by Elle James
Chapter 6
Gabe sat in front of the computer screen, staring at the short list of unsolved murder cases, each bearing the same M.O. “Where did you get this?”
“Just for grins, I sent the information about our victim to a buddy of mine in the regional FBI office. He entered the data into their Violent Criminal Apprehension Program database and came up with these cases.”
A cold chill slithered down Gabe’s spine. Three young women, along the West Coast as far north as Bellingham, Washington, and south to Portland, Oregon, had been murdered. Each woman bore similar features: red hair, green eyes and petite frames. All the women had been strangled within the past six months.
“I called the detective handling the case in Bellingham. He said the killer taunted his victim, building the tension like a cat playing with a mouse.”
“Taunted?” Gabe’s chest tightened, his heart racing. “How?” His breath caught and held.
“He’d call from blocked numbers and threaten them. Sometimes he left presents for his victims to find. One time, he left a favorite photograph in a victim’s car that had been on her desk at her workplace. Another time, he took a ring from a victim’s jewelry box and tied it to the chain on the ceiling fan over her bed. It was as if the killer wanted her to be scared, wanted her to fear him.”
“Did they call the cops as soon as it started?”
Taggert shook his head. “One did when she found a garden gnome lying in her bed. Her friends said it freaked her out so bad, she couldn’t sleep at night.”
Just like Kayla. Gabe was reminded of his talk with the Seattle detective. Kayla had gotten similar taunting calls in the weeks leading up to her attack. And now she was getting gifts. A cold lump settled in Gabe’s gut. “What did the investigation team do?”
“The usual. Dusted her place for prints. They didn’t find any. Asked questions of the neighbors. No one saw anyone coming or going from her house. Questioned relatives and her boyfriend.”
Gabe nodded toward the list on the screen. “What of the others?”
“Got off the phone a little while ago with the detective handling the case in Portland. Same thing. Pretty redhead, phone calls, gifts, no clues. All these cases had pretty much gone cold. Nothing to go on.”
Running a hand through his hair, Gabe asked the question hanging between them, “Coincidence or have we got a serial killer?”
The chief shrugged. “Hard to say.”
“Do we have enough evidence to classify this case as a serial killer? Is it time to turn it over to the FBI?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”
Gabe stood, crossing his arms over his chest. “Talk.”
“Our victim is the same as the others, except one thing.” Tom frowned. “He didn’t taunt her. I asked her parents if she’d been getting any threatening notes, presents, anything.” He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Did you ask her friends?”
He nodded then shook his head. “Nothing. If I call in the FBI, is the case close enough?”
Gabe fished in his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. “I think we need to call them.” Carefully, he unfolded the cloth, revealing the broken necklace Kayla had given him earlier. “And while we’re at it, we need to dust this locket and Kayla Davies’s car.”
“Why?” Chief Taggert squinted at the necklace. “What’s this?”
“It belongs to Kayla Davies.”
“Is she the artist living in the old lighthouse cottage?”
“Yes, sir.” Gabe handed the necklace, kerchief and all, to the chief. “She found it in her car this afternoon. Did you know she’d been attacked in Seattle before she moved here?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Apparently it was in the papers and on television.” Gabe paced in front of the desk, growing more anxious by the minute. “She was attacked in the parking lot of an art gallery. The man was interrupted before he could finish her off.”
“You think it’s the same guy?”
“She fits the description. Red hair, green eyes, petite. She’d had untraceable phone calls prior to the attack, threatening her.” Gabe nodded at the necklace. “Now this.”
“Could be a copycat,” Chief Taggert argued.
Gabe planted both hands on the chief’s desk. “Not possible. This isn’t just any necklace—it’s her necklace. It was stolen from her by the man who attacked her in Seattle.”
“Then why the girl on the beach?”
“Those kids were partying below the lighthouse. The killer could have mistaken the girl for Kayla.” Another thought struck him, making his blood run cold. “Or he killed the girl as a message to Ms. Davies.”
The chief spun toward his desk and lifted the phone from its cradle. “I’m calling the FBI. You go check on the Davies woman. I don’t want another murder on my watch.”
Gabe was halfway out the door before the words left the chief’s mouth.
Kayla thanked Molly for the meal, arranged for Dakota to come by the following day, bid her farewells and drove to the cottage before the sun completely disappeared below the horizon. She wanted the chance to check it out before dark, to turn on all the lights and inspect all the closets, rooms, cabinets, windows and door locks.
She snorted as she pulled her SUV to a halt in the driveway. “Baby, learn a lesson from this. Don’t be paranoid like your mommy. But I guess you won’t have to, will you? I’ll take care of the paranoia for both of us.”
The cottage stood as it had when she’d first arrived. Quaint, with its slate-blue shutters, the white-railed porch and wide picture windows stretching from floor to ceiling, reflecting the sunset like mirrored glass.
For a moment Kayla drank in the beauty of the setting and the sunset, letting a cool waft of salty air drift through the crack in her car window.
She realized she couldn’t stay in her vehicle forever. Nor could she wait for who knew how long for Gabe to show up and chase the monsters from beneath her bed.
Beneath her bed.
She added that to her list of places to double-check before she settled in for the night.
With a fatalistic sigh, she panned the interior of her SUV for anything she could use as a weapon. All she could come up with was a hard plastic ice scraper. Kayla grabbed it, pushed her car door open and got out. Feeling extremely silly carrying an ice scraper out in front of her, Kayla made her way to the front door.
She tested the knob. Locked, just as she’d left it.
She fitted the key into the lock and opened the door, switching the lights on before she stepped inside.
A quick, sweeping glance at the kitchen and living area accomplished, she entered and shut the door behind her, clicking the lock in place.
Kayla swapped the ice scraper for a kitchen butcher knife and continued her inspection, moving from one room to the next. Inside the bedroom, all was as it had been—the bed neatly made, curtains open to the waning light, her toiletries lined up on the dresser. She peeked under the bed. Nothing but dust bunnies.
A similar search of the guest bedroom and bathrooms and a final check on all the window and door locks and Kayla let out the breath she’d been holding. All clear.
She dropped the butcher knife in the kitchen drawer and headed to the bathroom, where she twisted the faucet knobs, plugged the drain and filled the bathtub. A long soak in scented water ought to soothe her fractured nerves.
While the tub filled, Kayla made a final pass through the cottage, closing all the blinds. As she passed by the huge picture window, she shuddered. Locking all the doors wouldn’t stop someone from throwing a brick through the window. But there was nothing she could do there other than close the blinds and hope for the best. At least this time, she wasn’t seeing shadows shif
ting in the dusk.
Kayla strode into her bedroom, stripping off her clothes. She adjusted the playlist on her MP3 player to something soothing and turned up the volume. She lit the few candles she’d brought from Seattle and placed them along the rim of the old-fashioned clawfoot bathtub. After dimming the lights and draping a towel over a vanity chair close by, she climbed in, sinking into the tub an inch at a time. Following the initial shock of the heated water, her body adjusted and she closed her eyes, letting the rising steam cleanse her pores and melt her fears away.
What a day. From almost falling off a cliff to the frightening news of a murder, she could use a little less excitement in her life. Most frightening of all was the necklace left in her SUV for her to find. Her attacker was here in Cape Churn—there was no denying it now. The question was, what was she going to do about it?
She could try to run. Again. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She’d left Seattle as secretly as she could to escape her attacker, and he’d still managed to track her down. Would running once more do any good?
If she stayed, what could she do to protect herself and her baby? “I guess we could move closer to town,” she said, tracing designs in the trails of water over her belly, “but that might just make things worse. Out here, there’s hardly anyone around—I don’t have to look twice at every man who passes to see if he’s the right height, the right build to be the attacker. But am I putting you in danger by keeping you all the way out here where there’s no one around to help us?”
That wasn’t true either, though, was it? There was someone around to help—someone who would be coming around for just that purpose very soon.
Gabe McGregor. Tall, broad-shouldered and with eyes that could light the sky, the small-town cop had been the rock in the quicksand of the day’s events. The compassion in his gaze and the way he made her feel safe went a long way toward restoring her faith in humanity. It was such a relief to be around a strong, powerfully built man and feel protected instead of scared. She felt no urge to back away from Gabe. Instead, shockingly, she wanted to step closer. But she wasn’t ready for that yet…was she?
With the heat, scented candles and mood-fixing music surrounding her, Kayla relaxed against the porcelain.
A noise from the other room startled her and she jerked to a sitting position. She reached for her MP3 player, turning the music off. Silence filled the room, the only sound her breathing and the thunder of her pulse against her eardrums.
“I’m hearing things,” Kayla said, and sank back into the warmth of the bathwater.
A scratchy, tapping sound brought her out of the tub and onto the bare floor. Her wet feet slipped on the smooth tile and she grabbed for the sink to steady herself. She glanced at the mirror, the steam from the bath having fogged her reflection. Bold letters glared at her, clinging to the glass where the mist dripped free.
SCARED?
Kayla screamed and backed away, not realizing she was stepping in a puddle until her legs shot out from under her and she fell against the tile, her head hitting the edge of the sink. Shards of light crashed through her skull as she landed on her back, the air forced from her lungs.
Fog moved into her vision, the Devil’s Shroud shutting out the light from the bulb overhead.
Kayla fought to surface from the encroaching darkness and lost. She tried to scream but no sound passed her lips.
As she faded into the abyss, pounding rattled inside her splitting head. Pounding like the waves on the rocky shore, pounding like hammers on hardwood, like feet on pavement…running, chasing her.…
As Gabe climbed out of his truck, a scream ripped through the night.
“Kayla!”
He raced for the door to the cottage, grabbed it and twisted.
Locked. Lights glowed throughout what he could see of the living and dining area. Kayla was nowhere in sight.
He jiggled the door, abandoned it and ran to the back door on the side of the cottage that backed up to the lighthouse.
He tested the doorknob. It, too, was locked.
“Kayla!” He pounded on the door.
Nothing.
Back around to the front, he pounded on the window, the door, and no one responded.
His heart racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins, Gabe backed away, tucked his arm against his side and hit the door with his shoulder and bounced back, pain shooting through his arm.
He raised his foot and kicked the door next to the handle. Wood split, the frame weakening. Another well-landed kick and the jamb broke, the door flying open.
“Kayla!” Gabe ran through the living room into the bedroom. He noted the bed neatly made, nothing out of place. He moved on to the closed door of the bathroom and stopped.
What if she’d been in the shower and couldn’t hear him knock? But she’d screamed—surely that meant she was in danger. With his breath caught in his throat, he reined in his urge to kick in another door and knocked instead. “Kayla, it’s Gabe.”
A moan from the other side of the wood paneling made the decision for him.
He twisted the doorknob and pushed.
The door wouldn’t budge.
With more oomph, he pushed again. Something heavy blocked it from opening all the way.
In the three-inch gap, Gabe could make out a bare leg. “Kayla?” Carefully, he shoved the door steadily, sliding her body forward until he could squeeze through.
As soon as he was in the bathroom, he dropped down beside Kayla.
She lay on the floor of the steamy bathroom, blood staining the white tile, her body covered in nothing but a thin sheen of moisture.
Gabe pressed two fingers to the base of her throat and held his breath, praying for a pulse.
When the steady thump, thump of blood coursing through veins nudged against his fingers, he let out a sigh. “Kayla, talk to me.” Gently, he ran his fingers along her arms and legs, searching for broken bones. Everything was where it was supposed to be, but she wasn’t waking up.
“Come on.” He reached for the towel draped over the edge of the bathtub and tucked it around her, turning to the cabinet for more towels. “Kayla, sweetheart, wake up.” He had to get her warm to keep her from going into shock.
Towels in hand, he faced Kayla.
Her green eyes blinked open. “Gabe?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” He laid another towel over her shoulders and used one to dab at the blood oozing from a gash buried somewhere in the hair above her ear. “Can you move?”
“No.” A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “Yes. I just don’t want to.”
“Then just lie still while I call an ambulance.”
Kayla shook her head and winced. “No, don’t. I can move. Really.” She sucked in a deep breath and pushed up on her elbows, the towels falling down below her breasts. “Oh.” She lay back down, her face flaming, hands clutching the towels to her chest. “I seem to be missing my clothes. What happened?”
Gabe smiled down at her. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
Her gaze panned the room. “I was taking a bath.”
Gabe nodded toward the full tub. “Okay, and then what?”
Her brows furrowed. “I can’t remember.” She pushed to a sitting position, holding the towels to her front. “There was a noise and then…” Her gaze shot to the mirror and her face lost all color.
“Kayla? What happened next?”
“That.” She raised a hand, her finger pointing at the mirror.
In the fading moisture on the glass, Gabe read the message, his heart sinking to his knees. If he’d had any doubt before that the killer was after her, he didn’t now.
He gathered the woman in his arms and held her while silent sobs shook her body.
Anger surged thr
ough him, making him want to strike out, to hunt down this man who frightened women in a very sick game. Especially this sensitive beauty who would never hurt a soul.
Whatever it took, he’d find the bastard. And when he did, he’d never let him hurt Kayla—or any other woman—ever again.
Chapter 7
Kayla lay on a gurney in examination room one of the emergency room at Cape Churn Hospital. Rubber-soled shoes squeaked as nurses moved up and down the hallway. The doctor had already been by, shone his light in her eyes and pronounced her fit to leave, no concussion. Most important, the baby was okay, no bleeding, the heartbeat strong and normal for this stage of the pregnancy.
So what was taking so long?
She pushed to a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the gurney. For a moment her head swam, but that was normal, too, for being pregnant. Her body wasn’t her own anymore and she’d better remember it.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the wash basin. Wearing the jeans and T-shirt she’d insisted on throwing on before leaving the cottage, her hair matted with blood, she imagined she was a sight. So much for her first impression on the citizens of the cape.
Gabe stuck his head inside the door, carrying two steaming cups of coffee, the rich aroma wafting her way. “Hey, there, mind if I come in?”
“Please do.”
“Sorry, all they had was decaf.”
“Perfect.” She held out her hand for the cup, wrapping her fingers around its warmth. “Why do they keep hospitals so darned cold?”
“To keep out the riffraff.” He smiled. “The doc is signing your release papers. As soon as the nurse has that and gives you the out-brief, you can leave.”
Kayla sighed. “Good. The smell of antiseptic and floor cleaners makes me sick.” She gave him a wan smile, unwilling to go into further explanation, not ready to reveal her little secret growing inside. She rubbed her hand across her belly. It wouldn’t be long before the little bump got bigger and she wouldn’t be able to hide her condition to the world.
