Anchored by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 3)

by Catherine Finger

  He ran his tongue slowly up the side of my ear, hot breath driving me wild. He kissed my earlobe and continued with soft kisses down the side of my face, reaching my lips.

  And lingered.

  “Ahem!” Georgi slammed a set of keys down on the counter like a hiker announcing her presence to the local grizzlies. “Okay, kids, that’s enough!”

  Nick and I broke apart, two high school kids caught necking in a basement. He smirked. I blushed.

  Cliff closed the cabin door and made his way to the stove. “If you two are going to eat each other, Georgi and I will help ourselves to the pasta.”

  Nick and I shot apart like polarized magnets. White noise roared through my head, black-rimmed stars appearing and disappearing as I stared into his glorious eyes. Pulling my attention away from him to follow the sound, I beamed at the four place-settings Georgi had put out in the dining room.

  She motioned us to our seats, and once we were all seated around the table asked Nick to do the honors.

  “I’d be glad to. Let’s pray.” At Nick’s words, we bowed our heads.

  After his prayer, we enjoyed a fine meal and lively conversation, soul mates filling in the blanks, adding color and texture to the gaps in each other’s histories. We kept to pastels and soft touches, as if by prearrangement, and I was glad. No need to get into the sharp angles and dead ends each of us harbored tonight. Plenty of time for those conversations when the need arose. And I planned to make good and sure the need would not arise tonight. Especially not between Nick and me. The sepia quality of candlelight added to the dreamlike feel of the moment. This was the kiss, the moment, and the man that I’d remember forever.

  “Well, that was yummy!” Georgi giggled after the men left and we finished washing the dishes. Her willingness to make herself at home and spend the night delighted me.

  I snapped a dish towel at her before hanging it up. She closed the dishwasher.

  “Do you have any more of the sweet white wine?”

  “I believe I do. Hold on.” I rummaged around in the fridge, returned with the bottle of Ferrari, and topped off her glass.

  “Okay, girl, you got some ’splainin’ to do.” She jabbed her head at the sectional sofa. “Let’s go, sister.”

  We settled into the oversized splendor of the old sofa, staring at our reflections in the full-length windows. The flickers from the candles danced over the dark waters.

  Georgi sipped her wine, eyes trained on mine. “So. what are you so afraid of, girl? You can’t get better than this man.”

  Might as well jump right into it. “Yeah, well, I’m doing my best.”

  “See that you do this time. I don’t want to go through another round of Josie-knows-best with this guy. He’s a good man, who is clearly crazy about you. What could you possibly be afraid of?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out. Does she really want to know? “Let’s face it, Georgi—two weddings and a funeral don’t exactly make me the prize hog at the county fair.” My country roots were showing, but I didn’t care.

  “Forgettin’ something, ain’t ya?” Georgi jumped right into the pit with me.

  I looked over at her, feeling my brows etch deep angles into my forehead.

  “Two weddings and a funeral. Is that what you’d call it?” Amusement danced in her eyes.

  “Ha! Almost. One wedding and two funerals, to be exact. All the more reason this thing with Nick is never gonna happen.” I looked down to where my wedding ring used to live and shook my head. “How will I ever shake these doubts, Georgi?”

  “That’s more like it. Truth will out. Isn’t that what you always say? Whatever that means.”

  “I know I oughta be a better woman, but I’m not. I know it wasn’t his fault—I’m the idjit that pushed him away, but it’s not like he fought that hard to stay, is it?” I shivered. “I know he’s an amazing man, and yes, you may have a point—there might be a little chemistry alive and popping up every now and then—”

  “A little? I can barely breathe when I’m around you two! A man is a terrible thing to waste, Josie—especially one as honorable as yours.” She emphasized the word yours with a finger pointed in my direction.

  “He’s not mine. He, he’s uh”—I fished for the right way to say it— “He’s Nick Vitarello. He’s his own man. He’s not my man. I don’t have a man. And I wasn’t all that successful with the last one. So maybe it’s time to quit while I’m behind.” I tapped the rim of the can of diet ginger ale rolling between my hands.

  “I don’t buy it. And you’re not giving him the credit he deserves—or yourself, for that matter. He’s an amazing guy, and you’re the catch of the century. Any man would be honored to have you. Even if you are a flight risk.”

  “You did not just go there.” I rolled my eyes, leaned back in my chair and groaned.

  “I did just go there. Why? You’ve got a man who’s crazy about you, willing to face your hillbilly roots, who gets your world, and who’s loved you since before you were born. At least since before you were married. And he came back for you. Twice. That has to mean something to you. And he didn’t leave you. That’s your past talkin’.” There was an edge in her voice. Her eyes would be tear-filled any second now.

  “He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know.” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyeballs, rubbing them over my head. “And I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t want to saddle him with my fear.” Another look down at the ring that wasn’t there convinced me I wasn’t quite as far along on my healing path as I’d thought. I looked over at my best friend, eyes brimming with tears. “Turns out I might have a little more work to do on me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I woke up to the smell of bacon frying and a rich baritone voice singing an Italian aria. Nick. In my cabin. Really? Then a female voice, sparkling, happy. Georgi.

  I pulled myself out of bed, threw on my Green Bay Packers’ bathrobe and headed to the kitchen. Nick and Georgi stood shoulder to shoulder, laughing and reigning over two cast-iron skillets. The otherworldly aromas emanating from their direction told me theirs was another successful meeting of the culinary minds.

  I cleared my throat. “You two want to be alone?”

  “Not anymore.” Nick threw a proprietary arm around Georgi’s shoulders, took the spatula from her hand and turned to face me. “Morning, beautiful.”

  His silky-smooth voice rolled over me, sending warm tingles to all the right places. After all these years, and two months of radio silence, he still has this effect on me? “Um …” I was stammering. Great.

  Georgi smiled, gently broke away from Nick, engulfed me in a hug and whispered in my ear. “Smooooth, sista.”

  I giggled. Giggled? Get a grip. Pulling away from Georgi, I linked my arm in hers and was immediately captured by Nick’s eyes. “Yeah, well, good morning. And, uh, thanks for whatever it is you’ve got cooking up over there. Smells delicious.”

  “We’ve got a big day ahead of us. Gotta start it right with a tasty and nutritious breakfast.” Nick fixed his gorgeous brown eyes on mine and winked.

  Capillaries burst inside my cheeks. My heart pounded against my chest, and tiny beads of sweat broke out under my hairline. “I, uh, yeah.” Brilliant.

  “It’s like you always say, beautiful—that killer’s not going to catch himself.” Nick tossed the spatula into the air, whirled around to face the stove and caught it behind his back. “Bam! I still got it, baby.”

  I shook my head, grateful for the reprieve, although I knew from experience that staring at his backside could prove equally distracting. “So, uh, learn anything new?” Was that why he came over here this morning? Had he heard something already? Maybe it wasn’t my girlish figure and charm-school ways after all.

  “Isn’t there always something new to learn when I’m around you?” He raised one shoulder, and even that looked sexy to m
e.

  Get a grip, Oliver. “Yeah, uh, I guess.” I had to get my head out of the glory of Nick and back into the game. “So, what is it?” Again, with the brilliant lines. What does he see in me, anyway?

  “Let’s just say it’s apropos of you to be wearing your Packers robe this morning.” Georgi crossed her arms and leaned into me. She felt solid and real. I’d forgotten she was here.

  I grimaced. “Go on.”

  Nick turned around and placed the skillet on a trivet in the center of the island.

  “We’ll get to that. But first, let’s eat.” He pulled up a stool, waiting for us to settle ourselves across the island from him. After offering thanks for our meal, he looked up—spatula in hand. “Bon appétit, ladies.” He served Georgi and me generous portions before serving himself.

  The waistband of my newest pair of straight-leg jeans danced through my mind. I placed my butter knife in the center of the egg mixture on my plate, visualizing what a fist of protein looked like. It looked like less than half of what was on my plate. I shook my head and looked up at an amused Nick. “So, you were saying?”

  “I started playing with Georgi’s Wisconsin-Illinois enmity idea.” He took a bite. He was the only man I knew who looked even sexier eating. Especially at my kitchen counter.

  Georgi nudged me in the ribs. “What, are you going to send half of your breakfast to starving children overseas or something?”

  I closed my eyes and huffed. “Come to think of it, there are quite a few onions in this mix, right? And a piece or two of green pepper?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s a veritable cornucopia of vegetables.”

  “You both get hotter every time I see you.” Nick cut out a neat piece of hash browns, added a layer of eggs.

  “Good point, Georgi. And what if I decide to finally start training for an Ironman? It could happen.” I quickly nudged the eggs, hash browns, chorizo, and who knows what all back together on my plate. They looked a lot happier. “So, you started playing with the Illinois-Wisconsin stuff, and … what?”

  “I walked back through the crime scenes.” He put his fork down, inclining that perfect upper body over my counter. “I figured this has to be one of those either/or kinds of cases, right?”

  I leaned back and narrowed my eyes at him, giving him the benefit of the doubt with a head nod.

  “If this is some kind of redneck nightmare going around picking off hapless Illinoisans for no other reason than that they live in the wrong zip code, then he’s going to be the kind of guy that goes for symbolism, right?”

  “Yeah, probably.” I sipped my coffee. It needed a warm-up.

  “And it stands to reason a guy like that, if he really were from Wisconsin, he’d know he’d just buried a man neck-deep in the middle of a sacred Indian burial ground, right?”

  “Native American effigy mound.” Georgi corrected.

  I chuckled. “Yeah, so?”

  “So, why would he do that? What is he trying to tell us?” He got up, grabbed my mug, and topped it off.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe ‘I hate Natives’?’” I took the steaming mug of coffee he handed me. “Thanks.”

  Georgi put her hand over her mug. “I’m good.”

  “But the vic wasn’t Native.” Nick put the coffee pot back and grabbed a file from the top of the refrigerator before taking his seat on the stool. He placed an aerial photo of the golf course in front of us. I could make out what looked like chalk markings outlining burial mounds on one hole.

  Nick drew a finger over the longest chalk marking on the photo. “Or maybe he’s getting cleverer and wants us to join him for the next round of Scrabble. Winner takes all.”

  “Cut the mystery, Nick. You’re killing me.” I couldn’t keep the timbre of annoyance out of my voice.

  He stepped around to my side and leaned in, towering over the photo and me. Warmth flickered between us. He moved the photo a few degrees. “See anything out of place?”

  I studied the photo, starting with the time-and-date stamp on the side. “Oh. It’s fresh. From yesterday.” My face flushed and my ribs tightened. I didn’t know what I wasn’t seeing. But I knew it couldn’t be good. “I’m sorry, Georgi. I have a feeling you’re not going to want to be around us for the next hour or so.”

  “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. Cliff just texted, offering to pick me up. He wants to see if the Amish family at the farmers’ market has any asparagus yet. In the meantime, I want to check out the woods, see if the morels are starting to show.” She slid off her stool, placed her hand over mine, and squeezed it. “Call me when you can?”

  “Of course. Good luck with the Amish asparagus.”

  She blew a kiss to Nick, gathered her things and left.

  Returning my focus to the photo, I willed myself to see the same photo through a new lens. The white chalk rimming the burial mound faded to a dotted line near the spot where I’d made my gruesome discovery. But instead of the dead man’s capped head and body, jagged marks and dark earth spilled over the ground. “Footprints in the chalk lines? It’ll be impossible to tell if it was the bad guy or our guys at this point.” I looked up at Nick.

  “Right.”

  I stared down at the photo, following the long, slender chalk line with my finger. The tubular shape represented one of the thunderbird’s wings. His round head and triangular body were purported to be within the mound itself, with the other wing spanning out underneath a row of viburnum bushes, out of sight. “I’m not seeing anything new.”

  “What about that wing tip?” Nick’s index finger tapped the end of the thunderbird’s wing.

  I stopped forcing my eyes to consider what lay beneath the ground and instead gazed down at what was visible. The graceful wing shape, tapering to a sleek point. “Still nothing new here, Nick.”

  “Are you sure? Keep looking.” Nick folded his arms.

  A tingling sensation ran up my spine, and dark spots swam within the corners of my vision. “Is there a point to the wing tip? Is it pointing somewhere …?” My voice faded as ants crawled up the back of my throat.

  “I got this picture from a friend of mine. The minute Quinn invited me in on this case, I decided to do all I could to assist. You know, get the Bureau back in his good graces.”

  “So, you just happened to know a guy who owed you a favor? Enough of a favor that he took a bird up early this morning and took some flyover shots?” The significance of this maneuver fell over me like a shroud. Nick wouldn’t make such an extravagant gesture without reason. How had he known the killer’s message might be best seen from above? Was it a message? Or was it Nick’s protective hormones on steroids?

  “Around five thirty this morning, I had a hunch, and I’m pretty sure it’s turning out to be awfully important.”

  The shroud turned into steel, pressing me up against the wall, squeezing the air from my lungs.

  “The course isn’t open, Jo. No one else was there. Our guy had to have picked the location intentionally.” Nick shifted his weight. He was right. Nick was on to something with the wingspan. Something horrible.

  “It looks like the wing tip is pointing to my lot.” My voice was flat, lifeless.

  “Yeah. Heckuva clue.” He shook his head.

  “So, what’s he telling us? I’m the next victim? Or he’s inviting us to play with him?”

  “One of the two.”

  “But I’m not from Illinois.”

  “You live there now.”

  I groaned. “You don’t know it’s pointing to anything. Could just be …” I didn’t want to say it out loud. We didn’t believe in them. No one in law enforcement really does.

  He pushed the aerial photo directly in front of me. “A coincidence?” His face was a dark mask. “It’s not. The only thing we know for sure is he knew what he was doing when he chose this spot.” Anger tinged his words. “And
that means he was either going for the symbolism of the burial mound—or he knows you own that lot, and he has some kind of connection to you.” His jaw ticked.

  I traced the top of the white chalk outline, back and forth, pulled my index finger through the wing span, tapping on the tip. Then I moved my eyes toward the edge of the fairway, beyond a stand of scrub brush, up the little cart path leading directly onto my lot.

  “What rang your bells in this direction?” I asked. “What makes you think the killer knows me?”

  Nick gave a half smile. “It’s too neat, Jo. While I admit it’s not a hundred percent, why pick the effigy mound that basically leads the way to your lot?”

  “It might be the mound itself, the animal itself. Maybe the wings are less about directing your attention to me and more about the symbolism thing.” I wanted to comfort him and was pretty sure I was failing. “There aren’t any connections between me and the other vics, are there?”

  Nick shook his head. “I’m willing to set that angle aside for a moment—”

  I stepped into his space and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  When we separated ourselves from each other again, he said, “I’m hoping I can lure you out of your R and R for a little work on the side. You can be my consultant.”

  “Your consultant? What about Quinn?”

  Nick shrugged. I wasn’t going to go there.

  “Can I assume you’ve shared the kill-site coordinates with your big-city buddies?” I pushed my stool away from the counter, stood up and stretched, arms clasped over my head.

  Nick watched me like a hungry lion at feeding time. “Yes. I’ve got the map.” “Pull it up. Let’s take a look.” I had no doubt the murder map would be much easier to decipher than any scattergram charting the trajectory of our relationship. “Show me something I can understand.”

  He offered me a half smile, but his eyes seemed sad. “Check it out. Four locales, four black stars. Dates and approximate times of death posted in white font within.” He turned the laptop toward me.