Victoria's Destiny

by L. J. Garland

  “I’m not him, River.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not Kent Rowton. I’m not some psycho serial killer, running around murdering innocent women. I’m your partner.” The big guy gave him a hard stare, ensuring River met his eyes. “I’m not going to betray you like your dead partner did.”

  He shifted his focus over Dauscher’s shoulder, staring at the wall of stone behind him. “I know.”

  Damn, did Dauscher believe he didn’t trust him? Yeah, they’d been working together just a few days. Trust took time to build—time they didn’t have. To have a case this huge fall into their laps complicated things. Damn. Everything is so damn similar to what happened in Texas. It’s no wonder he thinks I’ve stepped back into the past.

  A gust of wind rolled over the cobblestone street, bringing with it the heavy copper scent of blood. He met his partner’s gaze again. He’s right. If we’re going to catch the copycat, we’ve got to trust one another.

  Dauscher lifted his chin in Vicki’s direction. “Now, the blonde? Okay, she has info. She can stay.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “But the reporter takes a hike.”

  “Agreed.” River looked down the hill. Lenny appeared nervous, crossing his arms, uncrossing, then putting his hands on his hips. How many pictures of Vicki had he taken? “See if you can get his camera.”

  His partner grinned. “Hey, he might’ve gotten a picture of our suspect and not even know it.” With a glint in his eyes, he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed down the hill toward the reporter.

  River checked on Vicki. She stood near the police tape, arms folded across her chest. The officer speaking with her nodded and leaned closer to her.

  Kneeling down, River took the moment alone to deal with the murdered woman. He folded the sheet back from her face. Brown hair, wide brown eyes, a pointed chin.

  He leaned closer. Beneath her lay some type of tightly woven, white linen, not unlike a tablecloth. Did it hold significance? He frowned. The killer had placed his latest victim on it. It meant something.

  Wait, didn’t Vicki say something about white fabric being a sign or something? He was pretty sure she had.

  He raised the edge of the sheet, his gaze following the edge of the linen peeking out beneath her shoulder and arm. Her hand lay cupped at her side. He grasped it, her skin cool even through his gloves, and an immediate electric tingle shot through his fingers, up his arm. He jerked, releasing his grip.

  “Damn it.” He’d hoped it wouldn’t happen again. First Penny Newhouse, then Vicki and that weird picture in his head, and now this vic. It wasn’t just coincidence. Three unexplained tingling shocks meant everything he knew, everything he believed, just shifted into a whole other realm.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I know this great little bar not far from here.” Officer Burns smiled. “Maybe we could get a drink sometime.”

  Vicki glanced down the street toward the crime scene. For the smattering of dates she’d been on, fear of her visions had always held her back. The kiss she’d shared with River outside the restaurant had promised more. But then, she’d had a vision about him.

  “I’m kind of seeing someone.” If he still wants anything to do with me.

  “Oh.” The guy’s face fell. “Well….”

  Uncomfortable with the situation, she peered over her shoulder. River was kneeling next to the body, the sheet covering the woman’s face drawn back.

  “I, um….” Vicki gestured at the crime scene. “Detective Chastain just waved. I need to go.” Without waiting for the officer to respond, she pivoted on her heel and tramped down the street. Yes, she’d just told a white lie, but it was better than hurting his feelings. The one thing she hadn’t lied about was her interest in someone else. She very much wanted a second kiss with River Chastain.

  She paused at the police line and told the officer Detective Chastain had asked her to come. The officer glanced over his shoulder, and River nodded. She ducked beneath the police tape.

  “Hey.” She stopped a couple of feet away, thankful he’d flipped the sheet back over the dead woman’s head. “I know Detective Dauscher told me to go up to the police line, but—”

  He tilted his face up, an odd expression in his eyes. “It’s all right.”

  She knelt next to him, trying not to stare at the body. A breeze blew, and the sickly sweet scent of death wafted up her nose. Her stomach turned, and she tried breathing through her mouth. “Have you learned anything?”

  “More than I ever thought,” he mumbled. “I need to take a closer look. You might want to turn away.”

  “I’m okay.” Another white lie. She was okay being near him. But would she be okay when he pulled the sheet back, exposing the dead woman’s mutilated body?

  “Her throat was slit.” He gripped the edge of the sheet. “I need to see if it was a clean cut or a rip.”

  “It’ll be clean.” The words tumbled out, laden with self-assurance. She snapped her mouth shut. It must have surprised River as well because his head swung toward her.

  “Clean?” He stared at her, waiting for an answer.

  “Well….” Why did I say such a thing? Her mind scrambled. “Um. In my vision of the last victim, I saw the X with a dot above it. The lines were straight and thin. I guess subconsciously I realized the cuts must be smooth-edged, precise.”

  “You think he used the same weapon to slit her throat as he did to cut her open.”

  “Yes.” Another current of air brought the overwhelming scent of death into her nostrils. Her stomach churned.

  He lowered the sheet, and for a split-second Vicki saw the slash across the woman’s throat. She squeezed her eyes closed. A few moments later, the sound of fabric ruffling met her ears.

  “Clean.”

  She opened her eyes. The sheet was back in place, the body covered. River helped her stand. She swayed, and he grasped her shoulders, steadying her.

  “You okay?” His brow furrowed. “The smell get to you? You should’ve said something or at least moved upwind.”

  The warmth of his hands seeped into her, righting her canted world. “How do you do this? Look at dead bodies and not be affected?”

  “If I let myself think about it, I wouldn’t be able to do my job.” Releasing her, he stepped back, his warmth going with him. He tilted his head, searching her face.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He gestured to the wall behind her. “From what I remember of your vision, those must be the stones.”

  “Yes.” She stared. Wait. That chip. The bit of missing mortar. Those are the exact stones I saw. He could’ve pointed anywhere. The immediate area was rich with them—two long curved walls, not to mention the street they stood on. How the freak did he know where to point?

  “What were the other symbols?” He gestured at the top of the wall. “Are those the trees with the Spanish Moss?”

  She twisted around. “No. Not exactly.” She walked up the street and scooted beneath the police tape. “There’s an order to it. The first symbol was Spanish moss.”

  “Do you mean the stuff you see precedes the scene?”

  “They always have in the past.” She shook her head. “Though most of the time they’re a little more spread out.”

  “You mean proximity?”

  “Or time. I never know which it’ll be.” She scanned the enormous oak trees overhanging Bay Street, each rich with Spanish moss. “There it is. The one with the low hanging branch.”

  “So, now what?” He turned back the way they came. “Do we backtrack and find the other symbols?”

  “We can.” She shrugged. “Not sure it matters. She’s dead. It won’t change anything.”

  “I think we need to find them. Make sure they’re all here.”

  “Really?” She stared at him. Does he believe me?

  “If we trace the path, we might find some evidence.” He rubbed his jaw and scanned the area around them. “Might get lucky.”

  So, it’s
not about believing me. It’s the evidence. Shot down again. As she searched for the next symbol, she tried to ignore the ache in her heart.

  “There.” Vicki pointed toward a compact car with a specialized paint job. On the side, splashes of color lay atop a three-dimensional grid. The central swoop within the abstract design, a brilliant yellow six lying on its back.

  River’s eyes widened, and he approached the car. “I guess I was thinking more along the lines of an address where the six came loose and fell over.” He crouched near the car. “Though, I see it since you’ve pointed it out. Not sure I would’ve otherwise.”

  He rose and, pulling out a notepad and pen, jotted down the license plate number. He tucked the pad back into his jacket. “So, does that mean the vic or the murderer walked by the car?”

  “The symbols were for her.” A chill ran up her spine. Becca and River were the only two left for whom she’d had visions. Both tied to the killer. Who would the bastard take first?

  “Do you think she was alive, or could he have been carrying her?” River walked around the car, scouring every detail.

  “I don’t know.” Vicki glanced at the moss-shrouded oak behind her then looked down the cobblestone street leading to the Riverwalk. “My first thought is she was alive when she passed by here. Why would I get symbols if she’d already been killed?”

  Straightening, he gave her a level stare. “Why indeed.”

  Anger shot through her. “Hey, I’m doing my best here. I always thought getting the symbols in advance was supposed to be a way to save lives.”

  He raised a brow. “And how many have you saved?”

  She swallowed, tears springing to her eyes. “None.”

  “Damn.” River came around the car. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I was trying to get an idea about your track record.”

  “None. I’ve saved no one. Not a single one.” She balled her hands and dug her nails into her palms. “Which sucks because I had a vision tying you to the killer. And I won’t be able to save you either.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be just fine.” He urged her toward the crime scene. “My bet is we’ll find the guy before he has a chance to come after me.”

  She hoped he was right, but the ball of ice in her stomach disagreed. She hadn’t been able to change or stop a single outcome. Not even the fate of her parents. Why would River be any different?

  “So, we’ve found the Spanish moss, the six on its back, and we already know where the stones are.” He glanced at her, something strange and indefinable in his eyes. “That leaves the white cloth and the pointed D.”

  They ducked beneath the police tape and approached the body.

  “I’ve got an idea about that already.” He turned toward Detective Dauscher, who stood next to the body, his face grim. “How’d it go?”

  “He wasn’t too happy about the request. I told him he could either give me the memory card or the whole camera.” The detective held up a small black square. “He opted for the card.”

  “Evidence is evidence.” River knelt next to the body, his features hardening. “Anyone touched the vic?”

  “Nope. Coroner’s eager to bag and tag.” Detective Dauscher pulled on his earlobe. “Was wondering where you and Ms. Spiere got off to.”

  “Found a car the killer might’ve touched.” Removing his notepad from his jacket, he tore out the page he’d written on. “Need to find the owner, see how long it’s been parked there, and dust it for prints.”

  Detective Dauscher took the paper and, after a cursory read, tucked it into his coat pocket. “I’ll get it assigned.” He gestured at the body. “What about the vic? Clock’s ticking.”

  River’s lips thinned, and he faced Vicki. “You don’t have to be here for this.”

  No, she didn’t. But something inside her indicated otherwise. She needed to finish following the symbols—all the way to the horrid pointed D. “I’m fine.”

  “Photos have all been taken, evidence gathered.” Detective Dauscher moved farther down the length of the body and knelt. “Ready to roll when you are.”

  “In a moment.” River plucked the edge of the sheet, and Vicki clenched her teeth at the sight of the pallid arm, the lifeless hand, and the bright mauve nails contrasting the dusty gray fingers. Her stomach churned, but she forced herself to remain stolid. It’s not a person anymore. Not real. God, she hoped she could make herself believe the lie.

  “What about this?” River pointed to the material beneath the body. “Might be linen, like a tablecloth or something.”

  Vicki focused on the cloth. Icy tendrils of dread crept down her back, leaving prickles in its wake. She swallowed. “That’s what I saw.”

  “Thought so.” He faced his partner. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” Detective Dauscher’s brow furrowed, and the corners of his mouth pulled downward in determination. He slid the fingers of one hand beneath the woman’s hip and the other beneath her thigh.

  River blew a harsh breath of air through his mouth and pushed his hands under the woman’s shoulder and torso. “One…two…flip.”

  The body levered over, landing facedown on the sheet that had covered her.

  “Damn,” Detective Dauscher drawled, and River sucked in a breath.

  Vicki stared, unable to tear her gaze away. The circle with a pentagram had been cut into the woman’s back, the pointed D carved in the center. Except something was wrong with the diagram. It was backward. Vicki swallowed.

  She glimpsed the crisp white linen on which the killer had placed the woman. “Not real. Not real. Not real,” she whispered to herself.

  River grabbed her hand. “Vicki.” His voice, warm and soothing, seemed so far away.

  Blood. On the cloth. She inhaled a breath. “Oh my God.”

  “Look at me.” He yanked her to him, but her focus remained locked on the fabric.

  Vicki bit her lip and shook her head. It matched what she’d seen. Dark brownish-red against stark white, the killer’s sign shone like a beacon on the folded linen. He cut her. Used her back to stamp his signature on the fabric.

  River’s strong fingers touched her chin, coaxing her to him. His warmth flowed into her while his blue gaze searched her face.

  “Hey.” A gentle smile formed on his lips.

  “It’s not real,” she whispered. “He c-cut her.”

  “Okay. Let’s concentrate on you first.” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “You’re fine. Really. You can handle this.”

  A calm washed over her. All the jittery nerves, queasy stomach, and shock faded. She blinked. She tilted her head. “How did you—?”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “Why don’t you walk up there and take a breather?” He gestured toward his car, which sat on the other side of the police line.

  She shook her head. “I’d rather stay, finish this out. If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure.” His hand slid from her shoulder. “But why don’t you move over there? At least you’d be upwind.”

  She skirted the body. When she looked down, her reaction to the dead woman was nominal. Before she’d almost hyperventilated. Had River done something? All he did was squeeze my shoulder. Told me I’d be all right.

  She observed the two men working together. River, his dark features and toned runner’s build contrasted Detective Dauscher’s lighter hair and linebacker qualities. His love of the job lay clear in his every movement. He believed in good and evil, had seen it up close.

  Now, she had as well.

  River watched her, probably ensuring she remained calm and sane. Her cheeks heated. Of course I’m fine. He took care of that for me. She let a small smile of gratitude curl the corners of her mouth.

  Detective Dauscher pulled a notepad and pen from his jacket and shook his head. “Not here.”

  “What?” He shifted his attention to his partner.

  “He didn’t do any of this here. Not enough blood.” He scan
ned the cobblestone street. “If he’d done her here, there’d be blood everywhere.” He shot a glance at Vicki. “Sorry.”

  “I’m okay.” She waved him off. “You do what you need to do.”

  “I agree.” Kneeling, River shifted his attention from the woman’s back to the cloth in front of him. “The wounds were post mortem. But not so long he couldn’t still leave his message.”

  Detective Dauscher shook his head. “Man, we need to get this sick bastard.”

  “Yeah.” River turned a grim expression to Vicki. “We do.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The coroner’s return afforded River the opportunity to escort Vicki to Becca’s shop. He lifted the police tape for her to scoot under. “I’m sure she’s fine. She probably just didn’t hear you knocking.”

  “I hope so.” Straightening, she scooped back a strand of blonde hair from her face. “But why are we going this way?”

  “Well, with your favorite reporter-stalker standing behind the other police line, I thought it might be better if we slipped between the buildings and approached Becca’s shop unobserved.” Grinning, he removed his gloves and booties.

  “Sneaky,” she drawled, her gray eyes sparkling in the crisp midmorning light. After removing her gloves and booties as well, she dropped them into his waiting hand, and he tucked them into his pocket. “I like it.” A smile curved her lips, and his chest tightened.

  Continuing up the cobblestone street, they passed River’s car and the police officer on duty. They found a set of stairs and descended to the Riverwalk level. Emerging from between two buildings, they turned left on the sidewalk.

  “There’s her shop.” Vicki hurried to the door, and River followed.

  Inside, the upscale shop was lit, and the discreet sign in the window displayed the word Open in flourishing script. River turned the knob and found it unlocked. Entering first, he scanned the shop for anything awry.

  Across the room a curtain of beads rattled, and Becca entered.

  “It’s about time you got here, sleepy head.” The dark-haired artist stumbled to a stop, her eyes wide with surprise. She slapped her hand to her chest, and the bangles on her arm clinked. “Detective Chastain, Vicki?”