Her Silent Shadow: A Gripping Psychological Suspense Collection
Page 106
Since he had put his arm around her shoulders when they walked from the hospital and caressed her leg as they drove back to the apartment, she worried he was going to ask the question again—Will you marry me?
Brandon took a hold of both her hands and gazed into her eyes.
Tori held her breath, not wanting to say “No” again, but she couldn’t say “Yes.”
He kissed her hands. “Tori, I will always love you. I’ve asked you to marry me again at least once a month since our divorce became final, and I’m not going to give up. Will you marry me?”
“Brandon, it wouldn’t be fair to you if I said ‘yes’. I know the video I found with you and another woman had been doctored.”
His eyes narrowed. “I hired an investigator to prove that. He came up empty handed. How did you find out?”
Tori filled him in on the picture she found on his desk that reminded her of one that previously hung on a wall in their bedroom. She had gone to the house and compared the two pictures. She had been replaced in the photo with a blonde, the same blonde who was in the video, and knew it had been digitally altered.
Excitement flared on his face. “Then you know the truth that I never cheated on you.” He cocked his head. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”
“Because now it doesn’t make any difference.”
Brandon’s brow furrowed. “Are you telling me that you still won’t consider marrying me again?”
Tori nodded. “Brandon, don’t you see it wouldn’t be fair to you? I didn’t trust you enough to believe you were innocent. You pleaded with me that you had never had an affair. You even placed your hand on our Bible and swore you had never cheated on me. My ears were closed to all of your pleadings. No matter what you said, I couldn’t look past that video.” Tears welled in her eyes. “And look what I put you through. All the horrible names I called you. I ruined our marriage. It’s all my fault.” A few tears flowed down her cheeks. She brushed them away with her fingertips and then stroked his arm. “I’m very grateful that through it all, our friendship still somehow survived.” She touched his cheek. “I don’t deserve you, and you deserve someone who will trust your words and not automatically judge the worst.”
Brandon enveloped her in his arms. “Tori, the day we met in that office with our attorneys to sign divorce papers was the worst day of my life. Can’t you remember how happy we used to be together?” He squeezed her tight against his chest. “My office was used for more than just business. We were caught a couple of times. My secretary still occasionally jokes about the panties she found in a folder.”
“Panties in a folder?”
“The day my secretary sent the four clients to my office.”
“Certainly remember that. We both ducked down on the other side of your desk.”
“After they stepped out to give us a minute, you were in such a rush to leave, you didn’t get completely dressed. When they returned, I spotted your panties and stuck them in a folder.” He raised her chin and peered into her eyes. “I want that life back again and it will never happen without you. Tori, everyone makes mistakes, but I never thought and I still don’t that you were responsible for our divorce. The person who planted that video was. Since it appeared shortly after the crash that took Stella Fackrell’s life, I suspected her husband was behind it. He blamed me for his wife’s death and wanted me to also suffer losing a wife. Unfortunately, the investigator I hired couldn’t find any evidence to support my theory.”
Brandon kissed Tori’s forehead. “And given the fact that you found that Photoshopped picture on my desk, I’m convinced that was how it went down. If you won’t marry me again, Fackrell has won. He’ll probably end up in prison for a long time, but he’ll be happy about how he permanently left a mark on my life. On our lives.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “Do you want to make Rob Fackrell happy?”
Tori gazed into Brandon’s eyes. “No. I guess the only way I can prevent that is to marry you again.”
“Is that a ‘Yes’?”
She nodded. “I’ve never stopped loving you. I dream about being in your arms often. Now those dreams can come back to life.” Tori wrapped her good arm around Brandon’s neck and gave him a passionate kiss as the tingling sensation she thought was gone forever returned.
About the Author
Inge-Lise Goss, a USA Today, Award-Winning Best Selling author, was born in Denmark, raised in Utah, and now lives in the foothills of Red Rock Canyon with her husband and their dog, Ted. She spends most of her time in her den writing stories. There, with her muse by her side, her imagination has no boundaries, and her dreams come alive. When she’s not pounding away on the keyboard, she can be found reading, rowing, or trying to perfect her golf game, which she fears is a lost cause.
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A Novel
By
Eric J. Gates
Contents
Acknowledgments
Author’s Content advisory
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
About the Author
Also by Eric J. Gates
For Teresa
Acknowledgments
I wish to thank my friend Major (Retd) Cormac Doyle, ARRC, BSc Dip He MH RMN CPN EMDR and CEO of The Bridge Charity in the U.K. for guiding me on my travels on less commonly trod paths of psychiatric disorders, and for his invaluable advice and patience in dealing with my ever-increasing, off-the-wall questions.
Author’s Content advisory
ONE
Language intensity
No or mild profanity
Sexuality intensity
Possible sexual references with no details
Violence intensity
Violence but no gory details.
Preface
A serial killer is operating in California, but one like no other. The Bureau of Investigation has no clues to the killer’s identity, the victims appear chosen at random, yet one investigator is convinced there’s a connection to the Bureau itself.
1
The dust washed over the group of three people standing at the edge of the lake. All three bowed their heads and scrunched their eyes against the barrage. Then, as one, they turned to look at the source of the dirt storm.
“Well, the M.E. finally made it!” said the tall man.
“Took them long enough,” remarked the shorter woman.
“Can’t do nothin’ now anyway.” The third summed up the frustrating scene before them. Carl Brugger, a detective from the South Lake Tahoe Police Detective
s Division, and the second on the scene. The patrol officer who had made the discovery was sitting in his car some distance back from the lake edge. His face, discernible by the threesome through the open door of the police cruiser, still reflected the horror of his find.
“Are we sure about that?” The tall man, a California Department of Justice Bureau of Investigation Special Agent called Jim Brandt. “It’s not as if there’s a string of buoys marking the state border with Nevada somewhere in the middle of the lake. Hell, it’s just a dotted line on a map.”
“Perhaps it’s still on our side of the border. How about I take a boat out there and use my phone’s GPS to confirm it?” The woman, late thirties, ash-blonde hair cut aggressively short, somehow highlighting her light blue eyes, was peering through the binoculars again. “If we stand around here waiting for some miraculous change in the currents or wind that’ll bring it back here…”
Brandt looked down at his female partner, nodding.
“Yeah, good idea. You go. Don’t touch it, though. I don’t want the M.E. in my face for tampering with evidence.”
Erin Carter grunted. She knew the real reason Brandt wanted her to take the boat was the fear of drowning he had confessed to her a couple of years back; he had never learned to swim. Still, it had been her idea. She walked further down the lakeshore, her Sacramento city footwear sinking into the soft sand, until she reached a small group of lookie-loos who had materialized shortly after the cops had arrived.
“Hey, any of you own a boat here?” Her hard-edged voice cut through the mumblings in the group.
“Yeah, I got one.” The response came from a kid who had not left his teen acne behind. “It’s just back here.” He pointed over the heads of the gawkers.
“Take me to it.”
The lookie-loos gathering parted to let the Special Agent and the teenager pass through. Carter saw the boat, a jet ski with a few years use visibly apparent.
As though reading her mind, the kid spoke.
“Hey, don’t knock it. The motor purrs like a big cat. I’ve worked on it for the last three years and she’s never let me down. I use it to fish for trout and salmon. The cop hired it to check out that floater before you guys arrived.”
“The cop used it?”
“Yeah. A hundred bucks and it’ll get you out and back with no trouble.”
“Oh, it uses money for fuel.”
“Nah, but I have to pay for the fuel and the maintenance too.”
“But you said you worked on it.”
“S’right. I have a thing for working on jet motors.”
“And for ripping off cops. I’m a CA DOJ Special Agent, so I’m going to borrow it for twenty minutes, okay. It’s called commandeering…”
“Yeah, posse comitatus. I’m not stupid. But that only works if you are pursuing a suspect or there’s imminent danger to someone.”
Carter leaned in close to the teen.
“You are going to be in imminent danger, wiseass, if you don’t hand over the keys now.” She held out her hand.
With a shrug, the teenager dropped a key tied to a large cork ball in Carter’s palm.
“You’d better do something about those shoes too. Take them off. I’ll look after them. Roll up your pants legs too, up to the knee, or they are going to get soaked. And try not to push her too fast. She’ll take it, but that water is snowmelt, and it’s pretty cold. You don’t want ten-degree waves washing over your feet. They’ll turn blue in five minutes. I have some waders but that cop still has them.”
Carter nodded, recognizing good advice even when it came from a fifteen-year old.
“Want me to take the fishing gear out?”
“No, No time. Look. Here are my boots. I want them and my socks warm and dry when I get back here, okay.” The response was a smart salute. “Wiseass!”
Carter climbed on the jet ski and fed the key into its slot. The motor rumbled gently. It sounded solid. She opened the throttle slowly and the watercraft headed away from the shore into the deep lake.
“Watch out for Tahoe Tessie!” yelled the kid from the bank, referring to the monster said to lurk in the waters.
Carter’s reply was short and not age appropriate.
2
The kid was right. The water was freezing. She tried riding with her naked feet folded under her, but the sensation of instability had her dropping them back onto the running boards almost immediately. Within ten minutes, she was shivering. She could hear her teeth chattering even above the sound from the motor.
Another few minutes, and she could clearly see her objective. Her cell phone pinged loudly. She had set up a waypoint on the GPS navigator app for the border that separated California from neighboring Nevada. She had just crossed out of her jurisdiction. Nervously Carter glanced back at the shoreline, at her partner and the Lake Tahoe Police Detective. From their perspective, they would not know how far into Nevada she was going to travel. Rules, a dotted line on a map in this case, were meant to be flexible. At least that was how she usually operated. Most of the time, if the job got done, no one objected. They had called the Lake Tahoe Coast Guard when they arrived, but there was still no sign of them. It was up to her.
She steered the jet ski in a wide arc, overtaking the floating bundle. The cop had said it was a body yet the shape did not fit. It appeared to be a dark, waterproof tarpaulin, crisscrossed with thin, blue nylon cord. However, if Carter’s suspicions were right, it would turn out to be a medical body bag. The cording created the effect of a duvet cover, like pockets sewn into the material, which trapped air and helped the bundle float. She could see where the cop had used his penknife to cut a small tear in one of the ‘pockets’. Just enough to identify an eye. Yet the shape of the package was too short for the whole body to be in the bag.
Another furtive glance back at the shore.
“Screw this!”
Carter neared the floating bundle, cutting the motor to a slow idle. She fished in her jacket pocket and extracted a Swiss Army Knife. The blade was razor sharp. No point carrying it, if it could not cut. She grabbed the teenager’s fishing rod, freed the hook, and leaned over to wrap it three times through one of the twines, then she forced the hook into the material. A tug confirmed it was secure. She reeled out about four meters of fishing line, then sliced through it with her blade. She fashioned a tight loop in the free end, then pushed the line through it, making a large circle. This she slipped over her head and arms and worked it down to her waist. She had no idea of the breaking strain of the line, yet if the kid fished for salmon here, it should be strong enough. Still, she let the motor gently gather speed, as she pointed the jet ski and its gruesome barge toward her point of departure.
It took much longer to make the return journey. Now her whole body was shivering. She knew if she fell off the jet ski, the ice cold deep blue waters of Lake Tahoe would finish her much faster than her colleagues could get a rescue boat out here. Slow and steady was the game. She glanced back constantly at the towed bundle. She had to preserve any evidence too. Her GPS beeped again as she crossed back into California. Shit! This is taking far more time than she had bargained for. She wondered if hypothermia would get to her before she reached the shoreline. Carter could not recall being this cold, ever.
The minutes dragged, becoming hours in her fuzzy brain. The shore seemed no closer. Then, abruptly the prow of the jet ski rose up on dry land. It jolted her awake. She had passed out. No way was she going to let anyone know that, though. The kid was there. He leaned over and cut the motor, glancing briefly at the bundle as it ran into the back of the jet ski. He was carrying a thick blanket. Rough and dirty as it was, Carter didn’t complain as he threw it around her. He then slipped a small thermos into her numb hand.
“Drink. It’s coffee, warm but it won’t burn your mouth. Get some heat back into your body.”
Carter sipped from the thermos, immediately noting the coffee had been laced with something a fifteen year old shouldn’t be drinking. The li
quid slipped down her throat, warming as it went. The kid had now produced a towel and was rubbing her feet dry.
She glanced up, seeing her colleagues, trailed by the lookie-loos, approaching.
“Was it in our waters?” yelled Brandt.
“What do you take me for? Of course it was! I think it’s another one. Number four!”
“Jeez! That’s all we need.” Brandt took out his cell phone and started dialing the Bureau.
Carter turned back to the kid. She handed him the empty thermos.
“I hope you treat all your dates that well, kid. Thanks.”
With some difficulty, her legs causing her to grimace as she dismounted the jet ski, she stepped back into her boots.
She thanked the kid again. Apologized for the ruined fishing line. Handed him one of her cards.
“That’s okay, Agent. Glad to help.”
The kid watched as Carter freed herself from the fishing line, then tugged the bundle to the shore so the M.E. could get to it. He glanced down at the thermos still in his hand. The open top had two hundred-dollar bills stuffed inside.