She peered through the trio of glass slats in her front door to scan the porch and modest clearing beyond. Once she was sure they were empty, she caught Ruger's stare.
"Stay close, okay? Close."
Kate opened the door and waited as he bounded off the porch and into the middle of the yard. Either he'd understood or he'd sensed her mood because he halted there. Once Ruger had finished his job and was safely inside, she relocked the door and headed for the shower. Oh-dark-thirty or not, she was still coated in sweat.
Kate stripped down as she waited for the water to heat. The watch strapped to her wrist caught her attention.
Her mood.
Other than Max's watch, everything she'd brought back from the Army was sealed away in a footlocker. Was that why she couldn't seem to move on?
Was Grant right? Were Kusić and vets like him better off with their memories, photos and the rest of their military trappings out in the open, surrounding them?
Was that how others had made it across this eternal, soul-wracking divide? By truly embracing the darkest part of the suck, instead of ignoring it?
And, yeah, hiding from it?
The thought simmered as Kate showered, taunting her with the possibilities. The faintest flicker of hope.
She dried off and donned a fresh Braxton PD tee and sleep pants, then crossed the hall before she chickened out.
Ruger stood by her side, staring at the door to her father's room alongside her. She wasn't surprised. Canine or not, he always seemed to know. Understand.
Even when she didn't.
"Well, buddy, do we go in?" It wasn't as though Hypnos was intent on tiptoeing her way. If anything, tonight had proved that the god of sleep was running like mad in the opposite direction.
Ruger's soft woof decided it.
Kate twisted the knob and pushed the door open. She flipped the wall switch. Dust motes swirled up beneath the overhead light, dancing amid the stale air as she and Ruger entered the room together. A thicker, more stubborn layer of dust coated the footlocker she'd dumped at the base of her dad's bed upon her return to Braxton three and a half years earlier. Neither the room nor the trunk had been opened since.
She'd have willingly given the remaining honors to Ruger were he not hampered by his lack of opposable thumbs.
Resigned, Kate knelt down and popped the latch on the trunk. The lid creaked as she lifted it.
A fresh swirl of dust clouded the air, choking her along with the memories. She pushed through both.
Setting aside the black velvet case that had been sealed since the day it had been handed to her, she reached for the small album beneath. The worn leather cover eased into her palms like an old, cherished friend—mostly because that was what the album contained. Friends.
Ruger stretched out on the rug beside her as she leaned back against the wall, tucking his muzzle into his paws as she opened the album. Most of the photos had been taken in Afghanistan or Iraq with her mom's old 35mm film camera, though a few of the prints had been snapped during her military schools and courses. One by one, Kate traced her fingers over the faces of her fellow soldiers, some still with this life and others—far too many others—not.
She managed to hold onto her tears until she reached a dozen-plus photos of a sandy-haired Army doctor nearly four inches shorter than her. In every shot, he was wearing the antique dive watch that now cradled her wrist.
"Max."
She hadn't realized she'd breathed his name out loud until Ruger lifted his head.
His nose nudged her thigh.
She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks before they could drip onto his fur. "It's okay, buddy. I'm okay."
Oddly, here, now, sinking down onto the rug to curl up with Ruger and her photos of Max, she was.
Someone was knocking on her door. No, make that pounding. And Ruger was barking...somewhere. Kate pried her eyes open, her confusion deepening as she realized she was lying face down on a rug...and something harder. Her footlocker confronted her as she sat up.
It was open.
She was still in her father's room.
She scooped the album from the floor and set it on top of the velvet case, closing the lid to the locker as she stood.
"Calm down, Ruger. I hear you."
He must've made one of his nightly rounds of the house after she'd dozed off and gotten trapped on the opposite side of the door. Unless her dad had adjusted it after she'd left for the Army, it still wasn't level. And Ruger was frantic.
He bounded into the room as the door opened, jumping up to lick and nuzzle her neck. "Hey, I'm fine."
As for the person pounding on her front door, she wasn't so sure. Kate hurried down the hall, glancing through the narrow slats as she unlocked the deadbolt.
Lou. Please, Lord, no more bodies.
"Christ, Kato, you scared the shit out of me! I figured you'd be up for your crack of dawn run, so I called—then again and again. But you never answered. So I drove over. I been out here bangin' on this door forever. I could hear Ruger goin' nuts, but you wouldn't show. I was about to break the damned door down."
"Sorry. I think I left my phone in the bathroom last night. I couldn't sleep, so I took a shower. I must've sunk into a near coma afterward to miss Ruger's racket."
Lou reached up and tapped her good cheek. "I can see that. Where'd you doze off—or rather, what did you doze off on?"
Kate traced her fingers where Lou's had been, dipping into a chasm almost as long as her most prominent scar.
The photo album.
"Doesn't matter." She shook her head, attempting to shake off her lingering exhaustion. She understood why her brain was still so fogged when the clock in the kitchen cuckooed out six. An ugly hour for Lou, even on the best of days.
Which this wasn't.
"What happened?"
"We got an ID on the second victim."
Not a fresh set of bags, then. Relief swamped her, easing the clenching in her gut. "What's his name?"
"Prints came back to a Jason Dunne. And you were right." Lou dug a memo pad from his uniform pocket to check his notes. "Dunne's a former Army sergeant. Seth got ahold of Dunne's folks up in Fayetteville. Accordin' to the folks, Dunne got out a few years back and took a job at Walter Reed. Somethin' to do with the admin department. He worked there for three years, then wanted to move back to Arkansas, so he transferred to Fort Leaves six months ago." Lou shoved the memo pad home. "So that makes two vets, both workin' outta the same Little Rock VA. I'm wagerin' my retirement it ain't a coincidence."
"You're in the money, then." The VA hospital tie was no more a coincidence than the tread impression she'd found last night after that SUV had tried to run her down.
Before she could brief him, the sheriff cocked his head toward the kitchen. "You got coffee goin'?"
Déjà vu skittered in as Kate spotted the hound-dog hope in his eyes. She'd seen that same look time and again when she was a teenager. Whenever a particularly troubling issue came up at work—especially in connection with the two murders her dad had been tasked with solving—Lou would show up out of the blue, though usually later in the day, and bum a cup of coffee, and her dad would help him talk it out.
They'd talk, and she'd listen.
Sometimes, on a particularly tough case, she swore she could still hear her dad dispensing advice...to her.
"Kato? You okay?"
She pushed through the déjà vu. "Just an old memory." Fallout from that comatose nap on the floor of her dad's room. Either that or dust poisoning. "I was about to put the coffee on. You want some?" Caffeine just might temper the coming explosion.
She hoped.
"Hell, yeah." Lou followed her and Ruger into the kitchen, automatically commandeering his old seat catty-corner from what would've been her dad's at the table. "Guess I had enough adrenaline pumpin' in. Once I made that first unanswered call to you, I didn't even miss the caffeine. For a while there, all I could think was, he's takin' down Army vets. And, well—" Pin
k tinged his neck as he shrugged. "—you're a vet."
Guilt twinged as that SUV flashed in again. "I still have a few of those pumpkin muffins Miss Janice dropped off at the station. Want one?"
At his nod, Kate retrieved the elderly woman's plastic food container from the fridge. She popped two of the remaining muffins in the microwave and prepped the caffeine while they warmed.
Coffee began scenting the kitchen as she let Ruger out for his morning job. The dog was either smarter than even she believed or channeling her lingering vibes, because once again, he didn't stray from her sight. Kate filled the Shepherd's bowl with kibbles and scratched his ears as the last drops of the coffee splashed into the pot. She filled two mugs and pushed one across the scuffed oak tabletop as she joined Lou.
Her dad had been dead six years now, and she couldn't sit in his chair either.
"Thanks." Lou washed a bite of muffin down with a sip from his mug as he stared at the empty seat at the head of the table. "I still miss the old guy every day, ya know?"
Though she was a bit more conflicted on the subject, Kate nodded. And it was time to broach an equally dicey topic. "I have something to show you."
She reached behind her to retrieve the oversized cardboard box she'd set on the counter last night before she'd gone to sleep the first time. Sliding the box across the table, she motioned for Lou to check the contents.
He looked inside, then at her. "I don't understand. Did you stay behind with Owen last night and make another cast? I thought we couldn't do that."
He was correct. Casting an impression generally destroyed said impression, which was why photos were always recorded first. "That's not from the Dunne dump site. Though I did pour this one myself...just after I arrived home."
Terror pierced Lou's stare as the implication hit. A split second later, he was on his feet, towering over her. "What?"
"Now, boss, I'm fine. So don't—"
"Don't 'boss' me, young lady. I asked, what—as in what the fuck happened and why didn't you pick up the goddamned phone when it did?"
So much for easing into this with coffee and a muffin. "Hey, I'm happy to fill you in now...but I'd prefer to do it with you sitting—and relaxing."
The red mottling his entire face scared her more than that relentless SUV, bearing down on her. Lou's ticker hadn't been subjected to the best of care, given his lifelong fondness for everything deep fried and salted.
He must have realized she was serious, because he sank back into his chair. He took a deep breath, then another, as his color faded to almost normal. "Let's try that again. What happened last night, and why didn't you call me then—Deputy?"
She fielded the second question first. "Because you wouldn't have slept. Besides, I've got my 9mm loaded and within arm's reach twenty-four/seven, and I have Ruger."
"Who couldn't wake you."
Kate shrugged. "He got trapped on the opposite side of the door." And since he couldn't open round doorknobs, he'd been stuck. "It won't happen again." At least Lou hadn't pinged on the slip regarding her perpetually loaded and at-the-ready sidearm. She kept going, lest he double back to it. "Everything was fine when I arrived home. I was contemplating dinner when Ruger and I heard an engine. It was headed toward the cabin. I figured it might be meth squatters again, so we went to check it out. We found an SUV. Black, dark blue, possibly green—I can't be sure. The driver had his lights off at first. By the time I switched on my flashlight, his headlights were on, and he was headed straight for me."
"Son-of-a-bitch. You coulda been killed, missy."
Kate let the nickname slide. "Trust me. Even at full throttle, that bastard was slower than a compound of damned near a dozen terrorists, jacked-up on radical jihad."
Not that she remembered exactly how she'd taken out the majority of said terrorists. Lacking her own coherent eyewitness statement, the write-up for her Silver Star had relied solely on forensics. But Lou didn't know that, did he?
The oblique reminder that she'd proven eleven times over that she could take care of herself did the trick. Lou's color and breathing finally returned to normal. He'd be okay letting her out of his sight now.
"This bastard really is after you."
Or not. "I don't think so. Not the way you fear."
His color spiked. "The hell he ain't. Kato, this twisted shit has probably been stalkin' you. How do we know this ain't his way? How he done it before, watchin' those other two before he grabbed them?"
"We don't." But even after a night's stunted sleep, her instincts still voted no. Those same instincts that had seen her through multiple tours in Afghanistan and Iraq and gotten her safely home—against some seriously crappy odds.
Besides, the killer hadn't invaded her home last night.
Those damned night terrors had.
Then it happened—the niggle that had been worming its way through her brain since Lou had briefed her on the second victim finally surfaced. "Where does Jason Dunne live?"
"Little Rock. Somewhere near the river. His folks gave the particulars to Seth. Why?"
The niggle began to dance.
"Something else is going on here, boss. I understand the killer dumping Kusić's body in our jurisdiction. Kusić might've worked in Little Rock, but his trailer's just outside town. But Dunne doesn't live here. So why dump his body here?"
"Convenience?" Lou took several sips of coffee. "You said it yourself. The asshole hacked them up at the same time, then dumped 'em together too. There was no thinkin' involved, just his own sick, two-for-one special so's he didn't have to recon the backroads of another outta-the-way town. Hell, maybe he was in a rush to grab his next victim—you—and was savin' time."
"It's possible." But her gut resisted. "Except this guy's smart. Methodical. Organized to the anal-retentive level. I think those dump sites are crucial to him. We figure out why, and we may have the key to catching him. Either way, you can relax. I do not fit his sweet spot. His victims might be Army vets, but they're male. I fit the first category, but I'm missing a rather distinctive organ for the second. I think he saw me working this case—on the way to or from one of the scenes, or visiting that trailer—and he got curious."
It's not as though he couldn't have discovered her name easily enough. She might not have worn her uniform shirt and name tag yesterday, but there was only one female deputy in the department. With her so-called credentials, the mayor had insisted on touting them—and her—on the town's website.
Heck, she might even get the mayor to see the wisdom in taking the page down now.
Lou reached for his coffee, but he didn't drink. He rolled the outside of the cup between his palms. "If you're right, that means he's trackin' the investigation."
Kate nodded. And the very fact that he was tracking it opened up a whole new window into the killer's psyche. One they'd all have to be careful not to get dragged through. "We need to watch our backs, boss. All of us."
"Yeah. But you're the one he decided to follow home."
So far.
The thought hummed silently between them for several moments before Lou broke it. "I'd feel a whole lot better if you stayed with Della and me. The spare room's made up. Ruger's welcome too. There's safety in numbers, and you know it."
Kate was touched by the concern in his eyes. Humbled. But reality won out. It always did. There was no way she could risk having a night terror at someone else's house. Anyone's. Especially her boss'.
Not even Grant knew she had them. The fear of waking in the throes of a sweat-slicked, heart-pounding horror she couldn't even recall wasn't the only reason she'd never slept over once she and Grant had begun having sex, but it had been the leading contender.
"I'll be fine. Besides, you said the approval for the task force would be coming through today." She slid the second warmed muffin in front of Lou, hoping he'd accept the not-so-subtle change of subject with it. "As soon as it goes live, we'll have so many cops underfoot, a killer this smart will be avoiding Braxton like the plague."
/>
"It's already done."
"That was quick." Especially for a governor known to take a poll before he decided on breakfast.
Lou shrugged. "All due to you. And a leak at the state police." He snagged the muffin, split it in two and polished off the first half. "Our liaison couldn't keep his trap shut. He tipped off a buddy at the Associated Press. Gave 'em damned near everythin', includin' stuff we'd intended on holdin' back, like the missin' organs and genitals—and the ID on both victims. The governor's beyond pissed. The gas bag was fired half an hour ago, but it's too late. The story'll be in most of the mornin' papers. The rest by night."
"Jesus."
"Yeah, but somethin' good came out of it. Seems the AP reporter had a contact high up at the VA. The reporter called the VA official for a comment late last night. Instead of respondin', the VA official called his buddy at the White House. With all the scandals about vets dyin' while on endless waitin' lists, seems the president decided he didn't want to look like a commander-in-chief who couldn't give a shit about vets gettin' outright murdered and hacked up ta boot."
"Great." She'd wanted help, and help they absolutely needed. But when had anyone in DC ever truly provided it without screwing something up along the way?
"Don't look so bummed." Lou washed down the rest of the second muffin with the last of his coffee, and set the mug on the table. "This whole snafu is gettin' us not one, but two FBI agents, and one's from the BAU like you asked."
That perked her up. The latter's expertise would indeed be worth putting up with the added headache of keeping federal politicians in the loop—and the time wasted unraveling the knots they'd inevitably cause.
She hoped.
Kate retrieved Lou's mug and headed for the coffee pot. "When do the agents arrive?"
"They should be flyin' in late this afternoon. They're makin' their own travel arrangements. Which is a good thing—" He tapped the edge of the box containing the Denstone cast she'd made out by her cabin. "—'cause we got enough to do with checkin' both crime scenes during daylight for more of these. As soon as the agents get to Braxton, I'll let you know. You're headin' up the task force on our end. I'm sure they'll wanna meet, so y'all can divvy up jobs and resources between us, the state police and the Little Rock FBI office. Also, the data dumps came back for Ian Kusić. Unfortunately, it ain't much. Carole's still combin' through it, but the landline traffic looks to be normal stuff. So does the cellular data. Here's where it gets bad—Kusić's cellphone went dead a week ago Friday at Fort Leaves. Carole says the SIM card was probably pulled out when he was snatched. No word yet on the man's computer."
The Garbage Man Page 8
