Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake

by Carla Cassidy

  With caution, she made a trip all around the house and saw nothing, and by the time she reached her porch once again, she wondered if her imagination had played tricks on her.

  She’d been wound up by the drinks, by Cole and the kiss she’d shared with him and by the heinous crimes they were investigating.

  It was possible the shadow she’d thought she’d seen at her window had been nothing more than a stray beam of moonlight, a passing car light on the street beyond the house.

  Still, she didn’t completely relax even when she was back in her bedroom and dressed in her nightclothes. She kept her handgun on the nightstand within easy reach.

  There was no question that Jeff, Jimmy and Raymond wouldn’t be happy to learn that she was an FBI agent working the murders in their town. And they would learn the truth about who she was and be able to guess what she’d been doing in Bledsoe’s tonight.

  She just hoped none of them knew where she lived. She just hoped the shadow she’d thought she’d seen had been nothing more than her imagination. The last thing she wanted to do was invite a killer to her home.

  “HAVE WE GOTTEN THE LOGS of calls from Barbara’s cell phone carrier?” Cole asked Deputy Roger Black.

  “Yesterday. I’ve pored over them but don’t see anything odd. Calls to her parents and several teachers, but no calls to or from men in the last month,” Roger said. “Same with her laptop. I checked email, her favorites and her history, and nothing rang a bell. She didn’t seem to be into social networking much.”

  Cole frowned. “So, we know she wasn’t lured to the kill location by a phone call or an email.”

  “Wish we knew where the kill location was,” Deputy Ben Jamison said.

  “You all have checked the empty buildings, warehouses and anyplace that might hide a murder site?” Cole asked even though he knew the answer.

  They all paused as the door opened and Amberly walked in. Cole could tell in an instant that she’d had a bad night. She looked tired and slammed her purse on the old wooden conference table as if it had personally offended her.

  “Your granny Nightsong would take one look at your face and say that the grouchy bug bit you in the middle of the night,” he said.

  “Not enough sleep. Not enough coffee,” she replied, but a hint of a smile played on her lips. “And it’s bird, not bug.”

  “Whatever. I can’t help you with the first thing, but I can definitely get you some caffeine.”

  “I would really appreciate it,” she said, her features softening even more as she greeted each of the other deputies. “I got up too late this morning to have any before I left home, and I’m really not very civilized before I have a cup of coffee in the morning.”

  “Well, I definitely want you civilized. I’ll be right back.” Cole quickly assigned his deputies to their tasks for the day, and they left the room with him, leaving Amberly alone.

  There was nothing of the hot, sexy woman of the night before this morning. Clad in a pair of black slacks and a gray button-down blouse, with her hair pulled back in a braid and her makeup minimal, she looked every ounce of a tired FBI agent.

  He could identify with the tiredness. It had taken him forever to go to sleep the night before. Her idea of a Breathalyzer had kept him awake for far too long.

  He wasn’t sure what had surprised him most, the fact that she’d initiated the kiss or his visceral response to it. He’d reacted to it like a dehydrated man offered his first sip of water.

  He’d also been shocked by the surge of jealousy that had risen up inside him as he’d watched the other men interact with her.

  He’d lived the past eight years of his life like a monk, uninterested in sex, focused solely on keeping the people of this small town safe and training his deputies to be the best that they could be trained.

  If he had spare time, he used it to seek peace by sitting on the bank of Mystic Lake and either dwelling in old memories of the love he’d once had or shoving away all thoughts of what he’d lost.

  That kiss had reminded him of the warmth of a female body pressed tight against his, of the spill of full breasts into his palms. He’d remembered the warmth of sheets cocooned around him as he explored the curves of the woman next to him.

  The kiss had reminded him of early-morning coffee conversations, of the need to rush home after a long day at work to be greeted by somebody who loved him. He’d remembered all he’d denied himself for the past eight years. He’d wanted to honor the memory of his wife for the rest of his life.

  He was a thirty-five-year-old man and the kiss had told him that he wasn’t hormonally dead; his hormones had just been in a coma. But now they were awake and fully raging, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  One thing was certain. He had no intention of allowing his hormones to get involved with Amberly Nightsong. First and foremost, she was his coworker and any physical relationship would only make things awkward between them.

  Besides, she didn’t appear to be the casual-hookup kind of woman, and that’s all any woman would ever be in his life. Emily had marked his heart forever, scarring it with her absence in a way that left no space for another.

  His anger and guilt about the manner of her death haunted him in the night. How close he’d been to saving her and, ultimately, how tragic that he’d been mere minutes too late.

  Whatever had occurred between Amberly and her husband had apparently left her scarred enough for her to be not willing to try it again. She’d said she was satisfied with her work and with her son. But that kiss had whispered of a hunger perhaps she didn’t realize she possessed.

  He shook his head as if to mentally clear it as he carried two cups of coffee back into the conference room and found her where she usually sat, facing the bulletin board. She appeared completely engrossed in the photos and barely nodded as he set her coffee on the table in front of her.

  “Who are we meeting with this morning?” she finally asked, turning those dark eyes to look at him.

  “Jenna James. According to everyone I’ve spoken to, she was Barbara’s best friend. When my deputy spoke to her the night of the murder, she was too distraught to be much help. We’re meeting her at her apartment.”

  “Anything specific I need to know?” She took a sip of the coffee, and her eyes began to take on a sharper, clearer view, as if the single shot of caffeine had focused her.

  “Jenna works at the school where Barbara worked, and they lived in the same apartment building. From what I’ve heard, they did almost everything together. If anything was going on in Barbara’s life, Jenna should know about it.”

  “And hopefully by the time we leave Jenna’s apartment, we’ll know everything from who Barbara was dating to who she had a secret crush on.”

  “I hope so,” he said. He frowned and took a sip from his cup of coffee. “We need a break somewhere from someplace or somebody.”

  “There was a moment last night when I thought maybe the break was going to come when my dead body was found sometime this morning.”

  He started and stared at her, his heart taking an uneven rhythm. “What are you talking about?”

  She smiled ruefully. “I thought maybe one of the boys in the bar had followed me home last night. First I thought I heard a rustling noise in the bushes next to my house, and then after I’d showered, I thought I saw something, or rather somebody moving outside my bedroom window.” Her tone was light as if it was no big deal.

  “Did you call the police?” he asked, thinking it was a much bigger deal than she obviously did.

  “No, I went outside with my gun and checked out the yard. There was nothing there and no sign that anyone had been out there.”

  His heart nearly stopped at the idea of her being alone in the dark, gun or no gun.

  “I think my imagination just went a little wacky,” she finished.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Does that happen a lot?”

  “Almost never,” she admitted. “I’m definitely not the type to see
evil men lurking in shadows or believe somebody is after me. Last night was an anomaly, an acceptance that these murders have gotten to me like none have for a long time.”

  “And why is that?” he asked. After all, she probably worked dozens of cases a year in her career—she’d have to be good at compartmentalizing emotions, distancing herself from the victims, or she wouldn’t be as effective in the job.

  She frowned. “I’m not sure. Maybe because the women aren’t that much younger than me. Maybe it’s the dream catchers that were left at the scene or the fact that we have absolutely no evidence and few leads to follow.” She shrugged. “At any rate, I definitely took the case home with me last night and was as jumpy as a silly girl in a horror movie.”

  “Are you sure there was nobody there?” He should have recognized the potential issues of allowing her to go undercover, so to speak, the night before. What if somebody did follow her home from here? Found out where she lived and how she might be vulnerable. What if it was the killer?

  “As sure as I can be.” She finished the last of her coffee and stood. “And we’d better get out of here if we’re going to meet Jenna on time.”

  Together they left the conference room and headed out to Cole’s official car. An uneasiness continued to gnaw at him as he thought about her leaving Mystic Creek each night to head back to Kansas City.

  “You have to make sure that you aren’t followed from here when you head home each day,” he said when they were in his car and driving toward the apartment complex where Jenna lived.

  He never should have agreed to her scheme the night before. He should have realized that sooner or later the three men she’d been chatting up for details about the crimes would identify her as the enemy, and if one of them was their killer, then they might have placed a giant target on her back.

  Chapter Five

  “I’ll be careful,” Amberly said, not liking the fact that he’d reminded her that a serial killer was working a mere twenty minutes from her home and it was possible she’d already interacted with him.

  Would it be a coup for that killer to murder a Native American female and hang a dream catcher above her head? What if that Native American woman was also an FBI agent on the hunt for him? Would that really spark his sick obsession? She fought a sudden shiver that tried to work up her spine.

  “Thanks for adding to my bank of potential nightmare material,” she said dryly.

  He flashed her a quick glance. “Working as an FBI profiler you must have quite a bank of nightmare stuff. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of terrible things.”

  “I have,” she agreed. “But probably no worse than what you saw when working as a cop in St. Louis.”

  “Why an FBI agent?” he asked as he maneuvered a corner on the outer belt of the highway.

  “I always knew I wanted to be something in law enforcement, I just wasn’t sure what. When I was in high school, a bunch of my girlfriends got together for a night of watching horror films. You know, Freddie Krueger and Jason movies. We spent half the night squealing like babies, but then we decided to watch Silence of the Lambs. I wanted to be Jodi Foster. That was the moment I knew I was going to be an FBI agent. What about you? What drove you into law enforcement?”

  “My father was a cop and so was Emily’s dad. That’s how we met, through our parents. To be honest, it never really crossed my mind to be anything else but a cop.”

  “Are your mom and dad still alive?”

  “Mom died of breast cancer when I was ten. Dad passed away from a heart attack two years after my marriage. I guess I should be grateful that neither of them were alive to see Emily murdered.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and for just a moment, Amberly wanted to reach out to him, to somehow ease the pain that seemed to drive him through life.

  “Granny Nightsong used to say that emotional pain that you can’t let go of is kind of like having a tick in your armpit. You don’t know it’s there until it has sucked the last of everything good out of you,” she said softly.

  He flashed her a look of obvious irritation. “You asked me a question and I answered it. Nobody was talking about any emotional pain.”

  An uncomfortable silence reigned for the remainder of the drive to Jenna’s apartment building. The building itself was a nice three-story, painted beige and with neatly manicured lawns. There was covered parking in one area of the lot and a larger uncovered area in another.

  Cole pulled into a spot marked with a visitor sign and the two of them got out of the car. “Maybe it would be best if I do the talking,” Amberly suggested and watched the tension of an additional irritation sweep over his handsome features.

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  “Because Jenna is a young woman, and she would probably respond better, woman to woman, to me than to you. Sometimes, you come across a little scary.”

  He frowned, and his eyes were narrowed slits of blue ice. She grinned at him. “You’re doing it right now…looking scary,” she exclaimed.

  “Then why aren’t you scared?” The frown eased, and the blue of his eyes warmed a bit.

  “There’s only one thing in this entire world that scares me, and that’s if anything bad happened to my son, Max. He’s the sun in my sky, the wind on my face—” She broke off, half-embarrassed by her fervent verbal expression of love.

  For an instant, Cole’s features softened and his eyes took on the warmth of a summer sky. “That’s the way I felt about Emily. She was my sun, and since her death, the world has been nothing more than gray shadows.” He straightened his shoulders, and that moment of softness in his features snapped away. “Enough of this, we have work to do.”

  She followed his long strides as he went to the main entrance of the building. A small lobby held two elevators, and he punched the up button. “Jenna lives in 203 and Barbara lived in 205.”

  “So, they were right across the hallway from each other?” she asked as they stepped on the elevator. He nodded affirmatively. “I’m assuming you traced back Barbara’s activities to find out exactly when and where she was taken?”

  “Her car was found abandoned at a convenience store. Unfortunately, it was in an area where the security cameras caught nothing of what might have happened. They did have her on tape coming into the store to buy a loaf of bread at seven-thirty that evening, but she apparently never made it back to her car.” The doors to the elevator opened, and he gestured her out.

  It took them only a moment to locate unit 203 and Cole knocked on the door. Jenna James was a small woman with petite features. Her blond hair was short and wispy around her face, and she was so thin it looked as if a puff of Cole’s breath could blow her right away.

  “Jenna,” he said with a surprising softness.

  “Sheriff Caldwell.” She nodded and opened her door wider to allow them both inside as Cole made the introductions between Jenna and Amberly.

  The living room was nice-sized and decorated in contemporary fashion in shades of black and gray and splashes of bright orange. The coffee and end tables were glass, and it was obvious that either Jenna was a great housekeeper or she had gone to extra trouble to have the place pristine when they arrived.

  Amberly moved one of the orange throw pillows aside as she and Cole sat side by side on the sofa and Jenna sank down in the modern-looking chair facing them. “I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Jenna said, tears welling up in her green eyes. “Every morning when I wake up, my first instinct is to go across the hall to have coffee with her.”

  “She was a good friend,” Amberly replied, not having to work hard to inject sympathy into her voice.

  Jenna nodded her head. “She was the very best. We did everything together. She was like the sister I never had.” The tears trekked down her cheeks, and she quickly swiped them away, but it was a futile process as more tears followed.

  “What we want more than anything is to catch the person who murdered her, and anything you tell us about Barbara might help us,” Ambe
rly said.

  She was vaguely surprised that Cole had taken her advice and was obviously taking a backseat to the questioning. Her respect for him grew the more time she spent with him.

  “I want to help in any way I can,” Jenna agreed. “I just don’t know if I have any information that might be helpful.”

  Amberly smiled at her reassuringly. “You’d be surprised at what little tidbit of information might help us break the case. Tell me about Barbara, what kind of woman was she?”

  “She was beautiful on the inside and out. She made people feel good.” As Jenna spent the next fifteen minutes extolling all the virtues of her friend, Amberly thought she sensed a touch of impatience wafting off Cole.

  But Amberly knew the only way to get to Barbara’s secrets was through building a bit of trust between herself and Jenna. And there was no way to hurry it. Trust took time, and Cole would just have to be patient.

  “Was Barbara seeing anyone?” Amberly asked when Jenna had finally run down and paused to take a breath.

  “No. Both of us were kind of between relationships,” Jenna replied.

  “Who was the last person she was in a relationship with?” Cole asked as if unable to contain himself another minute.

  “For about three months she dated Tom Courtland, the gym teacher at the school, but they broke up about six months ago.”

  “Was the breakup friendly, or contentious?” Amberly asked.

  Jenna smiled sadly. “Nothing about Barbara was ever contentious. No, the breakup was friendly. They both decided they were better off as good friends. The romantic spark just wasn’t there between them, and they were both on the same page when the end came.”

  How well Amberly could relate to that. It had been part of the story of her failed marriage. “So, she hadn’t been with any other man since breaking up with Tom?”

  Jenna’s gaze shot to the left and down and then quickly met Amberly’s once again. “Not that I can think of.”

  She was lying. She knew something more than what she’d told them. She was keeping a secret for her dead friend, and in that secret might be the information they needed.