Silent Storm

by Amanda Stevens

  “How can you be sure about the time?” Marly asked her.

  “Saturday Night Live was just going off. I don’t usually watch the whole show, but I did that night because Matthew McConaughey was the host, and I’ve got a real thing for him. He kind of reminds me of your brother.”

  “Do you know if Ricky was alone?”

  “I’m pretty sure he was. I happened to look out the window, and I didn’t see anyone with him.”

  “You didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary that night?”

  Nona gave her a knowing look. “You mean like a gunshot? No, but that doesn’t mean anything. Takes me a while to fall asleep, but when I do, it’s like waking the dead.”

  “Was that the last time you saw Ricky?”

  She nodded. “His truck was in the carport all the next day, but it was Sunday so I didn’t think anything of it. I just figured he was hungover or something and didn’t feel like getting out. When I saw his truck was still there on Monday, I thought maybe his crew had gotten rained out. But then I ran into one of his buddies at the Giant K this morning, and he said the crew was far enough along on the new gym that the weather wasn’t a problem. They were mostly working inside now. Anyway, that got me to thinking that maybe I’d better get the cops out here to check up on him.”

  “Were you home all weekend?”

  Nona nodded. “I’m without wheels at the moment, so yeah, I was home.”

  “You didn’t see anyone come in or out of Ricky’s house?”

  “No.”

  “No strange cars in the neighborhood?”

  Nona looked startled. “What are you getting at, Marly?”

  “I’m just covering all the bases.”

  Nona’s eyes were like saucers. “You don’t think someone murdered Ricky, do you?”

  “Like I said, these are just routine questions. Nothing to be alarmed about.” But Marly wasn’t certain if she was trying to convince Nona or herself. “How did Ricky seem to you on Saturday night?”

  “Okay, I guess. But I got the impression he and Crystal weren’t exactly getting along. If you think someone killed poor Ricky, maybe you better go talk to her.”

  Marly intended to, but it wasn’t a conversation she looked forward to. She closed her notebook and stood. “That should do it for now. Thanks for your cooperation, Nona.”

  She shrugged. “Least I could do for Ricky. Like I said, we had our differences, but we go way back.” She came around the counter and walked Marly to the door.

  “I’ll be in touch. As soon as we hear back from the medical examiner, I’ll let you know.” Marly opened the screen door, but before she could step outside, Nona put a hand on her arm.

  “Marly?”

  She turned.

  Nona bit her lip, looking for the world like a woman who needed to get something off her chest.

  “What is it, Nona?” Marly urged gently.

  “You want to hear something…weird?”

  “What?”

  Nona hugged her arms to her chest. “I’ve been having these really crazy-ass dreams lately. I didn’t think much about them at first, but now after what happened to Ricky—” She broke off, her gaze moving past Marly to the open front door. Her uneasiness was so palpable Marly suddenly had the urge to glance over her shoulder.

  “What kind of dreams?” she asked.

  Nona glanced away. “I’ve been dreaming about…hurting myself.”

  Marly tried to hide her shock. “What?”

  The words tumbled out of Nona. “I have this real sharp knife in my hand, see, the kind Daddy used to take hunting. You know, to skin rabbits and stuff. Anyway, I’m moving it toward my wrist. Real slow like.” She demonstrated with her finger.

  Marly stared at the woman’s wrist in fascination, watching Nona’s finger move closer and closer to the vein.

  “I know what’s about to happen, but I can’t stop. It’s like…something’s making me do it,” Nona whispered.

  What I am suggesting is that they were somehow compelled to do it.

  A chill raced up Marly’s spine. “Everyone dreams crazy stuff.” She’d certainly had her fair share of nightmares lately. “It’s only natural with everything that’s going on around here.”

  “I know, but…” Nona’s blue gaze met Marly’s. “What freaks me out is…I had that dream on Saturday night, probably just about the time Ricky was pulling that trigger.”

  CRYSTAL BISHOP STARED at her reflection in the mirror and smiled. She had every reason to be pleased with herself, she decided. She was finally back where she belonged—in Joshua Rush’s life and in his bed. And if she had her say in the matter, she wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

  Of course, if she’d had her way, she never would have left in the first place. Their separation had been all Joshua’s doing. After the tacky scene with Marly in his office that day, he’d been worried about what she might tell people, the rumors she might spread about him out of spite. And in his line of work, Joshua couldn’t afford even a breath of scandal.

  So he’d convinced Crystal that the two of them had to play it cool and keep their distance until the breakup with Marly blew over. He had to have—what had he called it?—plausible deniability if she started flinging around accusations.

  But to Crystal’s surprise, Marly hadn’t said a word to anyone about what she’d seen that day. Crystal wasn’t so sure if she’d been in Marly’s shoes that she would have been so discreet. But then, finding her fiancé in bed with a younger, prettier, sexier woman probably wasn’t something Marly wanted to get around.

  Crystal fluffed her dark hair, her smile slipping a bit as she remembered how weeks had gone by and then months before Joshua had finally gotten around to calling her. If she hadn’t hooked up with Ricky, she wasn’t so sure Joshua would have ever come around, but he couldn’t stand the thought of another man sampling what he considered his.

  At the thought of Ricky Morales, Crystal’s smile disappeared altogether and she sighed. He’d become a problem toward the end. A real pain. What was supposed to be a casual fling—and had remained so for her—had turned into something serious for Ricky. He’d fallen in love with her, had even asked her to marry him, and when he’d caught her with Joshua—

  Crystal shuddered, remembering the awful scene. Unlike Marly, Ricky wasn’t about to keep his mouth shut. He’d even threatened Joshua and that had terrified Crystal, not so much because she was worried about what Ricky might do, but because the gossip might drive Joshua away again.

  But Joshua had merely told her to take care of the problem. And she had. Last Saturday night. She hadn’t wanted to do it. She took no pleasure in hurting Ricky. It was kind of like torturing a kitten. He was a real sweet guy, but she wouldn’t risk her future for him. No way was she going to end up back in Buena Vista. She wanted someone more sophisticated. More worldly. Someone who was going places. Someone like Joshua Rush.

  Besides, Ricky—for all his willingness to please her—had been, to put it mildly, sexually incurious. She certainly couldn’t say that about Joshua. In fact, she still couldn’t believe some of the things he’d taught her in bed, and she still wasn’t wholly convinced that she liked to…well, experiment quite to that extent. But she never said no because she couldn’t. She couldn’t deny Joshua anything. He had that kind of hold on her.

  She glanced at his reflection in the mirror and shivered. He was sprawled on the bed behind her, sleeping soundly, sheets tangled around his muscular legs, his bare chest exposed for her admiration. He could look so innocent at times, almost saintly, with his blond hair all messy and his blue eyes fringed with those long, golden lashes. But Crystal knew that he was anything but angelic.

  A fallen angel, maybe, she thought with a shiver.

  Her gaze lifted to his face, and she saw that his eyes were open now. He was watching her in the mirror. Watching her in that way he had that made her wonder at times if he could actually read her mind.

  She turned. “I thought you w
ere sleeping.”

  “I was.” He smiled lazily. “You exhausted me.”

  She arched a brow. “I exhausted you?”

  “That’s right. You’re an insatiable little so and so, but—” He patted the bed beside him. “I’ve got my second wind now.”

  She walked over to the bed, but not to join him. Instead she bent to pick up her blouse from the floor. Slipping it on, she began to do up the buttons. “I have to get back to work.”

  Joshua glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly three. School will be out soon.”

  “I know, but I promised Mr. Henesey I’d come back after my doctor’s appointment and help him finish a report.”

  Joshua grinned. “Doctor’s appointment, huh? Come here and I’ll give you a physical you won’t soon forget.”

  Crystal blushed. No one but Joshua could make her blush. “I’ve been taking a lot of time off work lately for physicals,” she murmured. “If I’m not careful, I could lose my job.”

  That, of course, was Joshua’s cue to assure her that she didn’t need a job because he would take care of her. He’d finally make an honest woman out of her. Instead he merely shrugged. “There are other jobs in town.”

  Crystal bit back her disappointment. She finished dressing, more determined than ever to get back to work and salvage what little faith Mr. Henesey still had in her. Because despite what Joshua said, there were not other jobs in town. Not decent jobs anyway, and she wasn’t about to end up back at the shirt factory.

  “Crystal.” Suddenly the smile was gone. In its place was that dark, penetrating look he sometimes gave her. As if he could peer right into her soul, Crystal thought nervously.

  “I really do have to get back,” she almost pleaded.

  “Come here,” he demanded, and this time, when their gazes met, Crystal felt her resolve waver.

  “I…can’t.” But she was already undoing the buttons she’d just fastened. She slipped out of her blouse and skirt, then placing one knee on the bed, she crawled toward him.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair, drawing her to him, kissing her in a way that made her shudder with anticipation and some fear because she couldn’t fight it. She couldn’t fight him, even though a part of her, some leftover bit of conscience, warned her that she should.

  “What have you done to me?” she whispered when he finally broke the kiss. “Why can’t I say no to you?”

  “Because,” he murmured against her ear. “You know it wouldn’t be a good idea to get on my bad side.”

  Chapter Five

  Marly groaned when she caught a glimpse of Deacon Cage walking into the police station late that afternoon. She knew he’d come to see her, and her first instinct was to avoid him. She didn’t want to see him again, let alone talk to him. She wanted nothing to do with him or his wild suppositions, and she’d made that perfectly clear to him earlier. So what was he doing here now?

  Reluctantly her gaze flickered over him. He’d changed clothes since she last saw him. He now wore dark jeans and a dark jacket that made him look even more like the mysterious stranger that he was. His hair glistened from the rain, and Marly had a sudden image of running her hand through those damp strands, stroking a thumb down the side of his face, tracing the outline of his lips with her tongue…

  She blinked away the vision in horror. My God, she thought in shock. How could she sit there, with death still fresh on her mind, and have such an intimate fantasy about a man she barely knew? About a man she certainly didn’t trust?

  About a man she couldn’t seem to get out of her head?

  What was going on here? What had he done to her?

  Marly’s heart thumped erratically as she watched him speak to the cop behind the front desk. The officer turned and waved in her general vicinity, and then her heart did more than thump as Deacon started toward her.

  Avoiding eye contact, Marly dropped her gaze to the open file on her desk, but she couldn’t concentrate on the contents. She couldn’t stop wondering what Deacon Cage was really doing in Mission Creek.

  After leaving the crime scene earlier, she’d stopped by the high school to speak with Skip Manson, the job foreman for the construction company building the new gymnasium, and he’d corroborated Deacon’s story—up to a point. Cage had come by the site, Skip had told her, and he had inquired about a job. But he’d also wanted to talk to the two construction workers who’d found the bodies of the teenagers on Old Cemetery Road the week before.

  This revelation disturbed Marly a great deal, not only because Deacon had failed to mention it to her, but because it proved he’d been interested in the suicides before he even found out about Ricky Morales.

  By all indications, he’d come to town with an agenda, and Marly was growing more suspicious of him by the moment. And she was more certain than ever that he was hiding something.

  But what? And what did it have to do with her?

  She glanced up reluctantly as he approached her desk. Their gazes clung for one brief moment, and Marly was struck again by how dark his eyes were. Dark…and oddly hypnotic. It took some effort to tear her gaze away.

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted as she closed the file on her desk.

  “We need to talk.”

  His voice sent a chill up her spine, but she managed to keep her tone brusque. “I’m busy.”

  “This won’t take long. May I?” He sat down in the chair across from her desk before she could protest.

  Marly glared at him. “Like I told you earlier, Mr. Cage, if you have information—real information—regarding any of these deaths, you need to talk to Chief Navarro. Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop wasting my time.”

  If possible Deacon Cage’s eyes grew even darker, and try as she might, Marly couldn’t glance away.

  “Have you told Navarro about me? About our conversation?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t put much credence in what you had to say,” Marly said bluntly. “For all I know, you’re just some crackpot who gets off trying to feed your far-fetched conspiracy theories to anyone dumb enough to listen. If I start repeating that nonsense around here, I’ll be a laughingstock.”

  He leaned forward so suddenly, Marly pushed back in her chair without thinking. For a moment she thought he was going to grab her.

  “Believe me, this is no laughing matter. I know what you’re up against here. I think you know it, too. You just won’t let yourself believe it.”

  Marly clenched her fists in her lap. “You don’t know anything about me, okay? You don’t know what I believe so get a clue and leave me alone before I find a reason to throw you in lockup.”

  His gaze on her was grim and relentless. Completely unnerving. Gooseflesh prickled along the back of Marly’s neck as she remembered her initial impression of him. He was a very dangerous man.

  As if reading her mind, he leaned in even closer. So close she could smell the rain in his hair and the faint scent of peppermint that clung to his clothes. The fragrance was oddly reassuring, but the look in his eyes was not. “There’s a killer in your town.”

  Fear churned in Marly’s stomach—at what he’d said or the look in his eyes, she wasn’t quite sure. She didn’t want to believe him, couldn’t believe him, but those eyes compelled her to listen just the same. “How do you explain the fact that we’ve found no fingerprints, no hair and fiber evidence, nothing at any of the scenes or on the bodies that would suggest foul play?”

  Shadows flickered in his eyes. “He’s not killing them with his hands. He’s killing them with his mind.”

  Marly gasped. You’re crazy, she tried to whisper, but no sound came out. All she could do was stare back at him in helpless fascination.

  Obviously the man was delusional. Demented. An escapee from a psych ward no doubt. He needed help, but Marly wasn’t the one to provide it. At the moment, she just wanted him gone.

  “Are you familiar with the term psych
okinesis?” he asked.

  She frowned. “Isn’t that like…bending spoons with your mind?”

  He nodded. “That’s part of it. But experiments in psychokinesis, mind over matter, have gone way beyond bending spoons and rolling pencils off a desk. A true psychokinetic can actually interfere with the EEG patterns of another individual’s brain. He has the ability to manipulate that person’s thoughts.”

  Marly knew he was crazy now. He had to be.

  So why was she still listening to this nonsense?

  Why did she suddenly feel a creeping horror up her backbone? A fist of terror closing around her heart?

  It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t possible. And yet here she sat, trembling at the impossible.

  “I don’t believe you. No one can do that. A person can be manipulated or even brainwashed into a behavior that might otherwise be foreign to them. But what you’re suggesting—”

  “Goes beyond brainwashing.”

  Marly still couldn’t tear her gaze away. “You’re saying that a psychokinetic is causing these people to commit suicide by controlling their thoughts? Even if it were possible, why would he do it? What’s his motive?”

  Deacon shrugged. “Why does a serial killer perform such grotesque acts on his victims? Because he’s fulfilling some kind of sick fantasy. Because he enjoys the manipulation of his victims. Because he wants to flaunt his power over them. In other words, his motives are complex and not fully understood by anyone but himself.”

  “Serial killer,” Marly repeated numbly.

  “Not in the familiar sense of the term,” Deacon said. “But you’re dealing with a monster nonetheless.”

  Marly drew a shaky breath. “You must realize how crazy this all sounds.”

  His gaze was still locked on hers. Marly knew she couldn’t look away now if her life depended on it. “You’re looking for a man probably somewhere between the ages of thirty and forty, but he could be older. He has a military background, but he won’t talk about it. He may even keep it a secret.” Deacon paused. “Do you know anyone like that, Marly?”