by Vella Day
“Hopeful?”
Lara interjected. “HOPEFAL is short for the Henry O. Pomerantz Center for Excellence Forensic Analysis Lab.”
“Oh.”
Trevor stood and said his goodbye with the promise of letting Mrs. Jumper know the answer as soon as he found out.
Lara said nothing after they drove off. He figured she needed time to absorb the new experience of dealing with the victim’s relatives.
A bunch of cars blocked the road ahead, and he stopped to allow a crowd of festivalgoers to cross the street.
She pointed to the large grassy area. “Could we stop and see the festival?”
“I thought you didn’t like snakes.”
That brought a smile. “You were only teasing me, weren’t you?”
“Yes. Cops’ kids are brought up never to lie.”
“Then I’d like to learn how these Native Americans celebrate their culture.”
“Fine by me.” She could probably use the boost. Talking with Mrs. Jumper had not been easy.
He’d use the time to search the crowd for anyone who might look like he’d abducted or killed eight of the locals. Not that he knew his men were dead, but the length of time they’d been missing implied something bad had happened.
As he opened his door, so did Lara. He guessed none of Lara’s former boyfriends ranked high in the gentlemen category. He came around to her side and placed a palm on the small of her back to guide her through the crowds. Given her olive skin and long, brown braid, someone might mistake her for Native American and ask why she wasn’t participating today.
Halfway across the expansive park, a woman in her early thirties, dressed in a colorful dress, waved to him, but the look on her face wasn’t one of happiness.
Lara looked up at him. “Who’s she?”
He waved back. “Her brother was one of the men who disappeared.”
“How sad. Are we going to talk to her?”
“Eventually.”
He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if one of his family members didn’t come home one day.
Yes, he could. He’d be devastated, depressed, and totally destroyed. Rehashing the event would be as close to torture as one could get.
As he refocused on Lara and the growing crowd, an unsettling weight dragged on him with each scan of the area. They followed a bunch of rowdy kids to the center of the park, staying clear of the people forming a large, encompassing circle to the east. Between the ankle bells and the drumbeats, he didn’t know how Lara could enjoy the noisy event, but from the excitement in her eyes, she was.
Costumed men and women wandered about shaking hands with the visitors. Some had long hair tied in a braid, while others had a more modern hairstyle. Most wore fringed pants, colorful tops, headdresses, and face paint.
Lara pushed forward through the crowd, and he shot out a hand to stop her. “I think it’s better if we stay away from the main part of the festival.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“There are a lot of people we don’t know and one of them might be responsible for the missing Seminoles.”
She stared at him, probably deciding whether to call him on his reasoning. “Fine.” She turned her back to him and looked out over the park. “There are some tables with jewelry on it. Can we look at them? You can stand next to me to make sure I’m safe if you want.” She looked back over her shoulder, and he swore he caught an eye roll. Then she took off.
“Lara.” He had to shout to make sure he got her attention.
He wanted to throttle her for not paying enough attention to her surroundings, but they’d have that talk later. Let her have fun now. He caught up to her in a few strides and guided her to the tables.
She picked up piece after piece of homemade jewelry, asking the seller questions, acting like a kid at Christmas. Seeing the joy on her face made the day a lot better than it had started.
Such a shame the attractive couple had to die.
He watched sweet young Lara leave the park with the handsome man. He’d spent the last hour searching for the perfect man and woman to add to his collection of wax figures. Now he’d found them. Only who was the man with her?
Since he wore a badge on his hip, tracking his identity shouldn’t be difficult.
Faces floated by, some pretty, some not. From the pictures he’d studied, he had a good idea of the body type and shape of the face he needed. So who would be next? His historical tableau needed many more than his two main attractions.
He adjusted his balls and smiled. Lara would make the perfect Pocahontas, and the cop, the perfect John Smith.
4
Anxious to find the identities of her two skeletons, Lara had pestered Bernie Laxman, the DNA specialist, for three days for Larry Jumper’s DNA results. Phil had told her the lab processed evidence faster than anyone in the Southeast, and she hoped he was right. Too bad she couldn’t live in a world like CSI Las Vegas where all lab results were instantaneous.
Anticipating Larry Jumper to match her skeleton #2, she spent the entire morning examining John Doe #1, hoping to identify more physical issues. Other than the broken right arm the man received some twenty years ago, #1 was quite the ordinary guy. Finding a match to one of the remaining seven missing Native Americans would be tough. She hoped Trevor had spoken to the other families now that she’d armed him with a list of simple questions.
As if her mind had conjured up his enticing image, the lab door swung open. She held her breath, but when Bernie Laxman strolled in, she blew it out. Lara refused to acknowledge the disappointment at not seeing Trevor.
Bernie’s yellow hair and stained teeth made him look like a canary. A big yellow one. His beige shirt, straining around his belly, didn’t help with the image either. To make matters worse, he smelled of ammonia.
“Hi, Bernie.”
“How’s my little Indian Princess doing?”
She cringed, but returned a smile. “I’m Italian, Bernie. I know my braided hair makes me look Native America, but I wear it this way to keep it out of my face.”
“If you say so.” He held up a piece of paper and smiled. “It’s a match. Your John Doe #2 is indeed Larry Jumper.” He pushed his black glasses higher up his nose.
“That’s great.” She took the paper and studied it. “One down, one to go. Thanks for putting a rush on this.”
His eyes got that dreamy look in them. “Anything for you.”
Her smile evaporated and she stepped back. “Is there anything else?” Okay, her reaction wasn’t sympathetic, but if she didn’t stop his advances from the get go, things might become worse.
Bernie shifted his feet, and his pasty face reddened. “Ah, no.” He spun around and practically ran away.
Way to go, Lara. It was for his own good, right?
Turning back to the metal gurney for one final check on #1, Lara sighed at having hurt a coworker’s feelings. She pushed aside her unintentional slight and spent the next few hours on her bones until her eyelids drooped. The secrets in the bones would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, she needed air and exercise.
After dumping her paper smock and gloves in the waste disposal bin, she took the elevator downstairs, said goodnight to the desk guard, and stepped outside. The clouds appeared charcoal against a black backdrop, but despite the possibility of rain, the crisp breeze and full moon made running a must.
Being outside with the wind in her face would free her mind to work on clues, to connect those elusive dots. Tonight, she needed all the help she could get.
The deserted streets of her neighborhood provided the perfect place to release her tension. After she warmed up with a slow jog, she turned right at the end of her street and headed toward an area of smaller houses packed next to each other. The lights blazing inside the homes made the neighborhood look so cozy.
Instead of wondering about the lives behind the glass windows, she concentrated on her strides, her posture, and deep inhales. As her body warmed up, she pushed herself harder.
She probably shouldn’t have taken off her battery pack, but it slapped against her hip when she ran and distracted her. Like always, she kept to the sidewalk so she didn’t have to worry about cars sneaking up from behind. She checked over her shoulder, but no bikers or faster runners appeared. Good.
A flash of lightning lit the spring sky and illuminated a lone, blue car driving toward her on the opposite side of the street, going a lot slower than the posted 30mph.
Close to the halfway mark, the same blue car drove by in the opposite direction, and her body shot to alert, forcing her feet to pick up the pace. Once the vehicle passed, she dismissed her paranoia and paid closer attention to her surroundings. He must have been looking for a house number. Finding someone at night could be difficult.
A cool breeze blew by her, followed by another flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder. To hell with the three-mile run. She did a one-eighty and headed home before the storm broke.
Another bolt close by shot to the earth, and her nerves hit high alert. As she checked out the bright blue and gold spectacle in the sky, her foot missed the edge of the sidewalk, and her ankle twisted. Without the support, her knee gave way and her body propelled off the curb into the road. Dammit. Her hip and shoulder met the ground with a thud. Ouch.
Bright car lights came up behind her, the reflection bouncing off the glistening road. She froze until the adrenaline gushed through her veins. Ignoring the pain that skittered up her leg, she jumped up the best she could and leapt toward the walkway. Her left foot landed on the hard cement, tightening every muscle, and her breath caught in her throat. Before she even planted the second foot, the car’s rear view mirror clipped her right side. Hard. Her off-balance feet tangled. The momentum of the hit shot her across the sidewalk, and flung her onto the graveled path beside the walkway. Her head banged hard, her cheek scraped the rough rocks, and her thigh took a large part of the impact. Tears burned the back of her throat. She wanted to pop up and pretend she wasn’t hurt.
Only she couldn’t move.
She waited for the rush of pain to grab hold but nothing registered. Then like a tidal wave, the intense throbbing slammed her body.
Breathe.
Assess.
Breathe.
The car that hit her swerved and halted, the bright red taillights glowing in the night. Burned rubber filled her nostrils. The driver’s door burst open and a young blonde girl, no more than sixteen or seventeen, hurried up to Lara waving a cell phone. A streetlight halfway down the road lit the right side of the girl’s face. Mouth open, eyes wide, she gestured in big sweeps, but Lara heard nothing.
The teen’s cheeks streamed with tears. Good. She ought to be upset, damn it. Given the girl clutched her phone in her right hand, she was probably talking or texting some friend and didn’t see her. Lara had even worn a blinking reflector on her hip, but the girl obviously hadn’t noticed.
“Are you all right? Let me help you up.” At least that’s what she thought the girl had said. Reading lips in the dark was difficult.
Part of her wanted to protest any kind of movement since a sudden jerk could paralyze her. “Wait. Give me a moment.” She looked up at the girl. “I’m deaf, but I can read lips if you speak slowly.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Deaf people weren’t to be pitied, but Lara figured her words wouldn’t take hold right now.
The young lady crouched in front. Lara moved her hands and her feet to test their function. Nothing appeared broken, thank God. She edged up on her elbows, and she managed deeper breaths. She nodded to the girl who held out a hand.
Despite the teen’s shaking shoulders, she helped Lara to a sitting position. The blonde wiggled her phone, and Lara assumed she wanted to call for an ambulance.
“I’m fine.” Lara didn’t want to deal with hospitals, X-rays, or doctors. She’d had enough of them in her lifetime. “Let me see if I can walk.” She prayed her injuries were minor. If not, she’d let the girl make the dreaded call.
With the teen’s help, Lara eased to a standing position and rotated her hip and ankle. Though painful, she managed to take a few steps without faltering and forced a smile. “I’m okay, thanks.”
The girl turned her head to the side. “I can drive you home.”
“No thanks.” Young girl or not, Lara wouldn’t let a stranger drive her. She’d learned her lesson years ago. “If you’ll just give me your insurance information, I can follow up with you.”
“Sure.” The girl hurried back to the car, returned a moment later, and handed her the policy number, home address, and phone number.
Lara said goodbye and walked away with as much normalcy as possible, gritting her teeth against the sharp spikes that ran from her ankle to her thigh with every step.
She’d walked about fifty feet before she looked over at the girl’s shadow bathed in her car’s taillights. The teen looked as still as one of her skeletons. Lara waved and the driver inched back toward her idling vehicle. Poor thing. Had Lara not ached so much, she might have tried to console the upset girl.
Another bolt of lightning split the sky and raindrops fell. She shivered. What else could go wrong? She hobbled toward home, giving into a full-blown limp the moment she turned onto a side street. She clenched her fists. Crap. She should have paid more attention to where she was going.
The last half-mile home seemed to take forever. The moment her house came into view, relief poured through her. The place never looked so inviting but going up her porch steps took its toll. Just as she reached the landing, the heavens opened up. At least some part of the trip had good timing.
Once inside the living room, she bent at the waist to catch her breath. Pain attacked, as liquid dripped down her cheek and splattered on the hard wood floors. Damn. Blood. She didn’t need this. She limped over to the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room, tore off a paper towel and held it to her face to stem the bleeding. Next she grabbed an oversized plastic glass, filled it with water, and gulped it down. Hobbling past the dining room, she crossed the hallway into her bedroom and climbed into the shower. Her normal ten-minute routine turned into twenty as she forced the stupidity of being hit from her mind and focused on something more pleasant—like the hot Trevor Kinsey.
She let herself dream about sharing a shower with the sexy cop. He’d rub her back with her lavender soap, then run his thick, muscular palms over her breasts and between her thighs. Once he wiped her body dry, he’d massage her sore muscles.
Right.
Her mother had told her others would see her as different, but Lara had refused to believe her until the last year of college when she found out that her boyfriend had slept with her only because of a bet. The first one to sleep with the deaf girl won. That still stung. The other short-lived relationships were fine, but in the end, they didn’t click.
Whatever. She couldn’t change the past now.
After she toweled dry, she iced both injuries and placed a bandage on her head. From the library, she grabbed a romance novel and climbed into bed, determined to focus on something other than work, pain, and one particular man.
Butch bounded up next to her and purred the moment she rubbed behind the lazy cat’s ear. Less stressed than earlier today, she leaned back against her fluffy pillows and indulged in her romantic fantasy. All that was missing was chocolate, wine, and a better painkiller.
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she awoke, the clock read three a.m., and hunger pangs stabbed at her belly. She patted the sheet for the cat, but he’d slipped away. She left the bedside lamp on, but after shutting off the overhead room light, she gingerly walked out to the kitchen. Her hip was stiff, but the swelling in her ankle had gone down some.
Halfway to the kitchen she stopped. The living room and kitchen lights blazed. No way would she have forgotten to turn them off. Or had she been too preoccupied to flip the switch? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember much of anything other than the pain. Her head banging mu
st have caused memory loss.
She snagged a power bar to quell her grumbling stomach and drank another glass of water. On her way back to her bedroom, she spotted a piece of paper propped on the dining room table in the shape of a V, looking like an upright Christmas or birthday card.
She picked up the piece of paper to see what she’d dropped.
Wait a minute. This wasn’t hers. Confused, she mouthed the typed message. You are my new Indian Princess. I’m watching everything you do. I need you alive. You’re my ticket to fame.
What the—? A lead ball exploded in her stomach, and her hand stilled as her heart beat out a rapid rhythm. She dropped the note. Who’d put it there? And when? Was the intruder still in her house? As she spun around to search for him, an ache worse than her fall sped from her ankle to her thigh. She cringed, her breath evaporating for a moment.
Focus. Breathe. Sense any movement.
The second the pain subsided, she inhaled, but her heart continued to trip in her chest. When had he broken in? And how? Her body tense, she waited for someone to dart out from a hidden corner.
Think. She would have seen the note when she returned from her run, right? Had the jerk snuck in after she was asleep? Chills attacked her spine, and bile rose in her throat at the horror of the thought. Someone could have attacked her in her bed.
She wanted to scream but instead, clamped her mouth shut.
She needed to call 9-1-1. She hopped into the kitchen on one leg and grabbed a knife. The bastard wouldn’t get to her.
Implant. As best she could, she maneuvered her way down the hall to her bedroom to connect the device. She flipped the switch three times, but it was dead. Her batteries were freaking dead! Damn it. She’d been too tired to recharge them after the run. How could she have been so careless?
She whipped around to lock the bedroom door, half expecting the intruder to appear. He wouldn’t win. With knife in hand, her numb fingers somehow managed to push in the lock.
She dialed 9-1-1. How much time to wait? “Please. Help me. I’m deaf. Someone broke into my house. Can you send someone?”
