Fade to Black Page 23

  “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

  Though she wanted Tim to stay and tell her the real reason he’d come over tonight, she didn’t press her luck. This was the first time he’d reached out to her, and she wanted him to come back. She wanted him to want to come back. And hopefully, the next time he did, he’d be ready to reveal a little more.

  Despite that, as she walked him to the door and kissed him good-bye on his poor, scarred cheek, she murmured, “You could go see the doctor down at the VA again.”

  He tensed.

  “I’m not criticizing. Not judging. Just making the suggestion. If you can’t talk to me or to Dad, maybe you could talk to him.”

  Tim stared down at her, saying nothing. But she knew him well enough to know he’d at least consider it, because she hadn’t ordered, hadn’t browbeaten him. She’d simply made a suggestion. It was the only way to deal with the man lately.

  After her brother had left, Stacey locked the door behind him and returned to the kitchen. She’d barely touched her coffee, but it didn’t matter. Caffeine couldn’t jazz her up any more than she already was.

  Too bad Dean wasn’t here. Though, of course, it was better that he hadn’t been when Tim showed up. Her brother would never have stayed. But now, facing the long night, she’d like the company. Her mind swam with details about the case, things she’d learned, things she’d speculated. Tidbits that seemed important, though why they should be remained just out of mental reach.

  It was almost one o’clock. She needed to try to get some sleep. Still, she couldn’t help eyeing the phone as she cleaned the kitchen.

  As if by magic, it rang.

  She grabbed it, laughing and about to ask him if he’d read her mind. “Dean?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  That ominous nothingness stretched on for several seconds. Unease made her throat tighten. Images of Lisa, memories of the vicious surprise someone had left on her porch, filled the recesses of her imagination. “Who the hell is this?”

  No answer at first, then one single word.

  “Bitch.”

  The call disconnected.

  Chapter 12

  Though he wanted to, Dean wasn’t able to get back to Hope Valley until early Tuesday evening.

  Amber Torrington’s brutal murder had debuted at Satan’s Playground Monday morning. And her body—in two pieces—had been discovered later that afternoon.

  The team had known someone was going to die. They knew why. They’d had a rough idea who. A broad picture of where. And they’d regrettably known how.

  Yet they hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to stop it from happening.

  He had no business leaving D.C. Having spent most of yesterday and today in the woods of southern Pennsylvania, where the body had been found, he’d returned to the office to see whether Lily or Brandon was getting anywhere with the security tape. That they hadn’t had any luck provided him with a good reason to head back to Hope Valley. If they were truly working under the assumption that the man was at least familiar with the area, they needed somebody who might recognize him to watch the tape.

  Stacey.

  It was the only video he was going to ask her to watch. Because what that sick fuck had done to Amber Torrington had made him puke for the first time since he’d been on this case.

  Beheading, it seemed, was not as easy as it appeared on video games and movies. The fiend had had to work at it. Hard.

  Arriving on the outskirts of town, he headed for the sheriff’s office. Considering he hadn’t spoken to Stacey at all since he’d left her place Saturday night, he wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get. Not that he hadn’t wanted to; he’d just been run ragged. He’d conducted interviews, overseen evidence collection from both scenes, talked to nearly every employee in the mall. Somewhere in there, he could have made a cell phone call to Stacey, but there was too much to say in a phone conversation.

  She’s a cop. She’ll understand.

  She was not like his ex, who’d wanted hourly reports on when he’d be home for dinner and had occasionally dumped said dinner onto his chair when he didn’t make it. As if Dean should have been able to dictate when evidence could be discovered or violent criminals could be arrested.

  When he reached the office, though, he learned Stacey wasn’t there.

  “Sorry, Agent Taggert,” said the same older, big-haired receptionist. “She’s out at the range doing some target shooting. Lots of them have been going out there the past couple of days.”

  Oh, great. If Stacey was brushing up on her marksmanship, that obviously meant she thought she might have to use a weapon sometime soon. Something he knew would not make her happy.

  “Thanks,” he said after getting directions.

  After a quick drive, he arrived at the range. That was probably an exaggerated name for the actual facility, not much more than an old farm with a dirt berm bullet stop and some shot-out weathered plywood to hang targets on. The parking lot was choked with weeds, and potholed down to bare dirt in places, showing a general lack of use that confirmed what he’d figured: Stacey and her deputies didn’t use this place very often. Until now, when he and his team had brought news of Lisa Zimmerman’s murder to their quiet world.

  He spotted her at once. Parking and cutting the engine, he sat in the driver’s seat and watched. He leaned forward, dropping his crossed arms on the steering wheel, a slow smile widening his mouth.

  Because, damn, she was hot.

  Wearing hearing protection, she hadn’t noticed his arrival. She stood alone, a few yards from his car, clothed in jeans and a bright pink tank top.

  He’d seen her in her uniform. He’d seen her in her underwear. He’d seen her naked. He’d just never seen her dressed down. And the woman did some amazing things for a pair of jeans and a clingy top.

  Her legs were slightly spread, arms extended straight out, shoulder height. The left hand cupped her other wrist, beneath the gun, for support, and the right flowed seamlessly into her Glock as if it were an extension of her own limb. As he exited the car, she grouped seventeen rounds through the center of a paper suspect’s chest. From twenty-five yards. In under twenty seconds.

  Repeat: hot.

  Knowing better than to sneak up behind an armed person who wouldn’t hear his approach, he leaned against the hood of his car, his arms crossed, watching. She was empty and had to change clips, which was when she caught sight of him. Her eyes widened in surprise, and a quick, spontaneous smile broadened her mouth.

  Despite the past couple of days, and his own bone-deep weariness, he somehow found a smile of his own and returned it.

  “Hi,” she said as she walked over, holstering the nine-millimeter. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I hope the target practice wasn’t on my account,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t shoot guys who don’t call back. Leave the toilet seat up, however, and all bets are off.”

  “Noted.”

  The smile flashed again, brilliant and honest and so good after all the darkness that he wanted to just lose himself in it. In her.

  Yes, they had a lot to talk about regarding the case. He wanted to know if she was okay, if she’d gotten over the nightmare someone had left on her porch. But what he most wanted was to get her alone and make love to her the way he’d planned to Saturday night.

  The urge to tug her against him and kiss her overwhelmed him, but he resisted. They were out in public, in a spot where her deputies came for target practice and could pull up at any time. No way would he put her in the position of being disrespected by one of her subordinates.

  When he got her alone in private again, though . . . well, as she’d said, all bets were off.

  “You okay?” she asked. “I saw on the news that the body had been found.”

  So much for a tender reunion. She was already back into the case. Exactly as he’d expect her to
be. “Yeah. It was a rough scene.”

  “In Pennsylvania?”

  “Right over the state line. Talk about jurisdictional nightmares. But you might be able to help.”

  She nodded immediately.

  “We’ve got surveillance tape from the mall where the victim was snatched. There’s a good chance the unsub was stalking her, memorizing her movements and her schedule.”

  “You want me to watch the tapes? See if there’s anyone who might have had a connection with Lisa on there?”

  “I know it’s a lot to ask. We’re talking hours and hours.”

  “Of course. I’ll start right away.”

  He nodded in appreciation, though he’d had no doubt she would do it. Seeing her wipe a sheen of sweat off her brow, he said, “The car’s still cool. Want to sit?”

  She was one step ahead of him, already opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. Before Dean had even started the engine, she reached for the air-conditioner controls, adjusting a vent to blow cold air directly on her face. She sighed in pleasure as the AC blew tendrils of her hair loose.

  Since they were inside the closed car, he risked personal contact, knowing he had to touch her or lose his mind. He reached over, brushing his fingertips over the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck.

  She turned into his hand, rubbing her cheek against his palm. That was all. The touch was simple, nonsex ual, yet loaded with personal connection. It pleasured him the way even an embrace with any other woman wouldn’t have.

  Which said a lot about how much she’d been on his mind in the past few days. How much they’d been on his mind, as crazy and impossible as it was.

  “Are you going to be in town for a while?”

  He shook his head. “I have to be back in the office tomorrow morning. And tomorrow evening I get to spend time with my son.”

  She nodded.

  “But D.C.’s not that far a drive,” he said with a slight smile. “I could see myself commuting in the morning.”

  “Mm,” she murmured, lightly kissing his palm, “and I am noble enough to save you from the bedbugs at the inn, if you’d like to stay at my place.”

  “Thought they didn’t have them. Immaculately clean, you said.”

  “Maybe I exaggerated. My bed’s nicer, isn’t it?”

  “Infinitely.”

  Staring into his eyes, she admitted, “I’ve been hoping you’d come back.”

  “I’m back.” His voice was husky, the touch of his hand on her lips sizzling and electrifying. He wanted her again. Badly. “I don’t know which I find more arousing, you kissing my hand, or shooting out that target in under twenty seconds.”

  Stacey laughed softly, sounding so sweet and feminine, such a fascinating mix of strength and softness. Wondering about that strength, and how she’d held up after he’d had to walk out on her the other night, he asked, “Are you okay? After what happened Saturday?”

  She nodded, obviously realizing he was asking about the horror on her doorstep. “I don’t know who did it, but I’m working on it. I helped my dad bury her on Sunday.”

  “Stacey, I don’t want to worry you, but we have to at least consider the possibility that the guy we’re looking for is afraid you’re getting a little too close, and wants to scare you off.”

  “It occurred to me. And then I unoccurred it.”

  He didn’t laugh. This wasn’t funny in the least.

  “Honestly, it’s not me he’d be after; it’s you guys. And he’s not exactly the subtle type. If he did want me, I don’t think he’d leave a message.”

  No, probably not.

  “It’s never been anything this bad before, but it’s not the first time some redneck, beer-swilling asshole has decided to get even with me for writing him a ticket or hauling him in on a DUI. I’d lay money that’s what we’re talking about here.” She opened her mouth, then closed it quickly, as if she had more to say but had thought better of it.

  “What?”

  Indecision washed across her features. But before she could continue, a car drove by, flying down the country road at an unsafe speed. She jerked away from him and leaned forward toward the windshield, glaring after it. “Damn. Missed the license plate number.”

  Soft woman to hard-edged cop in less than ten seconds. What an irresistible combination.

  Clearing her throat, she spoke again, as if the subject of the dog, and whatever else she’d been about to tell him, had never come up. “You said you’re having problems with jurisdiction in the case?”

  He let her get away with it, knowing Stacey wasn’t the type to hold back if something was really important. She said what needed to be said, when it needed to be said. He had no doubt that if she had something else on her mind, she’d tell him when she was ready. “Yes. Wyatt’s jumping through hoops to keep on top of it. But at least it’s made the BAU sit up and take notice. They’ve stopped stonewalling the agent working on the profile. We should have it in a couple of days.”

  “I bet we can make a couple of assumptions about this guy even without it.”

  “You know, assume is a very bad word in law enforcement.”

  “I know, I know. But come on, there are a few obvious points.”

  “Such as?”

  “He was probably an abuser of animals.” Incredulous, given what they’d just discussed, he merely stared.

  “I still don’t think what happened to Lady is connected to this,” she insisted.

  Giving up, he merely replied, “Okay. Animal abuse is actually a strong commonality among serial killers. Know anyone with a history of that kind of thing?” Frowning, he added, “Or two anyones?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I know of. But I’ll ask my dad.”

  “Good idea.”

  Leaning back in her seat, she thought quietly before continuing to speculate. “He hates women.”

  “Could be. Or he could want women and be unable to sexually perform with them, so he kills them instead.” He paused before adding, “Three were violated with unidentified objects.”

  She shuddered. But not because of the air-conditioning.

  “Okay,” she said, “what about abuse?”

  “Again, very possible. But not always.”

  “Abandonment?”

  “Maybe. But it could come from so many angles—a wife who walked out, a mother who died.”

  She barked a quick, humorless laugh.

  “What?”

  “You just described both Randy and my brother.”

  He said nothing, just watching her until she scowled.

  “That’s not even funny.”

  “They were both at the bar that night.”

  “Back off, Agent Taggert.”

  “That Covey guy, you said he’s a trucker, right? On the road a lot? He wouldn’t be missed if he’s gone overnight.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  Treading carefully, he couldn’t help adding, “And your brother, he seems like a very angry man.”

  “Angry, yes. Homicidal, no friggin’ way.” The heat in the car no longer came from the sun outside, but rather from her indignation. “Tim doesn’t even own a computer, for God’s sake. He lives in a crappy one-bedroom apartment in town and wants so much to retreat from the world that he seldom even answers his phone. I practically have to send up smoke signals when I want to see him.”

  He’d seen the guy. He understood and pitied the poor bastard. “Look, I’m not accusing either of them of anything,” he insisted. “Just trying to make a point. Most times these profiles can be twisted to suit almost anyone, like that colossal screwup with the Atlanta Olympic bombing suspect. No doubt they can be very helpful. But they’re by no means the only tool we use to catch guys like this.”

  She relaxed, at least a little, then grudgingly admitted, “Point taken. No more assumptions.” Sighing audibly, she deliberately turned her head and stared out the window. “It’s just . . . the waiting is killing me. All the possibilities, all the men
who were at the tavern that night. We’ve got to narrow down the list.”

  Noting the way she’d looked away, not meeting his eye, he had a sudden suspicion. “You’ve been working on the case.”

  A slight nod.

  “Damn it, Stacey.”

  She shifted in her seat to meet his stare directly. “I haven’t done much. I talked to a couple of people, nobody dangerous. I certainly didn’t go question Warren Lee or anything like that.”

  Small comfort. The idea that she might have confronted someone who could turn out to be the Reaper was enough to make him want to get her far away from here. Not that she’d ever run.

  “I immediately thought of this latest kidnapping, wondering if Stan really had been working the late shift Friday night.”

  His curiosity outweighing his concern, he asked, “And?”

  Her frown answered even before she did. “His boss backed him up. Furthermore, the hospital confirmed Winnie’s story. Per their records, Stan brought her and signed her into the ER at two twenty a.m. the night Lisa died. And he was there to drive Winnie home when she was discharged at around six.”

  The stepfather would have had to grab Lisa, stash her somewhere, go home and beat his wife, and drive her to the hospital in the next town, all within a thirty-minute period. Impossible. “So he wasn’t responsible for what happened to Lisa,” he said.

  Her green eyes darkened. “At least not for her murder.”

  The man was guilty of the rest; he didn’t doubt that. He only hoped that someday he was made to pay for it.

  “What else have you got?” he asked, no longer worrying about whether she’d done the right thing in investigating on her own. Stacey wasn’t stupid. And what she’d told him already had helped a lot by ruling out a viable suspect.

  “I tried to talk to Randy.”

  “Why?”

  “My brother told me Randy left a little before closing that night. Lisa did, too. I thought it was worth asking if he noticed anything as he was leaving—a truck pulling in, or maybe one he passed on his way back to town.”

  “Did he?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t met up with him yet. I stopped by his house, and his mother told me he’s been doing a lot of overnight trips. He drives a big rig. She said she’d have him call me.”