Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake

by Carla Cassidy

  Amberly leaned forward, holding Jenna’s gaze intently. “Jenna, nothing you tell us now can hurt Barbara. No silly gossip, no little secrets can change the fact that she’s dead and she won’t have to face any consequences of a secret coming out.”

  Jenna’s cheeks grew a dusty pink and once again she broke her gaze with Amberly. Bingo, Amberly thought. She was definitely holding something back.

  Jenna released a tremulous sigh. “Barbara had a one-night stand a couple of weeks ago. It wasn’t something she was proud of, and it was definitely something she’d never done before. If we hadn’t drank so much that night at Bledsoe’s, it would have never happened. She just really wasn’t that kind of person.”

  “Who?” Cole asked. “Who did she sleep with?”

  Jenna looked back at Amberly, a faint plea in her eyes. “Barbara was a good person, and she had high morals. It was all just a terrible mistake.”

  “We’re not here to judge her. We just want to find out who killed her,” Amberly replied softly.

  Jenna drew a deep breath. “It was Jimmy. Jimmy Tanner. He told her he was in the midst of a divorce, and that night at the bar he kept buying her drinks and was being so flirty with her. She got a little drunk and ended up going with him that night to the motel. The next morning, she was horrified at what she’d done.”

  Amberly and Cole exchanged a quick glance. That placed Jimmy in contact with two of their victims. He’d just moved up on their very short suspect list.

  “Did Jimmy want to continue things after that night?” Cole asked.

  Jenna shook her head. “No, not at all. He and Barbara didn’t even speak to each other after that night. But they didn’t exactly run in the same crowd. Barbara worked at the school and spent most of her evenings with me, either eating out or watching old movies here in my apartment.” Tears once again filled her eyes. “It was my idea to go to Bledsoe’s that night. I’m the reason she hooked up with that lowlife.” Once again, she swiped at her tears. “Do you think it was him? Do you think he killed her?”

  “At this point, we’re just gathering facts,” Cole said. He rose from the sofa as if instinctively knowing that there was nothing more Jenna could offer them.

  They left Jenna’s and met with two more of Barbara’s friends, a coworker at the school where she worked as a teacher’s aide and the man she had dated for six months and then broken up with.

  Tom Courtland told the same story Jenna had about his breakup with Barbara. The two had dated but realized their relationship was based on friendship rather than any real love interest. He had an alibi for the night of her murder, and Cole and Amberly left with the intention of checking it out.

  Neither of the two people they spoke to appeared to know anything about the wild night Barbara had spent with Jimmy Tanner in a motel room.

  It was almost one o’clock when they exited Tom Courtland’s, and Deputy Black pulled up next to Cole’s car. He got out of his vehicle, a grim expression on his face.

  “Roger, what’s up?”

  “We’ve got another one.” The words hung in the air, and for a moment Amberly couldn’t even make sense of them. Another one? Another murder already?

  “Who?” Cole asked, his tone terse and filled with the same kind of dread that weighed heavy in Amberly’s heart.

  “Casey Richards.”

  “Where?” The word shot out of Cole like a bullet.

  “He hid this one a little better than the others,” Roger said. “She’s in the back of the alley between the Dollar Store and Suzie’s Collectibles. Looks like she was killed sometime during the night and she was stuffed between the two garbage bins.”

  “Is there a dream catcher there?” Amberly asked.

  Roger nodded. “Same as the others. Looks like she was stabbed multiple times in the chest, and one of those dream catchers is hanging from a string and dangling over her head.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  Both Cole and Amberly jumped in his car. Cole started the engine with a roar and then slammed his fists down on the steering wheel and cursed.

  Amberly understood the anger that erupted inside him; she felt the same kind of rage along with more than a little bit of fear. It was the fear that they were no closer to catching the murderer and the knowledge that the time between his kills had shortened to almost nothing.

  IT WAS AFTER ONE IN THE morning by the time the newest crime scene had been processed and everyone pertinent to the victim and the crime had been interviewed.

  Cole and Amberly were the only ones remaining in the conference room, where the bulletin board now held the photos of Casey Richards taken at the scene of the dump site.

  Cole’s eyes felt gritty with exhaustion and the weight of frustration he’d carried all afternoon and evening. Amberly looked exhausted, as well. They’d had nothing to eat all day, their entire focus on the new victim and the agonizing realization that the killer was on a time line that they couldn’t predict.

  “We need to call it a night,” he finally said, breaking the silence that had momentarily lingered between them.

  She nodded. “You’re right. I can’t think anymore. My brain is completely fried.”

  He leaned back in the chair and studied her features. She was truly one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, but right now, she looked utterly drained, and the idea of her getting into her car and driving the twenty minutes home concerned him. It was already so late, and he hated the fact that on some level he was worried about her.

  “I’ve got an extra bedroom at my house if you want to just crash there for the night instead of making the drive back to your place in Kansas City.” He didn’t really expect her to take him up on the offer, but she tilted her head to the side, looking thoughtful.

  “Does the offer of a room come with an offer of any kind of food?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I could probably whip up a couple of omelets and some toast.”

  “At the moment, that sounds like manna from heaven,” she replied. “I vaguely remember a cup of coffee this morning, but we haven’t fueled up since then. And to be honest, I am really too tired to make the drive home, but I could get a motel room for the rest of the night.”

  “Nonsense,” he replied as he pulled himself up and out of his chair. “We’ll eat and then you can crash in my spare room. It’s not a big deal.”

  Half an hour later, they were in his kitchen. Amberly sat at the table, her eyes narrowed to tired slits as he stood at the stove, making a cheese-and-mushroom omelet for them to share.

  He hadn’t thought it would be a big deal, her being here in his kitchen, her sleeping in his spare room. But as he worked on the food, he was acutely conscious of the scent of her, which had lingered in his head all day long. He was far too aware of his desire to tangle his fingers into that glorious mane of hair and repeat the kiss they’d shared when they’d left Bledsoe’s.

  As he popped the bread into the toaster, he thought that it seemed like a lifetime ago that they had gone to the bar together and had shared that crazy kiss.

  “Tell me about your son,” he finally said, hoping that any discussion of a six-year-old boy would drive any inappropriate thoughts he might entertain right out of his mind.

  The smile that swept over her features was so beautiful it nearly stole his breath away. “He’s the most handsome, good-natured genius I’ve ever known,” she replied.

  He smiled. “Sounds like a true motherly description to me.”

  She swept her long braid back over her shoulder. “Okay, I’ll admit it, I might be a little bit biased. But honestly, he is a good-looking kid and he’s very easygoing and more than a little bit brilliant.”

  “What do six-year-olds do nowadays?” Cole asked as he buttered the toast that had popped up. “Is he all into the video and computer stuff?”

  “Actually, we’ve tried to keep that stuff away from him, but he has video games like every other kid his age. He and John spend a lot of time putting together
puzzles and playing mind games. Max wants to be an FBI agent when he grows up, so he and I have a special game we play.”

  He placed the plates with the omelets and toast on the table and then sat across from her. “What kind of a game?”

  She picked up her fork and cut into the omelet. “It’s kind of a spin-off of the old I Spy game. Instead of me saying I spy something red or green and him trying to guess what it is, I point out a person or a place, give him a couple of seconds to look and then he can’t look again, and he describes as many details as he can to me.”

  “And how does he do?”

  She took a bite of the omelet and washed it down with a sip of milk before answering. “Better than a lot of other agents I’ve worked with in the past. He has a real attention to detail for somebody so young.”

  Cole had once wanted children. As only children, both he and Emily had had a desire to fill a house with babies. They had decided to wait a couple of years before starting their big family, and when they had finally decided to get pregnant, it hadn’t happened.

  “At the time of Emily’s murder, I was grateful that she and I hadn’t had any children to grieve for her, that there were no little ones depending on me for solace,” he said thoughtfully. “But hearing you talk about your son makes me wish that Emily and I had had a child.”

  Amberly reached across the table and lightly touched the back of his hand, her eyes filled with a sympathy he both embraced and abhorred.

  She pulled her hand away and instead picked up the last of her piece of toast. “Granny Nightsong would say that you’re a man trapped in the valley of shadows and you don’t realize that it’s your choice whether you decide to climb out or stay there.”

  “I’m not sure I’d like your granny Nightsong,” he said, knowing that the topic of conversation combined with his frustration and exhaustion had sparked a sharp edge of irritation inside him.

  “Everyone loved Granny Nightsong,” she countered, and there was a wistfulness in her voice that spoke of her own grief. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her.” Her eyes suddenly welled up with tears and she quickly shoved back from the table. “I’ve got to go to bed. When I start getting emotional, I know I’ve passed the point of exhaustion and entered the land of maudlin.”

  She carried her plate to the sink, rinsed it and then placed it in the dishwasher. He did the same, and together they left the kitchen.

  He led her to his guest bedroom, which contained nothing more than a bare dresser and a double-size bed covered in a light blue bedspread. “The bathroom is right across the hall. Anything you need, you should be able to find in the cabinets and towel closet.”

  “Could I bother you for one of your T-shirts to sleep in?” she asked.

  The idea of her naked beneath one of his shirts shot a sizzle of heat through him. “I’m sure I can find something for you,” he said and hurried down the hallway toward his own bedroom.

  As he rummaged through his dresser drawers for a clean white T-shirt, he tried to keep Amberly out of his head. She was the first woman he’d invited into this home, but he reminded himself he’d made the invitation to her due to necessity. It was already almost two in the morning. He hadn’t wanted her on the road at this time of night, driving while exhausted beyond reason.

  By the time he got the shirt back to the guest bedroom Amberly was seated on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her unbound hair.

  Cole froze in the doorway. It was the sexiest thing he’d seen in years, and every muscle in his body tensed in response. “Here you go,” he said as he tossed her the T-shirt. “Good night,” he muttered and then raced back down the hallway to his own bedroom.

  What in the hell was wrong with him? He placed his gun on his nightstand and tore off his clothes down to his boxers. He tossed his uniform into the hamper in his master bath and then crawled into bed.

  Maybe this sexual attraction to Amberly was simply a way for him not to deal with the fact that he had a serial killer operating in his town. He had four dead women crying out for justice, and at this moment, all he could think about was Amberly’s full bare breasts pressed against the cotton of his shirt, the long length of her legs beneath the hem.

  He should be thinking about suspects and crime-scene reports, he should be putting together pieces of the puzzle that would solve these crimes.

  But his brain was spinning with too much useless information, too many dead ends, and it was just so easy to think about Amberly as sleep slowly took over.

  He awakened to an indistinct noise. Instantly, he grabbed his gun, jumped out of bed and hit the button on the lamp next to the bed that illuminated his room.

  A glance at the clock let him know it was almost five. Predawn darkness still lingered outside the window. He heard the noise again and, this time, knew instantly what it was.

  Amberly.

  Apparently the dark dreams had found her tonight.

  He set his gun back on the nightstand, turned on the hall light and lightly padded down the hallway toward her bedroom. As he drew nearer to her doorway the noise grew louder, a moaning of terror barely leashed.

  Her door was open, and the spill of the light from the hallway splashed onto the bed. She was on her back, thrashing with the top sheet as if it had attacked her. Her hair was a dark tangle all around her head, half obscuring her lovely features, which were twisted in fear.

  He remained frozen in place, unsure if he should pull her from the nightmare that obviously haunted her or allow the dream to come to its natural conclusion. Wasn’t there some old wives’ tale about waking somebody from a nightmare? Damned if he could remember what it was.

  As a pitiful whimper escaped her lips, he realized he couldn’t just stand by and allow her to suffer through whatever night terrors consumed her.

  He walked to the side of the bed, and her exotic floral scent immediately assailed him. She’d told him she used her nightmares to get in touch with the kinds of evil that committed the crimes she investigated. Was she dreaming about the murders in Mystic Lake? Or were her nightmares from other murders, other towns?

  As her moan became a louder cry, he reached out and gently touched her shoulder. “Amberly,” he said softly. “Wake up.”

  She shot up to a sitting position, her eyes open and darting wildly around the room. When her gaze landed on him, she shuddered, then stilled and finally released a deep sigh.

  “What time is it?” she asked, her voice slightly husky as if she’d been screaming in her dream.

  “Just a little after five.” He tried not to notice how sexy she looked in the T-shirt, how full her breasts were beneath the thin material.

  “I’m sorry I woke you.” She shoved the thick curtain of her hair behind her shoulders.

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “Was I screaming or slobbering or doing something totally embarrassing?” she asked.

  He smiled. “None of the above, but you were making enough noise for me to know that you were having a nightmare. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not.”

  She frowned. “I’m glad you did. I was having a nightmare. It’s a recurring one that I have when I’m particularly stressed or tired.” She pulled a strand of her hair back over her shoulder and played with the ends as if the motion somehow soothed her.

  It didn’t soothe Cole. It half hypnotized him, making his fingers itch to stroke the shiny richness of hair for her…for himself.

  “I dream about Max. He’s running in the dark and he’s so afraid. I feel his fear so deep inside me.” She took a fist and pressed it against her heart as if an intense pain resided there. “And I know he’s lost his necklace and without it evil will find him.”

  “Necklace?” He tried to focus all his attention on her words.

  She nodded. “It’s a necklace my grandfather made for me when I was young, a protection charm of a silver owl he wears all the time. In the dream, it’s gone and I can’t get to him and I don’t know what he
’s running from or what is keeping me from going to him.”

  He desperately wanted to stay focused on what she was saying, on the visions she’d told him had haunted her sleep, but his gaze kept wandering to the fullness of her breasts beneath his T-shirt, to the length of long, shapely bronze leg that had slipped out from beneath the sheet.

  She must have sensed the direction of his thoughts, felt the tension that suddenly snapped in the air between them. It was five o’clock in the morning, she’d just had a horrible dream, and he wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting a woman.

  Abruptly, she stopped talking, and her eyes darkened and yet sparked in their very depths with a shimmer that beckoned him. Her tongue slid across her bottom lip as if her mouth had become too dry or as if she anticipated the possibility of a kiss.

  His feet moved him a step closer to the bed, and for a moment their gazes remained locked together, a question hanging between them that he knew, in the logical part of his brain, was better left unasked.

  She tossed the hair back over her shoulder once again and covered her bare leg with the sheet. “Thank you for waking me,” she said as she broke eye contact with him and instead stared at the wall just behind him. “And now, we both better get back to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

  He thought he heard a touch of regret in her voice as his feet moved him back from the bed. “Absolutely, you’re right,” he said as he attempted to tamp down the desire that had hit him so forcefully in the gut. “Good night, Amberly.”

  As he left the room and headed for his own bedroom, he thought of that moment when the tension had sizzled in the air between them. She’d felt it. She’d wanted it. She’d wanted him.

  He got into his own bed with the certainty that before this case was solved, he and Amberly were probably going to make a mistake, that they would wind up sharing a bed.

  There was definitely something between them, an overawareness of each other that didn’t just whisper of some underlying desire, but rather screamed it.