by Linda Howard
Gideon nodded, wondering with a sinking stomach how the woman knew his name.
“I almost forgot. I have a message for you.”
A shiver danced down his spine. “A message?”
She nodded her head. “The woman who killed me, she said you’re to meet her at midnight on the riverfront, just down from the coffee shop where the other woman she killed used to work. She said you’d know where that was. Go alone. If you don’t, she’ll kill someone else. I don’t think she cares who, just someone like me. Someone who won’t be missed.”
His sinking stomach didn’t improve. Somehow the killer knew what he could do. Did she have psychic abilities herself, or had she hired a weak seer who’d just gotten lucky? The how didn’t much matter, not now. The serial killer he was looking for had tortured and murdered this poor woman just so she would be strong enough to stick around and give him a message.
Lily Clark might never move on as she should. “Everyone is missed,” he said. Lily was shaking her head, but he continued. “Everyone leaves a hole in the universe when they’re taken too soon.”
Her form fluttered, as if she had just become a little less substantial. “I won’t,” she whispered. “My first husband sure won’t miss me, and my parents are just going to be angry because I never gave them grandchildren. I work with computers all day, and you know they won’t miss me.”
“I’ll miss you,” Gideon said, glancing down at the body and then up at the spirit on the bed. It was easier than looking at what was left of her physical form.
“Why?”
“Because if I had caught the woman who did this to you yesterday, you’d still be alive.”
Lily reached out a hand as if she wanted to comfort him. Her fingers were cold, but he felt her touch very clearly. “I don’t blame you.”
“I blame myself.”
“Do you always do that?”
Gideon’s head snapped around. Hope stood in the doorway. How long had she been there, watching and listening? “Do what?”
“Blame yourself,” she said, an unexpected trace of sympathy in her voice.
“The killer wasn’t the boyfriend,” he said. “It’s the same woman who murdered Sherry Bishop.”
Hope shook her head. “I know we have the…the severed finger, but other than that, this is a completely different MO. Bishop was killed with a quick swipe. Clark was…” Her gaze flitted to the body but didn’t remain there long. “She was tortured, Gideon. This was personal.”
“No, this was sick.” He stood. “And very much like the unsolved murder in Hale County. It’s the same woman, Hope. I know it. I want an analysis on the weapon ASAP. I’d bet my job that the same knife that killed Sherry Bishop and Marcia Cordell was also used to kill Lily Clark.” When he took a step toward Hope, she flinched slightly, but she didn’t step back. Somehow he had to get rid of his new partner before he went to the boardwalk to meet with the killer. He couldn’t tell her how he knew the psycho who had murdered two women in three days would be there, and he didn’t want to put Hope in danger.
The last thing he needed was a partner he had to worry about.
“It’s too late to accomplish anything tonight,” he said, the weariness in his voice real enough. “We’ll let the crime scene techs do their thing, and then we’ll get a fresh start in the morning.”
Hope cocked her head slightly, openly confused. “In the morning?”
“Yeah. In the morning. I’m tired. Let’s get out of here.”
For a moment all was silent but for the ghost on the bed, who continued to chatter about how stupid she had been where people were concerned. She wasn’t going anywhere soon. Not tonight, in any case. As far as he knew, Sherry had already moved on, but this woman would clearly remain earthbound for a while longer.
“You go on,” Hope said. “I’ll stick around here for a while, just in case anything comes up.”
He would feel better if he knew she was home, doors locked behind her, but that wasn’t his concern. Besides, he’d spotted the cord around her neck peeking out a time or two today. She was wearing the protection charm he’d given her.
“See you in the morning,” he said, turning his back on Hope and Lily Clark and the crime scene team that was waiting to go inside the bloody hotel room.
Wait until morning? No way. Two days—no, three—and she already knew that wasn’t Gideon Raintree’s style. Hope left the crime scene techs and trailed discreetly after Gideon. His mind was definitely elsewhere as he climbed into his Mustang and started the engine.
If she followed him in that huge and noisy red Challenger he’d loaned her, he would spot her before he got out of the parking lot. She turned to the closest person, the night manager of the hotel. “Can I borrow your car?”
“What?” he asked, confused and suspicious.
“Your vehicle,” Hope said, offering her hand palm up for the keys. “I’ll have it back as soon as possible, and I’ll fill it up with gas.”
The portly man was still less than certain.
“What am I going to do?” Hope snapped. “Steal it? I’m a cop.”
He pulled his keys out of his pants pocket and reluctantly handed them over. “It’s the gray pickup truck.”
“Thanks.” She ran to the truck, watching Raintree’s taillights as he turned onto Market Street. That was not the way toward home.
This time of night, the streets were all but deserted. There were a few tourists still out and about, enjoying the clubs and the music in the downtown area, but trailing Raintree was easy enough to be problematic. She tried to stay back so he wouldn’t know he was being followed, but she was definitely taking a chance.
There were a few possible scenarios to explain his quick exit from the hotel. He really could just be tired, but in that case he would be driving in the other direction, toward Wrightsville Beach. Maybe he had a date. That was probably it. He had a midnight rendezvous with some bimbo like his neighbor Honey. They were likely all Honey to him. Then again, maybe this was the proof she’d been waiting to find. He was meeting a drug dealer for a payoff. Maybe Lily Clark’s death was connected to the other drug murders Gideon had solved in his time in the Wilmington PD, and he’d found something at the scene that alerted him to the identity of the killer.
It wasn’t part of the plan to like Raintree, so why did she hope so desperately that he was going to meet some airhead for drinks and dancing and a little recreational sex? She didn’t much like the idea, even though she had no claim on him and never would, but it was preferable to finding out that her initial instincts about him had been right and he was crooked. She didn’t want him to be crooked. As he parked his car at the curb, she tried to come up with another scenario. One that didn’t make him crooked or horny.
Hope drove past Raintree as he exited his Mustang, turning her head slightly so he wouldn’t get a look at her face. He was so distracted, he didn’t even glance at her. She turned a corner and parked in front of a closed gift shop, waiting until she saw Gideon in the rearview mirror before she left the truck.
He was headed for the riverfront. Hope stayed a good distance behind him, but close enough that she could always see the back of his head. Even though this area was well lit at night, there were plenty of shadows for her to conceal herself within. Raintree walked slowly, but with purpose and his own special brand of grace, and when he reached a particular section of the boardwalk, he stopped and leaned over the wood railing, looking down over the river.
Here was her most favorable scenario: Gideon wanted a little time alone to ponder the two murders. He was thinking in that odd way he had, winding down, putting together the pieces of the puzzle and not waiting for a Honey or a drug dealer. Hope stayed in the shadows and watched. One older couple passed him but didn’t slow down or acknowledge him in any way other than a quick glance. Gideon continued to stare out over the river, motionless. She began to think this was a perfectly innocent evening…
And then he checked his watch. He was wai
ting for something. No, someone. Her heart sank, even though she knew she shouldn’t care why he was there or who he had come to meet.
A few minutes later the tall blonde stepped out of the shadows, walking toward Raintree with a purpose of her own. He lifted his head as if he knew she was there long before he could have heard her step.
A woman. She should have known. Men like Raintree didn’t live without female companionship, no matter how dedicated they might be to their jobs. She’d heard him talking to the victim back at the hotel, dragging his eyes away from the body to tell the woman who could no longer hear him that her life mattered, promising to find justice for her. And yet here he was, slipping away from a fresh investigation for a date? It didn’t make sense, but then, what man ever did what was expected of him?
Hope was ready to slip away quietly and return the hotel manager’s pickup without Raintree ever knowing that she’d once again stooped to spying on him when a niggle of warning stopped her.
The woman walking toward Raintree…Her blond hair was long and straight, matching the single strand that had been found on Sherry Bishop’s body. She was taller than average, and moved in a way that advertised that she had muscles and knew how to use them.
And with her left hand she reached inside the jacket she wore and withdrew a long, wicked-looking knife.
Chapter 7
“That’s her! That’s her!” Lily Clark jumped up and down and pointed a shaking finger as she flailed and issued her warning. The ghost looked surprisingly solid to Gideon’s eyes, but the blonde didn’t seem to see her latest victim at all.
“I know,” Gideon said softly.
“Shoot her,” Lily instructed.
“Not yet.” He wanted to discover what the blonde knew—and how. Besides, even though he knew this woman to be a murderer, shooting suspects on the riverfront was definitely frowned upon.
The blonde smiled and made sure he could see the knife in her hand. Anyone sitting in the coffee shop not too far away wouldn’t see anything suspicious if they glanced in this direction, because the way the woman held her jacket shielded the weapon from their view. Most of the customers weren’t looking this way, anyway. Through the window he could see that they were engrossed in their own conversations, their own lives. They had no idea that a monster walked a few feet away.
“I’m here,” he said, holding his hands palm up so she could see he didn’t hold a weapon of his own.
“I knew you would be, Raintree,” the knife-wielding blonde said as she came closer.
“You know my name. What’s yours?”
Her smile widened a little. “Tabby.”
Gideon suspected she was telling the truth; she didn’t expect him to be around long enough to share that information with anyone else.
“What do you want, Tabby?”
“I want to talk.”
“That’s what she said to me,” Lily said indignantly. “Don’t listen to her. You’re a cop. You have a gun. Shoot her!”
“Not yet,” he said softly.
“What do you mean…?” Tabby began, and then she hesitated. “You’re not talking to me, are you? Which one is here?” She glanced around, but her eyes never fell on Lily. “Both, maybe. No, it’s got to be that whiny Clark woman. Trust me, before long you’ll be more than ready to be rid of her. She just about talked my ears off before I gagged her.”
In a rage, Lily threw herself at Tabby, passing right through the tall woman’s body. Maybe Tabby felt something, a chill, or a bit of wind. Her step faltered a little; her smile faded.
Thanks to the torture, physical and psychological, Tabby had made Lily more substantial than most spirits. She was tied to this plane in a way most spirits weren’t. With a little concentration, maybe a lot of concentration, Lily could affect the physical in this world she’d left behind. Maybe.
Tabby stopped less than three feet away. The place was too public for him to toss a surge of electricity her way, but when she got closer, if he could touch her and send a surge to her heart, the effect would be the same.
“You have two choices, Raintree. You can come with me without incident so we can discuss the situation privately for a while, or you can give me a hard time, and after you’re dead, I’ll take it out on the innocent citizens and tourists of this town you call home. You’ll still be around to watch, I imagine, as a ghost who can’t lift a finger to stop me.” She grinned widely. “That would be very cool.”
“I have a feeling it would be dangerous to go anywhere with you. Why don’t we talk right here?”
“It would be very dangerous for you not to do as I say,” she countered, her voice flat and her eyes hard. The grip on the knife in her left hand changed, tightening and growing more secure, more…ready. Gideon felt the tingle of electricity in his fingertips. If he had no other choice…
A young couple neared, arm in arm and oblivious to the rest of the world. Tabby moved closer. “Make a move and I’ll stick ’em both before you can say boo.”
Gideon remained still, sure that Tabby would do exactly as she threatened if she had the chance. The twosome passed, unaware of the danger that was so close. When they were out of earshot, Tabby smiled once again. “Are you going to come with me or not?”
“I’m going to arrest you or kill you. Your choice.”
She didn’t look at all afraid, not of him, not of anything. Her grin grew wide again for a split second, and then her head turned sharply and the smile disappeared altogether, with a swiftness that transformed her face. “I told you to come alone.”
Gideon reached for her while she was distracted, intent on grabbing her wrist and sending a jolt to her heart. He’d never killed anyone before, but he knew it was possible, and if ever a monster deserved to die…But before he could get a grip on her, she lifted the hand that didn’t hold a knife and tossed a few grains of powder into his face. The grains fell into his eyes and onto his lips and everywhere else, and he was immediately half-blinded and dizzy. He missed her, and she swung out with the knife. It wasn’t a wild swing but a well-planned maneuver that slipped past his guard and took him by surprise. With a minimum of wasted motion, Tabby thrust the knife deep into his thigh.
Gideon’s leg gave out from under him, and he dropped to the boardwalk with a thud. Tabby took another swipe at his hand, this one wild and unplanned. Gideon shifted his hand. The tip of the knife barely grazed his flesh, drawing a small welt of blood rather than the finger she’d no doubt wanted to collect. Her head snapped up, she cursed, and then she ran.
Half-lying, half-sitting on the boardwalk, Gideon took aim. He hesitated. His vision swam. He blinked hard. Sending a bolt of electricity into her back was possible, but had the ruckus garnered the attention of the people in the café? He wondered if he could stop her without killing her. If he killed Tabby, he would never know how she had discovered his ability to talk with the dead…how many people she’d killed…why…?
He couldn’t let her get away. His hand lifted, and he called up more power than he had ever directed at another person, one who could not absorb the energy as he did.
But he didn’t fire. His thinking was usually so clear, so crisp, but at this moment it was anything but. Someone familiar called his name. Raintree! Somewhere in those shadows ahead stood the couple that had recently walked by. He couldn’t see them well, but they were there. Sure enough, the surprised and curious young man stepped into Tabby’s wake and directly into Gideon’s sights, and again his vision swam.
Hope, her own pistol in her hand, passed Gideon at a run. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said as she cut between him and the man who’d foolishly placed himself in front of Gideon’s target. “No, not really,” he added, even though she was already too far away to hear his low words. “What the hell are you doing here?” He shouldn’t be surprised to see Hope here; he shouldn’t be surprised that she so easily gave chase. The woman was everywhere she shouldn’t be.
“Call for backup!” she yelled a
s she kept running.
Gideon lowered his hand and leaned against the boardwalk railing, glancing down at his torn trousers. He healed quickly, but he didn’t heal immediately. The scratch in his hand was already fading away, but his thigh was another matter, and whatever Tabby had tossed into his face still had him reeling. The knife had gone deep, and he tamed the flow of blood by pressing his hand to the wound. At any other time of the year he would head to the ER for stitches, but not in any week approaching an equinox or a solstice. His presence would play hell with the hospital equipment.
He pressed against the wound and did his best to concentrate, to remain lucid. A serial killer who knew what he could do. It was a nightmare. Tabby wouldn’t go from town to town, not anymore. She would send him ghost after ghost after ghost, each one of them begging him for justice. She would play this game of hers until one of them was dead. Gideon’s thinking grew more and more muddled. He hadn’t lost that much blood, yet he felt weaker now than he had when the knife had cut into his flesh. It hadn’t been sand she’d tossed into his eyes, hoping to blind him, but some kind of drug that was stealing his reason. He pressed his hand against the wound with more force. He wished for numbness, but the deep gash hurt like hell.
The lights of the coffee shop whirled, and he blinked against the oddly shifting brightness. The streetlamps above grew oblong and faded and fuzzy, and his heart wasn’t pumping right. It was off beat, out of tune. In the back of his mind, Gideon knew he should be trying to get up, but more than the pain in his leg kept him immobile. His entire body was heavy, and he couldn’t manage to focus on anything for more than a split second. He could think just clearly enough to know that this was bad. Very bad.
A moment later Hope was headed back toward him, moving a little more slowly than she’d been when she’d first chased after Tabby, but still moving fast. She didn’t maintain her shape any better than the lights above, and he blinked against the misty vision. How on earth was she able to run in those heels?
