After sorting through and opening the obvious cards from supporters, strangers really, who’d read about their nuptials in the newspaper and taken the time to write, she spent another hour reading through the stack of mail. She set the cards aside in their own batch so she could write each one a personal note later.
By the time she poured her third cup of coffee, she decided to tackle opening the boxes. Skye couldn’t believe people would actually take the time to shop for wedding gifts—especially during the holiday season—for a couple they’d only seen on the news. But while she and Josh had bathed themselves in suntan oil and sunshine, it seemed the packages from strangers kept coming.
Her father, Travis Nakota, had dropped by every other day to deal with the deliveries, the ones dropped off by FedEx or UPS or the mailman, or to collect what managed to slide through the slot, only to heap all of them underneath the metal table.
By one o’clock that afternoon, she’d opened up a dozen cartons containing stuff like a shiny new toaster, crocheted doilies—the lacy things made by a little old lady in Aberdeen who wanted to give them something homemade—along with a varied collection of recipe books. Somehow it had gotten out that Skye Cree liked to cook. Because of that, the citizens of Seattle had taken it upon themselves to make sure their heroine had the means to prepare the best dishes—whether it was linguine or coq au vin or good ol’ Southern-fried chicken—and they’d sent her a wide range of cookbooks. She browsed through page after page wondering if she could find something unique to fix tonight, their first full night back home.
The next parcel that caught her eye was a long, brown rectangular cardboard box. Its size alone caught her attention—a good eighteen inches wide and two feet long—it had a depth of at least ten inches, which made it the largest gift by far. As soon as she picked it up, she heard Kiya’s warning yip and growl. It was about the same time that she realized whatever was inside rattled, as if something had broken into bits and pieces. Whatever delicate item was inside had cracked, she decided. Whatever it was had obviously met a bad fate. But she didn’t understand why that would send Kiya into howling-mode.
She sighed a little at the notion that someone’s generosity had ended in a bad way with a careless shipper. Despite images of delivery drivers slamming packages against doors and tossing them on concrete, she held the box up to give it another shake. The contents definitely clattered around inside. Skye decided she’d have to send them a thank-you anyway. But when she looked for a return address in the upper left-hand corner she noticed it had been left blank. She turned the box on its end to check the bottom side. But there was no shipper info at all.
She picked up the scissors she’d been using to breach the other cartons and slid the sharp edge across the tape. Throwing back the cardboard panels, she pried the lids back to reach inside. Instead of the pretty, delicate, tissue paper she’d found in the other gifts, her eyes landed on old newsprint. The sender had used it to buffer whatever rested within. Unlike all the other presents she’d opened so far, this one held an odor so strong it made her want to gag. Kiya’s yowling got louder. Because of that, she almost missed the date on the yellowish copy of the Seattle Times. 1992.
As she peeled back the sheets of paper, a funny feeling hit her. That feeling began to climb up her backbone all the way to her neck. By the time she’d unwrapped the layers of newsprint, the core of it began to sink in.
From the center of the box a skull stared back at her, the shape and form unmistakable. It lay nestled among an assortment of bones, a femur, a tibia, and what looked like a patella, or kneecap. The leg bones were complete but there was no foot.
Underneath them all was a typewritten note.
Skye looked around for anything she could use to pick up the paper. Knowing the police would want to know if she’d handled anything inside the box, her eyes landed on one of the already-opened wedding gifts, a set of kitchen gadgets that included a pair of metal tongs.
With unsteady hands, she used the tongs to grab for the note to angle it out of the box. In spite of how careful she was though, the back of her hand brushed up against some of the bones. The contact caused her to shiver. That’s why it took three tries before she was able to lift out the message without tearing the paper. Carefully she placed it onto the newly-cleared surface of the desk so she could read the words.
The media says Skye Cree is the greatest hunter. They say you love to track down really bad guys. I’m a really bad guy. I’m sending you this box of bones. See if you can find out who this woman is. I don’t exactly remember her name. It’s been too long. Maybe Julie? Janie? These few bones were all I could stuff into the box. See if you can use what’s left of her to catch me because I took her life. I’ll give you a clue. I killed her with my own hands. To be honest, I’ve killed others since this one. But you probably won’t be able to find any of them because after all this time no one else seems to care. I’m not even 100% sure anyone ever looked. Let’s see if what they say is true. Let’s see how great you really are. Because somewhere out there families wait for answers that never came. Are you the one good enough to find them answers? We’ll see. Because I’ll be watching you.
Skye’s jaw dropped open. She reread it again and then a third time before she reached for the desk phone.
“Josh, you’d better get down here. I don’t know if this is a sick prank or if it’s real. But I’ve never seen anything like it. You have to get down here, see this box of bones for yourself.”
Chapter 2 Book 3
It took the founder of Ander All Games ten minutes to make it downstairs from his cushy office on the twentieth floor. Mainly because once Josh left his office, after being away for two weeks, people kept coming up to him wanting to make small talk. What had the weather been like in St. Kitts? How did it feel to be a married man again? And when was he planning to tackle those latest bugs in the software updates. He didn’t mind the questions or the interest in his personal life because he liked to think the people at Ander All Games were like his extended family. Widely known for treating his employees well and paying competitive salaries, it was one reason his company maintained their edge in the marketplace. Josh liked to think he offered them more than a great benefits package and regular bonuses. For the most part, the work environment was relaxed. He believed in teamwork and always encouraged communication between departments. Employees knew they could come to him with work-related issues, hopefully nipping festering resentments in the bud before they could built into full blown grudges. That’s one reason, his door was usually open.
He’d found a deepening friendship in his business partner, Todd Graham, as well as the rest of his team. Maybe not as much as he once had, but he still liked to think he’d formed a bond with most of them. Lately life had created new opportunities. That’s what he chose to think anyway at the turn in the road his life had taken—ever since that night he’d met a certain Native American woman with violet eyes.
By the time Josh reached suite three hundred, his curiosity had reached new heights.
When he opened the door, their eyes met—his gray, almost silver—hers the deepest blue. His heart practically stuttered in his chest at her narrow Native American face with its high cheekbones and the long, raven hair.
Since meeting Skye in that dark alleyway almost a year earlier he’d felt like he’d tapped into the mother-lode. That hadn’t changed since tying the knot.
At the sight of her, his lips curved up.
Skye tilted her head and met a smile with a smile. For that brief moment, she stopped thinking about death and appreciated what was right in front of her. Not in a million years would she have ever believed this man would be such an integral part of her life now.
His black hair fell gently around his shoulders. Its length didn’t detract from the man’s shrewd sense of business or his ability to dress the part of a man in charge, a man who ran a successful gaming empire. There was no doubt he’d made some bucks over the years. But Skye knew he w
as as down to earth as a guy could get.
“I got here as soon as I could.”
Skye’s face told him what he already knew. Not two hours earlier he’d left her in a perfect state after they’d made love. And now, someone had put an end to that blissful scene by sending her remains.
He took another look around the small office knowing full well his wife wasn’t prone to exaggeration or posturing to get a reaction. He met her in front of the folding table and took a stance beside her at the box peering inside. His recently acquired wolf instincts kicked into overdrive. “This is no joke, Skye. Those are definitely human bones.”
“I figured as much. That’s why I’ve already called Harry. After I calmed down a little and bothered to go through the box for a closer inspection, I determined that for myself.”
Josh nodded and began to scan the note, then read it through a second time. “Welcome back to the ugly world we left. Looks like, our vacation is officially over and you’ve been challenged.”
“Looks like I have. That old copy of the Seattle Times you see is dated 1992. I didn’t want to handle it too much but…it’s the classified section, help wanted ads, a few personals, a whole lot of used cars for sale. You know what it means though? We’ll have to check every missing teen or woman in the area from that general timeframe to get a bead on this guy.”
“The newspaper might not even be a viable clue as to the date of the bones. Simply put, it could be nothing more than a false lead.”
“I thought of that. But that’s why we’ll have to eliminate it first. There’s no other way. If it turns out the paper is in anyway a reference to the year Julie or Janie died, it means the killer’s been at this for a very long time. There’s no other conclusion, Josh. It’s a morbid thought. The idea that this woman’s remains aren’t even complete is just…sad. Do you think he kept the rest?”
“Oh yeah. I think he would. Don’t you?”
“I do. It means he has a trophy room somewhere and at least a twenty-year head start.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
The voice came from the open doorway where Harry Drummond stood. The look on his face was that of a beleaguered homicide detective. A uniformed cop trailed Harry while a crime scene technician followed behind the patrolman. The tech carried a camera and a metal briefcase containing his equipment. The new triad immediately clustered around the desk and the box. It didn’t take long for the small space to feel cramped.
Bobbing his head in Skye’s direction, Harry wanted to know, “You touch anything?”
She sent him a roll of her eyes. “You know me better than that. I used those tongs there to pick up the note and the newsprint”
Harry shook his head. “You attract some crazies, Skye. You know that?”
“Seems there’s nothing I can do about that. Take a look. It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some pretty weird stuff. I want to know who these bones belong to. Was she someone’s daughter? Was she a mother who left children behind? Was she a sister? Are they still actively looking for her? What were the circumstances where she ended up in a cardboard box? And how did her remains get here, specifically to me, to my office?”
“All reasonable questions,” Harry remarked.
“There’s a trail and we need to follow it,” Skye asserted.
“Read the note,” Josh prompted. “The person who sent the package obviously kept up with current events, knew Skye’s tie-in with the Artemis Foundation.”
“Why make his sins public now? Why write about them now? Why contact me like this at all?”
Harry scratched his head. “I’m no profiler but… I’d say he has some terminal disease and he thinks the clock is ticking or he wants attention or could be both. If it’s for the attention he probably thinks the spotlight has somehow escaped him.”
“He wants his fifteen minutes of fame,” Josh concluded. “On that we all seem to agree.”
“I know one thing. He knew Skye was out of town,” Harry proposed after skimming the message. “Knew the box would likely sit here until she came back to deal with it herself. Who gathered your mail while you were gone?”
“Travis. He came by every other day. But I only talked to him once in two weeks.” Her cheeks got a little pink at that, remembering she’d been absorbed in other things, too busy to do much else, other than enjoy the island and Josh. “At the time Travis mentioned that quite a bit of mail had piled up. I thought he was exaggerating.” She threw her arms out wide. “Obviously he wasn’t.”
Josh frowned. “If this guy knew we were away, then he’s probably staked out this place at one time or another, maybe even staked it out today to watch you guys show up here.”
Harry thought about that then leveled Josh with a stare. “Is it too early to ask if you’re getting anything from the note, the bones? Point me in a direction, Josh.”
Josh ignored the astonished looks from the police officer and the crime scene tech. “Not a thing, other than the fact they’re human bones. Female.” He waited a beat before adding, “She died violently. That’s implied, of course. But I think she was strangled. Sorry, I can’t do any better than that.”
“Isn’t that unusual in light of recent events?” Skye prompted, meeting Josh’s eyes. “I mean, I thought you’d pick up on…a lot more than that.”
Josh lifted a shoulder in a shrug as his lips spread into a wide grin. “Maybe I’ve lost it. Maybe spending two weeks in the tropics drummed it out of me.”
“Or maybe the bones are just too old or more like we’re witnessing a shield of some kind that combats your special powers. Ever think of that?” Skye returned in a teasing tone.
“Maybe. But I want to go on record as saying I didn’t handle these bones up close so I’ll reserve the right to add any additional info I obtain from said special powers in the immediate future.”
“That’s convenient,” Skye quipped. “Admit it. You’ve lost your touch.”
Harry shook his head at their back-and-forth banter. “I’ve got a dead woman’s bones in a box and you two are squabbling about what I find very weird in the first place.”
“Weird is the new vogue,” Josh tossed back.
“Good thing, too. Because weird is the staple around here and right now, that’s all we’ve got,” Skye retorted as she watched the tech take possession of the box destined for the medical examiner’s office and—what she hoped most—answers.
Chapter 3 Book 3
Weird lapped over into dinner that night at their stylish loft, located in Seattle’s upscale Pike Tri area where Skye played hostess to their family. Along with Travis Nakota, Doug and Phyllis Ander gathered around the dining room table waiting for a nervous Skye to take the roast out of the oven—a tasty pork and pineapple recipe she’d found in one of the new cookbooks she’d gotten.
When she did finally make her way through the swinging door from kitchen to dining room, she glanced around the open layout. The polished wood floors might gleam but right this minute she regretted not having taken the time to put her own touches on the place. She should have. The condo still felt like it belonged solely to Josh. Her fault, she knew. Even though she’d hoped to make it feel more like her home by bringing over her clothes and a few knickknacks, she still felt Annabelle’s presence. After all, the woman had died here. That fact alone had to be weighing on Josh, too. Maybe it was time to get serious about a new address instead of buying new pillows or a bucket of paint.
But it was too late now to worry about things like color schemes. She had hungry guests to feed.
Josh nudged her into a chair and whispered, “Stop worrying. The table’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. And I love you.”
She took a deep breath, let it out one layer at a time and dropped into the chair.
Over slow-cooked pork tenderloin, rice and asparagus tips, Skye looked around the table and picked up her glass of wine. “So how many serial killers do you suppose work an area at any given time? I mean,
we’ve had our share in Seattle over the years but how many do you think are active here?”
“I’ve read the numbers, the studies,” Josh said, taking a sip of the Cabernet. “Some have estimated there are between thirty-five and three hundred active serials around the world. I’d say locally there could be as many as ten and as few as four at any one time working the area along the I-5 from Canada down to the California border.”
“Those numbers sound awfully high to me,” Doug interjected.
But about that time Skye caught the appalled look on Phyllis’s face. She quickly apologized. “Oh, sorry. I guess this isn’t the usual conversation you’re used to having over supper. We’ve gotten into several bad habits lately, talking about murders is par for the course.”
Phyllis bristled at getting caught and cleared her throat. “I’m not without a sense that such subject matter takes place in this house of late, but I’d rather not discuss morbid things like that at the dinner table.”
“You’re right,” Skye said.
“No, she isn’t,” Josh imparted. “Sorry, Mom, that you’re uncomfortable. But I’d like to point out predators count on people like you to avoid conversations like this one. Let me ask you something. What if you knew someone who was a victim? What if it was one of your loved ones? What if you knew your daughter or son was out there somewhere, missing, taken by an unknown assailant? What if the police decided they’d left on their own though? What if you didn’t buy that theory? So now, you’re stuck, in a black hole because you’re never quite sure what happened to them. You have no answers, no clues. The reality is there are families out there exactly like that. They’re left wondering what happened to a son or a daughter. If we can’t have a dialogue about predators like this who grab strangers off the streets, then what’s the point? Part of working to find the bastards who do this type of thing is to make people aware—even if it is over pineapple pork and rice.”
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