“Shannon, you and your blind lover quarreled today. The man, in typical, dramatic artist fashion, thought you were going to leave him and swore that if he couldn’t have you, no one could. He killed you, and then in despair, took his own life. I’ll make sure the story is leaked to the media. You’ll be famous — like Romeo and Juliet. I’ll take good care of our child. Goodbye, Shannon. I should have done this myself the first time.” She cocked the gun.
• • •
The sound of the gunshot echoed in the dressing room. Why had the shot been so loud? She’d seen Kerry put on the silencer. Misty opened her eyes, aware she hadn’t been shot and terrified she would see Nick lying dead on the floor. Instead, she looked down into Kerry’s vacant eyes, the bullet hole a small circle in her forehead, and Nick standing over her body with a gun in his hand. She started to shake.
Nick reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “It’s over, it’s all over,” he said. The room began to fill with agents.
“Debbie is with Nathan and Charlotte. I must say, Naomi did a hell of a job training her for this,” said Vince. “Naomi’s on her way to the hospital where they’ll pump her stomach. She knew it was coming down and reminded Debbie of what to do before she left. The coffee didn’t taste quite right; Doherty probably put too much of the drug in it.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Misty, confused. They were talking nonsense. Why don’t I ever know what’s going on?
“Naomi has been practicing a ‘play’ with the girls, where a bad woman comes in with a gun. She told her it would be a big surprise for her mommy. We couldn’t let you in on it; if you’d suspected what was happening, you might have inadvertently said something or done something to tip her off. I’m sorry, Misty, but your fear had to be genuine. This was my call, not Nick’s. Debbie has the makings of a fine actress. She was supposed to turn the red stone in her necklace and sit down until a grownup she knew came for her. As soon as she got a chance, she was to run out of the room and hide. There’s a tracking device in the necklace, so we found her easily. She had a very good hiding place.” Vince bent down to look at Kerry. “Nice shot.”
“Say something, sweetheart,” said Nick. “Misty, it’s over. She can’t hurt you again.”
“How were you able to shoot her?” she asked. “Where did you get the gun? You could have missed.” The adrenalin seeped out of her and the tears came. “You could have been killed!”
Nick pulled her into his arms. “Woman, you do entirely too much crying,” he joked. “The gun’s mine, but I keep it safely locked away. I’m a crack shot, and from this distance, there’s no way I could have missed.”
“But you couldn’t see her clearly.” Misty stared at him. He was looking straight at her, and she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, his eyes worked perfectly. “You can see me.”
“I can see every one of your gorgeous freckles and your lovely watery eyes. You are everything I thought you were and more, and you have a beautiful daughter. Unless these gentlemen need us, let’s go home.”
“I thought we were going to France,” she said, as he led her out of the dressing room and down the hall to the stage door. He held the door open for her, and they climbed into the back of the police car waiting for them.
“Take us back to Park Avenue,” Nick said to the officer. He leaned back and pulled her into his arms.
“We are going to Paris. In the morning,” he said softly so the driver couldn’t hear him. “But tonight I want to make love to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen — that would be you — in my bed with every light on that I can find. I want to explore every inch of that delectable body of yours and sear it on my mind forever. France can wait one more day.” He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, a kiss full of passion, longing, and promise.
“Now, I have one more request. When I gave Debbie the locket tonight, she asked if I’d consider becoming her full-time, regular daddy. She mentioned something about wish-secrets, or something like that. Personally, I’d like the job, especially if one of the fringe benefits is having a gorgeous redhead as a wife. Can I be Debbie’s daddy and your husband, Misty? I promise to take care of you for the rest of my life.”
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. “I think that can be arranged, but I have a feeling Debbie’s going to be secret-wishing a sister soon.”
He laughed. “Let’s go home and get to work on that. As an only child, I think big families are great.”
About the Author
Susanne Matthews grew up an avid reader of all types of books but has always had a penchant for happily ever after romances. In her imagination, she’s traveled to foreign lands, past and present, and soared into the future. The release of her first novel, Fire Angel, was the first step in making her dreams come true, and In Plain Sight is another. A retired educator, she now gets to spend her time writing, so she can share her adventures with her readers. She loves the ins and outs of romance and the complex journey it takes to get from the first word to the last period of a novel. As she writes, her characters take on a life of their own, and she shares their fears and agonies on the road to self-discovery and love.
Susanne lives in Cornwall, Ontario, with her husband. She has three adult children and five grandchildren. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys reading, chatting on the Internet with her writer friends, and hearing from her readers. You can learn more about Susanne at www.mhsusannematthews.ca.
More from This Author
(From Fire Angel)
Jake McKenzie pulled into the police lot and parked in the spot that bore his name. He got out of the vehicle and locked the doors. He went around back, opened the hatch, and removed his laptop, his cane, and the lunch Minette, his future sister-in-law, had insisted on packing for him. He would ask someone to collect the two boxes of evidence from the recent fires that Everett had dropped off at the inn, hoping to lure him into the investigation — it had worked. He had never been able to turn his back on a puzzle. He walked the short distance to the door and went into the police station.
Jake had done criminal profiling work for the Paradise Police Force before going to Afghanistan. Not much had changed since his last visit. The electronic doors swung open into a foyer, but the only way to go any further was to be buzzed in by the dispatcher on duty at the desk. A Plexiglas partition separated her from the rest of the world, ensuring her security. As soon as she saw him, Lynette Wilson pressed the buzzer that released the door into the inner sanctum.
“John Jacob McKenzie! Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes. It’s about time you got back to work. I’ve missed you, darling.”
She came around the desk and took him into a bear hug that forced him to put down his packages and stoop his six foot four inch body to meet her five foot two inch frame.
“I missed you too, Lynette,” he said returning the affectionate greeting. “How are Harry and the kids?” he asked the diminutive dispatcher who ruled the detachment with an iron fist and boxes of homemade cookies. The feisty gray-haired dynamo kept everyone on their toes, especially the chief. If there was something you wanted to know, all you had to do was ask Lynette; the one thing she couldn’t do was keep a secret.
“They’re growing like weeds. Timmy started high school this year and Thomas will graduate in June. Now, when are you going to settle down and start a family?”
Jake laughed. “I’m still looking for the one who got away.”
In his mind, he pictured a slender platinum-blonde with incredible almond-shaped blue-green eyes. His heart ached at the reflection. Another memory, far more sinister and painful intruded. No one needed to dwell on his first marriage, and the tragedy it had spawned.
“Do you want to let the chief know I’m here?” He changed the topic.
“Already did, sweet cheeks. I called him as soon as you pulled into your parking spot. There’s Frank,” she
said, indicating the town’s mobile canteen owner. “Right on time; I ordered those chocolate brownies you like so much. We get all our coffee from him now; he brings in an urn in the morning that lasts all day. That man sure makes a good cup of coffee.” She rushed to open the door and helped him bring his goodies into the station.
“Hey, Jake,” Frank said as he carried the eighty-cup urn through the door. “Nice to see you back at it,” he chuckled, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “By the way, I give a twenty-five percent discount to law enforcement people.” He smiled. “Is Minette still planning on prime rib for dinner on Sunday?”
Jake laughed. Frank and his cronies had persuaded his brother’s fiancée, the inn’s assistant manager, to move prime rib night to Sundays, the night they met at the restaurant for their weekly gabfest and dinner. So far, the move had been a good one.
“Yeah, she’s got that window table of yours all reserved.”
“Hey Jake, nice to see you,” said Pierre Leduc, one of the uniformed officers working out of the station. “Is that one of Min’s lunches?” He eyed the bag the way a man in the desert eyed water.
Jake laughed. “Yes, she’s afraid that now that I’m back to work, I’ll starve to death. I can’t wait for David to muster out and give her someone else to mother.”
The young officer reached for it. “Well, don’t leave that lunch unguarded in the staff room; they’re like vultures in there, stealing and scavenging food left and right. My wife sent in muffins the other day, and they were gone before I even got one.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep it at my desk just in case.”
Pierre snorted. “Well, if a lunch like Min’s is just lying around, a man’s got to rescue it, doesn’t he — you know, serve and protect?”
“If you’re smart, you’ll keep it in the mini-fridge in your office,” said Police Chief Everett Lewis coming up behind him.
Just over fifty, the chief reminded him of the newspaper editor in the Spiderman movies, with his steel-gray brush-cut hair and matching mustache. He had piercing blue eyes and a no-nonsense air about him that made him perfect for his job.
“Jake, let me welcome you officially as a consultant with the Paradise Police Force. Here, let me get that,” he reached for the computer bag. “Come on; I’ve got the guys waiting for you in the briefing room.”
Jake followed the chief down the hall. He noted the freshly painted walls — why did they always paint them that cheerless shade of gray? When he entered the room where the station’s personnel were assembled, he was pleased to see many faces he recognized. He shook hands with old friends, and their obvious pleasure at having him back gave him a much needed boost of confidence. He could do this — no, he would do this!
Before Afghanistan, he had had his choice of assignments and had generally chosen the more active, current cases, like those that had involved serial killers piling up bodies left, right, and center; however, since his return, he had avoided such cases. At first, he had refused all profiling jobs, but helping Minette run the inn he and his brother owned did not provide enough stimulation for him, especially now that he couldn’t handle all of the physical chores the way he used to. There were things he could do easily, some he had learned to do differently, and others that he could not do at all. It was those others that chipped away at his confidence.
With Minette’s encouragement, he had come out of full retirement and began accepting cold cases, those that were covered in dust, unsolvable as far as the police were concerned. As a profiler, he saw things that others might have missed. Families wanted answers, needed them; with evidence and photos in hand, they approached Jake for closure. He had more than enough work to keep him busy, and had built quite a reputation for himself, but the chance to prove that he was as good as he used to be was too great to miss.
Recently, a couple of fatal fires had kept the arson squad busy, and when they had made a connection between them, Everett had come to see him and begged him for help. They had six bodies and no leads. He needed Jake’s eyes, the eyes of a profiler, to get into this guy’s head and find him before he struck again. Paradise was a small town, and a crazed firebug made people nervous.
The chief called for attention and the room quieted.
“Before you go off this morning, I’d like you all to welcome Jake McKenzie. Jake has agreed to work with us as a special consultant, profiling the felon in the arson cases. Until a couple of days ago, we didn’t know that the cases were connected. I’ve had Conference Room C converted into an office for him. He’ll need to interview the firefighters, witnesses, and some of you as well. I know that you’ll give him all the cooperation he needs.” The chief turned to Jake. “Would you like to let the team know where we stand?”
Jake walked steadily over to the lectern, his wet palms the only sign of his nervousness.
“Thank you, sir.” He turned and addressed the room.
“I haven’t had a lot of time to familiarize myself with all the aspects of this case, and at this point, we don’t have a lot to go on, but I have some theories, and I’m open to any ideas that you may have as well.” He opened his computer case and removed the documents he had placed there for this briefing.
“Before I volunteered to go to Afghanistan, I worked with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police as an independent criminal profiler; some of you remember me from that murder case I helped you solve six years ago. In Afghanistan, I did the same thing, looking for the insurgents and members of radical groups before they struck and teaching the local police force how to do the same thing.”
Memories, best forgotten, hovered on the edge of his consciousness. Would he ever be able to discuss his job without feeling the guilt of that one failure overseas?
“I learned a few lessons over there, one of which was not to get cocky; another was never to underestimate the enemy. I’m a psychologist, trained in forensic and behavioral science. I study the way people conduct themselves. I examine the clues they leave behind; it’s my job to look at the photos, the diagrams, the recreations, and the notes to figure out what kind of individual is committing these crimes.” He took a drink from the water bottle the chief had given him.
“I’m not a miracle worker, nor am I psychic. If you expect me to tell you that ‘I looked at the file and the arsonist is Joe Blow,’ then you might as well send me home now, and save the province some money.” There was a scattering of laughter in the room that relieved some of his tension.
“As much as I wish it did, it doesn’t work that way. What I can do is describe the characteristics of the person’s mental and emotional state based on the evidence found at the scene of the crime. From those characteristics, I can extrapolate personality traits that will help you identify and catch this guy. I’m a long way from a complete profile, but here are a few points I can share.”
He turned to the white board and picked up a marker. He had noticed that most of the people in the room had pad and pen in hand. He wrote as he spoke.
“Statistically speaking, we’re looking for a white male in his mid-thirties. He may be local, but a frequent seasonal visitor isn’t out of the question. Our guy is able to get close enough to his victims to roofie them — Rohypnol was found in half of the bodies. You’ve interviewed people who saw the most recent victims shortly before their deaths, and no one saw anything or anyone unusual. He moved those people from point A to point B without any difficulty. It could be a woman, but it’s unlikely — someone would have remembered a woman, especially one strong enough to move a body weighing more than two hundred plus pounds.”
“Yeah, that last guy was no light weight, Jake, more like three hundred, if you ask me.” Several people laughed.
“Our suspect has at least a high school education; the cocktail he made to ignite the second fire shows that he has a basic knowledge of chemistry, and it’s amazing what you can pick up from t
he Internet. He understands how fire operates. He has used two different methods to set his fires, which is why we didn’t see the connection at first. The fires appear to be controlled, telling us he knows how to manipulate the scene to serve his purpose.”
“Have you figured out how he set the cabin on fire and managed not to have it spread?” asked one of the officers.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t been out to the fire scene yet, but I hope I’ll be able to figure it out quickly. Everything I learn about this guy may be crucial.”
Jake looked around to see if there were any more questions before continuing.
“Our man knows how to disappear before the firefighters get there. He may have access to a police scanner, and he definitely has a vehicle. Since most arsonists like to watch their fires closely, he blends unobtrusively into the crowds of spectators. We’re looking for someone who looks so normal that he could be the guy next door.”
“That gives us quite a list of potential suspects,” said the chief. “Can you narrow it down any?”
“Sadly, no, not at this time, but I can tell you that he’s a serial killer, and he will kill again. I suspect some of the victims were chosen; the others seem to have been collateral damage — wrong place, wrong time.” He closed his computer case.
“There’s no such thing as the perfect crime. This guy has left clues behind, and we’ll find them. Once we do, we’ll hunt him down and put him away. Thank you.”
A rousing round of applause followed. A man in a wrinkled brown suit, his tie askew, approached.
“Matt Conway, liaison with the Ontario Provincial Police,” he said. “I work out of Paradise. Nice to meet you, Jake; Everett speaks highly of you.” He held out his hand.
In Plain Sight Page 24
