Faceless

by Alexandra Ivy

  “You’re right.” The expression on his lean, handsome face was somber. “Trauma does very strange things to the mind.”

  His voice was raw, as if he’d recently endured a shock, and she had a vague memory of hearing there’d been trouble in Pike.

  She reached to lightly touch his arm. “Sheriff Jansen was a good man.”

  “He was.” He frowned, tilting his head as if he was struck by a sudden thought. “You know . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been slowly sorting through my father’s boxes. Slowly being the operative word,” he said. “I came across an envelope with your mother’s name on the front.”

  Wynter dropped her hand, blinking in surprise. “What’s inside?”

  “I don’t know, but it was in with his files that he brought home from the sheriff’s office after he retired so I have to assume it has something to do with the case.”

  “The case was closed a long time ago,” she said. “It was a random mugging that went fatally wrong. Open and shut.”

  Kir was shaking his head before she ever stopped talking. “If the criminal was never caught and tried, then the case was never closed, according to my father. He spent his vacations going over old reports in the hopes he might have missed something.”

  “A man dedicated to his job.”

  Kir’s lips twisted. “Until the very end,” he told her in pained tones. Then he gave a shake of his head, as if dismissing his bad memories. “Would you like to see the file?”

  Wynter shivered as a blast of wind sent a chill down her spine. Or maybe it was the stark reminder of what had happened to her mother twenty-five years ago. After all, it was one thing to visit a grave and arrange fresh flowers. It was another to dig up the awful memories of being a terrified child in the back seat of a car as her mother was shot point-blank four times in the chest.

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered.

  “Christ, I’m sorry.” His features tightened with regret. “The last thing you probably want is to be reminded of that night.”

  She waved away his apology. “I don’t usually spend time dwelling on the murder,” she admitted. “But I do try to keep her in my thoughts. I was so young when she died, I don’t have many memories. That’s why I’m here. This is the anniversary of her death.” She glanced back at the grave next to her feet. “And since I heard about your father, I wanted to take the opportunity to say good-bye to the sheriff.”

  “I’ll let you think about it,” he murmured. “I’ll be at my dad’s house all day attempting to repair a roof that decided to start leaking in the middle of the night. It’s a two-storied house with green shutters a few blocks north of here. Just drive up Olson Street and make a left on Fourth. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks.”

  She stood as still as a statue as Kir walked away, her stomach rolling with a strange unease.

  This was always a difficult day, but it wasn’t usually complicated.

  Now it felt as if she was standing on the edge of the precipice. Did she get in her truck and return to the comfort of her familiar routine? Or make the leap into the unknown?

  Chapter 2

  Wynter was sound asleep when the sound of something pounding outside the door of her motel jerked her out of her restless dreams. She forced open her eyes, wondering if there was some sort of construction going on. It sounded like a jackhammer.

  Shifting on the lumpy mattress, she pulled the covers over her head, but the pounding continued. In fact, it got louder.

  Along with someone calling her name.

  What the hell?

  Rolling out of bed she stumbled the short distance to pull back the edge of the curtain. She blinked twice, clearing the blur from her eyes, and peered out.

  It was late enough that the sun had risen over the horizon, spreading pale sunshine over the graveled parking lot. Wynter swiveled her head to glance at the dark form standing in front of her door.

  Noah Heller.

  The sight of him punched into her with stunning force. Not only because he was the last person she expected to see beating on the door of her motel room, but because he was the sort of man who commanded a punch-in-the-gut reaction from women.

  It wasn’t just his six-foot frame that was packed hard with muscles gained from his physical labor as a conservation officer. Or the tanned face with features that had been chiseled to stark perfection. Or the dark eyes that held an authority far beyond his thirty-one years of age.

  It was in the power of his presence. As if he carried around his own personal force field that captivated and held attention. Not the shallow charisma of a movie star. Or slick charm of a salesman. It was a deep, resonating magnetism that was utterly natural, and utterly irresistible.

  Shoving her tangled hair out of her face, Wynter hurriedly pulled on her slacks and sweater. She hadn’t packed a bag, which meant she was forced to wear the same clothes from yesterday.

  Once she was presentable, she yanked open the door to regard her friend with puzzled confusion.

  “Noah?” She glanced over his shoulder, seeing his green Jeep parked next to her truck. “What happened?”

  He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, his thick muscles rippling beneath the insulated flannel shirt. It had to be subzero for Noah to wear a sensible coat.

  “Everything’s fine. At least things are fine back home,” he assured her, his dark gaze sweeping from her tangled hair down to her bare toes. “I’m more concerned what’s happening here.”

  She released a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. Part of her was always braced for disaster. Her therapist had told her it was a reaction to being traumatized when she was such a young child. Personally Wynter thought it was simply being sensible.

  Hope for the best and prepare for the worst, right?

  “Why would you be concerned?”

  “I stopped by your apartment and you weren’t there, so I called your dad. He said you were staying in Pike.”

  Wynter grimaced. She’d completely forgotten that Noah would be stopping by with a bottle of her favorite wine. Along with Tonya, he was one of the few people who knew that she made an annual trip to Pike to visit her mother’s grave. When her customers asked why she always shut down the restaurant the second week of April, she told them it was to make repairs and upgrade equipment. She didn’t want anyone intruding into her private grief.

  Noah was different.

  He was not only a friend, but he’d endured his own tragedy when his parents had been killed by a drunk driver when he was just fourteen years old. They shared a loss that others couldn’t truly understand.

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re pounding on my door at . . .” She lifted her arm to glance at her watch. Her eyes widened in shock. “Crap, it’s ten o’clock?”

  “You’ve been coming here since you were sixteen years old, but you never stay,” he said. “I was worried.”

  Wynter struggled to concentrate on his words. Her brain was still fuzzy from the long hours she’d spent tossing and turning on the lumpy mattress.

  “How did you find me?”

  A wry smile touched his lips. “There are precisely two motels and one B&B in Pike. It didn’t take a genius to track you down.”

  It was the sound of tires crunching on gravel that snapped Wynter out of her sleep-deprived haze. Noah had driven three hours to check that she was okay. Which showed a hell of a lot more concern than her own father. When she’d called to say that she would be staying in Pike, he’d mumbled something vague and quickly ended the connection. He hadn’t even remembered it was the anniversary of his wife’s death.

  The truth was, Dr. Edgar Moore wasn’t interested in anything beyond teaching literature at the local college in Larkin and collecting old manuscripts.

  She stepped back. “Come in.”

  Noah quickly entered the room, his brows lifting at the cramped space with its cheap furniture. There was a narrow bed and one dresser wi
th a portable TV bolted to the top. The ceiling was studded with beams that looked like they’d been made out of Styrofoam, and there was psychedelic wallpaper peeling from the walls.

  “Yow.” He shuddered as he turned a full circle. “It clearly wasn’t the fine accommodations of the Pike Inn that lured you to linger.”

  Wynter breathed in Noah’s warm scent of pine. She didn’t think it was a cologne, just the fresh scent that clung to him from spending so much time outdoors.

  “I don’t know, it has a kind of Brady Bunch vibe,” she teased, nodding toward the orange and purple and lime-green comforter she’d thrown on the floor. “Or maybe it’s more a melted crayon box style.”

  He returned her smile. There’d always been an easy companionship between them. Ever since they’d met in grief counseling when she was fourteen and he was sixteen. That was one of the reasons they’d never dated. Lovers were easy to find. And even easier to lose. A good friend was more difficult. And far more precious.

  “It looks like my grandmother’s house,” he murmured.

  “Yeah, mine, too. Pike must have had a sale on avocado shag carpeting in the seventies.”

  Noah grimaced. “I hope whoever was selling it went bankrupt. I’d hate to think it might have a comeback as some retro chic style.”

  She snorted. “Not every house can be wood floors, wood walls, and a wooden beam ceiling,” she said, referring to the cabin he’d built next to a lake a few miles north of Larkin.

  “Why not?”

  She pointed toward the edge of the bed. “Sit down.”

  There were no chairs in the room, and she didn’t want him towering over her when she explained why she’d stayed in Pike rather than return home.

  It wasn’t his fault. She was just short, and the room was excessively cramped.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He perched on the edge of the mattress with a curious expression. “Now what?”

  She hurried to grab the manila envelope that she’d dropped on the counter next to the sink in the bathroom around three in the morning. It was the only way to stop staring at it so she could try to get some sleep.

  Returning to stand in front of Noah, she shoved the envelope in his hand. “Here.”

  His gaze remained locked on her face. Could he see the tension that made her face feel tight with strain? Probably.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  She licked her lips. They felt dry and chapped. “Before I left the cemetery, I decided to find Sheriff Jansen’s grave.”

  Noah frowned, as if searching through his memory for the name. “He’s the man who investigated the murder?”

  Warmth flared through her. Noah had a long list of special qualities. He was smart, loyal, dedicated to his job as conservation officer and as a member of the community.

  Oh, and gorgeous.

  He was also the first person she’d ever had in her life who actually listened to what she said. The fact that he recalled Sheriff Jansen proved just how closely he paid attention.

  “Yeah. He died a couple months ago,” she said. “While I was there I met his son, Kir.”

  “That’s not why you stayed.” His voice was oddly flat.

  She shook her head. “No. He told me that his father had an envelope with my mother’s name on the front. He asked me if I wanted it.”

  “Obviously you did.”

  “I wasn’t sure. Even after I stopped by his house to pick it up, I sat in my truck for hours debating whether or not I wanted to see what was inside.” She’d been parked in the driveway, stiff with cold and with darkness creeping through the quiet neighborhood before she’d finally opened the envelope and pulled out what was inside.

  “Curiosity won out?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Slowly, Noah opened the flap and tilted the envelope. He gave it a shake to empty the 8x10 picture that had been tucked inside. She stepped to the side so she could catch a glimpse of the grainy black-and-white photo that had haunted her dreams.

  It was a fuzzy image of a slender woman standing next to a white SUV with the driver’s door open. She was wearing a knee-length designer coat and leather boots that had three-inch heels. Her long, glorious blond hair framed her pale face that even at a distance, and blurred by the poor quality of the photo, was stunningly beautiful. On the other side of her was the outline of a gas pump and overhead was a canopy where the fluorescent lights battled against the darkness that surrounded the filling station.

  Noah lifted his head to meet her troubled gaze. “Is this from the night your mother was attacked?”

  “Yes. It’s a still shot from the surveillance tape.”

  “Christ.”

  * * *

  The Stranger had lingered outside the motel all night. Waiting. Watching.

  There was a puzzling change in the annual pilgrimage. In the past, Wynter would travel to Pike to sit beside her mother’s grave. Sometimes she would linger for an hour or two. If the weather was mild she would spend the entire afternoon.

  The Stranger would watch from the fringe of the cedar trees, savoring the opportunity to remember. And perhaps to gloat. No, not gloat. That was the wrong word. To . . . feel. Yes. After endless days of gray, dull nothingness, this was a rare chance to recall the buzzing excitement that had once brought vibrant life.

  No one knew the truth of what happened that fateful night. No one but the Stranger. It was a secret so big it had to remain buried deep.

  Six feet deep.

  This year was different. Wynter had paid her respects with the new urn filled with fresh flowers. Then she’d cleaned the marble headstone before she walked across the cemetery. Was she randomly strolling to stretch her legs? No. She halted at a grave to speak with a man.

  The Stranger continued to watch. And follow. And wait.

  The curiosity was tainted with an unease as Wynter entered a small, shabby house just a few blocks from the cemetery and then quickly returned to her car with a manila envelope clutched tightly in her hand.

  The Stranger didn’t know what was inside, but it had altered Wynter’s tradition, which altered the Stranger’s tradition.

  Change was never good.

  Never.

  Chapter 3

  Noah didn’t know exactly what he’d expected when he climbed into his Jeep to make the drive to Pike.

  He’d been concerned last evening when he’d gone to Wynter’s apartment and discovered everything dark and locked tight. Not just because he hated the thought of her driving so far alone and in a truck that was what she called “temperamental” and what he called “a death trap.” But she knew he would be waiting for her. It was a tradition they’d established on her sixteenth birthday. She would travel to Pike to visit her mother’s grave, and he would be waiting to offer her comfort.

  His concern amped higher when she didn’t answer his calls or texts. At last he’d been forced to contact Professor Moore. The older man said that Wynter was spending the night in Pike. He didn’t know why, or even when she planned to return, but he seemed to think Wynter was fine.

  Noah wasn’t as certain.

  The highway between Larkin and Pike was well maintained, but there was nothing but cornfields for endless miles. What if Wynter had broken down? There was always the possibility her phone was dead. Or even that she couldn’t get service. Anyone who lived in the remote areas of Iowa and Wisconsin knew that cell phones weren’t always reliable.

  He knew he had to make sure Wynter was okay.

  And even after he’d gotten to Pike and discovered Wynter’s truck at the cheap motel, he hadn’t been satisfied. He had to see her.

  Why? Well, that was a question he hadn’t bothered to ponder.

  Now he gazed down at the blurred photo in confusion. “No wonder you were upset. Why would the sheriff keep this picture?”

  “Look on the back,” she commanded.

  Noah flipped the picture over and s
tudied the words that had been scrawled with a shaky hand.

  “‘He has the purse. Why kill her?’” he read out loud. He lifted his head to send Wynter a puzzled frown. “What does it mean?”

  Reaching down, Wynter plucked the photo from his hands and turned it back over. Noah was instantly aware of her soft, feminine scent. He felt the familiar spark of awareness. It didn’t matter that she was missing the usual aroma of warm bread and herbs that clung to her skin after a long morning in the kitchen. She was still a tasty treat. One he had to remind himself was a friend, and nothing more, on a regular basis.

  “Look.” She pointed toward the center of the picture, thankfully distracting his perilous thoughts. “The mugger has my mom’s purse and a clear path to escape. Why would he shoot her?”

  Noah shrugged. “He was probably afraid she would recognize him.”

  “His face is covered.”

  Noah looked closer. It was difficult to see the man who was standing at an angle from Wynter’s mother. He was in a shadow from the pumps, but he could vaguely make out that he was a few inches taller than his victim and wearing a puffy coat that made it impossible to know if he was skinny or fat. He could also see what looked like a ski mask pulled over his head.

  “That doesn’t mean she couldn’t identify his voice,” he pointed out, trying to keep his tone reasonable. There was a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly had a bad feeling about why Wynter had remained in Pike. “Or maybe he was high on drugs. I had a man shoot at me because he was drunk and he didn’t want me to tell his wife he’d been fishing instead of being at work.”