Stealing Shadows

by Kay Hooper

  Her summer job had been at the food court.

  All too conscious of time passing, Hannah was hurrying when she rounded a corner, which was why she didn’t see him until she literally ran into him.

  “Hello,” he drawled.

  • • •

  “Cassie? Cassie!”

  Ben was on the point of grabbing her and shaking her when she finally lifted her head and opened her eyes. The pupils were normal once more, but he thought he had never seen such weariness.

  “What happened?” he asked, quieter now, hardly aware that he was on one knee by her chair.

  “He pushed me out,” Cassie whispered.

  “What?”

  “He knows who I am.”

  Ben reached for her hand and found it icy. He rubbed it between his. “Are you sure?”

  She leaned her head back against the chair, gazing at him without expression. “I don’t know how, but… he realized I was with him. He was so quick, and I… I couldn’t hide myself. I heard him…. He thought my name just as he pushed me out of his mind.”

  “Christ,” Ben muttered.

  Matt was on his feet. “Cassie, is there anything else you can tell me about him? My people will be covering all the mall exits within ten minutes, but telling them to stop any male wearing a Central High jacket is just too vague even if we narrow it to males accompanied by females. Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything at all?”

  Cassie looked at him with those exhausted eyes and said, “I think they’re already too late.”

  Deanna Ramsay turned with a welcoming smile that rapidly died. “Oh. It’s you. Do you want something?”

  “Funny you should ask,” he replied.

  • • •

  “You didn’t have to stay,” Cassie said. She sipped the hot coffee Ben had given her and eyed him over the rim of the cup. “I’ll be all right.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  She didn’t smile. With an afghan wrapped around her and the hot coffee inside her, she was warmer than she had been, but she was so drained, she just wanted to curl up and sleep.

  And, please God, not dream.

  “Matt could probably use your help,” she told Ben.

  “Matt has two dozen deputies and all the mall security out there helping him. I’d just get in his way.” He paused. “I’m not going anywhere, Cassie.”

  She drew a breath and concentrated on forming the words. “I need to sleep about twelve hours.”

  “All right.” He put his cup down, reached for hers and put it also on the coffee table, then came to her and lifted her out of her chair, afghan and all.

  “What’re you—”

  “You could never manage the stairs,” he told her, managing them easily even bearing her weight.

  Cassie’s thinking was fuzzy, but she decided that she didn’t like being carried by a man when she was too damned tired to enjoy the experience. But all she said was “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

  “Which bedroom?” he asked, apparently unmoved by her shaky question.

  Cassie sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “The big front one. I have to take Max out.”

  “I’ll take him out. Don’t worry.”

  “He needs to be fed.”

  “I said don’t worry, Cassie. About anything. Just sleep.”

  Already half there, she murmured, “Yes, but you can’t spend the night here. What would people say?”

  “Go to sleep, love.”

  She tried to say that he shouldn’t call her “love” and he certainly shouldn’t spend the night in her house, but the only thing that emerged was a sensual little murmur that would have embarrassed her if she had been able to think about it. But thinking was beyond her. Her eyes had closed, and when she felt the softness of her bed beneath her, Cassie just sighed and let go, falling into sleep as though into a deep well.

  Ben removed her shoes and used the afghan as an extra blanket when he covered her. He turned on the lamp on her nightstand since it was getting dark but left the light low. She was deeply asleep already, her fragile body completely limp, and for a moment he stood beside her bed and just gazed down at her.

  How many more of these dreadful psychic journeys could she take before they destroyed her? Not many. He had known the attempts drained her energy and strength, but until that day he had not known they also consumed her very life force.

  And he had not known that the possibility of losing her forever would be a knife in his heart.

  He heard a quiet sound and turned his head to find Max standing in the doorway, staring at him with anxious eyes. Ben sent a last look at Cassie and then went to the dog and nudged him into the hallway so he could draw the door almost closed.

  “Come on, boy,” he said. “Let’s go downstairs and leave her in peace.”

  At least, whatever peace she could find in her dreams.

  “Any luck?” Ben asked the sheriff when Matt was called to his cruiser’s phone.

  “Yeah, and all bad. We’ve got a missing girl, Ben.”

  “Who is it?”

  “A teenager named Deanna Ramsay. She came to the mall with a friend, and they were escorted by her older brother. The friend is hysterical, but from what I’ve been able to get out of her, it seems Deanna talked her friend into distracting her brother so she could slip away. She intended to meet someone, the friend claims, but she doesn’t know who. The brother swears she couldn’t have gone missing more than ten minutes before we got here. We’re searching the place, and we’ve searched every male in the right age group with or without a Central jacket.” Matt paused, then added flatly, “Nothing.”

  Sitting on Cassie’s sofa with her dog’s head in his lap, Ben stared at the leaping flames in the fireplace and tried to think of something positive to say. Nothing came to mind.

  “Shit,” he said finally.

  “My sentiments exactly.” Matt sounded too tired to swear. “My deputies are going to keep searching the area, and we’ve got a growing group of volunteers standing by if we have to start beating the bushes around here. I’ve called John Logan, and he’s on his way out here with his dogs. The girl left a pair of gloves in her brother’s car, so we’ll have her scent. But I’m betting the bastard got her in a vehicle of some kind, so the trail will end a few yards from one of the exits.”

  He drew a breath. “Nobody saw anything unusual, nobody heard anything unusual. I’m about to head out to the Ramsay place with Larry, break the news to their parents.”

  “If they haven’t heard already.”

  Matt grunted an agreement. “How’s Cassie?”

  “Asleep. Or maybe I should say unconscious. She said she needed about twelve hours, but I’ll be surprised if she wakes up before late tomorrow morning.”

  “You staying out there tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  Matt didn’t comment, saying merely, “Okay, I’ll call you there if I have any news tonight or in the morning.”

  “If you need my help—”

  “No, we’ve got enough eyes for a search. There’s nothing you can do here.” Grimly he added, “So far this bastard’s been leaving his bodies where we can find them quickly, but if Cassie was right about his plans for this one…”

  “We may be in for a long wait,” Ben finished.

  “Yeah. And in the meantime, I don’t much like the mood of our volunteers, Ben. We’ve had to disarm more than half of them already. If we have to use them to search, and if that girl’s body is found, I’m going to have a mob on my hands.”

  “I know.”

  “And now Eric is threatening to put out a special edition of the paper tomorrow, and I just can’t make him see it’ll only fan the flames.”

  “I’ll call him.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Matt let out a weary breath. “And I’ll call you if there’s any news.”

  “Watch your step, Matt.”

  “I will.” Matt hung up the phone and backed away to close the cruiser’s
door, then looked at Abby, where she leaned against the rear fender with her dog at her side. Before Matt could speak, she did.

  “I should go home.” Her gaze moved restlessly over the people milling all around the parking lot, where lights were beginning to flicker on as darkness rapidly approached. There were plenty of uniformed sheriff’s deputies coming and going from the mall and questioning people in the parking lot, but there were even more concerned citizens just standing around, taking it all in. “You have work to do, and I’m just in the way.”

  Matt stepped closer, not touching her even though he wanted to. He had gone cold to his bones when he had seen her among the mall shoppers and realized how close she had been to an insane killer. “You could never be in the way.” He knew why she was worried, of course, and her next words confirmed it.

  “Matt, if somebody sees me just hanging around you and starts to wonder…”

  Roughly he said, “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

  Her tense expression softened. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take Bryce home and we’ll lock ourselves in the house. And wait for you.”

  He didn’t like it but knew he didn’t have much choice. “All right.” Because he couldn’t help himself, he lifted a hand to touch her cheek briefly. “But, for God’s sake, be careful.”

  “I will. You too.”

  Matt watched her all the way to her car, and it wasn’t until she drove past him and lifted a hand in farewell that he turned back to his duties, reluctantly pushing her out of his thoughts.

  Unseen by either of them, Gary Montgomery sat in his car gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers and watched his wife drive away. Then he turned his gaze to the sheriff busily directing his men.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Son of a bitch.”

  • • •

  “I’m glad I scared you,” Joe Mooney declared stolidly, escorting Hannah to her car. “Jesus, Hannah, you weren’t even looking where you were going!”

  “I was in a hurry.” She knew only too well that this time she wouldn’t be able to defend her actions. That poor girl, snatched from the mall in broad daylight—and the monster that took her might well have passed Hannah only minutes before! She shivered.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” Joe said.

  Hannah suddenly felt like crying. “Can you stay home tonight, Joe? Please?”

  He gazed down at her as they reached her car. Even though he knew the third shift at the plant would be short a number of workers on this night as more than one man stayed home, he said, “I’ve got a sick day coming. Get in the car, honey, and I’ll follow you back to the house.”

  Hannah threw her arms around his neck, scattering fabric all over the pavement.

  As Matt had predicted, John Logan’s bloodhounds could follow a trail only a few yards from one of the mall exits, where Deanna Ramsay’s abductor had obviously forced her into a waiting car. The mall property had been thoroughly searched, and with the girl’s trail vanishing into thin air, there was nothing for the sheriff to do but disband the waiting group of volunteer searchers and send his officers out to patrol the town in the hope of seeing something—anything—suspicious.

  The volunteers were reluctant to go even with Matt’s assurances that he’d call them if it was decided a search was in order for the following day. There was a great deal of grumbling and growling from the group, and Matt was careful to make sure that they did indeed disperse and go their separate ways before he and most of his officers also left the mall.

  The officers scattered, some to return to the office but most to begin patrolling. Matt’s mercifully brief trip out to the Ramsay place had dashed his faint hopes that the girl had somehow gotten herself safely home; he had left a couple of his people gathering the names and numbers of Deanna’s friends from her stricken parents so that every possible avenue of information could be followed.

  He didn’t expect it to help.

  Deanna Ramsay had been abducted by a monster smart enough not to leave a trail, and the next they knew of him would undoubtedly be when her body was found.

  Her raped and tortured body, if Cassie was right.

  Her demonstration that day had very definitely given him pause. Even a skeptic would have been forced to say that she had been in the grip of something extraordinary, and he doubted he would ever forget that horrifying emptiness he had seen in her unseeing eyes.

  He wondered if Ben had any idea what he was getting himself into.

  The station was quiet with so many of his deputies out questioning Deanna’s friends and looking for some hint of where her abductor had taken her, and Matt welcomed the relative silence. He needed to think.

  He went into his office and closed the door. He called Abby first to make sure she had arrived home safely and that she was securely locked inside, and told her that if he could get to her place tonight, it would be before midnight; if he wasn’t there by then, he wouldn’t be coming tonight.

  As always, Abby understood.

  Matt spent the next hour and more at his desk going over every note and report concerning the three murders. He looked at photographs, studied the coins and the knives found at the scene, read every last detail of the autopsies.

  When he finished, he was no closer to knowing who had killed the three women and, apparently, abducted Deanna Ramsay.

  A knock at his door interrupted his brooding, for which he was grateful, and he looked up to find one of his deputies, Sharon Watkins, looking at him questioningly.

  “What is it, Sharon? Any news?”

  “Not about the Ramsay girl, no,” she replied.

  “I’m afraid to ask what else has happened.”

  “Nothing—that I know of. There’s someone here to see you, Sheriff. He doesn’t have an appointment, but I think you’ll want to see him.”

  “This can’t be good,” Matt muttered.

  “It isn’t.” Her expression told him she was glad it was his problem rather than hers.

  Matt gave her a wry smile. “All right, send him in.”

  He absently tidied the files on his desk and rose to his feet as Sharon showed the visitor into his office. And he didn’t need to hear the man’s introduction or see his badge to know exactly what he was looking at.

  “Sheriff Dunbar? My name is Noah Bishop. I’m with the FBI.”

  He was a tall man, lean but with the wide shoulders and athletic carriage that spoke of a great deal of physical strength. He had black hair boasting a rather dramatic widow’s peak, piercing gray eyes, and a strikingly handsome face marred by a jagged scar that ran from the corner of his left eye almost to the corner of his mouth.

  It was not a face that inspired comfort.

  “Agent Bishop.” Matt gestured to a visitor’s chair, then reclaimed his own. “What can I do for the FBI?”

  “Relax, Sheriff.” Bishop smiled. “I didn’t come down here to stick my nose into your investigation.” His voice was cool but matter-of-fact.

  “No?”

  “No. This is your jurisdiction. The FBI would be happy to offer its expertise, especially if you do indeed have a serial killer operating in the area, but we have learned in such situations as this that it’s more politic to wait until we’re invited.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  If Matt’s brevity disturbed the agent, it wasn’t apparent. “Then we understand each other.”

  Matt inclined his head. “Care to tell me how you heard about our little investigation?”

  “The local newspaper.”

  “Which you have delivered to you in Virginia?”

  Bishop smiled again. It was rather frightening. “I have access to certain computer data banks, including one in this state. Your local paper, like so many others, archives its issues for research—and posterity. Once the phrase ‘serial killer’ was used, it showed up on my system when I did a routine search for information.”

  “The Internet,” Matt said with ironic admiratio
n. “It’s just wonderful.”

  “It does tend to make secrecy difficult.” Without waiting for a response to that provocative statement, Bishop went on calmly. “As I said, Sheriff, the FBI would be happy to offer any aid or advice you might require. However, I’m not here primarily because of your investigation, but on a related matter.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’d like to talk to you about Cassandra Neill.”

  FEBRUARY 27, 1999

  When Cassie woke, it was with the leaden sensation of having slept a long, long time. She lay there for a while, not particularly concerned about anything, staring drowsily up at the ceiling. But then the niggling suspicion that she had slept in her clothes intruded, and she finally forced herself to sit up and push back the covers.

  Yes, she had slept in her clothes.

  Why on earth had she done that?

  The clock on her nightstand told her it was a bit after nine in the morning. She was reasonably sure it was Saturday.

  And somebody was frying bacon in her kitchen.

  Bewilderment rather than anxiety was uppermost in Cassie’s mind. It took her several minutes of careful thought to recall what had happened the previous afternoon, and when she did she realized that Ben must indeed have stayed all night.

  After carrying her to bed. And leaving her there.

  She pushed that realization away and the covers with it, sliding stiffly out of bed and standing on the rug beside it for a moment as she automatically assessed her condition. Her thinking was still a bit fuzzy. Her muscles, having obviously remained in one exhausted position all night, complained with every movement, and her growling stomach told her it had been too long since her last meal, but other than that she felt surprisingly well.

  A long, hot shower took care of the stiff muscles and cleared her head, and by the time she was dressed and on her way downstairs, her head was clearer and she felt ready to face just about anything. Even a prosecuting attorney frying bacon in her kitchen.

  He had the table already set for two, and her portable radio was quietly playing oldies in the background. It was a cheerful, welcoming scene.

  “Good morning,” he said when she came in. “The coffee’s hot.”