by Desiree Holt
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dana took her coffee out to the patio and sat in one of the lounge chairs, watching daylight fill the sky and the lingering traces of night fade away. Last night had been unusual to say the least. It was the first time she’d actually slept under the same roof with a man. In the same bed. Had outstanding sex. And not been afraid.
Usually when she shared a bed with someone, they left before morning light, after an unsuccessful attempt to coax a response from her unwilling body. Sometimes they came back, other times not. But Cole Landry made her feel desired, unafraid, special. He’d been patient and coaxing, stopping and starting even though she knew what it must have cost him in self-control.
A chill raced through her as she wondered for what seemed like the hundredth time how he’d react if she told him the real reason she was here. Why she obviously had a problem with sex.
Although apparently not with him. Her face heated as she remembered the things they’d done. And she’d enjoyed them. But if she shared the details of the attack and the warped years of her life since then, would he pity her? Be disgusted? Think her less of a woman because of her history with men?
Shoving her cell phone in her pocket, she walked down to the corral where the horses were still enjoying the air, doing an elegant cakewalk for her, tails up, manes ruffled in the morning breeze. When she inhaled, the scent was a heady mixture of horseflesh and hay.
For the first time since she was seven, the aroma of hay didn’t wrap tentacles of fear around her and take her back to that terrible night. Instead, an unfamiliar feeling of peace stole over her. She wondered what it would be like to live here, in this place. This house.
With Cole.
The ringing of the cell phone in her pocket jerked her out of her reverie.
“Oh, Dana, I’m so glad I caught you.” The voice was breathless. “It’s Ivy. Ivy Winslow.”
“Yes, Ivy. Good morning.” Dana hoped the woman had some news for her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wiping her damp palms on her shorts.
“I made some calls, and I’ve managed to persuade a couple of the others to talk to you. They’re a little skittish, but I promised them they could trust you.”
A rush of thankfulness spread through Dana. “Ivy, thank you so much. When? Where?”
“This morning. My House. Ten o’clock. Is that convenient? Did I give you enough notice?” Ivy’s voice was anxious.
“Absolutely.” Her car was parked in front of the house, keys in the ignition. Cole would just have to deal with her leaving. Anyway, he already had cars out on patrol and she knew they’d spot her and keep an eye on her. “This is a top priority. I’ll see you then.” A tiny finger of excitement danced over her skin as she disconnected the call. Her first major breakthrough. Maybe, if she was lucky, she’d have more information for Cole after the meeting.
Cole. She found herself actually anticipating seeing him again tonight, and her body quivered with a new hunger.
****
Gabriella Marquez finally gave into Stacy’s urging and spent the night with her and her husband in their small home. Not that she felt that much safer. She still had to go out on the streets. Shop in stores. Put gas in her car. Move around the town. The county. Whoever was doing this, if he happened to target her, could jump her at any number of places. Any time of day.
She’d slept fitfully during the night, waking often gripped by some nameless terror. This morning she was more exhausted than when she’d put her head on the pillow. She slipped out of the house while Stacy and Jered were still sleeping, leaving them a note thanking them for their hospitality. She needed to go home, shower and change, so she could get to the office on time.
She loved her work. Her accounting degree was like an invisible medal she wore proudly, having worked two jobs to pay for her schooling and graduating with honors. When Manny Sandoval hired her to work for him she thought she’d won the brass ring. Two years now, and things just kept getting better.
Not so with her personal life. Maybe she was just too picky. Maybe, like Stacy said, she should find some nice guy and settle down.
And who knew? Maybe she would, but not until the monster on the loose was caught. Until then, she could hardly think of anything else.
When she pulled into her parking space behind Manny’s little building, she saw that she was the first to arrive. No other cars in the lot yet. Good. She liked having the first few moments of the workday to herself. She could organize things before the routine took over.
As she was locking her car, a truck pulled up behind her. She looked up and smiled at the man sitting behind the wheel.
“Hi, Gaby. You the first one here?”
“Looks that way. Do you need something?”
He got out of his truck and came around to where she was standing. “Manny said he left an envelope for me on the receptionist’s desk. As long as I was around, I thought I’d pick it up. Okay if I come in and get it?”
“Oh, sure. Come on in.”
But as she turned toward the back door, an arm banded around her waist and a heavy hand slapped a foul-smelling cloth over her face. As she lost consciousness, all she could think was how stupid she’d been to think she was safe anywhere.
****
Cole met Tate very early for a quick breakfast, grateful his uncle didn’t mind hauling his ass into town practically at sunup so Cole could unload on him. He ran Dana’s theories past him and Tate just listened, stirring his coffee. When Cole finished, he leaned back in the booth, waiting for Tate’s response.
“I’m not saying she’s right,” his uncle said. “But in case she is, she could be a target, too. The wisest and safest thing she can do is get the hell out of here as fast as possible.”
Cole snorted. “Don’t you think I know that? But I’d have more luck moving a tank.”
“You want to move a tank?” John Garrett slid into the booth next to Tate, holding his mug of coffee.
“He just wants to find a way to get Dana Moretti out of town.”
“Oh, well, good luck with that. She’s one stubborn woman.”
That was the most productive statement to come out of the meeting.
When Cole reached his office, he made a call to get the mess at Dana’s house taken care of. He was working his way through his first cup of Grace’s poison, sorting reports into a folder for the FBI, when Grace buzzed him.
“Your visitor’s here,” she told him.
“He’s not a visitor, Grace.” He bit back his impatience. “He’s here to help us. Send him on back.”
Scott Clayton was so far from what he expected that Cole could only gawk at him. Instead of the dark suit, white shirt, and tie that everyone considered the FBI uniform, the man wore jeans, a chambray shirt, and a pair of comfortable-looking and well-worn boots. He looked to be about Cole’s age.
When he caught the look on Cole’s face, he burst out laughing. “I think you’ve been watching too many movies, Sheriff,” he said, obviously guessing at the cause for Cole’s reaction. “I thought I’d make people less uncomfortable if I ditched the button-down duds.” He reached into his breast pocket to lift something out. “But I do have the regulation sunglasses, so I’m not completely out of uniform.”
Cole felt an embarrassing flush creep across his cheekbones. “Sorry. I was just expecting…well…”
“No problem.” Scott flapped a hand in the air. “They say clothes make the man. I hope these make me a little easier to be around. Anyway, I grew up on the edge of the Hill Country, so this is almost like home for me.” Then his face lost all trace of humor. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got, and we’ll get started.”
Cole slid a folder across the desk as Scott lowered himself into one of the chairs.
“Autopsy and crime scene reports, although in both cases the victims were actually killed elsewhere. I’ve also included all the interviews we’ve conducted.”
“Great. You should know I spent some time tr
aining with the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. It’s one of the reasons Clark sent me. I can get a first assessment of the unsub and fill in some blanks while Quantico works the full magic.”
“That’s good news.” The thread of apprehension wrapped around his guts began to unwind. Maybe they could fast forward on this a little bit before another body turned up. “The quicker we get a handle on this guy, the faster we can identify him.”
“Give me a few minutes to look this stuff over.” Scott rested the ankle of one booted foot on the opposite knee, getting comfortable in the chair. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any coffee around this place. I was at the office at six this morning to talk to my boss before heading out here.”
“You drink Grace’s coffee at your own risk,” Cole warned. “But if you’re willing to chance it, I’ll get you some while you take a look at what’s in that folder.”
“I gather you drink it and you’re still alive,” he joked. “So yes, that’ll be fine. One sugar, no cream. Thanks.”
In the break room, the deputies still in the office were all over him.
“What’s he like?” Andi whispered, as if the man was standing right near them. “Do you like him? Is he an asshole?”
“Is he here to kick our butts?” someone else asked.
“I’ve spent all of five minutes with him,” Cole said as he fixed the coffee. “Hardly enough time to make a judgment. But he seems like an okay guy. Anyway, he’s not here to be either our friend or our enemy. He’s here to help us catch a killer.”
“Give the sheriff a chance to assess the situation, guys.” Gaylen had come into the room. “Anyway, don’t you all have assignments?”
“I’ll meet with everyone at shift change, how’s that?” Cole asked them. “If I need you before then, Grace will get you on the radio.”
Gaylen leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. “I’ve got everyone on regular duty until we know what Mr. FBI wants. That okay with you?”
Cole nodded. “That’s good. Let me get my bearings with this guy. Then I’d like you to sit in with us.”
Gaylen gave him a penetrating look. “Thanks, Cole.”
That was all he said, but for Cole that and the look spoke volumes. Whatever had stood between him and Gaylen Kleist for the past three years—if anything—was gone and a new bond was forged.
Scott Clayton was still reading reports when Cole set the mug of coffee in front of him.
“Your people do a good job,” he said without looking up. “I’m impressed.”
Cole relaxed a fraction. “Thanks. They’ll be pleased to hear that.”
“What would be the best time for me to meet with everyone?”
“Shift change would be best. I already gave them a heads up.” Cole sat back down in his chair. “I’d like to include my senior deputy as much as possible when you and I talk.”
Scott looked up at him and grinned. “Competition or cooperation?”
Cole lifted one corner of his mouth. “Cooperation. Hard won.”
“Good enough.”
The phone on Cole’s desk buzzed again. “Yes, Grace.”
“Nita Sanchez is here. Do you want her to wait?”
“No. Send her in. Her timing’s great.” He hung up the phone and looked at Scott. “My coroner’s here with the final autopsy report on the latest victim. I thought you’d like to hear it firsthand.”
“Thanks.” He closed the folder and stood up as the door opened.
Cole made the introductions. Nita had the same first reaction Cole did. She blinked then studied the FBI agent warily.
“I put my suit in storage,” the agent joked.
“He’s not here to crucify you, Nita. Like I told you last night, I put in the call for help.”
Although she supported his decision like everyone else in the office, he knew she was waiting to see how it shook down. Settling into her chair, she opened the large envelope in her hand.
“Why don’t I just take it from the top?” She looked from one man to the other. “Stop me any time you have any questions.”
Cole nodded. “Go ahead.”
He noted that while Scott Clayton kept his face deliberately impassive, the shock at the brutality Nita related was evident in his eyes. He was the first to say something when she was finished.
“This is more than an abduction, rape, and murder syndrome.” His voice was cold and hard, and all business. It was impossible to miss the controlled fury behind it as he outlined his perception of the killer. “People who do this are not hitting on all cylinders to begin with, but this guy has some very serious mental problems.”
“Do you think it’s someone who’s been treated by a doctor?” Nita asked. “Maybe has a history of mental illness?”
“Possible, but not likely. It’s more logical that he’s someone you see every day, someone you’d sit down to dinner with or attend a community event with.”
“Jesus.” The word hissed through Cole’s teeth. This was exactly what Dana had said. “You know how scary that is?”
Scott nodded. “I do. Because this is the most dangerous kind of predator to pinpoint. I see a lot of controlled rage in these acts, probably of long standing, and an almost pathological desire to cause pain. This isn’t about sexual assault. This is about control. It’s about inflicting as much torture as possible. His gratification is coming from the suffering of the victim, not the sexual act itself.”
“Are you sure?” Cole had to hear it confirmed for his own mind to accept it.
“I think he’s right,” Nita said before Scott could answer. “The things the killer does are not about pleasure, his or theirs. It’s about pain for pain’s sake.”
“Right.” Scott looked to Cole. “And that’s what gets him off. He probably keeps them awake so he can see the terror in their eyes as he abuses them.”
Cole ran a hand down his face in an attempt to wipe away the filth that suddenly seemed to cling to his skin. “It’s hard to believe someone I maybe see every day is capable of doing these kinds of things.”
“We’ve all said that,” Nita murmured.
Scott nodded. “These two crimes occurred close together, too. Something’s driving him. Almost as if he has a deadline. Does that mean anything to you? Is there anything different going on around here that might be a catalyst?”
Nita and Cole exchanged a look, and Cole cleared his throat.
“Dana Moretti, the true crime novelist, is in town doing research on an old case. She’s been here about a week. Maybe a little more.”
Scott lifted an eyebrow. “Moretti? I’ve read a couple of her books. One of my buddies in the Tampa office worked with her on one of the cases she wrote about.”
“What did he say about her?” Nita was perched on the edge of her chair, every line in her body screaming her skepticism about the woman.
“Actually, he had a lot of very good comments. Said she’s bright, has good ideas and the mind of a researcher. She knew when to step forward and when to stay out of the way.”
Cole relaxed fractionally. “She has a theory,” he began, watching Nita carefully for her reaction.
“And?” Scott prompted.
“She’s researching a crime spree from twenty-five years ago.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “How bad and was the bureau involved?”
Cole shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Pretty bad. And no, your agency wasn’t called in, but I’m not sure why.” He looked at Nita’s impassive face again then back at Scott. “For about eighteen months someone was abducting little girls between the ages of five and seven years. He brutally raped each one of them, then killed them.”
“How many?” Scott asked.
“How many?”
“Yes. How many children in all?”
Cole fiddled with the folder on his desk. He knew he was about to get jumped on. “Eleven. No, twelve. There was one who survived.”
Nita’s eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline. “I didn’t
know there was a survivor.”
“No one’s really discussed it since then. He kidnapped a pair of sisters. One was killed, the other survived, but barely. After the funeral, the parents picked up and moved away.”
“I know this was a long time before you came on the scene, Sheriff,” Scott began.
“Cole. I don’t think we need formality here.”
“Good enough. I know this wasn’t your load to carry, but would you have any idea why the Bureau wasn’t contacted? Kidnapping is a federal offense. And even if that wasn’t the case, we are the experts on serial killers.”
Cole linked his fingers and cracked his knuckles. How to explain the climate of culture in Salado County to this man?
“This is a small town, Scott,” he said slowly, “in a sparsely populated county.”
The agent held up his hand. “I told you. I grew up in an area very much like this so I don’t need a sociology lesson. Let’s see if I can guess. The sheriff was the law and everything was in his hands. The people didn’t want the world to know the heinous crimes being committed here so they just huddled together in fear until it finally stopped. Right?”
Cole looked across the desk at him. “Right. Absolutely. The killings ended when the last little girl survived. I don’t know if he stopped because he feared exposure and identification, but as far as I know, no one was ever named. I don’t think the child even knows who it was. I have a hunch the man wore a disguise.”
“What kind of disguise would induce a child to run off when I’m sure they all had the big lecture about strangers?”
Cole looked at Nita again.
“My lips are sealed,” she told him, “but I’ll leave if you’d feel more comfortable.”
Cole blew out a breath. “No, because I want to ask Scott something that would involve you.”
“Let’s hear it,” Scott said.
“Dana found a common thread in the reports as well as the interviews she’s been doing with parents.” He paused. “It’s clowns.”
“Clowns?” Nita raised an eyebrow.
