by Rita Herron
Hopefully that would satisfy her sister for a while. Once this was over, she’d find out what was going on with Carrie Ann.
But now was the wrong time. Joyce had been killed because of her connection to Tinsley.
She wouldn’t allow her sister to fall prey to that same monster.
A knock sounded at the door, and she hurried toward it.
“It’s Wyatt,” a gruff male voice called.
Relieved, she unlocked the door. Her breath caught at the sight of how handsome he looked. A dog stood beside him, so thin he was almost skeletal. His coat was a sandy brown, eyes big and soulful, his body trembling as if he was scared to death.
She heaved a breath. God, he reminded her so much of Gingersnap that she instantly dropped to her knees and held out her hand.
The dog inched toward her, a whimper coming from him that tore her heart in two.
Wyatt’s throat thickened as he watched Tinsley hug the dog to her. He’d taken the poor fella by the emergency vet clinic to be examined. Other than being half-starved, he was actually healthy.
He nuzzled up to Tinsley as if he’d known her all his life. Or maybe he just sensed a kindred soul who’d take far better care of him than the man who’d locked him in that cage.
Tinsley looked up at him with questioning eyes. “What’s his story?”
Wyatt stepped inside and closed the door, then explained about finding him at Samson’s. She rubbed the dog’s back and coaxed him over to the sofa. Wyatt followed, and the dog crawled up on the couch, dropped his head in Tinsley’s lap, and whined like a baby.
She whispered comforting words to the mutt, stroking his head until he settled down. “I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re safe now, buddy.”
The tenderness in her voice made him warm inside. He’d never seen her smile before. She was beautiful.
“I can’t believe this man volunteered at the rescue center and adopted a dog, then treated him like this.” She laid her head against the animal’s. “And he’s a psychiatric nurse?”
“I know. Bizarre.” Wyatt claimed a seat on the other side of the dog and laid his hand gently on the dog’s back. “We issued a BOLO for Samson. We also obtained a warrant for Marilyn Ellis’s DNA. I went by her loft to get it, but she wasn’t home, so I left a message telling her to go to the police station tomorrow and leave a sample.”
“Do you think she will?”
He grunted. “If she doesn’t, I can haul her ass in. So yeah, I think she will. If she was the one who drugged your tea and left the skulls on the porch, she intentionally terrorized you and incited the Skull to abduct Dr. Ferris.”
Tinsley lifted her head and looked at his hand on the dog’s back. The fear in her eyes softened slightly. “That’s a lot to do for a story.”
“Sometimes ambition makes people do ruthless things. But she crossed the line. And if she killed Milburn or knows who did, she has to answer for it.”
Tinsley nodded, although she didn’t look convinced. Fatigue and grief for her friend had painted exhaustion lines around her eyes and mouth.
But when she looked down at the frail dog, a small smile curved her mouth. A sad smile, but a sliver of the darkness had vanished.
“Thank you for saving him,” she said softly.
He shrugged. “He’s yours if you want him.”
For a moment, her eyes lit with joy. But a second later, the joy turned to sadness. She patted the dog’s head, dropped a kiss on his face, then stood and walked to the window. The shutters were closed, but she stared at them as if they held answers.
Wyatt’s heart pounded. “What did I say wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said in a choked whisper. “It’s me . . . I’d love to take him, but I can’t.”
“Why not?” Wyatt asked. “You’d be good for each other.”
Emotions darkened her face. “He deserves better than me.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she fled into her bedroom and closed the door.
Wyatt was baffled. She obviously wanted the dog. And the dog had taken to her immediately. He needed love.
If Tinsley would admit it, so did she.
But he couldn’t force anything on her after all she’d suffered. Tonight, she was grieving for her friend.
She needed space and time.
And answers. Most of all, he needed to find the bastard who’d forced her to lock herself in this house.
He stepped outside and told the officer to go home, that he’d stay the night. No way was he leaving Tinsley here alone. Tomorrow he’d carry the dog to his mother’s. She’d keep him in a heartbeat.
He returned to the photographs, then called Bernie and asked her if she’d matched them with Hinke or Samson. But she had nothing new.
Exhaustion weighed on him, and he laid his gun on the end table and stretched out on the couch. The dog curled up next to him and started snoring.
Wyatt flipped off the lights and closed his eyes. He doubted he’d sleep, but he was flat worn out, and his head ached from mentally struggling to piece together the truth about the case.
A few minutes later, a scream jarred him, and he bolted upright.
Tinsley?
He grabbed his gun and ran for the bedroom.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Wyatt stormed into Tinsley’s room, scanning left and right for an intruder. The shutters were closed, the room dark except for a night-light in the bathroom.
Tinsley was thrashing at the covers in the midst of a nightmare.
He slowly approached the bed, then lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress and gently stroked her arm. “Tinsley, wake up, sweetie, you’re having a nightmare.”
She whimpered and clawed at the covers, drawing his attention to the scars on her hands. Rage at those scars and how she’d gotten them shot through him. But he reminded himself to be gentle as he raked her hair from her face. “Tinsley, it’s Wyatt. Wake up now. You’re safe.”
Her eyes jerked open, but she was obviously still lost in the nightmare—or memory.
“You’re safe,” he murmured again.
Tears filled her eyes. “But Joyce is dead, and he’s still out there.”
“We’re getting closer to finding him,” he said gruffly.
For a long, tension-filled heartbeat, she simply stared at him. Nothing he could say could change what had happened to her.
It was the most helpless feeling he’d ever had, because he wanted to erase the pain from her past and promise her a future full of nothing but happy memories.
But he couldn’t do that. “Go back to sleep.”
He stood, closed her door, then walked back to the living room. The dog lay snoring on the floor by the couch. He stretched out again, but there was no way he could sleep.
Not when his heart was in that room with Tinsley.
The door to Tinsley’s bedroom creaked open. Footsteps padded. He lay perfectly still, wondering what she was doing.
Maybe this was her nightly ritual. She’d wake and prowl the house. God knows he’d had a lot of nights like that himself.
Instead of going to the kitchen or back to the bedroom, she paused by the sofa where he lay.
He didn’t move. Didn’t want to frighten her away. Her shallow breathing echoed between them. He felt her watching him.
A second later, she stooped and stroked the dog. He gave a contented whimper, and Wyatt bit back a smile. She wanted the dog.
So what was holding her back?
He released a breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding. She’d go back to bed in a minute. He just had to lie still a bit longer.
But she didn’t return to the bedroom. Instead, she shocked him by lying down beside him. His breath caught, but he didn’t move.
Then she snuggled up next to him.
Her hand curled on his chest, sending a surge of desire through him. It took all his strength and self-control not to kiss her.
She made a soft sound and snuggled deeper against
him. Tenderness for her kept him from acting on his growing hunger.
But he couldn’t resist sliding one arm down around her and pulling her closer to him. She breathed deeply, and he feared he’d made a mistake.
But she burrowed her head against him and let him hold her. Seconds later, she drifted to sleep.
He closed his eyes and savored the moment. Earning Tinsley’s trust meant more to him than jumping her bones.
Although he wanted that.
But Tinsley’s feelings were more important. She needed to feel safe.
His job dictated that he deal with the worst of the worst on a daily basis.
There was no future between them.
He could never live confined to a small space as she did. And she could never live in the ugly world of evil that was part of his job.
Still, he’d give his life to save her.
Tinsley stirred from sleep, warm and cozy. A rumbling sound echoed around her, and she realized she was lying next to Wyatt, curled in his arms.
But he wasn’t the one snoring.
She glanced at the floor and noticed the dog sleeping by her side, his eyelids fluttering. A smile curved her mouth. She missed having a fur baby of her own.
But reality returned as she looked up at Wyatt and his dark eyes met hers. A dog needed long walks and to run on the beach and in the park. She couldn’t offer him that.
Wyatt shifted, and she realized she was warm because his big body was next to her, giving her comfort.
“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly embarrassed that she’d crawled next to him without an invitation.
“Don’t be,” he said in a husky tone.
An awkwardness thrummed between them, the kind that made her want to touch his cheek. Made her want to kiss him.
Shaken by the thought, she swung her legs over the side of the couch.
“No, I shouldn’t have . . . have—”
“What?” He gently rubbed her shoulder. “Shouldn’t have come in here?”
She pressed her lips together, her cheeks heating. “You know what I mean.”
He chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with two people giving each other comfort. It’s natural, Tinsley.”
It wasn’t natural for her.
She headed to the coffeepot. She needed caffeine, but more than that, she needed to occupy her hands before she touched him the way she wanted.
Don’t be a fool. He’s just protecting you.
How could he be attracted to her when she was such a wreck? When she was scarred inside and out?
“Tinsley?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He petted the dog for a minute, then stood and walked toward her. “It was nice,” he said. “Didn’t you think so?”
She dropped the coffee filter, then closed her eyes to regain her composure. She heard his clothes rustling as he stepped up behind her, and then he laid a hand on her back and rubbed her shoulders.
The tension knotting her muscles dissipated slightly, although another kind of tension coiled inside her.
She was just about to turn and do what she’d wanted to do earlier. Feel his cheek. Maybe stroke his lips with her finger.
But his phone trilled from the end table.
He gave her an apologetic look; then he stepped outside to take the call.
What in the world was wrong with her? She shouldn’t entertain thoughts about touching Wyatt when her friend had just been murdered.
She opened the shutters to let in the morning light. The jogger was there, the man with his dog that she watched every morning. The sight had become her routine, the regulars on the beach her family.
But they were strangers. They didn’t really know her or care about her.
Damn the Skull for terrorizing her. Damn her for letting him.
She started the coffee, then rushed to her bedroom to shower. The cold water would hopefully jolt some sense back into her. Just as she was stripping her pajamas, her phone buzzed from the dresser. Liz Roberts. She needed to talk to the counselor about these feelings she was having for Wyatt.
She connected as she started the shower water. “Liz?”
“We have to talk. I’ll be right over.”
Tinsley didn’t have time to respond. The phone clicked into silence.
“An officer from the island police station is outside to stand guard,” Wyatt said as he returned. “I’m going to drop the dog at my mother’s, then meet with the ME and forensic specialist. Will you be all right here?”
“Sure. Liz Roberts is coming by. She said she wanted to see me.”
Wyatt arched a brow. “What about?”
Tinsley shrugged and sipped her coffee. “I don’t know. She probably heard about Joyce and thought I needed to talk to someone.”
She offered him coffee, and he took a to-go cup and a piece of toast, then headed out the door. She stooped to hug the dog goodbye, and his heart went to his throat. He wished she’d keep the guy. Maybe when this was over . . .
He loaded the boy in his SUV, then drove him to his mother’s. She welcomed him with open arms, but he made a mental note to ask Tinsley again about keeping him once the Skull was caught.
Ten minutes later, he stood in the ME’s office with Dr. Patton and Dr. Lofton.
“You have news?”
Dr. Patton nodded. “First, I’ll let Dr. Lofton speak on those skeletal remains recovered from Seaside Cemetery.”
“Two of the sets of remains belong to sisters.”
She’d mentioned that before. “How long have they been there?”
“I still don’t have the exact timing, but I would estimate a decade, possibly two.”
Wyatt chewed the inside of his cheek. “Too long to be victims of the Skull?”
She nodded.
“The fact that they were in unmarked graves suggests murder,” Wyatt said. “I’ll get the Glynn County Sheriff’s Office and Detective Brockett from the Savannah PD to start digging into it.”
The Skull was his priority.
He scrubbed his hand over his face, wishing for a shower and more coffee. “What about the three bags of remains I found at Hinke’s?”
“Human. Females,” Dr. Patton said. “The heads were missing.”
Jesus. “Tinsley saw three skulls that the unsub kept where he held her.”
“It’s possible they belong to these remains. My guess is that one of them was there just over a year. The other two go back months before that. Maybe two years.”
“You can’t identify the victims?” Wyatt asked.
“I’m working on it, but without teeth to compare dental records to, it’s difficult. Your analyst is supposed to be researching missing persons reports. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Wyatt sighed. “It always bothered me that we knew there were other victims but had no families looking for them. We theorized that the girls might have been estranged from their families, or that they didn’t have families.”
“That could explain it,” Dr. Lofton murmured.
Adrenaline spiked through Wyatt. They actually might have an ID on the Skull. “The ERT is searching that graveyard by Samson’s, but if Hinke left those bodies in that closet, he’s our man.”
Still, he had to cover all the bases. “What about Joyce Ferris? Cause of death?”
“Asphyxiation. Dr. Ferris was strangled.”
“Was she sexually assaulted?”
Dr. Patton nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Wyatt rubbed his chin as he considered some of Tinsley’s injuries. “Burn marks. Torture?”
“She had defense wounds where she tried to fight him. Her nails were cut, skin bleached.”
“To destroy DNA where she scratched him.”
“Looks that way,” Dr. Patton said.
“This guy knows what he’s doing,” Wyatt said. “Hinke had medical training.”
And he could have stolen medication from the pain clinic where he’d worked. But he had raped and tormented Tinsley and
held her hostage for months.
Why had he killed the veterinarian so soon after kidnapping her? Why not keep her and torment her?
His phone buzzed, and he stepped aside to answer it.
“It’s Bernie. I compared Marilyn Ellis’s DNA to the hair we found. They’re not a match.”
“What?”
“Sorry. I ran the test a couple of times, but they’re not even close.”
Damn. He’d been so sure she’d drugged Tinsley and planted those skulls on her porch.
If she hadn’t, then who the hell had?
Tinsley took one look at Liz Roberts’s face and her stomach churned. “What’s wrong?”
Liz paced to the couch, then sank onto it. “I . . . probably shouldn’t be here. I . . . can’t really talk.”
“What?” Tinsley poured the counselor a cup of coffee and carried it to her. Liz cradled it between her hands as if she needed to warm herself.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Tinsley said.
“It’s about the copycat, the one who drugged your tea and left that papel picado and the skulls on your doorstep.”
“What?” Tinsley rubbed her forehead. “You know who did it? Was it Marilyn Ellis?”
Liz shook her head, then leaned her face into her hands. She looked miserable.
“Turn on the TV,” she whispered. “Marilyn is about to do a special live interview.”
Confusion mingled with fear. Why didn’t Liz just tell her who this copycat was?
Her phone buzzed with a text. She stood, flipped on the TV, and grabbed her phone.
Wyatt. Hair DNA not a match for Marilyn. Another woman.
Fear shot through Tinsley, and she glanced at Liz. Liz had been at her house for tea and could have drugged her. And she’d just mentioned the skulls . . .
No . . . surely Liz wasn’t responsible. Not the woman she’d begun to think of as her friend . . .
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Wyatt texted Bernie to deepen the search on Hinke. He wanted to know everything about the man, including any houses or properties he or his family might have owned.
She informed him that Samson had shown up for work at the psych hospital, so he drove there and went straight to the director of the hospital. So far, he had no evidence that Samson had killed anyone or that he was the Skull, but he didn’t like the way he’d found that dog. Cruelty to animals was often a precursor to violence against a human.
