“First of all. Jumper? Is that really Star’s last name?”
Adam chuckled. “Hippie parents?”
“I guess. Secondly, these people are keeping secrets and I wouldn’t put it past them to cover for one another. I don’t trust their word.”
“I don’t either. We’ll keep digging, though.” The band switched gears and slowed the music. Couples left their lines for pairs. “You wanna dance?” he asked.
Did she? She glanced across the pavilion. Locke was engaged in a conversation with an older man and pointing to the lighting and his camera. The man never met a stranger. Did she want to dance? Yes.
But not with Adam.
Her heart crunched against her ribs, the ache so sharp she needed to sit down. “I’m on duty. Photo duty, that is.”
“Or maybe I’m not the right dance partner.” His gaze followed hers to Locke. Locke turned, made eye contact with Greer. Held on.
“It’s complicated,” she murmured and forced herself to look away. “I’m sorry.”
Adam nodded. “He’ll be gone in a few days, Greer. That doesn’t seem too complicated. And...it was just a dance, not a marriage proposal.” He grinned, then sobered. “Be careful tonight.”
She was well aware there was more in the air than romance. There were other things...like homicide.
When Adam was long gone, Locke returned. He stared at her, his eyebrows asking all sorts of questions. But he’d get the same answer as before if it was about Adam. The lead singer belted out a ballad in his tenor voice. It was a song she and Locke both loved.
“You want to dance?”
Yes. “I don’t think so.”
“One dance, Greer.” He didn’t wait for her to protest. He grabbed her hand, twirled her in a circle and led her onto the dance floor. Their cameras clunked against one another. Locke paused and slid his camera around, so it now hung down his back instead of his chest. “That’s better.” He drew her to him. Frowned. Swung her camera to her back in the same way, then held her in a close embrace. “No...that’s better.”
Briefly, she felt safe. Like other couples here, they were simply enjoying the company and the night. No one wanted her dead. Her daughter was equally safe. She wasn’t alone in life and raising Lin. She lost herself in the daydream, settled into the rhythm as Locke masterfully led them to the song. Swaying. He hummed to the tune, the vibrations tickling her scalp where he rested his chin. His subtle cologne toying with her senses. His warm hand enveloping hers, holding it to his chest.
The song came to an end and so did this charade. She peered into his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lightly skimming her forehead, temple and ear, then lingered in her hair before trailing feather-soft down the side of her neck. “I’m so mad at you, Greer,” he murmured.
Tears stung the back of her eyes along with a heavy dose of confusion.
“So, how is it you still make my heart race like crazy? How is it I can be so hurt and rejected and still want nothing more than to kiss you right here, right now? I want to forget there’s a storm coming. I want to ignore every single person looking on and just have this moment.”
She could barely swallow; her throat had turned to dust. He framed her face, and she didn’t have the fight to say no. To break away. To remind him of all the reasons this was so wrong. Because she wanted the exact same things. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Hadn’t even crossed her mind he would feel rejected. She honestly believed being released from his parental duties would be a breath of relief. She was giving him the out he’d eventually want, anyway.
And how could she be so afraid of the pain, which would soon be coming now that he’d reentered her life, so afraid of him leaving her and Lin and want him to kiss her more than anything in the world, too? To keep holding her. Keep making her feel secure. Beautiful.
His eyes remained on hers, darting back and forth and searching. His nostrils flared and his jaw worked. Then he leaned in and bypassed her lips, placing a gentle kiss on her brow. “But I’m not going to.”
When had Locklin Shane Gallagher ever had an ounce of restraint?
Or was he angry and hurt more than he was tempted?
“I’m going to the restrooms,” she croaked. Tearing from the pavilion dance floor, she raced through couples who were indulging in a kiss or two. She darted toward the portable bathrooms. Normally, she’d turn up her nose, but right now she’d take any escape from what she was feeling. From the confusion waging war in her heart.
As she rounded the shadowy corner, her camera—still bobbing along her back—got caught. She turned as the man dressed in black used it to smack her face. The splitting pain seared up the side of her cheek, dazing her.
He put her in a headlock and thrust her into the tiny portable bathroom.
Pitch-black inside and her head screaming in pain, she used instinct to fight. Her adrenaline sprinted through her veins as fast as fear pumped her heart. Slamming her against the side wall, he wrapped his gloved hands around her throat and squeezed. They were large hands. Strong.
The bathroom rocked as she struggled for freedom.
Greer couldn’t breathe. It was like being inside a stale and pungent coffin. Her lungs and throat burned like a wildfire. He pinned her against the wall, one hand around her throat. With the other, he brought out a knife. He bared his teeth in a sinister grin.
Raising the knife to the side of her cheek, he ordered in an eerie tone, “Shh-hh...”
Panic flooded her and vomit reached her throat as he pressed the cool metal to her cheek, then she felt a small sting.
She fumbled for her camera. He’d used it against her, so she could turn the tables. She wasn’t able to bring it up high enough to strike him, though.
But...she found the flash button. Switched it on. Closed her eyes.
Pressed the button.
The small bathroom lit up like the Fourth of July, blinding and stunning him. She used the sliver of opportunity, shoved him aside and busted through the door, gulping in precious oxygen. He bounded out behind her, and she drew her weapon.
Four teenage girls sauntered up, laughing. Not a care in the world.
The killer grabbed the brunette in the middle and snaked his arm around her neck. The girl’s scream was cut off. Greer couldn’t shoot. The creep pulled her several feet away, then shoved her toward Greer and the other girls and raced into the crowd. No one seemed to notice or care.
Greer gave chase, weaving through a maze of people. Carnival music blared and grated on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard. She caught a flash near the Ferris wheel and hauled off after him. But when she arrived, he was gone.
Vanished like the wind.
She found her cell phone and called it in. In a few minutes, Ben Garrison was on the scene. “Greer, I came as fast as I could.”
The events replayed in her head and terror struck fresh. She bent over at the waist to breathe. “Girls. Find those girls. Question them.”
“Already called Adam. He’s on it. Greer, do you need a medic? You’re bleeding a little and you have some bruising on your face. Did he punch you?” Ben asked.
“Greer!” Locke raced to her. “What Porta Potty did you use? The one in Timbuktu?” Suddenly he had her standing upright, his hands gripping her shoulders, fear in his eyes. “What happened?”
“I was attacked near the bathrooms. He dragged...he dragged me inside.”
He grazed her face with his index finger. “What did he do?”
“Hit me with the camera.” She gave Locke and Ben a play-by-play, then scanned the area.
Locke cocooned her with a grip that said no one was getting through it. She’d never felt more protected.
“I have all deputies on a search for him, Greer. They have copies of the sketch and will be asking around. Someone will have seen him. What was he wearing again? Just
to be certain.”
“Jeans. Hoodie. Ski mask. The girls won’t have much more description than I gave, and I don’t know how easy it will be to round them up. They took off running and I didn’t recognize any of them.” She exhaled heavily. “I need to help search.”
“You need to get some ice on that face, and you know what the sheriff said. Let us work it. I’m heading back to the campers. If he’s in one I’ll find him. I promise.” Ben patted her shoulder and jogged away.
“He’s right, Greer. You need to ice that bruise and you have a cut.” He opened and closed his fist. “Come on, I’ll get you home, then we can regroup.” Locke drew his weapon. “Just to be safe out here.” He tucked an arm around her shoulder and led her to the parking lot.
Greer was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be safe anywhere and that Ben wouldn’t find this guy. He was like the wind. Here one second, gone the next. If they didn’t get a lead soon, Greer feared she’d end up like the wind, too—gone. Permanently.
EIGHT
The smell of coffee permeated Greer’s home. Outside the wind had picked up and rattled the windows. Greer and Locke had returned only twenty minutes ago. Greer had called Cindy on the way home and checked on Lin. She said they were doing fine. Lin was asleep and the boys had enjoyed helping babysit—they were even less rowdy, which was always a blessing.
After hanging up, Greer went back to searching photos. It was pointless, but Greer needed to feel like she was doing something productive to help. And this kept her occupied.
Locke entered the living room. “Turn on the news, Greer. There’s been a terrible tornado sweep through Birmingham. I just got an alert on my phone.”
Greer turned on the TV and they watched the massive destruction. “They’ll be cleaning that up for months. God, help them,” she prayed.
Locke set her cup of coffee on her desk, then sat in the straight-back chair they’d left there, when they’d gone down this road before. “This is why we are doing what we do.”
He was going into bad weather tonight. The thought made her nervous. But he was smart and careful. Didn’t mean accidents couldn’t happen. She prayed for him, too, and for a lead on this case.
He looked away from the TV and to Greer. “Anything?”
“No.”
He checked his cell phone and frowned. “I don’t have a lot of time. Storms are blowing into Rolling Hills in about two hours. I’ll have to hit the road in a bit to get there.”
Rolling Hills was outside of Jenkins County, about thirty minutes away. Locke said his tracking software and satellites had shown severe weather activity and a storm that could potentially produce a tornado. Not as bad as Birmingham. An F1, maybe F2. “I’ll be okay—”
“I’d still like you to go with me, Greer. I can’t—I won’t leave you here alone. Not with a homicidal maniac out there. Not going to happen.”
Truth be told, Greer didn’t want to be alone. She was strong, trained and capable but that didn’t mean she wasn’t frightened or was too naive or prideful to admit she needed some backup. She felt the small cut the killer had left on her cheek and held back tears.
She wasn’t weak and helpless.
“Let’s just go through these photos.” She plugged her memory card into Locke’s laptop and backed it up to the early afternoon the day before the carnival actually began. She recognized some of the carnies in the background. She’d planned to blur them or crop them out. Now, with her editing software gone, she wasn’t even going to be able to use them.
“Hey, that’s Flip.” Locke pointed at the screen.
“I know. We saw this photo the other night. He’s standing at the funnel-cake booth.”
Locke snagged a Post-it note and scribbled down the time stamp from the photo. “If we find more we can track him with the time stamps.”
Locke may not have wanted to pursue a career in law enforcement, but he had the skills and eye for it. Greer clicked the mouse. One photo after another appeared onscreen. Jenna Dennison, the owner and manager. None with her husband, Rudy, in them. Star Jumper, the knife-throwing assistant, walking by the fun house. Nothing that raised a red flag.
She growled and rubbed her temples. “No one seems shady.” She clicked again. “Who are these people hiding? Do you think they are, Locke? Hiding the killer since he’s indirectly done so many of them carrying secrets a favor?” She clicked again.
“I don’t know. Wait. Back up.”
She clicked back.
“Can you zoom in on that one?”
“The campers?”
“Yes. The one behind the one in focus.” Locke leaned forward. “I think I see something. Someone.”
Greer clicked on the zoom tab. “It’s a little grainy, but you’re right. You saw a man.”
Who was he?
“Do you still have the layout of campers? The one y’all used to identify who was staying where?”
“Yeah. Hold on.” She stood and hurried into the kitchen and grabbed her bag, retrieving a manila file folder. She pulled out the map and handed it to Locke. He’d been messing with the grainy feed using his own photo software. Finally, he brought the man into better focus. “I’m not sure I recognize him.”
Locke brought the photo back to its normal size. “Over there is Jewel’s camper. It’s blue and white. Stands out. So, this one...” He ran his finger along the map where Jewel’s camper was and angled it some, held it up next to the photo and gaped. “That’s Flip Bomer’s RV, Greer! And the time stamp is only five minutes after the photo we found of Flip near the funnel cakes.”
“Whoever is going inside might have known that Flip wasn’t there. The door is open.” Jewel had mentioned that Flip’s RV had been rifled through before by someone looking for blackmail evidence. If this man knew Flip wasn’t around, he might have been going inside to hunt for the information. Evidence. Greer jumped up. “We need to go back to the carnival right now. Let’s find the managers and have them give us a name of this man so we can talk to him. I don’t recognize him from any of the police interviews. This could be our break if he knows something...or if we discover he’s the killer. He could have lifted a maintenance uniform easily enough.” Excitement mixed with dread and fear of facing her possible attacker, but they might be one step closer and she was ready to have this behind her. Get her life back. Get Lin back.
Locke checked his watch. “If we hurry, I have time.”
Greer printed the photo, grabbed a raincoat and slipped on her rain boots. Locke drove them to the carnival grounds and they made their way straight to Rudy and Jenna Dennison’s RV. Greer knocked on the door. Rudy opened it.
“Deputy Montgomery, how can we help you?” Rudy glanced at Locke.
Greer held up the photo and Jenna peeked over Rudy’s shoulder. “Can you tell me this man’s name?”
“Well, sure,” Rudy said. “Bolt Masterson. He works games.”
Same guy who’d shut down his game when Greer had been attacked in the woods. “Can I ask why you’re interested in him?” Jenna Dennison slipped under her husband’s arm and ran her bottom lip between her teeth. “I mean...do you think he’s involved in Flip’s death?” She blinked several times and nervously glanced at Rudy.
Greer studied her. She wasn’t doing a good enough job pretending to be nonchalant about her questions. “Do you think he could be?”
“Bolt?” She laughed, but too high-pitched. “I don’t see how. Do—do you, Rudy?”
Rudy frowned. “I don’t know. He’s a quiet guy. Does his job. Keeps to himself most of the time. His RV is on the back south end. Can’t say if he’s there or not.”
“What about you?” Locke asked Jenna. “Do you think Flip Bomer had any dirt on Bolt Masterson?” He cocked his head, squinted. He must be getting the same vibe as Greer. Jenna didn’t like them probing about Bolt.
“If he did I wouldn’t kn
ow what it was!” She clutched her chest as her face turned three shades of crimson.
“That’s not what I asked,” Locke said. “I asked if you thought he had any dirt.”
Rudy slowly examined his wife and his brow creased.
She wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t look at Locke or Greer. “I have no idea.”
Greer was certain she was lying. “Well, if you think of anything, let us know.” Greer nodded her chin, and she and Locke headed toward Bolt’s RV. “What do you think?” she asked Locke.
“That Jenna Dennison and Bolt Masterson have a secret of some kind. I’m not willing to make a judgment on what it is yet. And if our hunch is right, Flip may have known it, too, and blackmailed one or both of them. Bolt may have been at the camper trying to confiscate the incriminating evidence. Do I think he murdered Flip and attacked you? I can’t say. But he had his game shut down during the attack in the woods. It’s possible.”
They weaved through carnies sitting under RV awnings imbibing liquor, laughing and listening to music. Cigarette smoke and stale festival food drenched the chilly air. “You know he won’t admit anything including whether he found anything incriminating in Flip’s camper. Not to mention, we still don’t know why Tiny Tim died—and before you get cheeky, you know who I mean. Don’t be bringing Scrooge into it.”
Locke chuckled as they approached Bolt’s camper, then he knocked. “Seems pretty quiet inside. Maybe he doesn’t keep to himself as much as they said.” He banged on the flimsy door, then checked his watch. “Time is running out.”
“Hey,” a baritone voice boomed.
Greer turned as an ogre of a man stomped toward them. Military haircut. His body was close to the same as the killer’s, but he had a smooth face. Hmm. “I’m Deputy Montgomery and this is my colleague. We’re investigating the murders of Flip Bomer and Tim Maynard.”
Killer Exposure Page 10
