Scene of the Crime: Bridgewater, Texas

by Carla Cassidy

  “I’ll check back in a little while,” he said and then left the office. At least for the moment she was in the safest place she could be and nobody could harm her.

  He’d recognized a streak of stubbornness in her the first time he’d met her, but it worried him that she also seemed to have little or no fear.

  It wasn’t healthy not to be afraid. Fear was what made people cautious, that spike of fear adrenaline heightened senses and the desire for self-preservation. It was dangerous to be fearless.

  The impound lot was behind the sheriff’s office. It was a small chain-link area with a shed big enough to hold one car. Most vehicles were impounded due to drunk driving. At the moment there was only one vehicle on the lot and it was in the shed—Jenna’s car.

  He entered the shed and the hot air inside burned his lungs. Abe was dusting the passenger side of the car. When he saw Matt he shook his head. “Nothing on the inside,” he said. “And it doesn’t look like I’m going to pull anything up on the door handle. Whoever left that rose was very careful not to leave any prints or anything else behind.”

  Matt sighed in frustration as Abe continued. “I’m going to go over it all another time, but I don’t think I missed anything the first time.”

  When Matt returned to the office Joey stood from his desk. “I’ve got some information on Leroy,” he said.

  “Let’s go back into the conference room,” Matt replied. The conference room had become the war room for the two murders. Three whiteboards had been hung, one holding all the information and crime scene photos for Miranda, one for Carolyn and the third a list of similarities and links between the two.

  Joey sat at the table, a sheath of papers in front of him and Matt sat across from him. “What have you got?” Matt asked.

  “Apparently financial troubles weren’t the only problems that Leroy had before he came here to live with his uncle. He also had problems with a woman.”

  “What do you mean? What kind of problems?”

  “Elizabeth Walker took out a restraining order against Leroy six months before he moved here. I managed to contact her this morning and she told me that she and Leroy had dated a couple of times, but when she told him she didn’t want to see him anymore, he became a stalker. She also suspects that he broke windows on her car and slashed her tires, but she couldn’t prove it because she didn’t see him do it.”

  “Interesting,” Matt said as he thought of the man who’d often served his meals to him in the café.

  “And get this, Elizabeth has brown hair and blue eyes,” Joey exclaimed.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I asked her. I also asked her if Leroy liked to give her flowers, but she said he’d never given her anything.” Joey looked at Matt with the eagerness of a young pup.

  “Great job, Joey,” Matt said. “I knew I could depend on you to do a thorough job.”

  Joey smiled at the compliment. “Anything else you want me to do?”

  Matt leaned back in his chair pensively. Every deputy on his little force was working on the murder investigations. They were knocking on doors and talking to people about both Miranda and Carolyn, following the smallest leads that might come out of those interviews.

  “Maybe you could help Jerry with the calls to the florist shops,” Matt said. “It’s a big job and so far he hasn’t had any success locating a place that was selling six roses at a time around the dates of the murders.”

  “No problem,” Joey replied. “I’ll coordinate with him and maybe between the two of us we can break this case wide open.” He jumped up from the table as if flames burned his butt and disappeared from the room.

  Matt remained seated at the desk, thinking about Jenna and about the rose. She was in danger. Surely the killer must have known that in giving the rose he was also giving her warning of his intent.

  Why would he give them that kind of heads-up? Why would he point a finger to his next victim? The ultimate challenge, he thought. Taking down an FBI agent would be a high like no other.

  Jenna wanted to be a lone wolf, dealing with the situation on her own, but he wasn’t going to allow that. She was using herself as bait and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

  He needed to talk some sense into her, make her realize she could trust him to have her back. He had a feeling she was a woman who didn’t trust easily. He knew enough about her background to recognize that she wasn’t accustomed to having people she could trust in her life, that there had never been anyone for her to lean on.

  She might be a lone wolf, but he was an alpha wolf, leader of the pack and there was no way he was going to let the hunter get to her.

  Chapter Eight

  Jenna hung up the phone and stared at the notes she’d taken in front of her. She’d sensed a nasty little temper in Dr. Patrick Johnson when she’d spoken to him earlier in the day and June Alexander had just confirmed it.

  She’d found the woman through her Web page, advertising a stained-glass store in Houston. A call to the shop had confirmed that she was the woman who used to live in Bridgewater and had dated Patrick.

  June had nothing good to say about the vet. He was controlling and obsessive, he had an explosive temper that at times had frightened her and the longer they had dated the worse those traits had gotten. When she’d finally broken up with him, she’d decided her best course of action was to relocate someplace else.

  Intelligent, controlling and possessing an explosive temper; all traits that should move him back to the top of their suspect list except for the fact that June Alexander had been a blonde.

  Of course it was possible something happened between the time he dated June and the present that had set him on a hatred against brunettes. Or it could still be coincidental that the two dead women had been brown haired with blue eyes.

  She leaned back in the chair and caught a whiff of Matt’s cologne and the familiar scent stirred her on a hundred different levels. She couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to be in his arms, how his eyes had glowed with emotion as he took possession of her.

  For just a moment she’d felt safe. She’d almost felt loved, and it had taken her breath away, filled her with both an indescribable yearning and a shuddering fear.

  She started as the door swung open and Matt walked in, a deep scowl on his features. “Looks like our man left no fingerprints outside of the door or inside the car.” He sat in the chair opposite her at his desk.

  “Did you really expect him to make that kind of stupid mistake?” she asked.

  “One could hope,” he replied. “Have you had any luck contacting June Alexander?”

  For the next few minutes she filled him in on what she’d learned about Patrick and then he told her what Joey had discovered about Leroy.

  “So, the two men at the top of our short list are Leroy and Patrick,” she said. “They fit the profile and nothing I’ve learned about them has done anything to kick them off our list.” She smiled at him. “Let’s put it this way, if one of them knocks on my door late at night in the next week, I’m not going to let them inside unless I have my gun in my hand.”

  “I want to talk to you about that,” he said and leaned forward, his scowl deepening.

  “Talk to me about what?”

  “About staying at Miranda’s house. I don’t want you there.”

  A small laugh escaped her lips at the autocratic tone of his voice. “I don’t think that’s your call, Sheriff Buchannan,” she replied coolly. Just because she’d slept with him didn’t mean he owned her and he certainly didn’t have the right to boss her around.

  “When somebody is too stubborn for their own good, then it should be my call,” he replied. “Jenna, I want you to stay with me, in my house.”

  Jenna looked at him in surprise. “I can’t do that,” she replied.

  “Why not?” Once again he leaned forward, his gaze as intense as she’d ever seen it. “I have a big house with a nice spare bedroom. You’d be safer there than
in Miranda’s house all alone.”

  “What are you going to do? Give up the investigation to babysit me?”

  “Of course not,” he replied. “We could work together here and around town on the investigation, but in the evenings and through the night I could make sure you’re safe.”

  Oh, there was seduction in his words, in his offer of safety. She could easily imagine them sharing coffee in the mornings, spending evenings together in the intimacy of his living room.

  For a single shining moment she wanted what he offered, wanted it as much as anything she’d ever wanted in her life, but along with the want came the fear.

  Before she could reply he stood and leaned over the desk. “Jenna, I lost one woman I cared deeply about to violence. I don’t want to lose another.” His voice was low and trembled slightly with emotion.

  The thought of a serial killer after her didn’t scare her half as much as Matt Buchannan. “I’ll be okay at Miranda’s,” she said forcefully. “I’m a light sleeper. I’d hear anyone who might try to break in.”

  He straightened and blew out an audible sigh. “I know you’re not used to having anyone to depend on, but you can depend on me, Jenna.” His gaze seemed to pierce the armor she wore, to look deep into her very soul. “I’d never let you down.”

  She knew that about him. She knew the kind of man he was and that’s what frightened her most. He was everything she was not—he was an optimist, a man who believed in love and the ultimate power of goodness.

  “I have to do this my way, Matt,” she finally said. She had to maintain her distance from him, no matter what the cost. “Trust me, I’ll be careful.”

  She could tell her answer didn’t make him happy. His lips pressed tightly together and a muscle ticked at his jaw.

  “So, where do we go from here?” she asked in an attempt to break the tension.

  “Why don’t we go back in the conference room and I’ll have some of the men update us on anything new,” he replied.

  She was conscious of him just behind her as she left his inner office and walked down the hallway to the conference room.

  The scent of him enticed her, the confident energy that wafted from him calmed her and she wondered if she’d made a mistake in turning down his offer to stay in his house.

  She reminded herself that she was a trained FBI agent and could take care of herself. She didn’t need Matt taking care of her.

  Morning turned into afternoon as the deputies updated their progress and then Matt and Jenna kicked around ideas and theories about the murders.

  “We don’t have the trigger,” she said and took a sip of her third cup of coffee since a lunch of burgers that had been brought in by one of the deputies.

  “If the guilty party is somebody like Patrick Johnson or Leroy or anyone else who has been in town for a while, then it would help if we knew what triggered the murders.”

  “Maybe it was the arrival of Miranda in town,” Matt said thoughtfully.

  “Possible,” Jenna agreed. “She might have reminded our killer of another woman…a lover who left him, or a mother who beat him.”

  “But we know that June Alexander doesn’t look like our victims. She had blond hair and brown eyes.”

  “True,” Jenna agreed. “But we still can’t be a hundred percent certain that he’s chosen his victims based on a specific physical look. He might have chosen them based on a particular personality trait.”

  Matt offered her a half smile as his eyes twinkled with a touch of humor. “Doubtful. All the people we talked to about the victims said they were easy to get along with and never made anyone mad. You definitely don’t fit that victim profile.”

  She gave him a cheeky grin. “Love me or hate me, it doesn’t make any difference to me,” she replied. “Besides, I’m never in one place long enough to reap the consequences of my actions.” It was a reminder to herself and to him that this time in Bridgewater, Texas, was just a brief stopover, that she had a life to get back to in Kansas City.

  For the rest of the afternoon they checked and double checked forensic reports and reread interviews, looking for something, anything they might have missed on the last round of reading.

  It was just after six when Jenna stood and stretched with her arms overhead. She was exhausted and felt as if they’d spent the last eight hours doing nothing but spinning their wheels.

  “Are you going to release my car to me so I can drive myself home?” she asked.

  He didn’t meet her gaze. “We aren’t quite finished with it, so I’ll take you home.”

  She had a feeling he was telling her a white lie, that he just didn’t want her driving home alone. “Then if you don’t mind, I’m ready to call it a day.”

  “What about dinner? Do you want to grab something at the café before I take you home?” he asked.

  She frowned and shook her head. “I think I’ve tried every special Michael has to offer and to tell the truth I’m rather sick of the café food.”

  “What about Mexican? We have a great little Mexican restaurant just a mile or so outside of town.”

  She shook her head once again. “No, thanks, I’ll just open a can of soup or something at home.”

  “Okay, then I guess I’ll take you home.” It was obvious he wasn’t happy with the idea. “But, I want to come inside and check all the locks on the windows and doors,” he said as they left the office and walked out into the hot evening air.

  “I checked them all and they’re as good as locks can get,” she replied.

  “But somebody got into that bedroom window,” he reminded her as they got into the patrol car.

  “And I’m fairly sure they came through an unlocked front door. My bad,” she exclaimed. “And that opportunity won’t present itself to anyone again. All the doors at Miranda’s house have dead bolts and I intend to use them. Besides, like I told you before, a single rose doesn’t scare me. I’m confident he won’t abandon his ritual for a quick kill.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Matt said.

  They were silent for the remainder of the drive to Miranda’s place. Once there they both got out of the car and walked to the front porch where Jenna dug the key out of her purse and then unlocked the door.

  “I want to check it out before you go inside,” Matt said and drew his weapon. Before she could stop him he disappeared through the door.

  It felt strange, to have a man so intent on taking care of her. Sam was always ragging on her that sometimes she needed to take a step back and allow somebody to do something nice for her. She had to admit, Matt’s protectiveness felt good even if she felt it was unnecessary.

  He’s just doing his job, she told herself, and yet she knew it was more than that. She was more than a coworker to him, more than somebody he needed to protect as a guest in his town.

  I already lost one woman I cared about deeply to violence. I don’t want to lose another. His words played in her mind, filling her with a curious combination of warmth and dread. She didn’t want him to care about her and more importantly she didn’t want to care about him.

  “Satisfied?” she asked as he returned to the porch with his gun back in his holster.

  “Not really. I’d rather have you locked up in my jail cell where I know you’d be safe.”

  “Since we both know that’s not going to happen, I’ll just tell you good night. You’ll pick me up in the morning?”

  He nodded. “How about around seven?”

  “Fine. Good night, Matt.”

  He murmured a good-night and she closed the door, careful to lock it and throw the dead bolt. Immediately the silence of the house pressed in around her.

  The entire time she’d been in Bridgewater she’d carried her gun in her purse, but now she went into the bedroom and pulled on her shoulder holster. She’d wear it until bedtime and then sleep with it beneath her pillow. Nobody was going to sneak up on her without seeing the business end of her revolver in his face.

  After eating a bowl
of soup, she began the arduous task of packing up some of Miranda’s things in a couple of boxes she’d found in the garage.

  It was a difficult task as she wrapped and boxed knickknacks from the living room. So many of the items held not only meaning for Miranda but for Jenna as well.

  There was a tacky Kewpie doll that Jenna had won for her friend by shooting at rubber ducks at a carnival they’d attended. There were framed photos of the two of them that she placed in a separate box, one that she would take with her when she left.

  It was after nine when she finally decided to call it a night. Instead of sleeping in the guest room she made up her mind to bunk on the sofa for the night. She put on her nightgown and then carried her gun, a pillow and a spare blanket into the living room.

  Once she was settled on the sofa with her gun on the coffee table next to her, she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She was conscious of every noise the house made, the tick of a clock on the bookcases, the hum of the air conditioner through the vents, and the occasional rumble of the ice maker coming from the kitchen.

  Jenna knew most people would be afraid at the prospect of a killer targeting them, but sometimes she felt as if all the fear that she was to experience for her entire life had been expended during her horrible childhood.

  But as she lay there alone on the sofa with the unfamiliarity of the house, the strange sounds surrounding her, she felt an edge of fear rise up in the back of her throat.

  As darkness fell outside she turned on the lamp next to the sofa, finding the night more difficult to handle than she’d thought it would be.

  It was after eleven when she got up and rechecked the windows and doors. With her gun in hand she opened the front door and peered out into the yard, looking for anything that might be amiss.

  She checked up the street and froze as she saw an unfamiliar sports car parked along the curb two houses away. From the faint glow of the streetlight she could tell that somebody was in the driver’s seat.

  She watched for several long moments but the person behind the steering wheel didn’t move. Why didn’t he get out of the car?