by Elle James
Gabe left and Kayla set about sweeping crackers from the floor and setting the cottage to rights. Every time she passed the picture windows, her stomach knotted and she had to fight to keep from throwing something at the red spray paint.
It was just paint. She hoped words were the worst the killer would get away with. Deep inside, she suspected things would get a lot worse before they got better.
“How many strangers do we have in town? I’ve already questioned twenty.” Gabe paced Chief Taggert’s office, back and forth, spinning around in tight, agitated movements.
“I don’t know, some are getting a jump on the approaching summer season.” The chief pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Stop pacing, you’re making my head hurt.”
“We can’t let this psycho hurt Kayla—Ms. Davies.” He stopped and faced the chief. “He’s already killed three women, including Rachel Kendricks. I won’t let him kill another.”
“We’re not letting him kill anyone. But we have to have evidence we can take to the bank, or to the crime lab. Got any of that?”
Gabe drew in a deep breath and let it out. “No, damn it.”
“We didn’t even find the spray can the jerk used on the cottage.”
“Did you check at the hardware store for any red spray paint purchases in the last week?”
“Did it. Nada.” The chief pushed to his feet. “We’ve got nothing but a growing list of victims.”
“No. I won’t let it grow. The list stops here.” Gabe slammed his fist on Chief Taggert’s desk, rattling the picture of his wife that leaned precariously against his in-box. The picture teetered and toppled over, landing with a clatter on the scuffed wood.
The chief set the picture straight, his chest swelling with a deep indrawn breath. “McGregor, if you can’t keep impartial with the Davies woman, I’ll pull your butt off this case so fast your head will spin.” The older man rounded his desk and stood toe to toe with Gabe. “Your emotions are going to make you lose it, and you can’t afford to lose focus. Not now. I need you and the rest of the force to be vigilant. That man is among us as we speak. None of the women in town are safe as long as he’s running around free.”
Gabe’s fists clenched and he fought to check his anger. “It’s just so frustrating. Where do we look next? He’s either wearing gloves or wipes away his prints. How do we catch someone who is taking the time to cover his tracks?”
“His painting on the windows last night was sloppy. He risked a lot, you being there. I believe our killer is as frustrated he hasn’t gotten Ms. Davies yet as we are that we haven’t caught him. His anger is going to cost him.” The chief laid his hand on Gabe’s arm. “Don’t let yours cost you. And don’t lose focus.”
“I know, I know. Had I been paying attention last night, I might have caught a glimpse of him.” He couldn’t count the number of times he’d wanted to kick himself for his failure to think, his complete lapse in judgment. If he had been thinking with his head and not with what was in his pants, he might have ended the killing spree. “I’m on it now.”
“I want you to talk to Frank Mortimer.”
“The recluse up on Devil’s Peak?” Gabe nodded. “On my to-do list for the day.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he slid in a couple days before our victim was murdered.” The chief grabbed a stained coffee mug from his desk, strode out into the bay of cubicles to the communal coffeepot and filled his cup with thick dark brew. He tipped the cup and sipped the steaming brew. “Ask him if he saw or heard anything last night or the night before.”
“Will do.”
“And be careful of the dog. I believe he’s half wolf.”
“Great. Just what I need to complete my day. A trip to the hospital for dog bite.”
“I’m not saying the dog will attack, I just want you to be prepared if he does.” The chief’s mouth twisted. “And a simple dog bite would be the least of your worries if he decides to attack.”
“Any way to call Mortimer to give him a heads-up so he knows not to set the dog on me?”
“No. The man refuses to install a phone. He’s a writer or something and likes his seclusion. And if he knew you were coming, he’d probably put the dog out just so it could get to you faster.” Chief Taggert returned to his office without looking back. “I’ll be on the phone with the FBI. I hope they’ll give us an agent before the day’s over.”
“You and me both,” Gabe muttered as he walked out the door. He climbed into his patrol vehicle and headed out of town.
The coastline curved around the cape, the lighthouse clinging to the land jutting out the farthest. Mortimer’s place balanced on the next point past the lighthouse.
Gabe slowed as he passed the driveway leading down to Kayla’s cottage. The whitewashed clapboard house with the pale blue shutters gleamed cheerfully, seemingly unconcerned with the storm brewing off the coast.
Dark clouds hovered near the horizon, thunderheads rising high into the sky, their mushrooming tops glazed white by the sun.
Kayla’s SUV stood in front of the house, but she wasn’t outside with her paints taking advantage of the impressive skyline or the amazing colors presented in the impending storm. It wasn’t yet noon. Hopefully, Dakota would be coming out before too long.
Gabe preferred she had someone with her, rather than stay out at the cottage alone. Dakota had promised to stop by for a painting lesson after he went to the general store.
Gabe checked his watch. His son should be heading to town soon. His gaze moved to the road in front of him and he spotted a lone figure pedaling a bicycle toward him.
Gabe stopped on the shoulder and rolled his window down, waving at his son.
Dakota slowed, crossed the road and dropped to the ground beside Gabe’s window. “Yeah?”
The attitude never stopped with Dakota. Gabe ignored his insolence, more concerned about his well-being and that of the artist alone in her cottage. “Ms. Davies had a rough night.”
“I heard from Aunt Molly.” He glanced toward the cottage. “Want me to skip the lesson?”
Gabe’s heart warmed at his son’s selfless offer. “No. I think she needs the company. I just wanted to let you know to keep an eye out. If anyone comes to the cottage, call me.”
“I don’t have a cell phone.”
“Borrow Ms. Davies’s phone.”
“It doesn’t always work out here. Reception sucks.”
Biting hard on his lip, Gabe resisted yelling at the teen’s constant negatives. “Just try, will you? Anyone.”
“That could be a lot of people.”
“Okay, anyone, including the police. Just call.” He pressed the automatic window to roll it up and stopped. “Oh, Dakota?”
The boy had mounted his bicycle, his body leaning forward, ready to push off. “What?”
“Be careful.”
The kid scowled. “I’m not the target.”
“Yeah, but sometimes killers don’t care about the collateral damage.”
The boy stared at Gabe for a moment longer.
Gabe braced himself for more argument.
Dakota nodded. “I’ll be careful.” The words weren’t laced with their usual sarcasm or anger, and the teen’s face actually looked serious.
Gabe rolled the window up, shaking his head, feeling more positive than he had in days. There just might be hope for their father-son relationship yet.
As he turned in to Frank Mortimer’s driveway and pulled up next to his house, his optimism faded fast.
A huge dog resembling a timber wolf flew off the front porch and launched himself at Gabe’s car door, hitting it with the force of a freight train.
Instinctively Gabe jerked back in his seat, even though the dog couldn’t break through the meta
l. Although, the beast could possibly break the glass.
The animal snarled and growled with vicious ferocity, leaping over and over at the window. After a few minutes, Gabe got tired of the barrage. No one came out of the house to curtail the dog’s attack and the wolf didn’t seem inclined to cease and desist.
Gabe leaned on the horn, long and hard. After several seconds, he let up and stared through the windshield at the front door to the rock-and-cedar cabin. Nothing moved but the dog at his side.
He leaned on the horn again.
Finally the door banged open and a man wearing jeans, a plaid shirt and work boots, and toting a shotgun, stepped out on the porch. “Heel, Loki!” he shouted over the top of the dog’s barking and growls.
Immediately the dog bounded back to the porch and leaped up the steps. He lowered to his haunches beside the man, whose grizzled countenance was all but covered in dark, unruly hair that looked as if it hadn’t been cut this century.
“What do you want?” he shouted, his voice gravelly, surly.
Gabe rolled his window down enough to shout, “Could you kennel your dog?”
“He ain’t gonna hurt you.”
Gabe wasn’t so sure. With the reluctance of a cop who’d been attacked by more than one dog in the past, he climbed out of his vehicle and stood beside it, inspecting the damage to the paint.
“Are you Frank Mortimer?” Gabe called out.
“If I wasn’t, I’d be squatting on his property. Of course I’m Frank Mortimer. What’s it to you?”
“Do you walk your dog along the cliff between your place and the lighthouse?”
Mortimer balanced the shotgun in his hands, his stance widening. “You got a point to your questions?”
“Mr. Mortimer, I’m Gabe McGregor, of the Cape Churn Police Department. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but a young woman was murdered near here the night before last. If, while you were on your walk, you saw anything, anyone, near the cliffs beside the lighthouse, that information might help us to catch the killer.”
“I ain’t seen nothin’.” He turned to go back inside, laying a hand on the dog’s head. “Stay.”
The wolf-dog remained seated on the porch, his eyes trained on Gabe, lips pulled back in a menacing snarl.
“Mr. Mortimer. If you think of anything, please let someone know at the police station. Anything, no matter how inconsequential you might think it is, could be of use in the case.”
The man didn’t respond, entering his house through the screen door, letting it slap in place behind him.
Gabe had no intention of waiting around. Without his owner standing in view, controlling him with words, the wolf might decide Gabe was still a threat and attack.
Slowly, Gabe opened the door to his SUV, never losing eye contact with the animal. He counted to three and slid beneath the steering wheel, slamming the door, fully expecting any move to trigger Loki.
The wolf remained seated on the porch, the snarl still lifting his lip, exposing a wicked set of canines.
Gabe let out the breath he’d been holding and shifted into Reverse. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough, promising himself he’d run a background check on one Mr. Frank Mortimer. The man had to have attacked someone. He had the temperament. Hell, the wolf could be considered a weapon.
Before he could shift into Drive, a flash of silver flew in front of him and leaped up onto the hood. Loki leaned into the windshield, growling threateningly.
“What the hell?” Gabe shot a glance to the door of the cabin.
Frank Mortimer whistled and Loki returned to his side, leaving two really long scratches in the paint on the hood and one man with a heart attack behind the wheel. He flung the door open and leaned out. “What the hell was that all about?”
Loki growled, low and mean.
“You said if I remembered anything to let you know. Well, I remembered something.”
Gathering his wits about him, Gabe grabbed a pad and pen and got out of the vehicle, his heart still racing, adrenaline pumping so fast, he believed he could outrun the wolf this time.
Gripping the pen tighter than normal, he raised it to the paper. “What do you remember, sir?”
“Night before last, Loki and I were walking along the edge of the cliff as usual. He started barking at something moving out by the lighthouse. You see, Loki’s got wolf hearing, can hear things I can’t. Anyway, he started barking and took off. I followed, but couldn’t keep up, having to move slower on account of the fog moving in and all.”
“About what time was that?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere around nine-thirty or ten, maybe later, I don’t check my watch every time I take the dog for a walk.” He frowned impatiently. “Let me finish.”
“Yes, sir.” Gabe scribbled madly on the pad, trying to document everything the man had to say.
“When I got to the place where the path is closest to the road, I heard a vehicle take off. I remember thinking it was kinda strange as foggy as it was getting. Should have been able to see headlights or taillights from where I was.” He shook his head. “Nothing, but the sound of an engine and tires spewing gravel. Loki came running back about that time, carrying this.” Mortimer held out his hand. “Didn’t think much of it then, but seein’ as how some girl is dead…”
A black ski mask dangled from the man’s hand.
Gabe’s blood ran cold. Kayla had mentioned her attacker had worn a ski mask. Gabe’s imagination winged past Kayla’s attack to what Rachel Kendrick must have seen and felt that night. She probably put up a good fight to rip the mask from his head.
His heartbeat speeding, Gabe reached in his back pocket for his every-ready paper evidence bag and held it out. Maybe this was the break they needed. If they could find any DNA evidence on the mask…
“If you could drop the ski mask in the bag, I’d appreciate it. I might need you to come to the station to make a statement about what you heard and saw.” He closed the bag around the mask and tucked the pad and pen in his pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Mortimer.”
“Yeah, well, I got a daughter, too.” He turned and entered the house, held the door open and the wolf entered as well.
Gabe climbed into the SUV and drove straight back to the station. The sooner they got the evidence to the crime lab, the sooner they’d get some answers.
Chapter 9
Kayla waited to open the door for Dakota until he’d dropped his bicycle in the grass and climbed the porch steps. The more “messages” she got from the killer, the less she liked unlocking the doors. Soon she’d be so paranoid she’d be barricading herself in her bedroom, too afraid to come out.
She slapped a smile on her face and waved Dakota in, praying that she didn’t embarrass herself by blushing in the company of Gabe’s son. Having slept with Dakota’s father left Kayla feeling awkward around the teen. How would he react if he knew?
Dakota went straight to the two easels standing in the middle of the room, his shoulders slumped, tennis shoes scuffing the floor. “I heard you fell last night. If you don’t want to do this today, I’ll understand.” He turned toward her, his blue eyes the same color as his father’s. Behind his quiet question, an edge of hope shone through.
Kayla knew it cost the teen to offer and she wanted to hug him. With a great deal of effort, she resisted, knowing that would only make him uncomfortable. “No. I want to do this. I’m thinking that by giving you lessons, I’ll get back in the mood to paint.”
“How do you get out of the mood to paint?” He touched his finger to a dab of burnt umber.
With a shrug, Kayla crossed the room. “Events you have no control over, for one.”
“Is that why you want to teach me? So you can have control of something?”
She grinned and joined h
im at the easel. “You know, you’re smart for a teenager.”
Dakota snorted. “Tell that to my mom and Gabe, they aren’t so sure.”
Reluctant to get into the sore spots with the boy, Kayla chose to jump right in. “That’s your canvas and palette. We’re going to paint a seascape today.”
The teen raised his hands. “Whoa. I don’t know nothin’ about painting seascapes or anything. I thought this was going to be a lesson on how to do that.”
Kayla grinned, undaunted by the teen’s reluctance. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. You’ll learn by doing. First you need to acquaint yourself with your subject.” She nodded toward the picture window, cringing at the angry red paint. “There’s a wonderful storm building in the distance, we need to capture it on the canvas.”
“Holy crap! Who did that?” Dakota pushed past the easel and strode to the window, reaching out to touch the glass. “I hope they don’t accuse me. I get off probation soon.”
“No one is going to accuse you,” Kayla said softly.
Dakota’s head moved back and forth. “You really are a target, aren’t you?” He looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes shadowed, a frown pulling his blond brows together. “How can you stand it?”
“By giving you lessons. Now, are we going to paint on the canvas or stand around talking?”
Dakota stared at her for a long time, his frown deepening. Then he nodded. “We paint.” He strode across the room and lifted the palette and paintbrush she’d provided for him, balancing them clumsily. “What do I do first?”
A couple hours later, they each had a roughed-in seascape painted across their canvases, Dakota’s looking remarkably like Kayla’s.
The teen stepped back, his eyes wide, a smile splitting his face. “Wow, that ain’t bad.”
Kayla crossed her arms over her chest, putting on her best impression of an art critic, and nodded. “Not bad at all. I believe you have some natural talent beneath the long hair and baggy jeans.” She set her palette on the counter and stood back. “Want to take it home?”