Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  John nodded and did as he’d requested. Once the door quietly clicked behind him, Ian shoved the phone back to his ear. “Celeste?”

  “She’s fine, she’s safe, but she’s involved.”

  “Details.”

  “I’ve got four dead bodies. My deputy found one when he got out of his car to take a leak in the woods. When we canvassed the area we found three others.”

  “Did you call in DCI?” The Wisconsin Department of Criminal Investigation would lend a hand in a crime like this, but he didn’t want a pissing match if CORE became involved. While many state investigation agencies, even the FBI, had enlisted the help of his agency, he hadn’t worked with DCI yet and wasn’t sure if he wanted to, especially if Celeste was somehow involved. He needed one of his men there. They were his eyes and ears, and because they’d been hand-picked by him, he knew they’d do their job without fail.

  “No. But CSU from Eau Claire is on its way. My boys aren’t trained or experienced enough to deal with this.”

  The rough edge in Roy’s tone made him pause. He’d known the man for over thirty years, and he didn’t like the sound of his voice. “What do you see?”

  “Shit that I haven’t since...since Janice.”

  Celeste’s mother. Gripping the phone tight, he tried to gather his control. “What exactly do you see?”

  Wind whipped over the phone line, and he knew Roy was on the move, could hear the crunching of leaves, the crack of sticks. “Four women, nude, battered...dead. Looks like they’re all decomposing at the same time.”

  “At the same time?”

  “I can’t be sure, until the ME does an autopsy,” Roy added, “but from the looks of the women, that’s my guess.”

  “And Celeste is involved how?” Even as he asked the question, he already knew the answer. He’d known her mother, what she’d been capable of, what she’d been able to see when no one else could.

  “For the past four nights she had visions of women being murdered. They were vague, every one of them happening in the woods, and we’ve got acres here. I wouldn’t have even known where to start.”

  “I understand.” That was the problem with psychics sometimes. They saw things, things that will happen or actually had happened, but without a surefire locale, it was the clichéd needle in a haystack. “I’ll send one of my agents. Have one of your deputies meet him at the airstrip outside of Eau Claire. He’ll be there in about an hour.”

  “Who am I expecting?”

  He stared at his closed office door where just outside John waited. The criminalist had spent a month dealing with the deaths of children at the hands of a sick bastard. He needed to decompress, but Ian had no choice. All of his other agents were on assignment.

  Moving his gaze from the door, he said, “John Kain.”

  “Got it. I’ll call you tonight. Seven sharp.”

  “Seven, it is. And Roy, use Celeste on this. If she’s anything like her mother...”

  “Your agent will cooperate with a psychic?”

  No, Kain did not believe in psychics. He believed in facts, evidence, hardcore science. In this instance, though, he’d have no choice. Ian would see to it. “Trust me. He’ll cooperate.”

  Chapter 2

  LESS THAN TWO hours later, John Kain knelt, resting his forearm on his thigh as he studied one of the four victims. Bruises marred her flesh, her inner thighs, her face and chest, while her mouth gaped open as if she’d died screaming. The thin line of purple running around her neck was telling. She’d been strangled. Beaten, raped, then strangled. Just like the other three.

  Roy, the sheriff who’d reminded him of Paul Bunyan, minus the ax and blue ox, came up beside him. “What are you thinking?”

  John stood, then scanned the area, the dense woods, the highway where the deputies had set up a road block. The smooth asphalt was littered with police cruisers, several CSU vans, and maybe a half-dozen deputies. “I can’t be sure, but I spoke with...Mitchell?”

  “Yeah.” The sheriff nodded. “He’s the lead with Eau Claire’s CSU team.”

  “Mitchell tentatively confirmed your suspicions, but will know more during the autopsies.”

  “Shit.”

  “My exact thought. You’re in a heap of it.” And he’d just plowed through his own pile in Chicago, the stench still lingering, still fresh.

  When he’d joined CORE, he’d known he would see just as much as he had when he’d been with the FBI, but Ian had promised downtime in between cases, something he’d never had with the Bureau. Something he needed now. What he’d witnessed while working with the Chicago PD and FBI Field Office would haunt him for a lifetime. And as pissed as he was about having a mini-vacation dangled in front of him, then quickly pulled away with one simple phone call, he still had a job to do.

  He would never say no to Ian Scott. Ian had resurrected him from the dead, had given him a job, a lucrative income, and the ability to do the only thing he knew how to—catch killers no one else could.

  Mitchell approached. “We covered a fifty-yard radius so far, and didn’t find any of the victims’ clothing, but,” he said and cocked a brow. “We got a footprint about seven yards from where the three bodies were found, along with a button and a lighter scattered on the trail. Not much to go on, but considering how clean the site is...maybe we’ll get lucky and find a print.”

  “Thanks, Mitchell,” Roy said.

  “After we move the bodies, I’m going to have my guys do another sweep, take the radius out another—”

  “I wouldn’t bother,” John interrupted.

  Mitchell plucked off his Latex gloves. “Why’s that?”

  “You have one body here.” He pointed to the woman he’d just examined, her pale body stark white against the dark earth and brown leaves. “And three clustered together, what, thirty, forty yards away? He kept the clothes. You won’t find anything if you expand your search.”

  Mitchell crossed his arms over his chest and sent him a “you’re so full of shit” look. “And you know this how?”

  John turned to the sheriff, ignoring Mitchell. “No disrespect, but you’re small time here. I imagine you don’t have the manpower to patrol this area very often. If our guy scoped the area, he’d know his window of opportunity. It took me twelve and a half minutes to walk to where the three women were found. I’d imagine it would take our guy about the same, even if he ran it, because he was carrying dead weight.”

  “So, say twelve minutes there, he could sprint back, maybe round trip you’re looking at twenty plus times three,” Roy said, staring in the direction where the three women had been found lying side by side.

  Mitchell nodded. “Plus it was dark. He probably couldn’t use a flashlight because his hands were already full.”

  “Right. It might have taken him even longer.” John pointed to the woman a few feet from them. “This last victim…he adjusted his plans because he knew he was running out of time.”

  Mitchell eyed him for a moment. “Of course this is all based on the assumption that they’re decomposing at the same time.”

  “Of course,” John conceded. Although he knew in his gut he was right, he also knew the CSU tech would follow procedure and waste time.

  “Good theory, but after the bodies have been removed, I’m still going to have my people do that search. You never know.” He shrugged then walked off toward the embankment to one of the CSU vans parked alongside the road.

  Roy motioned him to do the same, but John stopped him, and scanned the highway again. “Sheriff, how many truckers do you get through here?”

  “Quite a few, but my deputies, Ed Young and Dan Malvern would be able to tell you more on that. This is the area they’re assigned to patrol.”

  “Are they here?”

  “Both of ‘em. Ed’s the one who’d found the first body. Hang tight.” Roy pulled out his cell phone, and punched his speed dial. “Ed, grab Dan and meet me at my cruiser.”

  John followed Roy up the embankment leading to
the sheriff’s car. “Who found the others?”

  “That’d be Deputy Lloyd Nelson. He was that big guy working with the CSU techs down by the three vics.”

  The Viking. He remembered the man now. As tall as Roy, only trimmer, leaner, and more muscled, with a shock of white blond hair drifting from beneath his department-issued tan hat.

  “Do you want me to call him in?”

  A deputy, who looked like a mustachioed Howdy Doody on steroids, approached Roy’s county squad car. Another man, big, lean and looking as if he’d just watched someone run over his dog with a tractor trailer, stood next to him.

  Tractor trailer.

  John viewed the highway as if for the first time, then turned to the sheriff. “I’ll talk to Nelson later. Young and Malvern?” He thumbed to the two deputies.

  The sheriff nodded.

  “How many truckers do you get through this area?” he asked them.

  “Plenty,” Ed Young said, bobbing his head, a bit of color returning to his pale cheeks.

  “They like this run because it’s a fast detour to the interstate. Considering how short staffed we are, there aren’t many deputies to patrol the area so they can speed on through,” Dan Malvern said, his red mustache twitching as he curled his lips.

  “How often do you pass through here in a night?”

  “Every two hours or so,” Dan said. “Sometimes longer if we’re held up by a speeder or maybe a DUI.”

  “Hell, John, that would fit right in the time—”

  “Thank you. Give us a moment.” John waited until the deputy walked away, then turned to Ed Young. “So you were the one who found the first victim?”

  “Yeah, I traded shifts with Dan. He didn’t have anyone to look after his wife last night. I was making my last run, and had to take a leak...” His cheeks reddened. “And that’s when I...I found.” He shut his eyes. “I found the body.”

  “You didn’t touch anything?”

  “Nothing,” he said with vehemence.

  “Thank you, if we need anything else—”

  “Roy knows where to find me,” he finished, his blank eyes on the CSU team working the crime scene. “Am I dismissed, Roy? I need...”

  “Head home,” Roy told the deputy.

  As the deputy walked off, John noticed a rusted, silver minivan pull up behind the road block. “Are you expecting company?”

  “Dammit,” the sheriff bitched as a man slid out of the van. “That’s Mathias Boysen. His family owns The Chippewa Gazette. It’s a weekly of no more than a dozen or so pages with nothing but local gossip, garage sale ads, and the occasional police blotter. We’d kept radio silence to avoid the real media, but this is such a small town, Matt probably saw all the cruisers and smelled a story. He’s nothing to worry about.”

  “In my experience, anybody with the media is something to worry about. Have one of your deputies stop him before he starts snapping pictures. Promise him the first interview if he can keep his mouth shut.”

  Roy called over Jesse Peterson, the deputy who had picked him up at the Eau Claire airfield, and told him to take care of Boysen. Once the deputy ran off, the sheriff smoothed his mustache. “Okay, John, let’s not pussyfoot around here. You work for Ian, and he says you’re one of the best criminalists out there. I need to make this go away, so gimme your best guess.”

  John turned and studied the sheriff. Less than two hours ago, Ian had him flying off in CORE’s private jet to Eau Claire with no information about this case other than the sheriff’s name, that four women had been found dead just outside of Wissota Falls, Wisconsin, and that he was to follow Roy’s lead and instructions. The only other thing Ian had mentioned was that DCI wasn’t involved. John knew better than to question Ian, he had always been one of those “need to know basis” type of guys, and for whatever reason, he hadn’t felt John needed to know. But he wanted to.

  Most local law enforcement agencies who didn’t have the capability or capacity for this type of murder investigation would have asked for assistance from their state departments, or even the FBI before they called CORE. Why would Roy call Ian first? What was their connection? And his gut told him there definitely was a connection. John had known about Ian’s private line—a number none of the other agents had been given. Roy had called him on that line, which meant this case might be...personal.

  He’d find out eventually, either on his own, or when Ian deemed the time right. Releasing a smug smile when Boysen climbed back into his van, red faced, waving his arms and swearing a litany of curses at Jesse Peterson, John turned to the sheriff. “Without the ME’s report on the victims’ autopsy? Best guess? You’re looking for a long haul trucker, maybe one running a trailer with a refrigeration unit. I’m betting this guy didn’t do all four women in one night. I’m betting he froze them, then when the bodies built up and he had a load to haul...he dumped them.”

  Roy whistled. “Makes sense. Ed and Dan were always bitchin’ about the truckers that passed through here. Like Dan said, though, we just don’t have the manpower to ticket them.”

  John understood. Roy’s county covered many miles, with only a smattering of small towns popping up here and there like zits on a teenager. “I’m also thinking owner/operator. The killer owns his own rig. But again, that’s my best guess until the ME does the autopsy.”

  “It’s good though.” Roy nodded, then paled, his eyes focusing on the embankment.

  John turned, following the sheriff’s gaze, and clenched his jaw. A couple of members of the Eau Claire CSU team were hauling a black body bag up the slope. Four dead women. Brutalized, raped, and murdered. One in a bag, three to go. And one sick, twisted bastard to find.

  “You got a place to stay?” Roy asked as he continued to watch the CSU team load the body into their van.

  “CORE made the arrangements. I’ll be at the Chippewa Inn.” The only hotel/motel in the area. Lucky him. He’d love nothing more than a Marriott with room service and all the amenities. But this was Small Town, USA, so the Chippewa Inn would have to do.

  “It’s not a bad place. Arthur Foley and his wife own it.” Roy kept his gaze on the body bag. “Good coffee, clean rooms.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” he replied quietly, as another body bag was hauled up the embankment.

  They stood in silence as the third victim was loaded into the van, then Roy scrubbed a hand down his face. “I gotta go talk to the mayor. When the media catches wind of this, I’ll handle them, or let the mayor. So you know…Ian wants you to keep a low profile.”

  John wondered what else Ian wanted out of this. “Understood. I’d like to come back here later, though. Do another walk through while we’re waiting for the ME’s report.”

  “Me too. I’ll have Jesse drive you into town. Bev, our receptionist, said there’s a rental car waiting for you at the Sheriff’s Department. I gotta hand it to Ian, he works quick when needed.”

  Yeah, and why was that? What was the history between Roy Hauserman and Ian Scott? The connection and tie to Wissota Falls?

  Roy looked at his watch. “It’s twelve-thirty now. Meet me at my office around two. That’ll give me enough time to talk with the mayor and grab a sandwich. While you’re at it, you might want to do the same. Check out The Sugar Shack, it’s on the way to the Chippewa Inn. The food’s good...” Roy’s voice trailed off as the last body bag was hefted into the CSU van. “If you have an appetite.”

  John climbed into Jesse’s cruiser. He had an appetite, all right. A hunger for information. Who had killed those women? And what exactly was Ian keeping from him?

  * * *

  He clenched his jaw as he stared at the woods, the CSU vans, the cruisers, and controlled the rage, the betrayal coursing through him. Garrett had gone behind his back. He’d killed without him.

  Without him.

  Worse yet, he’d dumped bodies out in the fucking open where anyone could find them?

  When his vision blurred with hatred, causing a kaleidoscope of oranges
, reds and yellows as he stared at the trees, he quickly reined in his temper. He needed to keep his cool, not allow his judgment, his instincts to be warped with vengeance against his brother. He’d deal with Garrett later.

  Despite the anger surging through him, he fought a smile. If only that cocky son of a bitch knew he’d had a little fun of his own. His dick hardened as he pictured the fifteen-inch hunting knife stowed in his workshop. Garrett had called him a pussy one too many times in the past, but in reality that asshole was the pussy. He couldn’t handle the sight of blood, the idea of gutting a woman, ripping her flesh with the sharp edge of a steel blade. But he could, and he did. The thought of going back to using a cord to snuff the life out of a whore no longer interested him. Before their last two kills, he’d graduated, from a cord to a knife. From whores to the girl next door.

  While slicing that debutant had been exhilarating, intoxicating, he’d missed having Garrett with him. Missed staring into his gray eyes as he’d taken that mouthy bitch.

  He shifted, wishing he could rub his arousal. At the same time, he cursed himself for allowing his disgusting, immoral thoughts to continuously invade his mind.

  He’d take care of his sexual urges in the shower later. Right now he needed information. He needed to know what the sheriff knew, and what part the outsider, who looked like an agent, played in this. He needed to make sure they didn’t mess up what he and Garrett had, because if they did, he’d make them pay. Four dead bodies in the woods would be nothing compared to what he could and would do.

  Chapter 3

  “CELESTE, PHONE,” RICK Stanock, The Sugar Shack’s short order cook griped, as he dropped a couple of plates, piled high with burgers and fries, under the hot lamps.

  “Who is it?”

  He slammed a few more plates. “It’s the middle of lunch rush, don’t know, don’t care.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, making him grin, then grabbed the burgers, and headed off to deliver them. After making sure the couple didn’t need anything else, she headed back to the kitchen and grabbed the phone receiver Rick had left dangling against the wall. Realizing she really needed to bring the diner into the twenty first century and buy some cordless phones, she yanked the receiver up by the curly cord.