Written in Blood (Otter Creek Book 3)

by Rebecca Deel

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” She grinned, eyes sparkling. “The smell of ink and paper and the roar of machinery get me every time.”

  Rod grunted. “Gives me a headache.”

  “We’ll be finished in about 20 minutes. Want to wait in my office?”

  “You have Internet?”

  “Of course. Help yourself.” She waved him off and returned to the press.

  Rod closed the printing room door and, in Meg’s office, sat in the leather chair. His eyes widened as the comfort of her seat registered. Department-issued chairs didn’t hold up to the luxury of this one. He’d spring for the money from his own pocket except he wasn’t at his desk for long periods of time.

  He surfed the Internet for references to the Drakes. Most references linked to the Senator. A few mentioned Kyle in his role as the Senator’s campaign manager and public relations man. Ty was mentioned only once in relation to the Senator, the rest referenced his computer programs.

  Meg stepped into the doorway and Rod glanced up. “Ready?” When she nodded, he exited from the Internet search engine and logged off.

  He stopped Meg at the outside door with a raised hand. “Wait here.” Rod took his time unlocking the SUV, scanning the street, probing the shadows for lurkers. A shadow of movement near the library door caught his attention. He tensed, his hand moving automatically to his weapon.

  The Watcher’s lip curled. His hand clenched the grip of his pistol. Too close to the police station, but oh, he was tempted. So many shadows in which to hide. His index finger slid into the trigger guard and settled on the slender piece of metal that would end his problem with the witness.

  Megan Cahill. Fury flared at her name, at the sight of her with the cop. Always nosing into other people’s business, stirring up trouble. He hadn’t wanted to kill Sherri. Megan forced his hand. It was her fault Sherri was dead.

  He would make sure Meg paid.

  A cat strolled from the doorway and ambled down the stairs to the street. Rod relaxed. Oscar, the library’s mouser. And any other business who fed him. Guess that made him sort of the town cat. He motioned to Meg and opened the door for her.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Meg paused, the buckle of her seatbelt in hand. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

  He circled the SUV and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Just being cautious, Megan.” He cranked the car and backed into the square. “When did you eat last?”

  Meg sat silent a moment. “Lunchtime, I think.”

  That’s what he thought. Ethan had warned him that she forgot to eat most of the time when she was on deadline. So, instead of heading to the trail, he turned in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You need to eat. Ethan’s orders.”

  She twisted in the seat, frowning in his direction. “And you always do whatever he tells you?”

  “Only when he’s right. Is Burger Heaven okay?”

  She moaned. “Perfect, if you include a milkshake.”

  A few minutes later, Rod swung into Burger Heaven’s parking lot. “Want to eat here or on the way to the trail.”

  “Here.”

  A wave of sympathy rolled through Rod at her prompt response. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to relive Monday morning’s nightmare any sooner than necessary. Inside the restaurant, he said, “Tell me what you want. I’ll wait for the order while you choose a table. You look beat.”

  “At least you didn’t say I looked beat up.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Do I look stupid?”

  She laughed, told him to order a mushroom and Swiss hamburger and chose a table at the back corner of the restaurant.

  He noted the choice of a table where both doors and the cash register were in view and his back hugged the wall. Rod smiled. She’d noticed the seating choices of the cops in her family.

  He unloaded their tray. “Chocolate shake okay?”

  She grinned. “How did you know I’d like that?”

  “Nick and Ethan talk about your sisters. Many discussions include chocolate. I guess the Cahill women are chocoholics?”

  Meg sipped her shake before replying. “Serena loves dark chocolate and Madison craves Goo-Goo Clusters.”

  “What’s your vice?”

  “Snickers.”

  “What about your mother?”

  She laughed. “Death by Chocolate ice cream.”

  He kept her talking throughout the meal, hoping to distract her from the unpleasantness ahead. As she chewed the last bite of her burger, he found to his amazement that his own burger and fries were gone and he was full. He’d ordered food for himself so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable, but he never expected to eat much of it. He usually didn’t. “Ready to go, Meg?”

  Emotion flickered over her face. “Not really, but I guess it has to be done.”

  The Churchill Trail parking lot was empty. Rod scanned the surrounding area, then helped Megan down. “Let’s walk around the trail and come up on the scene from behind.”

  “Do we have to do this?” Her voice cracked on the last word. She stiffened. “Sorry. That slipped out without permission. Ignore the outburst.”

  Rod shot her a glance, amusement surging to the forefront. He had to give the spunky editor credit for courage. Most civilians would have cracked long before this point. “Have you remembered anything more?”

  She drew her coat closer around her body. “Flashes, but no time to think them through.” She shuddered. “Didn’t want to, either.”

  “I wouldn’t push you to do this if I didn’t think it might help.” He took her hand in his and gave a gentle squeeze. “After this morning’s attempt on your life, we can’t wait for your memory to return over time.”

  Meg frowned. “Did you have to bring up the ‘Vette? When you find out who blew up my car, I want two minutes with him. Alone. I want him to know how much I loved that car.”

  Rod’s lips twitched, silently agreeing, wishing he could grant her request. Might be an interesting two minutes, time the bomber would never forget. “How long did you own the car?”

  “I bought it in 2000. The owner wanted to upgrade. That was such a sweet ride.”

  “Fast one, too.”

  She turned her head. “You wouldn’t be making reference to my speeding tickets would you, Detective? That’s pretty low considering what’s left of my car is languishing in evidence bags at the station.”

  Rod chuckled. “Your driving habits are legendary around the department. Every time Ethan discovers you were issued another citation, he goes ballistic.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I drive fast. To escape Ethan’s lectures.” She tilted her head, mischief animating her features. “Plus it’s fun and I’m a good driver.”

  Grudging admiration for her driving skills surfaced. Not that he would ever tell her she drove better than most of the officers in the department. Wouldn’t pay to encourage Megan to burn more rubber on Otter Creek streets. “You might want to slow down for a few months. Ethan’s riding Henderson hard.”

  “I heard. You don’t have to worry. Without the ‘Vette, speed isn’t as appealing.”

  “Have you thought about a new car yet?”

  She shook her head.

  “Ferarri’s are nice. Wouldn’t mind test driving one myself.”

  Her laughter sounded strained. They walked in silence for another quarter of a mile. Rod slowed as they approached the half-mile bench. “Time to go to work, Megan.”

  Megan’s heart pounded, a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She loosened her grip on his hand, but instead of letting go, he threaded his fingers through hers. He appeared determined not to let her walk through this alone.

  “Talk to me as we walk through it. Don’t hold anything back, no matter how weird.” He pulled her closer to his side. “This will be hard, Meg, but I’ll help as much as I can. Remember, you’re safe now. I won’t let him hurt you.”
<
br />   She shuddered. She knew he felt it because his hand tightened on hers. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She paused at the bench. “Sherri was waiting for me there.” She pointed at the right side. “I sat beside her for a few minutes. She started to tell me about the Senator, but she stopped. She heard something.”

  Meg turned to look down the trail, again seeing what she saw early Monday morning. Heavy, impenetrable darkness.

  “What are you thinking? Talk to me.”

  She swallowed hard. “It was so dark. We couldn’t see anything. I remember thinking the darkness seemed oppressive, thick.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “What I told you before, twigs breaking, like an animal walking around out there. I’d seen a cat on the way to meet Sherri, but this sounded bigger, heavier.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “Sherri grabbed my hand and we started down the trail toward the parking lot.”

  The coldness of the night seeped into Meg’s bones. One spot of warmth remained on her body—the hand Rod held in his. She trudged down the trail, retracing her steps with Sherri. Each stride brought resurgent echoes of the fear she’d experienced.

  “We heard footsteps behind us. Running. We panicked and started running right about here.”

  Rod urged her forward. “The footsteps. Describe them. How did they sound?”

  Meg replayed the memory, hearing the footsteps again in her mind. “Heavy, like a man.” They moved a few feet further and she pointed at the scarred tree. “He shot at us here. There’s the mark on the tree trunk.”

  A gust of wind blew Meg’s hair across her face. She shoved the locks aside, noting that her hand trembled. She fisted her hand and buried it deep in her coat pocket. “Sherri stumbled. I dropped back here because she wasn’t as fast a runner.”

  When they rounded the final curve, she stopped. Moonlight illuminated the stone wall, guardian to the trail entrance. Her body trembled, waves starting from deep inside and working their way out. She gritted her teeth and willed the shaking to still. Her body didn’t listen.

  “Easy, Meg. We’re almost finished.” Rod slipped his arm around her shoulder. “You’re doing great. What did you see when you reached this point?”

  She looked toward the parking lot, empty of vehicles except for his. “Sherri made it to the car and was unlocking her door. I thought we were going to make it, Rod.” She turned to him. “When I reached the stone wall, he pushed me from behind. I hit the wall. The impact stunned me so much I couldn’t move.”

  Meg gripped Rod’s hand tighter. “It was like a nightmare where you’re so scared and you want to run, but you’re frozen in place. I wanted to help Sherri, tried to rise, but I couldn’t move.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “He ran past me to the parking lot.”

  “Did you see his face, get a look at his clothes, anything?”

  She shook her head. “I saw dirt and stones, my hands against the ground. Then Sherri screamed and I heard another shot.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I pushed myself to get to my knees.” Her voice broke. “I didn’t hear anything else from Sherri. Then I heard the footsteps again, this time coming in my direction.” A violent shudder shook her frame.

  Rod brought her into the circle of his arms and held her. “What happened next, Meg?”

  “I turned to face him, but I was unstable, still on my hands and knees.” She fell silent as the memory rushed to the surface. “I saw his shoes.”

  “Close your eyes. Describe them.”

  “Jogging shoes, black.”

  “In your mind, lift your gaze a few inches. What color were his pants?”

  Surprise surfaced, admiration for the detective rising. She’d never thought about the man’s clothes. “Black.”

  “Light-weight material or heavier like jeans or corduroy?”

  She considered that a moment before answering. “Jeans.”

  “Good, Meg. What happened next?”

  “He drew back his foot and kicked me.”

  “What? Where?” Rod’s arms tightened around her. He hadn’t known about the kick.

  “He was aiming for my head, but I turned away at the last second.” She grimaced. “He connected with my back. Left me with bruised ribs. The kick sent me headlong into the wall.”

  “What did he do then?”

  “He pressed his gun to the back of my head and cocked it.”

  “How did it sound?”

  “Like Josh popping all his knuckles at once.”

  Rod burst into laughter. His voice rumbled in his chest under Megan’s ear. Nice, very nice.

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No. I started to lose consciousness then. I thought I was going to die, right there.” She sighed. “I remember smelling pine and wondering if my sisters would put pine wreaths on my grave. Isn’t that strange?”

  Rod scanned the trees on either side of the trail. Cedars, maples, oaks. No pine. Had she smelled the shooter’s aftershave, cologne, shampoo? Or was it a wisp of memory from some other time?

  He stood there a few more minutes, holding Megan. She’d stopped talking after mentioning the pine smell and he should have let her go. He didn’t. She felt so good in his arms. Arms that had been empty for too long.

  When she shivered, he unlocked his hands and let his arms drop. Rod dragged his attention back to business. “Thanks, Megan. I’ll drive you to the newspaper office so you can get the Jeep and go home.”

  Inside the SUV, Meg said, “You won’t tell anybody about the tears, will you?”

  “Why not? Afraid the news will ruin your tough girl image?”

  “Tough newspaper editors aren’t supposed to cry.”

  “Who says? I’d worry if you didn’t shed a few tears.”

  “Well, at least go light on the details when you talk to Ethan. I don’t want my sisters to worry about me. They’re already hovering. I couldn’t handle it if they camped out at my place.”

  Rod’s eyebrows shot up. “They’d do that, even newly married?”

  She grinned. “Maybe not for as long as when they were single, but they’d do it.”

  “You girls are close, aren’t you?”

  “Close enough that I’m concerned about their safety.” She sounded grim. “Except for Madison’s limp, we’re all dead ringers for each other.” Meg sighed. “Sorry. Bad choice of words. The point I’m trying to make is there’s a possibility the shooter might mistake one of them for me.”

  Rod considered that for a moment. “That’s why you chose to use Nick’s Jeep, isn’t it? You didn’t want the shooter to think Madison was you.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.”

  “Would you consider leaving town for a couple of weeks? Put the paper together somewhere else and e-mail it to J.J.”

  She scowled. “Anything but that. I’m not running.”

  Somehow he suspected that would be her answer. He parked in front of the Gazette office. “Stay here while I check the Jeep.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Do you know anything about cars?”

  “Not as much as you. But even I would recognize an unusual puddle underneath the car and I know what a car bomb looks like. Can you say the same?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him, but tossed him the keys.

  Satisfied nothing had been tampered with, he helped Meg from the SUV and opened her car door. “I’ll follow you home.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “You’re wasting time, Meg, and I need my beauty rest.”

  She burst into laughter, as he had intended. Meg shook her head at him, but dropped the argument.

  Rod replayed the cycle of events at the trail in his mind while following her home. Meg’s description of the gun’s noise led him to believe the shooter’s weapon was a .38 revolver. Hopefully the coroner would recover the bullet intact that killed Sherri. If they were lucky, ballistics might match the slug.

&nbs
p; Rod parked behind the Jeep in Meg’s driveway. He accompanied her to the front door, scanning the neighborhood. Was someone watching them? He’d been careful to check for a tail on the way to Meg’s, but it wouldn’t take much to figure out she was headed home for the night.

  Rod held out his hand for her key. “I want to check the house.” He unlocked the door, drew his weapon from the holster and stepped inside the living room. When he was certain it was clear of threats, he motioned her inside. “Wait here.”

  Minutes later, he returned. “All clear. Is Josh staying with you again tonight?”

  She shook her head. “He goes on duty at 11:00 o’clock. Nick and Madison are coming over in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll stick around until they arrive, then.”

  Meg led him to the kitchen. “Would you like some hot cocoa?”

  He studied her face, noting the lines of strain showing around her mouth. “Need a little comfort food?” he asked, his voice quiet.

  She retrieved two mugs from the oak kitchen cabinets. “According to Serena, chocolate fixes whatever ails you.”

  Rod sat on the same stool at her counter he’d occupied the night before. “What made you go into journalism?”

  Meg filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove burner. “Love of the written word. I love to read, have ever since I was four. Mom taught me to read as a defense mechanism. I drove her crazy asking her to read Dr. Seuss books to me. She got tired of reading Go, Dogs! Go! and The Cat in the Hat. She’d read them to me so much she could quote them in her sleep.”

  “How did that lead you into journalism?”

  “I read so much as kid that I began analyzing how books worked. I started writing my own stories. But my stories weren’t fiction. They were tales about the adventures my sisters and I had in school or things that happened on our vacations. They were all true stories told with my own spin.”

  “What kind of stuff do you read?”

  “Everything. Good, bad, classic, atrocious. I like mysteries, police procedurals and romantic suspense books the most. I also read a lot of non-fiction. It’s amazing what you learn in books if you know where to look.”