As Darkness Fell

by Joanna Wayne

  “Not good enough. Your idea of irresponsible and mine aren’t the same. You think like a reporter. I think like a cop.”

  “And what if he kills again, Sam? And again? If my meeting with him and talking to him could keep that from happening, then isn’t that worth some risk?”

  “If he suggests a meeting, then we’ll talk about it. But the whole thing will be handled by cops, not by you.”

  “You don’t think I’m foolish enough to do it any other way, do you?”

  “Yeah, I think you might, if he convinces you that seeing him will save someone’s life. So promise me you won’t do that.”

  “Okay, Sam. I promise—at least for now.”

  “Good.” She probably thought he was just being controlling. He was, but he couldn’t explain everything to her, couldn’t say that knowing she was being stalked by a killer kept throwing him back into his own past and that he simply couldn’t deal with that pain again.

  The sun was setting, creating patterns of shadows that played on Caroline’s face. He ran his arm along the back of the sofa and she slid closer, right into the circle of his arms. She tilted her face toward his.

  “I’ve never had anyone worry about me before. It’s not a bad feeling.”

  “That’s good.” He wanted to kiss her. He ached to kiss her. He was going to kiss her.

  His lips were almost on hers—and then his damn doorbell rang.

  Brewsky barked and went running toward the front door. Sam swallowed a curse. Such lousy timing. Normally he could have ignored an uninvited visitor, but not in the middle of a deadly crime wave.

  “I’ll see who that is and be right back.”

  But Caroline didn’t wait in the den. He heard her footsteps behind him as he opened the door. If Matt tried to hide his surprise at finding the two of them together, he did a poor job of it. Sam wasn’t about to offer explanations.

  “What’s up?” Sam asked.

  “Police business.” Meaning it wasn’t for Caroline to hear.

  “Excuse us a minute, Caroline,” he said, then stepped outside with Matt, closing the door behind him.

  “They found a pickup truck that may have collided with Trudy Mitchell’s car.”

  “Where?”

  “In the woods off Highway 5. It was set on fire and left to burn. Someone driving by called and reported a stream of black smoke. A state police patrolman checked it out.”

  “How much damage to the truck?”

  “It’s pretty much demolished. You should probably get out there.”

  “Do you mind taking Caroline back to her car? It’s at the police driving range.”

  “I can handle that.”

  “And make sure she gets home safely.”

  Matt grinned. “I can handle that, too.”

  For some reason, Matt’s cocky assurance did not ease Sam’s mind.

  CAROLINE TRIED to concentrate on what Matt was saying, but she couldn’t drag her thoughts away from Sam. There was an undeniable and intense attraction between them, but she always had the feeling he was fighting it. If Matt hadn’t shown up when he had, they would have ended up in each other’s arms. But then Sam would likely have pulled away as he had the other night, leaving her frustrated and wondering what was really going on with him. She had a strong suspicion that the woman in the photograph had something to do with his reluctance to get involved.

  Or maybe it was his family history. She’d never thought anything could be worse than having no family at all. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  “So what does a good-looking reporter like you do when she’s not chasing a story?” Matt asked as they turned onto the side road that led to the firing range.

  “Not a lot. Mostly I’ve been busy going through the closets and clearing out the clutter of the old house I’m leasing.”

  “All work and no play? That’s not good for a woman.”

  “I know. It makes me a dull reporter.”

  “Maybe you just need the right person to bring some fun into your life.”

  Oh, no. Not a come-on. Not from Sam’s partner. What had she done to deserve this? “I’m not looking for that.”

  “Are you dating someone special?”

  “I don’t have time to date these days.”

  Matt pulled into the gate at the firing range. It was open, though the only car there was hers. “You’re not interested in Sam Turner, are you?”

  His tone had taken a more serious slant that didn’t seem to fit the question. “Why do you ask?”

  “I get the feeling something’s going on between the two of you.”

  “What if there were? He’s not married…” She stopped, remembering the photograph. “He’s not, is he?”

  “No, but I don’t think falling for the guy would be a good idea.”

  That was a strange observation coming from the guy’s partner. “What’s wrong with Sam?”

  “Nothing—as a cop.”

  “But you don’t think he’s decent date bait?”

  “Not for you.”

  Matt stopped next to her car. It was almost fully dark now. And here she was on a deserted road with a man she barely knew who was saying things that made her uneasy. But he was a cop, for heaven’s sake. She couldn’t be any safer.

  “I’m not planning to get involved with Sam,” she said, knowing that at some level she already was. “But if I were, what makes you think he’d be wrong for me?”

  “No reason. I just don’t think it would work.”

  “Is Sam involved with someone else?”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. Let’s just drop this, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this part of our conversation to Sam. He’s a nice guy. Take your chances with him if you want.”

  Just drop it. Why did people always say that after they planted doubts in your mind that you couldn’t possibly walk away from? “If you know something about Sam that I should know, just say it, Matt. I’m not good at games. I lose at solitaire, even when I cheat.”

  “If you’re playing solitaire, you really are spending too much time alone.”

  “Who’s Peg?”

  “How do you know about her?”

  “I saw her picture in Sam’s den. Is she someone he’s involved with?”

  “He was. She’s dead, Caroline. Has been for seven years. If you want to know anything else about her, you really should ask Sam. Now, are you going straight home?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m supposed to make sure you get home safely. Sam’s orders. So I’ll be the car following right behind yours. I just wanted you to know, so you won’t think it’s the killer tailing you.”

  “Thanks.” She shuddered as she got out of the car, forgetting Sam as the images of the two bodies that had been found in two different parks crept into her mind. A Prentice police detective would be following her home tonight. She’d be safe, but what about all the other women in town? Would one of them feel the knife of the killer tonight?

  A killer that no one could identify except a woman who was too afraid to talk. “I changed my mind, Matt. I won’t be going straight home tonight. I’ll be stopping at the hospital to see Trudy.”

  HE FLICKED the ashes from his cigarette out the car window as he watched Caroline climb the steps to the hospital. A cold front had moved in over the past couple of hours, and it was nearing freezing now, but Caroline hadn’t bothered to put on a jacket. He imagined her cold nipples pressing against a lacy bra. Her panties were lacy, too. Little thin strips of satiny fabric with exquisite lace that hugged the warm, secret places of her body. He’d seen them hanging across the clothes-drying rack in her backyard just yesterday.

  And now she was getting involved with Sam Turner. Sam would be the one to slip his fingers inside the lacy panties she’d hung out to dry. Only, he wouldn’t let that happen.

  Soon, Caroline. Soon it will be just you and me. But first he had to finish what he’d started.

  Try to stop me, Sam Turner. Try. But you neve
r will.

  Chapter Eight

  Caroline was home from the hospital by eight-thirty. The visit had been more distressing than helpful. Trudy had opened her eyes occasionally to stare at the ceiling, but she wasn’t talking to anyone. Not even to her mother, who’d sat by her daughter’s bed and held her hand the whole time Caroline had been there.

  Even with a police guard outside her door, it was clear Trudy was still drowning in fear. So was her mother, though all she officially knew was that someone had run Trudy off the road. Officially that was all anyone knew.

  But whether Trudy talked or not, speculation would spread. The town was already crouched in fear, and the fact that any woman had been run off the road in an isolated area would start a new wave of panic and a dozen versions of what had happened, all claimed by someone to be the gospel truth.

  Still, Trudy’s mother hadn’t wanted Trudy moved to Atlanta. In spite of everything that had happened, Mrs. Mitchell felt they were safer close to home. Fortunately Trudy’s injuries were far less serious than they’d appeared at the wreck, and the local hospital was adequate for her needs. From a medical standpoint, all she needed was time for the gash on her head to heal and her leg to set.

  Caroline sliced a greenhouse tomato for her BLT, then took the sandwich to her small office near the back of the house, stepping quickly as she passed the door that led to the basement. It was silly to be afraid of a harmless draft, especially one with such a logical explanation. The basement wasn’t totally underground. There was even a small window visible from the back of the house, but the area was surely colder than the heated upper portion of the house.

  One bright and sunny afternoon, Caroline had actually gotten as far as opening the door, but the steep stairs and the dark shadows below had been enough to frighten her so that she’d slammed the door shut and walked away. The fear had nothing to do with the Billingham ghosts or with reality. It was just way too close to the view in her nightmares.

  Caroline set the sandwich plate on the table and punched the message button on her answering machine. She had only one phone line to the house and seldom used it for anything except her computer modem, but there were a few people who had the number.

  The first call was from Becky, making sure they were still on for the morning and if she minded doubles with a couple of cute guys. Caroline minded. She’d just wanted the physical release of slamming balls across the net, not the challenge of being friendly to some guy she’d never met and would probably never see again. But she’d go along with it. It was easier than explaining to her social butterfly friend why she minded.

  The second call was a hang-up. She checked her caller ID. Number unavailable. Damn. It was him. She didn’t need a message to know that he’d managed to get her home number just as he’d managed to find out everything else about her. It was if he had access to her very soul.

  The guy was a dangerous lunatic, but no matter what Sam thought, he wasn’t just threatening her, he was reaching out to her. She didn’t want to be alone with him, was horrified that he knew where she lived. But he had to be stopped, and unless Trudy talked and gave them a name or a better description, Caroline might be Sam’s only link to him. The elusive lead that Sam was looking for.

  A man who not only killed but painted bloody X’s on women’s chests. What did that mean? Why kill both times in a park? Why did the media attention mean so much to him?

  All questions without answers. She flicked on the computer screen. She started to type—not newspaper copy, but stream of consciousness, written to the Prentice Park Killer.

  Your soul must be black, hideously evil, permanently scarred. What happened to you to make you turn into a beast, instead of a man? And what is it you want from me? Are you crying out for help? Or are you just an extension of my nightmare? Has my past evolved into an unspeakable evil that has been coming my way all my life?

  SAM SAT IN THE BOOTH across from Matt. The Grille was all but empty this time of the night except for a few guys at the bar. Matt was swigging down his third beer. Sam was on his first. Off-hours or not, he liked his head clear at times like this—not to mention that he had a killer headache from not getting more than a few hours’ sleep a night.

  “You think there’s a chance they’ll be able to get any kind of evidence from the truck?” Matt asked.

  “I don’t see how they can. Not much left except the shell.”

  “The guy knew what he was doing, right down to scraping off the vehicle identification number and removing the license plate before he set fire to it.”

  “Almost as if he thinks like a cop,” Sam said.

  “Or someone who knows about vehicle identification,” Matt added. “How do you think he got back to town after setting fire to the thing? I’d hate to think he has an accomplice, that there are two people that deranged walking the streets of Prentice.”

  The young waitress stopped back by their table, even though it was obvious they didn’t need another beer yet. Service was always great when Matt was around. Young or old, women flocked around the guy. This one was a looker; even Sam had to admit that. Not his type, but a great body and gorgeous hair.

  “You guys sure look serious back here,” she said.

  “Cops are always serious,” Matt answered. “You mess around too much with one and you might end up in a pair of handcuffs.”

  She smiled and trailed a finger down his arm. “That sounds a little kinky to me, Detective. I guess you have a pair on you, just in case.”

  “You know, you sound like a babe looking for trouble.”

  “Well, you know me. I never want more than I can handle, but then I’ve never had more than I can handle. Want another beer?”

  “For starters.”

  She added a little extra sway to her step as she walked away, and Sam had the feeling there was more than harmless flirting going on. But what Matt did off duty and who he slept with was none of Sam’s business, and he didn’t really want to know.

  “Now that’s a hottie,” Matt said, finally taking his eyes off her departing derriere. “Not as classy as your reporter, but not bad.”

  “I don’t have a reporter.”

  “My mistake. I just thought since she was out at your place today that—”

  “You thought wrong.” Sam wasn’t sure why the assumption annoyed him so. Maybe because he wished it was true. But then he’d have to decide what to do about it. It had been seven years since Peg had died. He’d been with women since then, but that was functional. Occasional sex, like an occasional beer. It had never meant much more.

  It would be different with Caroline. It was already different.

  “It’s time you moved on, Sam. You can’t live in the past forever.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?”

  “Looks that way to me. I’m sure it looks that way to Caroline, too.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She saw Peg’s picture while she was out there today, still sitting on a shelf like some kind of shrine.”

  “It’s not a shrine. And I’m not living in the past.”

  “No? She’s been dead seven years, yet every time a woman shows any interest in you, you crawl back into the house that Peg built.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Caroline’s a nice lady. Don’t hurt her.”

  “I don’t plan to.”

  “Yeah.” Matt took a long swig of his beer. “So what do we do about Trudy Mitchell? It’s damn sure she knows more than she’s telling, or the killer wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to keep her quiet.”

  “There’s no proof that she was run off the road by the killer.”

  “May not be proof enough for a jury, but there’s proof enough for me.”

  “I’m hoping she feels safe enough to talk before he strikes again.” Sam finished his drink. He was bone-tired, but a half-dozen pills had dulled the headache. At least, they had until Matt brought up the subject of Peg and what he was goi
ng to do about Caroline. Now it was starting up again. “I’m getting outta here,” he said. “Gotta get some sleep before the next emergency hits. You coming?”

  “Not yet,” Matt said. “I’ll probably have a couple more beers.”

  “Keep the handcuffs in your pocket.”

  “Naturally, partner—until I can put them to very good use.”

  Sam climbed in his car and headed for his place on the river. But when he stopped at the light, he took a right turn and drove toward the Hunter’s Grove area.

  He parked half a block down from Caroline’s house, but he could see light shining from an upstairs window. Either she was still up or she’d left it on for the ghosts.

  He’d love to walk up there, knock on her door and when she opened it, take her in his arms and hold on. But Matt was right. If he wasn’t ready to swim, he needed to stay out of the water.

  He leaned back and rested his head against the headrest. He should drive home and get some sleep. And he would. But first he had to close his eyes for just a minute. As soon as he did, Caroline danced across his mind, a satin dress twirling about her ankles, her lips soft and inviting.

  “I’ve been waiting on you, Sam. Waiting all my life.”

  When he opened his eyes again, Caroline’s light was out. He started the car and drove home for another almost sleepless night.

  “BOY, WAS YOUR GAME on today,” Becky said as they headed to the locker room after two hours on the court.

  “I needed a physical workout.”

  “It’s those murders. Do you have to write about them every day?”

  “It’s news.”

  “Well, I’m hoping the guy’s left Prentice and is on the other side of the continent by now.”

  A nice way of thinking and Caroline wasn’t going to burst her bubble.

  “What do you think of Dave?” Becky asked.

  “He seems nice enough. His tennis is a little rusty. Is he a friend of Jack’s?”

  “No, he’s the new pediatrician in Dad’s office. Doctor. Unmarried. New in town so doesn’t know any other women.”