Head Start (Cedar Tree #7)

by Freya Barker

  I guess we’re officially on the job.

  Kendra

  The fresh, crisp, morning air smells like spring.

  It hits me as soon as I open the door to the back patio. A gorgeous stark blue sky greets me and the sounds of the neighborhood slowly coming alive on a Sunday morning put a smile on my face. After living in an apartment building in the middle of a relatively noisy town for years, the thought of enjoying my morning cup of coffee surrounded by the sounds and sights of nature was very appealing.

  I scoot back in to don a sweater to ward off the morning chill and the moment the coffeemaker stops its gurgling, I arm myself with the largest mug I can find, a book and my cellphone and head out. The patio holds a large wooden lounger, which will be fantastic once the weather warms up, as well as a utilitarian picnic table. I chose the last. With a sip of the hot coffee, tugging the sweater a little tighter around me, I sit and breathe in deep.

  I slept surprisingly well. After Neil left me hot and bothered in the hallway last night, I thought for sure I’d have another sleepless night ahead. Amazing what a hot shower and an orgasm can do for relaxation. I feel only a little guilty for having used him to visualize while aiming the showerhead in a pulsing stream to my clit. With my eyes closed, his taste still on my lips and his head imagined between my legs, I was groaning out my release almost instantly.

  A harsh ringing has me jump and slosh hot coffee over my hand. Darn. That hurts. I wipe my hand on my yoga pants while snatching up my phone with the other.

  “What are you up to?”

  I was half expecting Neil, so it takes me a minute to place the voice and the instant I do, I feel the hair on my neck stand up.

  “Lars? Look, I thought I’d been cle—”

  “I left you flowers. Did you not like them?” The question sounds almost like a dare. There is an edge to his voice I don’t like.

  I stand up from the table, with my heart racing in my chest. “They made me feel uncomfortable,” I admit honestly. “How did you know where to find me?” I try to keep my voice steady as I scan the brush and trees around me, as if he could jump out at any minute.

  “Not that hard to figure out. You left the address for me to find on one of your maps. I was hoping to surprise you.” His tone becomes a bit petulant, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

  “I assure you that was unintentional. I’m sorry if it gave you the wrong impression. I’d prefer if you didn’t call me again.”

  “Don’t hang up, please! I’m sorry if I overstepped. I thought I was doing something nice. I was hoping I could change your mind about maybe going for a hike.” His voice is now smooth and cajoling, but I’m not having any of it.

  “I don’t think so. I’m sorry.” With that I end the call, quickly gather my things and head inside, closing and locking the door behind me.

  “Everything all right?” Neil answers his phone on the third ring. “Kendra?”

  “Yes, well...maybe. I just got a call from Lars, and—“

  “Lock up,” Neil barks, cutting me off mid-sentence. “I’m on my way.” Without another word, the connection is broken.

  Immediately, the phone starts ringing again with an unlisted number. Without answering, I turn off the sound and lay it upside down on the counter. On an impulse, I yank down the blinds in the kitchen and stand there, clutching my coffee until I hear the beep of the touch lock on the front door and Neil stalks in. It had taken him less than five minutes to get here.

  “Kendra!” His voice booms through the house.

  “In here,” I offer, peeking around the doorway to find not only Neil, but Malachi and the FBI agent in the small hallway as well. The moment Neil spots me, he bridges the distance and draws me in his arms, tucking my head under his chin.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  From the corner of my eye, I watch both of the other men walk around my space. “Yes,” I tell him, self-consciously taking a step back from him. “Hey,” I say to Mal, when he throws a smile my way.

  “Talk to them,” he says, indicating Neil and the other man with a chin lift. “I’m going to check outside.” And he disappears out the back door.

  “Where’s your phone?” the dark-haired, olive-skinned and intimidating third man asks.

  “Pup,” Neil draws my eyes back to him. “This is FBI Special Agent Damian Gomez. I think I mentioned him before. And Damian,” his tone is much sharper when he addresses the guy, “please meet Kendra Schmitt.”

  I almost smile at the stare-down taking place in my hallway between the two. I have to admit, it’s more than just a little flattering that Neil should throw down as my protector. Even from bad manners. Apparently Agent Gomez knows it too, since he’s the first one to lower his gaze.

  “I apologize,” he says, his voice much softer than his initial bark, and something tells me this man could be devastatingly charming if he tried. “It’s no excuse, but it’s been a long day already. Please call me Damian.”

  I take his words to mean something more than just the passing of time, since it is only now coming up on eleven in the morning. The stress is evident on his face, so I’m guessing that despite the fact that the day is only a few hours old, they have been unpleasant ones for him. That causes a chill to run down my spine. I reach out my hand, which he shakes with a polite little head nod.

  “Phone’s on the kitchen counter.” I point in the right direction when he lets go of my hand. “I turned off the sound.” As Agent Gomez—Damian—walks into the kitchen for my phone, Neil’s arm comes around my chest and pulls me back into his.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he whispers in my hair.

  I lift my hand to hold on to his forearm, the feeling of vulnerability quickly disappearing. “Okay. I’m okay ... now,” I add, with a little squeeze of my hand. “But isn’t this a bit much?” I point in the general direction of the kitchen. “I mean, he gave me the heebie-jeebies but you come running like he had a knife against my throat.” I try to joke away my discomfort, but Neil doesn’t seem to think it’s funny.

  “Don’t fucking joke about that,” he lectures, making me feel about a foot high.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, feeling duly chided. “Wasn’t thinking.”

  With his arm still holding me, he starts moving me toward the living room, where he gestures for me to sit on the couch. He takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table and leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his face just inches from mine. “Tell me about the conversation.”

  Ignoring Damian who has followed us into the room, I start talking. I seem to be able to recall the conversation almost verbatim. Neil asks me a few questions; did I hear any noises in the background, could I tell whether he was somewhere indoors or outside. That kind of thing. Not much I can add, except that the quick shifts in his personality during that short phone call had made me very uncomfortable.

  The sound of a muted conversation draws my attention away from Neil’s large hands, which have found their way onto my knees while I’ve been recounting the conversation. Damian is by the dining table, on his phone, while thumbing through mine with his other hand. I can only make out the odd word but from what little I catch, he’s relaying some of the information I just gave to someone on the other end.

  “He’s probably just checking out the phone number.” Neil’s steady voice breaks my concentration.

  “Are we overreacting?” I hear the uncertainty in my own voice but seem unable to mask it. Mal walks in and catches my words. He’s the one who answers.

  “It’s possible,” he tells me honestly. “But the one thing you learn in this business is that coincidences are rare. Let us check it out. If anything to rule out any connections.”

  “Is his last name Cayman?” Damian speaks up, his phone still at his ear. “My colleague found a Lars Cayman teaching at Miyamura High School in Gallup. He’s supposed to be at some conference. We’re working on confirming his whereabouts now.”

  “He mentione
d that,” I affirm. “He said it was a two-day conference in Grand Junction.”

  “That’s the one.” Damian turns his back, says something in the phone and after briefly listening, ends the call.

  “Agent Greene is putting a call in to the field office in Grand Junction. He’s going to ask them to check the hotel.” He places my phone on the coffee table and takes a seat in one of the chairs. Mal takes the other one and Neil chooses to sit beside me on the couch instead of on the table. The three men appear to exchange some unspoken communication before Damian continues. “Looks like he’s tried calling you three more times and then finally sent a text.” The instant he mentions that, I reach out to check my phone, but Neil beats me to it, placing it screen down on his leg and covering it with his hand.

  “Hold on,” he says calmly as I try to pry his hand off my phone.

  “Kendra,” Damian gets my attention. “It’s not very nice.”

  A feeling of dread begins to set in as I look past the worried expression on Neil’s face and try to snatch my phone from his firm hold once again. This time, he lets me pull the phone from under his hand, while he puts his other arm around me and pulls me against his side. I don’t even protest—I’m focused on reading the text.

  -

  Four-month investment. You think you can just walk away?

  You’re nothing but a cockteasing CUNT.

  -

  Whoa. Quite the change of tune. Someone doesn’t like rejection. I have to admit, it’s not so much the name-calling that gives me the chills as it is the implication he’s not done with me, even though I’m so done with him. I look up and see all eyes on me. “That twatwaffle has a potty-mouth and a temper. Think I’ll pass on a second date, and change my phone number.”

  Damian’s eyes pop open in surprise and Mal bursts out laughing. Neil just tucks me closer and whispers with his lips skimming the shell of my ear. “Atta girl.”

  “Good to see you have a sense of humor.” Damian is smiling. “It’ll come in handy over the next little while, ‘cause you’re gonna be stuck with some uninvited guests. At least until we can check this guy out. You’ll have to wait to change your number until we find him. For now it would help if you leave the number as is, so we can monitor any calls.”

  My mind is racing over the implications of what he just said. “Wait. So what you’re saying is that someone is going to babysit me until ... until what exactly? I mean, I get you want to check him out, seeing as three women have died already, but I just can’t believe—”

  “Four women,” Neil says quietly beside me. I swing around to face him, but I already have a good idea what he’s telling me from the serious look on his face.

  “What?”

  “Fourth known victim was found this morning just inside Mesa Verde. Same MO. She was one of the missing women,” Neil fills me in gravely. “And, Pup? We just got a call on our way here. Coroner found a piece of paper clutched in her fist. A piece torn from a map. A map with your name written on it.”

  In a rush, the single coffee sloshing around in my stomach, comes surging up. I slap my hand over my mouth and take off running for the bathroom.

  I’m dry heaving over the bowl, having already emptied my stomach when the bathroom door pushes open. I don’t need to look up to know that it’s Neil. I can see the scuffed noses of his boots from the corner of my eye. I briefly hear water running and then I feel his hand on my head, pulling the hair that is stuck to my face. A cold washcloth is pressed on my neck and it feels wonderful.

  “Better?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I make sure not to open my mouth. I likely reek. Bad enough tossing my cookies in front of him, I don’t need to add insult to injury by blowing puke breath in his face. Eewww. Dropping from my knees to my ass, I rest my back against the tub, gingerly eyeing Neil, who is crouched on the other side of the toilet bowl. Lovely. “Let me just—” I lean forward to flush, but Neil is faster. He drops down the lid and pushes the lever.

  “Got it. Look, I’m sorry. I should have been a bit more careful—” he starts, when there’s a loud knock on the bathroom door.

  “Neil?” It’s Mal on the other side. “I’ve got Gus on the line, he’s bringing over your laptop. Anything else you need?”

  Neil looks at me, lifting one finger to ask for a moment. Standing quickly, he pulls open the door a crack, while I bury my embarrassed face in the washcloth. I don’t even bother trying to hear what else is being said; my mind has slipped back to where an innocent woman was found murdered in my favorite park, clutching my name in her hand. The thought that Lars, a man I’d talked to, shared stories with, went on a freaking date with, might be responsible has my guts in a twist. A new wave of nausea has me resume my position over the toilet, retching.

  “Shit,” I hear Neil say. “Gotta go.”

  The door shuts with a click, and for a moment, I think he stepped out. Until his large hand scoops my hair back, holding it away from my face. Jeepers, how much more embarrassing can this get?

  “Just go,” I mumble when I finally manage to catch a breath.

  “Not a chance in hell,” he replies, turning the tap back on to rinse the washcloth I’d dropped on the floor. “Get used to it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Neil

  “What’s up?”

  I’m surrounded by the case files Gus dropped off with my computer, taking up half the dining room table. I’d just left Kendra in the bathroom to take a quick shower when he showed up. After setting up tracking on Kendra’s phone, connecting it with my laptop and the FBI computers in Durango in case the guy tried calling again, Damian ended up leaving with Gus, promising to be in touch.

  A quick glance at my phone screen before I answered showed Damian’s name.

  “Just got a call from the field agent who went to check out the conference. Lars Cayman left around noon, citing a family emergency. But get this: he was seen around all weekend, even participated in a few workshops. Theoretically, he could’ve been responsible for Tracy Poole’s murder, but something about this seems off. The timeline is pretty tight, especially if we consider the possibility she was held somewhere for the weeks since she’d been missing. She would’ve had to have been pretty damn close by for him to be able to have coffee with Kendra, fetch Tracy from wherever she was and drive her into the park. Neil, whoever it is, took his time with her. She was raped and sodomized. The coroner doesn’t think it was the first time; there was evidence of prior damage done. The carving on her back was done intricately, artfully. It would’ve taken hours. Hours he didn’t have, because the hotel in Grand Junction confirmed him checking in just prior to midnight.”

  And just like that, the case we thought we had deflates like a balloon.

  “Fuck. Back to square one,” I swear, doing my best to keep my voice down so Kendra, who’s puttering around in the kitchen, can’t hear. But Mal does. He’s sitting across from me with a concerned look on his face.

  “Perhaps,” Damian concedes. “But don’t forget the piece of the map they found on her body. Cayman may have been in Grand Junction, but how the hell did a piece of one of the maps Kendra gave him end up clutched in the hands of the victim? Like I said, something is seriously off here. The office in Grand Junction has a few people going over pictures taken at the conference to see if they can pick him out. The DMV photo of him they pulled is a few years old, but I’ll email it to you to see if Kendra recognizes him. I also have them pulling her telephone records, see if that helps us any.”

  “What about the school he works at? Anyone on that?” I ask, sharing the uneasy feeling Damian seems to have.

  “First thing tomorrow I’ll have someone in Gallup with an eye on Cayman. But in the meantime, if you could do a bit more creative surfing into whatever online accounts Tracy Poole had, I’d be much obliged. I’ll be in touch later.”

  “Damian?” Mal asks under his breath as I put down my phone.

  “Cayman seems unlikely at this time.” I tell him the rest of wh
at Gomez just relayed. About halfway through, I can sense Kendra standing behind me and Mal gives me a raised eyebrow in confirmation, but I keep talking. Nothing gets a woman riled up more than keeping her out of the loop. Besides, news that Cayman may not have been the guy would probably be a relief. I don’t even look up when she finally pulls out a chair and sits next to me. I just put my hand on her knee and give it a squeeze. The ping on my laptop indicates an email and I quickly open the file attached.

  “Have a look at this. Is this Cayman?” I ask Kendra, turning the screen to face her. She leans in close and squints her eyes.

  “I think so. I mean he seems much younger and isn’t wearing glasses, but I can see the resemblance.”

  I turn the screen back and close the lid. “Good. They’re using this picture of him to confirm his presence at the conference.”

  “So does that mean he’s not the one?” she asks, the hopeful note in her voice unmistakable. “I mean, I know he sent me that vile text, and is creepy as shit, but if he’s been in Grand Junction this whole time...” She lets the sentence trail off, and looks at me to reassure her. Before I have the chance, Mal jumps in.

  “It looks that way, but don’t celebrate just yet,” he tells her solemnly. “We still have a few unexplained things on the table. Like your map? Somehow that ended up from Cayman’s hand, who got it from you, into Tracy Poole’s. We shouldn’t let down our guards until we have a bead on the guy.”

  She takes a minute to consider that and then nods her head firmly. “Okay, so what are we looking for?” she says, grabbing for one of the file folders.

  “Whoa.” I stop her, covering her hand with mine. “What are you doing?”

  “Well, I can’t go anywhere, I’ve already unpacked, I’ve just about had my fill of meal prep for the week, and I don’t like sitting idle, so tell me how I can help.”

  With a smirk and a dismissive wave of his hand, Mal dives back into the file he was working, leaving me to deal with Kendra. Nice.