Shiver

by Cynthia Cooke

  “You’ll be fine,” Riley assured her. He handed her the reins, then demonstrated how to get the horse to turn, first left, then right, then how to stop. “Think you can handle it?”

  “Sure,” she answered, though she wasn’t at all sure.

  “Good. I’ll be right back.”

  She watched him hurry back to the barn, then glanced around for any sign of Mac. Something about him made her more than a little nervous. That tingling sensation tickled the back of her neck once more. Someone was out there watching her. She could feel it. She perused the bushes around her, but no one was in sight.

  Not Riley.

  Not Mac.

  Not the man who broke into Riley’s house last night. She remembered her dream vividly, could still feel the imprint of his finger on her cheek. Why couldn’t she remember what he’d said to her? Thank God Riley had been there. Thank God he’d woken when he did.

  Riley rode out of the barn with nothing between his jeans and the horse. “You ready?”

  Her eyes widened as she took in the easy sway of man and horse. She swallowed the lump of awareness in her throat and nodded. He pointed toward a clump of trees in front of his house. Babe lurched forward as he followed Riley’s horse.

  As they moved, Devra could easily see the prints. First, a man’s large-size boot heading toward the barn, then horses’ hooves coming back out. Could he still be here?

  Silently, they continued deep into the countryside. They passed under enormous crepe myrtles, their rich purple blossoms shining like amethysts in a sea of verdant green. The sweet fragrant smell teased her senses. It felt almost peaceful, like a glittery page from a children’s storybook where nothing bad ever happened and people always lived happily ever after. But like so many fairy tales, nothing was ever what it seemed.

  A soft, moist breeze encircled her in its embrace and lulled her into thinking the danger had passed, that everything would be all right. Then Riley stopped.

  “What is it?”

  “I lost his trail.” Riley climbed off his horse and inspected the ground around them, which had turned pebbled like a creek bed.

  “See anything?”

  “No,” he said after another minute had passed.

  “Do you really think he’s still here?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what he wants.”

  Riley climbed back onto his horse and continued down the trail. She followed behind him, unable to shake the chill that had invaded her bones, despite the cloying heat of midday. Live oaks stretched their mam moth branches, holding thick bushels of tiny green ferns. Devra stared absently at the tiny fronds that lightly touched her cheek. A wooden structure hidden high in the branches of one such oak caught her eye. A cascade of deep fuchsia bougainvillea dropped from its wooden roof like the flowing train of a bridal veil.

  Amazed, Devra stopped. Riley held a finger to his lips. Hidden beneath the thick layer of pink blossoms, Devra could see the rings of an old ladder.

  “It’s the perfect place to hide,” he whispered. “Stay here and stay on your horse.”

  She nodded and watched him dismount, then silently approach the tree. He climbed the ladder and disappeared within the branches. A rustling sounded behind her. Quickly, she turned. Both horses snorted a protest, then moved with her. “Shh,” she said to the animals, but didn’t see anything. She moved the horses forward a few steps, her gaze searching the bushes, fear ripping down her spine. Something was here, she knew it. She felt it.

  Perhaps in response to her apprehension, perhaps not, Babe shifted nervously and blew air loudly out of his nose. “It’s okay,” she cooed. But was it?

  She heard a step behind her. She turned and gasped. A strong hand pressed against her mouth and before the deep chemical smell hit her, she felt herself being dragged off her horse. “No!” she screamed, but the sound came out a muffled whine. Muscle, hard as rock, pressed into her back as his vise-like grip tightened. In her last few seconds of consciousness, her one thought was of Riley.

  RILEY KNEW someone had been up there the moment he entered the tree house. Nothing was out of place, but everything was just a little…different. The table and chairs by the window, the beat-up old rug on the floor, the baseball bats, gloves and balls in the wooden crate in the corner. It was all as it should be, yet somehow something was different.

  Then he saw it. The folded up newspaper in the corner, an old paper, yellowed and thin. He walked closer and stared down at the picture of a young teen on the front page. “Tommy Marshall found dead at Miller’s Creek” was captioned under the picture. Riley picked up the paper. The first thing he noticed was how old it was. The second was the date—almost exactly fifteen years ago.

  His jaw stiffened as he stared at the paper. Someone was pulling his strings, playing him along, dropping clues for him to find: the locket, the raspberries, this fifteen-year-old paper—the Rosemont Gazette. Rosemont, Washington.

  Washington. Wasn’t that where Devra said her parents lived?

  Devra. All clues always pointed back to her.

  He’d left her alone too long. Someone had definitely been up here—someone who wanted him to know about the death of this boy. He tucked the paper into the waistband of his jeans and opened the hatch to climb down from the tree house, then he saw it. A chill rushed through him, making him stop and stare uncomprehendingly at the picture of his mother. It was sitting on the window’s ledge.

  The picture that up until now had sat on his mantel.

  Riley grabbed the picture and flew down the ladder. When he got to the spot where he’d left Devra, he stood dumbfounded.

  “Devra?” Where was she? “Devra!” he called, as a thin thread of panic started to wind itself tighter and tighter in his mind. His horse stood patiently waiting for him, but Devra and Babe were gone.

  He tromped through the undergrowth, calling Devra’s name. Had she gone back without him? Had something spooked Babe? Had their intruder found her?

  The one suspect they had in Michelle’s murder, the one woman who was going to be able to piece all this together for him, was gone. And he had lost her.

  If anything has happened…if he were responsible for yet another woman’s… He couldn’t think it. How could he have left her alone? Because he hadn’t believed she was in any real danger. He was so certain she had an accomplice, that she was perhaps even the killer. Certainly he hadn’t expected she could end up as another victim.

  The rude awakening sucker punched him in the gut. The captain was right. He wasn’t thinking properly. And because of him, Devra could be dead. He had failed to protect her. He had failed—again.

  Branches scratched his face as he tore through the thicket—calling, searching, hoping. “Devra!”

  In the far distance, storm clouds moved across the sky. Ozone was building and he could feel the static tingling the back of his neck. He had to find her soon, before the storm drove him back.

  Suddenly, he heard a soft whinny. Babe? He pushed through a particularly nasty bramble bush, and saw Babe tied to a tree. Not just Babe, but Storm, too. Cautiously he looked around for any sign of the intruder, for any sign of Devra.

  But there was none.

  He checked the horses and they were fine, but where was the person who took them? Where was Devra? He started to untie the horses, when he heard something. He walked toward the sound, rounded a large tree and saw her.

  His breath stuck in his throat. Mac was squatting next to her as she lay on a thick patch of grass, surrounded and practically buried in a heap of daisies. “Mac?” Riley couldn’t believe his eyes. “Mac, what have you done?”

  Riley didn’t like the way her hands were resting on her chest, with their backs pushed together and the pinkies intertwined. He didn’t like the way her hair was spread out like a fan around her head. Or the way Mac was touching it.

  He stepped closer.

  Mac stood, holding a daisy in his hand, confusion and pain chasi
ng across his face.

  “What happened?” Riley asked. “Is she…” He couldn’t say the words, couldn’t let himself absorb the emotions threatening to rack through his body.

  Mac dropped the flower and it fell to Devra’s side, to land atop many others. “I was looking for Storm….” He turned and looked back down at her.

  Riley dropped to Devra’s side and took her hand. It was still warm. She had a pulse, she was alive. Relief surged through him. He looked up at Mac.

  Something dark and cold crossed Mac’s face. He’d never seen Mac look like that. Almost…dangerous.

  “You shouldn’t have brought her here, Riley. She doesn’t belong here.”

  Before Riley could respond, Mac disappeared through the foliage.

  He rubbed Devra’s hand between his own. “Devra. Come on, sweetheart. Wake up.” Please, wake up and tell me my brother had nothing to do with this.

  But he didn’t like the sick sensation in his stomach, or the direction his thoughts were beginning to take. Who else would care about a picture of his mother? Who else would know the significance of that picture? Had it been Mac in his house last night?

  Chapter Seven

  Devra moaned as blinding pain erupted through her head. She heard her name being called and tried to open her eyes. Someone lifted her head, sending a wave of pain arcing through her skull.

  “Devra, are you okay?”

  It was Riley, the detective with the honey voice. She opened her eyes and tried to sit up. There were yellow daisies everywhere, on the ground, on her chest, her legs. Panic swept through her. “Get them off of me!” she cried. She swatted at them, trying to brush them away, and was overtaken by sheer hopelessness as she tried to stand, but couldn’t find the strength.

  “Get them off me, please,” she begged.

  Riley helped her to her feet and brushed the last of the blossoms away. “It’s okay. They’re just flowers. They can’t hurt you.”

  She stared down at them, and even though she heard what he said, understood what he said, she was overwhelmed with the fear that they weren’t just flowers, that they could hurt her.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  She looked up at him and tried to focus on his words, on what he wanted from her, but everything was fuzzy and it hurt to think. It hurt to move. “I’m sorry?” she asked, trying to clear the confusion from her mind.

  “What is the last thing you remember?”

  “Watching you climb into the tree house.”

  “You didn’t see Mac?”

  “Mac?” She shook her head. “Was he here?” Nervousness skittered along her spine.

  “Mac found you.”

  “Oh.” She looked around. “Then, where did he go?”

  Riley hesitated. “What’s the deal with the daisies?”

  A deep shiver swept through her. Images flitted through her mind: ice-cold water, raspberries, daisies. Dizziness threatened. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “What about this?” He held out a paper with a picture of Tommy on it. Tommy at thirteen. Tommy smiling and happy.

  Then the shakes started and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Tommy. Tears filled her eyes.

  He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be fine.”

  He said the words so easily, so casually, but nothing would be fine—not for her, not ever again.

  She leaned into Riley’s strong warm chest and closed her eyes, trying to forget, trying to pretend that the game wasn’t up and there wasn’t anywhere left for her to go or anyone out there who would help her.

  Hot tears slipped out of her eyes and ran down her cheeks as the pain in her head deadened into a dull ache.

  After a moment, he pulled back. “Is there anything you can tell me? What is it about this picture that has upset you?”

  The paper clutched in his hand shook in the wind. She stared at it, stared at the smiling image of her childhood friend. I’m so sorry, Tommy.

  “What is it?” Riley asked. He didn’t like the look of horror that had come over her face, or the way the little color her skin had gained since waking fell away, leaving her looking like a ghostly specter as the sky darkened around them.

  “They wouldn’t let me say goodbye. I didn’t kill him,” she whispered. Her eyes filled with fear and became slightly unfocused as she stared at the paper. “You have to believe me.” She sounded almost desperate and her fingers clutched his arms, clinging.

  “I believe you,” he whispered.

  That seemed to settle her some, seemed to bring the focus back to her wild gaze as she looked up at him.

  “Where did you get this?” She gestured toward the paper.

  “In the tree house.”

  She nodded her head in quick succession. “Then he’s here. He’s come for me.”

  “Who?”

  “The man who killed Tommy.”

  Her words chilled him. Or maybe it was the manic way in which she said them. At that moment, the wind started up, whipping through the trees, blowing her hair around her. “Who’s Tommy and what does he have to do with Michelle?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Somewhere in the distance, thunder boomed through the sky. They had to get back to the house. “Can you ride?”

  “I’ll do anything to get out of here.” She shivered and rubbed her arms, looking around her, her eyes searching the bushes.

  He helped her up onto Babe’s back. “Hang on.” He grabbed Storm’s reins, then climbed up on Babe behind her. “Lean back against me and hold on.”

  They rode as fast as they could, but had to stop for the horse he’d left tied up at the tree house, and with two horses in tow it was slow going. The storm was blowing in fast and from the look of the swollen, purple sky, it wouldn’t be long before it cut loose.

  The downpour started just as they rode into the barn to secure the horses. There was no sign of the dogs. “LuAnn must have them,” Riley said absently.

  They ran to the house. “Felix!” Devra called, and gave a look of relief as the cat came running at the sound of her voice. As Devra fed Felix, Riley called his stepmother and let her know that Storm was safe and secure in his stall in the barn.

  As he hung up the phone, he turned to Devra. “We should take you to the hospital and have you examined.”

  She stiffened. “No.”

  “You don’t know what happened out there. You were unconscious.”

  “I can’t.”

  He shook his head in bewilderment, then picked up the phone again to call Tony. “How’s your head?” he asked as Tony’s line rang.

  “Better.”

  “Any bumps?”

  “No. I wasn’t hit.”

  “You weren’t?” She hadn’t mentioned that.

  “No. I smelled something. Something chemical. Maybe chloroform?”

  “Pretty sophisticated. Why didn’t he just hit you?”

  She shrugged.

  “Tony here,” Tony said as he picked up the line.

  Riley turned his attention back to the phone. “Listen, Tony. I need you out here right away. Something else has happened.”

  “No problem. I’m almost there.”

  “Almost here?”

  “Yeah, the nurse at Children’s worked with a police artist on a sketch of the man she saw watching Miss Morgan. The kid identified him as the guy he gave the locket to. I’d like to bring the sketch by for you and Miss Morgan to look at.”

  Riley raised his eyebrows. That was fast. “Good work.”

  “Also, I got the results back from her house. No prints on the rock.”

  Riley was afraid of that.

  “But the prints in the house came back to a Miss Devra Miller.”

  Riley’s grip tightened on the receiver. “Miller?”

  Devra looked up at him, her eyes wide.

  “Yep. Apparently, she goes by a different name.”

  She’d refused to b
e printed when they had her at the station. Now he knew why. He remembered seeing the name Miller written in the top corner of the papers describing Michelle’s murder. Her deception had been right there and he’d missed it. He sat down in the chair across from her and watched as her scared gaze turned wary. Why hadn’t she told him?

  Riley hung up the phone and speared his hand through his hair. Uneasiness churned in his stomach. Villain or victim? Had she staged her little kidnapping? He shook his head, he just didn’t know. Why would she lie about something as simple as her name? She had to know he’d find out.

  “Tony’s on his way.”

  A worried frown creased her brow. “I know.”

  “Are you Devra Miller?” He said the words casually, hoping for a small look of guilt or the embarrassed smile he’d seen numerous times cross her face. He waited for her to explain who she was and why she’d felt the need to go by a different name. Perhaps it was as simple as wanting a pen name for her books. She could give a little laugh and apologize, stating that she just didn’t think it was important.

  But she didn’t say a word.

  Her eyes turned cold and blank and her chameleon’s mask moved into place.

  “Talk to me,” he demanded softly.

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “There’s a lot to say and I think you owe it to me to be honest.”

  “Why? Because you took me in?” Her voice was hard, her body rigid. “I don’t recall you giving me much choice.”

  “I want to help you.”

  “Why would you want to help your prime murder suspect?”

  The anger emanating from her surprised him. Could he have been so wrong about her? “I know you didn’t kill Michelle.”

  “Do you?” she mocked with arched eyebrows. “How can you be so sure?”

  Exactly. Why had he been so sure?

  Thunder rocked the house. Lightning forked the sky, casting an ominous glow to the room. Their silence deepened and all that could be heard was the angry beat of raindrops against the roof and bushes outside.

  Devra grasped the table with splayed fingertips. “Why would Tony brave coming way out here in a torrential downpour? Just to see me? What does he really want? What aren’t you telling me?”