Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake

by Carla Cassidy

  “I feel it, too,” Amberly admitted. “It’s like the tick of a time bomb that’s been hidden in the room, but no matter how hard we search we can’t find the bomb, and detonation is about to happen.” A shiver worked up her spine, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to stave it off.

  Cole reached across the table and covered one of her hands with his. “I’ve only felt this helpless one other time in my entire life, and that was when I couldn’t get to my wife in time to save her. If this creep’s intention is to get to you, then I just want you to know that he’ll have to come through me to do it.” There was a fierce protectiveness to his tone that she found oddly comforting.

  She curled her fingers with his. “Thanks, but it’s not me I’m worried about.”

  “Max?” he asked. “John won’t let anything happen to him.”

  “I know that. Even if I believed that John was capable of the murders of these women, I know he’d never hurt Max.” She paused, a tightness filling her chest. “I just keep having that same bad dream about him. He’s running all alone in the dark. He’s so afraid and he’s lost his protection charm and I can’t get to him.”

  Cole’s eyes were soft blue depths as he held her gaze. “Why don’t you sleep with me tonight in my bed, let me be your own personal dream catcher,” he said. “Sleep in my arms, and let me keep your bad dreams away.”

  Amberly knew if she accepted his offer, they’d probably wind up making love again. She also knew there was nothing that she’d love more than to sleep dreamlessly in his strong, safe arms.

  She didn’t want to think about whether it was right or wrong, she didn’t want to consider any consequences, she just wanted to feel his body next to hers, his heartbeat against her own.

  She was suddenly overwhelmed with a bone-weary exhaustion, with the grief of missing Max and with the need to allow not just any man but Cole Caldwell to take control of her, to wrap her in his arms and steal any bad dreams out of her head.

  “Yes, please,” she said simply.

  COLE AWAKENED BEFORE dawn, Amberly snuggled against his side and sound asleep. They’d left Mr. Wok’s on the table the night before and had undressed and tumbled into his bed.

  Silently, they had made love, and it had been afterward, when she curled up in his arms and fell asleep, that he realized he was in love with her.

  He hadn’t been looking for it, certainly hadn’t wanted to feel these kinds of feelings and emotions again in his lifetime, but they were there nevertheless, and there was nothing he could do about them. He certainly had no intention of letting her know how he felt.

  He knew from the conversations they’d had in the past week that she felt guilty about leaving John, that she hated the fact that John was in love with her and she didn’t, couldn’t love him back.

  The last thing Cole would do was burden her with his love for her. She’d made it clear that she wasn’t ready for a new man in her life, didn’t believe in love that lasted.

  All he needed to do was stay focused on solving the murders so she could get back to her life with her son. That would be the best gift he could give her.

  He closed his eyes although he knew any further sleep would be impossible. He should get up and look at the files again, see what they’d missed, if they’d missed anything vital, but he was reluctant to leave the bed and Amberly.

  He found it difficult to take Ben’s theory of John being guilty of the crimes too seriously. When he’d talked to John, the artist had appeared completely forthcoming despite the fact that he didn’t have any really solid alibis for the nights of the murders.

  It was obvious that John was still hung up on Amberly and that he loved both her and his son to distraction, but John seemed too smart to be the killer. He’d have to know that the dream catchers would point to Amberly and ultimately come back on him. Hell, with John making his living painting Western art, he’d probably painted more than one dream catcher in his career.

  Cole frowned, his eyes still closed. Still, as much as he wanted to completely dismiss John Merriweather from the suspect list, he couldn’t. As he’d told Amberly, he was ambivalent about the man.

  It all came back to the dream catchers. They felt like a personal call to action for Amberly. Maybe instead of the key to the crimes being the dream catchers, maybe Amberly was really the key.

  He remained in bed until dawn began to light the sky and seep in through his window, and only then did he slide out, leaving Amberly still asleep.

  He grabbed a clean uniform and went to the hall bathroom to shower and dress, and once that was done, he went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

  Minutes later, he stood at the window and sipped a cup of the fresh brew, his mind whirling with new thoughts. They’d investigated the victims to find a pattern, they’d interrogated the men they thought might be capable of murder, but nobody had thought to interrogate one of the investigators of the crimes.

  He felt energized by the new trail that had suddenly opened up to him. All he had to do was wait until Amberly got up to ask her some questions about past cases she had worked on or enemies she might have made.

  It was possible that Mystic Lake was just the random small town close to Kansas City where the killer had decided to play his games, games that were intended specifically to draw Amberly in.

  He should have known it was personally directed at her when the dream catcher and photo had been hung on her mailbox. He’d just assumed somebody had followed her home from Mystic Lake, but it was possible their perp was closer to her home than to his.

  He was on his second cup of coffee when she finally came into the kitchen. She’d showered and was dressed in her black slacks and a white blouse. Her hair was neatly braided, and she looked more rested than she had all week.

  “Good morning,” she said with a bright smile as she beelined to the coffeemaker on the countertop.

  “You slept well?” he asked although he already knew the answer.

  “Like a baby,” she replied. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat in a chair at the table.

  He refilled his cup and then sat in the chair opposite hers. “I’ve been thinking,” he began.

  “Uh-oh,” she said and quickly took a sip from her mug. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “I’ve been thinking that maybe we’ve been approaching all of this from the wrong angle.”

  She cocked her head and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I kept thinking that the key to the murders somehow rested with the dream catchers that were left at the scenes.”

  She nodded and took another drink of coffee. “We’ve both been functioning with that thought in mind.”

  “I think we’ve been wrong. I think the dream catchers were just a ploy and the real key to the killer is you.”

  Her dark eyes widened slightly. “Are we talking about John again?”

  “Not necessarily. But I think the killer is somebody from your life, somebody who is just using Mystic Lake as his playground, and the victims and the dream catchers were just a ploy to get you here. I think Ben was right as far as that part of his theory. I don’t know if it’s John or not, but you need to think about other cases you’ve been involved in, people you’ve had fights with and anyone who would want to hurt you. I want you to take Mystic Creek out of the mix and anyone else but you.”

  She sat back in her chair and wrapped her fingers around her mug, as if his words had suddenly made her hands go cold. “I can’t imagine anyone who would go to these lengths to hurt me,” she said after a moment of hesitation. “The last case I worked was a kidnapping for ransom, but I wasn’t lead on the case and didn’t have that much interaction with the perp who was caught.” She shook her head, obviously at a loss. “I try not to make enemies in my life. Granny Nightsong always taught me to tread lightly and leave no footprints behind.”

  “A nice concept but almost impossible to do.” He took a sip of his coffee and then placed the mu
g back on the table and leaned forward.

  “Sometimes you step on toes and don’t even realize it at the time. You’re tired and frustrated and snap at somebody who doesn’t deserve your attitude. There’s got to be somebody, Amberly, and we need to start someplace with this new theory.”

  “So, what do you need from me?”

  “I’d like you to make a list of coworkers who might not be thrilled with you. I want you to write down the names of neighbors and friends you interact with on a regular basis, criminals who might have a personal reason to hate you.”

  “You really believe this is somebody from my life and not just some creep from your town?”

  “I can’t be sure. But we’ve been spinning our wheels in my town. Now I think we need to spend some time spinning them in your life.” He could tell by the darkness of her eyes how much the idea disturbed her.

  “You still think John might be responsible for all this.” It wasn’t a question but rather a flat statement that held the undertone of displeasure.

  “Do you really think I’d park my son with a man I thought was capable of killing anyone? I’ve known John for almost eight years, was married to him for three of those years.” She moved her hands from her mug as she continued. “I’m not a stupid woman, I’m an FBI agent, and I would have seen through the years, I would have sensed, if something was this off with John.”

  “I’m definitely leaning toward the assumption of John’s innocence,” Cole said softly. “But I’m also leaning toward this being all about you and the fact that Mystic Lake is involved at all might be incidental.”

  “I think I liked it better when it was some crazy serial killer just randomly murdering women,” she replied.

  “It’s still that,” he countered. “I just think whoever it is wanted you specifically on this case, wanted you away from your comfort zone because it might make you a more vulnerable victim.”

  She rubbed two fingers across her forehead as if to ease a headache that had begun to pound.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have at least waited to talk to you about this until you’d had your second cup of coffee.”

  She flashed him a quick smile that warmed him from head to toe. “I’m not sure that an entire pot of coffee would have managed to take the sting out of this conversation.”

  “At this point, it’s just another crazy theory,” he said in an attempt to take away the sting. “For the moment, we remove John from the scenario and see who else you might come up with.” He got up from his chair. “And now I’m going to make us some breakfast so we can start the day off right.”

  “A little late for that,” she muttered.

  Still, by the time they’d eaten eggs and toast and sausage links and she’d downed another two cups of coffee, she appeared ready to focus on this new task.

  “Are there any more Native American agents in the Kansas City office?” he asked as they drove to the office.

  “No, I’m the token Injun,” she said, deliberately being politically incorrect.

  “So, it would be natural for somebody to believe that the dream catchers at the sites might encourage the FBI to call you in.”

  “There’s nothing about any of this that’s natural,” she replied. “But yes, I suppose that makes a certain kind of crazy sense.”

  “Do you have other Native American friends? Somebody who maybe has a beef with you, somebody for whom the dream catcher might mean something personal?”

  She shook her head. “There’s a Native American center in Kansas City, but I’ve never been there. I know a couple of men who work there, but they’re good men.”

  “Everyone, I want everyone on the list you’re going to make,” Cole said firmly. “I don’t care if you believe they’re good men or not. If this is really all about you, then we need to know about everyone in your life.”

  By that time, they’d reached the office, where, for the next hour, Amberly sat in the conference room with a legal pad and a pen in front of her and listened while Cole discussed his newest theory with the other deputies.

  She looked fragile as if, for the first time since finding the items on her mailbox, the full realization of the danger she was in from somebody who might be close to her had finally struck.

  He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, shield her from anything that made her eyes darken with fear and her lips to quiver with emotion.

  He wanted to fix her world, even knowing that once it was fixed she’d go back to her life and he’d once again be alone, only this time he’d be alone with a bruised and battered heart.

  “I’ll check in with you around noon,” he said to her after the deputies had left the room. “You’ll be okay here?”

  She looked down at the blank legal pad in front of her. “Sure, just me and all the people who might want me dead.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the bag of licorice he’d bought her the night before. “I’ll be fine. Go do some sheriffing.”

  He fought the impulse to lean forward and kiss her on the forehead. Instead, he left the office and hit the streets. It was cooler today, feeling more like autumn than the late-summer weather they’d enjoyed until now. The skies were overcast, and Cole found his mood reflecting the dreariness of the day.

  He’d forgotten what it felt like to be in love, and while it filled his soul with joy, he knew it wasn’t what Amberly wanted or needed in her life. All she needed from him was to solve this crime and send her back home, and it was the one thing he had yet to be able to do for her.

  Although he’d downplayed to her his feelings about John’s guilt, he still felt as if her ex-husband had the most to gain from this particular case. John knew Native American culture. He’d also probably known that Amberly was the only Native American working out of the Kansas City office.

  But he was willing to admit that it might be somebody else altogether, somebody with a grudge against Amberly, and only she could identify that person for them.

  He just hoped she could do it soon, for he definitely felt the tick of that time bomb, and if it exploded, he somehow feared she might not survive the blast.

  Chapter Eleven

  At lunchtime, Amberly grabbed a sandwich and soda from the vending machine in the break room and then returned to the conference room and the list that wasn’t happening.

  The only name she could come up with was John, and her heart continued to rebel at the very idea that he could be behind all this with the notion of somehow forcing her back into his arms, back into his life.

  By four, she’d managed to add three more names to her list, one of the men who worked at the Native American Center, who had expressed dissatisfaction over the fact that she wasn’t involved in any way with the facility. A second name was a female coworker who had never hidden the fact that she thought Amberly had progressed in her career solely on the fact that she was a minority. Finally, she’d written down John’s brother’s name. Although he lived in a suburb of Kansas City and had rarely visited them, he’d made it clear that he wasn’t a fan of Amberly’s.

  She didn’t believe any of the people on her list were responsible for the crimes. She didn’t know why those women had been killed or what the dream catchers really meant.

  She felt so out of her element with this particular case. No matter how she twisted the pieces, she couldn’t make them fit into a comprehensive picture. She absolutely couldn’t get into the head of the killer, and that’s what she was supposed to do well.

  With a sigh of frustration, she dropped her head onto the cradle of her arms on the table, and instantly her thoughts turned to Cole and the night before.

  She’d known it would be a mistake to get into his bed. She’d known they would make love again and they had, and it had been just as magical as the first time.

  Apparently he had been her dream catcher, for she’d slept without dreams, snuggled against his warmth and listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart.

  He could almost make
her believe in love that lasted forever, in passion that never waned. What he couldn’t do was take her back in time and meet her before she met John, before she had Max, before it all got so complicated.

  Besides, she wouldn’t want to go back in time because then she wouldn’t have had Max, and that little guy awed her with his heart, with his head and with his very existence in her world.

  Tears burned at her eyes as she thought of her son. Her need to hold him, to smell him, was nearly overwhelming. Her very womb ached as if he’d been violently ripped away from her.

  She needed to be home with Max. That was her world, that was her life, but she couldn’t. She was too afraid of bringing danger with her.

  And this thing with Cole, this magic she felt when she was with him, she had to forget it. She’d sworn that Max’s life would come before hers, that she’d wait until he was older before even thinking about bringing a new man around him. The last thing she wanted to do was confuse him.

  She raised her head as Roger came into the room. “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He sat across from her and gestured toward her legal pad. “Doesn’t look like much is happening there, either.”

  She smiled at the young deputy. “What can I tell you? I try not to make enemies.”

  He returned her smile. “I could write down the names of at least four people I’ve pissed off just today.”

  His smile faded as he stared at the photos on the bulletin board. “Maybe it’s somebody who is angry at your husband, maybe somebody who bought a painting of a dream catcher from him. I looked up some of his work online, and in his early years, he painted a whole series of dream catchers.”

  Amberly frowned and reached for a piece of licorice and then offered the bag to Roger, who shook his head negatively. “So this might all be about somebody who thinks they paid too much for a John Merriweather painting, and instead of asking for their money back, they decide to kill innocent women and lure me to this little town so they can kill me, too?”

  She shook her head and bit into the licorice, hoping the candy would help ease the headache she’d been fighting off all day.