The Watcher (The Bigler County Romantic Thriller Series)

by Jo Robertson

  Kate strengthened her resolve. “Oh, but I won’t, I won’t. I won’t laugh. I know how to do the thing. I’ll show you, I promise. But you have to untie my other hand first.”

  He untied the other wrist.

  “And my legs.”

  She knew immediately that in her eagerness to escape, she’d made a mistake. The change was lightning fast. For one brief second the man’s face was both hopeful and yearning. Then lunacy descended over his features, his eyes turned cold and flinty, his voice charged with derision.

  “Do you think I’m stupid, bitch?” he asked. The quiet threat in his voice was more alarming than his earlier ranting. “I’ve known girls like you all my life, heartless sluts, vile women who eat a man’s soul. My mother was a cunt just like you.”

  Before she could answer, he picked up the knife from the floor and held it against her carotid artery. Kate felt a tiny prick and the warm oozing of liquid down her neck.

  “You’re going to be so sorry you tried to trick me,” he growled. “I’m going to slice and dice you.” The man laughed at his own joke, a calculating look in his eyes. Then burst into maniacal cackling.

  #

  Slater heard Kate’s voice through the open archway, took in the scene in an instant: the man wielding a long-bladed knife, Kate’s lovely body, dirty and bruised, naked on a filthy makeshift bed. And registered in seconds that she was alive.

  But for how long? He assessed the blood trickling from her neck. Trickling, not spurting. McClelland had nicked her. On purpose? As part of his torture? Or would the next cut sever the artery?

  Kate’s eyes widened and Slater realized she’d seen him. He raised his revolver, set one foot on the last wooden step, the other flat on the concrete flooring. Not close enough for a clear shot, he edged away from the steps and flattened his body against the cement wall. Bauer trailed close behind.

  Joseph McClelland hadn’t seen them yet.

  Suddenly the man plunged his knife even as Kate twisted her torso away from the blade. The tiny bubble of blood welling from her neck became a torrent gushing down her back and arm, across her breast. Slater couldn’t tell how serious the cut was, but God, there was so much blood. She arched her body away from the man, and the second blow deflected against her back, opening a gaping wound in the muscle.

  Slater screamed a warning. “Police. Put the weapon down. Do it, do it now.”

  He continued to shout and advance. The man pivoted, and taking in the two of them at the entrance to the second room, crouched behind Kate, the knife aloft, poised for another blow, a crazed grin plastered on his face.

  “Stop. Police. Stop or I’ll shoot.”

  Kate’s body was sheltering McClelland and Slater couldn’t take the shot. He moved toward the horrible scene, Kate bleeding and half-tied to a platform, a tattered army blanket lying near her feet. McClelland hovered at the edge of her body, the weapon angled for another plunge into her side.

  Bauer circled from the opposite side so that the suspect was flanked to the right and left. McClelland’s head pivoted from Slater to Bauer and back again like a trapped animal searching for escape.

  “Give it up, McClelland. You’re surrounded. You can’t get out of here. Put the knife down,” Slater commanded.

  With resignation in his eyes, McClelland moved his hands out to the side in a classic sign of surrender. Then, without warning, he uttered a blood-curdling scream. He banged against the bed on which Kate lay as he rushed toward Slater in a deranged assault.

  Opposite Slater, Bauer screamed, “Put down the weapon!”

  McClelland continued his manic advance. Slater poised to take a lower body shot at McClelland just as Kate screamed his name.

  In the second that Slater diverted his attention from the man rushing toward him to Kate toppling onto the hard cement floor, the killer hurled forward. He grappled Ben’s middle, plunged the knife upward, and aimed for a killing blow to the heart. Instead, the blade ripped through Slater’s side, laying open a chasm of flesh and muscle and deflecting off a rib. Slater’s revolver clattered out of reach.

  Bauer quickly assessed the situation and screamed, “Down.”

  Slater reacted immediately, understanding his partner’s intention. He realized Matt wouldn’t risk merely wounding McClelland. His partner aimed for the largest mass, and Slater fought through his pain and weakness to roll away from another plunge of the deadly knife.

  The sound of the gun firing echoed in his ears. The bullet ripped through Joseph McClelland’s chest leaving a small entry wound and the forward spatter of the exit wound. The suspect slumped against Slater’s bleeding body, both of them bathed in blood.

  Stunned silence filled the room for the space of several seconds before everyone reacted.

  Even though McClelland was clearly dead, Bauer kicked the knife out of reach and bent to check for a pulse as the others rushed down the steps, weapons drawn.

  “It’s clear,” he shouted. “He’s down. McClelland’s down.”

  Slater watched with eyes rapidly glazing over as Bauer holstered his weapon and rushed to Kate. Her face was pale and wet, her exposed breasts smeared with blood coursing from her neck, the wound at her shoulder gaping nastily.

  Matt ripped a corner of his shirt and wound it around her neck and shoulder, staunching the blood flow. Then he wrapped her naked, bleeding body in the ragged blanket.

  Borem leaned over Slater. “Ouch, man, that looks nasty.”

  “Never mind,” Slater groaned, struggling to get to his feet. “Kate, are you all right, are you okay?” he shouted across the room.

  “Don’t be a shit-head idiot, Slater,” Borem bellowed, stuffing a discarded towel into the wound. “You’ll bleed to death if you don’t put pressure on this. It’s bad, man.”

  Slater had no intention of staying where he was. He had to reach Kate, make sure she wasn’t critically wounded.

  “Stay there, Ben,” Matt commanded. “I’ll bring Kate to you. The bleeding’s stopped.”

  He lifted Kate from the floor and carried her across the room as if she weighed no more than the bales of hay Slater knew Bauer once hauled on his father’s farm.

  “I don’t know which of you is worse off,” Matt clucked like a mother hen. “Damn fools.”

  “Kate, Kate.” Slater repeated her name over and over, running his eyes over her body to see where she was hurt, inspecting for cuts and bruises. The wounds on her neck and back looked ghastly, but he didn’t think they were deep. He placed a kiss on top of her head.

  Slater didn’t realize he was crying until Kate traced the wet trail down his cheeks. Her body shook convulsively and he held her as tightly as his shattered rib and bleeding wounds would allow.

  “I knew you’d come, I knew you’d come,” she whispered against his face. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell you I was sorry.”

  “I was scared of losing you,” Slater admitted, holding on to her fiercely even though his side burned like the flames of hell. “Christ, Kate, I thought you were dead.”

  The towel Borem had placed on Ben’s chest had soaked completely through when Kate took a look. “Oh no, Slater, this will need stitches. Look at the blood.”

  “Superficial wound,” he ground out, knowing he lied through his clenched teeth, realizing the pain in his side meant at least one broken rib.

  “Superficial, my ass,” Matt said. “Borem, see if there’s a first-aid kit in the cruiser. And, for fuck’s sake, make sure one of those idiot feds called an ambulance.”

  It was the first time anyone had heard innocent farm boy Matt Bauer swear.

  Slater breathed shallowly against the pressure in his chest and began the uncontrollable shivering that he knew signaled the onset of shock. He could feel the cut was deep, and his ribs hurt like hell, but as he felt himself slipping away, he clung to the thought that Kate was safe.

  The truly mortal wound would’ve been losing her.

  He knew he’d survive. He might even have a good r
eason to live now.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  As Slater had predicted, the Federal Bureau of Investigation took command of the case immediately, claiming primary jurisdiction because of the multiple interstate homicides. The preponderance of evidence pointed toward a sure conviction had McClelland not died in the concrete bunker.

  The department’s role in the Bigler County Butcher case was finally wrapped up, and all files and evidence handed off to the feds. No one said the words aloud, but Kate suspected everyone was glad McClelland’s death saved the government a trial.

  Marconi’s body hadn’t been found, but the forensics team speculated it’d been destroyed by Joseph McClelland in the room where his grandfather had slaughtered the animals he hunted. They’d found traces of lye mixed with household bleach and animal blood. The FBI forensics capabilities were more sophisticated than the state and county resources, and Kate believed they’d eventually find indisputable trace evidence linking Marconi to the isolated farmhouse.

  Bauer was receiving a commendation. It was a good shooting, and he’d been cleared in the death of Joseph McClelland, a.k.a. the Bigler County Butcher, a.k.a. John Smith, a.k.a. more aliases than they’d thought possible.

  Kate had studied as many of McClelland’s medical files as she could get her hands on. As a physician, she was curious about how McClelland’s physicality affected him psycho-sexually, but she realized there were no simple answers.

  The killer had kept a small journal detailing the deaths of the two girls killed in Bigler County. Kate had gotten only a brief glimpse of the notebook before the feds confiscated it, but she saw the word “pretties” scrawled over and over throughout the pages.

  Dozens of pictures recovered from the house pointed to a history that confirmed Kate’s original theories about the case. Joseph McClelland’s history, a litany of psychological and sexual abuse and abandonment, came to light after hours of interviews with teachers, neighbors, and other locals.

  McClelland’s body underwent a complete autopsy examination, the results of which the federal government kept secret. Rather like an X-Files episode, Kate thought darkly.

  The board of supervisors instated Slater as the interim sheriff of Bigler County. He told Kate he’d finish out Marconi’s term, but he didn’t know where his plans would lead after that.

  She couldn’t forget the look on his face when he’d held her tightly in the blasphemy that was the basement slaughtering room. She shuddered to think that they’d nearly lost each other. She’d never seen him so vulnerable, and it flashed through her mind that losing her would’ve sent him into a serious tailspin. The idea frightened her more than it pleased her.

  She and Slater had walked on eggshells since the kidnapping. After their release from the hospital, he spent every night, all night, at her apartment, ignoring the sometimes curious, sometimes sly glances they received at the precinct.

  Kate’s wounds were less severe than Slater’s because she’d deflected the killing thrust of the knife. She’d healed quickly although an ugly scar would run from her left shoulder to the middle of her back. Slater required dozens of stitches to close the gaping wound to his side, and the healing was complicated by the break in one rib and the hairline fracture to another as the knife blade’s tip plunged into his body.

  With time, both of them healed physically. Emotionally their recovery was more complicated.

  Slater behaved as if he were afraid Kate would disappear if he let her out of his sight. But he didn’t talk about the time she’d spent with Joseph McClelland and didn’t ask her any questions about her hours in the slaughtering room.

  He never spoke of a future with her. He seemed preoccupied with the past and the present, but didn’t talk about what lay ahead for the two of them. That worried her. She didn’t know what was going on in his head and couldn’t tell if he were giving her space, or withdrawing from her.

  Concerning Joseph McClelland, Kate had mixed emotions. She hated the man because he’d murdered and tortured her sister and countless other girls. But for one moment, when she’d looked into his demented eyes, she’d understood everything about him, every terrible, unforgiving insult and pain he’d ever experienced.

  She didn’t understand why some people suffered the most degrading indignities, but remained gentle and kind while others became monsters. She didn’t know if it were in their hardwiring or in their nurturing.

  She was just glad the ordeal was over.

  Tonight Slater lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, but Kate didn’t think he was sleeping. There was something about the shallowness of his breathing that made her believe he was as wide awake as she was, even at this late hour.

  Kate snuggled up to his warm body and whispered gently in his ear. “Hey, Slater, are you awake?”

  Silence, but she thought she detected a catch in his breathing. “Don’t make me tickle you, Slater.”

  The muffled voice from under his arm was husky. “Don’t call me Slater, Myers.”

  She wouldn’t really have tickled him. His wound was still tender, and she didn’t want to aggravate his recovery. Kate smiled, reaching her fingers slowly under the covers and beneath the waistband of his shorts. She felt his heartbeat increase beneath her ear.

  Kate continued to move her hand downward. They hadn’t made love since the kidnapping. Slater acted like he was afraid she’d break if he touched her.

  “I love you,” she said. “You don’t have to say it back. You don’t even have to feel it. I just want you to know.”

  “Come here,” he said gruffly, pulling her on top of him.

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” she cautioned, suddenly fearful he’d rip open the stitches.

  “How can I injure myself on such a sweet, soft – ” He kissed the edge of her mouth. “Tasty morsel like you?”

  Suddenly Slater flipped her over, cupping her face in his hands, kissing her lips and cheeks. “I love you, too,” he whispered into her hair.

  In the early hours of the morning, Kate awoke to find Slater’s leg flung across her, one arm propping up his head as he stared into her sleeping face.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, I just want to look at you.”

  “Hm, that’s nice. I must look delightful.”

  “Kate,” he said suddenly, “I want to do something tomorrow.”

  She hesitated. “What’s that?”

  “I want to drive up to Preston, see where your family farm was, where it all began.”

  “Why?” she asked, her eyes filling because she’d had the very same idea.

  “That was a big part of your life, and I want to understand everything about you, your sister, your family. I want to see Kassie’s gravesite.”

  “Yes,” Kate answered, “we need to put Kassie to rest. That’s a wonderful idea.”

  She would put her nightmares to rest.

  Kate snuggled close to Slater. Maybe one day they’d visit Max’s grave too.

  Jo Lewis-Robertson, former high school English teacher, makes her home in northern California.