by Angi Morgan
“Right. The police already thought I was drunk or high or just crazy. Then there was the mess when they thought I’d stolen Jeremy’s car. That took forever to clear up. So I let them take me home and used the internet.”
“Wait, go back. They thought you stole a car?”
“That’s beside the point, but if you must know, Jeremy left me his car. I’ve been making the payments. The bank wouldn’t put it in my name. When I told the cop at the accident that the owner was dead...” She rubbed the scratches she’d gotten from the handcuffs they used while escorting her to the police station to sort things out. “Part of the reason it was so late when I found you was that it took a long time to find Jeremy’s lawyer and verify everything.”
“Is this your place?”
“Jeremy’s, really.”
“If it’s got a lock on the door, you’ll be fine. Want me to walk you to the door?”
“Yes. I mean, aren’t we going to talk? You can tell me what your plans are. How do you plan to catch this guy? Oh, wait, we should talk inside. But what if it’s bugged or something?”
“Lindsey.” He lifted a hand as a universal stop sign. “Lindsey, slow down. I’m not that guy.”
He reached forward and gently popped her seat belt loose. At some point he’d already undone his and twisted on the old vinyl. Draping his arm over the back of the seat, he rested his head in his hand.
He arched his brows, waiting, but she didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t completely understand the question, so what did he want?
“Look, kid—”
“Stop right there. I’m not a kid. You can’t be more than three or four years older than me. Remember, I did research on you, too. So I’m not your kid, sweetheart, baby, doll or whatever nickname you can create. My name’s Lindsey.”
“Yes ma’am. Like I was saying, I’m not the guy you want defending you. I have no resources, no knowledge, no experience or desire to protect you. You need someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“But who else is going to believe me, Brian?”
“You’ve got me there. I had a helluva time just getting myself to believe me. Then Mabel did some research and all those accidents didn’t seem so accidental.”
“You’ll help?” She focused on his eyes, the slight tilt of his mouth that was much more comforting than those tight, strained lips.
“I don’t know what I can do, Lindsey, but I’ll tell you what I know. Stay there and I’ll help you out before you hurt that shoulder again. The muscles are probably stiffening up about now.”
He scooped the folder from the seat and she waited while he walked around the truck. If he wanted to be gallant, she’d let him. Allowing him to open the door for her wasn’t being a pushover—especially if he wasn’t doing any pushing.
She creaked to the edge and stepped down. Brian was right. She ached all over.
“Aw, I told you.”
The wince had probably given her away. She would have stumbled to the ground if he hadn’t been there helping. “I can’t believe how sore I am all of a sudden.”
“The adrenaline’s wearing off and I bet you’ll be out as soon as your head hits the pillow.”
“No way. We have things to discuss. I want to know everything you know.”
“And I’ll be here in the morning. Does that perplexed look indicate you don’t know if it’s a good idea or not?”
“I just... I mean, just because I tracked you down doesn’t mean I invited you to spend the night.” Remember, someone’s trying to kill you. A little voice in her head, sounding so much like Jeremy, kept reminding her to look around. The paranoia had her doubting Brian’s motives.
“I thought we were past all that. I didn’t try to kill you. You can trust me.”
Fear made her anxious. She could feel it trying to take over again. Then Jeremy’s voice prodded her, You need his help. What about your mother and father’s accident? You may have been murdered. You need to find the truth and this guy’s already found a great deal. Don’t stop until you get the psycho who’s been destroying our family.
She scraped her scalp with the metal key ring still in her palm as she shoved her hand through her hair. She’d been doing so well on her own. She shook her head, wanting the answer to be different than what was obvious. She couldn’t do this on her own. Good or bad, she needed him.
“I’m sorry. This situation is just a little overwhelming.” She stretched her neck back to get a look at the most comforting eyes she’d ever fallen into. They made her next words much easier to say, “Would you mind staying awhile? I’d feel safer.”
He held out his hand for her keys. She’d promised herself never to ask for help again. Did this count?
* * *
THE KEYS DROPPED into Brian’s palm and they moved inside with no more debate. Lindsey was obviously on her last ounce of energy, stumbling out of her shoes and falling onto the leather couch.
“Why don’t you head to bed?” He flipped on lights, set the file on the coffee table and wanted to remove his boots. If he could just close his eyes for a few... The exhaustion from his shift was intensifying the pounding behind his eyes from the slight concussion.
“I’m so wound up, I really don’t think I can go to sle...” She stopped, staring at the goldfish tank on the corner of the desk.
“What’s the matter?”
She moved next to him, no longer wilting. “Someone’s been here,” she whispered. “Could they still be in the house?”
“How can you tell?” He pulled her close under his arm, as if that would actually protect her if someone attacked.
“The fish-food container was on top of Jeremy’s papers. Not next to the bowl. Feeding them was one of the last things I did before I left this morning.” Her whispering voice shook with fright as much as her body shook under his hand.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“We’re leaving.”
“But—”
“Now, Lindsey. Out.”
She turned and ran. He didn’t linger. He wanted to check things out. Might have if he’d been alone. But he wasn’t. For whatever it was worth, Lindsey had chosen him as her protector and he’d do his best. That did not include a fool idea that he should seek out trouble.
Trouble had a way of finding him all on its own.
When he pulled away from her home, Lindsey explored her purse until she removed her cell. “Shoot, my battery’s nearly dead. Can I use your phone?”
“I don’t think calling anyone is a good idea. Let’s talk first and come up with a game plan. Sound good?”
“But what about prints or stuff like that?”
“I don’t think this guy left any sign he’s been in your house. He’s been pretty darn good about covering his tracks.”
“Okay, we’ll play it your way right now. Just know that this is my life and if I decide to make a call, I will.” She hugged her sore shoulder close to her chest.
“Absolutely.” He pulled to a stop and snapped her belt. “It’s over an hour to my place. You can use my jacket for a pillow. One of us should get some sleep.”
He drove the truck, trying not to be distracted as she shifted and got comfortable without another word. Hell, he’d shut down for months when he’d thought John had accidentally started a fire that had killed Mrs. Cook. He couldn’t really fathom what it would be like to have someone try to kill him.
“Thank you, Brian.”
“You’re welcome. Now try to get some shut-eye.”
He should force her to go back to the police or hire someone who could help. Taking her to the ranch seemed the easiest choice he’d made recently. Since he and John had cleared the air and actually talked about the night that had changed their lives forever, decisions he’d made on his own
for years about the ranch were suddenly up for a group discussion.
For four months he’d craved catching the murdering son of a bitch who had destroyed his future. Now it was more important than ever. He couldn’t leave Lindsey to handle this on her own.
The hour zoomed by—even in the old Ford his grandfather had bought and used for fifteen years. Brian tinkered with the engine, keeping it running smoothly. It might not have AC, but it was his. The bank couldn’t repossess it like they were trying to foreclose on the ranch.
One trouble at a time.
Keeping Lindsey alive was more important than finding a way to buy the ranch. He turned down the drive, cut the lights and parked next to the barn. Lindsey was still out. She mumbled a little when he shifted her to open the door.
The wind had blown her hair across her face. He leaned close, gently blowing the small strands to the side. He couldn’t resist. His lips grazed her forehead so softly he wasn’t certain he’d connected with her flesh until his lips cooled again. He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her head in the crook of his shoulder.
He was behaving like a sentimental and romantic idiot. He knew all there was about Lindsey Cook. More than he wanted or needed to know. No way would she go for a cowboy like him. He wasn’t anywhere near her league of resort-hopping rich and didn’t know how to get there. Didn’t want to get there.
Dawn was just around the corner. Time for the morning chores, and no extra hands to do any part of them. What would this beach bunny think of his family’s ranch?
The old house needed a coat of paint. The barn needed a new roof. The stock tank needed to be dredged. And there were hardly enough horses left to be considered a farm anymore. It wasn’t anything to show off, but it was his.
Or could be. He’d done a lot of thinking since John had come home. Since he turned fifteen, the one thing he’d been talking about doing was leaving this small piece of real estate. Now he couldn’t figure out a way to keep from being kicked off the place.
Brian got through the door without the screen slamming shut, a sleeping beauty still in his arms.
“I thought your shifts were for three days?” His brother yawned and scratched his head coming into the kitchen. “Want coffee?”
John finally looked up from the pot that had automatically kicked on and brewed. He pointed and raised an eyebrow, recognition at Lindsey’s identity twisting his face into shock, then anger.
Brian was tired and didn’t want to wake his new responsibility with loud voices or explanations.
“Don’t ask, bro. Just don’t ask.”
Chapter Five
Serendipity at its best. He could do nothing except admire how the universe worked to bring him back to the only man to have received acclaim for one of his masterpieces.
The Sloane brothers had been the perfect pawns. He’d switched on the voice-activated microphone he’d installed years ago to record his work. There would come a day when someone would transcribe his dictation and print his book, Details of a Successful Serial Killer.
“Will Brian Sloane’s primitive investigation cause problems for your last plan?” He asked himself the question as if a reporter sat in the room. “The paramedic is a growing pain in the ass and will be eliminated as soon as the opportunity arises.”
After he was gone, someone should know what he’d accomplished. There shouldn’t be any supposition regarding each case. When the world discovered his lifelong achievements, it should be in his own words.
The idea came to him after the second successful death. Each plan was chronicled and stored in a fireproof safe once completed, but there was nothing like hearing about the conceptualization or nuances that made each one different to execute.
“But that wasn’t the question, sir.” The reporter in his mind continued to dig. “Will he present a problem?”
For several years, he’d been using the recording device like an audible journal. At first, it had been to document his work. Basically, he was so good at creating accidents that no one knew he’d done anything.
“Keeping track of the Sloane brothers for twelve years hasn’t been difficult. They lead uneventful lives with the exception of John’s return home. He set off a chain of very unfortunate events. That has only forced me to accelerate my plans for the last Cook family member. With Lindsey’s death, there are no claims on what’s been mine for many years now.”
He pushed away from his desk, preferring the supple leather of his couch for what amounted to a debate with himself to logically reason his way through a new challenge.
“If those laughable amateurs who kidnapped Lauren Adams hadn’t gotten greedy, the Sloanes would never have discovered my craftsmanship with the Cook deaths. Hiding Gillian’s murder within the barn fire was convenient, but also brilliant. I was so close to perfection.”
He opened and poured a shot of his favorite vodka. He needlessly swirled it in the cut glass, waiting for the right moment to consume.
“To recap, Gillian checked on the fire pit each time those high school children left her property. One swing of a board and she was unconscious as the barn burned around her. Convenient, yet brilliant. No one has ever discovered the truth of her murder.”
There was a right moment for everything. People had forgotten the art of patience. Waiting made the win worth savoring.
“I’ll need to get rid of them both. Soon, and without a lot of fuss.” He downed the clear shot. One was his limit. He enjoyed the burning sensation as it traveled through his body, immediately craving more of the fiery liquid.
“No, there isn’t a problem. But I am conflicted. Arranging a major accident would get the entire ranch out of my way for good, yet forcing an accident on their ranch is irrational. There would be too many witnesses. The pertinent question is, how do I get Brian and Lindsey to leave the ranch?”
He brushed the back of his finger under his mustache, verifying no drops of liquid moistened his upper lip. Reaching for the bottle, he realized the cool glass was in his hand and shouldn’t be. He slammed it on the table, shooting drops in the air that landed on the polished wood.
“How can I overcome this setback? Strike that. I consider this puzzle a welcome challenge. I haven’t had any in many years.” He leaned into the leather, resting his head, focusing on the microphone in the ceiling tiles. Closing his eyes, he pictured the horse ranch where Sloane had taken Lindsey. It was the only logical place he could go. He envisioned the buildings and the distances, places to hide, the horses and where they wandered.
“I have to admit, this challenge is the first time I’ve desired to meet my opponent face-to-face. If the opportunity presents itself, I might consider doing so. But that’s part of the beauty of this operation. No one knows. Not even my victims knew I controlled whether they lived or died.”
He’d given his word to himself and anyone listening to these tapes that they’d always be completely truthful. The last murder had been slightly different than the rest.
“Addendum. Pathetic Jeremy Cook most likely saw a distorted image through his snorkeling face mask. That was the closest I’ve ever gotten to any of my victims. When I was within striking distance, he was still completely at ease. My sheer strength kept him underwater. Fear never showed in his eyes until the last bubble of air escaped from his lungs. Then he knew. He knew there was no escape.”
Reliving the experience made his heart race and made him need more of the same exhilarating excitement. He wouldn’t put that on the tapes. Doctors or the media would twist the pleasure he took from a well-executed plan. They’d distort it and turn his excellence into something sick that needed analysis.
“Back to the problem at hand. How to eliminate the Cook line and take care of the Sloanes with the same deed.” The map of the property was firmly in his mind even after twelve years. As were the images of each building, the roa
d, the fields, the pond...all there, creating a secret thrill he couldn’t share. He ran the idea from start to finish.
Excitement. Anticipation. Reward.
“Brilliant. Yes, a tip to the press connecting Brian to a possible hit-and-run accident will work nicely. A photographer should spook them sufficiently to where they are alone and vulnerable. I’ll record the details upon completion. There’s no need to repeat myself in dictation.”
Some men were thrilled by the hunt. Some by the kill. He poured another shot. It was time to celebrate. He held the glass in the air.
“A toast. To twenty years of excellence in murder.”
The vodka did its job, and he rose to switch off the recorder. There was one part of himself that he refused to share with the world. They’d label him perverted if they discovered his need to hear the moans of torture. He hid his tendency, only allowing himself to indulge as a reward for his greatness.
Fate had stepped in and brought him an opponent for his last plan. His own intelligence would be Lindsey’s downfall, and deserved to be fed and stroked. Seeing the report of another assumed overdosed prostitute in the news would meet his growing need for acknowledgment. It would also satisfy him in other pleasurable areas while she or he died.
The perfect subject for his reward had already been chosen and would fit into his plans nicely. But not a random death on the street. He had the perfect place to carry out his deed.
The celebration after his Cozumel success had been near Jeremy’s home. With Lindsey secure with the Sloanes, it might be risky to return there. But Jeremy’s bed would make the satisfaction all the sweeter.
Chapter Six
Brian’s head throbbed. He was tired. Not just from hitting his temple earlier. He needed sleep and a couple of days off. It seemed like years since he’d sat down and wasn’t on the clock, looking at ranch records or researching murders. Recently, the spare hours he’d had between shifts were spent following Lindsey’s every move. His bed looked very inviting. His father’s bed even more so with Miss Blue Eyes curled under the sheets now.
