My finger found the interstate, poised to trace.
Joe droned on and on. I think I zoned out somewhere on Christopher Columbus Highway, abruptly startled some time later when I heard my name. It was Joe, finally finished and asking where I’d ended up.
Somewhere in the heart of Iowa, apparently. I squinted at the map, found the circle Joe had helpfully drawn around Sallymon Peke, and quickly slid my finger up to the spot before he turned to see.
Jenna opened her mouth, protest flashing in her summery blue eyes.
I stabbed Sallymon Peke with my finger and sent her a warning look.
She responded with a sullen glare.
“Aha,” Joe gloated, far more smug than the situation called for, if you ask me. “The Twilight Kill led Maddie straight to Sallymon Peke, too.”
Nate muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath.
Like I said.
Not fun.
FIVE
November days are grim and short, and the light faded as rapidly as the passing miles. The moon was stuck behind a thick blanket of snow clouds and by the time we rolled into Sallymon Peke it was so dark, I couldn’t even make out the outline of any water tower.
We drove through the middle of the town, low brick buildings on both sides of the road, shadowy husks lit up from the interior with a glow that didn’t travel far. It was all very gloomy, except for a laundromat with curly neon letters on the window that sparkled like a showy beacon. I was sorely regretting taking the high road and letting Joe have his way, but my spirits did perk up when I saw a gaily lit diner on the edge of town. Another minute down the road and we’d arrived at our destination. A roadside motel with a neon-lit sign promising cheap rates and satellite TV, and a chain of rooms stretched out beneath a shallow porch in a long, depressing line.
Jenna released a painful sigh, as if I needed the reminder of how badly I’d let her down.
Icy snow crunched beneath the tires as Nate slowed and drew up parallel to the reception office.
Jenna and I stayed within the toasty warmth of the truck while the guys went to secure our rooms. There was a small chance, I supposed with a glimmer of hope, that the motel would be booked out.
“I can’t believe you traded a log cabin for this dive,” Jenna moaned.
“If you and Nate went easier on Joe,” I told her, “I wouldn’t have to stick up for him so hard.”
“Joe’s a big boy and a bully. Why does he get all the say?”
“Because this is his show.”
“Okay, fine,” she grumbled, “but it’s your romantic interlude that’s just been ruined.”
“Oh, dear Lord.” I should have known. “Is this why you came along? To shove me at Nate again?”
“Well, I’m not here for Joe’s scintillating company.” She poked my arm. “And I don’t shove, I gently coax.”
I snorted. “I’m hibernating and you’re beating a dead donkey.”
“Then it’s time to thaw out and get your game on, ‘cause that man ain’t no donkey,” Jenna said in her terrible Annie Oakley accent.
My lips twitched. “That is not funny.”
“But seriously,” Jenna said, totally changing the subject, “Joe needs to expand his travel dictionary. We could be chasing Killer Max in the Bahamas, but instead here we are, stuck in the middle of Pennsylvania.”
I couldn’t help taking a small stab at Joe. “Maybe too much sunlight wreaks havoc on the ‘rebirthing’ process.”
Jenna shouted out a laugh. “What on earth was that all about?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” I admitted. “I never knew Joe was so in touch with deep emotions.”
“Let’s not forget we’re talking about a psycho killer’s deep emotions.”
“Yeah.” That was kind of disturbing when I thought about it. As an actor, I understood the concept of not having to be a murderous whacko to play one, but Joe’s dark and twisted introspection into Max Wilder’s mind still creeped me out.
The motel wasn’t booked out. Nate and Joe returned, arms stacked high with piles of blankets.
“Apparently they’ve been having trouble with the AC units,” Nate informed us dourly as me and Jenna bundled out to brave the cold.
I tugged my woolen cap low to cover my ears. “In all the rooms?”
“That’s what the kid at reception claims.”
Jenna huffed. “Did either of you try greasing his palm?”
“This isn’t a 1920’s mobster movie,” Joe muttered.
“Joe tried,” Nate supplied, his tone full of smirk. “The kid took his money, thanked him for the generous tip, then added an extra blanket to his pile.”
“Isn’t there some kind of law against that?” I asked.
“Greasing palms?” Jenna laughed. “Only if you get caught.”
“Against keeping the place open without adequate heating,” I clarified. “It’s a health hazard.”
“You should definitely check that out,” Jenna told Nate.
Nate shrugged her off and went to pop the trunk. “I’m not a rat inspector.”
“If there are rats, I’m out of here.”
“If the heating doesn’t work,” Nate said, “we’re all out of here. Loyalsock Creek is only a half hour back.”
“We don’t know that the thermostats are bust,” Joe said quickly. “The blankets are just in case.”
Nate dumped the blankets into the trunk to free his hands and hauled out the luggage. When he slung a skinny backpack over his shoulder, Jenna punched it lightly. “What have you got in there? A change of briefs and your revolver?”
He chuckled. “What makes you think I’m a briefs man?”
I sidled up to Jenna, whispered suspiciously, “Why you’re so suddenly chirpy?”
“No reason,” she quipped, then grabbed the handle of her suitcase and made a hasty getaway.
I stared after, not trusting Jenna as far as I could see her, which really wasn’t far given the dim porch lighting and the moonless night.
Nate dangled a key on a large medallion at me. “You and Jenna.”
I took the key in one hand, took control of my suitcase in the other. “Does this mean you and Joe are sharing?” I teased.
To my gob-smacked surprise, they were.
Nate wanted us to ‘buddy’ up.
You’d think Joe would have protested at snuggling up with his arch-nemesis, but he was too busy feeling vindicated. Nate obviously appreciated the very real threat of Killer Max to insist we pair off as a safety precaution. I didn’t have the heart to correct that assumption. Nate was more worried about Joe sneaking out to commit some heinous fake deed than Killer Max sneaking in. I had to give Nate credit, though, he was seriously committed to his convictions no matter how misguided they may be.
The elegant wheels of my suitcase were not designed for frozen ridges of sludge, determined to hinder my progress to the shallow porch where Jenna waited. By the time we’d found the correct door and lugged our bags inside, Joe was right behind us.
He unloaded our blankets on a table near the window, then found the AC unit and turned it on. Air blasted through the slats, stale and tepid warm. After adjusting the thermostat, he looked around. “This isn’t too bad.”
My gaze swept the room. Blue and white checkered curtains. Basic table and two chairs. Plastic table cloth. Two single beds. A door that (hopefully) led to the bathroom. All very efficient and rather cleaner than I’d expected. Not a rat or flea in sight.
“Yeah,” Jenna said, curiously agreeing with Joe. “It’s okay.”
Joe gave her a baffled look, not sure what to do with an agreeable Jenna. “Well, we’re just next door, room 11,” he said.
Jenna smiled brightly. “Great.”
His eyes remained warily on her as he beat a hasty retreat.
“Stop being so perky and affable,” I ordered Jenna. “You’re scaring Joe.”
She defied me by testing the bed out with some jubilant bounces. The springs creaked
and groaned.
I winced. “Please stop that!”
“Don’t be such a grouch.”
“You were miserable five minutes ago.”
She bounced off the mattress and to her feet. “And I made a decision to not be miserable.”
“Just like that?”
“Cheery is my natural state.”
True. And yet I knew Jenna was hatching something. I’d stake my life on it.
“You may as well tell me what you’re up to,” I said as I stripped my coat and flung it over the edge of the bed. “I’ll find out eventually.”
“Paranoid and a grouch.” She slid her furry Cossack from her head, releasing a cascade of silky blonde hair. “You’ve been spending too much time with Joe.”
I rolled my eyes and stomped toward the bathroom, muttering, “I know what I know.”
The small bathroom was as efficient as the rest of this place, all white tiles and bare necessities. I stood in front of the cabinet mirror above the sink and tugged off my woolen cap. My hair would never cascade in silken glory, but for once my long brown curls were actually behaving themselves. I stood there a long moment, studying my reflection through Nate’s eyes. What could I say? I wasn’t a wooden puppet girl, so yes, I did care what the sinfully hot detective next door saw when he looked at me. That didn’t mean I was about to go all vampish on him.
It would just be nice, I guess, to measure up to Sam’s red-haired gorgeousness.
The sad fact remained, I did not.
For goodness sake, even Jenna didn’t measure up all the way, and Jenna was a willowy classic with angelic cheekbones. I was merely an averagely pretty brunette with hazel eyes—oh, and a damned distracting smile (Nate’s words, and who was I to argue with wisdom.)
I stuck my tongue out at the mirror.
“Is that for me?” Jenna asked, watching from the doorway.
“No,” I sighed. My stomach rumbled on cue, reminding me that most off-color moods could be cured with a double cheeseburger. “Is it too early for supper?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Jenna declared. “I’m starving.”
That made me feel a whole lot better. Maybe I wasn’t as blue as I’d thought. Maybe I was just good old fashioned hungry.
A short while later, we were shuffling into a window banquet at the local diner. Somehow, I ended up directly across from Nate. Which wasn’t a total calamity, but that put Jenna opposite Joe and I still hadn’t figured out what kind of mischief she was up to.
Outside, there was only the occasional beam of passing headlights and not much foot traffic. By comparison, the diner was a roaring hive of activity, even though only a quarter of the tables were occupied.
The waitress didn’t keep us waiting, a middle-aged woman with faded hair and a tired smile. She sucked on her pencil in between writing down our order and looked as if she’d rather be anywhere but here. Empathy surged within me as I looked out at the dreary street. I was a small town girl and loved it, but this place had a vacant feel that tickled my soul and made it want to scream and run.
I must have shivered visibly, because Nate leant forward, all swarthy grin and easy charm. “Do you want my jacket?”
I got a little lost there in his eyes while I considered the offer. Sure, my coat was folded on the seat beside me, but Nate’s jacket was supple leather and likely smelled a lot like him. Earth and spice and all things nice.
“Is there something wrong with your coat?” Joe asked me, clueless to a fault. “Ouch,” he yelped and glared at Jenna.
She smiled at me, mouthed, You’re welcome.
I groaned. “That’s okay, thanks,” I said to Nate. “I’m not cold.”
Jenna looked set to argue a case for Nate’s jacket, so I quickly moved us along and suggested Joe describe Max Wilder’s next victim to us. “It will be easier to identify a possible Killer Max if we know who he’s likely to target.”
Jenna slumped in the seat. “Don’t encourage him.”
Joe didn’t need much encouragement. He already had the hard copy of The Twilight Kill on the table in front of him. “She’s young, of course, pretty, and blonde, with pale blue eyes. There’s a tattoo of a seahorse on her right shoulder blade, but Max Wilder doesn’t know that until after he’s taken her.”
“Wasn’t the first girl a brunette?” said Jenna. At Joe’s nod, she snorted. “What kind of lame serial killer doesn’t have a type? Busty blonde, sparkly brunette, petite and vulnerable redhead. You can’t just mix and match.”
“And I suppose you think he should leave a moth inside their mouths, too?” Joe huffed.
“Dear Lord,” Jenna sighed dramatically, “please tell me he at least has an MO.”
“Max Wilder’s story is more subtle than that,” Joe said. “The girls are all young and pretty, but it’s the procedural detail that really matters. He picks them up on a Tuesday, keeps them until the following night, and he always disposes of the bodies at midnight by means of water.”
Nate joined in. “Does he strangle them all?”
Joe looked at him. “Only the first one. He kills the others by slashing through their jugular vein with a hunting knife.”
“The first kill is often different,” Nate said thoughtfully. “Unplanned.”
Once again, it was up to me to move the conversation along so we could actually eat our food without hurling. “Would Killer Max look anything like Max Wilder?”
“It’s the one thing he has no control over,” Joe said. “I did wonder if that could be a reason he identified with Max Wilder, but he wouldn’t have known anything about Max Wilder until after he’d stolen the story and already set his plan in action.”
I glanced around the diner discreetly. “Okay, so we’re looking for a familiar face chatting up a blonde?”
“Just a familiar face for now. He picks the blonde up at a rodeo bar in Brackenport.”
“Is that a real town or some vague description from your book?” said Jenna, probably more interested in making a derisive remark than in the answer.
“It’s on the Susquehanna River, the West Branch, neighboring Williamsport,” supplied Nate.
“That’s right,” Joe said. “The rodeo bar is fictional, of course, although there are two in the town.”
Jenna smirked at me. “Damn, we left our cowboy hats and spurs at home.”
Joe opened his mouth in protest, then abruptly closed it as our food arrived. Cheeseburgers and fries all round, except for Nate who’d ordered steak and egg—fried and over easy.
A smile twitched my lips at the reminder of a very eggy conversation, and before I knew it, my mind swept to another time and place. Nate’s cabin. A Sunday morning, just the two of us, playful banter, Nate looking all kinds of sexy as he chopped and diced and whipped up omelets. What could have been the start of something.
I felt his gaze on me, glanced up, and saw it in the way he looked at me. He was remembering, too. The memory shaded the valley of his jaw and creased softly into the corners of his eyes. It slid into his slow grin and baked the air between us.
My stomach dipped, hollowed out with longing, thickened with regret.
Nate pushed a hand through his hair, chuckled softly, then dropped his gaze and dipped a fry into the egg.
I released a shallow breath and tackled my burger with both hands. That had been a definite moment. But that’s the thing about moments. They’re a fraction of time spliced from two separate lives, a still photograph that doesn’t tell the before or after. Best to be enjoyed and then left back there in the past.
SIX
There wasn’t much else to do in Sallymon Peke except eat, and once we’d done that, all that was left was to turn in early. That’s what we told the guys, anyway. Jenna had packed a deck of cards and a bottle of cheap red wine, the perfect night in and a lot safer than the fantasy running loose inside my head (too much time up close and personal with Nate’s smoky gaze will do that to a girl).
It was past midnight when we tucke
d ourselves in and said goodnight to this incredibly weird day. When I’d climbed out of bed this morning, I’d definitely not expected to go to sleep in Sallymon Peke, hot on the phantom trail of a senator’s daughter’s maybe killer.
The stir-crazy must have followed me into my dreams, because when I awoke, there was an awful heaviness pressing down on my chest. My nose felt like a block of ice, my toes were numb, the rest of me was overheated. And I couldn’t seem to move my legs.
I didn’t want to jump to any dramatic conclusions in my half-dream state, but I was pretty sure I was dying or dead. I peeked open an eye. Dawn had broken, spilling enough light through the curtains to see the heap of blankets burying me, some of them still neatly folded and simply plopped on top of me. I burrowed out and immediately realized my mistake. Our room was an arctic tomb.
Jenna was already up and dressed, wrapped in faux fur from head to toe. “The heating went off during the night. Were you warm enough?”
“Yeah, thanks for that.” I dragged one of the blankets with me as I scrambled from the bed to my feet, and noticed the oddly paired socks there.
Jenna grimaced. “They matched in the dark.”
It took roughly five seconds for my bones to start chattering. I tugged the blanket tightly around my shoulders as I crossed to the AC unit, ready to kick the thing into submission. “You should have woken me.”
“No point in us both suffering through the early hours of the morning.”
“That long?” Loose wires dangling down the side of the box caught my attention. Huh.
“Um,” Jenna said, breathing down my neck. “I tried to fix it.”
I lifted a wire, curled it around my finger. This explained so, so much about Jenna’s mood transformation last night.
“Would that be before…” I turned a highbrow look on her “…or after it stopped working?”
Rebellion flashed in her eyes. “Don’t make me lie to you.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” I stuffed the dangling bits out of sight behind the box. “Okay, let’s make this happen before my lips turn blue.”
Words That Kill (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 3) Page 5
