Don't Look

by Alexandra Ivy

  Lynne sat at her desk as she watched Kir walk from one end of her office to the other. He looked like the feral dogs she had at the kennel, pacing round and round to release their pent-up anxiety.

  She hadn’t intended to call him. Even though he’d insisted on programming his number into her phone, she’d reminded herself that she was a big girl who’d been taking care of herself for a long time. And even after discovering there had been another murder and the video that Parker had shared with her, she’d been determined to carry on with her day as if it was any other.

  It wasn’t like she could be certain that it was the killer who’d stolen and then returned her truck. And even if it was, what could Kir do about it?

  Determined to be brave, or at least pretend that she was brave, she’d called the sheriff ’s office to warn them the killer might have been caught on camera in her truck, then concentrated on her waiting patients. She’d vaccinated dogs, dewormed cats, and lanced an abscess on a horse’s hoof.

  That’s when Sheriff Hancock had appeared.

  The woman had stomped up to Lynne as she’d finished loading the horse into his trailer, barely waiting for the farmer to drive away before she launched into a furious inquisition.

  It had quickly become obvious that Kathy was convinced Lynne was somehow connected to the murder spree. Maybe not the actual killer—although she clearly hadn’t ruled out Lynne as the crazed monster—but certainly involved in the hideous deaths.

  She’d refused to believe Lynne hadn’t been driving the truck, and it wasn’t until Lynne had admitted that Kir had spent the night and he could testify she hadn’t left the house that the sheriff had demanded the keys to the vehicle so she could take it back to the station to be searched for evidence.

  Lynne watched the deputy drive away in her truck and returned to her office. It was only in that moment she’d been struck by a horrifying realization. Pulling out her phone she’d texted Kir. She had to talk to someone. Someone who could understand her distress.

  She’d known she made the right decision as soon as Kir arrived. He’d swept into the office and firmly closed the door on the curious faces of her interns, his large presence settling the panic that had thundered through her.

  With remarkable patience he’d listened as she’d detailed the eventful morning in a flurry of words, many of which made zero sense. Thankfully, he seemed to at least follow the main points. Which was the reason he was currently pacing in circles.

  Without warning, he spun toward her, his expression impossible to read. “You’re sure it was your truck? I’ve seen a dozen just like it in town.”

  “Positive.”

  He nodded, accepting her assurance without question. “Do you keep it locked?”

  She shook her head, feeling the color leak from her face. “No.”

  “Where were the keys?”

  “In the house.”

  He frowned in confusion. “Then how . . .” He at last noticed her pallor. “What about a spare key?”

  She reached to pull open the bottom drawer of her desk. “I kept it in here.”

  “Is it still there?”

  She slowly shook her head. “That’s why I texted you. After the sheriff took off with the truck, I remembered the spare set. When I came in here . . .” The rest of the words stuck in her throat.

  “When was the last time you saw it?”

  “I don’t remember. I haven’t needed it for months, so I never checked.” She shuddered. It made her sick to think the killer must have been creeping around her clinic. Maybe even more than once. After all, someone had taken that picture of her sleeping in this office. And now her key was missing. “God.” The word burst out of her, coming from the stewing frustration in the pit of her stomach. “It was so stupid to leave it here, but there have been times when another vet had to borrow my truck. It made sense to make a copy and leave it in a place someone could grab it and go.”

  Kir moved to crouch next to her chair, grasping her chilled hands in the warmth of his fingers. “It’s okay, Lynne. None of this is your fault.”

  His touch allowed her to suck in the first deep breath since she’d seen the flashing lights next to the park. Not that she accepted his assurance that she wasn’t at fault. Not when her truck had likely been used during the murder.

  “The killer must have gotten into the office and grabbed the key.”

  “Did you call the sheriff and tell her it’s missing?”

  She nodded. She hadn’t wanted to call. In fact, she’d been close to keeping the theft of the key a secret. Why would she give the sheriff more ammunition to use against her? Then the realization that the information might be the difference between catching the killer or having him continue to hunt the women of Pike had her reaching for her phone.

  “Yeah, I left a message,” she muttered. “I doubt they were back to the station yet.”

  “Did they say how long they were going to keep your truck?”

  She snorted, recalling Kathy’s hard expression as she’d ordered Anthony to confiscate the truck.

  “I’m guessing as long as possible. The sheriff is convinced I’m involved. And honestly, I think she just doesn’t like me, for whatever reason.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “You can use my dad’s truck. It’s old but it runs fine.”

  She studied his fierce male features, which had somehow become wondrously familiar. She couldn’t imagine going through the past few days without him at her side. Actually, it was becoming increasingly difficult to imagine her life without him. . . .

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  He held her gaze, his expression grim. “The killer’s playing with you.”

  Lynne shivered at his blunt words. “Maybe.”

  “There’s no maybe about it.”

  The thought made her stomach clench with terror. “People wander in and out of this clinic every day. I could have been a convenient target.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “No, but I want to believe that,” she whispered.

  He didn’t chide her for her childish desire to stick her head in the sand. Instead he glanced toward the drawer she’d left open. “How did the killer know the key was there?” he asked, speaking more to himself than her. “And if the killer was able to walk in and out of your office, why didn’t he take the drugs at the same time?” He glanced back at Lynne. “It’s more and more likely the killer was Nash. I’m assuming he was in your office often enough to have seen the spare key, plus he could have taken the picture of you sleeping. And he’s already admitted he stole the drugs. It would be easy enough for him to lie and claim he sold them to some mystery man in Grange.”

  She shook her head. It just didn’t make any sense. “Why would Nash kill those other women and not me?”

  Frustration tightened his jaw. “I can’t find the pattern, and it’s driving me nuts.” He slowly straightened, lifting his hand to tick off the names of the women on his fingers. “First, Sherry Higgins, the owner of a trailer park on the edge of town who was single, but had occasional lovers live with her. Second, Randi Decker, a married woman with a child who ran a flower shop and lived in a fancy house far away from the trailer park. And now a retired third-grade teacher. Did she have any children?”

  “Not that I know of. She never married. I don’t think I ever heard of her dating anyone. She was the typical spinster.”

  He grunted in aggravation. “They were all different ages, different levels of income, and different careers. What do they have in common?”

  “Could it be your father?” The question was out of her mouth before she could halt the words.

  Kir predictably stiffened. He was still raw from Rudolf ’s sudden death. “My father? What about him?”

  “Could he be the link between all the women?”

  His lips flattened, but with a visible effort, he appeared to consider her question. “We know he was very fond of you, but I don’t remember him mentioning the other women
.” He spoke slowly, as if searching through his memories. “Of course, it’s a small town. I’m sure he knew all of them.”

  Lynne suddenly felt foolish. She was grasping at straws. “It was just a thought.”

  “A good one,” he insisted. “How do you feel about having a drink at the Bait and Tackle?”

  Her heart fell to her toes. The Bait and Tackle was on her list of places never to visit again. “Is that a trick question?”

  He sent her a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s probably not your favorite place, but Rita King should be there tonight.”

  The name meant nothing to Lynne. “I don’t think I know her.”

  “She’s my dad’s old drinking buddy. She’s the only one I can think of who would know if he had a connection to the women.”

  Lynne pressed her hand to her stomach. It was twisted into a tangle of tight knots. “Can’t we just invite her to the house?”

  He considered her request before shaking his head in regret. “I’d rather keep our meeting casual. She might refuse to answer if she’s afraid of getting involved in police business.”

  “We’re not the police.”

  “If she gives us information that will help solve the case, we’ll certainly turn it over to the sheriff.”

  “True.” Lynne blew out a sigh of resignation. “Okay.”

  “I’ll pick you up here at six. We’ll have dinner and then go to the bar,” he told her. “We want to talk to Rita before she has more than a couple of beers.”

  She held up a warning hand. “As long as I don’t have an emergency. I’m on call tonight.”

  His brows drew together. “You can’t stay here alone.”

  Lynne didn’t take commands, not from anyone. But right now she understood Kir’s worry. She would be an idiot to be alone in the clinic when it was obvious the killer seemingly felt free to wander in and out. “If I have to go out on a call, I’ll take one of my interns with me. If someone comes to the clinic, then I’ll ask Bernadine to stay a few extra hours.”

  He looked confused. “Bernadine?

  “She worked for Dad as his receptionist until he retired and moved to Florida,” Lynne explained. “I asked her to stay on, but she claimed she was overwhelmed by the new computer system.” She glanced toward the closed door. “Today I intend to get down on my knees and beg her to return. She’s amazing with the patients, and always willing to stay late when she’s needed. I can teach her to use a computer, but I can’t teach someone loyalty.” She shook her head in sad regret. “Either you have it or you don’t.”

  “What about Chelsea?”

  Lynne shrugged. She hadn’t been surprised when she’d arrived at work to discover Chelsea had already called in sick. It would obviously be best for everyone involved if she decided to find a new job. “I’ll talk to Chelsea later,” she murmured, eagerly turning the conversation away from the painful subject. “What are you going to do this afternoon?”

  “Since I’m spending a few extra days in town, I decided to paint the living room at Dad’s place,” he told her. “And I’ll bring his truck to your house.”

  She managed a weak smile. “Thanks.”

  “You’re actually doing me a favor. I need to clean out the garage but there’s barely room to squeeze in there right now.” He grabbed her fingers and gently tugged her to her feet. Then, framing her face in his hands, he brushed his lips over her mouth. “I’ll see you at six. If you need anything, just call. I’ll come running.”

  A tingling excitement chased away the dark dread that had been plaguing her all morning. She’d never been so relieved in her life. Eagerly she arched against his hard body, absorbing his warmth.

  “Running?” she teased.

  He brushed another kiss over her mouth. And then another, and another.

  “Running,” he murmured against her lips.

  She grasped the lapels of his leather jacket, her knees going weak in the best way. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “If you forget, I’ll remind you.”

  Chapter 17

  It was nearing eight o’clock when Kir led Lynne into the bar. They’d lingered over their dinner, sipping wine and enjoying the homemade pasta that Bella Russo had been serving in her restaurant for the past thirty years. Kir had savored the sight of the tension draining out of Lynne as they’d chatted about her years in vet school and his early attempts to build his business. They even shared a few laughs as they recalled their childhood years.

  They might not have been best friends in school, but they could both recall the day that Kenny Atkins released a flock of ducks in the girls’ bathroom. And sledding down the big hill that spilled onto a narrow creek. More than one kid had ended up in the hospital after falling through the ice, including Kir.

  At last he’d reluctantly urged her to cross the street to the bar. Not only did he want to talk to Rita before she was too drunk to be coherent, but Lynne had to get up at an ungodly hour in the morning. He wanted her home and in bed as soon as possible.

  Stepping into the taproom, they were instantly shrouded in the strange illumination that came from a combination of thick shadows and blinking neon lights. Like being sucked into another world. They stopped to allow their eyes to adjust, and Kir instinctively glanced toward the bar at the back of the room. He saw the woman bartender from the last time he’d been there, and an unfamiliar man who was filling a glass cooler with bottles of beer.

  “Nash isn’t here,” he muttered, turning his attention toward Lynne. “Is that unusual?”

  She made a sound of disgust. “He always complained that he worked every night. Now I know he was probably in some other woman’s bed.” She rolled her eyes. “Jerk.”

  Kir wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. This couldn’t be easy for her. Especially not after the day she’d already endured. “We won’t stay long,” he promised.

  “I’m fine.”

  Keeping her tight against his side, Kir turned. It was no surprise to find Rita sitting at the same table she’d been at before. Alcoholics liked routines. The same bar, the same seat, the same drink of choice . . . Kir didn’t know if it helped keep them grounded when their world turned to a drunken mist, or if it was a need to have some sort of control in their chaotic life.

  Rita was wearing a different jogging suit. This one was a painfully bright purple, and her hair had been pulled into a messy knot on top of her head. He urged Lynne forward and they took a seat across the table.

  “Kir.” Rita easily recognized him, her gaze still clear. “I didn’t expect you to become a regular.”

  “We just ate dinner at Bella’s and decided on a nightcap before heading home.”

  “Nothing wrong with a nightcap.” Rita grabbed her bottle and shook it to reveal it was empty. “Or six.”

  Kir obediently lifted his hand toward the bartender and indicated three beers.

  Rita smiled and glanced toward Lynne. “Who’s your friend?”

  Lynne held out her hand, a genuine smile on her face. “Lynne Gale.”

  “Rita King.” Rita shook her hand, then settled back against the leather seat with a faint frown. “Hey, was your dad the vet?”

  “Yep.”

  “I liked him. I heard he moved to Florida.”

  “He did.”

  “Smart man.” Rita glanced toward the window where they could see the snow falling in lazy, swirling patterns.

  “He seems happy,” Lynne assured the older woman.

  “Hey, Lynne.” A new female voice broke into the conversation. “Good to see you again. It’s been a while.”

  It was the bartender. Kir struggled to recall her name. Cherry? Yeah, that was it.

  Lynne stiffened, her face pale. “Thanks.”

  Detecting Lynne’s unease, Cherry unloaded the bottles from the tray and hurriedly returned to the bar.

  Rita grabbed one of the beers, studying Lynne with a frown. “I remember now. I’ve seen you with Na
sh. Are the two of you having a thing?”

  “Ancient history,” Lynne muttered.

  Kir cleared his throat. He’d known this was going to be awkward for Lynne, but it was even worse than he expected. Time for a distraction. “I suppose you know there’s been another murder?” he asked.

  Both women sucked in a startled breath. Maybe he’d been a little abrupt. Still, it worked to distract attention from Lynne.

  “Yeah.” Rita took a chug of her beer. “Madeline Randall.”

  Kir folded his arms on the wooden table. “Did you know her?”

  Another chug. “Unfortunately.”

  “You didn’t like her?”

  Rita’s face hardened, emphasizing the deep wrinkles that made her look closer to sixty than forty-four.

  “She was my daughter’s teacher in elementary school.” Rita’s words were slurred. Not from the beer, but from a smoldering, toxic anger. “Nicole went from being a little girl who loved school to one who pretended to be sick every morning. I wanted to choke the dried-up old hag.” Rita sent Kir a defiant glare. “I don’t care if she is dead. She tormented the kids in her classroom.”

  Kir didn’t look at Lynne but he felt her shudder. “I’ve heard that a lot.”

  Rita polished off her beer. “Course, it’s terrible there’s some maniac out there killing women. It makes you want to lock your door and never come out again.”

  Kir pushed a full bottle in Rita’s direction. “My father tried to warn us.”

  “He did.” Rita grabbed the beer and lifted it in a toast. “To Rudolf.”

  Kir raised the last beer. “Rudolf.” He touched his bottle to Rita’s then set it back on the table. He’d already had a glass of wine with dinner. Considering the condition of the road, that was enough. “I’ve been trying to imagine how the deaths could be connected.”

  Rita shrugged. “They were all women who lived in Pike.”

  “But why those women?”

  Using the tip of her finger, Rita scooped the condensation from the side of the bottle. “Who knows? Convenience? They wore the same shoes. Could be anything.”

  Kir settled back in his seat, covertly studying Rita’s expression. “I wish I’d read my father’s mystery letters. There has to be a reason he was the only one to get them.”