No, he wasn’t going to stop at the station to switch to his pickup. What he did intend to do was go by Ross Zeller’s home, see if his strangeness was any more evident. And maybe ask if he had a burn barrel.
Chapter Fourteen
Lindsay rocketed out of sleep, for a moment disoriented. What had she heard? She strained for any sound out of the ordinary, but the night was quiet. A bad dream, she decided, her heart still pounding, but she’d woken Daniel, who also sat up.
“What is it?”
“I—probably nothing. A nightmare.”
He slid out of bed and went to the French doors, easing the blind to one side. After a minute, he said, “I don’t see anything, but I’m going out to walk the perimeter.”
Her fingernails bit into her palms. He kept doing this, scaring her every time. “Please don’t. What if—” She couldn’t finish. He’d know what she hadn’t said. What if he kills you? What if he sees you leaving the house and comes in?
Already half-dressed, he paused. “I know how to be a ghost.”
Shakily, she said, “So does he.”
He went still, his shirt half on. “He could be ex-military. I don’t know why that hasn’t occurred to me.”
As far as she could tell, Daniel was energized by the idea and unswayed by her fears.
After yanking down the shirt, he shoved his feet in his boots, grabbed his gun and murmured, “Stay here.” Then he was gone.
Discovering she felt trapped up here, Lindsay got dressed, too. If something happened—gunshots fired, Daniel’s house burst into flames—she could deal better if she wasn’t naked. Then, like him, she peeked through the blinds.
The view was severely limited, but the moon cast a silver light tonight that illuminated open ground leading toward the impenetrable darkness of the woods.
Her heart took an extra beat. Something had moved in that darkness.
Her eyes burned as she stared. She flashed back to the day she’d found Martin Ramsey’s body and first thought someone was watching her from beneath the trees.
In fact, these past few days she’d kept feeling eyes on her. The hair on her nape would prickle, and she’d whirl around but never actually see anyone. Her imagination was working overtime, but so far she’d failed to squelch it.
Right now, she couldn’t stand the suspense. She slipped to the head of the staircase, unsure if the darkness inside allowed her to feel safe…or had the opposite effect. Don’t be a coward, she told herself, and descended, her bare feet silent on the solid steps.
In the kitchen, she saw the lighted numbers on the microwave. 4:39. She wouldn’t be going back to sleep.
Which door had Daniel gone out? Would he have left it unlocked?
She stood still, waiting. Tension rose as she pictured him slipping through the night, unafraid.
Only the faintest whisper of sound told her the kitchen door had opened. She eased backward into the hall, so she couldn’t be seen if it wasn’t Daniel who’d entered so quietly.
The kitchen light came on, she heard a familiar clunk, like a gun being set down, and then water running in the sink.
Swallowing fear she hated feeling, she said, “Daniel?”
“It’s me.” He stepped into sight, his dark eyes locking onto her. “Why’d you come down? You could still get some more sleep.”
Lindsay hoped her laugh sounded less broken to him than it did to her. “Sure. That’s going to happen.”
He studied her for a moment. “Okay. I’m making coffee.” He didn’t move, though, instead holding out a hand.
She took it and let him draw her close. She wrapped both arms tightly around him, gripping the T-shirt he wore in both fists. His strong embrace calmed her, as did the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. He couldn’t have seen anything even slightly alarming or he wouldn’t be so relaxed, would he?
Finally she drew a deep breath and straightened, letting her arms drop to her sides. He did the same but never looked away from her.
“This is getting to you,” he said in a soft growl.
Denial seemed pointless. “I guess it is. What are we going to do, Daniel? We can’t go on like this forever.”
He shook his head. “I’m not moving you.”
Shock zinged her. “I didn’t mean that.” Accustomed to solitude, she had been surprised how comfortable it was to live with Daniel. No, not just comfortable; the truth was, she loved their quiet talks, his heat and solidity in bed at night, his gentle touches, his openness with her.
Making love with him.
What she had no idea was whether he was as happy or hankered for his lost privacy and quiet.
“We’ll get through this. He’ll make a mistake or one of us will have an epiphany that leads us to him. I admit, I don’t like feeling outsmarted and outmaneuvered.”
“You know it’s not that. If you could predict his next choice of victim, it would be different, but how can you?”
“We did once. We warned the stupid woman, and he still figured out when she’d be alone, killed her and waltzed away without leaving so much as a flake of skin or strand of hair behind.”
“That means he’s using gloves and… I don’t know.” A Tyvek suit?
Something changed on Daniel’s face. Of course he wasn’t telling her everything. Should she push?
He turned and went back to where he’d been filling the coffeepot. After a moment, however, he said, “We’re speculating that he’s shaved his body, at the very least.”
Having followed him, she found herself staring at his back.
“His head, too?” she asked.
“Best guess is a hood. Maybe the kind divers wear.”
“Oh.” Glenn, for one, didn’t have much hair on his head to start with, she couldn’t help thinking. He did have a hairy chest, though. She knew because when he left the top button of his shirt undone, curly gray hair showed. He would have shaved that if—
Shame curdled in her stomach. She knew him. He wasn’t capable—but then she remembered their last conversations. She hadn’t known he’d ever been married. In fact, his personal life was pretty much a mystery to her. But wasn’t that kind of stuff really superficial? He’d demonstrated his caring, his leadership, his determination and kindness day after day on the job. That was what counted. Nausea swirled through her. Think how hurt he’d be if he knew that, even for the tiniest moment, she’d considered the possibility that he might be the monster torturing and murdering people.
“What are you thinking?” Daniel leaned against the counter and regarded her, his arms crossed.
She shook her head. “He can’t pull the hood up until he knows no one will see him.”
“That’s true.” He hesitated, watchful again. “I’ve eliminated Hammond and Grudin once and for all.”
She gaped. “How? When?”
“They were both in the office when your house was set on fire. This time, there’s no doubt.”
Lindsay discovered she didn’t know how to feel about that. She hadn’t wanted either man to turn out to be so horrible or to find her judgment was that off. She didn’t like either of them, but she’d respected them as coworkers. But at least… Well, circle back to the fact that she didn’t like either of them. That gave her a few degrees of distance. Given the certainty that the killer would turn out to be someone she knew—
“I should be glad,” she blurted out, before she could censor herself.
Daniel’s dark eyes narrowed, but he kept his mouth shut. And why not? He had to know what she was thinking.
The next thing he said was almost irrelevant. “If only I had more manpower.”
Reluctantly, she asked, “To do what?”
“Put a tail on suspects.”
“Do you have suspects?”
“You know I do.”
Her lips parted, but he
shook his head before she could ask who.
“You’ve told me what you know about people. You already have enough to stew about,” he said.
Normally she would have argued, but she knew he was right. Since she was jittery despite the ridiculously early hour of the morning, she went to the refrigerator. She might not be hungry yet, but she had to do something, and they’d have to eat sooner or later.
Daniel relaxed, so subtly most people wouldn’t have noticed, but she’d already become an expert on reading his body language. He wanted to steer her away from what he was thinking, and for now she’d let him get away with it.
TIREDNESS WAS BECOMING an issue. There was a limit to how long he could go on this way, Daniel knew, working all day, taking more what he thought of as brief combat naps at night than really sleeping. He’d learned his capacity and limitations during his deployments in battle zones. He could pace himself only so long before he had to have a good eight hours of deep, truly sustaining sleep.
Assuming the killer was, or had been, a Child Protective Services employee—and Daniel had little doubt—two men had risen from a more general field of possible suspects to become his favorites. Both male, one retired, one who had quit. Both had displayed possibly aberrant behavior on the job, and now that they’d left it, neither had a schedule that made it possible to pin down alibis with any certainty.
Ross Zeller and Glenn Wilson.
A few others were still in the running, but trailing well behind.
Zeller might have been in the number one position, except that Lindsay didn’t sound as if she’d been very close to him. He’d stared at her—but he’d stared at other people, too. Some people, especially a man described as strange, lacked the intuitive knowledge of social cues and boundaries.
Daniel couldn’t forget that Glenn had been there the day Lindsay got the call about Shane Ramsey collapsing after his uncle beat him. He hung around the office enough to know what was going on and remained friendly enough with the caseworkers he’d formerly supervised to hear about the child rape case that followed so soon after Martin Ramsey’s murder.
Glenn had also proved to be remarkably hard to pin down. Nobody really knew whether he’d had hobbies back when he was still working. Because he hadn’t talked about any, the consensus was that he lived for his job. If that was so, the puzzling part was that he had chosen to retire sooner than he had to.
Unless, of course, he’d decided it was time to start hunting the worst abusers in a more satisfying way than slapping them with too-short prison terms.
The two men were a contrast in that Glenn was helpful whenever Daniel called, while Zeller had yet to answer a call from Daniel or answer the door when he made follow-up visits. Ross Zeller’s behavior should be more suspicious…but a serial killer who hadn’t yet made a mistake might well be an Oscar-worthy actor.
AFTER CLEARING THE dishes that evening, Lindsay sat down again at the table, not happy to see that Daniel was already on his second cup of coffee, and said, “That’ll keep you awake.”
He smiled crookedly. “That’s the general idea.”
“You can’t—”
“I can.”
Refusing to back down, she suggested, “Why don’t I keep watch for a few hours tonight so you can really sleep? I can take a nap tomorrow.”
“You can’t leave the house.”
“Is that necessary, if I make your usual rounds inside?”
“You have no experience with patrolling, sentry duty, being a bodyguard,” he said flatly.
She crossed her arms and held his stare. “I have good eyesight, and I’m highly motivated. What else is required?”
“This is my job.”
Absorbing that, she hid how much it hurt. As calmly as she could manage, she said, “Well, that puts me in my place. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go read for a while. That’ll give you peace and quiet to mainline your caffeine.” She stood and started toward the doorway.
Behind her, a chair scraped across the polished wood floor. “Damn it, Lindsay, I didn’t mean it the way you’re thinking.”
She paused briefly, closing her eyes. Why had she said that? She was hugely in debt to Daniel. Yes, they were sleeping together, but that didn’t mean he was thinking of her as part of his future beyond nailing a killer. The last thing she should do was add any awkwardness to the relationship when they couldn’t avoid each other.
She flapped a hand. “Forget about it. I’m irritated that you won’t let me help, that’s all.”
“Would you turn around?” His voice came out huskier than usual.
Lindsay swallowed, took a few deep breaths and summoned her inner actress before she faced him.
Even more lines had deepened in his face. “You’re not a job to me. You have to know that.”
“Sure.” She smiled. “I didn’t mean to start something. Don’t worry about it.”
“I will worry about it.” He held out a hand.
Barely hesitating, she reached out. His much larger hand engulfed hers, and he tugged her toward him.
“I’ve been trying to focus on keeping you safe,” he said in that almost gruff voice. “I figured the rest could wait.”
“It can,” she whispered.
“I’ve never brought anyone involved in one of my investigations home with me.”
Lindsay nodded. She’d assumed as much.
“You’re depending on me right now. Putting pressure on you would be a crappy thing to do. Just know that the idea of something happening to you—” He swallowed. Shuddered, if she wasn’t mistaken. “I don’t know how I could live with that.”
The melting sensation inside her rib cage made her eyes sting, too. “I’m not very good at saying thank you. If not for you—”
He cut her off. “Damn it, you’re not listening! Gratitude is the last thing I want from you.”
“I’ve been afraid of assuming anything,” she said honestly. “So…maybe it’s better if we hold off on this conversation.”
“We can do that, but you need to know that you’re not an obligation to me. You’re…important.”
Her head bobbed. “You’re important to me, too. I—” No, don’t say it. Instead, she changed gears. “I want the right to worry about you, too, though.”
He bent down until his forehead rested against hers. “You can do that,” he murmured. “I’ve been doing plenty of worrying about you.”
He wouldn’t be able to see her mouth, but she summoned a shaky smile anyway. “I know.”
The next moment, he was kissing her. The passion and raw need ignited a response from her as powerful as his. The kiss went on and on as she did her best to mold her body to his, to tell him without words how she really felt.
Suddenly, though, he lifted his head and looked down at her. “You’re right, and I was wrong,” he said, sounding as if somebody had taken sandpaper to his vocal cords.
Lindsay blinked. How was she right?
“I need you now, but after that I also need some sleep. As long as you promise to wake me up if anything at all catches your attention.”
Despite his dominant personality and strong, protective instincts, he was backing down. He intended to trust her enough to allow himself to sink into a deep sleep.
She gave him a smile. “Those are magic words, you know. I should have them tattooed where I can see them forever.”
Showing a hint of wariness, he cocked his head. “Which words?”
“‘You’re right, and I was wrong.’ What else?”
Seeing her full-fledged grin, he laughed. “Later I may have to deny I ever said that.”
“Just try it.”
His mouth still curved, he kissed her again. This time, he steered her toward the stairs.
IN THE NEXT few days, boredom took a toll on Lindsay. She’d never been sick or injured enou
gh to be confined to her house for any length of time. Vacations? Who had time for those? And on the rare occasion when she’d managed to take one, she didn’t use it to huddle inside.
Here, even when she walked around inside the house, she had to avoid passing in front of a window. She loved to read—but not all day long, every day. She’d taken to baking ridiculous quantities of breads, cookies, cakes and pies. The other cops who took turns guarding her took some of the bounty home. Daniel took some to work, too, but he didn’t want other cops and employees to start wondering where he was coming by so many obviously home-baked goodies. Bread and cookies she put in the freezer. Whether she was here down the line or not, Daniel wouldn’t lack for desserts.
She browsed job openings on the internet, and the reputations of local contractors, just in case she decided to rebuild her house. She looked up blueprints and designs—if she did build, she might as well improve on the basic rambler she’d bought when she’d first moved to Sadler.
She studied the latest model cars. She ordered a dozen new books from an online bookseller. Clothes, too. Daniel wasn’t thrilled to learn how often the UPS or FedEx truck rumbled up the driveway to his house, but the packages all came in his name and he scrawled notes to stick to the door permitting the drivers to leave everything on the porch.
“I’ve turned into a shopaholic,” she told Melinda as she ripped open a shoebox. She was pretty sure these would fit. Even so, when she took out the riding boots, she made a face. “As if I’ll ever get to ride again.”
Melinda laughed at her. “Gloom and doom. Hey, don’t forget the bright side. You’re alive and you have a sexy boyfriend.”
“Those are definitely silver linings,” Lindsay admitted. She wouldn’t have said anything to the woman detective about her relationship with Daniel, but he’d taken to kissing her when he got home, right in front of Melinda or Tom Alvarez or the couple of other cops who’d become her best—and only—friends.
Not true. She still had her phone, and Glenn and Sadie, at least, hadn’t forgotten her. Most of the rest of her coworkers quit calling, no surprise when she couldn’t meet up for coffee, had no idea what was happening at work and dodged any questions about where she was staying and when she’d be back.
The Hunting Season Page 17
