Native Cowboy (13 page)

Was he killing her patients and cutting out their reproductive organs because he really wanted to do that to his ex-wife?

* * *

H
E LET HIMSELF INSIDE
Dr. Winchester’s cabin, eager to leave her his gift.

The scent of some kind of lavender bath wash swirled around him as he walked through the small den. The Native American decor in the room soothed him, but it was lost on Cara Winchester.

She was not a Native. She had no ties to his people.

Except for the baby she carried.

Anger churned through him, heating his blood, and he made his way to her bedroom. The sight of her flannel gown at the foot of the bed belied the fact that she had seduced Blackpaw into getting her pregnant.

And that she’d planned to leave him out of his child’s life just as she encouraged other women to do.

The bitch had no moral code.

But he did. He honored the sanctity of the family unit.

Hatred for the doctor emboldened him and he smeared blood on her gown, then laid the navel fetish on her pillow. His pulse pounding with adrenaline, he carefully placed the note he’d written with Yolanda’s blood beside it.

Sweet pleasure stole through him as he imagined the
doctor’s face when she found it.

Time for him to hunt another now.

He had too much work to do to linger....

Chapter Twelve

Mason always felt at home on the reservation. After all, he’d grown up on this land, and knew every inch of it by heart. He treasured the culture of his people, and it pained him to suspect one of his own as the ruthless killer who’d robbed two women of their lives.

But crime knew no boundaries or lines. And if it was one of his own, he’d do whatever necessary to bring him in.

Runninghorse was working on sharpening a set of knives when he approached. Liam served on the Tribal Council, but he’d also built a business selling Native American weapons. Local tourist shops as well as stores in San Antonio, El Paso, and Corpus Christi carried his wares. They’d been friends since they were boys.

He shook Mason’s hand. “Nice to see you, man.”

“I wish it was a social visit,” Mason said. “But I’m afraid it’s about a case I’m working on.”

Liam gestured for Mason to step outside with him. Mason breathed in the fresh air, the sound of wildlife rustling through the neighboring woods a reminder of his early childhood days when Liam’s father had taught both of them to hunt and fish.

“It’s about the woman who was murdered?” Liam asked.

Mason nodded. “There are two victims now.” He explained what they’d uncovered so far. “Do you have a repeat customer who bought this particular knife?”

“I sell a lot of those,” Liam said. “Most collectors want a variety though instead of multiple versions of the same weapon.”

“Anyone on the res favor the buffalo skinner?”

Liam’s jaw hardened. “Half the men on the res have one, and so do the adolescent boys. I can give you the names of the stores I serve, too. Maybe they can check their orders and see if anything jumps out.”

Probably a dead end.

He had another thought. “Has there been trouble on the res lately? Anyone the tribal police had to deal with?”

Liam quirked his head in thought. “Actually Lapu Morningside. When he returned from the service, he wasn’t the same. Think he suffered a head trauma. Has PTSD. Whatever the cause, the police were called to his house several times before his wife divorced him.”

The hair on the back of Mason’s neck bristled. At the second crime scene, he’d found that button that looked as if it came from a military uniform. “Does he have children?”

Liam nodded. “Wife had a baby last year while he was deployed. But she took out a restraining order against him and cut him off from seeing the child.”

Mason frowned. Not exactly the background scenario he’d expected of the killer, but Morningside apparently had issues. Maybe he was venting his rage against his wife on other women?

“Does he live on the res now?”

“No.” Liam stuffed his hands in the pockets of his suede jacket. “Tribal police forced him to leave. I don’t know where he is.”

So the man had served his country, was suffering PTSD, had been cut off from his child and the reservation?

All those circumstances could have triggered him to snap and start killing.

His cell phone buzzed, and he thanked Runninghorse, then headed to his car to meet Cara. He connected the call as he slid behind the steering wheel. “Blackpaw.”

“Detective Blackpaw, this is Special Agent Julie Whitehead of the FBI.”

Mason frowned. He’d been expecting this call. “Go on.”

“I spoke with Sheriff McRae about your serial killer.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be in town in an hour, and I’d like to meet with you and comprise a profile. The press is hungry for information. It would be better if we issue a statement before they print something that’s going to blow your case or create panic.”

She had a point. “All right, I’ll meet you at the sheriff’s office in a couple of hours.”

“Do you have any leads?”

Mason clenched the steering wheel as he parked at the res clinic. “Nothing concrete. But you can have your people do background checks on Reverend Webber Parch and another man named Lapu Morningside. I’ll explain my suspicions when we meet.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Agent Whitehead said.

Mason thanked her, then disconnected the call and climbed from the car just as Cara stepped outside.

Suddenly the air around him stirred, and Mason’s gut instincts spiked, warning him something was wrong.

A heartbeat later, a bullet whizzed by his head, racing toward Cara.

* * *

T
HE HISS OF A GUNSHOT
skimmed by Cara’s face, startling her.

Suddenly Mason shouted her name and threw himself at her. Another shot rang out, the air hot with fear as she clawed at Mason to remain upright.

Mason yanked her into the doorway and shoved her behind him. “Dammit, Cara, stay down.”

Two kids playing nearby screamed and ducked inside the diner next door. A pickup truck rolled past, another car’s muffler rumbled from somewhere in the distance. Three teenagers smoking across the way must have heard it because they hightailed it to a beat-up Chevy.

Panic robbed Cara’s breath as Mason wielded his gun, then used the edge of the door for cover and searched for the shooter.

Dear God, someone
had
tried to kill her.

Protective instincts for her unborn child kicked in, and anger surged through her.

Mason looked left then right and muttered a curse. “I don’t see him.”

She scanned the street, but she didn’t see anything out of place, either. “Maybe he was on a rooftop.”

Mason nodded and glanced up, his gaze moving from one rooftop to another.

“I called the tribal police,” Sadie said from behind her.

“Stay back,” Mason warned.

A second later, a siren wailed, and the chief’s car swerved up in front of the clinic. Bradford Pann, the chief of the tribal police, emerged from the SUV, his gun poised, Liam Runninghorse with him.

“Someone shot at Dr. Winchester,” Mason said as he inched from behind the doorway.

Chief Pann conducted a visual sweep, then strode toward them. “You all right, Dr. Winchester?”

“Yes, thanks to Detective Blackpaw.”

Mason must have seen the blood on her face because his eyes blazed with rage. “He did hit you.”

“It’s just a flesh burn,” Cara said shrugging it off.

“Did you see the shooter?” Chief Pann asked.

“No,” Cara said.

Mason growled in his throat. “Me neither. I pulled up and saw Cara coming out then heard the shot.” He gestured to Cara. “Go inside with Sadie while we search the streets. For all we know, he’s still out here waiting to take another shot.”

Cara wanted to help, but he was right. She couldn’t take chances when she was nine months pregnant.

Her gaze met Mason’s. “Just be careful.”

Anger hardened his expression but underneath it, other emotions simmered. Mason was a lawman, a protector.

And he was the father of her baby.

Even if he didn’t love her, he would protect her and their child with his life.

* * *

M
ASON BARELY CONTROLLED
his rage. If anything had happened to Cara and his son, he didn’t know what he would do.

But he would damn well find the bastard who’d shot at her and make him pay.

“Do you have any idea which direction the shot came from?” Chief Pann asked.

Mason struggled to calm himself. Cara was safe inside with Sadie. The best thing he could do was focus on his job.

He forced himself to analyze the situation from a lawman’s perspective and tried to recreate the shooting in his mind. He had been parked, about to get out when he’d heard the gunshot. He closed his eyes, mentally summoning the details. The sound of the gunshot cracking the air, the speed of its movement, the angle it had come from. To his right...

He pivoted, mentally judging the angle and trajectory and studied the buildings. “I think it came from somewhere over there.”

Chief Pann scowled. “The feed store?”

Mason nodded, and Liam gave him an understanding look. “Probably from the roof.” Mason and Liam went to check it out while the chief searched the clinic front for bullet casings.

The feed store was deserted and in need of repairs. Mason strode up the back stairs to the roof, climbed on top and began to scavenge the area.

The rotting boards of the ceiling squeaked as he crossed to the spot where he thought the shooter had probably been standing. He gauged the distance and studied where Cara had been.

“There are footprints here,” Liam said.

“We’ll take a cast of the prints.” Mason knelt and examined the print, then noted something sticky and yellow on the floorboard. Maybe resin of some kind.

He’d take a sample of that for analysis.

“Here are the shell casings,” Liam said.

Mason used a handkerchief to pick them up. He’d have them tested, as well.

“Someone didn’t like you asking questions on the res,” Liam commented.

“Obviously,” Mason muttered.

Was it the same man who’d killed Nellie Thompson and Yolanda Farraday?

Probably.

But the killer had preferred the buffalo skinner as his weapon in the murders. So why shoot at Cara?

Because they were getting too close to the truth, too close to finding him?

Or did Cara have more than one enemy?

“Did you find out anything from Sadie?” Mason asked.

Cara explained about Morningside.

“Runninghorse mentioned him, too,” Mason said. “Sounds as though he has a grudge.” And if he did, Mason would find him and put him in jail.

* * *

A
N HOUR LATER
, Cara and Mason drove back to town. But Cara kept reliving the shooting, her terror for her baby making her edgy.

“You should go into protective custody until this case is solved,” Mason said as he wound toward the sheriff’s office. “I’m meeting an FBI agent now and we’ll arrange a safe house.”

Cara tensed. Part of her wanted to run and hide and take care of herself. But her patients depended on her. “Mason, I can’t do that. If I run, he wins.”

Mason parked the car and turned to her, a gruffness in his eyes that made her throat close. “This is not a game, Cara. Your life—our son’s life—is in danger.”

“I realize that,” Cara said, barely resisting a shiver. “But I also know that you’ll protect us.”

Mason’s eyes darkened with fear. “I will. But what if it’s not enough?”

Cara’s heart melted. As tough and strong as this cowboy cop was, he had a heart of gold and a soft spot for women and kids.

Still, it didn’t mean he wanted to marry her or that he loved her.

Just that he felt responsible, and he lived to do his job. To protect people from maniacs like the one who’d killed two of her patients.

A shudder coursed through her. For all she knew, the killer was stalking his next victim now.

She reached out and laid her hand over Mason’s. “I trust you, Mason. But I’ve done nothing wrong and neither have these women. If this man wants me, then I have to show him he can’t stop me from doing my job. Or from helping my patients.”

“Cara—”

“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips, desperately wanting to press her mouth there. “I told you, I trust you to protect me and our baby. Now let’s find this guy before he kills again.”

That statement took the fight from him.

“Come on, I want to hear what this agent has to say.” Cara reached for the door handle but Mason caught her hand.

“Cara, promise me you’ll stay with me. That you won’t go off on your own and do something to piss this guy off even more.”

“I promise.” Cara offered him an encouraging smile although she hadn’t meant to tick the killer off in the first place. And if he was as irrational as they believed, he was delusional, living in his own world, inventing his own reasons to justify his actions, and it had nothing to do with her.

* * *

M
ASON HAD TO REIGN
in his caveman instincts or else he’d hog-tie Cara and lock her up in a room himself.

God help him. No one would hurt her or his son.

He’d die first.

They entered the sheriff’s office together, and McRae showed them to a small conference room off his office. He made the introductions and Julie Whitehead, a blonde, blue-eyed woman who looked as if she should be a model instead of special agent, shook their hands.

“Thanks for coming, Detective Blackpaw, Dr. Winchester.”

They seated themselves around a table where she’d laid out photographs of both crime scenes, the history of the victims, information on the Winchester Clinic as well as the suspects they’d interviewed.

“I see you’ve done your homework,” Mason said.

Special Agent Whitehead nodded. “I want to get this profile out to the press and other law enforcement agencies ASAP.”

“It’s time to warn the women, don’t you think?” Cara asked.

“We’ll issue a general warning,” Agent Whitehead said. “But we only have two victims so far, so it’s too soon to say for certain that all the victims are patients of yours. Also, technically we need three victims to call this a serial killer.”