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Kara shook her head. “It wasn’t random. He wants us to think that it is but there’s no reason a child would carry around something like that.” She met his dubious stare. “I’m right about this. I can feel it.”
“You’re the boss,” Dillon said with a sigh. “What time tomorrow?”
“At 7:00 a.m.”
He groaned. “Just because you’re an insomniac doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”
“At 7:00 a.m.,” she repeated. “Not a minute later.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Now, go call the team. I want to get this briefing underway before everyone starts trying to claim overtime.”
By the time the briefing was over and everyone had returned to their rooms for the night, Kara felt an all-over body fatigue and actually welcomed the thought of sinking into the motel bed.
She rose on legs stiff from sitting in one position too long. After washing her face and throwing on some pajamas, she climbed into the bed and gratefully closed her eyes. Perhaps tonight she’d be able to sleep without the details of the case she was working scrolling across her brain in rapid succession, screaming for closure, demanding everything she had and then some.
But even as she started to drift into slumber, a memory, buried deep, surfaced and she rolled onto her side as if to escape it.
Summer, 1990. She, Neal and Matthew were driving to the beach … the smell of her coconut suntan lotion filled the truck’s cabin … the sound of their laughter mingled with the music of Aerosmith … she felt safe, flanked by the two boys.
Then, as dreams often do, the scene changed without warning to the night before she left. The fight. The words that were said that couldn’t be taken back. The heavy weight of regret and guilt that she carried each time she looked into her daughter’s eyes.
Matthew’s eyes.
Kara tossed. The dream faded but the feeling that she’d lost something precious remained. Just as it always did.
Her eyes cracked open a slit but slid closed again. For once sheer exhaustion overruled everything else. And she was grateful.
The next morning was much like the day Hannah’s body was found, only bleaker as dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon and headed straight for Lantern Cove. Angry waves crashed against the inland rocky shores as the wind picked up and howled through the trees.
If Kara were the superstitious sort, she’d say there was an uneasy energy coursing through the air. But she certainly didn’t believe in that crap, nor would she admit to the shiver that ricocheted down her spine as she waited for Dillon.
“Picked a cherry of a day to go hiking,” he said, locking his door and pocketing his key. “If it rains, we’ll lose whatever trace you’re hoping to find.”
Kara looked to the sky and nodded grimly. “I know. We should get a move on. Maybe we can beat the rain.”
Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know, but we can try. Oh, by the way, I left a voice mail for Beauchamp to let him know we were going out there,” he said as they climbed into Kara’s Range Rover.
She looked at him sharply. “Why’d you do that? We don’t need his permission.”
“No, but it’s a professional courtesy and you know it. Why are you so set on making an enemy of this guy?”
Too late for that. Kara opened her mouth but snapped it shut, knowing that if she let fly what had popped into her head it would only open the door for more discussion about her past. She wasn’t interested in doing that. “You’re right. Sorry. I need coffee.”
“No problem. There’s a coffee shop along the way.”
“Good.” She looked to Dillon. “I didn’t mean to snap. This place combined with the case … it’s got me on edge.”
He accepted her answer but then said with a cheerfulness that was unnatural that early in the morning, “Well, since you’re already grouchy, I should let you know that Beauchamp called me back after I left a voice mail. Seems he keeps the same late hours as you, fancy that. He said he’d meet us out there.”
She jerked to face Dillon. “What?”
Dillon shrugged. “Figured another pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. Besides, he knows the area.”
“I know the area,” Kara said, trying not to grit her teeth. “We don’t need Beauchamp.”
“You used to know the area. You’ve been gone a long time. A lot can change. Honestly, Thistle, what the hell is wrong with you? You’ve never gotten so bent about working with the locals before. Besides, it only makes sense to add him to the task force. What’s wrong?”
Kara shoved the gearshift into Drive. “Nothing.”
“There you go lying again. You have the most entertaining tic in your eye—minute, really—when you lie through your teeth. Good fun to watch under most circumstances but this morning I’m not really in the mood—so just get on with it and spill already.”
“We just don’t get along.” That much was obvious. “Why would I want him tagging along?” Kara snapped, then hearing her own shrewish tone, she tried again. “I mean, I don’t want anything to distract me from the job and if I have a surly police chief to deal with, I might miss something crucial.”
“Be that way. There’s more to it. But you’re obviously determined to be a horse’s ass about the whole thing. So piss off with you, then.”
Thank goodness for small favors. The ensuing silence allowed her to shake loose the tight feeling in her chest that constricted her lungs the minute Dillon mentioned Matthew. She worried her bottom lip until she realized she was doing it and quickly stopped. She glanced at Dillon. “I was engaged to his best friend, Neal,” she said, breaking the silence reluctantly.
“You, engaged? Pardon me for a minute while I suspend my disbelief.” He paused a minute as if mentally switching gears and just as she was tempted to throw him out of her car while driving at a high rate of speed, he continued. “So what happened?”
“He died.”
“Before or after you broke off the engagement?”
She startled. “How’d you know it was me that broke it off?”
Dillon’s smile was slow and just smug enough to ride the edge of annoying. “I know you. You’re a heartbreaker, not the heartbroken.”
That’s where Dillon was wrong. Her heart had been broken, she was just adept at shoving the shattered pieces into a dusty corner. “He died after.”
“How’d he die?”
Kara pursed her lips, not quite sure she wanted to share the rest. She worked very hard to keep those details from crowding her on a daily basis. Dillon was prodding her relentlessly, so she relented but kept to the barest of facts, as if she were relating details of a case instead of pieces of her past.
“He wanted me to stay in Lantern Cove. I’d just been accepted into the bureau. I had to go. He didn’t agree. We parted ways and unfortunately, a month later he died in a car accident. Can we drop it now? The memories aren’t pleasant and I try not to go there anymore.”
“Fair enough.”
She focused on the drive to Wolf’s Tooth and soon they were there.
Matthew was waiting. He stood casually against his Jeep Cherokee, his expression inscrutable, his breath curling in the cold.
They exited the car. Kara nodded to Matthew. “Thanks for meeting us,” she offered, even if she didn’t mean it.
“So what do you think my team missed?”
“Like I mentioned earlier, with both of the past victims, the killer left behind a small clue. Something that in overgrown, wooded terrain might easily get missed if the investigator didn’t know what to look for.”
“Such as?” His expression darkened even as she knew his mind was working quickly.
“Something with a message. With the Garvin boy, it was a slip of paper tucked into a pocket. On Drake Nobles, it was one of those candy hearts with a printed message. At first we thought it was random, some weird little quirk, but I soon realized he was baiting us. Mocking us. He doesn’t think he’s going to get caught.”
Matthew pushed off the vehicle, his tone all business. “Let’s do it. The rain is coming and that bastard is getting caught.”
The three started the climb down into Wolf’s Tooth, for the second time in as many days, the cold biting into her skin while brambles scratched and grabbed, and Kara remembered why she’d never enjoyed hiking.
Kara slid the final few feet and if Matthew hadn’t caught her, his strong grip closing around her waist, she would’ve fallen flat on her butt, or worse, gone tumbling head over heels.
“Watch your step,” he said. Electricity sparked between them with the accidental contact and Kara stopped the immediate gasp that nearly flew from her mouth.
“Thanks,” she muttered, stepping away from him.
His gaze swept over her but he didn’t say anything else, just turned and kept walking. “This way.”
They walked twenty more feet before they reached the area where Hannah’s body was found and Dillon said he was going to canvas the perimeter, leaving Kara and Matthew to search the underbrush.
The foliage, dense and varied shades of green, was damp from the misty weather. A distant crack of thunder heralded the coming storm.
“He kept her alive for a few days,” Matthew said, without breaking his careful search. He looked up. “Did he do that with his other victims?”
It was one of the details that bothered Kara the most. Each time a child went missing, that short window of time seemed to taunt them for they knew it wasn’t long enough to find them. The killer knew it, too. “Yes. He’s a sadist. He wants to enjoy their pain.”
“You keep referring to the killer as a he. Is there something you know that you’re not saying?”
“No. Statistically, serial killers are men. I don’t care if it’s a man or a woman. Either way, he or she is going down. I think it’s just easier sometimes for me to think of him as a man.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips but it was gone in a heartbeat. “Why? Because it’s hard to believe a woman would do something so awful to a child?”
She met his gaze and answered truthfully. “Yes.”
“Who knew … Kara Thistle has a soft spot after all.”
She scowled, realizing her mistake. “I’m going to check over there. Holler if you find something.”
Kara made her way carefully through the underbrush, noting every detail of the terrain, looking for some kind of sign that the killer had screwed up and left behind more than just a discarded body. She glanced back at Matthew, his solid form moving through the dense forest ground cover, and wondered if there’d ever come a day when those blue eyes didn’t smolder with hatred when they focused on her.
Not likely. An unexpected burn behind her eyes caught her off guard. She wiped at them with an impatient motion, irritation blooming at her own lack of control just because she was around Matthew again. What was wrong with her?
“Hey, I think I found something.”
Moving briskly, she pulled a glove from her pocket and slipped it on as she went. “What have you got?”
Matthew pointed at a tiny slip of paper, barely noticeable under the wide green fern fronds, as a corner stuck out from under the earth.
“Dillon,” she called out. “Over here!”
Bending down, she gently moved the dirt so she could pull the paper free. Her heartbeat slowed to a painful thud as she scanned the damp slip.
“Mulberry bush,” Kara read, her brow furrowing as she handed it over to Dillon to put into an evidence bag.
“Isn’t that part of a nursery rhyme?” Dillon asked.
“All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel,” she answered softly, then looked at Matthew. “What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know but I don’t like it. I’ve always thought there was a certain creep factor to most of the old nursery rhymes,” Matthew said, frowning.
“Why?”
Matthew looked at her. “Because they never mean what they say. They’re too cloak and dagger for my tastes. Besides, haven’t you ever noticed that a lot of those rhymes are kind of violent toward kids?”
Dillon agreed. “I think the chief is right. Perhaps the bastard is using the rhyme as a metaphor.”
“A metaphor for what?” Matthew asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Dillon answered, shrugging. “But it can’t be literal, now can it? I don’t suspect the killer keeps a pet monkey or weasel for kicks. I suppose we’ll have to do some research on the blasted nursery rhyme.”
“Great. Someone who fancies himself clever. Just what we need,” Kara said, rubbing her temple. “All right, Dillon, see if anything turns up in the origin of the rhyme.”
Matthew’s jaw hardened and Kara knew he was fighting against his urge to grind his teeth. When he spoke again, his tone was ominous. “We haven’t seen the last of this guy. My gut tells me he’s on the prowl for his next victim.”
Kara agreed, shivering and blaming the cold, which was already causing her teeth to chatter. As if on cue, the rain started and Kara was only too happy to get out of that ravine. There was a sadness that clung to the area, as if Hannah’s spirit was lingering, waiting for someone to solve her murder and prevent more from meeting the same fate.
She looked back as they climbed up the steep grade and for a split second she could’ve sworn she’d actually seen someone standing there. Kara blinked. Nothing but hundred-year-old trees and undergrowth remained.
Tricks of the mind, she thought shakily. Tricks of the mind.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_22e4cea1-6628-52c2-8cff-d473178b84cd)
It was late and the storm that had started when they were down in the ravine was pelting the earth with fat, angry raindrops, creating a staccato against the tiled roof of the single-story motel. She’d declined to go out with the team for a bite to eat, preferring to go over case notes and forensic reports, though as she glanced at her watch and her stomach growled in complaint she wondered if maybe she should’ve chosen differently. Sighing, she fished a can of salted almonds from her bag and popped the top. Voila, dinner.
Tossing a few into her mouth, she’d just settled into the chair with her pad and pencil when a short rap at the door had her tensing. The team hadn’t returned yet, which made whoever was on the other side of that door, suspect. Moving softly and grabbing her gun, she called out, “Who is it?”
There was a pause and then she heard Matthew answer. “Me. I, uh, brought you something.”
Puzzled, she holstered her gun and opened the door a crack. Matthew stood there with a bag of Chinese takeout, his expression hard to read. Glancing down at her wardrobe, she grimaced at the tight, long-sleeved sleep shirt and soft flannel pants she was wearing. Well, it’d been a long time but Matthew had certainly seen her in less, so she reluctantly opened the door wider. “For me?”
He lifted the plastic bag from Mr. Choy’s. “Mu shu chicken. Used to be your favorite. I ran into your team as I was picking up my order and McIntyre told me you’d stayed behind. Figured you ought to eat something,” he added a bit gruffly as if he were just as surprised as she was at his actions. He reached into the bag and pulled out the mu shu, thrusting it at her. “So here. Take it or leave it. Hell, I don’t even know if you even like this stuff anymore.”
She accepted the container and the sweet, tangy smell teased her senses, kicking her suppressed appetite awake with a vengeance. “I do. Thanks. Do you … want to come in?” she asked, unsure.
Matthew hesitated, then stepped over the threshold as she closed the door behind him. She took a seat at the small table where her notes were strewn about in a haphazard mess that belied her generally organized nature. Moving a few of her piles, she cleared a space for him to join her. “I can’t believe Mr. Choy’s is still in business after all these years,” she said, making small talk as she dug into the still-warm order. She chewed slowly, enjoying the pleasure of a once-favorite food. “He was old when I left.”
Matthew opened his own container of sweet-and-sour pork and, before digging in, said, “His boy took over. Does a pretty good job of picking up where his old man left off. Mr. Choy, from what I hear, is loving retirement and has taken a shine to golf, despite being near to ninety years old.”
“At least he’s staying active,” she murmured, taking another bite. She gestured with her fork to the food. “It’s great. You’re right. Tastes as good as I remember, so his son must be doing a bang-up job.”
They ate in silence but Kara knew they were both thinking the same thing: in what universe was it possible that she and Matthew were sitting at the same table, eating dinner like old friends? She swallowed and glanced at him surreptitiously, her practiced eye noting every detail about his appearance that was different and yet the same.
Solid Matthew. Always the practical one. The phantom of a smile threatened to play on her lips as she thought of the numerous scrapes and binds they’d narrowly escaped as kids simply because they’d had the sense to at least listen to Matthew when things had gone too far. It was a miracle nothing had ever managed to make it to her permanent record, a boon she no doubt owed to Matthew, not Neal. Often Neal had been as headstrong and reckless as she in their teens. Her daughter, Briana, had inherited that quiet wisdom Matthew had come by so naturally. For that, Kara was grateful.
Finished, she pushed her container away and sighed at her full belly. She didn’t often get the opportunity to just sit and eat without feeling pressured to finish so she could return to the task she’d set aside.
