Billboard Cop

by Lynde Lakes

  She ignored him and smiled at the hawk-nosed bartender. The harried barman slid a straight shot onto a tray full of drinks. “Pick up, Vic,” he called to the waitress.

  “Have you seen a blond guy in here?” Jen asked. “About six feet tall, good looking?”

  The bartender opened two bottles of beer. He sloshed jiggers of gin into a couple of glasses and added mix. “Too busy to notice.”

  The guys she had squeezed between swiveled on their stools and boxed her in. “Me and my buddy were born blond,” the one in the baseball cap slurred.

  “Yeah,” the other man said. “So how about a threesome, honey?”

  She sensed a swift movement behind her and before she could tell the men to get lost, York stepped close and put his hand on her shoulder. His eyes narrowed and darkened dangerously. “Watch it, guys. This is my wife.”

  They looked him up and down, then released her and turned back to their beers.

  Caught off guard by York’s comment and by how much she liked being called his wife, she muttered, “I can take care of myself.”

  “This was quicker.” He glanced at his watch. “With the Friday night traffic, it’ll take us thirty minutes to an hour to drive to Salem. How long do you want to give Brock to show up?”

  She started to say fifteen minutes when a barmaid shouted, “Is there a Jen Lyman in here?”

  She waved her hand and hurried to the end of the bar to take the call.

  With a sisterly wink the waitress said, “Lucky girl. The guy on the line has a ‘to-die-for’ deep voice.”

  Jen swallowed. The words echoed in her head. Forcing a smile, she took the receiver from the woman’s outstretched hand. “I’ll tell him you said so. It’ll make his day.” She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “Hi. This is Jen.” She covered an ear with her fingers to close out some of the bar noise.

  “Sorry about the delay,” Lee said, “but this damned rental car broke down. Might take a while to get things squared away.”

  Jen exhaled in relief. She hadn’t realized until now how much she’d dreaded their get-together. “I can’t wait, Lee. I’m on my way out of town.”

  “Where to?”

  Damn. Why did he have to ask? Why did he have to be a murder suspect? She side-stepped his question by making a promise she didn’t really want to keep. “Give me your phone number and I’ll call you for lunch the first of next week.”

  The line went silent for several heartbeats. “I’d better call you. Something’s come up. I might be moving again.”

  She laughed nervously. “What’s all the mystery, Lee?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  He sounded hurt. Was it an act? Darn. York’s suspicions had rubbed off on her. She didn’t want to doubt Lee. She closed her eyes briefly. “Let’s talk about it on Monday. Gotta go.” Jen slammed the receiver back in the cradle, wishing she didn’t feel like such a traitor.

  York joined her with a frown on his face. “I knew it. He’s not coming, is he?”

  “Car trouble.”

  “Likely story. He didn’t show because somehow he knew I was here.”

  “You and your overblown suspicions!” Then the argument went out of her and she hurried on, no longer sure his doubts didn’t have merit. “I didn’t think you’d want to wait.”

  York gave her a long, searching look that almost melted her bones, then took her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He led her to the car in stony silence. He tromped harder on the accelerator than she believed necessary, and the T-bird roared to life. She watched his determined profile as they headed out of town.

  After they entered the highway’s smooth flowing traffic, she watched him glance in the rear view mirror. “Damn,” he said. “Instead of us keeping tabs on Brock, he may have reversed the tables.”

  Jen stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “He could’ve been nearby watching. Might even be tailing us.”

  She fought a sinking feeling, remembering the darting shadow in the bar’s parking lot. “Why would Lee do that?”

  “If he’s the strangler, he has unfinished business with you.” Abruptly, York twisted the steering wheel and headed down the first off-ramp. He glanced in the rearview mirror again.

  Jen turned and looked out the rear window. “I don’t see anyone.” She sighed and righted herself in the seat. “I don’t get it. With three other suspects, you still have Lee at the top of your list.”

  “Why not? He acts guilty—always disappearing, hiding from the police, and now a no-show. For a clincher, he refuses to give you his address or phone number.”

  “Lee couldn’t be the maniac with the axe,” she said. “He’s not a violent man.”

  A tendon along York’s jaw line pulsed angrily as she made an effort to defend Lee again. Was she trying to convince him, or herself? “The whole time we were together,” she said in desperation, “he never even raised his voice to me.”

  York winced, probably remembering all the times he’d raised his voice since meeting her. “The guy must be a saint,” he growled.

  “Not quite. But he is a laid-back sorta guy. When I broke up with him he just shrugged and said it was for the best, that he’d been expecting it.”

  York met her gaze as though relieved and when he spoke again his voice had changed, deepened. “I can’t imagine a guy giving up on you that easily.”

  “He knows my career will always come first.”

  “Seeing you together, I can’t imagine how you two ever got together in the first place. But if he loved you, he wouldn’t begrudge you your career.” York raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes widened as if stunned that he’d said that.

  Jen laughed. “Wow. This from a man who insists upon a stay-at-home wife?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I’ve changed some of my ideas. I can’t explain it. But tell me why the hell that guy suddenly wants back in your life.”

  “He was never completely out of it. Once a friend, always a friend.”

  York tightened his grip on the steering wheel and frowned. “I admire your loyalty, but your blind allegiance to Brock is pure crap. You deserve someone who’ll return your fidelity not some SOB with hidden motives. If you ask me, Brock wants more than just being friends now.”

  “Well, I didn’t ask you.” She folded her arms and stared out the window, hating that she agreed with everything he had said. But that didn’t mean Lee was a killer.

  ****

  Jen’s silence was as palatable as a block wall between them and York hated it. He shoved a Louie Armstrong jazz CD into the disc player and lowered the volume. It could have been blaring and it wouldn’t have mattered. All he heard were the tumultuous thoughts slamming against the walls of his skull. At the bar Jen had banged down the phone. Could she still care for Brock without knowing it? What secrets lurked in her mind about that man?

  Before returning to the highway, he checked the rearview mirror and satisfied himself that no one was tailing them.

  Abruptly Jen turned and faced him, her gaze burning his profile. He glanced at her. Fire glinted in her eyes. “We have to talk about the other suspects, York.”

  “At last, you got your second wind,” he said, hoping to veer the conversation in another direction. He didn’t have enough answers to effectively discuss the people involved in this tangled mess, but it wouldn’t hurt to go over the suspects. Even if the discussion didn’t come up with anything useful, tossing around names was better than her icy silence.

  “Please don’t use your delaying tactics on me,” she said. “Let’s talk this out. We saw Zombolas and Lorenzo together, and then Lorenzo showed up dead.”

  “The mayor gave Zombolas an alibi,” he reminded her with a certain amount of satisfaction. “Unless you can prove the mayor lied.”

  Her words quickened. “What about Tim Tormont? He argued with both Joel and Lorenzo.”

  Mounting frustration colored her voice so he tried for a calming tone. “It
’s something to keep in mind, but we don’t know that the redheaded man who argued with Joel was Tormont. Or if the argument had anything to do with his disappearance.”

  “Shouldn’t you be questioning people, finding the connections? Isn’t that what cops are supposed to do?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his own frustration. “What the devil do you think I’m doing? That’s what this whole damned weekend in Salem is for—to talk to Howard Hawthorne about Coble and get a solid lead.”

  “So you say,” she huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “But maybe you just want to get me out of Boston while Ted follows up on your spoon-fed clues.”

  “Ted and I are a team. But this is my lead.” York darted a glance at Jen. “Thought you’d want to be in on it.”

  ****

  Jen sighed and slipped back into silence. It was going to be a hellish trip. Dammit, she’d heard the sincerity in York’s voice and didn’t know why she was acting so bitchy when he was only trying to do his job and keep her safe.

  The answer came in a painful rush. Fear. Fear Lee could be a murderer, fear the person who wanted her dead would succeed, and fear she was falling for a man who wanted an old-fashioned woman so badly he risked putting an ad on a billboard to find her.

  The blood drained from her cheeks. She swallowed, trying to face the most unsettling fear of all. That the man she wanted would leave her, discard her the way her sperm-donor father and stepfather had, leaving her feeling more disconnected and fragmentary. Even Lee had mentally left her months before she ended it. Stop it! she chided herself. She refused to give in to the fears, insecurities and useless self-pity.

  York reached over and gently touched her hand as if he sensed her turmoil. “We’re going to get this guy, and you’re going to get your story. But I have to keep you safe.”

  They passed a road sign, and Jen noticed for the first time that they were already on the North Shore Highway.

  “I know you won’t believe this, but getting the story in the strangler case has never been my main goal.” She reflected on that thought for a second. Why had it taken her so long to realize that? “I want to expose Gordon’s murderer and see that he’s locked away forever.”

  “It won’t help to get yourself killed.”

  Her heart beat quickened, sensing there was more than just a cop’s concern in his tone. She touched her lips, branded forever by his kiss. Why was she torturing herself? Being with him was an impossible dream. After tucking away her feelings in that special place in her heart where love and gratitude flowed deep, she quipped, “Thanks for caring.”

  York sent her a masked look.

  She cleared her constricted throat. “When the strangler killed Lorenzo it proved the connection to the landfill story.”

  York glanced in the rearview mirror. “But,” he asked, “did the information come from the mayor’s office or Tormont’s office? That’s the question.”

  Their tires screeched on an S-curve.

  Jen gripped the seat. “Do you have a death wish? Or is someone really tailing us?”

  “A gray car’s been following us. Seems to be hanging back. Don’t worry, we’ll lose him after the next curve.”

  After the bend, York swung abruptly onto a gravel fire road. With the overgrowth of foliage, she wouldn’t have known it was there. Bushes scraped the sides of his Thunderbird as they bumped along the ruts and rises, leaving the highway behind. He slowed. She glanced back, and sighed in relief. The forest had swallowed them.

  York stopped the car in a small clearing. “We’ll stay put here. Our tail won’t realize he’s lost us.”

  “Won’t he just wait ahead?”

  “It’s almost dark. The odds of him picking up on us are slight.”

  “Can I count on that?”

  He held her gaze with a piercing look that made her feel naked. “This is our best option at the moment.” He removed the keys from the ignition. “Since we have time to kill, how about stretching our legs?”

  He came around the car and opened her door. The smell of the forest, dampened from an earlier coastal shower, mingled with the salty air. It was so exhilarating she felt alive with hope.

  “There’s a sea cliff just around that bend,” he said in a deep voice that soothed her. “It’s incredible at sunset.”

  She accepted his hand, and his warm, strong fingers closed around hers, making her feel safe, yet oddly off balance.

  As they walked along the winding path, holding hands, her small hand buried in his larger pad of warmth and security she wondered what it would be like to be loved by this man. Would he be gentle? Or would the intensity of their passion make him go wild?

  When he pointed at the stark marbled cliff highlighted by a tiger-orange sky, her breath caught at the naked beauty. They moved closer to the edge and looked down, still clutching hands. Below, the tumultuous dark sea thundered in angry, foamy turmoil. Wind swirled around her, whipping her slacks against her legs. She shivered and tried to brush back wisps of hair that refused to be tamed.

  “Cold?” He drew her into his body heat. Grateful for the warm closeness, she looked up at him, suddenly longing for his kiss. He gazed into her eyes with indisputable desire, and she waited for him to lower his head, for their lips to meet. Instead, he said in a thick voice, “We’d better get back to the car.”

  She blinked. “What?” The depth of her disappointment stunned her.

  “We need to get out of here before it’s totally dark.”

  Minutes ago he’d said they had time to kill. Now he was in a big rush. Damn the mixed signals, she thought, remembering the way he’d held her, the huskiness in his voice, the way he’d kissed her that first time. Obviously, in spite of the chemistry sizzling between them, he didn’t want to get involved. From the beginning, he’d let her know the kind of woman he wanted, and made it clear she wasn’t it.

  York kept his arm around her as they walked, sheltering her from the wind, torturing her with his nearness. “I hope you’re hungry. Knowing Mom, she’ll have everything ready.”

  She appreciated the gallant way he assisted her into the car, but not the way he avoided looking into her eyes.

  Fighting the knots forming in her stomach, she tried for a light tone. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat all my veggies so I can have one of your mom’s famous desserts.”

  ****

  York forced a laugh, pretending to buy into her smoke screen for real feelings. He’d hurt her, but dammit, he was fighting for his own salvation. God, when she’d looked up at him, he knew he could search the world over and never find two such fathomless pale-green eyes. He’d found himself hypnotized by the enigmatic lights dancing there, teasing, promising a path to her soul—and to his destruction. He had no choice but to leave, fast.

  He rounded the car and slid behind the wheel; his face felt like etched stone. He gunned the car to life and headed for the main road. Gravel pinged against the undercarriage, emphasizing the silence that had settled between them. He had wanted to kiss her so damned bad his throat ached, and his body throbbed from wanting her. What would she have done if he’d swept her from her feet, carried her to one of the caves below, and made love to her to the sound of crashing waves?

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. How could he even contemplate making love to a woman who’d made it clear her job came first? He wanted an old-fashioned woman, willing to stay home and raise his kids. Damn. As much as he wanted Jen, he couldn’t risk having a relationship with a career woman. His dad’s words echoed in his head. My marriage lasted because I married an old-fashioned woman who put family first. Anything less never works and hearts get broken, and it is too high a price for the resulting children to pay.

  He switched on the lights as darkness closed around them. Silent, Jen looked confused, like an angel whose wings had been cut and didn’t know why. He knew she’d sensed he wanted to kiss her, and he regretted his part in her bewilderment.

  She’d been through too
much already. A curious pride swelled in his heart. Both times she’d confronted the killer she’d kept her wits about her. He admired her intelligence and coolness under attack.

  When he’d thought the killer had grabbed her, he realized he cared for her, a much too personal caring. She was no longer just the woman it was his job to protect. Kissing her had broken every rule of professionalism. He wanted to believe it was the relief of finding her alive. But it wasn’t that kind of kiss. He could still taste the sweetness, feel the moist heat, the smoothness of her delicate teeth as he probed the depths of her mouth. Blood rushed to his groin. He rolled down the window, needing the blast of air on his face.

  Damn. It wasn’t just the halo effect of his first impression of her and the chemistry blazing between them, because the feeling hadn’t passed. When he realized he wanted his parents to meet her, he knew he was in trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  When their headlights picked up the Salem city limits sign, Jen couldn’t stand the silence pressing in on her a second longer. “At last,” she said, “the setting of witches, whalers and white caps.”

  York laughed. “The city’s thirty-eight thousand or so residents are every-day working people, but mention Salem and immediately folks think of the witch hysteria of sixteen-ninety-five. It’s a hard history to live down, especially when merchants play it up to attract tourists.”

  “Right, it’s all about the dollar.” Her thoughts jumped forward to their reason for coming here. “Which is probably the puppet master’s motive for ordering the latest series of murders.”

  “No question about it,” York said, as though concentrating on the curves of the road and the rearview mirror. She turned and looked back. Failing to see any evidence of their elusive tail in the empty darkness, she sank into thoughts about the strangler, suspecting she’d triggered York’s reflections about him as well.

  As they passed Gallows Hill, Jen began to understand the chilling echo from the past. The wind swirling about the car carried an eerie howl, growing ever louder. She almost thought she heard the collective sobs of the nineteen innocent women led to death’s tree, one by one. The weeping must’ve been the wind coming through the trees, yet the cries seemed so real. She shivered at the otherworldly darkness that had settled like the cloak of death over the community ahead.