by Mary Stone
The whole Black family had been an unusual experience. Now, to have this last one become an FBI agent…I was sure she aimed to hunt me down.
She was welcome to try. Maybe I’d even let her find me, just to see what happens.
I shook my head, thinking about the way she’d stuck her middle finger up at the camera. At me. Not ladylike, at all. Just like her momma. I’d like to teach her some manners, but I couldn’t help but admire her spunk.
I tucked the photo and camera into my sweatshirt pocket and slipped out of the room, making sure to lock it up tight behind me. Adjusting the toolbelt hanging low on my hips, I headed down to my truck.
I almost hoped she’d catch up to me at some point.
It’d be interesting to see the little girlie’s face when she learned the truth. Right before she paid her penance too.
Winter felt a brief chill, like a cold finger had traced the back of her neck. She shuddered and rubbed her arms.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine. Just ready to call it. It’s been a helluva day.” It was true. The rain had picked up since that afternoon, and she was cold, damp, and tired. More than ready to fall into bed for the next eight hours.
“Just about there. You good with a drive-thru dinner?” Not waiting for an answer, Noah turned into a McDonald’s drive-thru near their hotel. Unsurprising, since Noah’s stomach had been growling audibly for hours.
Winter ordered fries and a Coke, knowing she should eat something, but she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to. It had been hard, witnessing her first victim of violent death in over ten years. Bones were one thing. The smell, the sight of murder…that was different. Elbert’s vacant eyes would haunt her dreams tonight.
Noah managed to restrain himself for the five minutes it took for them to get back to the hotel, but as soon as they turned into the parking lot, he was pulling fries out of the bag and stuffing them in his mouth.
“How do you do it?”
He maneuvered the car into an empty spot and took a sip of his Coke. “Didn’t we already go over this? Fast metabolism.”
“Not that.” Winter looked out the rain-spattered windshield, at the parking lot light haloed with a light haze of rain. “The death.”
“You did fine today. Just fine.” Noah’s voice was sympathetic. “Your first freshly dead person?”
“No.” An image of her parents popped into her head, and she closed her eyes briefly against it. “But the first one in a long time. It was just so…abrupt. We’d just seen him. Not six hours before.”
“I know. And he was a nice guy.”
Winter refused to cry, but the sting of tears at the backs of her lids was unmistakable. She blinked them back, mortified. She’d just assumed, after experiencing what she had as a kid, that when it came time to make it her career, the ability to block out blood and pain would just be engrained, allowing her to just focus on the end game. It wouldn’t touch her. It would just be a job.
“You need to take that emotion, make it work for you. It’s all fuel for the fire that’ll ultimately lead to apprehending the person that did that to him. There’s no shame in having it affect you. Just shows you’re human.”
He put a hand on hers, where it rested on her knee. The warmth of his broad palm was comforting.
“There’s bad guys out there. Our job is to find them. Feeling for a victim, sad for the loss of life, that’s not going to affect your ability to do your job.”
She nodded wordlessly and gave herself just another moment to soak in the reassuring touch of his hand. She normally avoided most physical contact. It weakened her. But Noah had a gift for offering comfort.
“You’d better get that burger up to your room before it gets cold,” she finally told him, easing her hand out from under his.
Noah, though, angled toward her, as much as his long legs and the cramped seat would allow. “You sure you’re okay? I was going to ask you earlier if you saw anything when you went in to check things out on your own, before all the local guys got there. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready, though.”
He was trying to give her space with her “gift,” and she was grateful for that.
“I did, but I don’t think it’ll be any help to us.” She closed her eyes again, ignoring the mild headache that brewed in her temples. She brought the picture of Elbert’s office to mind.
The filing cabinets. Scattered papers, manila folders. Elbert, crumpled on the floor…a gaping head wound, crushed bone, a dark pool of blood. She hadn’t needed to see the red glow around the crowbar on the floor to know that it was the murder weapon, and neither would the CSI team.
Instead, she’d looked around the rest of the room.
Papers had been scattered everywhere, like a windstorm had blown through. Drawers hung crazily out of their cabinets, emptied of the information that had been painstakingly collected for decades.
Elbert’s life, reduced to a pile of trash in one vicious blow.
“There were prints,” she finally said. “Red areas where the killer had touched things. If they were real, the CSI team will find them. But I’m sure he was wearing gloves.”
“Did you get a sense of who would have done it?”
“No. It was almost dispassionate, the way the room had been wrecked.”
Noah grabbed another fry and chewed thoughtfully. “Nothing of value looked like it had been taken, according to the housekeeper.”
Winter nodded. “I went through the entire house. Point of entry was the back door. I didn’t pick up on any other area that had been disturbed. He came in, moved through the house until he found Elbert, killed him, destroyed the office, and left the same way he came.”
“Neighbors didn’t see anything.”
“No. The way his house backs up to that wooded area didn’t help. It would have been simple to get across the yard without being seen.”
“It’s tied in to the bones. Elbert knew something.”
“Yeah. And now he’s taking whatever it was to the grave.” Abruptly, the confines of the car seemed stifling. The fast food bags smelled nauseating. She grabbed the Coke. “Keep my fries. I’m going up. We’ll get back to it tomorrow.”
Winter opened the car door, letting in the cool, wet night breeze. The headache still threatened, and she just wanted to sleep it off.
“Bright and early for a run?” Noah asked. “Good way to burn the tension off. Keep on an even keel. Unless you’re up for another kind of tension-burner.” He dropped her an exaggerated wink.
It was half-fascinating, half-irritating that the thought was distracting enough to make Winter pause. She studied him in the light of the parking lot. Raindrops clung to his dark brown hair, and his green eyes were lit with amusement, his lips quirked up in a smile. He needed to shave. His angular cheeks were bristled with stubble.
“Running sounds good. Six?”
The creases of his smile deepened, like he knew what she’d been thinking. “Six, it is.”
She slipped into her hotel room, locking it behind her, and froze. All warm thoughts of her partner evaporated.
She hit the light switch, bathing the room in the anemic glow of the overhead light. Nothing looked different or disturbed. Her suitcase was where she’d left it. The bathroom door was still ajar about six inches, the bedspread free of wrinkles. But someone had been in her room.
She sniffed the air. Just the slightly musty smell of the carpet.
Moving forward, her hand unconsciously on the butt of her gun, she nudged the bathroom door open. The shower stood empty, its clear plastic liner pushed back on its rings. Her things were beside the sink. Nothing glowed red.
Feeling foolish for being scared, she moved back to the main part of the room. Knelt down and lifted the dust ruffle on the bed. Beneath, there was nothing.
Running her hand between the mattress and box spring, she stopped.
The picture. The camera.
They were gone.
She told herse
lf it didn’t matter. She’d memorized the picture. She hadn’t planned on doing anything with the camera. There were no prints on it. Nothing to tie either item to The Preacher.
But he’d been in her room.
The hair on her arms rose, and goose bumps pebbled her flesh.
She closed her eyes, but Elbert’s vacant stare was there waiting for her. He hadn’t been killed by The Preacher, but blood and death…violent death was forever going to be a trigger on any memories tied to that night.
Her breath came short and choppy. He’d been in her room again. The hands that had so skillfully butchered her parents had touched her doorknob. Maybe other things. Shiny dots danced at the edges of her vision.
Was he watching her now?
She swung around and ripped the painting down from over the TV, gouging the wall and cracking the frame hard against the top of the television.
The empty hole where the camera had been stared back at her.
Who was he that he could get into her room so easily? Or was she crazy? The picture was gone. There was no proof her family’s killer had been there. Watched her with a hidden camera. Left her a picture of her little brother.
A knock on the door had her swinging around, pulling out her weapon.
12
“Winter. What’s going on?”
Noah pounded on the door. He’d heard banging coming from her room through the thin walls. It sounded like Winter was throwing furniture. But when she opened the door, she didn’t look disheveled, just pale and unbelievably tired.
Noah pushed past her, his gun at his side. “What the hell was that noise?”
The painting that hung over her TV, a carbon copy of the same ugly painting that hung over his on the opposite wall, was on the bed. The frame was damaged, nearly splintered down one side. Where the painting had hung, there was a crudely gouged square cut in the drywall.
“What the hell is that from?”
He rounded on her, but she’d sunk down in one of the chairs that sat at the small table.
“There was a camera in there.”
“Was? Where is it now?”
She shrugged. “He came and took it back.”
“Who came?”
“The Preacher, I assume. Unless Alma, the nosy front desk clerk, has prurient tastes.”
Fury pounded in Noah’s temples as he holstered the weapon. “Dammit, I thought you’d told me everything.” He grabbed the chair across from her and yanked it back, sitting down. “Spill,” he bit out. “Now.”
She didn’t raise her eyes to him, just absently rubbed the side of her head. “He left me a picture of my brother. The first night we were here. Taken after Justin’s disappearance.”
“And you didn’t tell me, why? You didn’t report this to Max, why?”
Finally, she looked at him. Her eyes were dark, looking bruised almost. “It’s between me and him.”
He thought back to everything he knew about her teenage run-in with one of the most notorious, elusive serial killers of their time. She’d come home to find her parents murdered in their beds. Her brother gone. She’d been hit over the head with a crushing blow that had cracked her skull and been left for dead.
He knew why she’d become an FBI agent. It didn’t take a genius to know she planned to leverage her new job into catching the man that had destroyed her family. She’d told him as much. What she hadn’t told him was that she planned on going it alone.
“You have serious sharing problems,” he bit out. “Grab your things.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m not fucking around. Grab. Your. Things.”
Her eyes sparked a little, but she did as he said. She zipped her suitcase. Grabbed a bag and headed for the bathroom, moving slowly, like an old woman.
Then, she stopped, and her shoulders tensed. Her hands flew to her head, and she moaned, hunching her shoulders. “Not now,” she groaned.
Noah leaped to his feet as Winter’s knees seemed to crumble beneath her. She was sinking to the floor when he reached her, catching her just before she hit her head on the corner of the wall. As he reached out for her, blood splashed against his arm.
“Winter, what the hell!”
He eased her back in his arms. Blood gushed from her nose, a vivid crimson stream. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and he scrambled to balance her in one arm as he reached for his cell phone to dial 911. Her head lolled back, her long hair loose from its usual severe bun, brushed the carpet. His heart pounded. Seizure?
Before he could get hold of his phone, she gave a bone-wracking shudder, and squeezed her eyes shut, coming to with a gasp.
“She’s in a cage. We have to help her.”
“Hold on.” He eased her to the carpet and stripped off his t-shirt. Wadding the fabric up in a ball, he dabbed it under her nose. Winter struggled to sit up, and he pushed her firmly back down.
“You don’t get to scare the hell out of me and then jump up and run laps,” he warned her, his voice tight. “Can I get you something to drink? Has this happened before? Is there a medication you need to take?”
Winter shook her head, taking the t-shirt from him. “I saw her. A girl. Locked in a cage. We need to help her.”
“We need to help you first.” He brushed a strand of black hair back from her cheek. Her face was damp with sweat, and her eyes looked wild, a deeper blue.
She locked eyes with him, her urgency palpable. “I’m fine. It’s just another thing I can do. It’s like a…vision. I can’t explain it, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But I saw a girl at the farm. Rebekah’s farm. She was locked in a cage, like an animal.”
He believed her. Of course, he did. Who the hell knew why, but Noah knew to his core that Winter was telling the truth.
“Are you okay? Can you stand up?”
“Yeah.” She waved away his hand and struggled to her feet. She tried to hand his t-shirt back, but the gray material was blotted with dark red. Winter grimaced. “I’m sorry about the shirt.”
He didn’t respond, just took the small cosmetic bag she’d dropped and retrieved her things from the bathroom. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the carpet when he came out. He hefted her suitcase. “Come on. You’re bunking with me.” Next door, he set her suitcase by his. “Bed. Now.”
She didn’t move. “We need to go out to that farm.”
“We can’t. I believe you about the girl, but we can’t call in a search warrant based on a bloody nose and a seizure.” He held up a hand to forestall her argument. “I’m not saying that’s all it was. I said I believe you. But getting anyone else to buy it is more than a stretch. We need to work this through within our boundaries.”
Winter stood in the center of the room, looking like she was going to fall over at any second.
Noah softened his voice. “Come on now, go to bed. You get changed. I’m going to run over and grab the blankets off your bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
He gave her a few minutes of privacy, taking his time. When he came back, she’d done as he said and was tucked in securely, her back toward the door. He made up a pallet of blankets on the floor, reminding himself that he’d slept on worse during his stint in the military.
“Tomorrow will be better,” he promised Winter quietly.
She didn’t answer.
Winter relived the vision in her dreams.
A girl, pregnant and terrified, in a cage. The bars that imprisoned her looked meant to hold in a large animal, not a young woman. She beat at the bars, screaming soundlessly, her fists bloodied. Beneath her dirty, baggy t-shirt, a very pregnant belly strained against the fabric.
Winter slept only fitfully and woke sometime in the dark hours of the night with a new assurance that she hadn’t had after her vision the night before. The girl was dead. Winter couldn’t save her.
In the morning, Winter had a hard time looking Noah in the face. The alarm on his phone went off at five, and he was instantly awake, switching on the bedside lamp on
the end table above him. When he sat up, his tousled hair and shoulders were backlit at the side of the bed.
“You okay?”
Instead of answering, she just nodded. His easygoing manner was as effective as a mask, giving nothing away, but he looked her over, searchingly. Finally, deciding she’d do, he stood up and stretched.
“I’ll go shower next door. Then we’ll be done twice as quick.”
He grabbed some clothes from his suitcase and headed out without interrogating her, for which she was grateful.
She showered quickly and was just getting off the phone with Max when Noah came back. His hair still showed marks from his comb, and his black pants and gray sweater were a little rumpled, but he looked alert and ready to go.
More alert than she felt, anyway.
“How’d that go?” he asked warily.
“I brought him up to date. On everything except the obvious,” she added, giving him a sideways glance. “We need to make some progress, or he’s going to send someone over here to take over for us.”
“Can’t have that,” he replied, clapping his hands together as if to punctuate the sentiment. “Let’s get some coffee and hit the streets.”
“We need to make a stop first.”
It was early yet, but the lights were on in the motel office. The doorbell chimed cheerily as they entered the lobby, and Alma Krueger popped her head from around the door of the back office. Instead of bright flowers, today she wore black. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy.
“I’m sorry for the loss of your friend, Ms. Krueger,” Winter offered quietly.
The woman nodded her tightly permed head, her eyes welling with tears. “I just can’t believe it. Elbert Wilkins.” She pressed a tissue beneath a nose that was already reddened from crying and leveled an accusing look at Winter. “I never would have sent you over there if I’d have known I’d be putting that dear man in danger.”
Winter had braced herself for blame, but it still stung.
“Now, Ms. Krueger, we don’t know anything yet about why Elbert was killed,” Noah said, surreptitiously easing himself in front of Winter. “Can you tell us anything that might help find who did this? Point us to someone who might’ve known about the case we’re working on? I’m told you know most of the goings on in this area.”
