.”

He took her hand. “Thank you for caring about my son.” Her next words were cut off by a pandemonium of barking. She glanced at her door and gently pulled her hand from his. “I need to go.” She gestured at the door. “I have to, um, walk the dog.”

“What kind of dogs are they?”

Her eyes darted sideways. “Just one,” she said brightly. “Just one dog.” She glanced over to her neighbor’s door and rolled her eyes. “I’m all
right,
Mrs. Kasselbaum. No need for concern.”

Steven looked to his left, just in time to see the neighbor’s door close. “Nosy neighbor?”

She rolled her violet eyes again. “You have no idea.” The barking continued and she put her key in the door. “Well, um, thanks again.”

Steven raised a brow. She was trying to get rid of him and he thought he knew why. “Your
dog
get any media attention, Jenna?”

She looked startled. “Why would you say that?”

He shrugged. “Seems to me a two-headed dog would be the toast of the talk-show circuit.” He leaned forward. “That’s an awful lot of barking for just one canine,” he murmured and watched her cheeks color up and her brows snap together in irritation.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she snapped and opened the door. “Come in and close the door.”

He followed her into her apartment, unsurprised to see two identical German shepherds crouched, teeth bared. Their barks had turned to ominous growls.

“I’m fine,” she told them. “No bark. Down.” Both dogs dropped to their bellies, barking ceased, but eyes still narrowed and wary. “They’re trained,” she said defensively.

“Impressive.”

“They wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Steven shook his head. “I don’t know about that.” “They’re trained to defend. If they perceive me to be in danger . . .” She shrugged.

He lifted his eyes from the dogs and looked around her living room. It was decorated in warm browns, a large soft-looking sofa dominating one wall. The far wall was covered in a collage of framed photographs. He would have liked to walk over and inspect each one, to learn more about this woman who cared for his son. But the one step he took brought new growls from the defending duo. “Why do you have two dogs trained to defend? And why all the secrecy?”

She limped over to an antique rolltop desk where every piece of paper was tidily filed in the various slots. She opened a drawer and began rummaging. “I’m a woman living alone. I thought it was safer than having a gun. Where is that ace bandage?”

He nodded. “Wise. So why the lie? Why did you say there was only one?”

“Here it is.” She pulled out a rolled bandage and sat down on the chair in front of her desk. “Turn around, please.”

“Excuse me?”

Her face flushed once again. “You’ve already seen more of me today than I show at the beach. I want to wrap my ankle and my stocking’s in the way. Please, turn around.”

Steven’s breath caught in his throat even as he turned around obediently. The memory of those long legs with the sheer stockings was enough to suck the air right out of his lungs. He gritted his teeth at the sound of whispering silk, knowing it was sliding across that long expanse of leg. He clenched his hands into hard fists, wishing it were his own hands doing the sliding. He breathed in. Breathed out. It didn’t help.

He really shouldn’t be here. He should leave.
Just a few more minutes,
he promised himself. He cleared his throat. “Why lie about having two dogs?” he asked.

“Because my lease says I can only have one,” she answered. “You can turn back around now. I’m decent.”

And to his chagrin, she was, her skirt back in place, her fingers nimbly winding the last few inches of bandage around her ankle. “So why do you have two?”

She secured the end of the bandage before looking up with a grimace. “Because I’m a sucker who can’t say no to sad eyes and a wet tongue,” she replied, her tone wry. “I used to volunteer at the local shelter and one day somebody brought in a very pregnant female shepherd they’d found abandoned. She had a litter of eight pups and I took one.” She pointed to the dog on the left. “Jim, shoes.” The dog got up and trotted back to the bedroom. “Jean-Luc here was passed over again and again because he had a bad eye, and he was coming up on his time limit.” She sighed. “I couldn’t let him die—I’d taken care of him from the day he was born. So I brought him home with me.” She snapped her fingers. “Jean-Luc, slippers.” The other dog got up and followed the path the first had taken. “Jean-Luc’s eye cleared up eventually. I’m only supposed to have one dog here, but I’m on the waiting list for some places that allow two.” She shrugged guiltily. “So I walk them one at a time and keep hoping everybody will think they’re the same dog until I can get into one of the multi-dog apartments.” She frowned. “Mrs. Kasselbaum suspects,” she said darkly. “She’s just the sort to rat on me to the building manager and get me evicted.”

Steven shook his head, unable to hold back the smile. “Today little white lies, tomorrow you’ll be robbing banks. It’s a slippery slope down the path of moral decline, Dr. Marshall.”

“Jenna,” she corrected and narrowed her eyes warily. “You won’t tell, will you? Because if you plan to, I’ll have to kill you and feed you to the boys.”

Steven shuddered. “No, I promise your landlord won’t hear it from me.”

She nodded once. “Well, all right then. So long as we’re clear. Oh, good, here they come. What took you guys so long?”

To Steven’s amazement both dogs came trotting back, one holding a pair of running shoes in his mouth, the other a pair of oversized fuzzy slippers with Tweety Bird’s head on the toes. “I wouldn’t have believed that if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. They must have spent a lot of time in obedience school.”

She grinned and his heart stuttered. “I tried to teach them to fetch pizza and beer from the fridge, but they kept confiscating the goods en route.” She scratched each dog behind the ears in turn.

“But you didn’t teach them to defend in obedience school.”

She shook her head while slipping her wrapped foot into Tweety Bird. “No, there was a rash of robberies near here when I first moved in so I found a training facility out past Pineville.” She looked up from tying her running shoe on the uninjured foot. “I hate guns, so I put the boys to work for their kibble.”

Pineville.
Steven glanced at his watch and grimaced as she got up and limped to her coat closet. He still had hours of paperwork to do before bed tonight and he still hadn’t talked to Brad.

“So are you ready to stop procrastinating?” she asked from inside the closet.

Steven frowned. “What are you talking about?”