“Well, for starters it was about a girl on television.”
“What?” She frowned. “Have you ever had a vision about someone on TV before?”
“Nope. Which is what makes it strange.”
“Did you know her or something?”
“No.” Vicki laid her hands on the counter. The stone was cool beneath her palms, but the smoothness left little for her fingertips to grasp while she prepared for Becca’s questions. “It was one of those late-night destination infomercials.”
“Really?” She sipped her water. “Where to?”
“Savannah.”
Becca’s fingers tightened around the glass. “Is that why you’re here?”
“No. I told you, some crazed reporter did a story about me in a magazine. My picture was in it. I couldn’t stay in Charleston.” Vicki lowered her gaze to the floor. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Becca’s glass clinked as she set it on the counter. “Well, you can hide out here for as long as you like.”
She looked up into her Becca’s dark eyes, finding the culmination of their friendship—they’d always been there for each other. “Thanks.”
“Hey, maybe you need a disguise.”
“What?”
Becca nodded, her hoop earrings swaying. “What magazine did you say the reporter worked for?”
“UFO and Paranormal.”
“UFOP magazine? Oh, well then, I know you need a disguise because all the local grocery stores sell it. So, we’ll need to cut your hair and dye it red.” She made a snipping motion with her fingers. “Maybe one of those short and sassy styles. You know, the kind that looks like you just rolled out of bed after a fabulous tumble with some hot guy.”
Vicki tugged a few of her shoulder-length tresses, assessing her golden-blonde strands. “I’m not sure about a cut or color. But a fabulous tumble sounds good. What ever happened to your hot guy?”
“Wow, it’s getting dark outside.” Becca pushed away from the counter, her bracelets jingling. “We better get the rest of your stuff in.”
“Whoa.” Vicki held up her hand. “You told me Nick was your soul mate. What happened?”
“I was wrong.” With a shrug, she flipped her palms up. “Who knew? Now let’s get your stuff.”
“Wait a minute. I’ve been living vicariously through your amazing relationship with the love of your life, and that’s all you’re going to tell me?” Vicki took her hand, pulling her back to the counter. “I’ve gone on some dates, and they all turned out horrible. With this curse of mine, my chance of finding true love is nonexistent. But you? You have a shot at real happiness. My stuff in the car can wait until tomorrow if need be. Talk to me.”
Becca’s lips thinned into a painful grimace, and her brow furrowed. Her gaze moved down to the granite top where she brushed imaginary crumbs into a small pile.
“There’s not much to tell, really.” She tilted her head, and the strand of wavy hair slipped from behind her ear. “We were going to elope.”
“What? You didn’t tell me.”
“We didn’t mention it to anyone. Not even my parents.” Her slim shoulders rose and fell. “And it’s just as well we didn’t. He left me two days before the wedding.”
“Oh, Becca. I’m so sorry.” Vicki’s chest ached in empathy. She knew from experience how much it sucked being dumped.
“He decided he wasn’t ready to commit. But it’s no big deal.” She lifted her chin, a trembling smile on her lips. “If he doesn’t want me, then I’m better off without him.”
“He’s a freaking idiot,” Vicki growled and gestured toward her. “Who wouldn’t want you? I mean look at you with all your thick black hair and gorgeous body. You’re an artist, for goodness sake. You’re the whole package.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.” She came around the island and hugged her friend. How many times had their roles been reversed?
Becca sighed. “Thanks.”
“But I do agree you’re better off without him.”
“Yeah, him and every other guy on the planet.” Becca broke the embrace and finished the water in her glass. “I think I’m taking a break from men. A long break.”
“Okay.” Vicki nodded. “A break is probably in order. But having a fabulous tumble with a hot guy shouldn’t be out of the question.”
“No. That’s never out of the question.” Becca laughed. “Okay, then. Let’s get your junk upstairs, so we can see the sunset.”
“Hey, maybe a new you is in order.” She followed her friend out the front door. “I hear a cut and color can do wonders.”
Becca tucked the rogue strand back behind her ear and flashed a grin over her shoulder. “We’ll talk about it.”
Chapter Six
Savannah, Georgia
Damn it’s good to be in the saddle again. River adjusted his shoulder holster, his fingers brushing over the Glock’s cold steel. The satisfaction of wearing a badge and carrying a gun again seemed almost miraculous. Maybe the nightmare of the high-profile Austin Internal Affairs investigation and the ensuing public outcry had at last ended.
“Want to get out, grab a sandwich or something?”
He looked across to the metal desk occupied by Detective Theodore Dauscher. It was the standard question the local detective asked in order to bond with the new partner. The linebacker of a guy shifted his gaze from his rapid-fire keystrokes, where he finished responding to an email, and scrutinized him with dark-brown eyes.
Rising from his chair, River grabbed his jacket. “Sure.”
Outside, they piled into Dauscher’s navy Taurus and pulled out of the Savannah Police Department’s parking lot.
“Anything you don’t like to eat?” His partner lowered sunglasses from the top of his head, adjusted them, and ran a quick hand through his tidy, light-brown hair.
River shrugged. “I eat pretty much anything. Except raw fish unless I absolutely have to.”
“Good.” He nodded. “There’s an excellent deli not far from here. Cold cuts, fresh bread, sides. Reasonable prices, too.”
“Sounds good.”
As Dauscher drove, River scanned the tight streets filled with cars and pedestrians and wondered how he’d earned a job on the east coast after the allegations he’d suffered in Texas. More, how he’d managed to retain his rank as detective. Typically, an officer started at a lower position when changing to a new station. His old boss, Captain Suarez, had known nothing—River had asked.
“You’re a damn good cop, mi amigo,” Suarez had said. “There was no way you had anything to do with that puta. But you understand, I had to follow procedure. You just got caught up in bad circumstances.”
The procedure had led to the department’s firm request he seek employment elsewhere. Which had led to innumerable days at The Yellow Rose and his liquor-induced downward spiral. Then he’d received a job offer out of the proverbial blue. A job for which he hadn’t applied.
With no prospects in the great state of Texas, and no other options, he’d traveled to Georgia and into one of the most humid cities in the state—Savannah. It would take a while to transition from the open rolling terrain and tall buildings of Austin to the low-hanging trees and narrow streets of Savannah.
Matthew’s cryptic words rushed back to him. Your life is about to change in ways you can’t imagine. He shook his head. The wealthy kook just had good timing. It was all a coincidence.
Dauscher turned onto East Oglethorpe Avenue, which boasted a string of ancient, moss-riddled oaks down the center, dividing the street in half, giving the illusion of a perpetual tree tunnel. He smirked. If he’d been claustrophobic, he might have had to seek employment elsewhere.
However, when he’d seen the marshes and the vast array of animals residing along the coast, he’d been hooked. The salty air had filled his head, seeped into his soul, and created a deep-seated connection to the area. Within a week, he’d rented a modest house on a canal and requested a buyout from the owner
.
River glanced at his new partner as he navigated through the streets and decided since they were outside the station, it might be the time to discuss his background. If there was going to be a problem, he needed to know.
“You read my file?”
“Yep.” Dauscher slowed and stopped at a light.
“Guess you know why I left Texas, then.”
“Yep,” Dauscher said. “Gotta say, IA did their damndest to find a connection between you and the Valentine Killer. They cleared you, though.”
So, this is how it’s going to be. He gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his anger in check. “That’s because there was no connection to be made.”
His partner nodded, his eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses. “Course, those people picketing the station didn’t help. After all those girls had been butchered, the killer ending up dead in some freak cave-in? The public wanted a head on a pike.” He shrugged. “Sucks for you.”
So, he knew everything already. Dauscher had tracked the case even before he’d known River would be his partner.
“You got a problem with any of it?” His words came out harsh, but he didn’t give a shit. “Because if you’re worried being partnered with a known associate of a serial killer might keep you from a promotion, let me know now. I’ll request a new assignment.”
“Nope. No problems.” His partner turned at the intersection just as his cell phone chirped. Pulling the Taurus to the side of the road, he answered. “Dauscher.” As he paused to listen, his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Mam-maw?” His partner’s tone raised half an octave. “Calm down, Mam-maw. What’s going on?”
Frantic buzzing emanated from Dauscher’s cell while his grandmother spoke.
“Okay, okay. I’m not far away.” He shifted the Taurus into drive and checked traffic before veering out onto the road. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Trouble?”
“My grandmother’s new neighbors are at it again.” He emphasized the word neighbors, reflecting his annoyance. “She’s called the police three times because of all the yelling and cursing, but they’ve never arrested the husband or wife. I know we don’t really do domestic stuff, but with her being my grandmother and all, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind tagging along. It’s over in Thunderbolt.”
“Sure.” River hated domestics. It was difficult to discern the transgressing party. Not to mention the possibility of a hidden steak knife or small caliber weapon as a surprise factor he’d rather not deal with. But how could he say no? This was his first day on the job, and his brand-new partner had asked him to lunch. He needed to help out with Dauscher’s grandmother. That’s what partners did.
They drove down a street lined with single-story houses amid a sea of well-manicured lawns, one flowing into the next. Dauscher reported their location to dispatch as he steered the Taurus into the driveway of a taupe-colored home trimmed in cream. A distinguished woman with light-gold, upswept hair, a pink velour jogging suit, and white tennis shoes left the covered porch and hurried toward them.
“Oh, Theo,” she said as Dauscher exited the car. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He leaned over and gave his grandmother a hug then gestured toward River. “Mam-maw, this is my new partner, Detective River Chastain.”
“Detective.” She acknowledged him with a quick blink of her bright brown eyes then rounded back to her grandson. “I’m glad you were wise enough to bring backup.”
River suppressed a grin. So, he was Dauscher’s backup? Good to know.
His partner peered at the house next door. “It seems pretty calm now.”
“You should’ve been here five minutes ago.” She clutched her grandson’s arm. “They were yelling and cursing. Words I’ve never even heard before. And throwing things. I heard a loud bang and glass breaking. It sounded like they were killing each other.”
“Maybe we should go over and check it out,” River offered. They were here to set the woman at ease, and the best way for that to happen was to talk with the neighbors.
“Yes.” She glanced at the house, her brow furrowing. “It’s so quiet. I don’t know. What if something bad has happened? Oh, Theo, what if he’s finally killed her?”
Dauscher patted her hand. “Now Mam-maw, let’s not jump to conclusions. Detective Chastain and I will go over and make sure everything is okay.”
She pulled him closer. “You be careful, Theodore. And don’t you let anything happen to him, Detective Chastain.”
River nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You stay here, Mam-maw.” Dauscher extracted her hand from his arm. “We’ll be back in a little while. You go on in the house, and we’ll check in before we leave.”
She nodded then raked her gaze over River. “You watch my grandson’s back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He kept his tone and expression serious.
They waited until she’d closed and locked the door before treading over the fresh-cut grass toward the neighbor’s house. No noise emanated from the tidy blue and white ranch-style residence. No yelling or cursing. No breaking glass. Just another quiet day in a pleasant neighborhood.
“So, I need to watch your back, do I?” River said.
“What can I say?” The corner of Dauscher’s mouth twitched. “Mam-maw watches too many nighttime cop shows.”
“And here I find out I’m your backup.” He scanned the area while they crossed to the neighbor’s porch. “I thought I was your partner.”
“That’s what the paperwork says. Don’t know how things work in Texas, but here in Georgia, the new guy starts out as backup. Has to prove himself before working up to real detective status.”
River chuckled. “Good to know.”
They ambled up the walkway lined with sculpted hedges. Two fat ceramic pots, flanking the porch steps, held conical wire topiaries covered in ivy. From the eaves, large ferns hung, their long fronds dipping down to the railing. River followed Dauscher onto the wide wraparound porch, stopping in front of an enormous brown grass mat with “Welcome to the Beckindales” worked in a contrasting black.
“Seems pretty quiet.” River peered in the window, but cream-colored sheers diffused his view. “Maybe they left when your grandmother wasn’t watching.”
“Probably. But we’d better ring the bell, so we can tell her we tried.” His partner raised his index finger, aiming it at the doorbell.
Without warning, a fist-sized knot twisted River’s gut. The hairs on his neck prickled, straight pins piercing his skin. Something’s wrong.
When the button depressed beneath Dauscher’s finger and the first note of the doorbell chimed, River sprang toward him.
“Gun!”
He tackled his partner, the heat from the bullet singeing the rigid hairs on his neck. Two more shots ripped through the door in rapid succession, passing over them and ending up God knew where—or into whom. In a swift fluid motion, River rolled off his partner, pulled his Glock, and landed crouched, his gun aimed at the bullet-riddled door.
“You okay?” River barked in a hoarse whisper. Adrenaline pumped through his system, trying to ignite his flight response, but training kept his breath even, his hand steady.
“Yeah.” Scooting from the line of fire, he drew his .9mm Berretta. It had been too close, and Dauscher’s raised eyebrows and flared nostrils reflected intimate knowledge of the fact. “Son of a bitch!”
In two massive steps, River crossed the porch and flanked the right side of the door, his gun pointing toward the floor. He waited until Dauscher scrambled to the left side before calling out.
“Mr. Beckindale, this is the Savannah Police Department. Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up.”
Muted shuffles resonated through the holes in the door.
River tightened his fingers on his weapon. Shit, is the guy reloading? “Mr. Beckindale!” He counted in his head. If he made it to five, he’d kick the door in and they’d take the man down.
“The poli
ce?” a shaky voice said from within the house.
River met his partner’s surprised gaze.
The wife? he mouthed.
Dauscher raised a brow and shrugged.
“I’m really sorry,” she called.
“Mrs. Beckindale,” River amended in a stern tone. “You need to put the gun down. Come out here, so we can talk.”
“I didn’t mean to shoot at you.” A moan wafted through the door. “Oh God. I’m just so sorry.”
“We know you didn’t mean it, Mrs. Beckindale.” He kept his pitch even despite every muscle in his body being wound clock spring tight.
“I just…I thought you were Bobby.” A deep sob reached his ears. “I thought…I thought he came back.”
Crap. Her husband’s outside somewhere? He could be stalking them this very moment, using the wife as a distraction. River scanned the yard, the driveway, and across the street. “Bobby’s not here, Mrs. Beckindale. You’re safe. So open the door. Come out and talk to us.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she wailed. “I just…I just…I’m sorry.”
“Mrs. Beckindale?”
No response.
River locked his gaze on his new partner. The guy he trusted with his life after all of three hours and forty-five minutes. Dauscher grimaced as though he’d just had the exact same thought. Then, with a curt tilt of his head toward the house, the decision was made.
Kick it. Go in. Take down the woman with the gun.
But before he could move, another shot was fired from within the house. River jerked, expecting a hail of splinters to erupt from the door. But none did.
“Oh, shit,” River murmured. Mrs. Beckindale hadn’t shot through the door this time. She’d shot somewhere else.
“Maybe Bobby came through the back door?” Dauscher suggested, in tune with his line of thinking.
“Or worse.” He rounded on the door, squared himself, and kicked. The wood cracked at the knob, where a gunshot hole had already weakened the area, and flung open. Mrs. Beckindale lay sprawled on the tiled entry, blood oozing from a bullet wound to her head.
“Call an ambulance,” he barked, forgetting this was his first day on the job and he was supposed to be following along, learning the ropes. He knelt next to the thirty-something woman while his partner dialed on his cell. River took her wrist, felt for a pulse, and noted the welt beneath her left eye.
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