Murder at Sunrise Lake

by Christine Feehan

  Stella could still remember the chilling way her father had looked at her. She’d been afraid of him for the first time. She knew she hadn’t broken the camera. It was the first time she realized that her mother lied. That frightened her and she’d felt very alone. She didn’t remember how old she was.

  “It’s never a good time when we find out our parents might be monsters, like your father, or have feet of clay, like your mother,” Harlow said, her gaze glued to the catalogue she was scrutinizing. She glanced up for a moment. “Do you think any of us comes from normal? I mean anybody alive? Do we even know what normal is, or do we just make it up in our heads because the movies and television convinced us there is a normal?”

  Stella raised an eyebrow. “That’s a good question, and one I don’t have an answer for, but I don’t think most people have serial killers for fathers.”

  “I think the camera thing with your mother happened before the nightmares, Stella, so in a way, you can thank your mother for helping you stop serial killers. I know it sucks to be you when it happens, but at least you stop them eventually from killing. There is a similar-looking knob. In your next dream, try twisting it a little to the right and see if it widens your range of vision. If it doesn’t, no worries, we’ll keep working on it. You’re using your mind, not actual fingers, so you really can’t hurt anything. Don’t panic in your dream thinking you’re going to harm anything. If you have to, pretend I’m with you, taking the photographs for you. Just imagine that I’m twisting the knob to the right.”

  “You’re so brilliant, Harlow.” Stella meant it too. “Misha is out of her bed and pacing. I think she’s trying to tell you something. I’ll get Bailey if you’re ready.” She was more than ready to stretch her legs.

  At the lake she spent hours and hours picking up trash after everyone left. She was lucky that when she had a clean-up day, volunteers showed up with their own supplies to help—that was the kind of community she lived in—but there was always trash. She walked Bailey every morning and took a trash bag. In the evening she did the same after the last of the campers left and they closed everything down.

  She was used to being extremely active. Sitting even for a short period of time made her antsy—especially now. During the season, there was no time to do anything but work. If she took a day off, she climbed or hiked. She needed the time away to clear her mind. She was busy every minute of the day from sunrise until well after midnight. Sam had taken a great deal of pressure off her, and she had gathered the best staff and crew together over the years. That helped tremendously. They worked hard and she appreciated every single one of them.

  Misha leapt at the back door as Stella went out the front door to get Bailey out of her 4Runner. He was already waiting for her, eager for the walk. He waited for her release command before leaping out and then he raced around the studio to the back to meet with Misha, who was already eagerly yipping her joyous greeting.

  Stella found herself smiling. Happy. That was one of the things she loved about dogs. They lived in the moment. They took joy in whatever they were doing. Both Misha and Bailey loved to run along the canal, and they knew the way Harlow and Stella jogged or walked. Neither needed a leash. Everyone knew them and who they belonged to. They could play tag together and find every interesting crawling creature and rodent available.

  It was much warmer at the lower elevation and Stella wore a light sweater over her T-shirt. She could always tie it around her waist if she got too hot. The October weather cut down on the mosquitoes, which was helpful, but she was always careful anyway, carrying repellent with her. The same with tick repellent, although, if truth be told, she was more vigilant with Bailey than herself. Her dog was always protected.

  “Where’s Vienna today? I thought she had several days off in a row. Wasn’t she going to try to train her cat to go for a walk with Misha?”

  “Vienna was called into work just before I got your call, an emergency. Denver had to go in as well. Big accident, two trucks, head-on. It sounded bad.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “As for her cat and canal walking, yeah, that didn’t go so well. Her prissy little princess wanted to ride on Misha’s back, claws dug in deep, not walk on the ground.”

  The two women looked at each other and burst out laughing. The cat was the love of Vienna’s life and spoiled rotten. The animal ruled, although she never admitted it. She always indicated she was determined to have the cat come along on their adventures with the dogs. The cat never did. She lived in a “palace” and was snobby, turning up her nose at most food and demanding to be brushed and petted when Vienna was close. She would get annoyed if Vienna was gone too long and turn her back on her owner for long periods of time in a little snit. They all thought the “princess” was aptly named and loved to hear stories about her.

  Walking along the canal was peaceful, even at the brisk pace Harlow set with her long legs. Stella didn’t mind walking fast, although she was no runner. If she had to jog for her dog’s sake, she would, and she did run under protest to stay in condition, but she wasn’t one of those people who loved it. She would never be a peak bagger—running up a trail and then a mountain to “bag” the peak. She could hike a trail steadily for hours, days, weeks, months, but running, that was a big fat ugh.

  The trees swayed gently in the breeze, a few leaves slowly shaking loose and swirling lazily toward the wide trail or the water below. Everywhere was an explosion of color. Reds and oranges with various shades of greens and browns. The fields around them appeared gold. The grasses were so tall they tipped over. Some stalks still held a bluish or greenish tint, but most were brown or that gorgeous shade of gold.

  A lone great blue heron walked the canal on tall spindly legs, searching for something to eat. “Are you lost?” she called. “You should have left already. You’d better get moving, my friend, before the weather turns.”

  Harlow sent her a little grin. “Do you always talk to the wildlife?”

  “Pretty much,” Stella admitted. “They can’t talk back to me.”

  Both women laughed as they continued along the canal with their dogs.

  * * *

  —

  Nights three and then four Stella did her best to do as Harlow had said and twist the knob on the lens to widen her view of what she was seeing. Night three was a complete bust. She couldn’t make the knob do anything, and she was so anxious she barely got any new details. She ended up being more frustrated than ever. The lighting was better than the night before so that promised to be better the next night.

  Mommy, Daddy’s doing the bad thing again.

  The couple appeared to be moving forward on the trail, not staying in the same place. Even in the dim lighting from the woman’s headlamp, Stella felt as if she had hiked that same trail more than once. She even felt the familiar weight of a backpack on her. This time, on day three, she felt eyes on the couple. While she was an outside observer watching them make their way up a steep trail, someone else was watching as well. She could only observe.

  A shudder of awareness went through Stella’s body. He was there. Stalking them. Couldn’t they feel him? How could they not feel him? His presence was menacing. His energy powerful. Was he closing in on them? She tried to shout out a warning to them. Icy fingers crept down her spine. Was she going to see him kill them right now? So early? It was too early. He couldn’t do it yet. He had a timetable and this was too soon.

  She desperately tried to widen the lens, hoping to trap the killer, to see him. The darkness enfolded him, hiding him. The more she shook, the more the lens shook. She was terrified he would realize she was there watching him. Seeing him. He would know he wasn’t alone. If she could see him, could he see her? The idea was chilling.

  Just as abruptly as her nightmare started, it ended, the lens shutting down, snuffing out the scene, leaving the couple alone in the early morning hours with a serial killer st
alking them, determined to end their lives and make it look like an accident.

  * * *

  —

  “No, no. Don’t stop. Damn you, don’t stop.”

  She woke fighting, tears pouring down her face, horrified that she hadn’t gotten anything that could help. Angry with herself for not being able to warn the couple. She sat up fast, trying to take a breath when no air could find a way into her burning lungs. Her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt.

  “Stella, you’re here. Open your eyes. Take a deep breath.”

  She shook her head. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know what it was like. He could sit across the room in his stupid chair feeling calm and superior with all his training and do whatever it was he did to disassociate but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She was rocking again, arms going around her middle, uncaring that she was having a complete breakdown.

  Then Sam was there, lifting her up and onto his lap, his arms around her, holding her tight, pushing her head against his chest while he rocked her. He didn’t ask her any questions, he just let her cry as he held her. That was so Sam, uncaring that she was a hot mess. He cupped the back of her head in his palm and rubbed strands of her hair between his fingers.

  Finally, she was able to quiet and give a couple of loud sniffs. He handed her a tissue so she could blow her nose. “I don’t feel anyone watching tonight, do you?” It was the only thing she could think of to ask when her face was red and splotchy and she looked awful. She’d gotten his shirt all wet.

  “You’re right. It’s quiet outside and no intruder.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good to be surrounded by Sam. To breathe him into her lungs. She felt like she’d breathed in the serial killer and couldn’t get the cold chill out of her bones when she first woke, but Sam drove him away.

  “This is the first time since the attempt on your life, Sam, that I haven’t felt someone watching me. Do you think it was your father or someone he sent? Is that why they’re gone?” She rubbed her cheek along his chest and then settled her ear over his heart.

  He hesitated. “I wish I could tell you I thought so, but no. Last night was the first night they were here, and I believe he was as well. Or at least, someone was watching. That doesn’t mean it was the serial killer. He has no reason to be watching you or me. Maybe me because I got away. I’ve never stayed in one place this long. I knew eventually my father would find me if I stayed, but you’re here, so I’m here.”

  Her heart jumped. He stated it so matter-of-factly. “I’m so sorry about your mother, Sam. I really am. I saw your father gesture toward the house and you were really upset. Do you think he wants you to come back and work for him?” She moistened her suddenly dry lips, but she had far more confidence in her relationship with Sam. “Did he threaten me to try to get you to come back?”

  Sam was quiet for a moment, his fingers rubbing strands of her hair together. “Stella, I always want you to look at me the way you do, like I’m a good man. I came here with that intent. I always want to be a good man. If my father or those men with him had threatened you, you can believe all three of them would have been dead. Right then. All of them.”

  He went silent, obviously waiting for her reaction. Stella wasn’t certain how to react. She knew where he came from. She knew, or thought she knew, what he’d been for the past ten years. He had instincts and skills others didn’t. He would definitely protect her if someone threatened her.

  She nodded to show her understanding. “What did he want then, coming here?”

  “He wanted me to come back,” Sam admitted. “And to give him a chance to repair the relationship.”

  She couldn’t help the way her body reacted, freezing in place just a little. She wanted him to have a relationship with his father if that was what he wanted, but she didn’t want him to leave. Not ever. “I see. And when he gestured toward the house?”

  “I said I was never going to work for him again. That my woman was here and my home was with her. I found peace and I needed it. You are that peace, Stella. You and this place. He wanted to meet you. I said another time. He tried to insist and I wasn’t polite. You’ve got enough on your plate with this serial killer. They came in the middle of the night. I told him that. He admitted he thought I wouldn’t want to see him and was afraid I would take off again and they wouldn’t be able to find me.” His fingers continued to rub the strands of her hair.

  It was a lot to take in. Stella rubbed her cheek over his chest again. “What are you doing?”

  “Your hair’s like silk. Really love your hair, Stella.” He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Thought I’d let you know, I’m contemplating sleeping with you tonight instead of on the floor in front of your door.”

  Her heart jumped. Raced. “Is that where you’ve been sleeping? I thought the guest room. I have guest rooms.”

  “I wanted to make certain I heard if you had a nightmare.” His hand continued to stroke her hair, fingers rubbing the strands together.

  She nuzzled his chest, afraid to look at him. “You would have heard.” He had instincts like no one else, especially when it came to her.

  “Maybe.” There was a smile in his voice. “You going to let me?”

  “Let you what?” Could her heart pound any harder?

  “Move into your bedroom.” He paused. Kissed the top of her head. “Permanently. I don’t do things in half measures, Stella. You’re mine, then you’re mine. You’re not ready for that, it’s okay. I can wait.” His normally low voice had an edge to it. His body had more than an edge to it.

  She slid her arms up his chest and linked her fingers behind the nape of his neck, lifting her head to meet his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat at what she saw there. His eyes were alive with emotion. So much. All hers.

  “Say it, Stella, then there’s no taking it back.” He brushed his lips over hers and looked down at her again, those dark eyes alive with that same intense emotion she wasn’t certain she’d ever get used to seeing, the one that turned her inside out.

  “Absolutely, I want you here with me in my bedroom.”

  “And . . .” he prompted, his hand fisting in her hair, tilting her head back, his eyes darkening even more.

  She smiled at him. “I’m yours. You’re mine. We’re together. Living in the same house. In a relationship, however you want to put it. Just kiss me and get on with it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Get on with it?”

  “I’ve been kind of waiting a long time.”

  “You gave no sign after the one time. And that took forever before you gave me the green light. I don’t want to let that amount of time pass again.”

  “I didn’t want to ruin our relationship.”

  “You wouldn’t have let me close to you if we’d had sex,” he corrected. “I wouldn’t have gotten my foot in the door.”

  That was true. So true. He knew her so well. But then she couldn’t think because he was kissing her senseless in that way he had. It didn’t take her long to realize why his body was always so hot. He burned up the night with that same restless energy he used to prowl around the resort, only turning his considerable skills on her body until she was gasping for air, too tired to move, sated and sprawling over the top of him like a blanket, only to have him wake her two hours later to start all over again.

  * * *

  —

  Night four was different in that now Stella had Sam to talk to her when she went a little crazy trying to prepare for her nightmare. She went to bed thinking about it. Planning for it. She visualized it ahead of time. She was so anxious that she was sick before she went to bed.

  Sam was his usual calm self, talking matter-of-factly to her. “It doesn’t matter if it works or not, Stella. Do what you’ve always done. Pay attention to every detail and record it. That’s what you do. When you wake up, write it down and sketch it. You’ll
show it to Raine. She couldn’t come yesterday, she was out of town, but she’ll be here tomorrow and she’ll meet with you to look at the sketches. If the two of you can’t figure it out, then you show it to the woman you said was a peak bagger. Tell her you’re painting, just like you said. If you and Raine know where it is, we’ll get there.”

  It was so comforting, just to have him there. She didn’t want to miss a detail because she was trying to change something in her nightmare, but she really thought it was such a good idea to try to widen the lens, so she lay there for a long time, thinking about how to just turn the knob gently to the right as she tried to fall asleep.

  She stared at the ceiling, terrified of a repeat of the night before. That had been such a disaster. Well, until after. But that was because Sam had saved the day. She could hear the ticking of a clock. Did Sam breathe? Was he alive? He wasn’t snoring. Did she snore? Bailey did. She turned on her side. Stared at that wall. Started to turn toward Sam’s side.

  His arm came across her belly, preventing a full roll, keeping her on her back. “Woman.” There was a warning in his voice.

  “Man, you took my side of the bed.” She made it an accusation, as if it was his fault she couldn’t sleep.

  He moved fast, stripping her of the covers that had been keeping her warm when he’d insisted she sleep without clothes. No one slept without clothes—except maybe him. He was bossy in bed, she’d discovered, but there were benefits, and she’d reaped them all.

  “You sleep in the middle of the bed, Stella. You don’t have a side. I sleep by the door to protect you. That’s the way it is.”

  Before she could think to protest, he yanked her thighs apart, wedged his wide shoulders between them and then his mouth was there and she was in another galaxy. Sam didn’t believe in doing anything by halves. Much later, she was exhausted, sated and unable to move, not even to pull up the covers. Sam was the one with the warm washcloth and towel. He wrapped himself around her, tucking her so close to his hot body she didn’t think they really needed the layers of covers he pulled over them.