He'd come to the realization a long time ago that he was a man who would in all probability spend his life alone. And he'd made peace with that probability.
He finished eating first. Explaining that he needed to get right back to work, he left the two of them seated at the table. He paid the tab for the three meals, then was almost out the door when he heard Alyssa calling his name.
He turned to see her hurrying toward him, her brow furrowed with worry. "Can I talk to you alone for just a minute?" she asked.
"Sure." He pulled her over by a coatrack where they would be out of the way of incoming and outgoing diners. "What's up?"
"I didn't want to say anything in front of Tamara, but last night I had an awful vision concerning her."
Clay was ambivalent in his feelings concerning Alyssa's visions. On the one hand, he knew of more than one instance when her visions had helped solve a crime by finding a missing person and saving a life or two. On the other hand, he also knew she sometimes had visions that never came true, never connected to anything and eventually went away.
"What was it about?" he asked.
"Tamara." Alyssa's eyes were troubled. "I saw her being chased by a monster and when the monster finally caught her, he … he ripped her heart out."
Clay put a hand on Alyssa's shoulder. "Alyssa, did you hear about the vandalism in Tamara's classroom before you had the vision?"
She nodded. "Ed Rogers came into the Redbud and had a cup of coffee last night. He told me all about it."
"Including the claw marks and the blood?" Again she nodded and he squeezed her shoulder gently. "Then, isn't it possible hearing about that provoked that particular vision?"
"I suppose," Alyssa admitted after a moment of hesitation. "I just wanted to tell you. I was worried."
"Try not to worry, Alyssa. The vandalism in Tamara's classroom might not have even been directed at her specifically. Hers was one of the few unlocked classrooms in the school. It was probably simply a matter of convenience for the perps that her classroom got hit."
"You think?"
He offered her a tight smile. "Go back and finish enjoying your lunch. No monster is going to get to Tamara. I've got to get back to work."
"Thanks, Clay," Alyssa said.
He watched as she hurried back to the booth, then turned on his heel, and headed out of the café, intent on putting Tamara Greystone out of his head.
* * *
"Your cousin is quite a handsome man," Tamara said when Alyssa returned to the table.
"Yeah, he is."
"How old is he?"
"Thirty-five," Alyssa said. She gazed at Tamara with narrowed eyes. "Don't even think about it."
"What?" Tamara looked at her innocently.
"Tamara, I know both of us are in the same place when it comes to wanting to connect with some man who will mean something in our lives. But trust me, Clay is not the man for you."
Tamara laughed. "I just asked a simple question," she protested.
"Well, I'm just warning you, simple question or not, Clay is the worst bet for a relationship in the entire United States. He's moody and downright surly at times. He's a loner who is married to his work."
"Stop! Stop!" Tamara held up her hands and laughed once again. "All I asked was his age."
"You also said he was handsome."
"Well, I'd have to be dead not to notice that," she replied. "Trust me, Alyssa, I've heard enough about Clay from his mother to know he's not the man for me."
What she didn't tell her friend was that even knowing Clay wasn't what she was looking for in a spirit mate, he intrigued her.
There was a dark intensity in his eyes that spoke of pain, a taut energy that whispered of a restless soul, and coupled with his passion for his work, she couldn't help but find him interesting.
He'd be fascinating to paint with his chiseled, strong, slightly arrogant features, although she usually didn't paint portraits.
"Hello?"
Alyssa's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I said what are your plans for the weekend?"
"Painting," Tamara replied. "The art gallery in Oklahoma City is giving me a show in September and I want to have at least five more paintings done by then. I'd ask you what you're going to do for the weekend, but I know your answer already. Work … work … work."
"I like keeping busy," Alyssa said defensively.
"You going to tell me about the visions that have been bothering you lately?"
"I just have a few minutes before I need to get back to the Redbud, I hate to end our visit with talking about them."
Tamara reached across the table and took her friend's hand in hers. "You can't carry it alone, Alyssa. Don't you realize that's what friends are for, to share not only joys, but burdens as well."
Alyssa squeezed her hand, then released it and leaned back in the booth. "I've had one vision that has become more and more frequent in the last two weeks and it's driving me crazy because I don't know where it's coming from."
Tamara smiled at her. "Might I remind you that you never know where they come from."
Alyssa flashed a quick grin. "Okay, that might be true, but this one feels different … more vivid … more intense … more powerful." She leaned forward once again, her gaze troubled. "I see a man, one of the most handsome men I've ever seen … dark hair, eyes like blue ice and a smile that could melt a glacier on a winter day."
"Have you ever seen him before? I mean, outside of your visions?"
Alyssa shook her head. "Trust me, if I'd seen him outside a vision, I'd remember him. Anyway, in the vision, he's making love to me and then he's being stabbed and he's dying in my arms." She shuddered and took a sip of her iced tea. "Anyway, this is one of the worst I've had in a long time and it always bothers me when they're recurring."
"But you've had recurring visions that never came to anything before, right?" Tamara asked.
"Right," Alyssa said after a moment of hesitation. "Enough about this. Walk me home and I'll give you a double-dip cone on the house. I got in some of that caramel toffee ice cream that you love."
"You've got a deal." Together the two women got up from the booth.
It was almost an hour later when Tamara got into her car and headed home. Her heart was warmed by the time she had spent with Alyssa. She'd love to have a special man in her life, but special friends were important, too.
As she drove down Main Street at a leisurely pace, her senses took in the sights and sounds that were so familiar to her.
When she'd been growing up her family had lived twenty miles outside of Cherokee Corners. Every Saturday her parents and she would get into the car and drive to town for grocery shopping, art supplies and whatever else the family might need.
She'd loved coming into town. Even though through the week she rode a bus to and from the Cherokee Corners schools, those Saturday trips of leisure time in Cherokee Corners had been magical.
It had only been since her return to Cherokee Corners from New York that she'd begun some volunteer work at the Cherokee Cultural Center. There she had met Alyssa and her Aunt Rita, Clay's mother.
Clay. There was absolutely no reason for him to be in her thoughts as much as he had been throughout the day. She had no explanation for it.
Since she'd returned from New York she had immersed herself in Cherokee ways and traditions, reclaiming the soul she'd nearly lost to Max and New York.
Eventually when she chose the man she would marry, he'd be a warrior, proud of his heritage, strong in tradition and with the Cherokee loving heart.
Everything she had heard about Clay James indicated he was not the warrior her heart sought. She resolutely shoved thoughts of him out of her mind and focused on the fact that she had two lovely weekend days ahead of her to indulge in her first love … painting.
Thanks to Max, she no longer had to beg art galleries to showcase her work, rather she had galleries requesting showings.
She tucked away every penny she made, knowing that Native American paintings were hot now, but there may come a day when she wouldn't be able to give her work away.
Her parents had encouraged her talent and creativity from a very early age, but they had also instilled a level of practicality, which is why she had gotten her teaching degree despite the fact that painting was her first love.
She pulled down the dirt lane that would take her to her cottage, a sense of homecoming filling her up inside. The moment she'd seen the place, she'd thought of it as her own little enchanted cottage in the woods.
She'd known instinctively that it was a place where her creativity would thrive. The woods held a primal serenity that seemed to wrap her in its arms.
As she approached the cottage, she frowned. There was something on her porch … something that didn't belong there. She shut off her engine and sat for a long moment, trying to identify the dark bulk that was right in front of her front door.
Whatever it was, it wasn't moving. She got out of the car, feeling a bit unsteady on her feet as she approached the porch.
A deer. A doe, actually. Lifeless, with soft brown eyes staring toward the heavens, it looked pitifully small.
Tamara sent up a prayer for the soul of the doe, at the same time wondering how it had gotten on her front porch. Had it been hit by a car and somehow stumbled here, broken and bleeding?
She bent down to get a better look, to try to discern what injuries the poor thing had sustained: Her blood chilled as she saw the claw marks that marred the tan hide of the doe's side. The claw marks looked like the ones that had marked her classroom walls. What was going on?
Fear walked up her backbone with icy fingers as she looked around. The surrounding woods was beginning to take on the shadows of twilight, creating dark pockets of shadows that she recognized would make perfect hiding places.
With trembling fingers, she unlocked her front door and stepped over the dead deer. She stood in the threshold of her home, listening for a sound that didn't belong, smelling the air for an alien scent, needing to be sure the sanctity of her home hadn't been breached before she entered farther.
She heard nothing, smelled nothing, but was spooked beyond belief. She hurried across the living room, grabbed her cordless phone and punched in 911.
* * *
Chapter 4
«^»
Clay had just left the lab and entered the police station when he heard Jason Sheller grumbling about having to go out to the Greystone residence because she'd found a dead animal on her property.
"She lives out in the woods, for crying out loud," Jason complained. "There's always dead animals out in the woods."
"I'll take it for you," Clay said.
Jason looked at him in mock surprise. "Ah, I forgot you lab rats were actually real cops who could take a report."
Clay eyed Jason with narrowed eyes. He'd never liked the man. He found him arrogant, self-centered and obnoxious. "You call me a lab rat again and I'll do an experiment on your face with my fists."
"Geez, lighten up, James." Jason backed up with hands in the air, the smug smirk that had crossed his mouth vanished. "It was just a little joke."
"I don't find your humor amusing," Clay replied. "Now, do you want me to take the call or not?"
"Sure, knock yourself out," Jason replied. He sank down at his desk. "Anything new on our slasher murders?"
"No." Clay gave his reports to the chief, not to individual officers. Glen would let the officers know what they needed to know when they needed to know it.
Besides, Clay was eager to get to Tamara's place and find out what was going on. She hadn't struck him as the type of woman who would freak out over some critter dying on her property.
Contrary to Jason Sheller's smart-ass remark, Clay and his team often worked as regular officers, filling in whenever necessary.
In a town the size of Cherokee Corners and with their limited equipment, there wasn't enough forensic work to keep the CSI team busy all the time.
He got into the van and took off for Tamara's place, his thoughts racing as he drove. After eating dinner with her and Alyssa, he'd gone back to the lab and had tried to make sense of the customer lists from quarries and landscaping services that had begun to come in.
Most of the places had simply printed off customer lists without pulling the ones Clay was specifically looking for. He now knew the decorative rock he'd found both at his parents' home and at the Frazier murder scene was called Dalmatian mix because of the unusual black and white coloring. Thankfully it was a high-end decorative rock, so not many people sprang for it.
From the lists he'd received so far he had a list of fifty-two names from Oklahoma City and its surrounding area. Who knew how many more names would be added when all was said and done.
And even then, being armed with a list of every person in Oklahoma who'd ever bought the Dalmatian mix didn't mean he had the name of the person who had killed at least two people and stolen his mother away. For all he knew the killer could be from Texas, or Kansas, or forty-seven other states.
As he turned down the dirt road that led to Tamara's cottage, he tried to put it all out of his head. Instead his thoughts were replaced with the memory of Alyssa telling him about the vision she'd suffered the night before, the vision of Tamara being killed by a monster.
He knew his cousin had been particularly fragile over the last couple of months. Before the crime at his parents' house Alyssa had been experiencing what she said were the worst visions she'd ever had. She'd told him all she saw was blackness, but accompanying the dark was an overwhelming feeling that something terrible was going to happen.
Since the crime, Clay knew she blamed herself for not "seeing" exactly what was going to happen, for not "seeing" clues that would lead to the recovery of Rita wherever she was.
Alyssa was fragile and under stress, and he was certain that hearing about the damage to Tamara's classroom was what had prompted her latest vision.
Twilight was on its way out the door, leaving behind the deep shadows of night. It would be even darker around Tamara's place where the woods were thick and kept out most of the moonlight.
As the cottage came into view, he saw that there were no lights on. It looked as if nobody was home. He parked next to her car, then saw her seated behind the steering wheel.
She got out as he did. "Clay," she said with obvious surprise. "I didn't expect to see you."
"Since I was out at the schoolhouse, I decided to go ahead and come out here and take a report." She looked tense … frightened. "Is there a reason you're out here sitting in your car instead of inside?"
"I wasn't sure it was safe inside. I know it sounds silly, but I got spooked and just stepped in long enough to grab the phone and call the police, then I came out here, started the car engine and locked myself inside."
"It doesn't sound silly, it sounds like the intelligent thing to do." He leaned into the van and removed his handgun from the seat. "So, what exactly have we got here?"
"There's a dead deer on my porch." Her voice was low and steady. "At first I thought maybe it had been hit by a car and had somehow made its way to the porch, but when I looked more closely at it, I realized there were claw marks across its side like the ones that were made in my classroom. That's when I got spooked."
"Lock yourself back in the car and let me check out the house. Once it's clear, then I'll take a look at the deer."
He was glad she didn't question or argue with him, but instead did exactly what he asked.
When she was back in her car, he released the safety on his gun and approached the cottage. There were no lights on, but he could see just enough to step over the dead animal and push open the front door.
Gun firmly gripped in his hand and held up before him, he stepped through the door and flipped on the light switches that illuminated both the porch and the lamps on the end tables in the living room.
The room looked exactly as it had last night when h
e had been inside. Nothing appeared to be out of place, but he wouldn't be at ease until he'd checked every room, every closet, every place that a person might hide.
From the living room he moved into the kitchen, hitting the switch to light the room. Again, everything looked normal. He checked the small pantry, finding nothing more than canned goods, then left the kitchen and moved down the narrow hallway. The bathroom was tiny and the shower curtain hid nothing more than a spotlessly clean tub.
At the end of the hallway was the single bedroom. Clay turned on the light switch, tensed and ready for confrontation. Again he found nothing … except a bedroom that instantly assailed him on all senses, evoking thoughts that definitely had nothing to do with his job.
A bright red spread covered the double bed. Sprawled across the bed was a splash of yellow silk that he recognized must be Tamara's nightgown. Yellow and red curtains hung at the single window the room boasted, a window unit air conditioner filling the lower portion of the window itself.
The room breathed color and life and passion and it smelled like her … that mysterious blend of wildflowers and fresh rain and dark woods.
Dream catchers hung on the wall above the bed and Tamara's artwork—rich, bold and intense in stroke, color and content—decorated the remaining walls. A tabletop fountain sat in the center of the dresser and it was easy to imagine making love to the sound of the gentle, bubbling water.
He yanked open the closet door, irritated that the thought of making love in this room, to the woman outside sitting in her car, had even entered his mind.
There was nothing in the house to indicate that somebody had been inside other than Tamara. He returned to the front door, stepped over the deer, then went to her car. Before he could reach it, she stepped out.
"Everything looks okay inside," he said. "And now I want to take a look at that deer." He went back to his van and pulled out his kit, then carried it back to the front porch.
He was intensely aware of her just behind him, could hear the whisper of her footsteps in the grass, could smell the faint pleasant fragrance that seemed to wrap around her.
TRACE EVIDENCE Page 4