Out Of Control (18 page)

“Surely
you don’t mean that.”

“Her
truck was way off to the side. Someone could have grabbed her and knocked her
out before she could scream.”

Margene’s
face paled, and the hands that picked up the other coffee cup weren’t quite
steady. “I don’t even want to think of that as a possibility.”

Neither
did Cole, but Dana’s words kept haunting him. As a conscientious lawman, he had
to consider every aspect of the situation. He’d found himself staring out the
windows of his truck on the way to work, wondering if any of the men he passed
could be the one he was looking for and hating himself for thinking it.

“Just
to fill you in, I’ve got deputies checking everyone we can pinpoint as being at
Wal-Mart around that time,” he told Margene. “The manager pulled all the slips
with charge or debit card numbers, and the names we don’t have, the bank’s
getting for us. We’re talking to everyone who was working, trying to get them
to remember if they saw some of their neighbors there or others that we can
talk to.”

“I
don’t know why the hell that girl parked way over to the side, anyway,” Margene
said. “There’s only one big light over there, and it’s not working right. That
manager better get it fixed or he’ll see trouble like he’s never known before.”

She
lifted the cup she’d been cradling in both hands to her lips and took a small
drink of it. Cole nearly laughed when her face screwed up and she almost spit
the liquid out.

“Holy
hell, Cole. What does Grace put in here? Battery acid would taste better.”

“Her
own special blend. Keeps us on our toes.”

“Remind
me to give her a lesson in brewing coffee.”

“I
did speak to the store manager about the light,” he said. “He’s going out of
his way to be helpful.”

“He
doesn’t want a bunch of lawsuits, that’s why. So, what else have you got?”

“No
evidence of anything where Leanne’s body was left, which indicates she was
killed somewhere else. I’m damned if I can figure out, though, how he got her
there without leaving any tracks. Every possible route to the park is being
checked and rechecked in case someone might have noticed something.”

Margene
shook her head. “If another young girl turns up like this…”

“That
could indicate a serial killer, and I’d be calling the FBI first thing,” he
assured her. “You can count on it. I won’t sit on my hands, waiting to see what
develops.”

Margene
leaned forward in her chair. “Cole, I want you to promise me you’ll keep me up
to date on every little detail. I’ve got this whole county riding my ass, and
you know what that means.”

He
nodded. “That you’ll be riding mine. Not to worry. Just keep the commission off
my back and keep what I tell you to yourself. I don’t want to have everything
spread around town like gossip.”

Margene
gave a hoarse laugh. “Trust me, Cole. They’ll do what I tell them.” She put the
cup back on his desk and stood. “Sorry, I can’t finish the brew. I want to live
past sundown today.”

When
she was gone, Cole sifted through the reports his deputies had left for him,
checked to see who was out doing what and where, and decided his stomach was
too touchy for Grace’s coffee without something in it to soak it up.

“I’m
going over to Harry’s for a little bit,” he told the dispatcher, clapping his
hat on his head.

Maybe
Uncle Tate would be there and he could bounce some ideas off of him again. Tate
always had a good head for analyzing things.

****

She
dreamed again about Cole Landry.

“You
said I could taste you this time,” she told him.

“I’m
counting on it.” His voice was husky, edged with lust. His very masculine face
was darkened with need, his whiskey-brown eyes now the color of rich coffee.

She
dropped to her knees on the carpet in front of him, one hand cupping the heavy
sac of his testicles, the other sliding up and down the swollen thickness of
his cock. She ran her tongue over the broad, flat head, catching the bead of
fluid that sat like a pearl on the slit.

Looking
up at him, holding his gaze, she slowly lowered her mouth over him and took him
inside her hot wetness. He was so large there was little room left to move her
tongue, but she managed to twist it around his shaft slightly, pressing it
against the throbbing vein that wound around it.

His
fingers threaded through her hair, holding her head, moving it to a better
angle. Her fingers continued to play with his balls while she hollowed her
cheeks and sucked his cock as hard as she could. He rocked back and forth on
his heels, a low moan rolling up from his throat, the sound urging her to move
her head faster, squeeze his sac harder.

“Oh,
Jesus. Oh, shit. Oh, hell.”

She
felt the tightening of his sac, the tensing of his body, and then he erupted,
spurting thick semen into her mouth. It glided down her tongue and against the
back of her throat. She clutched his erection convulsively, tightening her
fingers around the base as she sucked him dry.

When
the tension finally left his body, she smiled, knowing she’d made him feel
good.

“Your
turn,” he told her in a low voice, cupping her elbows to raise her to her feet.
“Time to pay attention to that sweet, little pussy.”

He
lifted and placed her on the bed so her legs were spread wide.

“Tonight
I’m going to lick every inch of you. Make you come with my hand and my tongue
before I finally fuck you senseless.”

Heat
blasted through her like a furnace, the walls of her pussy already quivering
with anticipation. She was so ready for him that when he touched the tip of a
finger to her clit she jerked, as if fire had whisked over her.

“Aah.”
The sound was one of pure male satisfaction. “Someone’s very horny tonight.”

He
spread her lips and bent his head, flicking his tongue back and forth against
that swollen bundle of nerves. Dana shook with the intensity of the sensation
consuming her. Stiffened nipples ached for his touch and the muscles low in her
tummy tightened.

He
took his time, teasing her clit first with his tongue and then with his finger
until she came just from his focus on that one part of her body. Spasms rocked
her while he held her still, his body preventing her from squeezing her thighs
together. Then he began again, this time with his mouth on that bundle of
nerves and his fingers stroking in and out of her wet folds.

She
planted her feet on the mattress and lifted herself to him, pushing down on his
hand. He teased and tormented, adding a third finger then pulling his hand away
completely.

“Noooo,”
she wailed. “Please, please, please.”

“I
love it when you’re hot like this,” he purred and thrust his fingers inside her
again.

She
rode them hard, pushing against them, pushing, pushing…

She
woke up, yanked back to reality, her hand between her legs. Holy hell! What was
happening to her? This whole thing was screwing with her mind.

Extricating
herself from the twisted, sweaty covers, she stumbled into the bathroom for one
of the mild tranquilizers she rarely took. The sight that met her eyes when she
looked in the mirror was almost as frightening as her dream.

“I
look like a scarecrow,” she said out loud. “Sleep, Dana. You have people to see
tomorrow.”

But
the tranquilizer made her fuzzy and when her alarm went off, she struggled to
wake up. She stood longer than usual in the shower, trying to wash away the
cobwebs and the memories of the dream that disturbed her sleep. All these years,
it had been the darkness that intruded, the scent of the wood shavings and of
the man doing terrible things to her body. The taste of fear never left her
mouth, asleep or awake.

Now,
with the onrushing force of an avalanche, images of Cole were invading her
dreams and wrapping themselves around her. She was doing things to him in her
dreams—and enjoying the hell out of them—that she’d never been able to even
contemplate with other men. Hell, she’d only managed straight sex a couple
times and struggled to even finish that. And forget pleasure.

She
finally turned the shower to ice cold and shivered under it until her skin was
covered with goose bumps. At least, she managed to wake up her brain.
Unfortunately, her body was still hot and demanding.

Had
coming back here unlocked something inside her? Made her subconsciously try to
break out of her self-imposed emotional prison? Maybe she was condemned to have
a sex life only in her dreams. She snorted at that and pushed everything to the
back of her mind to focus on the day ahead.

She
drank one cup of coffee while she toasted bread and buttered it, then filled
her travel mug with the rest of the hot liquid. Checking to make sure she had
her BlackBerry and voice activated recorder, she headed out to Ivy and Lee
Winslow’s small ranch on the north side of town.

As
she turned onto a ranch-to-market road, she found herself stealing glances in
her rear and side view mirrors. She couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow the
killer was around, keeping a close eye on her. A shudder raced up her spine,
and she gripped the wheel tighter. She was almost glad when traffic thinned out
and she could check the cars behind her. When she turned onto the long driveway
to the Winslow house and every car sped by at a normal pace, she let out a
breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding.

She
figured her best approach with Ivy Winslow was the same thing she’d used with
Lois Kelly—just show up and hope for the best. A phone call might have gotten
her an emphatic no. Especially since, by this time, she was aware her
activities were a topic of local conversation. That is, when everyone wasn’t
talking about the horrific death of Leanne Pritchard. Advance warning would
have been more polite, but Dana had found in the past it was harder to turn
away someone already at your front door.

Twenty-six
years ago, the Winslows had three children, two boys and a girl. Lily Winslow,
the baby of the family, was only four years old when she disappeared from the
picnic area of the annual rodeo. Dana wondered how the Winslows had put their
life back together after their little girl’s body was found. Were they like the
Kellys, so wrapped in grief that all they had left was bitterness? Or had they
managed to find a way to get on with their lives, especially with two other
children to raise?

Dana
pulled up in front of a big stone house surrounded by six acres of land. In a
fenced pasture next to a barn, five horses grazed and swished their tails at
flying insects.

Checking
herself one last time in the mirror on the sun visor, she mounted the steps and
rang the bell. The curtain covering the eyebrow window moved to one side, then
the door opened. No chain this time, thank heavens.

Ivy
Winslow was tall and just shy of being chubby. Her gray-streaked brown hair was
pulled back into a ponytail and, like Lois, she wore not a smidge of makeup.
But unlike Lois Kelly, Ivy’s face was not pinched or bitter. Her hazel eyes
were filled with long-standing sorrow, but she seemed in control of herself.

“You’re
Dana Moretti,” she said.

“Yes.”
Dana blinked. “I am.”

“Jane
Milburn pointed you out to me in the grocery mart the other day.” Ivy reached
out a hand. “Come in, come in. I figured you’d get around to us sooner or
later.”

Dana
stepped into what was obviously the large central room of the house, with big
windows, a rock fireplace and gleaming hardwood floors. Her heels tapped a
rhythm on the wood as she followed Ivy Winslow into the kitchen area where the
woman gestured toward a granite table.

“Have
a seat, please.” Ivy busied herself at the counter. “I just made a fresh pot of
coffee, and I have some cinnamon rolls left from yesterday. Let me just get
things together here.”

Dana
sat at the end of the table, putting her purse on the chair next to her and
pressing the on button for her voice activated recorder. She couldn’t believe
how gracious the woman was—a complete change from Lois Kelly—yet the air of
tension around her was almost palpable.

“Please
don’t fuss over me,” Dana protested. “I was just hoping we could have some
conversation.”

Ivy
turned to look at her, years of anguish lining her face. “I know you want to
talk about Lily. I’m much better at it if I have a cup of coffee and something
to do with my hands.”

A
lump rose in Dana’s throat. “Coffee and rolls would be just wonderful. Thanks.”

Ivy
busied herself placing mugs and plates on the table then took a chair across
from Dana. Taking a careful sip of her coffee, she set her mug carefully on the
granite surface, folded her hands, and looked Dana straight in the eye.

“I
believe in always getting right to the point,” she said. “Jane tells me you’re
writing a book about what happened here in High Ridge. To our children.”