Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  All three men turned and stared at him. Lloyd snarled, then turned his back and moved to the window, while Jesse and Dan looked away and hung their heads.

  “Morning, Roy,” John said. “Apparently I’m a hot topic today.”

  “Apparently,” the sheriff said, amusement lacing his tone.

  He rubbed his jaw. “Okay, you three want to know a little about me? Fire away.”

  Silence.

  With a shrug, he dropped into one of the office chairs. “CORE, the company I work for, isn’t just your average private investigative agency. Our resources are immeasurable, and our agents are fully trained with backgrounds that would blow you away.” Sighing, he shifted in his chair wishing for a decent cup of coffee to help him deal with the overwhelmingly negative testosterone emanating in the room.

  “To answer your questions, CORE is based in Chicago, and I’m former FBI.” He leaned forward now that each deputy had their eyes on him. “And yes, I’ve dealt with these types of crimes. Actually, this isn’t the worst I’ve seen.”

  Dan shook his head. “Really? Former FBI?”

  Jesse released a low whistle. “What was your specialty?”

  “My specialty?” He raised his shoulder. “Finding the bad guys.”

  “Finding the bad guys,” the Viking echoed, sarcasm dripping with each word. “I worked with a few FBI agents out of the field office in Minneapolis.” He turned to Roy. “Remember that meth case?”

  The sheriff nodded, but said nothing.

  “You don’t talk like FBI,” Lloyd continued, “don’t use their terms, don’t—”

  “Because I’m not FBI anymore,” he interrupted, then looked to the sheriff. “Are we done here? There’s some things I’d like to discuss...privately.”

  “Personally I’m done with this bullshit conversation. How ‘bout it, boys? Did John answer your questions?” When no one responded, Roy leaned back in his chair. “Good. You have your assignments for today. Head on out.”

  “Wait,” Lloyd blurted. “What about Celeste?”

  “What about her?” Roy asked.

  With an exasperated sigh, the Viking rounded the desk. “She could be in danger. I doubt Winston killed the woman in the bog. The MO doesn’t fit and everyone in town knows she’s a psychic. Have you thought about that? About the fact that the guy who sliced up that girl could go after Celeste thinking she knows something?” Lloyd asked, his steely gaze now focused on him.

  “Yeah, we’ve considered that,” John responded, reluctantly impressed with Lloyd’s take on the crimes.

  “Really? And what do you plan to do about it?” He turned to Roy. “Look, I know we don’t have the manpower to give her round the clock protection, but I talked the situation over with Will and—”

  “I’ll worry about Celeste,” John said, trying to keep the growl out of his tone. There was no way in hell he’d let that fucking Neanderthal stay at Celeste’s house. As far as he was concerned, she was his to protect. After some groveling, he’d make her understand why he’d reacted the way he had last night, then make her his in every way possible.

  Logic be damned. He wanted her. And every crazy, scary and warm emotion she’d evoked.

  “I heard about how well you were worrying about her.” Thumbing toward him, Lloyd turned to the sheriff. “Celeste kicked Kain’s ass to the curb last night, then ran to the basement crying.”

  Crying? Shit. Once again he wished he’d handled last night differently.

  He met Roy’s gaze. Instead of anger, the sheriff’s eyes revealed a combination of curiosity and understanding.

  “I think that’s about enough, Lloyd. Like I said, you boys have your assignments for the day, get on out of here. And keep in mind, John’s here to help. If I find out any of you are interfering with this investigation hoping to get rid of him, I’ll come down on your asses. Are we clear?”

  All three deputies nodded as they left. Of course the Viking had his final say by slamming the office door shut hard enough the walls rattled, skewing a few of the paintings and county maps.

  “That was exactly what I needed this morning.” John leaned into the chair. “So, I guess you’ll want to know why Celeste was crying last night.”

  Roy raised a bushy eyebrow. “You guessed right.”

  John shoved out of the chair, then moved to the wall and straightened one of the pictures. “After I left the bog, I went to see her.” He’d needed to after witnessing her vision come to life. He’d wanted news of the girl’s death to come from him. To not only offer her comfort if she’d needed it, but to prove that he trusted her as a partner. “I...there’s something I haven’t told you. Celeste has graduated from her nightly visions to...trances.”

  “Trances? What the hell are you talking about?”

  He finished straightening another painting, then lean against the wall. “When you found us parked on the side of the road, on the way to the original dump site, I’d pulled off because she’d gone into a trance. I should have told you about this right after it had happened, but Celeste had asked me not to. She’s worried about putting more stress on you, and quite frankly, I...hell.” He crossed his arms and rested the back of his head against the wall.

  “You didn’t believe her.”

  “Bingo,” he said, with a rueful half-smile and shrugged.

  “What was the trance about?”

  Taking a seat, he explained what had happened in the car, how her trance had correlated with not only her notes, but the girl they’d found in the bog. Roy stayed silent, thoughtfully stroking his mustache.

  “I’ve never known her to go into a trance before,” the sheriff said. “Her mom? Well, never mind, that’s not important. What happened last night?”

  “Wait, her mom used to have trances, too? This is good.” He nodded. “Did her mom remember anything after she woke? Was she able to control when the trances occurred? Better yet, if she were asked the right questions—”

  “John, I’m sorry, but I don’t have any answers for you.”

  “But from what I understand, you were close with Celeste’s family.”

  “Her mom is gone, along with any knowledge about how the trances affected her. Now, let’s move on, tell me about last night.”

  “What about her husband? Wouldn’t he know?”

  “Let it go,” Roy said quietly, while his face reddened with irritation.

  Not needing another enemy this morning, he decided to let it go—for now. “I filled her in on Winston and the girl from the bog. Then she insisted on trying to go into another trance.”

  Rubbing his temple, Roy asked, “For the second victim from her visions?”

  He nodded. “I tried talking her out of it. I wanted you and a doctor present, but—”

  “She’s not only hard-headed, but she’s insecure about her psychic stuff, I get it.” Roy sighed. “What happened?”

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and set it on the desk. “Hear for yourself.”

  Ten minutes later, and Roy a few shades whiter, John pocketed his phone. “Celeste doesn’t remember anything from either trance, and I refused to not only let her listen to the recording, but even tell her what she’d said or done. I wanted time to think, to talk to you. But she, as Lloyd put it, kicked my ass to the curb before I could explain.”

  After scrubbing a hand over his face, Roy looked away. “That’s some pretty powerful stuff. Hearing it’s one thing, but seeing it? I’d have done the same thing. But you also have to understand Celeste. She’s not only a fixer, but likes to be in control. She can’t necessarily control her visions, but she can at least remember them. You said she has no memory from the trances? Well, that’s going to bring the control freak right out of her.”

  “It probably didn’t help that I’d basically ordered her off the investigation.”

  With a chuckle, the sheriff shook his head. “No, that’s a woman you don’t tell what to do.”

  “No shit.”

  “No shit,” he e
choed, then smacked his hand on the desk. “Can you replay her trance for me?”

  Reluctantly, he set the phone back on the desk and replayed her trace. He’d listened to it several times last night, and again this morning, after he’d tossed the cup of shitty coffee down the bathroom sink. Each time he heard Celeste’s tormented voice, something broke inside of him.

  When the recording ended, Roy rose from his chair and went to the county map hanging on the wall. “Do you realize the leads she’s given us?”

  “If the man with the beard is Winston, she’s confirmed that he wasn’t working alone,” John said. “I also believe this victim was not only raped, but sodomized. I’m anxious for the autopsy report from Carl. If the girl from the bog was anally raped...” He let his words trail. Celeste’s visions and trances might not hold up in court, but they would give them leads, along with a deeper insight into the second killer.

  Still squinting at the map, Roy said, “Carl had finished the final Jane Doe from the first dump site last night and is currently working on the girl from the bog. He said he should have a full report by early afternoon.”

  “What do you make of the mill Celeste mentioned?”

  “That’s what I’m looking for and...here.” He jabbed his finger to a city on the map and smiled. “Tilden.”

  He rose and moved next to the sheriff. “Tilden?”

  “There’s a sheet metal factory there, the only one of its kind around these parts. I’m betting she was describing it. Lloyd’s going to be heading that way, so I’ll have him stop and check around the mill.”

  Although he hated the idea of using the Viking for anything considering he was becoming a pain in his ass, he had to admit that Lloyd seemed like a decent cop. “Sounds good, but this is even better.” He skimmed a finger along highway fifty three, which ran through Tilden. “This is one of the routes Winston took when he worked for Booker Foods.”

  Roy pulled on his mustache. “Booker Foods?”

  “Sorry, I just found out about it this morning. After I left the bog yesterday, I called one of our people at CORE, Rachel, on my way to Celeste’s.”

  Rachel Davis, a former Army Intelligence Officer, and forensic computer scientist, had become an asset to CORE since she’d joined four years ago. She had a knack for finding things no one wanted found and had been a tremendous help on many investigations.

  “I wanted Rachel to dig around and look into the companies Winston had been contracted with, starting with the most recent. If he hadn’t been picked up on the DUI, he’d be heading for the West Coast as we speak.”

  John went back to the map. “Winston’s last contract was with Booker Foods. They were gracious enough to give us his route and said your CSU team could examine the trailer. Unfortunately, that trailer is currently heading to Minnesota. CORE, with the cooperation of Booker Foods, is going to have it detained once it reaches St. Cloud and their local CSU will examine it.”

  “Ian’s connections will never cease to amaze me,” Roy said, his tone filled with amusement and admiration. “But we have an issue I don’t like. Booker Foods is a vendor Celeste uses for the diner.”

  He moved his finger along Winston’s route, then stopped when he reached Wissota Falls. The hairs at the back of his neck rose. “Then Winston had been in contact with Celeste. He and whoever he could be working with would know about her. Maybe her schedule, her—”

  “No, she doesn’t deal with the drivers or the deliveries. Either Will or one of her cooks handles that. Still, with Winston working for Booker Foods…what if his partner is a local?”

  Utter dread ripped a hole inside of him. He’d figured Winston had pegged the perfect place to dump the bodies because he knew the route, and when and where the deputies would patrol. But what if the second killer was local? What if he knew of other obscure places to leave a body? The bigger question nagging him, why would two men kill together?

  “Tell me more about this mill.”

  “Tilden’s a small town, much like Wissota Falls. The mill is its biggest business. They get big rigs through there all the time. Winston could have parked his rig there. For some reason, the owner never put up gates. There’s no third shift. I think the place closes up around midnight, so no one would have noticed if he parked for a few hours during the night.”

  John moved away from the map and slumped into the office chair, then rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “Okay, let’s say Winston takes the victim, rapes and beats her, then waits for second guy to finish the job.”

  “But Winston didn’t mention an accomplice in his confession.”

  “Maybe because he killed those women alone?” Damn, the whole situation made zero sense. Was it possible they had two killers, who sometimes worked together, and at other times killed alone?

  The sheriff moved to his chair. “I’m not so sure about that. Mitchell faxed this over this morning.” He waved a paper in the air. “The lighter they’d found at the dumpsite had Winston’s prints on it, the coat button revealed nothing, but the footprint they’d found was two sizes too small to be his.”

  “Shit.” There had been no footprints near the bog to even match what had been found at the original dumpsite.

  “Right.”

  He blew out a breath. “None of this makes sense. Let’s say, hypothetically, that the coat button and boot print found at the dumpsite belongs to the other killer. Why would they be working together? Did this unknown killer somehow catch Winston in the act, wanted a piece of it and then blackmailed him into playing a role in the murder?”

  “And for his silence Winston helps him kill the other girls? I’m not following. How does this help Winston? He’s sitting in county lock-up while the other guy is roaming free.”

  “I’m not sure, but yesterday, Winston shouted that he knows something I don’t and that I’ll be back. That I needed him.” The hairs on his arms raised under his shirt sleeves as Winston’s eerie words ran through his mind. “Maybe it was just the ranting of a guilty man, but what if...?”

  “Yeah, what if,” Roy echoed as the phone rang. He picked up the receiver. “Hey, honey. Uh-huh, you did what?” The sheriff glanced at him, then covered the receiver. “Mind giving me a minute? Bev has fresh coffee up front. I could use a cup, too.”

  He masked his irritation as he rose from the chair. As he made his way to the reception area and poured coffee into Styrofoam cups, his irritation turned to anger. Tired of being dismissed, not only by Roy, but it seemed by Ian considering he wasn’t answering his calls, he decided it was time for answers. Starting with why Roy couldn’t talk to Celeste while he was in the office. And he knew she’d been the caller based on the way the sheriff had softened his tone along with his use of the term of endearment, one he’d heard him call Celeste several times.

  By the time he’d returned to the office, the sheriff was off the phone, and leaning back in the chair. His hands were folded behind his head, as he kept a thoughtful gaze trained on the ceiling.

  “Here you go.” He placed the coffee cup on Roy’s desk, then took a seat. “You want to tell me what Celeste had to say?”

  The sheriff didn’t change his position, but he did release a deep sigh. “I do and I don’t.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked, then blew on the coffee before taking a drink.

  “Because I know you care about her.”

  He froze. “Roy, I—”

  The sheriff leaned forward. Resting his forearms on the desk, he shook his head. “I know it’s none of my business, but Celeste is. I made a promise to her mother, her father and to...well, the point is, she needs closure. She needs to be part of this investigation in order to gain some comfort from the nightmares she’s had, especially now that one of them has become a reality.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Roy. Why do you think I let her talk me into doing the trance last night?”

  The sheriff smiled. “You’re a good man, logical, perceptive.”

  “And you’re buttering me up
. What gives?”

  “Celeste did a little of her own detective work this morning and found our hairstylist, Judy.”

  He swore he could literally feel the blood drain from his face. Fear came with a cold sweat along his forehead. “She’s supposed to be at the diner,” he said through clenched teeth as anger and anxiety tensed his body. “And according to Lloyd, Will was keeping an eye on her. What the fuck happened?”

  The sheriff raised his hands. “It’s not that big of a deal. She’s fine and besides, she gave us a helluva lead.”

  Shoving out of his chair, he leaned into the desk. “I don’t give a shit,” he shouted. “I don’t want her involved anymore than she already is. You heard the recording. She could be in danger.” Hell, even the Viking understood that point. He shoved off the desk, then stomped to the wall and stared at one of Will’s paintings. When he’d first seen the painting, the colors had soothed him, calmed him, but they didn’t now. All he could picture was the girl from the bog. Her face and torso sliced. Her lifeless eyes staring back at him.

  “Look,” Roy began as he rose and moved next to him. “I love Celeste like a daughter, but I can’t control her, and I wouldn’t even try. I don’t know if she’s told you this, but she moved back to Wissota Falls to take of her sick mother. When her mom passed, she’d been ready to move back to Madison. To her job, and the life she’d had there. Her dad talked her into running the diner while he went off to deal with his own grief instead, despite her own dreams. Like I said though, she’s a fixer. She wants everyone happy and hunky-dory, and puts others before herself.”

  His chest burned. Not with the chronic heartburn, but with sympathy for Celeste. She’d given up her dreams—dreams he had yet to learn about—to take care of her mom. Then, she remained in this small town, shoving her own agenda aside to help her dad.

  As pissed as he was considering she’d potentially placed herself in danger, he couldn’t help admiring her. She’d stepped up to the plate when her sister hadn’t, keeping her career in Chicago her main focus. Will was around, but from what he understood, the brunt of the family business rested on Celeste’s shoulders. Now she had the nightmares, the trances and the accumulating dead bodies to contend with, but not alone. He wanted to be there for her, but after yesterday he wasn’t sure if she wanted him around, period.