Mike stopped pacing, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at her. Seemed the big cop wasn’t as imperturbable as she’d originally thought. She’d been able to provoke his temper. But then, she was especially skilled in that area.
A flash went off inside the well house, where Ethan was collecting evidence and taking pictures. White halogen silhouetted Mike’s face, adding stark shadows beneath his exhausted eyes. A pang of concern tweaked through her. The cop needed more sleep and less aggravation. In short, he needed less of her. She and her rabid impulsiveness had added to his workload again tonight.
“If you called us instead of rushing in there, we might have caught him,” he pointed out.
And didn’t that sting? She rubbed her throbbing forehead. “I know.”
“You’re sure you’re all right?” His eyes zeroed in on hers. “Maybe you should go to the ER.”
Rachel dropped her hand. Her headache had diminished to a dull thrum. “It’s just a bump. Trust me. My head is the hardest part of my body.”
His mouth quivered for a second before he went back to being Mr. Serious.
Ethan poked his head out the door. “This rabbit didn’t die right away, but there’s an awful lot of blood in here. You want me to sample it?”
“Yes,” Mike answered without turning away from her. A muscle in his jaw quivered, and the emotion in his eyes intensified, like he could see her distress—which made it worse. How was she going to keep all her issues and angst buried nice and deep where they belonged if he was going to look at her like that?
She swallowed hard and ripped her gaze away. His ability to read her—and her inability to hide her feelings from him—made her feel too exposed.
Rachel shoved a stray piece of hair behind her ear. As Ethan left the shed, she caught another glimpse of the blood puddle. A rushing sound echoed in her ears, and stars danced in her vision. She ripped her eyes away. One hand on the trunk of a tree steadied her, hopefully before Mike noticed. She had already made herself look like a fool in front of him today. Several times.
“You should go inside and sit down.”
Damn. He’d noticed. But he didn’t make any move toward her. Why wasn’t he invading her space the way he had this morning? Was it because they weren’t alone? The bright light swept the ground as the other officer searched the area around her well house.
Rachel looked down at her filthy jeans. She looked like a horror film extra, but the night before she’d been a wreck too, and that hadn’t stopped him from looking and acting interested. It was him. Something was different about him tonight. Maybe he’d finally figured out she was hopeless. Also impulsive and borderline self-destructive, according to that therapist she’d let Blake talk her into seeing. Once. A single visit to her psyche had been more than enough.
“You can’t think of anyone besides Troy who has a grudge against you?” Disbelief laced Mike’s sharp tone. “This guy is going to a lot of effort to cause trouble.”
“Look, I’m not the easiest person to get along with, but I’m not exactly a social butterfly. I keep to myself. Frankly, there aren’t that many people involved with my life.”
“Rachel, I need more if I’m going to help you.” She didn’t have to see Mike’s face in the darkness to picture his exasperated expression. “An ex-boyfriend? Disgruntled business associates? Did you cut someone off on the turnpike? There has to be someone you’ve annoyed other than Troy in the recent past.”
Rachel hesitated, thinking. She shook her head. “Nothing serious enough for all this.”
“What about this property? Does it have any value?”
“I doubt it. There are quite a few farms on the market that haven’t sold despite reductions in asking prices. Overall, real estate up here is cheap. Property values have been dropping, not rising. Besides, this place sat empty for years. No one showed any interest in it.”
He was quiet for a minute or so, then sighed heavily. “Next time anything strange happens, lock the doors and call the police. Do not investigate anything by yourself. Sean will be here tomorrow to start installing the alarm system.”
Rachel nodded, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. She shifted her gaze to the barn’s hulking shadow on the other side of the yard. A breeze brushed over her skin. Clouds parted and moonlight shone through onto the white clapboards, highlighting the threatening graffiti. Goose bumps rose on her arms. She glanced over her shoulder at the forest behind the well house where shadows threatened from its dark depths.
“Not finding anything out here, Chief.” Ethan switched off the halogen lamp.
Rachel’s throat tightened. The cops would be gone soon. She was definitely on her own. That said, time to cut the self-pity act short and clean up. “Can I clean this up?”
“Yes.” Mike glared at her.
She fetched a shovel, scooped the rabbit up, and buried it behind the building. A few more turns of her shovel took care of the bloody stain on the dirt floor. With that nasty chore out of the way, she felt rejuvenated. No more whining. She could take care of herself just fine. So why, with three extra people living in her house, did she feel more lonely than ever?
Mike shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from wrestling the shovel out of Rachel’s hands. Though she didn’t flinch from the task, he could read her like a billboard. She radiated with pain that had nothing to do with the bump on her head.
As she tamped the dirt flat, he glanced back at the well house. How did her assailant get here? Mike doubted the creep had parked in the lot. Nor had the guy gotten lucky that Rachel hadn’t been home. More likely he’d watched and waited for his opportunity. But from where?
Mike scanned the area. Roughly ten acres had been cleared for the farm compound and pastures. Woods surrounded the property on three sides. The road provided the fourth leg of the rectangle. Behind the outbuildings, an ankle-deep creek edged the cleared land and disappeared into the forest. An itch started between Mike’s shoulder blades. Those woods were dark and thick. They’d provide perfect cover.
He played the beam of his flashlight on the ground between the well house and the trees. Nothing. He walked toward the woods, beyond the perimeter established by the crime scene techs. A narrow game trail led away from the shed and toward the creek that meandered into the woods.
Rachel tossed the shovel aside and followed him. “Where are you going?”
“Just checking something.” He frowned at the woods and then down at her. “You should go back up to the house.”
“Like hell.” Her response wasn’t much of a surprise. “This is my place and my problem. I want to know what’s going on.”
Mike clenched his teeth. “If you’re going to follow me, at least walk behind me so we leave one trail.”
“Oh, right.” She hesitated midstride, then fell into step behind him. As they approached the creek, the foliage thinned. The light fell on a faint impression. Footprint?
“Stop,” he said, but not fast enough. Rachel bumped into him, or more accurately, her much smaller body bounced off of his.
“Oof. Sorry.” She stumbled.
Mike reached out, but she caught herself by grabbing his shoulder.
Her small hand generated more heat than it should, and he liked her leaning on him way too much. If he were going to keep their relationship professional, there could be no more touching. She regained her balance and let go of his arm. He bent to examine the print. No visible tread. Too shallow and smudged to cast. Mike called for Ethan to photograph and measure the mark. From the length of the mark, it was left by a large man.
He straightened. “Don’t move.”
“But—” Rachel protested.
“Please.”
She grumbled and crossed her arms over her chest, but she stayed put while he walked a path parallel to the intruder’s trail. He swept the light back and forth across the weedy area that led to the creek’s bank. Under a nearby tree, a three-by-three patch of tall grass was crushed.
Mike’s i
tch graduated to paranoia. The dark pressed in on them. He tuned in to the night sounds. Insects buzzed. Frogs croaked in the nearby creek. A few bats flew overhead with a whisper of sound. Nothing unusual, but Rachel needed to know how dangerous her situation had become. No amount of bullheadedness was going to make her safe.
The woods, the creek, the danger. All were the stuff of his nightmares.
He shined the light on her face and watched it pale as she realized what she had just seen.
“That’s where he stood and watched you.” When she didn’t respond, Mike continued. “I’m not sure you understand the severity of the situation. Your vandal has graduated to stalking and assault, and the only thing we know about him is that he likes to watch things suffer.”
Chapter Seven
In a lucky spell of moonlight, the Watcher navigated the tributary that connected the Blue River that flowed near Rachel’s farm with Lost Lake. He crossed the calm lake, secured his aluminum boat, and hurried up the dock to his cabin. Everything was fine. Rachel hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of him. Even if she had turned around in time, the shadow under his brimmed camouflage hood concealed all his features. Planning things down to the smallest detail was essential.
She didn’t know it was him.
Nerves humming, he cleaned his boots with the hose before walking into the mudroom. He shucked his lightweight coveralls, folded them, and stored them with his other hunting gear. His bag of tools went on a shelf with his other tools.
He wanted to check his feeds, but first things first. Discipline was the key.
Only after he’d showered and donned clean clothes did he lock up the cabin and drive to his small house in town. The ten-minute drive into town was agonizingly slow. He parked in the driveway and hurried up the walk. Once inside, he closed the blinds for the night and beelined to his home office. His weight settled into his favorite chair. This jittery feeling had been compounding since the episode at Rachel’s farm. His computer booted at the push of a button. Nerves rushed through him. She’d surprised him, coming home much faster than he’d expected.
The screen flickered to life. He entered his password and clicked on a small icon on the bottom of the screen. A second login box popped up. One couldn’t have too many layers of security. Not considering what he was doing on this computer. A thrill bubbled through him as the direct feeds appeared on his screen. Movement attracted his attention. Camera number two. The shower. His favorite. He enlarged the window to full screen and turned on the audio.
A person walked into the camera’s path. Tanya. Sweet Tanya. His erection pulsed. She reached into the shower and turned on the spray, closing the door while the water heated. The patter of water on tiles sounded over the Watcher’s speakers.
He clicked record. His palm was already sweating on the mouse.
Her hands moved to the buttons of her snug shirt. One by one she opened them, revealing the bare skin of her chest, her flat belly, the silver ring in her navel. Her nipples showed through the sheer lace of her bra. She dropped the shirt into a wicker hamper. Reaching around with both hands, she unhooked the bra and bared her breasts. The Watcher’s breaths came faster and his pulse quickened as she unsnapped her slacks. The silky fabric slid down her toned legs. Her panties were a lace thong, her buttocks smooth and round.
She was perfect.
The Watcher leaned back in his chair and unzipped his pants. His cock sprang free, as if it too had been watching and waiting.
The woman stepped into the shower. Through the steamy glass, her blond hair darkened as she leaned back to soak it thoroughly. Water sluiced down her perfectly engineered breasts. She squeezed liquid body soap into a palm and lathered them. Was it his imagination, or did she spend extra time rubbing those pink nipples clean? She soaped her legs, propped one foot on a small teak stool, and bent over to shave her legs.
The wide-angle lens had been an excellent choice.
His imagination and Tanya’s unsuspecting innocence brought him to release in seconds. Tension rushed from his body.
She rinsed, then leaned back on the tiles. A tear ran down her face. She wiped it away, but more followed. A few sobs sounded under the rush of the shower. Several minutes passed before she was able to shake off her melancholy. The blond turned off the water and toweled her body dry. She didn’t leave the shower until her game face, a sunny smile, was firmly in place.
He was certain she only cried in the shower, only let her true emotions show when no one could see her. Or so she thought. These moments with Tanya were precious. Only he shared her pain, her vulnerability. Intimate secrets were so exciting. He learned so much from watching people in their most private spaces.
Like he’d watched another woman cry many years ago.
Tanya moved out of view. The bathroom went dark. He moved the cursor over the end recording button when the bathroom light turned back on. Looking for her, the Watcher focused his attention on the monitor. Tanya’s old man, Vince, entered the picture, a cell phone pressed against his ear. Vince checked the hall secretively, then closed and locked the door. He flipped a switch on the wall. The ventilation fan whirred. The Watcher turned up the volume. Vince was up to something, and the Watcher didn’t want to miss a word of it.
“I told you not to call me,” Vince hissed into the phone. “No. I didn’t say anything, but this goes way beyond our agreement. You’d better hope no one else knows what was stolen, and you’d better hire some security. We can’t afford any other disasters.” Vince paused and listened. Sweat glistened on his forehead. He picked up a hand towel from the granite counter and wiped his face. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of O’Connell.”
Chapter Eight
Muffled thumps floated through a haze of sleep. She surfaced to a still-dark room. Not morning yet. Closing her eyes, she burrowed deeper into her pillow and waited for slumber. But sleep would not come. Heat built under the heavy quilt. She pushed the covers away and rose from her bed, clutching her favorite stuffed bear under one arm. Cool air caressed the hot, damp skin of her face, but the shock of her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood sent a shiver through her limbs. She anchored a lock of sweaty hair behind one ear as she moved toward the door.
Something scraped outside her window. Her arms sprouted goose bumps as she turned, her eyes wide, searching the darkness beyond the glass for the source. Another scrape. A branch?
Dread and curiosity twisted her insides. Her throat tightened, the breaths rasping in and out like sandpaper. She swallowed painfully in a dry throat. She had to know. As soon as she saw that it was nothing, she’d be able to go back to sleep.
She put on her robe and slippers, then tiptoed out of her bedroom, down the hall, to the kitchen door. The door eased open with a faint squeak. Her breaths fogged in and out, the cold-crisp air soothing her throat and feverish skin. Snowflakes drifted in the still, pretty night. Everything was fine. She’d had a bad dream.
She opened her mouth to catch one on her tongue and froze when she heard the scrape of a boot on frozen earth. Her jaw slammed shut, and her head swiveled toward the noise.
A hooded form stood across the icy yard. Something dark and red dropped from a large, gloved hand. Thick as cherry Jell-O, it fell in a wet lump to the white-dusted grass next to his boot. Wet, dark stains the color of rust dotted the ground around him.
She froze, paralyzed except for trembling legs that threatened to collapse. The scream clawed its way out of her chest and lodged in her throat, choking her.
The man’s head swiveled toward her. Instead of eyes, a black hole stared back. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew he was watching her, sensed it with the same primitive knowledge that warned a rabbit of a wolf’s hungry glare.
Pain zinged through Rachel’s knees as she hit the wood floor. She straightened her fingers, still clenched around the edges of the sheets she’d dragged off the bed with her. One hand pushed her damp hair off her face as her heart pounded. She inhaled and held her breath for a few seconds t
o gain control. She glanced at the window. A hint of dawn hovered on the horizon.
Her own personal boogeyman hadn’t visited her dreams in a decade. Last night’s nasty incident in her well house must have triggered a spin-off of her childhood nightmares.
But damn. He was still as terrifying as he’d been when she was six.
She headed for a hot shower in a pathetic attempt to wash all evidence of the foul dream away. She reached in and turned the faucet before the lack of spray reminded her that she had no water. Last night, after Mike had left, she’d showered at Mrs. Holloway’s house and gratefully accepted her neighbor’s emergency stash of bottled water.
She crossed her fingers that the well repairman came as early as he promised and that he could fix the pump on the spot.
She brewed a pot of coffee. Bandit zoomed into the kitchen and went into his impression of a furry pogo stick. She grabbed his collar and opened the back door. She drew back. In her driveway, Mike was getting out of his SUV.
What the—?
Bandit wiggled out of her grip and tore across the yard.
Mike stood still as the dog skidded to a stop a few feet away. Head low, Bandit approached him slowly and sniffed his shoes. Satisfied the dog wasn’t going to rip a small hole in his ankle, Rachel poured him a cup of coffee before walking out into the cool morning. Predawn mist floated over the surrounding meadows, a strange blend of eerie and peaceful.
He held a hand out to the pup and waited patiently as the dog put his paws on Mike’s knee and stretched out his nose. The dog was licking his hand when she handed him the coffee. He was unruffled by the dog spit bath, which made him even more attractive. Dammit. But his face looked even more haggard than it had been the night before. “Guess I pass.”
She Can Tell Page 7
