by Elle James
He pulled open the door, glanced right then left and stepped out into the night, Kayla following close behind.
As soon as they stepped down off the porch, the intensity of the fog hit them like a brick wall.
Dakota stopped short, Kayla running into his back.
“I can’t see anything.” Dakota edged away from the cottage.
Kayla grabbed his shirt and tugged him back. “Not that way. The cliffs are that way.”
Dakota stammered, “Y-you don’t think…”
“No. I don’t.” Gabe was too smart to run himself off the cliff. She pointed Dakota toward the side of the cottage. “Let’s look around the cottage first. Maybe he tripped over a rock.”
“Or was stabbed.”
“Dakota,” Kayla warned.
“Just saying.” Dakota leaned a hand on the side of the cottage, working his way around the corners. “Now I know what pea soup looks like. Remind me not to eat it.”
“Just keep going.” Worry formed a tight knot in Kayla’s belly. “He has to be here somewhere.”
“Or not,” Dakota muttered.
She smacked his back softly. “Stop being so damn negative.”
“Okay, okay. I don’t like that he’s not back yet either.” Dakota’s voice lowered. “I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”
“He has to be okay.” Kayla’s voice shook.
When they’d conducted a full circle around the cottage, frustration drove Kayla to the breaking point. “We have to find him. He’s hurt. I know he is.”
“Now who’s being all negative?”
The two of them came to a stop near Kayla’s SUV.
Dakota walked the length of the vehicle, staring out into the murky night. “Can’t see a thing. Where is he?” The flashlight beam bounced off the mist, creating a bubble of light around Dakota. When he turned back toward her, his eyes widened. “Hey, someone wrote on your back windshield.”
Kayla’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to ask what was there.
“Geez. This guy is sick.”
“W-what did he write?” she asked, her voice flat, a dull ache spreading from the base of her skull to her temples, throbbing with every heartbeat.
“They won’t always be around.”
A hard knot formed in Kayla’s throat and she struggled to swallow past it. “Words. They’re only words.” Her voice shook as badly as her hands.
A scuffling sound on the gravel beyond the car brought her head up and Dakota scrambled back to stand in front of her.
“Don’t come any closer, we’re armed.” Dakota stood with the flashlight in one hand and the butcher knife in the other.
The scuffling moved closer and a figure materialized out of the mist. “Put down the knife. It’s me.”
Gabe lumbered toward them, a hand pressed to the back of his neck, his gait clumsy.
Kayla pushed past Dakota and threw herself at Gabe. “Oh, thank God!” When she hit him, he staggered backward and they both almost fell. She let go and slipped her shoulder beneath his arm. His clothing was drenched and cold. “Dakota, get his other arm, help him inside.”
“I’m okay, really,” Gabe protested.
“Yeah, and I don’t have a killer after me. Shut up and let us get you inside.”
He chuckled and winced. “Yes, ma’am.”
Dakota pulled Gabe’s arm over his shoulder. The boy wrapped his arm around his father’s waist and took the bulk of the man’s weight.
Together they maneuvered Gabe to the cottage.
Kayla released her hold and ran ahead to the bathroom for a dry towel. On her way back through the bedroom, she snatched a blanket from the bed.
Dakota lowered Gabe to a sitting position on the couch.
“Thanks,” Gabe said.
“What happened?” Kayla asked, slinging the towel around Gabe’s shoulders.
He raised his hand to the back of his head and ducked, wincing. “Careful. Your rock thrower hit me in the back of the head.”
“Let me see.” Kayla pulled his hand away from his head. His fingers were stained dark red and his hair dripped watery blood. “Dear God.” She glanced at Dakota.
Dakota had lost all color in his face. If he didn’t remember to breathe soon, he’d pass out.
“Dakota,” Kayla said slowly. “Get a dish towel from the drawer in the kitchen and wet it thoroughly with clean water.”
When the boy didn’t move, Kayla spoke sharply, “Dakota, go!”
The teen jerked, his gaze lifting from the blood to Kayla’s face. “What?”
“Get a wet dish cloth from the kitchen.”
He ran for the kitchen. By the time he returned with the wet towel, he’d regained the color in his cheeks. “What do you want me to do now?”
“We need to get him out of his shoes. He needs to be warm and dry or shock could set in. I’ll call the ambulance.”
“No.” Gabe pushed to his feet. “I don’t want an ambulance driving off a cliff in this fog.”
“Then I’ll drive you to the hospital. You could have a concussion.”
“I’m fine, but for a headache the size of the lighthouse.”
“Lie down, then, and let me try to call the hospital. If I can reach them, they should be able to tell me what to do.” Kayla rested her hand on his shoulder, urging him to lie back on the sofa.
He brushed her hand aside and peered up at his son. “Dakota, shove a chair under the doorknob.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy grabbed a kitchen chair and shoved it under the knob, securing the door with the broken lock.
“Thanks.” With the door secure, Gabe leaned back and winced. “He got away—I heard him drive off. But he could still come back.”
“Did you see him?” Dakota asked.
“No. He sneaked up behind me and hit me before I could move out of the way. The fog was so damn thick.”
Kayla’s chest hurt. “You shouldn’t have gone out.”
“And let him get away?” His lips twisted. “Oh, wait, he did get away.” He grabbed Kayla’s hand. “I’m sorry. I almost had him.”
She patted his hand. “I’m glad you’ll live. You scared the two of us half to death.”
“I would have been back sooner, but when I came to, I was disoriented. I didn’t know where I was or which direction to go.”
“At least you didn’t fall off a cliff,” Dakota offered.
Gabe glanced across at his son. “Glad you feel that way.”
The teen scuffed his shoe on the wood flooring, his gaze on his toe, not his father. “Hate to have to break in a foster parent,” he muttered.
Kayla suppressed a grin, the tightness in her chest loosening now that Gabe sat on the couch with her and Dakota. For a while there, she’d imagined all kinds of scenarios, none of which had a happy ending. She took the wet towel from Dakota’s hand and dabbed at the gash at the base of Gabe’s skull. “You have a knot the size of a goose egg back here.”
“I’ll live.”
“This time,” Kayla added, her joy at finding Gabe fading as the magnitude of what might have happened sank in. “He could have killed you.”
Gabe caught her wrist and pulled her to stand in front of him. “He didn’t.”
“He wouldn’t have tried to kill you if I wasn’t here at Cape Churn. Just like I told you before, this is my fault.”
“What?” Dakota’s eyes widened. “How can you even consider this to be your fault?”
Gabe grinned. “See? Even my son agrees. This isn’t your fault. The monster who’s after you is a lunatic. He’s a few fries short of a combo meal and he’s got his sights set on you. You did nothing to bring about his attacks.”
“How do I know?
” Kayla stared down at where Gabe’s fingers wrapped around her wrist. “I could have been ugly to a stranger in Seattle. He could be that stranger.”
“First of all, you could never be ugly to anyone and second of all, the killer is responsible for all his actions and reactions to others. He’s sick, Kayla, and that is not because of you.”
She nodded, knowing he was right, but feeling responsible for bringing the wrath of a killer down on the quiet seaside community of Cape Churn. “I don’t want anyone else hurt.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then how do I make him stop?”
Gabe’s hand slipped from her wrist down to her hand and he held it. “You don’t.” He glanced up, his eyes narrowed, intense. “I do.”
Gabe meant to catch the killer.
Kayla just hoped the murderer didn’t kill him first.
Chapter 12
Gabe strode into the police department offices earlier than usual, headed straight for Chief Taggert’s office.
The chief shot a glance at his watch and looked up, brows rising to the thatch of thick gray hair. “You’re up early. Storm keep you awake?”
“Had trouble out at the lighthouse cottage.”
“The midnight shift filled me in. You feeling okay? I have Rodney on standby in case you couldn’t make your shift.”
“I’m fine. But things aren’t great with this case.”
“You’re telling me?” Taggert shook his head. “The parents of the victim have been calling me every day, wanting answers. I got a special agent calling me for details and if that ain’t bad enough, Jess Frantzen rang me five times this morning wanting to know what I was gonna do about his missing four-wheeler.
“Frantzen lost a quad?”
“No, someone stole it out of his locked shed last night.”
“Forced entry?”
“Yup. Cut right through a padlock.” Taggert shoved a hand through his unruly hair and sighed. “Only bright spot in my day is that the fog lifted about an hour ago.”
“Weatherman said it’ll be back tonight.”
“Maybe I should bring in everyone for duty tonight. The way things have been going, that ding-danged Devil’s Shroud will make this place even more chaotic than it’s been already.”
“Any word from the crime lab?”
“Nothing yet. I’ll give them a call in an hour. It’ll give them a little more time to get to work. Not everyone gets up at the butt crack of dawn like you.”
Gabe smiled. “And you.”
“Comes with the job. Besides, my wife’s Yorkie won’t let me sleep past five-thirty, even if I wanted to.”
“Can’t believe you put up with that little rat.” Gabe shook his head. “Last time I was over, he peed on my foot.”
The chief chuckled. “Truth is, the little guy likes me better than Nora. I kinda like him, too.”
“Dogs have a way of getting under your skin.” Gabe remembered the beagle he’d had as a child before his parents divorced and his mother moved him and Molly to Cape Churn. Then she didn’t have the resources to take care of another creature. It was all she could do to make rent and utilities and keep Gabe and his sister in clothes as fast as they’d grown. He remembered Butch, though, and the memory brought a smile to his face.
Maybe that’s what Kayla needed. A dog to protect her until they caught the killer.
“Did you get around to questioning all the transients in town?” Chief Taggert asked. “Any of them look like a killer?”
“I’m halfway through the list. So far, they’re mostly retired couples, fishermen and young families. I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what a killer looks like and I’ll go right out and arrest him?” Gabe slouched in the only clear seat in the chief’s office.
“That’s a talent I have yet to acquire.” The chief sighed. “If only it was that easy.”
“What’s the final on how the young woman died?”
“Strangulation. Our perp choked her to death.”
Gabe drew in a long breath and let it out. “So young.” And too much like Kayla.
“Where’s the artist right now?”
Sometimes Gabe could swear the chief was a mind reader. “I followed her to the B and B. She’s with my sister for part of the day.”
“Probably just as well. I can’t afford to keep an officer on her house at all times. I’ll be glad when the FBI steps in.”
“When will that be?”
“If not late this afternoon, then tomorrow morning.” The chief clicked on his computer, bringing up his email. “There.” He poked his finger at the screen.
Gabe leaned over the man’s shoulder.
“The only agent they had available is on his way back from D.C. He’s flying into Seattle tonight. Driving down when he gets there.”
“About damn time.” Gabe straightened. Until the agent got there, they had to keep Kayla alive. With the killer’s constant taunts, it was only a matter of time before he made his move.
“I want you to check in on Andrew Stratford. I went by there yesterday and didn’t get an answer. He’s not taking phone calls either.”
“Hasn’t he been a longtime resident of Cape Churn?”
“Sort of. He comes periodically, but never stays long. He just recently got back in town.”
“Is he a suspect?”
“Let’s just call him a person of interest. The man is a loner, fresh back to town. Ah, hell, I don’t know who to suspect, but it’s better checking on him than leaving him off the list. See if he has a motive. He’s had the opportunity to be in Seattle around the time Ms. Davies was attacked.”
“I’ll also run by the hotel in town and see if I can catch Mr. Wilson.”
“Lawrence Wilson?” the chief asked. “The man Jillian’s been showing property to?”
“Yes. He’s only been in town for a week. Might as well question him as well. Says he’s from Portland. Wouldn’t hurt to run a scan on him through the DMV to check his story.”
The chief made a note and looked up. “Let me know what you learn.”
“Will do.” Gabe left the station and headed for the rocky point on the other side of Mortimer’s place.
Andrew Stratford’s estate lay behind a huge wrought-iron gate. After buzzing the call button several times, Gabe gave up, got out of his cruiser and climbed over the fence, careful not to get caught on the pointed ends of the posts. He dropped to the ground and straightened his uniform.
The grounds had seen better days. Hedges were overgrown, the trees needed dead limbs trimmed and grass crept in on the sides of the paved road leading toward the Stratford mansion.
Leery of guard dogs, Gabe walked the road, one hand resting on his nightstick, the other on a pistol.
As he neared the house, a large black dog barreled around the side of the house toward him.
Gabe took up a ready stance, his nightstick held out in front of him before he realized the dog was a gangly Labrador with a wagging tail, followed by a giggling little girl with long, pale blond curls floating out behind her.
When the dog spotted him, he changed course and ran straight for Gabe, with the little girl calling out behind him, “Brewer, stop! Give me back my doll!”
The dog never slowed.
Gabe bent and braced himself for impact.
Brewer dropped the doll between his teeth and plowed into Gabe, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Several minutes later, the dog stopped jumping on Gabe and started planting slobbery kisses over whatever part of Gabe’s body he could reach. When he’d tired of greeting Gabe, he made a grab for the doll on the ground.
Gabe beat him to it, holding the little girl’s toy out of Brewer’s reach. A squirrel ra
n up a nearby tree and the dog took off after it.
The child stood several feet away from Gabe, her face solemn, her gaze pinned to the doll in Gabe’s hand.
“Is this yours?” Gabe asked.
She nodded.
He held out his hand, but the little girl wouldn’t step closer.
“Is your daddy home?”
The little girl nodded again.
“I won’t bite. I’m a police officer. I need to talk to your daddy.”
She still didn’t talk.
When Gabe stepped forward, the little girl stepped back, her eyes widening, her body tensing as if gearing up to run.
Gabe held up his hands. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. Here.” He laid the doll on the ground and took several big steps backward. “Go ahead.”
She stared at the doll and back at Gabe, then turned and ran, leaving the doll on the ground at Gabe’s feet.
“You’re trespassing,” a voice said behind him.
Gabe spun, facing a man probably around the same age as Gabe, mid-thirties, pitch-black hair, blue eyes. “My apologies. I couldn’t think of any other way to see the owner. Are you Andrew Stratford?”
The man nodded. “Yes. Why are you here?”
Gabe had never met Andrew Stratford, the man hadn’t lived at the Stratford estate when Gabe was growing up. Only old man Stratford, Andrew’s grandfather, had lived there. Everyone thought the old recluse was crazy.
Gabe wondered if Andrew took after his grandfather, pitying the little girl who lived with him.
Andrew turned toward the drive leading up to the house. When he did, Gabe noticed a long, puckered scar along his jawline, reaching up to the corner of his eye.
Gabe bent to retrieve the doll on the ground. “This belongs to the little girl.”
Stratford took the doll. “Thank you. Now, if you’re done rescuing toys, perhaps you could leave.”
“I’m Officer McGregor, with the Cape Churn police department. I need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Stratford.”
“What’s this about?” Stratford turned the scarred side of his face away from Gabe’s view, his eyes narrowing.
“Are you aware there was a murder two nights ago near the Cape Churn lighthouse?”
