“You look like a ray of sunshine this fine morning,” Kit ambushed him by the corral.
“Good morning to you, too,” Owen replied, ignoring the jibe.
“So you fancy her.” It was a statement, not a question.
Owen frowned. “What are you yapping about so early in the morning?” he grumbled. He really did not want to have this conversation with his deputy. By the expression on Kit’s face, Owen did not have a choice.
“You left yesterday with Miss Hope, and only now return to work.”
He had him there. Owen did spend the entire day with her, but that was simply because she was having a rough time and he did not want to leave her alone.
“And since you just rode into town I can only assume you are not coming from your house,” Kit continued. Owen sometimes forgot that Kit was very good at his job.
“Is there a question there somewhere, or are you intentionally getting on my nerves?” Owen snapped. He knew he wasn’t fair. That did not stop him from lashing out.
“I want to know what is going on. You promised you would tell me everything,” Kit accused. “Getting on your nerves is just a bonus,” he couldn’t help himself adding.
Owen did promise Kit he would speak with him after that whole incident with those two drunken idiots on the street. Then a lot of stuff happened and he simply did not have the time to speak with his deputy.
“Fine, I’ll tell you everything, let’s go,” Owen took charge and took them to the nearest tavern. He ordered himself a drink. Kit eyed him, surprised, yet did not comment on his need to wet his throat. Smart man.
“Well?” Kit prompted.
Owen drained his glass and opened his mouth. Everything came pouring out. Why Miss Hope came to Rippingate, her connection to Miss Jessamine and his apparent inability to let Miss Hope be. Because after everything was said and done, Kit was right, Owen did fancy Miss Hope. That was troubling him, even though he was not planning on acting on it, ever.
Kit listened intently without interruptions. He whistled once Owen finished his tale. “You like Miss Hope, so what?” Kit said nonchalantly and Owen felt like hitting him.
“So what?” Owen repeated incredulously. Was he listening to me at all?
“It is unfortunate she is a friend to one of our missing girls, however, once we solve the case...” He left the sentence unfinished and his meaning was clear. He could pursue Miss Hope afterward. It was just that he couldn’t.
“Did you not hear me when I told you she was to wed Mr. Dalbow?” Owen asked rhetorically.
Kit waved with his hand. “She is not married now, that’s a huge difference.”
Owen knew his friend was only trying to be helpful. He wasn’t. “I could never do that,” Owen insisted. She belonged to someone else and to him that meant everything.
Kit rolled his eyes. “You and your high morals. Sometimes you have to disregard a few rules for the greater good. Especially if she feels the way you do. Be bold, my good man.”
Like you are bold with my sister? Owen did not say that out loud. No matter his personal feelings, or current mental state, he would never be that cruel to his deputy.
“I do not wish to speak about this any further,” Owen decided he had enough. This conversation was pointless, and they had a job to do.
“You are right, let’s go. You will feel better the moment you start bossing your men around.”
“I do not boss around, I guide and I delegate,” Owen countered and Kit chuckled.
“Whatever you say.”
Getting into the office, a lot of glum faces greeted them. “Your bad mood must be contagious,” Kit commented and Owen was not amused.
“What happened?” He asked nobody in particular, knowing someone would answer him.
“We have another murder on our hands,” Deputy Gibson provided.
Kit and Owen cursed at the same time. “When did it occur?” Owen demanded.
“Probably last night.”
“Is it him?” Owen seethed. There was only one Him around the office and all his deputies knew who he was talking about.
“I don't know. Clark and James went on the crime scene with the man who found her.” Gibson explained.
Her? Owen felt like cursing again.
“Where?” Kit asked.
“Southeast from here, in this area,” Deputy Gibson showed them on the map.
“Let's go,” Owen told Kit, not wanting to waste any more time standing around and doing nothing. “Gibson, you stay here and man the station.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Slow down there, you will kill your horse before we get there,” Kit cautioned while they rode. It was true, Owen was forcing his horse to go faster than it should. In his defense, he wanted to get there as soon as possible, see with own eyes what happened. Kit was right, though, so he slowed a bit.
Following the directions that they got from his deputy, Kit and Owen arrived at the scene of the crime. Clark and James were there as expected, minding the body.
Even from a distance, Owen knew what he was going to find and felt like raging. You need your composure if you want to catch this guy, he warned himself.
“It is him,” Kit stated the obvious, embellishing it with a few curse words.
“I know,” Owen replied simply, dismounting. He walked the rest of the way.
James greeted them by the body as Clark spoke with the witnesses.
“Well?” Owen asked James without preamble.
“It’s that bastard,” James replied, showing Owen the playing card. Owen took it, hating the number that was displayed on it.
They all cursed, wanting to send the monster straight to hell for what he did, not only to this girl but many others before her.
“Is this Jessamine?” Kit asked, crouching for a better look.
“No, it’s Susannah,” Owen and James said at the same time. Owen knew every girl’s face that went missing by heart. He spent so much time looking at their pictures, sketches, sometimes they were all he saw when he closed his eyes.
This killer that kept taking young innocent girls and leaving dead bodies in his wake was Owen’s personal nightmare. I will catch you no matter what, he vowed.
He followed Kit’s action and crouched next to the body. Although he saw this exact scene staged many times before, he wanted to make sure they didn’t miss or overlook something. So he treated this crime scene as though it was the first one.
The girl’s body was carefully placed on the desert floor, surrounded by thorny flowers. There were three unlit candles placed above her head, and her hands were placed together like she was praying. Her eyes were closed and coins were placed on the eyelids. She was wearing a simple white dress.
The killer prepared her for her wake. Sick bastard.
“This is one sick bastard,” Kit growled, mirroring Owen’s thoughts perfectly.
Susannah’s murder, like many before her, was the work of a serial killer they called the Ghost. His name was self-explanatory since there were never witnesses to his killings. He moved like a ghost through Rippingate and local towns, preying on young adult girls.
“I hate this guy,” Owen replied, standing up while trying to collect his thoughts. There was so much he needed to do, luckily he had his deputies by his side.
First and foremost, they needed an undertaker to come here as soon as possible to collect the body. They couldn’t leave her here in this sun for a minute longer because the predators—vultures—were bound to start gathering.
He ordered James to find the undertaker then speak with her parents. They had the right to know their daughter was found. That was a task he usually wanted to do himself, feeling like dealing with the grieving families was his responsibility alone, as was his failure. He was confident James would do the deed with dignity and compassion while Owen concentrated on catching this fiend.
I am sorry, Susannah, I failed you, he prayed to the girl in front of him. I will find the person who ended your short life
and I will make him pay, he made a promise on his life.
Or I'll die trying.
17
Ghost was a notorious serial killer that tormented Owen and his district for a long time. Sometimes it truly felt as though Ghost liked to personally torture Owen for not being able to catch him. It was worse than that—Owen did not know what his motives were for killing. Nobody did, and that was a huge part of the problem.
“We will catch him,” Kit said, placing a hand on Owen’s shoulder.
Owen could not see how. He was feeling rather low at the moment, standing over Ghost’s latest victim. Susannah did not deserve to die. That could be said for all Ghost victims. It had been two years since Ghost killed for the first time, as far as they could tell. Ghost liked to brag about the number of his kills so he always made sure to leave a playing card with his victims. It was always in the same color, hearts, tucked under the body of the girl he killed. Owen hated that guy and the way he kept taunting them.
“Of course we will,” Owen replied through gritted teeth. He did not know why the Ghost singled him out. Owen was determined to return the favor in kind. He, too, treated this very personally. And that was why he would catch the bastard in the end. Unfortunately, so far, no matter what Owen did, the Ghost managed to elude him.
The whole of Rippingate was covered in posters about Ghost. They did not have the contours of his face, yet Owen hoped somebody knew something so he was seeking help from the citizens to come forward and report anything suspicious they might see.
Owen was convinced a small clue would turn up that way, and it would be Ghost’s downfall. I will catch you, and then you will pay, he sent the message into the Ether.
“Did he leave us anything else?” He asked Clark, wanting to make sure.
“No, just the damn card,” Clark replied, equally rattled. He was the youngest member of their squad, unaccustomed to scenes like this.
Owen did this job for a long time, and he too had troubles coping sometimes. That was what made them human and separated them from the beasts they were hunting.
Owen decided to do another sweep of the body and the parameter, simply to make sure they did not miss anything new.
I need to catch this guy. Catching Ghost became his personal crusade, and Owen was determined to do everything in his power to not let the townspeople of Rippingate down and to put a stop to these killings once and for all.
This fiend cannot be allowed to keep preying on the innocent.
“What do you want us to do?” Kit prompted.
James already left to do Owen’s bidding, and Clark stayed by their side after speaking to the man that discovered the body. They sent the poor man home.
“Clark,” Owen addressed the other man. “Once James returns with the undertaker, follow them to town and fetch Dr. Smith to examine the body.” Owen wanted to make sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was Ghost’s handy work. “Stay with the physician until he gives you his report.”
“Understood.”
Then Owen turned toward his right-hand man. “We'll go and have a chat with our dear friends from Pine Street.”
“What a pleasure,” Kit replied, clenching his fists. It was apparent this was affecting him as much as the rest of them. Kit was with Owen when this madness first started. He, too, wanted Ghost to hang for what he did to this town. This was personal to every one of the men working in the Sheriff’s department, even though none of them were related to Susannah or any of the other girls killed. Together they would stop this from ever happening again.
Riding back to town, Owen collected the rest of his deputies and together they rode into a seedier part of Rippingate, where common crooks and less law-abiding members of society liked to reside. Owen did his best to eradicate such parts. This one persisted. No matter what he did, they always returned, like weeds. Although he had to admit, sometimes they had proven useful if Owen needed particular information, as he did right now.
Dismounting, Owen entered a tavern called The Laughing Goat, like he owned the place. Without looking, he knew his men were right behind him, watching his back. It was always prudent to be on guard when visiting these kinds of establishments.
Though tavern was perhaps too grand of a word. The place had walls and a leaking roof, but there were seating benches and the barkeeper served alcohol in bulk, the cheapest kind, so patrons seemed happy enough. The whole place stunk of men’s sweat, alcohol, and vomit, perhaps even something else. Owen ignored all that. He was there to see someone specific.
“Hello, boys,” he greeted the room. All the talk, arguments, and laughter stopped once the Sheriff entered. Some eyed him with suspicion, others with downright hate. Not that he cared. He started looking about, preparing to start knocking heads if needed, when the man he came to see appeared in front of him. The real mountain of a man leaned against the bar.
“Hello, Sheriff,” he greeted him with a fake smile that did not reach his eyes. Owen did not expect anything different, it was not like they were friends or anything. Far from it, Owen lost count how many times he arrested him.
“Hello, Jack,” he greeted back.
Jack was the leader of a small gang and the owner of the tavern. Owen let him be since he had proven useful more than once. He had a very distinct scar across half of his face. Rumor had it, Jack had fought with a lion and won while traveling, pillaging through Africa. Owen did not believe in such nonsense. Especially since there was no lion’s pelt lying about.
“Fancy seeing you here. Care for a proper drink?” Jack offered and men around him snickered.
“I’ll pass,” Owen replied. He would never stoop to drink that piss they called drink around here. “I need some information from you,” he added without beating around the bush. The sooner he got what he came for, the better. Owen did not like to linger here if he did not have to.
Jack narrowed his eyes in calculation. “You came to the right place,” he allowed. “But what’s in it for me?” He demanded.
Owen lost his patience, not that he had much to begin with.
Kit moved forward next to Owen as though wanting to beat the other man into submission. Owen stopped him with a wave of his hand. Apparently, they were all working with a very short fuse this day.
Jack watched the exchange between officers with interest as though all that amused him.
I will wipe that smirk off his face.
“How about you get to keep your freedom. Then there’s a lack of a noose around your neck you should be very grateful for as well,” Owen stated.
Jack looked bored. Owen knew that was all for show so he waited while the other man poured himself a drink. The glass looked dirtier than the liquid he poured into it. He downed the content in one go. “What do you want to know?” he asked Owen.
Owen leaned against the supportive beam, now that Jack seemed ready to chat, he could relax a little. Or at least pretend to do so. “Ghost. I want to know everything you heard about him.”
For the briefest of moments, Jack looked relieved. Probably because he was worried Owen was here to accuse him of some of his illegal activities. Owen couldn’t care less about his petty crimes at the moment. Ghost was all he cared about.
“This thing again,” Jack grumbled. "I told ya last time you came about, I know nothing of the man. The name says it all, Ghost, ain’t it?” He made a joke and his men laughed. Owen’s, however, remained dead serious, Owen included.
A girl sashayed about, looking for some company, yet she chose the wrong moment to come here and no one paid her any mind. She did not like that so she went away in a huff.
“What about your men?” Owen insisted, looking around the room. They all remained silent, letting Jack speak for them. Owen had a way to change that. For now, he decided to let this play as it should. No need to use force if it wasn’t necessary.
“My men are all well-respected members of society who do not associate themselves with the likes of Ghost,” Jack joked.
Owen
was not impressed. “Do not make me close this rat hole you call a bar and take you all into the station for a close and very personal chat.”
“On what grounds?” Jack started to lose his composure.
“On the grounds of that smuggling side-business you think I know nothing about,” Owen shouted back. He threatened it even though in the back of his head he knew this crowd would not be intimidated by spending a few days behind bars.
Luckily, Jack decided to play nice. “Nobody saw nothing, nobody knows nothing,” he insisted. “Besides,” he narrowed his eyes. “We both know this Ghost guy is a different kind of animal than you and I.”
The Redemption 0f A Hunted Bride (Historical Western Romance) Page 16