by Lisa Jackson
“That would be the one,” the sheriff said. “Inscribed.”
“Was it? Didn’t know.” Reed had asked her about the ring and she’d laughed as she’d balanced against the jib. “Yes,” she’d replied naughtily, one eyebrow arched when he’d asked about it. “I got it from an old boyfriend. He’s gone, but I couldn’t part with the diamond.”
“Doesn’t your husband care?”
“Ex-husband. Ex,” she replied tartly. “You keep forgetting the ex part. And no, he didn’t like it, but I never really cared what he did or didn’t like.” She’d smiled, then, her eyes sparkling as if she’d shared with him a secret.
“Ye-ep,” the sheriff said, bringing Reed back to the here and now. “Says here, ‘To Barbara. Love forever.’ It’s got a date on it. June of last year.”
“She said it was from an old boyfriend, but, now I know that she would have been married at that time.”
“Um-hmm. It was her weddin’ anniversary. Fifth year. Beats the hell out of wood or tin or paper or whatever the hell is traditional for five years of wedded bliss.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Reed said.
“Me, neither, but I’ll bet my wife does. Anyway, near as I can figure, her ex gave it to her. Got a call in to him.”
So, she’d lied. Again. Not a surprise. Their whole relationship, if that’s what it was, had been based on lies. More than he’d ever imagined. As he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear he wondered if she’d lied to someone else and had eventually paid the ultimate price. With her life.
“Look who’s gettin’ a swelled head,” Trina said as Nikki threw her purse under her desk. Trina rolled her chair back so that she could look Nikki in the eye. “Two stories on the front page.” She clucked her tongue in exaggeration.
“Third time’s a charm.”
“You think you’ll get another chance? Once Pierce Reed sees what you’ve written, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a gag order placed on the whole department and no one, not even your own personal Deep Throat, will talk to you anytime soon.” Lowering her voice she added, “Norm Metzger is on a tear. He went screaming into Fink’s office the minute Tom got here. A few minutes later he stormed out ready to spit nails.”
Nikki had to swallow a smile. She didn’t mind getting Norm upset. Not at all. They’d been rivals on this story, both trying to get information on or from Reed. Norm had gone to Dahlonega three times, searching and not finding the connection to the case he was looking for. Neither had Nikki. But she felt she was getting closer to the elusive detective. He wasn’t quite so gruff when she was around him and she’d even caught him observing her not so much as a reporter and the enemy, but quizzically, as if he were trying to figure her out, as if he were intrigued by her womanhood. She’d seen the look before. Recognized it. And was a little flattered. Maybe a lot flattered. Reed wasn’t a bad-looking man and he was sure as hell interesting.
“By the way, if you’re interested, I talked to my friend over at WKAM,” Trina went on. “There’s been hell to pay about the serial killer angle. The station manager chewed on the news manager’s ass and he passed it along to the reporters. Everyone’s walking on eggshells over there.” The corners of Trina’s generous mouth twitched. “So, how does it feel to be the belle of the ball?”
“Good. But you know what they say,” Nikki added, “you’re only as good as your last story.” She clicked on her computer to read her E-mail and Trina rolled her chair into her cube. Nikki rubbed the crick from her neck. Geez, she was tired, her muscles all aching. But she had to keep working. Once she’d E-mailed her story to Tom Fink, she’d finally tumbled into bed around two. She’d slept hard and when the alarm had blasted this morning, she’d been tempted to swat at it and go back to bed. But she hadn’t. Because she’d wanted to see her story in print and had stumbled down the stairs of her apartment building to find the morning edition waiting for her, bold headlines proclaiming the Grave Robber to be a serial killer. No doubt she’d get some heat from the police department for jumping the gun on that, but it was too late to retract now. Besides, she knew in her gut that the killer wasn’t going to stop.
She scrolled down through her E-mail, a lot of it junk, either spam that hadn’t been filtered out, or legitimate advertising or notes from colleagues and readers…almost like fan mail. She warmed under the compliments about her story, but told herself to remain objective.
“Nikki?”
She nearly jumped out of her chair at the sound of the voice so near. Turning, she spied Kevin, the techie, standing inches from the desk. He was practically wedged into the space that should only house her chair.
“Geez, Kevin, you scared me!” She couldn’t keep the note of irritation from her voice.
He lifted his shoulders in somewhat of an apology.
“Can I do something for you?”
For a second she saw his eyes light up as if he were going to suggest something lewd or crude. Then, that flame quickly died as he thought better of it. Thank God. Kevin was okay, just kind of…odd. “I thought you had some kind of computer problems. Tom said I should figure out what was wrong.”
“Oh. Right. There are a couple of things. Ever since we got the new wireless system with the router, my Internet connection keeps kicking me off. Trina’s doesn’t, so I figure it must be my machine. It’s irritating as hell. Then, to add insult to injury, my keyboard seems to stick every once in a while, and sometimes—it’s not doing it now—there’s a thin line down the middle of my monitor. You know, bisecting it”—she drew an imaginary line down the screen—“a little off center. It’s random, and comes and goes. I’ve double-checked my settings and connections and all that, but it keeps happening. Think you can fix it?”
“Probably. But I need more information.”
As he stood, arms folded over his chest, earphones dangling from his neck, baseball cap on backwards, Nikki elaborated about the ailments of her computer, all the while attempting to keep some space between her body and his. Which was difficult in normal situations. Here, at the desk, it was nearly impossible. Kevin was one of those people who stood a little too close, in her personal space, as if he couldn’t hear or see well, and it bugged Nikki. She was forever backing up when he was around or just allowing a few more inches of air between them. “So…what do you think? Can it be fixed?” she asked when she’d finished ragging on the machine.
“Dunno till I’ve checked it out.”
“Fine. I’ll do some research in the archives,” she said. “If you have any questions, call me on my cell or come get me…You’ve got the cell number?” He nodded and she felt a chill. “Did I already give it to you?” She couldn’t remember that she had.
“Nah. I got it from Celeste. She keeps those kind of things on file.”
Celeste the Incompetent.
“Why did you ask her for it?”
“I keep everyone’s,” Kevin explained. “That way, when I’m working on their computers, and they’re in the field or home, I can get hold of them.” He looked at her intently, as if she were a moron.
“I was just asking,” she said, snagging her purse and cell phone and leaving Kevin to work out the bugs in her system. It made her uncomfortable watching him sit at her desk, adjust his earphones over his head and roll her chair into her work space, but she wanted the computer fixed and Kevin was the only tech-head on board.
“Give him time, he’ll grow on you,” she told herself as she bought a Diet Coke at the machine in the lunchroom, popped the top and made her way down two flights of stairs to the library, where all of the records were stored and a computer that worked far better than hers was available. She was alone in the place and it was quiet as a tomb, one fluorescent light flickering overhead, concrete walls painted a dull gray and looking for all the world like the inside of a prison. No music down here. No clatter of keyboards, ringing phones or buzz of conversation. Just a few filing cabinets and half-empty bookshelves. The place had always given her a case of the wil
lies, and now with a serial killer on the loose, it seemed worse. Probably because it was so damned quiet. So isolated.
She settled into a squeaky chair and read through the archives, then did an Internet search on Reed once more. He was the key. She knew it. He was the cop called up to Dahlonega, he was the man involved with Bobbi Jean, he was the detective who flew by chopper to Blood Mountain. Because of Bobbi Jean Marx? But how did anyone know he had been involved with her? She made notes on a legal pad, including a reminder to ask Cliff why Reed was specifically called up there, then made a quick call to Cliff’s cell where, of course, she left a message, as he didn’t answer. “He’s evading you,” she said out loud and was surprised at the way her voice echoed in the cavernous room. Her insides tightened and she almost laughed at her case of nerves. “Get a grip,” she admonished herself. “It’s not even dark in here.” Just still. Noiseless. Cool, but airless.
Her cell phone beeped and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Caller ID showed it was the Savannah Police Department. Which surprised her. Cliff rarely called her on the department’s line. He was too paranoid that he’d be found out. Not paranoid. Cautious. He could lose his job, Nikki, all because of some misplaced sense of loyalty to Andrew and because he’s interested in you. You’ve always known it, so face up to it. Guilt riddled, she answered, “Nikki Gillette.”
“Pierce Reed.”
She froze. Reed was calling her. Quickly, she scrambled for her pen and paper. “Hello, Detective,” she said calmly, though her heart was racing. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been avoiding calling you back. You’ve left several messages.”
“Yes. I’d love to interview you. About the case.”
“So you’ve said.”
“You actually listened to the voice mails I’ve left?”
“All eight.”
“I wanted to talk to you before I went to press with anything. But I couldn’t wait forever. I’ve got deadlines.”
“So, that’s why I’m calling you now. I’ve changed my mind. I think we should talk.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. “When?”
“Tonight. After work. Say, seven, seven-thirty. Can you make it?”
“Sure.” She tried not to sound too eager, even though this seemed like a gift from heaven. An interview with the elusive detective. No, make that an exclusive interview. “What happened?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Why the change of heart?”
“I’ll explain it all when I see you.”
“When and where?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Johnny B’s Low Country Barbecue on I-80. It’s about a mile, maybe less, before you reach the bridge to Tybee Island. You know where it is?” In case she didn’t, he gave her the address.
“I’ll find it,” she said, writing down the name of the place on a scratch pad. “Seven-thirty.” She clicked off, felt a sense of elation and started to place the phone in her purse when she felt something. A change in the atmosphere, a cooler breath of air. Glancing over her shoulder she found Kevin, barely six inches from her. “Geez!” She jumped, knocking over the rest of her soda. “What is it with you always sneaking up on people?” She looked down at his crepe-soled shoes as she righted the can and dabbed at the spilled puddle of Diet Coke with a tissue she found in her purse.
“You were on the phone. I didn’t want to bother you.” For a second he looked wounded. But a second later, she saw a shaft of defiance in his eyes before his bland expression slipped into place. She’d always thought he was doped out, on something to keep him a little off; now, she wasn’t so sure.
“It’s all right. Let’s go upstairs. On the way, you can tell me about the computer.” Tossing the wet Kleenex into a wastebasket, she started for the steps. She didn’t want to be trapped down here with the weird guy a second longer than necessary.
“It’s working again.” Which was all she wanted to hear, but, of course, Kevin didn’t give up, began talking techno-speak all the way up the stairs to the newsroom floor. She couldn’t shake him as he followed her to her desk, then spent the next twenty minutes telling her in minute detail what he’d done to fix the damned thing. She wasn’t interested, but made a mental note to learn more about the machines so she didn’t have to depend on him. Maybe a class, or a copy of some basic manual like the Idiot’s Guide To All Things Tech-inc.
“Thanks, Kevin,” she said as he finally ambled off. He flashed her a smile that seemed boyish rather than diabolical and she called herself a fool for letting her imagination get away from her when it came to Tom Fink’s nephew.
Trina looked over the top of her cubicle. “Never leave me alone with that guy again.”
“You weren’t.” Nikki scanned the rest of the newsroom where reporters were plugged into their stations.
“He’s off, Nikki. All the while you were gone he was humming and singing to himself, oddball lyrics that didn’t make any sense. Kinda like kids’ poetry. I kept thinking he was talking to me.” She shuddered. “If you ask me, he’s more than a couple of cans shy of a six-pack.”
“I know, but he fixed my computer, that’s all I care about.”
“Well, next time don’t run and hide.”
Nikki flashed a smile. “Hey, Norm was at his desk. If Kevin put the moves on you or started acting strange, you could always rely on Metzger.”
“Oh, God, this place is a looney bin.” Trina’s eyes suddenly widened.
“Uh-oh, looks like you’ve got company.”
“What do you mean?” But she turned in her chair and spied Sean Hawke, all six feet two inches of him, standing at the front desk, leaning close to Celeste, while the flustered receptionist pointed toward Nikki’s desk. Sean caught Nikki’s eye and started walking toward her station. The years hadn’t hurt him. He was still fit and handsome, his hair still brushing the collar of a leather jacket, a goatee decorating his chin. Though he was inside and it was December, he was wearing tinted glasses that, she suspected, were more for effect than vision. The rest of his outfit included khakis, a tight sweater, black boots and a killer smile.
“Oh, my,” Trina said, and from the corner of her eye Nikki saw her friend pretend to fan herself. “That boy’s hot.”
“That boy’s trouble,” Nikki said under her breath, then stood as Sean reached her.
“I figured I’d find you here.”
“So, now you’re a detective.”
“And you’re still as sassy as ever.” He swung one leg over the top of her desk, pulling his jeans tight in his crotch, then grabbed a paperweight on her desk and began tossing it and catching it. That’s always the way he’d been, a bundle of nerves wrapped up in a sexy, masculine skin.
Nikki introduced Sean to Trina, who nearly melted at the sight of him. Just as Nikki had years before.
“You haven’t been returning my calls.”
“Sorry—no, that’s a lie. I’m not. I’ve been busy, Sean.”
“Too busy for an old friend.”
“One who dumped me twelve years ago.”
“Ouch.” He visibly winced. “My mistake.”
“Maybe not. It all worked out for the best.”
“Did it?” He looked up at her intensely with eyes that shifted in color. Years before, her heart had thumped wildly under his scrutinizing stare. Now, it bothered her in a different way. Once she’d found him sexy, now she found him troubling.
“What is it you want from me?”
“A date. Just a chance to catch up.”
“No reason. I’m working here. Where I was when you left.”
“But you graduated from college in the meantime. Came back to Savannah and seem to be making a name for yourself.”
She didn’t respond.
“I thought you might have married.”
“You thought wrong.”
“You’re not even going to ask about me, are you?” He tossed the paperweight into the air. Caught it deftly.
“I don’t think there’s any reason.”
“Not now.”
“Have you been?”
“Look, Sean, this is really none of your business and I’ve got work to do.”
“So, let’s meet for a drink when you get off.”
“Don’t you have somewhere you’re supposed to be?”
His grin slid from one side of his jaw to the other. “Not today.”
“This just isn’t a good idea.”
“One drink won’t kill you.” His smile was almost boyishly charming and there was the hint of the devil in his eyes, just as there had been way back when.
Her cell phone jangled and she said, “I really do have to go.”
As she reached for the phone, he grabbed her wrist. “I’ll call, Nikki.” Then he released her and from the other side of the partition she heard Trina whisper, “Oh, my.”
“You want him? You can have him,” Nikki said, watching as Sean sauntered out of the building, his faded jeans tight over his buttocks, his boot heels unworn, his jacket without a scratch. He was almost too perfect. And he’d broken her heart…The phone rang again and she answered. The call was from one of the women with the historical society making sure that Nikki had all the facts straight on a tour of homes that would be open during the Christmas season. Nikki double-checked the information, then hung up.
Finally, she was free to log on to her computer again. She’d been halfway through her E-mail earlier and now finished reading the new messages that were waiting. She was nearly done when she clicked on one with a subject line of GRAVE ROBBER STRIKES AGAIN. Though she didn’t recognize the return E-mail address, she clicked on the mail.
Her heart stopped. The newsroom faded into the background as she stared at the horrible images on her screen, pictures of four people—the victims of the Grave Robber, she felt certain—that disintegrated to bones before her eyes. The message was simple: