CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger

by Kristine Mason

  Chapter 7

  In the privacy of his workshop, he rummaged through the alphabetized disposable cell phones he’d kept hidden in the bottom drawer of his tool chest. When he found the phone log he’d been searching for, he scanned the page.

  For years, he’d used similar phones to contact Garrett. He’d even bought a few from a local Kmart with minutes already attached. They’d been untraceable, safe and an excellent mode to communicate. Once the rest of the criminal world had caught on—not that he’d group himself with lowlife drug dealers and gangbangers—the phones had been taken off the shelf. The only way to buy a disposable phone was through the internet, with the use of a credit card, making it possible for the authorities to trace the owner of the phone. He’d found an easy loophole, though. With the age of technology came the age of identity theft.

  Sitting on a stool, he glanced at the log again. According to his list, he’d placed twenty-two calls to Garrett since the beginning of the year, meaning he’d used all but two of the phones twice. Also meaning he could use either phone M or phone N to make tonight’s call.

  Should he? Should he confront him? He wanted to. He wanted to rant and rave, call him the mother fucker he was, and then rub his little tryst with the debutante in his face.

  Thinking about that little Deb had him unlocking another drawer on his tool chest. He pulled out the knife he’d used on her. Unsheathed, the blade gleamed under the fluorescent lighting. The handle seemed to almost melt into his palm and become an extension of his hand. Like Captain Hook, he thought with a small smile. Only better.

  He’d used the fifteen-inch knife on that pretty little Deb as if he were one of those Japanese guys in a Ginsu Knife commercial. Slicing and dicing. Stabbing and gutting. Fucking her had been one thing, but when her hot blood had coated his skin...?

  Raw anger suddenly burned inside of him, and he returned the knife back into its leather sheath. He wouldn’t have a chance to use the fucking thing for a long while, thanks to Garrett. The risk was just too great, and while he’d always been prepared to run if necessary, now wasn’t the time. There were too many loose ends he needed to take care of first.

  His digital watch released a series of beeps. The alarm he’d set earlier, reminding him he didn’t have much time. In a split second, he stowed his anger and rationalized the situation. Garrett needed to be contained. He needed to know the bodies had been found. As much as he wanted to berate him over dumping them practically in his own backyard, he’d refrain. Garrett fed off his anger, used it against him.

  But he had the upper hand now. He had knowledge and the means to find out what the authorities knew. A new sense of control had him searching for phones M or N. When he found N, he dialed Garrett’s cell phone without hesitation.

  After ten infuriating rings, Garrett finally answered. “Now why you botherin’ me? Hang on.” Loud music and laughter filled his ear, then he heard Garrett say, “Yeah, give me another, and add this pretty little lady’s drink to my tab.”

  Shit. He needed him sober. He needed him aware. “Damn it. Pay your fucking bar bill, we need to talk.”

  “What’s got your panties in a wad? It ain’t our time.”

  Our time. Those two little words had always been their signal when it was time to play. Unfortunately, playtime was over for a while. “They found them.”

  Except for the background noise from whatever bar Garrett had stumbled into, the phone went silent. Then he heard him say, “Hang tight, honey, and enjoy your drink. I’m gonna catch me a smoke outside. Keep my stool warm.” A giggle, then a squeal of laughter followed, until blessed silence.

  “Found what?” Under other circumstances, Garrett’s husky drawl would have sent a pulse of pleasure straight to his dick. Tonight his tone, laced with innocence, angered him.

  “This isn’t a fucking game. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Regardless, I don’t give a shit. I’ve got a sure thing waiting for me in the bar. A real party girl. I’ve already sampled some of her and the coke she’s carryin’. So get the fuck on with whatever you got to say.”

  Drunk and coked up. Not good. Garrett was arrogant enough sober, combining alcohol and drugs into the mix had always made him think he was invincible. “Don’t play stupid. What were you thinking? You couldn’t have done it in another state, hell, another county?”

  “Okay, calm yourself, Toby,” he said, his voice low, hushed...damn it, sexy.

  He grit his teeth, controlling his need, his lust. “Don’t use my name, and don’t tell me to calm down. Others are scattered around the outskirts of the county. Didn’t you think about that? Didn’t it occur to you that they might look? Do you have any idea how fucked we could be?”

  “You’re just pissed I went behind your back. I didn’t mean to. Honestly.” His voice was so soothing, so apologetic, he almost lost focus. Then the Deb, her hot blood, her virginal ass, flooded his memory.

  “I’ve had a little fun of my own, but at least I’d been smart about it.”

  “Ho, lookie here, Toby’s grown some balls. ‘Bout time.”

  “Fuck you,” he uttered, “and listen close. The sheriff brought in an outsider.”

  “FBI?”

  “Don’t know what he is, but he has me worried. Just stay low for a while. Damn it, stay sober. If shit goes down, I’ll call, and we’ll meet where we’d arranged.”

  “That bad? Or are you just fired up ‘cuz I had some fun without you?”

  He was more than fired up, he was seeing fucking red. Garrett had gone behind his back, betrayed him and their pact. Killing those women also had him wondering how many other times Garrett had done this before without his knowledge. Right now, though, he needed to keep his head clear and focus on what needed to be done.

  “Just do what I say, and if you get caught—”

  “They gotta catch me first, which they won’t. I’d left things clean as a friggin’ whistle.” The arrogant chuckle Garrett released had him grinding his teeth.

  “Don’t be so sure of yourself. It looks like the sheriff has Celeste, that psychic I told you about, involved in this, too.”

  “Get the fuck outta here. Don’t tell me you’re paranoid over some batty-assed fortune teller. Christ, Toby, sometimes I worry about you.”

  “I’m paranoid. Period,” he snapped, running a hand down his face to rein in the rage. “You should be, too. You should be running scared, and laying low.”

  “Pull your tighty-whities out of your frickin’ ass and settle down. You know I’ve got a job lined up and I’m leaving in a few days for the West Coast. I’ll be gone about four weeks. Can’t think of a better way to lay low, can you?”

  Our time had been back to back because of the job Garrett had taken. Neither of them had been able to go for more than a month without the rush of the hunt and the kill. Although those women were spread around the county, and their limbs were likely torn apart and scattered by coyotes, he still worried. While he doubted the others would be found in the near future, if at all, the discovery of the whores Garrett had killed could complicate things and leave an additional loose end. Garrett.

  Not wanting to consider Garrett a loose end, he took a positive approach. Garrett would be gone for a month, maybe more. Without having to worry about him, he could focus on what the sheriff and his new partners knew. “No, I can’t.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you at this time in two days.”

  “On what phone? D or maybe K,” he laughed. “I can’t keep track with all your cloak and dagger bullshit. Dude, you need to relax.”

  Relax? Garrett had dumped four bodies in his backyard. He couldn’t risk being caught. Not yet. Not when he’d waited, bided his time for all of these years in this shitty town.

  “Just stay cool, and sober,” he said again.

  “That’s a ten-four good buddy. Then when all the shit dies down, we’ll have our time.”

  Our time.

 
Those two words aroused him, especially the way Garrett had said them. Low. Husky. He rubbed his dick. “Can’t. We had our time too close together, and now this...”

  “We’ve been through this before,” Garrett reassured him. “Maybe it’s time for a change of scenery? I’m sick of these winters around here.”

  “I just need a few more months to tie up loose ends, and then we’re gone.”

  “Those loose ends could have been tied up a long time ago,” Garrett snapped, all traces of amusement gone. “But what the fuck do I know.”

  The phone line went dead. Just as well, he thought as he dropped the disposable cell into the drawer, then locked the tool chest. Garrett might have thought he knew what those loose ends were, and in some regards he did. But there were still some secrets he’d kept to himself, secrets that he’d eventually let Garrett in on when the time was right.

  That is, if Garrett didn’t become one of those loose ends.

  *

  Ian Scott sat at his desk, nursing a Scotch. The evening news ran on the flat screen TV encased in the bookshelf of his office, the volume muted. He wasn’t interested in the news. His focus remained on the unopened manila folder in front of him and the call he expected at any minute.

  He stared at the folder filled with thirty years of notes, pictures, and letters all worn from age and the many times he’d handled them. He hadn’t opened the folder in six months. Progress, considering he’d tended to review the file on a monthly basis. Why he’d tortured himself, he couldn’t answer. Regret?

  Could be, he thought, then picked up the watered down Scotch. His private line rang before the glass touched his lips.

  He glanced at the clock. “Right on time,” he said as he set down the drink, then picked up the phone. “How are things?”

  “My cholesterol is up, I’m about fifteen pounds overweight, and I’ve got four dead women at the morgue. How’d you think?”

  Smiling, he thought back to the last time he’d seen Roy. Four months ago on their annual fly fishing trip to Canada. Roy had aged well, and he’d appeared as fit as a forty-year-old. “I don’t know about the cholesterol, but you could stand to lose a pound or two,” he joked to ease the tension.

  “Unlike you, I don’t have access to a fancy gym. Besides, you’d be thickening up, too, if you had Celeste dropping off her baked goods all the time.”

  Another jolt of regret, along with jealousy, had him reaching for the Scotch. What would it be like to sit with her, maybe over a cup of coffee and a slice of pumpkin roll, as he listened to her talk? About her day, about her life. Bypassing the drink, he touched the closed folder. “How is she?”

  “Something went down tonight that had left her pretty shaken up. When I took her home though, she kicked me out the door because she said she was tired of me acting like a worried old woman.” He released a chuckle. “She’s a strong one. Stubborn, too.”

  She sounded so much like her mother. Janice had been strong and stubborn. She’d also had an issue with over analyzing, and not letting things lie where they should. Did Celeste share those traits? God, he didn’t know. He stared at the folder again, which only gave hard facts, not the emotional connection he sought.

  “What happened?” he asked, now questioning how sound his judgment had been when he’d allowed Celeste to be part of the investigation. He’d witnessed the heart-wrenching turmoil, the emotional and physical exhaustion Janice had endured while working cases for the FBI. Some of those investigations had left her raw, her mind scarred with the memories of her visions. While he wanted to see Wissota Falls cleared of a killer, Celeste’s safety, both physical and emotional, came first.

  “I’ll get to Celeste. Let me bring you up to speed first. Of the four victims, we’ve ID’d two. Both were prostitutes known to work truck stops, and John suspects the others are, too. He also thinks the killer is a trucker, likely an owner/operator, and his recent contract was with a company where he used a refrigerated trailer, which could explain why all the victims were decomposing at the same time. Hell, he even managed to pinpoint a window when the bodies had been dumped. He’s as good as you’d said,” Roy added, a hint of admiration in his tone.

  Yes, John was very good at his job. Recruiting him to CORE had been a decision he’d never regretted. One he’d made years before John even knew that Ian had been watching him, waiting for the right moment to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

  “The autopsy done on one of the victims revealed she’d been raped, beaten, then strangled,” Roy continued. “The ME is currently working on another as we speak. He’ll have the other two finished tomorrow, but he’s suspecting he’ll find the same results. He also hopes to have their toxicology reports within the next few days.”

  “Excellent, if you have any issues getting them sooner, let me know. I have—”

  “Connections. Yeah, I know. Anyway, there’s more. A necklace was found tangled in the hair of one of the victims.”

  “Let me guess,” he interrupted Roy. “You had Celeste try to gain a reading from the necklace.”

  “You said to use her, and she was willing. She didn’t get anything from the dump site and was eager to try with the necklace.”

  “And?”

  “I gotta tell you, I haven’t seen anything like it since Janice. While she wasn’t able to pinpoint the location where the woman had been taken, she saw the killer’s face.”

  Ian raised a brow. “Do you need me to send a sketch artist?” He could whip one up in a second if need be. His resources never ran dry. Money, influence, and power were sometimes a beautiful thing. Sometimes. Because none of those things could give him what he wanted most. A cup of coffee with Celeste.

  “No. State Highway Patrol out of Eau Claire had one. Celeste was able to give her the description, and I’ve already sent it out on the wire. That man’s face is now plastered on the wall of every county and city police department across the country.”

  Pride seeped clear to his bones. “Can you scan a copy of the sketch and send it to my email?”

  “Already done. But, Ian...there’s more. Celeste is convinced the four women we found aren’t the same ones from her dreams. She thinks we’re going to find more bodies, and possibly another killer.”

  Ian flipped open his laptop and let it warm up, as another thought occurred to him. “How did John handle that?”

  A chuckle filtered over the phone line. “When he first learned I was pairing him up with a psychic, I thought the boy would blow a gasket, but by the end of the day... Put it this way, he damn near growled at anyone who tried to come near her. I’m a little worried about him becoming involved with Celeste, which is why I sent him back to his motel and took her home myself. I don’t want him sniffing around her. Celeste doesn’t date much, and John will be gone once his job here is done. He breaks her heart, and I’ll break him in half. I don’t care if he’s your guy or not.”

  Ian smiled at Roy’s threat. “You won’t be breaking anybody in half. John’s nothing to worry about. Trust me. I know the man better than he knows himself.”

  “You didn’t see the way he looked at her after she finished performing that reading on the victim’s necklace. I’m telling you, he—”

  “Doesn’t become involved with witnesses, partners, victims’ families, etcetera. Especially while working on a case. He’s too bent on control.”

  After what John had endured during his last days with the FBI, Ian doubted he had anything but ice running through his veins. He’d changed. He’d become edgy, distrustful, an asocial workaholic. When he’d joined CORE, he’d volunteered to take on the worst cases, almost as if punishing himself, pushing himself. He’d showed no emotion, no attachment. He would work one heinous case, then move on to the next.

  “If you say so,” Roy said with a sigh. “I gotta run. The mayor’s waiting on me. I’ll call you when I have something new to report.”

  After hanging up the phone, Ian finally flipped open the folder on his desk. A snapshot o
f Celeste, one Roy had sent him six months ago, stared back. She stood in front of the diner, with her brother, Will, who had his arm draped over her shoulder.

  She truly was a beautiful woman, with wavy blond hair, a wide, beautiful smile, and sparkling blue eyes. So much like her mother’s eyes. He slammed the folder shut at the memory and the regret he’d carried for thirty years.

  He downed the warm, watery scotch with one swallow, wishing in his youth he could have been more like John. Detached, unemotional, and able to resist temptation.

  *

  John eyed the organized chaos he’d created across the old, lumpy motel bed. Files and photographs stared back, mocking him. The blur of papers and pictures made it difficult to concentrate, to put the pieces together. Damn it, she made it difficult.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Celeste. How anxiety and horror had reflected in her eyes after the reading she’d performed in the ME’s office. She’d been so pale, so scared. She’d trembled in his arms, and as she’d clung to him, or maybe he’d been the one doing the clinging, her fear had crawled under his skin. That fear had made him want to erase whatever horrors she’d seen and protect her from the boogeyman they were after. No, make that boogey men, he amended.

  As much as he didn’t want to believe in her abilities, he couldn’t discount one huge fact—she’d known that Ruby Styles had a dislocated shoulder. Carl Saunders hadn’t revealed that information in front of her, but in the hall outside of his office. Could she have heard him? Or had she actually seen what had happened to Ruby?

  Curious, he reached for the notes Roy had given him earlier. Celeste’s visions. He’d been avoiding them for nearly two hours. He hadn’t wanted to read her nightmares, to know the fear she’d been living with these past four nights. Even though he still wasn’t exactly sold on the whole psychic phenomena, after what had happened in his car, and again at the ME’s office, he decided maybe it was time he opened his mind. See if there was anything in her notes that might help their investigation.