Shadow of Danger (7 page)

Roy chuckled. “I bet he does,” he said, then nodded to John. “This is John Kain, he’s part of the investigation. John, this is Dean Atwell, Carl Saunders’ right hand man.”

After the two men shook hands, Dean led them down the hallway. He stopped, then angled his head through the only open door. “They’re here,” he said in a voice that reminded her of the little girl from
Poltergeist.

Jesse snickered, and both John and Roy shrugged. She couldn’t believe Dean could make a joke when he and Carl had been performing an autopsy all afternoon. Although she supposed even twisted humor helped ease the pressure of dealing with death on a daily basis.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Carl groused. “Bring ‘em in, goddammit.”

“He’s in rare form today,” Dean whispered. “Dead bodies tend to get to him.”

“Aren’t dead bodies his job?” Jesse whispered back.

“I might be old, but I still have my hearing,” Carl griped as she trailed behind the others into his office. “To answer your question…” He squinted at Jesse’s name plate. “Deputy Peterson, I’m used to old people crappin’ out at the old age home, or in their own homes, or at the supermarket. Not young women bein’ strangled and ra—oh hey there, Celeste. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

She stepped inside the small, cramped room, filled with too many filing cabinets, too many chairs, and not an element of order. But she knew Carl. He was a methodical man, and seemed to thrive on organized chaos, both at work and at home. “Hi, Carl. Don’t mind me.”

Apparently he did. He glared at Roy, who raised his hands and said, “Carl, I asked Celeste to join us, not to look at any of the victims, but to maybe get a reading off that necklace Dean found in Ruby Styles’s hair.

Carl shifted his gaze to her. His eyes softened. “Couldn’t hurt. She did help find my wife’s antique diamonds.”

“And your prized Labrador Retriever, if I do recall,” Roy added.

That Lab, which had cost Carl over a thousand dollars to purchase, then another five hundred to train as a hunting dog, had gone AWOL last summer. The dog might have been able to catch the scent of pheasant, but he couldn’t find his way home even if Carl had lined a trail with dog biscuits.

“How is Lucky?” she asked.

“Stupid is what he is, goddammit.”

She held back a giggle. Carl really was a softy, once you got to know him.

Carl jerked his silver head toward John. “Who’s this guy?”

“John Kain. He’s part of the investigation.”

“Looks like FBI. Smells like one too.”

John sniffed. “Really? And here I thought I’d gotten rid of the stench.”

She shifted her gaze to him.
Former FBI?
Interesting.

Carl’s chuckle drew her attention away from John. “Okay, enough of the chitchat, I’ve got three other women to autopsy. So let me give you the rundown on Ruby Styles.” He rested a pair of cheap, black framed reading glasses at the tip of his nose.

“Wait,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to know any of this. It might interfere with my reading.”

Roy nodded. “Whatever you say.” 

John didn’t roll his eyes like she’d expected him to. Instead he suggested they let her sit in Carl’s office with the necklace, while they stepped into the corridor to discuss the details of the autopsy.

Carl handed her a sealed sandwich bag. “Have at it. The only prints on the charm are the victim’s, so you’re free to touch it with your bare hands. Let’s let Celeste do her thing.” He rose, nodding to the others, and headed out the door.

They all followed, except for John. “You need anything?”

“You mean like my crystal ball?” Lame joke, but her nerves were working overtime.

He smiled without mirth. “Seriously.”

“Nope, I’ll be fine. Would you please close the door behind you?”

Although he nodded, he lingered.

“Go, shoo,” she said, and waved her hand.

Shaking his head, he moved into the hallway, closing the door.

When silence filled the room, she unsealed the plastic bag, then drew the gold heart-shaped charm and broken chain into her hand.

“What happened to you, Ruby?” She closed her eyes and clutched the charm. The pointed part of the heart bit into her palm. She winced and clutched the charm closer to her chest. She regulated her breathing and stared at the tile floor. 

Concentrating on the black and white mosaics, she felt a pull, a slight tug to her psyche as her mind began to fall into that familiar tunnel she’d been down before when trying to gain a reading from an object. Her mind spiraled and pitched from side to side. Rapid movements, flecks of images lined her peripheral vision, but it was what was at the end of the vortex she wanted to see, needed to be a part of to gain the vision she needed. Swirling, colliding, a kaleidoscope of colors...

There.

She gasped. Crystal clear. She blinked her dry eyes, focusing...focusing...

“You lookin’ for some company, honey.” Ruby used her best sultry voice to command his attention.

He leaned against his rig, one booted foot crossed over the other, while he smoked a cigarette. “I don’t know,” he drawled. “Are you?”

Ruby released a low, husky laugh. “Honey I’m always lookin’ for company.”

He appraised her, seemed to drink in her shiny black hair, her skimpy hot pink tank top, ultra short denim skirt and spiky black heels. “I bet you are,” he said and tossed the cigarette onto the asphalt. The red hot ember sparked as it hit the blacktop, then crashed and burned.

Oh, she had a hot one tonight and might even enjoy this ride. He wasn’t hard on the eye, with his sexy smile and dark beard. She liked a guy with a beard. It made him look rugged, masculine.

She cocked her head to the side and batted her lashes. Not too much, though. She’d perfected the look and didn’t want to overdo it. Sauntering over to the rough cowboy, she settled a manicured hand on his hard chest, inhaled his cologne and smiled. 

“Mmm-mmm, you smell good.” She flattered him with a sensual smile. A little something she’d picked up from one of the other lot lizards who worked the truck stop. “I love a strong man,” she said in a sultry tone as she tip-toed her fingers across his muscular chest.

He grinned and settled his gaze on hers. His silver eyes seemed to assess her worth. “Come on, I know of a place we can go.”

She hesitated, then jerked her head toward the old motel opposite the truck stop. “I’ve got a place here.”

He shook his dark head. “Uh-uh, baby doll. I’d like to go someplace a little more private. Away from this. I don’t like folks knowin’ my business.”

She understood, yet wasn’t too keen about climbing into his rig and driving off into the night. One of the first rules she’d learned: never, ever get in the cab unless it’s parked for the night.

It had been a slow week, though. More like a slow couple of weeks. She needed the money and he seemed all right. “Okay, cowboy, but it’ll cost you,” she teased.

“Worth every bit, I’m thinkin’.” He bent down and nuzzled her neck. “Come on, climb in.”

“Where we headin’?”

“Just to the next rest area, ‘bout five miles down. Shouldn’t be too many cars there at this time of night. And I’ve got a bed in my cab, so we can have a good, private time.” He winked and grinned.

His smile reassured her and she caved. He really was a good looking guy. If the opportunity came up, he could have gotten for free what he was about to pay for now.

He drove his rig for a few miles then slowed and turned off the exit heading north. Her stomach somersaulted. The rest area was south, and he was heading north. She gripped the door handle and shouted, “Hey, where are you going? This isn’t the way to the rest area. Turn around and take me back.”

He ignored her, never taking his eyes from the road. Panic clawed at her insides. She broke into a cold sweat. Oh God, why didn’t she turn him down? Why didn’t she stay in the safety of her motel room where one scream sent her pimp crashing in, guns blazing? She had to get out. Had to run. 

He started to pick up speed and she realized now would be her only chance. Open the door and jump. Open. Jump. At this speed she might break her neck.

He might break your neck anyway, she reminded herself.

Okay, ready, one, two, three...

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He grabbed her by her upper arm, his grip strong enough to bruise her flesh and maybe break the bone. “Uh-uh, baby doll, I’m paying for this ride and you’ll give me what I want, where I want it.” 

He yanked her closer to him, hard enough that she saw stars. She cried out and clasped her shoulder, gasped for breath and fought the pain. “I...I can’t move my arm,” she sobbed. “Why are you doing this? Why?”

He sneered. Gone was the rugged, handsome cowboy. In his place sat a lecherous, vile creature with the strength of a bull and the bite of a rattlesnake. 

He shrugged. “Because I can.”

She didn’t understand, didn’t get the enigmatic remark. Widening her eyes she tried to talk him down. “Okay, whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me. Please,” she begged.

“What I want is for you to shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride.”

He punched her in the jaw. Her head shot back and smacked the window. She tried to stop the second blow with her good arm to no avail. He rained punch after punch. Blood seeped into her mouth, the metallic taste reminding her she was still alive. Still conscious. Then she watched in horror as he cocked his fist back again. 

“No!”

“No! No! No!”

“Celeste, shhh. Wake up. It’s John. Wake up.”

She gasped for air and clung to John’s shoulders. “Oh God, it was so bad,” she sobbed into his chest. “John...you don’t understand. He’s evil. So...Oh God.” She buried her face into his crisp button down shirt, and soaked it with her tears.

“Shhh.” His soothing voice worked magic on her muddled senses. His touch, both reassuring and protective, calmed her. “Take your time. Breathe deep.” He turned toward the door.

Over his shoulder she watched as Roy, Jesse, Carl and Dean all gaped at her. They looked concerned, anxious and lost. 

“Get some tissues and water,” John demanded.

Jesse and Dean both bolted, which seemed to satisfy John. He turned his full attention back to her, cupped her face, searched her eyes, and rubbed his thumbs along her jaw. The alarm and trepidation in his deep brown eyes made her heart ache and wish that for one moment, he was hers. That he could erase what she knew. What they didn’t.

An involuntary shiver ran through her. He ran his hands up and down her arms, as if to warm her. She wasn’t cold. Even if she was, every one of his stimulating strokes left behind a trail of heat. His touch strengthened her and gave her confidence, control.

She slipped her arms away from his shoulders. Still not ready to relinquish her hold on him, she reached for his hands, her lifeline, and tried to suppress her emotions.

“John, I...” She took another deep, gulping breath.

“Take your time. Did you see something?”

Oh, she’d seen something all right. “Yes,” she whispered. “I saw the killer and Ruby.”

Roy stepped forward, worry lined his face. “Could you give a description to the sketch artist?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes locked on John’s. 

“What is it?” he asked. “Tell me.”

“I know you don’t believe...you’re not going to believe...” She trailed off not knowing how to put what she’d seen and what she’d
felt
into words.

“Believe what?” he coaxed.

She drew in another breath. “I
did
see the killer. I know he murdered those women. I can
feel
it. But...he’s not the one from my nightmares.”

He searched her eyes and wrinkled his brow. “What are you saying?”

She tightened her grip and drew his hands closer to her pounding heart. “What I mean is.
This
killer and the one in my visions are two different men. There’s more than one killer. More bodies. You just haven’t found them yet.” 

Chapter 7

In the privacy of his workshop, he rummaged through the alphabetized disposable cell phones he’d kept hidden in the bottom drawer of his tool chest. When he found the phone log he’d been searching for, he scanned the page.

For years, he’d used similar phones to contact Garrett. He’d even bought a few from a local Kmart with minutes already attached. They’d been untraceable, safe and an excellent mode to communicate. Once the rest of the criminal world had caught on—not that he’d group himself with lowlife drug dealers and gangbangers—the phones had been taken off the shelf. The only way to buy a disposable phone was through the internet, with the use of a credit card, making it possible for the authorities to trace the owner of the phone. He’d found an easy loophole, though. With the age of technology came the age of identity theft.

Sitting on a stool, he glanced at the log again. According to his list, he’d placed twenty-two calls to Garrett since the beginning of the year, meaning he’d used all but two of the phones twice. Also meaning he could use either phone M or phone N to make tonight’s call.

Should he? Should he confront him? He wanted to. He wanted to rant and rave, call him the mother fucker he was, and then rub his little tryst with the debutante in his face.

Thinking about that little Deb had him unlocking another drawer on his tool chest. He pulled out the knife he’d used on her. Unsheathed, the blade gleamed under the fluorescent lighting. The handle seemed to almost melt into his palm and become an extension of his hand. Like Captain Hook, he thought with a small smile. Only better.

He’d used the fifteen-inch knife on that pretty little Deb as if he were one of those Japanese guys in a Ginsu Knife commercial. Slicing and dicing. Stabbing and gutting. Fucking her had been one thing, but when her hot blood had coated his skin...?

Raw anger suddenly burned inside of him, and he returned the knife back into its leather sheath. He wouldn’t have a chance to use the fucking thing for a long while, thanks to Garrett. The risk was just too great, and while he’d always been prepared to run if necessary, now wasn’t the time. There were too many loose ends he needed to take care of first.

His digital watch released a series of beeps. The alarm he’d set earlier, reminding him he didn’t have much time. In a split second, he stowed his anger and rationalized the situation. Garrett needed to be contained. He needed to know the bodies had been found. As much as he wanted to berate him over dumping them practically in his own backyard, he’d refrain. Garrett fed off his anger, used it against him.

But
he
had the upper hand now. He had knowledge and the means to find out what the authorities knew. A new sense of control had him searching for phones M or N. When he found N, he dialed Garrett’s cell phone without hesitation.

After ten infuriating rings, Garrett finally answered. “Now why you botherin’ me? Hang on.” Loud music and laughter filled his ear, then he heard Garrett say, “Yeah, give me another, and add this pretty little lady’s drink to my tab.” 

Shit. He needed him sober. He needed him aware. “Damn it. Pay your fucking bar bill, we need to talk.”

“What’s got your panties in a wad? It ain’t our time.”

Our time.
Those two little words had always been their signal when it was time to play. Unfortunately, playtime was over for a while. “They found them.”

Except for the background noise from whatever bar Garrett had stumbled into, the phone went silent. Then he heard him say, “Hang tight, honey, and enjoy your drink. I’m gonna catch me a smoke outside. Keep my stool warm.” A giggle, then a squeal of laughter followed, until blessed silence.

“Found what?” Under other circumstances, Garrett’s husky drawl would have sent a pulse of pleasure straight to his dick. Tonight his tone, laced with innocence, angered him.

“This isn’t a fucking game. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Regardless, I don’t give a shit. I’ve got a sure thing waiting for me in the bar. A real party girl. I’ve already sampled some of her
and
the coke she’s carryin’. So get the fuck on with whatever you got to say.”

Drunk and coked up. Not good. Garrett was arrogant enough sober, combining alcohol and drugs into the mix had always made him think he was invincible. “Don’t play stupid. What were you thinking? You couldn’t have done it in another state, hell, another county?”

“Okay, calm yourself,
Toby,
” he said, his voice low, hushed...damn it, sexy.

He grit his teeth, controlling his need, his lust. “Don’t use my name, and don’t tell me to calm down. Others are scattered around the outskirts of the county. Didn’t you
think
about that? Didn’t it
occur
to you that they might look? Do you have any idea how fucked we could be?”

“You’re just pissed I went behind your back. I didn’t mean to. Honestly.” His voice was so soothing, so apologetic, he almost lost focus. Then the Deb, her hot blood, her virginal ass, flooded his memory.

“I’ve had a little fun of my own, but at least I’d been smart about it.”

“Ho, lookie here, Toby’s grown some balls. ‘Bout time.”

“Fuck you,” he uttered, “and listen close. The sheriff brought in an outsider.”

“FBI?”

“Don’t know what he is, but he has me worried. Just stay low for a while. Damn it, stay sober. If shit goes down, I’ll call, and we’ll meet where we’d arranged.”

“That bad? Or are you just fired up ‘cuz I had some fun without you?”

He was more than fired up, he was seeing fucking red. Garrett had gone behind his back, betrayed him and their pact. Killing those women also had him wondering how many other times Garrett had done this before without his knowledge. Right now, though, he needed to keep his head clear and focus on what needed to be done.

“Just do what I say, and if you get caught—”

“They gotta catch me first, which they won’t. I’d left things clean as a friggin’ whistle.” The arrogant chuckle Garrett released had him grinding his teeth.

“Don’t be so sure of yourself. It looks like the sheriff has Celeste, that psychic I told you about, involved in this, too.”

“Get the fuck outta here. Don’t tell me you’re paranoid over some batty-assed fortune teller. Christ, Toby, sometimes I worry about you.”

“I’m paranoid. Period,” he snapped, running a hand down his face to rein in the rage. “You should be, too. You should be running scared, and laying low.”

“Pull your tighty-whities out of your frickin’ ass and settle down. You know I’ve got a job lined up and I’m leaving in a few days for the West Coast. I’ll be gone about four weeks. Can’t think of a better way to lay low, can you?”

Our time
had been back to back because of the job Garrett had taken. Neither of them had been able to go for more than a month without the rush of the hunt and the kill. Although those women were spread around the county, and their limbs were likely torn apart and scattered by coyotes, he still worried. While he doubted the others would be found in the near future, if at all, the discovery of the whores Garrett had killed could complicate things and leave an additional loose end.
Garrett.

Not wanting to consider Garrett a loose end, he took a positive approach. Garrett would be gone for a month, maybe more. Without having to worry about him, he could focus on what the sheriff and his new partners knew. “No, I can’t.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you at this time in two days.”

“On what phone? D or maybe K,” he laughed. “I can’t keep track with all your cloak and dagger bullshit. Dude, you need to relax.”

Relax? Garrett had dumped four bodies in his backyard. He couldn’t risk being caught. Not yet. Not when he’d waited, bided his time for all of these years in this shitty town.

“Just stay cool, and sober,” he said again.

“That’s a ten-four good buddy. Then when all the shit dies down, we’ll have
our time.
”

Our time.

Those two words aroused him, especially the way Garrett had said them. Low. Husky. He rubbed his dick. “Can’t. We had
our
time
too close together, and now this...”

“We’ve been through this before,” Garrett reassured him. “Maybe it’s time for a change of scenery? I’m sick of these winters around here.”

“I just need a few more months to tie up loose ends, and then we’re gone.”

“Those loose ends could have been tied up a long time ago,” Garrett snapped, all traces of amusement gone. “But what the fuck do I know.”

The phone line went dead. Just as well, he thought as he dropped the disposable cell into the drawer, then locked the tool chest. Garrett might have thought he knew what those loose ends were, and in some regards he did. But there were still some secrets he’d kept to himself, secrets that he’d eventually let Garrett in on when the time was right.

That is, if Garrett didn’t become one of those loose ends.

*

Ian Scott sat at his desk, nursing a Scotch. The evening news ran on the flat screen TV encased in the bookshelf of his office, the volume muted. He wasn’t interested in the news. His focus remained on the unopened manila folder in front of him and the call he expected at any minute.

He stared at the folder filled with thirty years of notes, pictures, and letters all worn from age and the many times he’d handled them. He hadn’t opened the folder in six months. Progress, considering he’d tended to review the file on a monthly basis. Why he’d tortured himself, he couldn’t answer. Regret?

Could be, he thought, then picked up the watered down Scotch. His private line rang before the glass touched his lips.

He glanced at the clock. “Right on time,” he said as he set down the drink, then picked up the phone. “How are things?”

“My cholesterol is up, I’m about fifteen pounds overweight, and I’ve got four dead women at the morgue. How’d you think?”

Smiling, he thought back to the last time he’d seen Roy. Four months ago on their annual fly fishing trip to Canada. Roy had aged well, and he’d appeared as fit as a forty-year-old. “I don’t know about the cholesterol, but you could stand to lose a pound or two,” he joked to ease the tension.

“Unlike you, I don’t have access to a fancy gym. Besides, you’d be thickening up, too, if you had Celeste dropping off her baked goods all the time.”

Another jolt of regret, along with jealousy, had him reaching for the Scotch. What would it be like to sit with her, maybe over a cup of coffee and a slice of pumpkin roll, as he listened to her talk? About her day, about her life. Bypassing the drink, he touched the closed folder. “How is she?”

“Something went down tonight that had left her pretty shaken up. When I took her home though, she kicked me out the door because she said she was tired of me acting like a worried old woman.” He released a chuckle. “She’s a strong one. Stubborn, too.”

She sounded so much like her mother. Janice had been strong and stubborn. She’d also had an issue with over analyzing, and not letting things lie where they should. Did Celeste share those traits? God, he didn’t know. He stared at the folder again, which only gave hard facts, not the emotional connection he sought.

“What happened?” he asked, now questioning how sound his judgment had been when he’d allowed Celeste to be part of the investigation. He’d witnessed the heart-wrenching turmoil, the emotional and physical exhaustion Janice had endured while working cases for the FBI. Some of those investigations had left her raw, her mind scarred with the memories of her visions. While he wanted to see Wissota Falls cleared of a killer, Celeste’s safety, both physical and emotional, came first.  

“I’ll get to Celeste. Let me bring you up to speed first. Of the four victims, we’ve ID’d two. Both were prostitutes known to work truck stops, and John suspects the others are, too. He also thinks the killer is a trucker, likely an owner/operator, and his recent contract was with a company where he used a refrigerated trailer, which could explain why all the victims were decomposing at the same time. Hell, he even managed to pinpoint a window when the bodies had been dumped. He’s as good as you’d said,” Roy added, a hint of admiration in his tone.

Yes, John was very good at his job. Recruiting him to CORE had been a decision he’d never regretted. One he’d made years before John even knew that Ian had been watching him, waiting for the right moment to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“The autopsy done on one of the victims revealed she’d been raped, beaten, then strangled,” Roy continued. “The ME is currently working on another as we speak. He’ll have the other two finished tomorrow, but he’s suspecting he’ll find the same results. He also hopes to have their toxicology reports within the next few days.”

“Excellent, if you have any issues getting them sooner, let me know. I have—”

“Connections. Yeah, I know. Anyway, there’s more. A necklace was found tangled in the hair of one of the victims.”

“Let me guess,” he interrupted Roy. “You had Celeste try to gain a reading from the necklace.”