But the anger was gone from his eyes, from the set of his mouth, the set of his jaw, his shoulders. He was less stressed, more at ease. He didn’t look as if the universe was conspiring against him. He just looked...good. Incredibly handsome. Usually astute, sometimes a bit clueless, serious and committed and reliable and courageous and—
The ring of the bedside telephone, designed to both look and sound old-fashioned, was so unexpected that Natasha gave a pretty good small version of Stacia’s shriek. The only phones she’d ever had were cell phones with volume-restricted, programmable tones, so the harsh ring-ring of this phone set her heart racing.
His easy manner vanishing, Daniel came to her side of the bed. He picked up the phone mid-ring and sat beside her, holding it between them so she could speak and he could hear.
“H-hello.”
“I saw pictures of the room phones on the hotel’s website. Bet you almost peed your pants when it rang.”
“Stacia.” She gulped a deep breath. “You scared me half to death.”
“You forget those things aren’t just some ugly historical accessory, don’t you? Besides, you said they took your cell. How else was I going to get hold of you?”
Daniel handed her the receiver then scooted a short distance away, the mattress giving under his weight, then resettling. He was far enough away to give her some privacy, close enough that she could feel his strength, the invisible shield that he’d always shared willingly with her.
“How’s the job?” Natasha asked.
“Good.”
“The boyfriend?”
“Good. Listen, Tash...”
Natasha’s fingers tightened. That shift in tone was a warning. Stacia didn’t get serious often, and she always prefaced it with listen. “Crazy-pants psycho guy knows you don’t have your phone, too. He texted me a few minutes ago with a message for you. You ready?”
Natasha was proud that the tremor in her hand was only a small one, not the full-blown panic she’d experienced earlier in the day. She was locked safely in a room with Daniel. Short of a bomb, crazy-pants couldn’t do anything to her until she went out, and she just might not ever do that.
She gave Daniel a beckoning nod, and he moved closer again. “Okay, Stacia, go ahead.”
Her sister cleared her throat. “‘Nastacia, pass to Nat.’ No please or thank you.” She hmphed. “‘Taking your cell and computers won’t help them find me. I’m too smart for that. I’ve forgotten more about IT than they’ve ever collectively known. Staying in that hotel room won’t work, either. When I’m ready, I’ll come for you. I’ve been planning this for a very long time, and I always get what I want. You’re my destiny, Nat. Nothing can change that. Not the police. Not Daniel. Not you. You’ll always be mine.’”
Okay, the tremor was picking up force, so much that Daniel had to steady the phone. She inhaled when he laid his hand over hers. In her ears it sounded like a loud, sharp-edged gasp, but neither of the others mentioned it.
“Nastacia?” Daniel said drily. “How did I never know that was your name?”
“Daniel!” Stacia squealed. “Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice! It’s been so long! How are you? Besides the obvious downer of having your ex-fiancée show up to tell you that her new boyfriend wants you dead?” As usual, she didn’t wait for an answer.
“Besides, if you were named Nastacia, wouldn’t you shorten it? It sounds like some kind of bug you might catch in the garden. So, how are you?”
“Things have livened up here in the last few days.”
“In true Spencer fashion. Are you going to catch this guy?”
“Yes.”
When he let that short, simple response stand on its own, Stacia said, “You know, you’re the only person in our lives who has always, always done what he said he would. That’s one of the reasons we loved you. Still love you. I still love you.”
Natasha wondered if her sister could somehow feel the heat of the blush seeping through her over the phone, because she awkwardly shifted topics. “Nick’s name is Nikolay. Our parents are weird, huh? But you already know that.”
“I knew that before I ever met them. Stacia, will you forward that text to me?” He waited for her to give the go-ahead, then he recited his cell number. “I hear your career’s going well. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. I know you don’t watch much TV, but if you want to catch my smiling face... Well, I don’t really smile much on the show because I’m trying to solve my sister’s murder...oh, God, that hits too close to home, doesn’t it? Anyway... I’m so glad to talk to you! Tasha, I love you. Stay safe.”
The call clicked, leaving a faint hum on the phone line. Natasha stretched forward to return the receiver to its cradle then sat back.
“She’s like a wave breaking over the rocks at the tide pools. Unstoppable, fierce, a force of nature that leaves a trail of little bubbles popping silently in her wake.”
After a moment of surprised quiet, Natasha laughed. It was hardly appropriate, given the situation and the message Stacia had just passed on, but she couldn’t help herself. For the first time in weeks, she was overcome with pure, warm, solid pleasure. In that moment, there was no fear, no apprehension, no helplessness. Nothing but her and Daniel and that oh-so-accurate image of Stacia.
And Daniel laughed with her.
* * *
Thank God, the sun was shining Sunday morning. The sky was the beautiful clear blue Daniel normally associated with Oklahoma, and there wasn’t a cloud visible in any direction. With the air chilly and everything smelling clean and freshly washed, it would be a good day for a long walk. There was a trail that started at the park next to Mrs. Little Bear’s café and wound all the way north to Sand Springs, a nice ten-mile stroll, before turning east toward Tulsa.
But he wasn’t foolish enough to put himself in some isolated spot like that. Even the thought of it would make the chief’s blood pressure rise, and Daniel tried at least marginally not to do that.
Besides, he would worry the whole time he was gone about Natasha.
But if she could go with him...
He had stayed at the hotel last night until they were both fighting to keep their eyes open. After the call from Stacia, the owner of Judge Judie’s had delivered dinner to Natasha’s room. Daniel had forwarded the text to Ben and Sam, and they’d shared their frustration on a conference call. They were working more or less on the stalker’s timetable. His messages were virtually untraceable; so were his packages. The white phosphorus he’d used in the arson was available online and, according to multiple sites, could be made at home.
He was smarter than the cops, he’d bragged in the text. Unlike their usual suspects, this one might be right. At the moment, they had no lead to follow and nothing to do but wait.
And none of them was very good at waiting.
During the call last night, Sam had scheduled another meeting this morning. Ben was due to pick up Daniel in ten minutes, which meant he was probably parked outside, had found the newspaper where the paper guy threw it—never anywhere near the door—and done a few walks around the house. They were using the back entrance of the hotel to pick up Natasha and the prisoner entrance at the jail to get her inside unseen. It wasn’t necessary to have the meeting at the station. Sam just figured Natasha could use some sort of break from the four shrinking walls of her room.
Daniel went downstairs and did his own loop around the interior. The windows were locked, the blinds closed, the drapes pulled. The side door that led from the mudroom to the yard was secured. At the front door, he checked out to, indeed, find Ben’s dark-tinted SUV parked at the curb, inactivated the alarm for the minute it took him to get out, lock up and reset it, then jogged to the truck.
“Have you pried open your garage door lately?” Ben asked as soon as Daniel climbed inside.
“No.” Garage was the name the owner u
sed for the structure in the back corner of Daniel’s yard. It had no drive leading to it, it was smaller than most of the police department vehicles he drove, a person could see through the gaps in the old wood slats and the door was securely sealed shut by years of grass clippings piling up and breaking down every time the yard was mowed.
“It’s been opened six or eight inches. The rain must have made it easier to scrape the dirt back. There’s no floor inside, just packed dirt, so there weren’t any footprints. I found this, though.” Ben held out a small plastic bag, marked with his precise writing: date, time, location, his name. “Couldn’t have been there very long. You know what it is?”
There was a lone piece of something in the bag, thumbnail-size, pinkish in color, sparkly. Daniel recognized it, though the test came in smelling it. Reluctantly, he lifted the bag to his nose and inhaled. Even with the bag sealed, he caught a whiff of the aroma. He all but tossed the bag back at Ben.
“It’s crystallized ginger.”
Ben gave him a dry look. “Someone broke into your shed to sneak a piece of crystallized ginger?”
“Natasha goes through stages where she eats that stuff by the pound. I like ginger fine, but she’s a fiend about it. Pretty soon, I’d start smelling it on her skin and in her bed and her car and tasting it on—Well. The food she cooked tasted like ginger even when she didn’t add it.” He grimaced, still able to smell it though the sample was now in Ben’s center console. “If he’s been eating that, we should be able to find him easily. He’ll be the one everybody’s keeping their distance from.”
“So to show that they’re compatible, he’s eating ginger?” Ben shook his head ruefully. “I don’t understand crazy people, and I don’t want to. Not even the ones in my own family.”
Daniel didn’t comment on the Little Bear family. He’d been blessed himself with relatively sane relatives, but if he’d married Natasha, he would have married into an asylum full of “free spirits.” Too close to crazy for his peace of mind.
“He may have hidden in the shed while he watched the house,” Ben went on. “He may have left the ginger just so you’d know it was him. I wonder if it was from last night or the night before.”
When he got home last night, Daniel hadn’t even glanced at the shed. He and a uniformed officer had walked around inside and out, Daniel had thanked him and gone straight to bed. If RememberMe had been so close then, he regretted that he hadn’t gone across the yard with a shotgun and blasted the place to bits.
Or at least caught the bastard off guard, handcuffed him and taken him to jail.
Ben avoided the front of the hotel, turning into the alley from the next side street over. It took careful maneuvering, but he backed the SUV right up to the rear door, underneath the awning that protected from weather while guests dug in bags and pockets for keys. After a moment, the uniformed officer who’d been inside visiting with Claire since shift change opened the door, and Natasha, unrecognizable in an oversized hoodie that hid her face and her shape equally well, hustled into the back seat.
“You’re good to go,” the officer said before closing the door. Two seconds later, the hotel door closed, and probably ten seconds later, the officer was back at the desk, as if he’d never moved.
As Ben pulled away, Natasha said cheerily, “I’m so excited. I get to go stare at other walls today.” Her voice came from deep inside the black-and-orange hoodie declaring allegiance to the Oklahoma State Cowboys. “Claire suggested the jacket. She tried to teach me a song, too. Let’s see...”
She mangled her way through the first line of the fight song, where Daniel and almost anyone else would have stopped her.
He only half-heartedly considered it, and Ben, big surprise, joined in, his ability to carry a tune much better than hers.
Natasha’s laughter was light, bordering on giggly, and reminded Daniel so much of the before-Tasha that his breath caught in his chest and spiraled hard, right into his gut.
“Claire said there’s a home game next Saturday. She said if I’m still here, she’ll dress me up right—even with a cowboy hat—and we can caravan to Stillwater and get lost in a sea of football fans. ScrewYou would never find us.”
Ben gave an appreciative chuckle for the new nickname, then grinned at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “You slept well last night, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
Daniel wasn’t going to look at her, he wasn’t, but he felt the weight of her gaze on him, and before he could stop himself, his head swiveled around to take stock. Her eyes were clearer, and the shadows beneath them were fading. She looked like she’d gotten good news—though she would have shared that—or found hope in something. Someone.
Stacia had said last night he was the only person in their lives who always kept his word. Maybe Natasha had remembered that about him. Or maybe she’d had doubts with the past between them, but since they’d talked it out, more or less, she was trusting him 100 percent again.
Maybe it had nothing at all to do with him. He didn’t care. This Natasha wasn’t forlorn or defeated. She wasn’t going to collapse under RememberMe’s—ScrewYou’s—threats. She didn’t give off the vulnerable air that frustrated him. He liked that.
They approached the police station from the rear. A narrow lane led through a locked gate, down a slope and through a heavy electronic gate that blocked all view from the outside. An officer and a jailer were waiting inside the second gate.
Daniel got out and offered his hand to Natasha. She didn’t need assistance, of course; she looked as if she might jump to the ground and jog a victory lap around the truck. Fresh air, a change of scenery and even the tiniest bit of freedom could go straight to a person’s head.
But she politely took his hand and stepped down. Her fingers clasped his a moment longer than was necessary. He didn’t mind. He kept his hold loose, allowing her the option of pulling free whenever she wanted.
“Is this a sally port?” she asked. “You’ve talked about them before, but I’ve never seen one. It’s kind of grim.”
He glanced around at bare walls, cameras, automatic gates and bars. “It’s a place to safely transfer prisoners from a vehicle to the jail. We can’t waste money to pretty it up for them.”
“My mom’s a pretty good painter. She’d do a mural of sunflowers or buffalo or whatever on these walls and only charge for the cost of the paint.” She grinned slyly. “She might try to sneak a few prisoners out with her when she left, just the ones she was sure were wrongly accused, but she’d leave behind a pretty picture.”
Daniel called to the jailer, “You want to see some pretty pictures on those walls over there, Tom?”
“Hell, yeah. Maybe Miss July. Miss October. Definitely Miss December.”
Natasha made a regretful gesture. “For that you would need my mother’s third husband’s second ex-wife. Her paintings all depict women with big boobs, thigh-high black leather boots and a whip. But she’d want a commission, as well as expenses.”
Tom’s gaze narrowed on her, as if he was trying to decide how much she was exaggerating. Knowing what he did of the Spencers, Daniel didn’t doubt it at all.
He led the way inside, down a long corridor and up a flight of stairs to the main floor. Lois Gideon was sitting on the edge of a desk, chatting with Cullen Simpson, when they came in. She slid to her feet, took a few steps toward them and then twirled around. “What do you think, guys?”
Daniel wasn’t as clueless as people sometimes thought. Yeah, his gaze skimmed over her from top to bottom, noticing that this might be the first time he’d ever seen her in a dress, definitely the first time he’d seen her in a dress with cowboy boots. And yeah, he saw her big dangly earrings first, beads and feathers in a half dozen shades of blue. But he got to the point eventually.
“Your hair is blue.” Ben said it in a commonplace, everyday sort of voice.
“It�
�s the exact shade of my favorite old jeans.” Natasha moved past Daniel to lightly touch Lois’s hair. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” Lois beamed. “I turn sixty next week. Figured I might as well officially become a blue-hair.”
“You’re too young in spirit to ever be an old woman,” Simpson disagreed, and she turned the beam on him.
“Suck up,” Daniel muttered.
“He knows she can kick his ass,” Ben added.
Both Lois and Simpson made faces at them, then she waved toward the back. “Sam’s waiting in the conference room. I’ll be there in a minute.”
When they walked through the doorway, Sam was kicked back in a chair, his head tilted, his boots propped on the edge of the table. The Stetson he’d worn his whole life—except for his years in the Army—was pulled down to cover his face, shutting out the light coming through the open blinds.
Daniel bumped him when he eased past. “The sun’s shining. Time to make hay.” He felt the quizzical look Natasha gave him as she slid into a chair opposite the chief. Five years ago, he probably hadn’t known the meaning of the saying, and he certainly never would have actually said it.
Like he’d told her at lunch Friday, things were different in Cedar Creek.
Sam’s laptop was open and booted up on the table. Daniel sat next to him, gestured to it and asked, “Do you mind?”
Slowly, Sam removed his hat and laid it on the table. “Just don’t break it.”
“Geez, you smash one laptop, and they never let you forget it,” Daniel grumbled.
“What did you smash it against?” Natasha asked.
“A suspect’s head. Hey, he was pounding Little Bear’s head into the floor. I had to do something, and taking him one-on-one wasn’t an option. He was six foot six and three hundred pounds.”
Now it was Ben grumbling. “Geez, you let one suspect get the better of you...”
Daniel logged into his email and found the usual stuff, plus a long string of emails Flea had sent the day before. Every one of them carried an attachment, but only the first was accompanied by a message. “Assuming you don’t have the budget constraints we have (or your personal motivation helps you along), here’s traffic camera video from relevant areas on relevant dates. Good luck.”
Killer Smile Page 16
