As he was about to open the folder, his cell phone chimed indicating a text message. He quickly read the text from Ian. Spoke with Roy. No need to talk tonight. Irritated, actually downright pissed and perplexed, he tossed the phone onto the bed.
During the two years he’d been working for CORE, Ian had never once taken a report on a case from someone outside of the agency, yet he’d taken Roy’s over his. Was the sheriff somehow part of CORE? Was that his connection to Ian?
Frustrated and edgy, he reached for the folder again, then flopped into the wobbly chair in the corner of his small motel room. As he skimmed the pages from her first vision, certain words stuck out at him. Trees, running, bleach, pain, and red. Lots and lots of red.
Blood? Or maybe the tiny balls she’d mentioned during her “trance” in his rental.
He reread the vision, this time not skimming or skipping around the page, and when he reached the end, he sucked in a deep breath. “She’d been stabbed to death. Not strangled,” he murmured. This killer, the one from her dreams, had a different MO compared to the four women discovered in the woods. Was it possible Celeste was right? That there were more bodies out there? Another killer on the loose?
The memory of Celeste in the passenger seat of his car came back to haunt him. The way she had clutched her stomach, her body jerking upward as if an imaginary force had been...
He dropped the folder onto the floor, then rushed to the bed where he’d left his cell phone. Needing to see her, to know she was safe, that she was...all in one piece, he punched in her number.
“Hello,” she answered, sounding out of breath.
Alarmed, he gripped the phone tight. “Celeste? It’s John. Are you okay?”
“I’m feeling much better,” she panted.
His fear quickly turned to jealousy. What had he caught her in the middle of that was making her feel much better?
The Viking’s image came to mind. He’d seen the way Lloyd had looked at her, the way she had looked at him. There was a connection, an intimacy between them. Was he with her now? Enjoying her body, easing her tension? Disappointed, he slumped to the lumpy mattress and drew in a deep breath.
“Whenever I’m stressed, working out always helps,” she continued, her breathing now closer to normal.
“I understand,” he said. “During some of my worst cases, I’ve been known to run for miles, even during the middle of the night, just to blow off some steam and clear my head.” The relief over knowing the Viking wasn’t the one giving her the workout must have affected his brain. He never shared personal information. Not that what time of night he’d gone for a run was all that personal, still, it was more than his counterparts at CORE knew.
“Um...is something wrong?” she asked. “You sound, I don’t know, upset.”
“No, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to see how you were doing. We didn’t have a chance to talk after the, uh...”
“Psychotic vision?”
“Don’t you mean psychic?”
“Yes...no.” She released a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I’m feeling a little mixed up right now.”
“Understandable.”
“I suppose.”
“You’ve had a strange day, even for a psychic.”
Her soft laugh warmed him and made him wish they were face to face. He wanted to see her beautiful smile, to see if that smile reached her eyes. In less than twelve hours, he’d been bombarded with a bunch of emotions and uncertainties he hadn’t experienced since...never. Not even with Renee. She’d been as blasé about relationships as he’d been. Sex had been a way to release the tension, a quick fix. There had been no dating, no romance. The only pillow talk they’d shared had been about their cases.
Celeste stirred a longing he hadn’t realized he’d wanted, and he didn’t understand the connection he felt toward her. The deep protectiveness, the need that went beyond pure desire. A need that made him ache, made him wish he had more to give.
“Yep, even for a psychic,” she said with a sigh.
“I know it’s late, and maybe you’ve already predicted this,” he teased, “but do you want some company? I thought we could talk.”
She laughed again, and he couldn’t help grinning like an idiot at the sound of it. “Really? I’d like that. Give me a half hour to shower and change. Okay?”
“Sure, see you then.” He kept his tone neutral, even as his heart hammered and anticipation roared through him.
After ending the call, he cleaned up his motel room, then hopped into the shower. Thirty minutes later he pulled the sedan into her driveway. He momentarily admired her large, brick colonial, as he stepped out of the rental. Lit by an array of solar lamps and the moon’s bright, dazzling beam, her house, like all the others in Wissota Falls, was beautifully landscaped. Neat and trim with no overgrown hedges, no weeds in the beds, no—what the hell?
As he strolled along her brick walkway, tiny plaster men stared at him, their rosy, cherub faces smiling while their lifeless eyes danced. He did a quick double take. There had to be at least a couple dozen ugly garden creatures guarding her house.
He ignored the eerie plaster eyes watching his back, took a deep breath and rang the door bell, wondering if this was a mistake. He never paid personal visits to witnesses during a criminal investigation. Although technically, she wasn’t exactly a witness, she was his partner. The sober reminder had him gritting his teeth as Renee’s image flashed in his head.
His chest tightened, not in a good way, and he wished he’d left the antacids he’d bought earlier in the car. He might be able to overcome Celeste’s belief that she was psychic. Hell, at this point a part of him was almost a believer. But he couldn’t, not after Renee, allow himself to become mixed up in a physical relationship with a partner. No matter the unexplainable attraction.
He should have waited, voiced his fears about her safety to Roy and ordered a cruiser parked outside her door. But the sheriff didn’t have the manpower for that, he reminded himself, giving him another excuse, another reason to see her.
The gun barrel lodged in Renee’s throat filtered past his reasoning. Clenching his jaw even tighter, he decided he’d check on her then leave. Looking around the yard again, he caught the accusing glances from her ugly garden creatures. Then the door opened.
He drew in a deep breath and forgot about every reason he should not be here, and quickly tried to come up with an excuse to never leave again.
*
Dr. Alex Trumane stepped onto the sidewalk and into the balmy night. The air was thick with humidity and the threat of rain as he bypassed his Lexus, and did what he’d done every week for the past two months.
He tested himself.
Looking in the distance, not more than two blocks away, he focused on his destination, Dudley’s Diner. Unfortunately, temptation stood between him and the diner. Three bars were scattered among a pawn shop, a small-time, family-owned electronics store, an all-night laundromat, and an apartment building. As he approached the first bar, The Office Lounge, he quickened his pace.
Neon lights advertising Heineken, Budweiser, and Corona reflected off the bar’s front window, beckoning him to stop in and sit for a spell. While he preferred gin or whiskey, a cold beer on a hot night sounded damned good.
His mouth watered, but without pausing he kept moving. He passed Reliable’s Pawn Shop, then a small alley, until he came to the next temptation. High and Dry boasted the same neon lights. Only the bar’s door stood wide open, the sounds of laughter and people talking drifted to the sidewalk and had him longing to step inside and erase the loneliness. He had acquaintances in there, as well as at The Office Lounge. He’d learned, though, that sobriety meant not only a change of lifestyle, but a change in the people he’d associated with regularly. Barflies didn’t make the greatest friends for a recovering alcoholic.
Forcing himself not to run, he kept his focus on Dudley’s Diner. He passed the laundromat and then the next bar without wavering, until he finally stood in
front of the diner. Eight weeks he’d tempted and tested himself, and once again he’d done so with triumph. Breathing a sigh of relief, he stepped inside, then took his usual seat at the counter.
Kira, a middle-aged blonde he’d suspected was only a few years younger than himself, approached. Her pink uniform clung to curves he’d fantasized about way too much over the past two months. “Coffee?”
He nodded. “Decaf, please.”
“How’d it go tonight?” she asked as she filled his mug.
When Kira had learned he’d been stopping by the diner after attending his weekly Alcoholic Anonymous meetings, she’d proudly confessed that she too was a recovering alcoholic and had been sober for more than ten years. A bond had grown between them, and while he suspected she might be romantically interested in him, he wasn’t ready to date. Hell, as it was, he couldn’t even work up the nerve to visit her any other time but after a meeting. Before he could even consider a relationship, something he hadn’t had since his wife divorced him six years ago, he needed to work through AA’s Twelve Steps first. He’d made it through the first seven, and was now on step eight.
“The meeting went well,” he said, and poured creamer into his mug. They talked for a while, not about the meeting, but about life in general.
He loved this time with Kira. Before he’d sobered up, he wouldn’t have given her a second glance. His drunken ego had lured him to twenty-something women, who, he’d realized once sober, had only been interested in him for his doctor status and money.
What a fool he’d been. Thanks to his lack of self-control, he’d allowed booze to ruin his life. He’d lost his wife, his kids, and nearly lost his license to practice medicine.
As Kira spoke, he stared into her smiling hazel eyes and realized how much he needed to stay on the wagon. Failing in front of Kira was not an option. He had too much respect for her. Hell, he was in love with her.
The door swung open and a group of laughing couples stumbled to an oversized corner booth. Kira sighed as she eyed the new customers. “Looks like the bar crowd has the munchies. I gotta run. Give me a wave if you need a refill.”
He kept his gaze on her full bottom as she walked away. Urgency ran through the new and improved sober Dr. Alexander Elliott Trumane. He wanted his life back, and he wanted Kira in it.
Drawing a pen from his pocket, he flipped over the paper place mat and stared at the white canvas that would eventually lead him to atonement. He’d hurt many people over the years, and it was time to make amends.
As he began to write, he wondered if he should have skipped the decaf and gone for the high octane stuff. Listing every person he’d harmed during his years as a drunk could take all night.
Chapter 8
Celeste tightened her grip on the doorknob to keep herself from falling into John’s arms. She knew they were strong, heavily muscled. He’d held her in his car when she’d woken from her trance, and again at Carl Saunders’ office after that awful reading. Right now, she needed to feel his protective strength again. Since leaving the ME’s, the ruthless visage of a killer loomed in her every thought. If she closed her eyes now, his bearded face would be there, fist cocked, ready to release another painful blow.
An involuntary shiver ran through her body.
“Cold?” John stepped into the front foyer.
“A little.” She closed the door. “The days have been so unseasonably warm, but the nights are getting chilly.”
He stared at her, his concerned gaze dark and penetrating. Worried he’d see past her fight to control her emotions, her fears, she looked away.
She couldn’t let him know how badly she ached, how badly the case was affecting her. As much as she wanted no part in the investigation, she had to pretend everything was a-okay. Otherwise, Roy would pull her off the case, and she couldn’t have that happen. She needed closure. She needed to do her part to help find justice for those women. If she didn’t, she worried the nightmares would remain seared on her soul forever.
“Come on in,” she said, and moved toward the living room. “Roy mentioned you’re from Chicago. I bet you’re seeing the same kind of weather there, too, huh?”
He snagged her hand, and drew her to him, gently bracing his other hand at the small of her back. She stared at his chest, only inches from her face, her heart pounding at the nearness, her body tingling from his touch. She desperately wanted him to hold her, soothe her, erase the nightmares, and the memory of Ruby Styles’s murder from her mind. But she couldn’t, just as she couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. She couldn’t let him see—
Cupping her face, he tilted her head. “Look at me,” he demanded in a hushed, coaxing tone.
When she did, tears instantly blurred her vision. The concern, the tenderness, and the heat in his gaze made her want to bury her face in his chest. She wanted to cry so bad. Curl against him and vent. Tell him her fears, her anxiety, how her emotions were raw, ravaged, and tearing her apart.
He caught a tear with his thumb, then traced it along her cheekbone. “I don’t want to talk about the weather. I want to talk about what happened today at the ME’s. I’d ask if you’re okay, but I think I’ve already gotten my answer.”
As he continued to stroke his thumb along her cheek, the tears threatening to fall subsided. His simple, gentle caresses calmed her, soothed her, and helped her regain control of her emotions.
Feeding off of his strength, she forced a smile. “I’m fine, just tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Celeste, you don’t have to put up a false front for me.”
She pulled back, regretting the loss of his touch, the strength he offered. “I’m not. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having,” he said with a deep sigh.
“Chardonnay it is then.”
He followed her into the kitchen. “Look, I really think we need to talk—”
“Did you have any trouble finding my house?” she interrupted. Needing more time to compose herself, she pulled the bottle of wine from the fridge.
He took the bottle. “Here, let me. Wine opener?”
She reached into the drawer, then handed him the corkscrew. As he worked on the cork, she stayed close to him, wishing they were back in the foyer. She wanted him holding her again, needed the comfort his caresses offered, the security, the protectiveness. She wanted to lose herself in his body, forget how lonely her nights had been before the nightmares had begun, and how miserable and frightened she’d become since they’d started.
It had been so long since she’d been with a man, kissed, made love. She’d missed the intimacy, and as she stood next to him, inhaling his purely male scent, she wished she could throw caution to the wind and be spontaneous. She’d caught the way he’d looked at her. Admiration and heat had lit his dark eyes several times throughout the day. How would he react if she made a move on him? Offered a no-strings affair?
Duh. He’s a man. Of course he’d jump at the offer.
And she’d regret her impulsiveness. As much as she wanted him to hold her, she knew herself too well. She didn’t have sex for sex’s sake. Considering he’d leave once his part in the investigation was over, she knew sex was all he’d be able to offer her. Right now, she didn’t need another person leaving her life.
When her mom had died, their family had unraveled. Her dad moved to Florida and seemed to enjoy golf more than talking to her. Her sister rarely called or visited now that she was busy with her career in Chicago. Even Will wanted to leave. When he did, she’d be stuck here, alone. Running a diner she didn’t want, and leading a boring, dismal existence.
No, she couldn’t afford to become attached to John or the idea of a relationship with him. He’d leave, like everyone else.
The cork popped. “Freed at last,” he said. “Glasses?”
She grabbed two and placed them on the counter, then watched as he poured the chardonnay. His hands seemed huge next to the delicate wine glasses. He had nice hands, big, strong
and lean.
“Thank you.” She took the glass from him.
As he brought the glass to his lips, very nice lips, he stopped and cocked a brow. “Mind explaining the little man staring at me?” He nodded to the gnome perched on her kitchen windowsill wearing an apron and chef’s hat.
Grateful for something to distract her from his hands and lips before she started studying his other body parts, she reached for the gnome. “Don’t you like my little buddy?”
He looked around the kitchen and into the dining room. “Don’t you mean buddies? You’ve got these guys everywhere.”
After replacing the gnome, she reached for her wine. “I’d like to tell you that I keep these guys around because I believe the mythical little creatures provide luck.”
“But?”
She shrugged. “I bought one for my garden when I moved in. It was cheap, and I don’t know, it was so ugly it was kinda cute. So I put it in the front flowerbed. That afternoon, the old woman who lives next door, Linda Turner, came banging on my front door. She told me she hated my gnome, how ugly it was, and that it gave her the creeps.” After taking a sip of her wine, she smiled. “She also told me what flowers I should grow, how to arrange them, that my music was too loud, which it wasn’t by the way...she just kept nitpicking at me. So I went out and bought a couple more just to terrorize her.”
“You’re vicious,” he chuckled.
“Aren’t I though? I mean, I had to get back at her in some way without being nasty. Anyway, the next thing I knew, everybody started buying me gnomes. You know, for Christmas, birthdays...I guess they thought I collected them.” She eyed the chef gnome again. “Now I do.”
“How many are around here?” he asked as he topped her wine off, then his.
“Outside? I think I’m up to around twenty. Inside? Maybe three dozen or so.”
He kicked up his brows. “Wow, that’s a lot of gnomes.”
CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger Page 9
