When the Tiger Kills: A Cimarron/Melbourne Thriller: Book One

by Vanessa Prelatte

  “New ring, Maeve?”

  Pleased that Dawn had noticed, Maeve held out her hand. A deep purple stone set in an intricate Greek key design winked as she turned her hand back and forth.

  “Isn't it gorgeous? I picked it up when I was in Greece last month.”

  “You were in Greece last month?” said Sloan, catching the last part of the conversation.

  Maeve inclined her head. “Cruising the Greek Isles was on my bucket-list. Daphne Bartelli went with me, and Julian Notler came along as a sort of a guide. He spent a year studying in Greece, so he knows where everything is and understands the language.”

  “Who's Julian Notler?”

  “Oh, he's an artist I met at a gallery in the French Quarter last summer. He's a sculptor, actually, so whenever we visited a museum or one of the archaeological sites, he could tell us all about the artifacts. We stayed in Athens for a few days before we set sail, visited all of the major museums, and toured the Acropolis. We all enjoyed it so much that we're planning to return in the spring. We want to spend some time at Delphi, see The Charioteer. On the way there, we're going to stop at Thermopylae and see the spot where Leonidas and his 300 Spartans held off the entire Persian army. Then Julian is taking us up to some of the quaint mountain villages in the Pelion region, way off the beaten track. He says that sometimes it's good to get away, avoid some of the more touristy spots.”

  Nibbling on a piece of bruschetta, Dawn asked, “How did you like the food?”

  “I liked it a lot, but Italian will always be my favorite. Speaking of which, I think that dinner is about to be served.”

  Rosa herself, along with several of her daughters, bustled in and ceremoniously placed the entrees on the table. Ty had ordered Dawn's favorite for her, and she made an appreciative sound as she ladled up a spoonful of Rosa's famous cioppino, savoring the taste of the clams and shrimp and scallops swimming in a spicy tomato-based stock.

  Over dinner, the conversation touched upon a variety of subjects – Maeve's fledgling interior decorating business, Ty's plans for expanding Lewellen Air, and Sloan's ambition to make Mountpelier's annual Winter Festival one of the top tourist attractions in the state.

  “Adding the ice-sculpting competition last year boosted our numbers up considerably from previous years,” Sloan commented. “Our market research projects that attendance over the next five years could double, and that kind of tourist boom will add millions to our local economy.”

  Turning to his ex-wife, he said, “You ought to come down and spend a couple of weeks this year, Maeve. It's pretty impressive. You'd like it.”

  Ty added some encouragement of his own. “I like the ice village the best. You have to see it to believe it, Mom. Whole mansions sculpted out of ice. Dad and the other members of the planning committee have some lights rigged up in such a way that it looks like a string of diamond palaces.”

  Maeve responded, “It's a thought. I haven't had much of a chance to spend time with my son or daughter-in-law lately.”

  Just then, Dawn's cell phone beeped. Seeing that it was Rafe, she rose from the table as she said, “Excuse me. I'm afraid I have to take this.” She moved a discreet distance away and studied the text from her partner: You're going to want to get over here. Prentiss and Noritaki just found another one.

  Chapter 5

  “You're awake – good! Did you sleep well?”

  Lee couldn't think at first how to respond to Michael's greeting. Whatever she had expected him to say, it wasn't that. It was crazy - he was acting as if she were a guest that he'd invited for an overnight, not a victim whom he'd drugged and kidnapped and chained to a wall. But years of living with an alcoholic who liked to spend most of her time in a fantasy world had taught Lee that the worst thing to do with people who were unbalanced was to argue with them. So she decided to play along with him, try to gauge what was the best way to handle the situation.

  “I slept well, thank you. And you? How did you sleep, Michael?”

  “Like a baby. Are you hungry, Vanadis?”

  Vanadis? Lee picked her words carefully. “I'm a little confused, Michael. I've always been told that my name is Lee.”

  “That's only a part of you – the mortal part. Vanadis is the other facet of your identity, the immortal aspect of your being. I recognized that as soon as I saw you for the first time. Together, we're going to bring Vanadis to the surface and release her. Only then will you be truly happy, truly free.”

  In that moment, she realized a couple of things with startling clarity:

  First, he was planning on killing her. There was no use in pretending otherwise; she could see it in his eyes.

  And second, there was no sense in trying to reason with him, because he was absolutely freaking crazy.

  *****

  “They disappeared on Mount Mansfield, near Stowe, Vermont, in November of 2010.” Rafe pointed at a picture of the missing teenagers on his computer as Dawn looked over his shoulder at the screen. “No trace of them at first. Then, just this past summer, a few bones were found scattered by a stream. Turns out they belonged to him,” Rafe's finger stabbed the image of a boy who sported a scruffy beard and was raising a mug about the size of the Empire State Building. A pair of skis stood propped in the snow at his left. His head was turned to the right, where a girl wearing a bright blue ski jacket gazed adoringly into his eyes. Pale blonde hair peeked out under a ski cap in the same shade of vibrant blue as her jacket.

  “And the girl?” Dawn glanced at the names mentioned in the caption below the photo. “Alissa Gordena?”

  “Nothing. Family posted a $50,000 reward for any information on her whereabouts, living or dead, but still - zip.”

  “There's only a vague facial resemblance to the others, but still – the pale blond hair, and the fact that she and her boyfriend went missing at approximately the same time of year as the others. Yeah, I'd say that there's a connection. Did you tell the lieutenant?”

  Rafe nodded. “She thinks it's intriguing and worth following up, but she's still not convinced that we're dealing with a serial killer.”

  Dawn gave a low mutter of frustration.

  “I know,” Rafe said sympathetically. “My gut is telling me that the guy who took Lee is also responsible for the others. Tamara Norti. Crystal Rogar. And now,” jerking his head toward the screen, “Alissa Gordena. Find the link between them, and we're that much closer to finding Lee.”

  “How's it going with the sketch Devlin is working on with our witness?”

  “Slowly. Barbara's initial description was pretty broad, but when I left them, Dev was already coaxing more details out of her.” Rafe took a sip of coffee and continued, “I'm glad that I'm not a forensic artist. I don't have the patience for it.”

  Dawn walked over to the coffee station and poured herself a cup. “The link – it's there, somewhere, Rafe. In the case files.”

  “Yeah. You want to tackle them? I've been working on the reports. I can have them finished up in another half-hour or so.” Rafe yawned, shook his head, and continued, “Tomorrow, we can start contacting the local real estate agencies that deal in rental properties. Show them the sketch, ask them if they've rented a property to anyone who even remotely resembles our guy within the last month or two. Maybe we'll get lucky.”

  *****

  Sloan Lewellen wasn't even thinking about getting lucky that night. He and Ty had dropped Maeve off at her hotel after dinner; then they'd driven back to his house to watch the Alabama/Nebraska game – always a good match-up. Ty had then departed, and Sloan made his way upstairs to check on Echo. His cousin Lotti greeted him with a finger to her lips as he entered the sitting room that connected with Echo's bedroom.

  “We need to keep our voices down. She's been fussy all evening. I think she's got a tooth coming in,” Lotti said.

  “I'll just sneak in quietly and look in on her then.” At Lotti's raised eyebrows, Sloan said, “I won't wake her, I promise. It's just that I haven't managed to spend any t
ime at all with her today. I need to see her, if only for a minute.”

  As Sloan disappeared through the doorway of Echo's room, Lotti reflected that it was unusual for Sloan not to have spent any time with his daughter. She tried not to pry into his personal affairs, but she couldn't help wondering if the fact that Maeve was in town had anything to do with it.

  True to his word, Sloan reentered the room only a moment later. He seemed inclined to linger, so Lotti said, “How about some hot chocolate? I was just about to make some for myself.”

  “Sure. Sounds like a great idea, Lotti. You need any help?”

  “I think I can manage. You just sit down and relax, Sloan.”

  It had been a good idea on his part to hire his first cousin's daughter to take care of Echo, Sloan reflected as he waited for Lotti to return with the hot chocolate. She loved Echo, and she'd needed a safe place to stay while she recovered from what her bastard of an ex-husband had put her through.

  When Lotti returned carrying a tray with a pot of hot chocolate, a couple of mugs, some spoons, and a bowl of miniature marshmallows, Sloan jumped up and helped her get everything settled on a low table near his elbow. He waved her away as she made a move as if to wait upon him, taking care of pouring out the hot chocolate and handing a cup to her before he served himself.

  Lotti accepted the mug gratefully and sipped on the hot chocolate while Sloan added some marshmallows to his own cup. She'd always marveled at how someone as rich and powerful as Sloan Lewellen could still be so sensitive to the needs of others. Even though she worked for him, he always took care not to treat her like a servant.

  “How did dinner go?” she asked cautiously.

  “Fine, fine. Dawn managed to get away and join us for about an hour. She's been tied up with a new case.” He paused for a moment and then added, “Maeve looked well.”

  Since he'd brought up his ex-wife's name himself, Lotti commented, “I'm glad to hear it. How does she like New Orleans?”

  “We didn't talk much about New Orleans. She did mention that she took a vacation to Greece about a month ago.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, Daphne Bartelli went with her, and some character named Julian Notler. They're going back there in the spring, Maeve says.”

  Since Sloan's tone warned her that he was less than pleased with the inclusion of the unknown Mr. Notler in Maeve's vacation plans, Lotti was careful to keep her tone neutral as she replied, “That sounds nice. Would you like another cup of hot chocolate?”

  Sloan took a final gulp out of his mug. “No, I'd better not. I'm going to turn in, Lotti.” He stood up and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “I don't have any commitments tomorrow. How about you and me and Echo just hang out together?”

  “Sounds like a good plan. See you in the morning, Sloan.”

  As she cleared away the dishes and took them into the small adjoining kitchenette to load them into the dishwasher, Lotti mulled over her latest conversation with her cousin. She'd worked for him for almost a year now, and he was as open and easy with her as he'd always been, but she noticed that there was one topic that he never discussed: Echo's mother – Renea Lewellen.

  Sloan didn't like to talk about Renea, but that didn't mean he never thought about her. In fact, as he stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the suite he'd installed just across from the nursery, she was front and foremost in his mind. Renea had been his Waterloo, his one great mistake. By the time he'd finished with her, he'd sunk so low in his own estimation that he'd begun privately thinking of himself as “Sloan Lewellen: Dumb-ass doofus who thinks with his dick instead of his brain.”

  He'd never seen it coming. Oh, he and Maeve had experienced some problems in their relationship over the years, especially after Maeve had endured a string of miscarriages, followed by an emergency hysterectomy, but he thought they'd weathered them all. In fact, he'd been so secure in his love for Maeve, and hers for him, that he'd scoffed at the idea of falling for someone else. When it had happened, no one had been more shocked than he. But when he'd first seen Renea, the administrative assistant of a business associate with whom he was working out a merger, he felt like someone had sucker-punched him right in the gut. With her long, tousled reddish-gold hair tumbling down her back, she had looked at him out of emerald green eyes and held out her hand to him, her full, pouty lips curving into a smile.

  After that first meeting, he'd found excuses to see a lot more of her, as they worked through the details of the merger together. At night, she haunted his dreams. And Maeve had been gone so much, working on establishing her own business in New Orleans. They'd had a big fight about that one. Why couldn't she open an interior decorating business here in Mountpelier, or at least in some other city nearby in Colorado? But she'd been insistent. She wanted this business to be all her own, she'd said - something she could be proud of. If she opened a business locally, she would never be sure if people were hiring her for her own sake or simply because she was Sloan Lewellen's wife.

  After a few months, he'd realized that he was in trouble; he couldn't get Renea out of his mind, and he could scarcely control himself when she was around. Desperately, he'd flown to New Orleans and confronted Maeve, telling her that she needed to put aside this nonsense of starting her own business and come home with him where she belonged. During the fight that followed, he'd admitted that he was attracted to somebody else. That was one of the reasons he needed his wife with him – to anchor him once again. Maeve had really hit the roof then. She'd accused him of just making it all up, of using this as an excuse to sabotage her efforts to build her own business, independent of him and of The Lewellen Group. He'd stormed out after that. When he'd returned to Mountpelier, he'd contacted his lawyers and filed for a formal separation.

  He'd expected Maeve to respond by hopping on a plane to Colorado and hightailing it home. Instead, she had filed for divorce. He had called her bluff and told his lawyers to start the necessary proceedings. When a week had passed and she still hadn't come home to try to work things out between them, he had called Renea and asked her out on a date. They'd gotten married six months later, as soon as the divorce decree was final.

  When he was in high school, he'd watched, fascinated, as his chemistry teacher had burned a piece of magnesium in a controlled experiment. It had burned white-hot, with an incredibly intense light – but only briefly. Within seconds, there was nothing left. Everything had been consumed. That's what his marriage to Renea had been like. Now she was gone, and with any luck, he'd never have to see her again. After he'd caught her cheating on him just a few months after Echo's birth, he'd filed for divorce. According to the terms of their pre-nup, she was entitled to nothing from him, so she had been happy to grant him full custody of Echo in return for a generous financial settlement. The last he'd heard of her, she was in Venice, hanging out with some Italian nobleman and playing with the beautiful people. As long as she stayed away from Echo and him, that was fine with Sloan.

  He finished up in the bathroom, turned the light out, and crossed over to his bed. He fell asleep thinking not of Renea, but of Maeve, and planning the next move in his campaign to bridge the gulf between them. The business proposal he had pitched to her when he'd called her that morning might help...

  *****

  Rafe decided to call it a night a little before midnight. Prentiss and Noritaki had left at about ten, and he'd persuaded Dawn to go home shortly afterward. “Fresh eyes,” he'd told her. “We need to look at it again in the morning with fresh eyes.”

  Dawn had reluctantly agreed. She'd been poring over the case files for hours, trying to find that one link that would help them crack the case. Meanwhile, he'd spoken to Will's mother again. She'd finally reached Will's friends, Jupe Dunsinger and Hunt Farolle, but they'd known only slightly more than Will's other friends had. He'd mentioned that he'd been seeing a girl named Lee, but true to form, he'd been close-mouthed about the relationship. They still didn't have a last name. Naomi Preisinger had gle
aned some precious bits of information from the pair, however, and one of those pieces of information rendered it unnecessary for them to get a warrant for any names from Mountpelier University: Lee wasn't a student there. Will had mentioned that she worked in some sort of fancy salon. She was working as a hair stylist, he'd said, and was trying to save up enough money to begin attending college next year. And she had a roommate named Maya.

  Will himself was holding his own, his mother said. His vital signs were better, and that was encouraging. Rafe had given her his cell phone number and asked that she call him at any time, day or night, if Will showed signs of regaining consciousness.

  Meanwhile, things were progressing nicely on the Torrense case. Shortly after Dawn had left to go over to Fredo's, he had heard from the police in a town called Reallto City, not far from Jacksonville, Florida. Jago Bolt had made life easier on them all by getting himself arrested earlier in the day on a charge of drunk and disorderly. A routine check by the arresting officer had led to the discovery that there was an outstanding warrant for his arrest on murder charges in Colorado.

  After consulting with a public defender, Bolt had waived extradition, so the wheels were in motion to get him on a plane back to Mountpelier as soon as all the necessary paperwork had been filed. It didn't get much better than that.

  After hanging up with the Florida cops, Rafe had discovered that J.B.'s plane ticket to Florida had been paid for by credit card. However, the name on the credit card was not Jago Bolt; it was Monieque Torrense. Yep, it was going to be mighty interesting to sit down and have a chat with Mr. Bolt when he arrived back in town.

  Rafe shut his computer down, grabbed his jacket, and walked over to Jordan, the officer who had been first on scene the previous morning. Jordan had wandered in at the end of his shift and volunteered to put in some extra time on the case. He felt a personal connection to the case, he'd said. He had a younger sister who was just beginning her first year of college. Couldn't imagine what it would have felt like if she were the one who was missing.