She touched his hair, not to mess it up, but to…hell, she didn’t know. “I know.”
“Then you know you have to stick with Evie, do whatever she says.”
“Yes.” Of course she knew it, but that didn’t mean she liked it. Here was yet another person who would be watching her, controlling where she went and what she did.
Hayden pushed back a lock of hair that plopped over her forehead, but she didn’t fight the touch. She didn’t want to. “I’ll be fine,” she said.
After a few final directives to Evie, Hayden and Hatch left the cottage. The minute the door shut on his broad shoulders, the air changed, thinning, making breathing more difficult. Kate forced in a deep breath.
“He’s really not bad, not once you get to know him,” Evie said.
Once you get to know him. Kate had said that same thing about Smokey. She had learned to put up with the old soldier. She had called him yesterday and got the good news that both Maeve and her home were still in one piece.
“You need me to come out there, Katy-lady?” Smokey had asked. “You need me to give G-man a good boot in the butt?”
Only if you can boot him into my bed. And how stupid was that thought?
She turned back to Hayden’s spreadsheet and focused on something less disturbing: who from her past wanted her dead.
For the next hour, Kate studied the names and in her mind reviewed the hundreds of sources and subjects she’d interviewed for her “Justice for All” reports. Frankly, there were plenty of people on this list who could have wanted her dead. Her investigative reporting pitted her against dubious characters, everyone from drug dealers to death-row inmates. Did one of these purveyors of injustice convince Jason to attack her? Or was it a coworker? Neighbor? Old lover? For three years, she’d worked hard at putting her past behind her, and this trip down memory lane was hell.
She started to pace before the great wall of glass. Evie sat at the kitchen table, drinking her third cola and banging away on Hayden’s laptop. Hayden had said Evie was the SCIU’s bomb and weapons specialist. Evie struck her as an explosive type, Latin in temperament and looks. Long, dark hair pulled into a tumbling I-don’t-give-a-rat’s-ass knot sat atop her head, and her full, red lips looked well-suited to popping off. Small and thin, Evie was a little Latin firecracker, but anyone who could hold her own against the towering ego and personality of a man like Hayden had to be tough.
After what seemed like her fiftieth pass through the living room, Kate noticed Evie close the laptop.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Evie said.
Kate stopped in the middle of the great room. “I officially adore you.”
Evie laughed. The sound surprised Kate. Petite Evie’s laugh was low and throaty, like a person who knew smoky bars and how to swig cheap whiskey.
Without a word between them, Kate and Evie struck off down the path that curved along the lake. Kate had changed into a pair of long pants and slipped on a long-sleeved overshirt, and a sticky pool of sweat gathered between her shoulder blades. She’d be a hell of a lot cooler if she’d take off the shirt, but she wasn’t ready to expose that part of herself to the world. She’d done enough self-exposure at the press conference and to Hayden.
Hayden. He may no longer be at her side, but he was still in her mind. The machinelike man who never slept. The quiet, contemplative thinker who spent hours in the heads of killers. But he was also the man who looked in awe at her version of happily ever after, heated her blood with a kiss, and called her beautiful. And still, she didn’t feel like she knew him because Hayden didn’t let other people get close.
“Hayden grew up without a mom.”
Kate snapped her head toward Evie, who walked beside her, the wild knot of hair bobbing at the side of her head. “Excuse me?” Where had Evie’s comment come from?
“You were rolling the bottom of your T-shirt.” Evie bent and picked up a handful of stones. With a flick of her wrist she skipped a stone across the lake. Four bounces.
Kate’s fingers knotted in her shirt fabric, and a half grin twisted her lips. “Hayden says I’m an easy read.”
“He’s seriously brilliant,” Evie said. “You know that, right? His brain is amazing.”
And so are his hands and those golden arms. And lips. She couldn’t forget those lips.
“The things he sees and connections he makes, it’s crazy, Kate, but in a good way. In a way that saves lives.” Evie skipped another stone, this one bouncing seven times. “At the Box, we’re supposed to pretty much be equals. We all have our areas of specialty. We’re teammates, but Hayden, he’s at a different level.” Evie fingered the stone in her hand, the rock weaving between her fingers. “If anything ever happened to Parker, Hayden would take over the team.”
She could see Hayden heading up one of the world’s elite crime-fighting teams—the Apostles, she’d heard someone call them. “Which would make him God.”
Evie laughed again and untangled the stone from her fingers. “Don’t tell him that. Hayden’s damn near perfect and knows it.” She skipped another stone.
“What happened to Hayden’s mom?” Kate asked. Machines didn’t have moms. Little boys did. Kate went to that place in her head, that creative section of her brain she tapped to make angels and fairies from stones, and tried to picture little-boy Hayden. Baseball. He probably played something like catcher. She could see balls coming at him fast and furious, and he never missed a one. Definitely fishing. He was patient, not minding those long stretches of silence because he was comfortable in his head. And something to do with art. She didn’t think he was an artist, but he wore all of those exquisite, hand-painted silk ties. Something in him appreciated color and texture and artistic composition.
“She died of cancer when he was six,” Evie said.
“And his dad?”
“Career military.”
“I see.”
Evie let loose another whiskey laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time with him, amiga.”
In silence, they strolled another hour, turning around at some point, and, to Kate’s relief, Evie didn’t force a conversation. Some day Kate would be able to converse like a normal person, chatting about the weather and about what fish were biting.
“You don’t talk as much as Hatch,” she told Evie.
“My mouth has a tendency to get me in trouble,” the little FBI agent said with a wry grin. Kate chuckled.
They passed a small cabin, still wearing its winter storm shutters, when Evie stiffened beside her. “Bend down and pretend to refasten the strap of your sandal.”
“What?” Kate asked. A hush fell over this part of the lake, where the alder and fir trees thickened.
“Bend down. I need to change places with you.”
“Why?”
“Someone’s following us.”
The sweat soaking her shirt froze. She’d been dangled like bait. Was the Butcher about to bite? She squatted and refastened her sandal strap.
“Don’t look panicked,” Evie said. “He’s not close enough to strike. He’s just beyond the tree line.”
She tugged at the strap, the blood at her wrists pulsed hard and fast. “What do we do?”
“Can you run?”
Kate wanted to laugh. Hell yeah, she could run. “Just give me the signal.”
Evie reached into the back of her waistband. Kate stood. Every muscle in Kate’s legs was tense and ready to sprint.
“See where the bushes open in about thirty yards? That’s where we’re going to take off. Straight up the rise. Don’t leave my side. This could be a trap to get you alone.”
“Okay.”
When they reached the clearing, Evie dropped her skipping stones. “Now!”
Kate tore up the rise after the FBI agent. A shadow at the tree line shifted, and a flash of blue ducked into the dense foliage. Her feet pounded the sandy, granite soil. She slipped once, twice, as they raced toward the trees. Just ahead, someone huffed out ragged breaths and thrashed t
hrough the brush. Their prey was slow and clunky.
And she was born to run.
She kicked up her speed, pushing Evie to a full-out sprint.
They reached the tree line. A group of squawking jays erupted from a stand of alders. Kate jumped and stumbled over a semi-exposed boulder. She careened back, her butt smacking the ground.
Evie skidded to a stop. Whoever was in the bushes continued to run.
“Go after him,” Kate said. “Go!” She stood, a twinge in her ankle.
Evie stared wistfully through the forest, the thrashing growing softer. “Can you walk on it?”
Kate gave her ankle a spin. Achy, but she had full mobility. “It’s fine. Let’s go.” She hobbled toward the trees.
Evie pulled at her arm. “He’s too far gone, and I don’t want you running on that ankle.”
“Then run after him yourself.”
“And risk the wrath of Hayden?”
Hayden. He wasn’t here, but he was.
“Did you see anything?” Evie asked
“Blue sleeve. What about you?”
A frown marred Evie’s lips. “Blue baseball cap. Average build. Couldn’t even tell if it was a male or female.”
“Should we check for footprints or something like that?”
Evie shook her head. “It’s getting dark. I need to get you inside.”
Kate didn’t argue, mostly because she agreed. With the dark easing in, shadows started shifting and night sounds kicked up. The Butcher was out there.
Glad to see the cheery yellow cottage, she hurried up the porch steps but skidded to a halt when she reached the door. Something shiny and gold winked at her.
A necklace with a tiny bottle of shimmering dust hung from the door handle.
Her breath jackknifed in her throat and she slammed her fist into the door.
Chapter Sixteen
Sunday, June 14, 10:40 p.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada
Directly below the fist-sized hole in the cottage’s screen door, Hayden counted seven drops of blood. Something hard and sharp spiked at the back of his head. “Where is she?” he asked Evie.
“In the bedroom.” Evie’s fingers pressed into the tense flesh of his arm. “She’s fine, Hayden, but she won’t talk. She hasn’t said a word since she saw it hanging from the door.”
Hayden held out his hand.
Evie handed him a gold chain necklace with a tiny green glass bottle. Gourd-shaped, the bottle had a cork lid and gold filigree curved along the bottom and was filled with shimmering bits of gold.
“Dusted it,” Evie said. “No prints.”
“Contents?”
“Appears to be regular craft glitter, the kind my nephews use on all those macaroni Christmas ornaments I put on my tree every year. But you need to ask Kate. She recognized the necklace in a big way.”
“Did you see anything, anyone?” Hayden asked.
“Nada. I scrubbed the cottage. All doors and windows are locked.”
Hayden motioned to Hatch, who knelt in the driveway studying the gravel. “Call Chief Greenfield and get an extra car posted on the lake tonight. Then check out the grounds. Talk to the neighbors and see if they saw anyone here at the cottage. Evie, you hit the houses along the side of the lake, find out if anyone saw your mystery guy with the blue baseball cap.”
After his teammates left, Hayden found Kate in her bedroom, putting the last of three Bugs Bunny bandages on the knuckles of her right hand. He centered himself in the doorway. “There’s a what’s-up-doc comment somewhere in here, but I’m not sure how it goes.”
Kate gathered the bandage wrappers and ground them into a tight ball before tossing them in the trash. “You’re lousy at jokes.”
“I know.” He dangled the green and gold bottle between them. “So let’s talk about this instead.”
She tossed the bandages into the first-aid kit and slammed the lid, rattling the contents.
“Kate,” he said. For all her fiery fight and anger, he saw what simmered beneath. “Why are you afraid of this necklace?”
Her eyes squeezed shut, as if she didn’t want to see him or that necklace. Then her shoulders sagged, and she sunk onto the edge of the bed, her hands clenched between her knees. He sat next to her, placing the bottle on the dresser directly across from them. For a while, they both stared at it.
“It’s pixie dust,” she said at last. “Or at least that’s what my father told me when he gave me the necklace when I was five. He said if I sprinkled it on my pillow I’d fly off to wonderful, magical lands during my dreams.” She huffed out a snort. “He lied.” Her knees pressed into her knotted fingers, the Bugs Bunny bandages stretching into grotesque caricatures. “He’s here, Hayden. The Butcher is here. He put that necklace on the door.”
Hayden slid his hand over hers, intertwining their fingers. “He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him.” He reached over and forced her gaze toward him, away from the necklace.
Kate pressed her lips together, as if contemplating arguing with him, but she shook her head and closed her eyes. With the fight gone, she looked smaller. He moved closer, his leg brushing hers. He wanted to draw her into his arms again, but she wasn’t ready. He could tell she needed to talk.
She took an uneven breath. “The night of my junior prom, the night I left Kendra’s home for good, I stopped long enough to take three things with me. Yep, three things to start a new life.” She opened her eyes and pointed to the necklace. “That was one of them. Stupid, wasn’t it? A bottle of pixie dust from a father who didn’t care. And I kept it close for the next twelve years. I always wore it under my shirt or carried it in my pocket, a reminder that I make my own magic. I was wearing it the night Jason attacked me, but when I woke at the hospital, it was gone. I asked the staff if it was with my clothing, but no one remembered seeing it. It wasn’t in my home, either. I figured maybe it got lost in the ambulance or possibly in the ER when they brought me in. At one point I had the crazy memory that my attacker had taken it. But in light of it showing up on the front door, it’s not too crazy, huh?”
He shook his head. “The necklace was a souvenir, proof that Jason ‘killed’ you.”
“He’s here.” A tremor warbled in her throat. “He was at our front door. He followed me along the lake.”
Hayden slipped an arm over her shoulder. “And he’s not going to get you.”
“He got past armed guards at the hospital. He—”
“No, Kate, not this time.” He pulled her to him, her shoulder pressing into his chest where his heartbeat picked up speed. “I know this man, Kate. I’ve been in his head. Right now he wants to frighten you because he wants you to run. But you’re not going to run because I won’t let you.”
Kate’s shoulders squared, and if she weren’t so visibly mad, he’d laugh. Kate wore her emotions on her sleeve. A flash of anger because he told her what to do. Fear that a madman traipsed across their front porch. And…he looked harder, searched longer. At last he saw it. Trust.
With a shake of her head, she unwound herself from his arms and sunk onto the bed. “Fine, Hayden. I’m not going to run.” She grabbed a pillow and punched it before tucking it under her head.
The depth of trust, especially from a woman who didn’t trust easily, shook him. But then again, so much about Kate shook him. Her fighting spirit, her laugh, the fact that her hand so often slid along his leg, his hair. Even now one hand fiddled with the edge of the pillow while the other absently stroked his knee. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes wide, and her mouth in a scowl.
Thanks to the Butcher’s calling card, sleep would be hard to find tonight. He knew her predicament. He’d be up most of night. The Butcher was in his head and making noise. Kate rolled her shoulders and shifted to her side as if trying to get comfortable. He imagined a night without the noise, without the monsters poking around his head.
She punched her pillow again, a little growl escaping her lips.
He kicked off his shoes.
This woman clouds your judgment.
But his body paid no heed to the voices in his head as he stretched out alongside Kate.
She stiffened. “Hayden, for Pete’s sake, I’m not going to run.”
“I know.” He pulled her shoulders against his chest and tucked her head under his chin. “You’re going to sleep.”
She grew oddly still then melted into his chest. At least one of them would get some sleep tonight.
* * *
Sunday, June 14, 10:55 p.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada
He took off the sun-faded hat and the vest that smelled of fish. It was one of his better disguises. It looked so…legitimate. The hat with its sixteen hand-tied flies and the vest with the pockets holding vicious little hooks were legitimate in the broader sense because tonight he’d gone fishing.
He hated to give up the necklace Katrina wore so close to her beating heart, the one Jason obediently slipped from her neck and brought to him the night he was supposed to kill her. The necklace was supposed to serve as proof positive Katrina was dead.
Tonight it served as a little calling card.
Agent Reed, however, called it a souvenir. He’d heard Agent Reed talking about “souvenirs” to one of the detectives after the Provo slaying. Reed said the Butcher took some mementos from the victims or their homes. He thought of that precious little container of red in his freezer, compliments of the beautiful, brown-haired broadcaster in Oakland, which, when used in the correct amounts, would last exactly one month.
What a bloody mess Provo had been. The police, sheriff, and local FBI were like the Keystone Kops. No one knew what the others were doing and who was coming or going, which is why it had been so easy for him to slip into a coroner’s jacket and observe firsthand what Reed was doing to find Katrina. The coroner tech disguise had been another good one.
He was a master of disguise. He could be anyone he wanted to be.
The Broken Page 19
