Hide'n Go Seek (10 page)

A strangled laugh escaped. "What a horrible thought." She stared up at the sky. "I started
a
list after I gave you the first letter. I have to tell you, everyone on it is ridiculously normal."

Grant stared at her soberly for a long moment. "So are the worst killers in history."

Frustration boiled deep inside. It festered, turning her stomach sour. "Why is he doing this?" she whispered. "What does he want?"

Grant laid a soothing hand on hers, squeezing gently. Sparks flashed. Amazed, she watched them spark and then be absorbed into both their auras. Why? She couldn't begin to understand the timing. So much was screwed up - and all at the same time - making it hard to sort through and even harder to understand. Acceptance was a long way off.

She released her death grip on the armrest, her knuckles pasty white already. She sighed, relaxing her shoulders. Her stomach burned with remnants of the revulsion slivering through her.

"What matters is that you realize and accept that this is happening. And..." he paused mid-thought, stretching out his long legs, "He knows you very well, which means you know him, too."

That scared the crap out of her. She liked normal. She liked predictable. She liked routine.

She sure as hell didn't like killers who issued challenges. She hopped to her feet.

"I'll be right back." She strode to her bedroom to retrieve her notebook. As she returned, she handed it to him.

"What's this?"

She picked up her cup and walked back into the kitchen, continuing to talk. He followed. "My lists. I tried to think of any known associates that might have a problem with me." She hitched a shoulder. "I don't know how well I did."

He flipped through the pages. "This gives us a place to start. If you think of anything else, call me."

"I will. Is there...anything else I can do?"

"Possibly. We're forming a small task force that will coordinate with several different local law enforcement agencies. The FBI is working with Sacramento police to process the evidence from this latest murder. Time is important. We need to know everything we can before he strikes again. Therefore, we need to know what you know."

"Except, I don't know anything." Kali closed her eyes briefly. "I wish there was a way to predict his next victim...and why?"

Grant loosened his tie. "There isn't yet. We'll know more once we plow through the material collected at this point. Then we'll have to wait. For forensic information. For autopsy results. For the handwriting analysis. For a profile." He stood. "If I need anything else, I'll give you a call. Do I need to remind you to lock your doors, watch out for strange cars and keep your cell phone handy?"

She winced. “I will. Thanks.”

The house felt empty after he left. Empty. Cold. A chill had settled into her soul. Her stomach growled, again. Kali opened the fridge and rummaged for anything that hadn't spoiled. Something wrinkled and brown sagged in one corner and something blue in the other. Lovely. Shiloh barked once.

"You're hungry too, aren't you girl. We both lost a few meals." Kali opened cupboard doors. "Yours is easy enough." She would prefer to feed Shiloh a raw food diet, but the constant travelling and rough conditions made that impossible. Kali opened a can of food and portioned out crunchies to go with it. Putting them together, she gave the mix a good stir before offering it to Shiloh. "There you go, Sweetheart. I added a little extra to help with those sore muscles."

Rummaging for ingredients, she rustled up a quick cheese omelet and toast. She'd have to go shopping before she could eat again. Taking her plate outside, Kali sat in the sun and slowly ate her first real meal in days.

Knowing the letter writer might be watching her even now, she tossed her hair back, and took another bite. She refused to let the thought of him drive her away from the simple joy of being home and sitting on her deck. That didn’t make her stupid. Her cell phone sat beside her coffee cup.

She sighed and leaned back, grateful to be home.

People were funny. She'd seen what people called home all over the world. Some were gorgeous million dollar houses on the ocean with private waterfalls and their own airstrips. Most often the homes were commonplace, four walls and a roof with a middle class family trying to make a living and enjoy life while they were doing it. Then there were the rest. The smile slid from her face. She'd seen cardboard boxes sheltering complete families. She'd seen platforms with big leaves for walls and she'd seen dugouts into the sides of hills that held multiple families. In every case, the shelter meant just as much to those people as the million dollar homes did to their owners. Usually more.

A shelter represented home, security, and a place to call their own.

When Mother Nature destroyed homes, she didn't discriminate. They all fell to her will.

Disturbed by the sad memories, Kali took her empty dishes to the sink. In a few quick seconds, she had the kitchen clean. Drying the last dish, she paused.

The painting.

She'd forgotten about it.

Finishing up quickly, she walked down the hallway. The door was closed again. She couldn't remember if she'd left it that way or not. Damn she hated the shakiness that slithered through her.

Stupid. She pushed it open and strode in.

Christ.

Power streamed toward her, waves pouring off the canvas. The force of it stopped her in her tracks. Determined, she stepped forward a couple of steps. She frowned. No way. She leaned closer. She studied the detail, the accuracy, the emotion. The life. She shook her head. No. It wasn't possible. Digging into her memory, she compared those images with the painting. She blinked several times. There could be no doubt. Grim foreboding slipped down her spine.

The picture took on a new ugliness.

The panicked finger marks scraped into the dirt wall as if the victim had tried to dig his way out hadn't looked odd before. She'd seen this countless times. It was a natural reaction for anyone buried in rubble.

No, it was the tiny cylinder tucked into the image that made her blood run cold. As did the faint tube running to the victim's nose.

There could be no doubt.

The person in the painting had been buried alive - intentionally.

Kali knew there were too many similarities to discount, regardless of how ludicrous. The painting, the scene with a dead body and the oxygen tank, depicted the murder victim she'd just found in California. Not a similar scene but that same one.

Kali lifted a hand to her aching temples. That meant she'd painted this before the murder had happened. Wait. She thought about that for a moment. Was that right? Did she know when that poor man had been buried? No. Grant hadn't offered a time of death or a timeline of any kind.

One thing she did know was that this painting would be hard to explain, particularly if anyone knew when she'd created it. On impulse, she bent forward to check something else. No, there was her signature.

So, she'd actually created this. Now if only she knew how? And what should she do about it?

K
ali avoided the center on Saturdays if she could. Today, Stan had called an hour ago asking if she could come help with the accounts. He'd been snowed under since Sacramento and as usual, his bookkeeping had gotten out of hand. The parking lot was half-full when she arrived. With mixed emotions, she parked at the front by the stairs. Chaos reigned, making her tired and energized at the same time. Dogs could be seen and heard everywhere. And that was comforting. Normal.

This really was home.

Shiloh barked and bounced from side to side in the back. Kali opened the door of her Jeep. Gathering the leash and her purse, Kali walked toward the front door.

"Hi, Kali."

Elizabeth, a regular visitor at the center, stood at the top of the stairs with a tongue-lolling Newfoundland pup slouched against her leg.

"Hi, Elizabeth. Isn't the place chaos today?"

Elizabeth laughed. "That's Stan's doing. He organized weekend training classes for those of us that work. I signed up Jefferson." Elizabeth motioned to the dog at her side.

"Hey, Jefferson, when are you going to grow into those feet?" Kali grinned, then couldn't resist bending down and hugging the beautiful teddy bear. Jefferson took immediate advantage, swiping her face with his huge tongue. Kali laughed and used her sleeve to dry her face. "How did he do?"

Elizabeth winced. "He's the biggest suck of the class. Does anything for a cuddle and remembers none of it five minutes later."

Kali grinned. She could just imagine. "Have you seen Stan?" she asked, her hand scrubbing Jefferson's thick black ruff.

"Nope. I think he's hiding. Starting these extra classes has ruined his peace and quiet." Elizabeth tugged on the dog's collar. "Let's go home. It's good to see you, Kali. Take care."

"You, too." Kali watched her coax the Newfoundland toward her van, before she walked into the center. She greeted several other people on her way. Stan would be in his office. She knew he preferred the old days when the center was more about rescues and less about dogs. He often forgot that he hadn't built a business, he’d built a community. People came to socialize themselves and their dogs.

She appreciated his call today. Helping out should keep her mind off the damn letter writer. A win-win situation.

At the open doorway to Stan's office, she watched him stare at reams of paper in his hands. Wrinkles creased his brows; a brown color tinged his jowls. He looked unhealthy. Her heart lurched. She wasn't ready to lose him. He'd been a mainstay of her life for years now. She couldn't image life without him.

"Hey, Stan. Nice trick if you can manage it."

Her absent-minded friend lifted his head, confusion clouding his face. It cleared almost instantly. "Oh, hi, Kali. Thanks for coming. What was that about a trick?" He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick out at odd angles.

Kali sat on the spare chair, Shiloh at her feet. "Hiding in your office. What's the matter? The center too full for you right now?"

His sheepish grin slid free, brightening her spirits. "You could say that. It's crazy out there. We've got obedience classes going on right now. I used to enjoy Saturdays. I enjoyed the center more when it was smaller, too." He dropped his pencil and leaned back. "You had a rough go this time, I hear. And made the headlines again with the Sacramento disaster." At her grimace, he added, "But then what else is new, right?"

Stan fixed his gaze on her as if wanting to say something else. His eyes piercing, yet sad. The salt and pepper hair that she remembered had turned more like pure snow. The wrinkles of his face sagged, reminding her of a topographical map. Every job he'd worked had contributed to those heavy lines. This man had heart. He'd spent a fortune of his own money helping others and keeping the center going. Mostly the company survived on government grants, contracts, training classes, and private donations.

Instinct prodded her to look closer. Something deeper was going on. She waited for him to continue.

"You know I've seen some nasty sites in my time. I've also learned more than I'd like about what one person can do to another. This letter business..."

Kali winced. She so didn't want to go there if she could help it. "That mess is bad news, I know." She hesitated. "Is something else bothering you?"

Stan wrinkled his forehead, a heavy sigh escaping. "It's probably nothing. Not like he hasn't done it before. Brad still hasn't reported in from Sacramento. He shipped Sergeant home that last night, isn't answering his phone, and he hasn't been seen since. Susan's called several times already today."

"Oh no. Not again." Kali didn't know what to think. Brad often disappeared for a day or two, particularly after a bad disaster; still it was rare for him to let Sergeant travel alone. "If he's gone on a bender, he wouldn't normally check in for several days."

Brad's drinking binges often lasted three to four days. His wife hated them and usually called his friends to see if he'd bunked on their couches. Susan hadn't called her yet. Apparently they weren't friends anymore. Truthfully, Kali couldn't remember if she'd checked her messages when she woke up. Grant's visit had thrown off her routine.

"I wouldn't worry yet." Kali injected hope into her voice.

"We'll give him a day or two to check in." Stan's face lightened, the wrinkles eased as a happier look appeared on his face.

"Let me know when he calls." Shiloh nudged her hand and Kali refocused for a moment on her furry friend. Shiloh always knew when she was upset. "I'll worry until I know he's okay.”

"Me, too." Stan's fingers played restlessly with the stack of papers in his hand. When he looked up at her, the dread in his eyes shook her. "I don't know, Kali. I'm not sure what's going on, but I've got a bad feeling about this."

So had she. That didn't change anything.

The kitchen door lock snicked open. Kali had been gone for hours. She'd probably gone to the center again. He knew he could be cutting it close, but he'd wanted to deliver his gift in person.

Careful, he placed the plate on the table and tucked the note half inside the wrapping. His gift stood out like a center piece. She couldn't miss it.

Perfect.

Backtracking to the door, he stopped. Her car lights would be visible well before reaching the house. He'd have lots of time to get away. What could it hurt to look around?

Decision made, he headed straight upstairs to her bedroom. He opened her dresser drawers, neat stacks of cotton underwear lay inside, his black gloves a strong contrast to the pristine whiteness. The need to touch the smooth cotton was a temptation he couldn't afford. Slamming the drawer shut, he opened the next and the next. He moved toward the large closet, examining clothes and shoes layered inside. Only then did he allow himself to focus on her bed.

He sighed. A cream duvet covered the chocolate sheets, with one corner turned back as if in invitation. As if. He forced himself back, angry as lust twisted against his purpose. She was the devil's tool, and the sooner he proved it to the world, the better they'd all be.