Native Cowboy

by Rita Herron

  He searched further, hunting through files to see if he had a list of Cara’s clients and was using them as targets. But he didn’t find a list.

  Of course, that didn’t mean the man didn’t have it on him.

  He checked Morningside’s phone, then called the lab that was processing the evidence collected in all the cases and asked to speak to Jody. “Nellie Thompson received a message before she died. See if that call came from this number.”

  He gave her the number and waited while she checked. When she returned a moment later, she sighed. “I’m afraid not. The message came from a throwaway burner phone. There’s no way we can track it down.”

  “How about that button from the uniform? Did you find prints on it?”

  “Yes, a partial. I’m running it now.”

  “Look for a man named Lapu Morningside. He was in the military so his prints should be in the system.”

  “Hang on,” Jody said. “This might take a minute.”

  “I’ll wait.” Mason paced back to the living room where Cara was waiting. She looked exhausted and shaken.

  And so damn beautiful he wanted to wrap her in his arms and promise her that everything would be all right.

  “Detective Blackpaw,” Jody said, cutting into his thoughts. “You were right. It’s a match.”

  Mason sucked in a sharp breath. That print confirmed that Morningside was at the landfill where the second body had been found. “Thanks, Jody. We might just have enough to nail this creep.”

  He disconnected, then went to tell Agent Whitehead and the other crime analysts. “I just confirmed that the button we discovered at the second crime scene came from Morningside’s uniform. Take his computer and anything else you find.” He remembered Cara’s haunted look. “I’m going to drive Cara home. Let me know if you turn up anything significant. When we catch Morningside, we have to make sure he stays in jail.”

  Agent Whitehead agreed to supervise the search and to follow up with the sheriff.

  “Now he knows we’re on to him, he may try to run,” Mason said.

  “I’ll alert authorities, bus and train stations, the airport and the border patrol in case he tries to flee into Mexico.”

  Satisfied he’d done all he could at the moment, he went to Cara. Relief softened her face when he explained about the call from the lab and their plan of action.

  “I hope they find him tonight, so this terrible ordeal can end,” Cara said as he walked her to the car.

  So did he. And he wouldn’t rest until this madman was found, and Cara and his son were out of danger.

  * * *

  TENSION STRETCHED BETWEEN Cara and Mason as they left the apartment. Cara was exhausted and simply wanted to go home and sleep, but Mason insisted they stop for dinner, that she needed to feed their child. She couldn’t argue with that.

  She made it through a dish of chicken potpie while he wolfed down a couple of burgers at the local diner, then they settled in for the ride to the BBL.

  She must have dozed off as soon as they left the diner, because one minute she’d fastened her seat belt, and the next Mason was parking at her cabin.

  He opened her car door for her while she struggled with the seat belt. The baby kicked just as she tried to stand, and pain shot down her leg. She gripped the door edge and breathed through it. Although she had reached that uncomfortable nine-month stage, she wasn’t ready for labor, at least not tonight.

  Her emotions were too raw from the day’s stress.

  “Cara?” Mason said gruffly.

  “I’m fine,” she said, straightening. “Just a Braxton Hicks contraction.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. She wasn’t ready to deal with his part in her son’s life, either.

  Not that he would want to be there on a daily basis. Even when they’d made love months ago, he’d never said he loved her.

  No, the only thing Mason Blackpaw loved was his job.

  And it took him all over the state so if he wanted to be a part of their baby’s life, it would be on his terms. He’d be a drop-in father.

  And she would have to live with it.

  She waddled toward the front door, wincing as her back throbbed, then climbed the steps, grateful to be home. Mason opened the door, and she stepped inside,

  “I’m going to lie down,” she said, oblivious to anything but resting her head on her pillow and forgetting about the day.

  “Go ahead. I’ll find Brody and fill him in. I want to email a photograph of Morningside to the staff and security guards to warn them to be on watch.”

  The reminder of the man who’d fixated his rage on her and the women he’d murdered made her shudder with revulsion. But she forced herself not to look at Mason or else she’d fall into his arms and beg him to hold her.

  She heard him talking on the phone as she walked into her bedroom. She flipped on the light, then reached for her gown, but the moment she glanced at the bed, bile rose to her throat.

  Her gown had bloody streaks across it.

  And another note written in blood and a small box were nestled beside it.

  Dear God, the killer had been here again. And that blood probably belonged to Yolanda Farraday.

  * * *

  HE WOUND THE STRANDS of Angelica’s long red hair around his fingers, soaking in the silky texture and color.

  Her scream had pierced the air so loudly that it had hurt his ears.

  But no one had heard. He’d made sure of that. A laugh bubbled in his throat.

  She lay stiff, her pale body streaked with blood, her lips parted in a soundless scream, her eyes wide with the horror of death.

  She had fought the hardest.

  So hard she had dug her nails into his skin.

  He couldn’t have that.

  He removed the manicure scissors from his pocket and clipped her nails so close to the skin that blood trickled off her fingertips. He hated the mess, but he couldn’t leave evidence behind.

  Another reason he had shaved his body. Not that he had much hair. None on his chest thanks to his Native American heritage.

  He dropped her nail clippings into a baggie and stuffed them in his pocket, then rolled her in the sheet. Now he had to find the perfect place to leave her.

  Some place where that Indian cop and Dr. Winchester would see her.

  Some place where that stupid FBI agent would recognize that he was smarter than she was.

  And that he was far from finished.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cara’s gasp brought Mason racing to the bedroom. He saw the bloody note and gown and pulled Cara away from the sight. “Son of a bitch.”

  Cara choked back a cry, and he wrapped his arms around her and rocked her in his arms. “Shh, it’s okay. That creep just wants to taunt you. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “How can I not?” Cara whispered. “He’s killing these women because of me.”

  He forced her to look into his eyes. “No, he’s killing them because he’s sick. He’s only using you as an excuse, and we’re not going to let him win.”

  “But that’s probably Yolanda’s blood,” she said, her voice breaking.

  Unless he had killed again and they hadn’t found the body yet.

  But Mason refused to scare her with that horrid thought. Instead, he had to soothe her. She was a dedicated doctor who’d devoted her life to saving lives and helping others.

  She didn’t deserve this kind of torture.

  “Come on, Cara, step back into the living room while I take care of this.”

  She shook her head, then inhaled sharply and gathered her strength. “I have to see what’s inside that box.”

  He hesitated but decided it was futile to argue. But he did retrieve gloves and put them on before he handled anything. He bagged the gown and note, then opened the box.

  Just as before, it held a navel fetish.

  Cara’s breathing rattled out in the tension-laden air, then she lean
ed closer to take a better look at the amulet.

  “My God, Mason,” she whispered. “That looks like human hair woven around the pouch.”

  Mason’s breath caught as he examined it. Dammit, she was right.

  The killer had not only used his victim’s blood to write the note, but he’d woven her hair into the navel amulet.

  “I’ll have the lab verify it and examine the first amulet to see if he included a strand of Nellie Thompson’s hair with it.”

  “That is so twisted,” Cara said. “I can’t imagine how his mind works.”

  Mason lifted his eyes to hers. “Most serial killers keep a trophy from their victim, Cara. My guess is that he’s keeping a strand of the women’s hair as his souvenir.”

  * * *

  THE THOUGHT OF MORNINGSIDE, or any other man, being so cruel and ruthless made Cara feel ill.

  “I have to take a shower,” she said. She had to clean off the stench of what this man had done. She grabbed a clean nightgown and rushed into the bathroom, desperate to escape the images bombarding her.

  Poor Nellie and Yolanda, helpless, trapped by a madman who’d butchered them. Then he cut strands of their hair to keep as a trophy.

  Tears blurred her eyes as she stripped and climbed beneath the warm spray of water. She glanced down at her big belly and forced herself to remember that she was physically safe for now.

  That her son was alive and healthy, growing inside her, and that Mason would protect them. But the memory of that earlier nightmare taunted her.

  She wouldn’t allow this man to take her son away. She’d protect him with her life.

  Still, her emotions were so raw she didn’t bother fighting the tears. She let them fall. Tears of grief for the two women who’d lost their lives. Tears for the futures he’d stolen.

  Tears of fear that he might be out there hurting someone else now.

  The idea that he might be stalking another one of her patients terrified her. She needed to warn them to leave town until this madman was caught.

  Breathing steadier now she had a plan of action, she scrubbed her skin and hair, then let the warm water massage away the tension in her body. It must have worked because the baby began to kick vigorously, reminding her he was alive and would be born soon.

  She couldn’t wait to hold him in her arms.

  What would he look like?

  She instantly imagined Mason’s striking dark hair and big brown eyes. His high cheekbones and the rugged set of his jaw.

  He would be a heartbreaker if he looked like his father.

  And a reminder to her every day that she loved the man who’d given her a son.

  Even if he walked away from them when the investigation was over.

  * * *

  MASON ALERTED BRODY and the security guards on the BBL and emailed Morningside’s photo to the staff. While Cara showered, he had to distract himself so he stripped her bed and changed her sheets, then phoned the lab.

  “Jody, I hate to bother you again tonight, but our guy left another navel fetish and bloody note at Dr. Winchester’s. He took it a step further and also smeared blood on one of her gowns.”

  “He’s making it personal,” she said, her voice tinged with disgust.

  She was right. The blood on Cara’s gown indicated he would come after her soon. “There’s something else. There’s a strand of hair woven into the pouch. I think it’s human hair, probably belongs to the victim. Check the first one and see if there’s a strand of hair there, then compare it to Nellie Thompson’s.”

  “I was going to call you about that,” Jody said. “I noticed it earlier and ran some tests. You’re right, it was the victim’s.”

  Mason ground his jaw. “He’s probably keeping a strand for himself.” He hadn’t found the hair at Morningside’s, but he could have hidden it. “Jody, look at the evidence collected from Morningside’s apartment. See if the crime techs found anything with hair in it. He wove it through these amulets. He could have woven it into something else.”

  “I’ll get on it ASAP,” Jody said. “But it would really help if we could find that knife.”

  Hell, he knew that.

  It was another loose end that worried him.

  But Morningside probably had it with him.

  Although another thought struck him. This guy was so sick he might be keeping his souvenir with him, either in some kind of container or pouch, or he could have woven the hair into something he was wearing.

  Something like a hat or earring or belt, something he could wear in public and flaunt his secret without giving himself away.

  The door opened, and Cara appeared, her long hair damp from the shower, her face scrubbed clean.

  But her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and he instantly knew she’d been crying.

  “Cara?” His voice cracked with the effort it took not to drag her into his arms.

  “Please tell me we’ll stop him.”

  Her whispered plea tore him to pieces.

  “I won’t let him hurt you or our baby,” he said, his heart in his eyes.

  Her lower lip quivered, and his resolve to remain professional flew out the door. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

  Cara leaned into him, clutching him as if she was afraid to let go.

  For once he didn’t want her to. Maybe he never had.

  Unable to stop himself, he tilted her chin up with his thumb and closed his mouth over hers.

  * * *

  CARA FELT RAW AND EXPOSED, but she needed Mason, and she was too weak and tired to resist. His mouth touched hers, enflaming her with emotions and desire and the love she’d tried so hard to deny.

  It swelled inside her though, aching and empty, a hole that needed to be filled.

  His hands caressed her face as he deepened the kiss, one digging into her hair and the other skating down to her waist as he pulled her closer to him. Her belly bulged between them, a reminder she was about as sexy as a cow, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he growled low in his throat and deepened the kiss by delving his tongue inside her mouth.

  She parted her lips on a breathy sigh and eagerly welcomed the mating dance as she suckled his tongue and traced one finger down his jaw. The rough, unshaven texture sent a thrill through her, just as his hand did when he cupped her bottom and backed her toward the bed.

  He pulled off her robe, and Cara blushed as his gaze fell on the flannel maternity gown. “I’m huge,” she whispered, then started to pull away.

  His eyes darkened with passion and stirred her lust. Then he gently eased her down on the bed.

  She felt clumsy and awkward as he stretched out beside her. But his hand fell across her abdomen and a wonderful sweetness flickered in his eyes, followed by the protective, masculine gleam that had stolen her heart the first time she’d met him.

  “Mason—”

  “Shh,” he murmured. “Let me hold you and take care of you all night.”

  Emotions nearly choked her, and she nodded, too moved to trust herself to speak. Then he shucked his clothes down to his boxers, and gestured to her gown.

  “Please,” he said on a sigh.

  “Mason, you may not like what you see now.”

  A sliver of anger flashed briefly on his face. “Trust me, Cara. I just want us to be close. I won’t push you for anything more.”

  Except God help her, she wanted more. She wanted all of him.

  She wanted his hands all over her, touching her, kissing her.

  Making love to her.

  But the baby kicked and another contraction seized her stomach, and she had to settle for what he offered.

  He hadn’t said forever or that he loved her.

  Just that he wanted to hold her tonight.

  She would ask nothing more.

  Then the pain wouldn’t be so intense when he left.

  He reached for the buttons on her gown, and she blushed again, then allowed him to peel the fabric away. Still, she was vastly out of shape, so she clos
ed her eyes, unable to bear his reaction the first time he saw her pregnant form.

  Her breasts were heavy and achy, her belly button had popped out, and in spite of all those creams that everyone spouted prevented stretch marks, the faint line of one darkened her middle.

  “Cara.” His whispered word brushed her ear, then his kiss followed, a stream of them trailing down her neck to her breasts. Her eyes flew open, and she swallowed hard, her breathing erratic as he tilted her face toward his.

  “You are beautiful.” He laid one hand on her abdomen, and her throat thickened with the words that she had to hold back.

  Then he kissed her tenderly, dragged her into his arms and cradled her against his bare chest. Her heart pounded with the tenderness in his embrace, yet her blood sizzled from the need to make love to him.

  But he didn’t push or ask. Instead, he treated her with reverence, as if she was a precious gift in his arms. And in spite of her raging need to be with him, exhaustion claimed her, and she fell asleep in his arms.

  Sated and safe tonight because Mason was beside her.

  * * *

  HOURS LATER, MASON WOKE to the sight of sunshine streaming through the window. For the first time in ages, he had a warm body next to him.

  He smiled as he glanced down at Cara. She had turned on her side with her back to him, her butt pressed into his groin.

  Titillating sensations pulsed through him, the desire he’d denied himself for the past months pooling in his sex. His body hardened, need growing in tandem to the thickening of his length which ached to be inside her.

  She sighed softly, and he pulled her closer, then pressed a kiss to her ear while he trailed his other hand over her abdomen. A movement caught him off guard, and he startled, then realized his son was kicking.

  A well of emotions mushroomed inside him. His heart churned with instantaneous love. He imagined the little guy’s small hands and feet, his face looking up at him and Cara, trusting that they would take care of him.

  Lord be with him, he would never let him down. He’d be the father to his son that he’d never had.

  Affection for Cara overwhelmed him, and he dropped another kiss into her hair. She stirred in his arms, a slow smile gracing her mouth, reminding him how beautiful she was.