“So we’ve got a cat burglar rapist who kills and spends an inordinate amount of time with his victims. He’s not a quick, in-and-out kind of guy. Sick puppy.”
“Harry gave me copies of the case files.”
Josh didn’t like the sound of that. “I want you to tell me now if you’re up to looking at those kinds of photos, Skye,” Josh asked.
She grinned into the phone. His concern always touched her. “I was at the real deal this morning, Josh. I’m pretty sure I can browse through and study a dozen or so photographs of the other crime scenes.”
It was Josh’s turn to laugh. “My warrior goddess. I should’ve known. Sometimes I forget she’s made of sterner stuff. How about we go over all this when I get home tonight. How’s that? Before you head out on your nightly rounds.”
“Good. Because I’ll need some time to come up with all the data.”
When they disconnected, Skye went into the little kitchenette area the suite provided to brew a pot of coffee. Even though it was almost eleven o’clock, she didn’t feel as though she’d had enough wake-up juice. After waiting on the ancient Mr. Coffee she’d brought from home to gurgle and perk, Skye fixed herself a cup and settled in at her laptop for research.
There were a number of decent Internet sites that provided a glimpse into deviant and ritualistic sexual homicide. And the fact that she knew all the words to put into the searches to get optimum results was a pretty sad mindset. But you couldn’t track predators if you didn’t keep up on the stats and the particulars of their crimes.
And Skye Cree made sure she never missed an update.
Chapter 3 Book 2
Once Skye left the downtown area, she headed to the gym to put in some serious time in the weight room. As she’d discovered over the years, it was the best place to work out her frustrations. As busy as she’d been this summer with getting the foundation up and going, she needed to remember that staying in shape meant staying at the top of her game. Josh might not need the reps in routine as much as she did these days to stay in shape. Being ten percent wolf might mean he could miss a run on the treadmill once in a while. But she couldn’t. Sitting behind a desk for hours and hours didn’t mean she should get soft and sloppy now.
But that was hardly the reason she felt like punching something right this minute.
In her computer searches she’d discovered two murders in Portland, Oregon that fit the pattern of their serial killer down to the letter. The fact he’d used a knife on those victims had weighted the scale. And it seemed the Portland women had nothing in common except they were attractive and lived alone. The homicides had been committed months apart and went back years earlier. Both remained unsolved and relegated to Portland’s cold case files.
Skye knew in her heart the two crimes were related to Seattle’s. But proving it was the challenge. She wasn’t sure her investigative skills were up to the task. But as Harry had already pointed out, the cops were already at the “grasping at straws” stage. She couldn’t very well make the case any worse even if her visions had been greatly weakened since Kiya, the wolf, had abandoned her, gone over to the other side, or rather to Josh’s side.
As she circled the block for the third time, trying to find a parking place on the street, she decided she was doing her damnedest to handle the fact she’d lost her spirit guide. Since Kiya, the wolf, took the leap into Josh and saved him from certain death, Skye’s path, her destiny had changed.
Kiya now belonged more to Josh, was stronger in him, than she had ever been in her. And there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about losing something inside her that she’d had her whole life. She couldn’t pitch a fit about it and have Kiya pop back to return to the way things had been before. So she’d have to suck it up and learn to live without that essence inside.
When she spotted a place to park, she pulled her Subaru to a stop, snagged her gym bag out of the back, and started footing it the two blocks in the opposite direction.
As soon as she reached a set of stairs that led below street level, she hustled down the steps to a brown door with white letters that read, “Private Entrance Keep Out.”
She chuckled at the sign knowing full well Travis had his “privacy issues.” Slipping her key in the lock, she entered what could only be described as a basement-type locker room. Like her office space, Travis Nakota’s personal gym was pretty much barebones in its simplicity. The musty smell here was as familiar to her as the breakfast special at Country Kitchen, another place that belonged to Travis and one where she’d once spent her share of time flipping burgers.
But now, looking around the workout room, she noted the high beamed ceiling sported its share of water stains from decades back. Faded green, well-worn indoor/outdoor AstroTurf covered a concrete floor. In certain spots duct tape did its best to hold down mismatched seams that wanted to turn up at the ends.
The plain workout area sported a fancy treadmill that could be used in bad weather, a decent weight bench, a state-of-the-art elliptical, and the not-so-fancy punch bag Travis was now jabbing.
From across the room, Skye heard the thudding of a fist hitting leather in repeated quick blows. She spotted Travis going toe-to-toe with the old-fashioned speedbag. Even though he wore a sweatband around his head, sweat trickled down his cinnamon face. His long black ponytail trailed down his back and bounced with each punch to the bag.
The fifty-year-old Native American man, who stood about five-feet-ten, glanced over at Skye. “’Bout time you got around to working out,” Travis grumbled. “Gettin’ lazy lately. All that time spent in your fancy downtown office is taking away from your training time. Taking away training time leaves you vulnerable when you go out at night.”
Even though his voice held a certain amount of disapproval, Skye saw him wink in her direction. Because she knew her dad’s oldest and dearest friend could be a pain in the butt on the best of days, she didn’t allow his mocking tone to get a reaction. The man was her oldest and dearest friend, particularly when she’d moved back to Seattle after leaving Yakima behind at eighteen. Since then, Travis had been her rock.
He’d given her a job as a fry cook at his Country Kitchen diner until the day a lawyer by the name of Doug Jenkins walked through the door. Doug had been her parents’ attorney. Without her knowing about it, Doug had taken the small amount of money her parents had left her and invested it so that Skye could live off the inheritance for several years without having to go to work for anyone else. That is, if she didn’t develop extravagant spending habits.
Skye would be forever grateful to Doug Jenkins and his investment expertise for giving her the opportunity to work on her own.
If only the courts at the time had seen fit to send her to live with Travis instead of packing her off to her aunt and uncle life would’ve been so much better. Who knew if that one decision by the judge would have changed Skye’s path in life? Certainly she could have benefited from the guidance of someone like Travis. Travis’s influence could’ve provided some much-needed insight into a lot of things, mainly in the spirit guide department. In that, she could have used an instruction manual. Travis could have played that role for her. As it was, getting shipped off to Yakima, which to thirteen-year-old Skye, had amounted to Siberia, she’d experienced major problems with the transition.
Trying to handle the deaths of her parents was traumatic on its own. But having to adhere to a fanatical religious regimen was culture shock. About that same time, she’d had to accept Kiya, her spirit guide, as an integral part of her life. Having so much thrown at her at once had been damned near emotionally impossible. Add in the normal teen angst at the time, along with everything else, sometimes Skye wondered how she’d survived those years at all.
“Well, I’m here now,” Skye finally sniped back at Travis in the same derisive tone. “Looks like you’re working off a mad. What happened?”
“Always were perceptive.”
She tilted her head to study him. “Come clean. What’s up?”
“My rumor mill has been working overtime. Little birdies told me Harry wants to drag you into this serial killer case. I don’t like it.”
Skye let out a sigh. How was it Travis always seemed to know things before she ever got around to telling him the news?
She puffed out a breath and pointed a finger at him. “You’re overreacting. Again. It’s a consultant job and the money will go to the foundation.”
“And pit you against one of Seattle’s most dangerous individuals. I don’t think it’s a good idea, Skye. Josh might be better backup now than he was before. But you get in over your head with this serial killer business and you could easily be in deep shit. Both of you could be.”
“Why is it you never have any faith in my abilities to catch the bad guys? Why is that? Why is it you automatically think I can’t take care of myself when you’re the one who trained me?”
The accusation had him stopping in mid-punch. “I have every belief in your abilities. It’s this psycho I’m worried about.”
“What exactly do you know, Travis? According to Harry, the general public doesn’t even know about this guy yet.” She kept studying Travis’s face then narrowed her eyes. “You have someone on the inside, don’t you? Why have you never mentioned this to me before?”
She watched as Travis stalled for time, watched him pull off his gloves, and go over to the mini-fridge to grab a bottle of water. Growing impatient, Skye snapped, “How long have you been keeping tabs on things without coming clean with me about it?”
Travis held up a hand. “Do you think I liked knowing you walked the streets at night in some of Seattle’s roughest neighborhoods looking for that damned pervert Whitfield? Seven years, Skye. You’ve been at this for seven years. All the while I worried myself sick about you. Even with Kiya at your side, there were nights I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there alone. If I could have, I would’ve hired an army to make sure you were safe.”
“So you’ve been keeping tabs on me all this time? Who do you have on the inside, Travis?”
A “deer caught in the headlights” look came into the man’s eyes. “It isn’t what you think.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem leveling with me now.”
“It’s Drummond, okay? Satisfied now?”
“You and Harry?” Skye blinked in amazement, truly stunned at the revelation. But then she considered the past few years or so and realized now that the two men had avoided being in the same room with each other. Had that been deliberate just to throw her off? She opened her mouth to say something and couldn’t. For several long seconds, she stood there staring at the man she’d trusted. “I don’t believe this. All this time spent training me and you had absolutely no faith that I could take care of myself. What did you two do? Have me followed?”
“Of course not. Now you’re being ridiculous. What with Kiya, you would have picked up on that in a heartbeat. As for Drummond, I knew you didn’t want him discovering how you were finding and rescuing the girls. Do you think I’d betray that trust?”
“I don’t know what to believe. So how exactly did this work with Harry?”
“We just kept in touch by either phone or text, a few emails now and then, made sure you were okay. It’s not that big a deal.”
“Except for it being on the sly this whole time, right? You’ve always had a thing about privacy, always been secretive. But there are times like this, I don’t think I know you at all, Travis.”
Still steaming from what Travis had admitted, a couple of hours later, she pulled her Subaru into the resident parking garage located under Josh’s loft. She came to a stop next to the space where he usually parked his Fusion. As she gathered up her laptop, gym bag, and cell phone, she had to admit she still wasn’t completely comfortable at the fashionable address.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to the snooty lobby decorated in its French provincial furniture, or the expensive bric-a-brac that sat under the fancy crown molding. She couldn’t believe she shared space and a bed with a guy who owned such upscale digs.
As she made her way to the elevator, she passed a gold-plated commemorative plaque reminding her, once again, that the structure was built in 1909 and had historic significance.
She shook her head. Maybe this was one more indication she was so out of her element.
Once the elevator reached street level, she popped across the lobby to another elevator that would take her up to the penthouse suite on the eighth floor. She slid her card key into the slot to get it moving. Even though she and Josh had talked about getting a place in the country, a place of their own, they had yet to contact a realtor to look for one.
There were reasons for that, she supposed, other than her dragging her feet. Josh had been trying to catch up with his duties at Ander All Games while Skye had the foundation to get up and running. So far the busy summer had been to blame. There’d been no time for Sunday drives in the country looking at houses with realtors. At least that’s the excuse she’d used.
Once the elevator door slid open, she walked into the airy loft. The one thing she couldn’t complain about was how much light the place got. This place made her studio look like a hole down in a dungeon. If she ever decided to move in here for real, her plants would more than likely thrive from all the sunshine.
A wall of windows took up the west side of the living room with a high-rise view of the harbor. It was a spectacular place to sit and watch a sunset. The opposite wall held what she termed Josh’s private stash of electronic gadgets and equipment. It included a state-of-the-art stereo system and one of the biggest flat-screen TVs she’d ever plopped down in front of on movie night.
Skye looked over at the Aubusson rug, just one of several scattered over the hardwood flooring, and realized once again, why she might feel out of place here. It wasn’t simply the masculine décor, Josh’s brown leather sofa, or the matching plush, cushiony side chair, it was pretty much the entire place.
She threw her stuff down on the hall table so she could sort through the stack of mail she’d picked up from her own apartment. Going back and forth between addresses had its downsides. One of them was remembering to deal with the never-ending postal drivel that always seemed to clog up her box. After discarding all the advertisements in the wastebasket, her eyes zeroed in on a plain white envelope, hand-addressed to The Artemis Foundation but using Skye’s home address, which not everyone knew.
She ripped into the paper and unfolded the letter inside.
Skye breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized the familiar writing. Erin Prescott, one of the girls she’d rescued from a brutal kidnapper and rapist, had written her an update of sorts along with another three-page thank-you.
A grin spread across her face at the news. Erin, it seems, was improving, attending her therapy sessions regularly. The teen was doing so well that she would start a new school in the fall as a junior. There would be no long-drawn-out trial to endure, no testifying to the intimate details of her attack and capture, since the sexual predator, Brandon Hiller, had copped a plea deal. Hiller had already been sent back to Clallam Bay where he was serving a life sentence with no possibility of parole.
But as Skye read Erin’s words of hope and praise, tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She swiped at her face with her fingers.
Didn’t Travis and Harry understand that kids like Erin were the reason she had to go out every night? Didn’t the reward of saving one child outweigh the dangers and the risks she might encounter out on the streets?
Feeling a sense of pride, Skye sauntered off to the kitchen to put on the roast she’d picked up at the marketplace. She decided there was no better time to open up a new bottle of Chardonnay than tonight at dinner to celebrate Erin’s successful road to recovery.
Walking through the swinging door to the huge gourmet kitchen brought a smile to her lips. While the rest of Josh’s impressive loft might intimidate her, she felt completely at home in this room. She couldn�
��t help it. She appreciated each of the shiny stainless steel appliances so much more than Josh did. Much like the living area, this room got tons of natural light thanks to an overhead skylight. Not only was it larger than her entire studio apartment, she thought she might be in love with all the rich, oaken cabinets.
She set her bag down on the sleek marble countertop and started putting away the groceries in the walk-in pantry. Craving a cup of coffee, she took out beans and poured them into the grinder. As soon as she got the state-of-the-art espresso machine going, she turned on the oven to pre-heat. This, she had to admit was where she felt the most relaxed and content, a domestic scene she relished. Whether it was here or in her apartment she realized cooking, preparing a meal, gave her a degree of pleasure. And lately making dinner for the man she loved was what made her the happiest.
Josh tossed his keys in the catch-all bowl on the entryway table and sniffed the air. Skye had to be cooking up her now infamous pot roast with the little red potatoes and baby carrots. He wasn’t much of a veggie eater these days. But he had to admit there were some meals that just begged a full range of the four food groups. Skye’s slow-roasted brisket qualified. He hoped she’d baked some of her yeast rolls to go with the gravy.
Once he pushed open the kitchen door, however, the desire for food headed south. Literally. He sucked in a breath as his own hunger ramped up at the sight. There she stood at the kitchen counter wearing a navy tank top, a pair of low-riding, hip-hugging white shorts, her butt wiggling in rhythm to the sound of Dave Grohl’s voice as he remembered Aurora.
Josh cocked his head to study the way her ponytail swayed to the beat, the way her bare feet kept time to the music.
Skye Cree Boxed Set Books 1 - 3 Page 33
