I Can See You

by Karen Rose

  “Why this car? It looks worse than my hunk of junk.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. This is a muscle car.”

  “Its muscles are atrophied,” she said wryly.

  He chuckled. “I drove one just like this one when I was a kid.” He gave her an arched look. “I got some major action in the backseat of that car.”

  Her breath caught at the implicit promise. “I don’t think you’ll get much action tonight unless we want to explain frostbite in embarrassing places to the doctors in the ER.”

  “Didn’t you ever park when you were a teenager, oh so many years ago?” he asked silkily and despite her winter layers and the heat from his body, she shivered.

  “No. None of the boys I knew had cars unless they’d been stolen.” She rested her head on his shoulder, comfortable and grateful and anticipating, all at the same time. “So how does it work, this parking thing?”

  “It’s pretty straightforward. I try to go as far as I can and you stop me. Of course the whole frostbite thing is an issue, so mostly we just neck. Like this.” And he kissed her until her bones felt fluid and her skin became way too hot under the layers of clothing she wore. Her pulse throbbed deep, just as it had every time he’d kissed her.

  She tugged off one glove so that she could touch his face, learning every texture, shuddering when he turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. He returned to her mouth, layering pleasure on sensation without demanding anything back and suddenly she wished he would. His gloved hands were safely anchored, one on her shoulder, the other cradling the back of her head.

  She pulled back, just far enough to see his eyes. They glittered in the darkness and the leashed desire she saw there stole her breath. “What do we do next?”

  “Nothing you don’t want to do.”

  It was her game then, her rules. It was terrifying even as it exhilarated. “Then try something and let me see if I want to stop you.”

  For a moment he remained still, then shifted to the middle of the seat, pulling her across his lap so that she straddled him. He looked up as she looked down and his hands stroked down her back, over her butt, resting on her thighs. His fingers teased, low enough not to panic, but high enough to make her heart race.

  “Your sofa’s a mess,” he whispered, “but your chair gave me a number of fantasies.”

  And that fast she could see them, imagining how his bare skin would feel against hers. She covered his mouth with hers and pressed her hips into him, her body jolting with the initial shock of discovery. He’d said he wanted her. He wasn’t lying.

  Her eyes flew open. His face was hard. Hungry. His body was hard and full and his hips lifted in a rhythm that made her chase his movements, trying to prolong the contact. “You’re teasing me,” she whispered against his lips.

  His laugh was soft, yet strained. “Is it working?”

  “Yes.”

  His hands clutched at her thighs, pulling her down and grinding himself against her, dragging a muted moan from her throat. It felt good, so good, and she wanted more. Needed more. With shaky hands she tugged at the zipper on her coat. His hands left her hips, working the zipper on the fleece she wore beneath. He yanked his gloves off, his eyes never leaving hers as his warm palms slid up under the sweater she wore to claim her breasts, the thin cotton of her bra the only thing between them.

  “Yes?” he asked gruffly.

  “Yes,” she whispered, wishing he’d push the cotton aside, moaning when he did.

  His thumbs teased her nipples and every muscle clenched harder as she lowered herself against the sharp ridge of his body. The sounds he made were harsh and full of want, and need. She took his mouth again and did some grinding of her own.

  Abruptly he stopped, forcing his hands to go lax. A moment later his hips dropped back and she felt cold. They’d fogged up the car windows. His eyes were closed and his jaw tight. He was holding on to control by a thread and the knowledge thrilled.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked huskily when he put her clothing to rights.

  “Because I still could. In another minute I’d have tried something more.”

  “Maybe I would have wanted you to.”

  He swallowed hard. “We would have been in frostbite territory,” he said quietly.

  Her hand trembling, she pushed his dark hair from his damp brow. “Did you ever… you know… in the backseat?”

  His unsteady grin flashed. “This time of year? No.” Briefly he patted her bottom, the pat becoming a caress that made her hum with pleasure. Then his cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket, startling them both. “It’s probably Jack.”

  Eve scrambled off his lap and he dug for his phone. He listened for a minute, then flashed a quick look at Eve. “No, she’s here with me. What’s the address?” He jotted it down, his expression now grim. “I’ll call Jack and meet you there. That was Olivia,” he said, hanging up and dialing again, waiting for Jack to answer. “She found Harvey Farmer, Sr. Come on, Jack, pick up.”

  “That was fast,” Eve said.

  “Not fast enough. He’s dead. Jack, dammit, call me.” He punched more numbers, climbing out of the car. Tersely he repeated the message to call him and dialed again as he held the garage door open for her.

  “Bruce,” he said, letting them into his house. “It’s Noah. Did Olivia call you?… Good. She called me, too, but when I called Jack, I didn’t get an answer again. At his home or cell. I’m on my way to Farmer’s, but you said to call if I couldn’t reach Jack again.” He hung up, grabbed Eve’s computer bag, and kept walking. “Let’s go.”

  “Did Olivia find the son, Dell?” she asked as she buckled her seat belt.

  “No. That’s why you’re still with me.”

  “How did she find the father?”

  “The LUDs from Kurt Buckland’s phone showed a phone call from that address. It’s a house rented in Harvey Sr.’s name.”

  He’d clicked fully into detective mode. “How did the father die?”

  “Shot in the chest. With every window in the house open.”

  She felt cold herself. “He can’t be the same guy, Noah. The man killing these women is patient and meticulous. Dell Farmer was unstable.”

  He opened her car door. “I know. I agree and so does Carleton Pierce.”

  “Pierce came to see me again tonight, in the hospital. He told me you were going to go public on the Shadowland connection, to warn potential victims.”

  “I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I just hope it saves the next woman.”

  Wednesday, February 24, 8:25 p.m.

  “Stay here by the door and don’t touch anything,” Noah said to Eve.

  “Okay,” was all Eve said, her eyes fixed on Harvey Farmer’s dead body.

  “Don’t look,” he said, thinking he should have left her somewhere else, but knowing he wouldn’t be able to think straight if he was worried about her.

  “Too late,” she said and waved him away. “Go. I’m fine.”

  No, she wasn’t, but he had to do his job. “Olivia, what do we have?”

  Olivia crouched beside the body. “One slug to the chest, large caliber. Body’s still warm. Looks like he took a punch to the face. I’ve called CSU and the ME.”

  “The blue Subaru parked outside? I’ve seen it before. It was trailing me and Jack on Monday when we left the coffee shop with Eve. It’s the son’s.”

  “Wait,” Eve said from where she stood, exactly where he’d asked her to stay. “Dell Farmer was there, in the coffee shop. How did he get to that blue Subaru so fast? The barista said Dell and Jeremy Lyons talked for a minute before he left. That’s when Lyons offered to give him Callie’s cell phone number. You and I and Jack were a block away by then and so was the blue Subaru.”

  He and Olivia shared an impressed look. “Girl thinks on her feet,” Olivia murmured.

  “She does,” Noah said. “Dell’s car is the black SUV that he used to run David off the road. The S
ubaru must belong to the father.”

  “I didn’t know about the Subaru before,” Olivia said. “I’ve got uniforms canvassing the neighborhood for anyone who saw a black SUV. Dell isn’t in the Minnesota DMV database, so he’s probably registered—”

  “Noah.” Eve stood in front of a bookshelf, her expression stricken.

  He was next to her in an instant, looking over her shoulder. “What?”

  “That.” She pointed to a framed photo, not touching it. “That’s V, the son that died. Look at the woman with him.” She looked over her shoulder, eyes dark with dread. “It’s Katie, from the bar. Jack’s Katie. Noah, this isn’t just about you. It’s about Jack, too.”

  “Where is Jack?” Olivia asked tightly.

  “Not answering his phone,” Noah said, his heart starting to race. “I have to—”

  “Just go,” Olivia interrupted. “I’ll call it in, have backup meet you there.”

  Wednesday, February 24, 8:30 p.m.

  Eve had actually given him the idea, which was delicious in its irony. He sat in his car, watching his laptop screen as the video played. It was an interview, downloaded from the archive of a TV station in Asheville, North Carolina.

  It was slightly more than six years old. It would do very nicely.

  “And then what did you do?” the reporter was asking, mild revulsion on his face.

  The camera switched to the handsome face of one of the more brutal serial killers he’d studied. “I killed her,” Rob Winters said with a smirk. “I overpowered her, threw her on the bed, and said, ‘Didn’t your parents teach you not to get into cars with strange men?’ Then I wound a string of twine around her neck and pulled, really hard. She fought, so I stabbed her. Six times I think.”

  “Eight,” the reporter corrected, slightly paling. “Eight times in the abdomen.”

  “You must be right,” Winters said with another smirk. “You reporters do your homework after all. I stabbed her, eight times. She tried to claw at me.” He smiled, remembering. “Feisty little thing she was. So I slashed her hand, then her face.”

  “Why her face?” the reporter murmured. “I mean, you’d already all but killed her.”

  “Because.” Winters shrugged. “Because she thought she was pretty. Because I wanted to. Because I could. She stopped fighting, so I pulled the twine again. I really thought I’d killed her. But that’s okay. I’m in here, but she’s out there, scarred for life.” He sobered, his black eyes going cold. “So neither of us are free. I can live with that.”

  “I see. Well, then let’s move on. What happened next?”

  What happened next was Winters chronicling a chilling description of brutality, an uncontrolled killing spree that ended in his own capture. And two weeks after the interview was completed, Winters had been stabbed in the prison shower.

  Because he lost control. Shame, that. Such… evil was intriguing on its face. Fascinating to study in depth. I would have liked the opportunity to talk to him myself.

  But even though Winters was gone, his legacy remained. Eve Wilson was still afraid. You could see it in her eyes if you knew how to look. And I do.

  He took from his pocket the same cell phone he’d used to text her that morning, then rewound the video to the exact frame he’d sought. He dialed Eve, then frowned. She wasn’t answering. He would have loved to have heard her gasp when he played the little snippet from her past. No matter, he’d see that fear in her eyes soon enough.

  When the tone beeped for her voicemail, he hit the video play button, then held the cell to his laptop speaker. When he was finished, he disconnected with a smile.

  Then he started to drive, flipping his police scanner on. He wanted to know when Webster discovered the Bolyards. When Eve retrieved his little message she’d be rattled, but it was Noah Webster who’d be terrified, especially after that attempt on her life earlier today. Webster wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

  Which would be bad, except that he knew where Webster would be soon. Go see the Bolyards. Find out what they know. Like a good soldier, Webster would follow those orders. Where Webster would be, so would Eve.

  I’ll be ready.

  Wednesday, February 24, 8:45 p.m.

  “Oh my God.” Noah ran from the curb to Jack’s house, pulling Eve by the hand, then he stopped, his stomach dropping to his feet. ME techs were going into Jack’s house, a folded body bag on their gurney.

  Abbott met them at the door, looking grim. “Jack’s not dead,” he said.

  Noah’s breath shuddered out as he pointed to the ME gurney. “Then who?”

  “Katie. She was shot in the head with a gun from Jack’s collection.”

  “He didn’t do this,” Noah started intensely, but Abbott held up his hand.

  “Jack’s on his way to the hospital. He’s in bad shape.”

  Noah felt his legs tremble and resolutely locked his knees. “What happened?”

  “We found an empty bottle next to his bed, but the paramedics thought he’d taken some pills, too. We couldn’t find any.”

  Noah wanted to say Jack wouldn’t have done that, but he wasn’t sure that was true.

  “Jack was the one who chased V Farmer into the highway,” Eve said quietly. “This is part of Dell’s payback.”

  “You know Jack didn’t kill Katie,” Noah added and Abbott nodded.

  “But we’re following procedure. No accusations of cover-up. Noah, you can’t go in.”

  Noah closed his eyes, knowing Abbott was right. “Tell me what you saw.”

  “Katie was lying in the bed, shot in the head.” Abbott hesitated. “She’d been beaten up. Jack was lying next to her, passed out, his gun on the nightstand, with the bottle. If we’d discovered this tomorrow morning, Jack would have been dead. It was a good thing you called me when he didn’t answer. And, Eve, nice work. Olivia told me that you made the connection from the news archives. And seeing Katie in that picture with V Farmer will be important to clearing Jack.”

  Eve’s nod was calm, as was the hand she rested on Noah’s back. “Are you assuming Dell killed his father?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Abbott said. “Why?”

  “Because I’m wondering why he did it. And who else is on his list.”

  “It’s fair to say you are,” Noah told her, trying to stow his worry.

  “And you,” she replied. “Where did they take Jack?”

  “County,” Abbott replied, “but they won’t let anyone see him. I’ve called his father and I’m about to meet him at the hospital.”

  “I need to talk to him,” Noah said. “He thought I was asking for a new partner today. He took Rachel Ward’s death hard. I want him to know he’s got my support.”

  “And you’ll be able to tell him that, after he’s stabilized,” Abbott said. “For now, the best thing you can do is your job.”

  “You’re right. We were going to check on that couple who phoned in the Martha tip. The Bolyards. I still have time to do that. Eve can stay with me while I talk to them.”

  “No problem,” she said. “I have my laptop. I can keep busy wherever.”

  Abbott walked with them, waiting until Eve was in Noah’s car and her door shut before motioning Noah a few feet away. “If Jack survives, he won’t be on his feet for a while. You’re going to need a new partner to see you through this investigation.”

  Noah didn’t want to consider either option, but knew Abbott was right. “Who?”

  “I don’t know yet. If this had been next year, I’d say Olivia, because Kane’s up for retirement soon. I’ll make some calls and let you know as soon as I do.” He looked over Noah’s shoulder to where Eve waited in the car. “She needs to go to a safe house.”

  Noah thought of all the years she’d hidden in that shelter. “I don’t think she’ll go.”

  “Convince her,” Abbott said tersely. “I can’t have you carting her around with you. If you can’t find a safe place outside, we’ll find a safe house and keep her inside.”

 
Noah nodded, once more knowing Abbott was right. “Anything else?”

  “Just focus on your own case. Five women dead.”

  “I haven’t forgotten them, Bruce,” Noah said levelly, then was saved anything further when a sleek Mercedes drove up.

  Carleton Pierce got out, his face tight with concern. “What’s going on?”

  Abbott’s brows bunched. “What are you doing here, Carleton?”

  “I have business with Jack.”

  “What kind of business? Why did he call you?” Abbott pressed, but Carleton’s eyes were fixed on the gurney being pushed out Jack’s front door, the body bag zipped.

  “Oh my God. Did Jack… ?”

  “Why did he call you, Carleton?” Abbott asked again.

  Carleton’s eyes never left the body bag on the gurney. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “That’s not Jack,” Noah said and Carleton’s startled gaze swung to meet his.

  “Then who is it?”

  “Jack’s girlfriend,” Abbott said. “Why did Jack call you? I need to know.”

  Carleton’s shoulders had sagged in relief, but now they were straight again. “Bruce, don’t ask me. I can’t tell you. Where is Jack?”

  “Probably in the emergency room by now,” Abbott said darkly. Carleton’s eyes grew wide again. “Why?”

  Abbott’s jaw was tight. “He may have mixed alcohol and downers.”

  Carleton let out a quiet breath. “Dammit. What’s Jack’s prognosis?”

  “Not good.” Abbott watched as the MEs loaded Katie’s body into the rig. “But better than hers at the moment. I don’t mean to be rude, Carleton, but we have work to do.”

  “Fine. If Jack survives, tell him I stopped by, won’t you? I’ll see you both tomorrow at morning meeting.” He drove away without another word.

  “Unhappy shrink,” Noah noted.

  “Not my job to keep him happy,” Abbott snapped.

  “He’s not allowed to divulge patient information, Bruce. You know that. That he was here means Jack was more affected than either of us thought.”