Catherine dimmed her car lights before she pulled into the driveway to keep from disturbing Emma. Her heart bolted to the back of her throat. A small sack set on her porch. Another gift? Fear rose up, smashing into her blood stream at high speed. The roast threatened to come up. Stop. He might be watching.
Mace in one hand and keys in the other, she ran for the house. She paused only to kick the package inside and lock the door. She turned on every light. Checked the windows and locks. Satisfied the house was secure, she allowed herself to breathe. She pulled her cell out of her purse but couldn’t bring herself to call Matt. She’d left him exhausted, with no end in sight to his mounting problems. Pacing, her panic shifted to anger. She wouldn’t drag him out of bed because some bastard wanted to have fun by tormenting her. Tomorrow, she’d buy a brighter bulb for the porch and ask Emma to leave her back porch light on. If the jerk came back, he’d think she lived on a runway.
Circling the damn sack like an animal wary of its enemy, curiosity got the best of her. She knelt, caught the corners with her fingertips, and dumped its contents on the floor. A pink diary slid across the rug and lay at her feet. It reminded her of the one she’d had as a kid. She knelt and pushed the tiny button to open it. A picture of a man’s torso was inside. On the back he’d signed, “Think of me.”
Chapter Ten
Friday, August 18th, 7:30 p.m.
The scowl on Marty’s face left little doubt in Catherine’s mind where she fell on the decision spectrum. Marty disagreed and voiced her opinion.
“What the hell are you thinking?” She shook her head in frustration, sending her long ponytail swishing back and forth. She ripped the pop-top off a can of beer and shoved it across the bar. “You’ve got to tell the sheriff.”
“If I told him, what would he do?” Catherine added the beer to her drink tray.
Marty lowered her voice. “Are you armed?”
“Does everybody in Texas automatically think gun when there’s trouble?”
“Pretty much. Aren’t you scared?”
“Terrified. But not stupid. I’m careful. Being aware is one of my specialties.”
“Aware my ass. Careful is a loaded .38 Smith and Wesson.”
“No guns.”
“Then you should tell the sheriff.”
“He’s busy. Besides, I haven’t seen him since Wednesday night.” Catherine arranged her tray by customer order.
“Wait. Wait. Wait. You were with our gorgeous sheriff Wednesday ‘night’?” Her eyebrows wiggled up and down. “Tell me more—I need details.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Catherine hurried away to deliver drink orders.
“You gotta come back sooner or later. I’ll be waiting,” her boss yelled over the music.
JC was late to work. Catherine hoped when he arrived Marty would shift her attention his direction. Truth was, Marty pressuring for information pleased Catherine. She’d made some good friends in the short time she’d been in Butte Crest. People who cared about her. Dare she hope they’d understand if her story leaked? Could she face the shame?
No newspaper had ever printed the truth, not all of it. They didn’t know about her bruised right kidney, Andy’s preferred place to punch. He’d hunted her down every time she’d tried to end their marriage. He didn’t want her, but he wouldn’t let her leave. Andy’s family and their lawyer had spun a good story, all lies. Catherine looked like a jealous, vengeful shrew who’d murdered her husband when he’d asked for a divorce. Did she regret not spouting the truth to every rag or TV reporter who’d listen? No. The matter was too personal and private. The horror of sharing every disgusting detail of her marriage with her attorney and again in a courtroom still made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t relive those memories.
A sharp tug on the can in her hand snapped her back.
“You gonna stand there all night or give me my beer?” Jessie jerked the can from Catherine and then waved her fingers. “Now move on. Stop staring at my husband.”
Catherine laughed to herself and finished delivering drinks. JC had arrived and looked appropriately contrite until Marty walked away from him. Catherine took a few new drink orders before heading back to the bar. “God, I’m glad you’re finally here. Marty can nose around in your personal life.”
“She been bitching about me being late?” JC asked. He leaned across the bar and patted Catherine’s arm sympathetically.
“Not bitching. But Marty’s full of questions tonight.”
“I’m not answering her questions.” His hazel eyes widened.
“Heads up. She’s right behind you.” Catherine winked and turned to walk away.
“Hold up.” Marty’s hand clasped Catherine’s arm and held tight. “Now that JC’s here, I’m available for romance advice, secret sharing, or you can come right out and tell me. Was it good?”
“Stop.” Catherine laughed, unable to hold it back. Heat rushed up her neck, burning her cheeks. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Honey, if that’s the truth, we do need to talk.” Marty handed Catherine’s tray to the other weekend waitress. “Take Catherine’s tables for a few minutes.” Marty sat down on a barstool. Folded her arms across her chest. “Give.”
“Give what?” JC wiped the bar down and worked his way closer.
“Our girl and the sheriff are doing the nasty, but I can’t get details from her.”
“Goddammit, Marty. Get your mind out of the toilet. Give the woman a break.” JC scowled and moved on down the bar.
“Really. We’re not.” Catherine held up her hands in surrender.
“I don’t get it.” Marty patted the barstool next to her. “Matt is drop-dead, God, I-can’t-believe-you-haven’t-slept-with-him-yet, gorgeous. A blind man could see the sheriff had the hots for you the first night you worked here. Girl, he all but stuck a sign on his forehead. What’s the problem?”
“That’s such an exaggeration,” Catherine protested. “We’re friends.”
Marty coughed, sputtered over her swallow of beer. “That’s wrong on so-o-o many levels. A fine specimen of a man like him was born to be more than a ‘friend.’ For you to not have sex with him...the idea hurts my heart.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t want more. Sex leads to demands and expectations. The first thing you know, everything goes sour. Trust me. I know.” Catherine wished she hadn’t spouted off. Marty’s expression had sobered. Her chin dropped, and her mouth hung open.
“Oh, honey. I’m forty-six-years old. If anybody has a negative opinion of relationships, it should be me. But I’m here to tell you, you’re crazy if you don’t sleep with Matt.”
“It’s not an opinion. It’s a fact.” Catherine tapped her watch hinting that the break was over.
“Go back to work. But you and me, we’re getting drunk one night and having a long talk. Making love between two grown people, sharing without strings, I’m living proof it can be done.”
Catherine made the rounds, checking on her customers. Whenever Marty caught Catherine’s eye, Marty would shake her head, making her ponytail flop wildly.
****
Sunday, August 20th, 9:00 a.m.
Ash Hunter answered on the third ring. His groggy hello followed by a softer more feminine sound confirmed Matt had disturbed something. “Man, you’re such a whore-dog. Want to call me later?”
“Hell no. I don’t remember the last time you dialed my number. You’re not getting away that easy. What’s up?”
“Seriously, if you’ve got a lady with you, and we both know how seldom you have one, I won’t keep you.”
“Jealousy doesn’t become you. Don’t make me come to the boonies and kick your ass.” Hunter’s smartass tone shifted to serious. “What’s up? How’s the head?”
Matt’s decision to ask for expert help had been easy. His old partner had an uncanny skill for sniffing out homicide clues. Ash’s training in the field far surpassed Matt’s or any of his men. Asking for help didn’t hurt his pride, he
had a murderer to catch.
“Just peachy. The ‘boonies’ are what I want to talk to you about.” He skirted Hunter’s question about Matt’s brain-crushing headaches—the ones the shrink had assured him would go away when he dealt with his self-induced stress and misplaced guilt. “I have an offer to make.”
“Couldn’t be better than the one I got last night.”
“Yeah, right.” Matt chuckled and envisioned the smirk across his buddy’s face. “I need your help.”
“Talk to me.”
In work mode, Hunter was possibly the coldest- hearted bastard alive.
“What are the odds of your boss loaning you out on temporary assignment? Could be a few weeks—a couple of months.”
“Makes no difference. If he says no, I’ll take time off. You need me—I’m there. Is this about the missing woman you mentioned a few weeks back?”
“Yes and no. She’s dead. Found propped up on the side of the road naked except for a red bow tied around her neck.”
“Sorry to hear it.” The rustle in the background said Hunter was out of bed and on his feet. “Keep talking. I gotta fix some coffee.”
“A second woman went missing five days ago.” Matt refused to utter the word serial, but his mind had no qualms about screaming it inside his head. “She didn’t come home after work. No trace of her.”
“You think it’s the same perp. Don’t you?”
“Yeah. I’d bet good money. And we’re pounding our heads against a wall. How many times can I interview the same people? Nothing’s breaking loose.”
“What have you got in mind for me?”
“I’m running out of time. Annie Travers is running out of time. Maybe I overlooked something.”
“I don’t have to tell you, the chances of finding her alive after this long...”
“I know the odds aren’t good.”
“You think you’ve got a serial killer.”
“One who kidnaps, rapes, then kills. I tried to find some commonality. Hell, the only thing I’ve seen they have in common is eye color.” Matt ran his hands through his hair and tried to block out the picture of Julia Drummond’s dead body. Her image haunted him day and night.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Nothing else matches. You’ll understand when you see the crime scene pictures. The poor woman was naked, with her face powdered and lips painted. Ash.” Matt paused, swallowed hard. “He glued her eyes open. She looked like a porcelain doll.”
“Bastard. Where do you see me fitting in? I don’t want a pissing match with your men.”
“I have six deputies spread out over almost a thousand square miles with nearly twenty-seven-thousand people to watch over. Two of which are working this case. The rest are spread thin because none of the small towns can support a local police department. Have no doubt, the seven of us will welcome your big city expertise.”
“Pretty sparse territory you got out there, with people spread out few and far between. You’re sounding stressed.”
“You need a bigger word. And to answer your earlier question—yes. I’ve had a couple of killer headaches.” Matt pressed the heel of his hand against his temple. “Satisfied?”
“Easy, big fella. I’m on your side.”
“That’s where I need you to be.”
“We just wrapped up a case. Want me to talk to Captain Banks?”
“Leave Banks to me.” Matt had a thought he hadn’t considered. “You gonna stay at my place?”
“Oh, hell no. Put me in a hotel. Better yet, a corporate apartment. You do have those in the boonies. Don’t you? If your budget can’t afford it, mine can. Hang on.”
Matt listened while Hunter and his lady friend discussed who’d call whom and when. After a few seconds of silence, a door closed.
“Ask the honey in your office to check around. She’ll find a place for me.”
“I don’t have a ‘honey’ in my office.”
“Don’t get stingy. I talked to her a few weeks ago. Remember? Thanks to her, I have your cell number.”
“You spoke to Sue. She’s the day shift dispatcher and my right arm. I’ll ask her to start looking first thing in the morning.”
“Is she single?”
“I appreciate your help.” Matt couldn’t resist the temptation to have fun with his old partner. He baited his friend by ignoring his question. “If I can ever...”
“Nice try, buddy,” Hunter interrupted. “You want my help, don’t be ignoring me. I repeat. Is. She. Single?”
“Yes.” Matt intentionally huffed out a loud sigh. “But she’s not for you.”
“Why? She yours?”
“No. Listen to me. This woman will chew you up and spit you out.” This conversation was getting better and better. Everything Matt had said was the God’s honest truth.
“Hot tempered. I like ’em hot. Talk to me tomorrow after you’ve spoken to Banks.”
A small part of the load eased from Matt’s shoulders. He hung up and squatted down in front of Benedict Arnold. The dog stood at a distance and sniffed at the extended hand. “Be that way. If you were nicer to me, I might’ve taken you with me to see Catherine.” He punched buttons on his cell while he held the door open to put the mutt outside. “Join me for lunch?”
****
Sunday, August 20th, 11:30 a.m.
Catherine pulled into the parking lot, and her jaw dropped. Leaning against the hood of his pickup, wearing jeans and a blue shirt, legs crossed at the ankles, Matt waited. Hatless, which was unusual, his jet black hair stirred in the breeze and fell across his forehead. He slipped off his sunglasses and smiled. Mesmerized, she bumped into the curb, having failed to mash hard enough on the brake pedal.
His fingers were on her door handle by the time she killed the engine, and seconds later, she was in his arms. She’d never have expected him to kiss her in public, but his arms folded her to his chest, and his lips captured hers. She stood on her toes and briefly surrendered.
“There,” he said with conviction. “That didn’t hurt. Did it?”
“Not at all,” she agreed, urging her jumpy stomach to calm down.
“You okay? You almost plowed into the curb.”
“I’m great. To quote Marty, ‘If it got any better there’d have to be two of me.’ I think that’s how she says it.”
He frowned and placed his hand on her back again. He shifted his gaze to her car then back. His behavior struck her as odd.
“What’s wrong?”
“My grandfather would’ve said, ‘I’m makin’ sense of the situation.’” The corners of his mouth lifted. The smile changed his handsome face to heart stopping beautiful. “Aren’t your windows rolled down a tad too low?”
“Not really.” Catherine crossed the street. “I leave ’em cracked on purpose.” Damn, the detective in him was showing.
“That’s further down than cracked. Your car could get stolen.” He stepped between her and the door to the café. His gaze pinned her in place.
He had cop eyes when he glared. He was goading her, fishing. “I’m not that lucky.”
“How long’s your air conditioner been on the fritz?” His brows furrowed.
“Not long.” She slid her hand in his and pulled him inside the café. “Aren’t you the smart cop? How did you know?”
He rolled his eyes. “Duh. Didn’t take a genius.” He reached behind her, pulling the wet blouse away from her back.
“Eewww.” She scooted away from him and dodged further discussion by becoming engrossed in the menu on the wall. The Pizza Stop was a small order and pick-up-at-the-counter café, but the food was quick and good. Catherine let Matt order their food while she got drinks from the self-serve station. She followed him to a table and sat across from him.
“If we were at Antonio’s, Mama would insist you sit next to me.” Matt’s eyes glistened with mischief while he rubbed the thumb and fingers of his hand together.
“Sitting close is wonderful, but the view’s great from over
here.”
Color rushed up over his sculpted chin to his cheekbones. He bolted from the booth to pick up their lunch. When he returned, his color had returned to normal.
“I didn’t mean to make you blush.”
“I don’t blush. Let’s talk about your car.”
“Let’s not,” she mumbled behind a slice of pizza. “I want to know what’s wrong with your hands.”
Confusion furrowed his brow. “Nothing’s wrong with them.” He wiggled his fingers to demonstrate.
“Then why do you rub your thumb and fingers together like they’ve gone numb?”
Matt’s gaze shifted from her to his hands and back. For a second he appeared either confused or undecided. Then he rubbed them together and raised one eyebrow in question.
“Yes. Like that.” She mimicked his movement.
A sensuous smile spread across his face. This wasn’t an ordinary smile. It stripped away her last ounce of resistance—said he had a secret and wasn’t about to share—and made the back of her blouse damp again, along with an assortment of other places.
She blinked a couple of times to clear a sudden onset of double vision. “Well?”
He leaned forward and whispered. “I don’t know you well enough to answer.”
“What does that mean?”
He dismissed her question with a wave of his hand and a couple of gulps of iced tea. “I have a personal question for you. Money’s keeping you from having the AC in your car fixed. Right?”
“If you’re planning on offering to pay, don’t.” Their relationship meant a lot to her, but she paid her own way now and was damn proud of it. Being indebted to any man, including Matt, wasn’t an option. She hoped they weren’t headed for an argument.
“Catherine, I admire how independent you are. Accepting help from a friend isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of trust.”
“Trust is one thing, money is another. I can’t. Won’t.”
“There weren’t any strings attached. Wouldn’t keep you from getting a ticket. My help does not come with a price.”
The Green-Eyed Doll Page 11
