Who the heck was she kidding? Emma was a recluse and all that was missing were the cats and the hoarding tendencies.
“I can see that, Sheriff. I apologize for digging into your personal life. I’m curious by nature, and when I have a question, I generally just ask. It’s the element of the job, I guess.” Croft attempted to sound casual with his response. God, he hoped he was pulling it off. How did he explain to this woman, that in his gut, he honestly believed that they belonged together?
It was pure insanity, and he knew it.
This had to be a sign of impending burnout.
That was the only logical solution, since he’d known her less than an hour.
Sheriff Starling and Special Agent Croft walked the remainder of the distance to the deputies and Agent Briggs in silence. Once they arrived, she promptly dropped to her knees to examine what the men had found. They were definitely men’s prints because they were far too large to be a woman’s. She grabbed the measuring tape out of her kit and took the dimensions. In her mind, she calculated the shoe size. “It looks like our stalker is a size thirteen.”
“What if they’re from a woman?” asked Deputy Marshall.
The agent answered for her. “They definitely look to be a man’s tracks,” said Briggs, trying not to offend the sheriff any more than he had already. “It’s definitely not sneakers. There aren’t tread marks.” Briggs stood up. “They had to be some sort of dress shoe.”
They all stared down at their own shoes and their eyes went to Agent Croft’s feet. He was the only one wearing dress shoes. “Don’t look at me. I’m a size fifteen.”
Emma laughed. “I think he was referring to us checking out the bottom of your shoe,” she replied, winking at him teasingly. “But thank you for sharing that little detail with us.”
Croft immediately lifted his foot to show them the smooth surface. The heat was creeping up his neck from the wink she gave him and the comment. His entire body went from warm to hot in seconds.
“Yep, it had to be dress shoes. Do you see how the bottoms of Agent Croft’s shoes are flat?” Briggs then looked at his shoes, they were loafers, but there was still ridges and detailing.
“Okay, so our killer likes dress shoes,” said Emma. “And we know his size. Let’s just start rounding up anyone with a size thirteen and you boys can head back to Philly,” she joked.
Croft laughed. “Easiest case in my career, yet.”
Emma went serious again and started considering the details. “By process of elimination, we know that the tracks weren’t made by the victim. We found her heels. I had on these boots yesterday when I was back here looking for the phone.” She looked at Deputy Marshall. “Tommy what shoes were you wearing?”
Everyone glanced over at the young man.
“Well, Sheriff, I’m working a double. This is what I was wearing last night while I was here with you. Since it was just the two of us, you can remove me from your list,” he teased wickedly, “but I will go on the record. I’m a size thirteen too. Thank God, you’re my alibi. Being called a killer might cramp my dating style.”
Emma nodded, laughing. “Thanks, Tommy.”
For some reason it irritated Croft to have anyone smiling at the sheriff. Compound that with the fact he was here with her last night and his blood pressure began rising. He had to beat down the insanity surrounding irrational jealousy filling him. Croft had just met her for God’s sake. What was his problem?
Emma pointed at all her deputies. “I’ll need all your shoe sizes, boys. We need to make sure none of us contaminated these tracks.”
The men started calling out their shoe sizes, and Briggs added them to his tablet.
Agent Croft crouched down, pointing at the marks. “See how they look like he had paced back and forth?” added the man. “He was impatiently waiting for the victim. It looked like he walked around a while, but then at some point he stayed in one spot. See how everything is crushed around the prints, and how the front of the print is pushed more into the soft dirt? The killer was eventually crouched down on the balls of his feet to keep hidden, much like I am now. It was most likely right before he attacked her.”
Everyone was looking at the prints and Briggs was taking pictures when Deputy Reese called her over.
“Emma, come here!” he yelled from a short distance away.
She cringed, turning to walk to Reese and disregarding the speculative stare from the senior agent.
He was amused that the woman looked irritated at the use of her name. Something about that flash of temper he saw on her face reassured him. Croft followed her, smugly smiling.
“What is it Reese?” she asked, reaching his side.
“Here’s another set of prints. They look exactly the same as the first print, but look at the grass around them. It’s not dead yet.”
Emma touched a blade of crushed grass. She then realized that her feelings of being observed last night weren’t crazy. He had been there watching them. The killer had indeed returned to the scene of the crime. But what was he looking for?
Another victim?
Any evidence?
The phone…
“Son of a bitch,” she swore, standing. “He was here last night. That bastard was sitting right here as we searched for that cell phone. He came back for it! There wasn’t anything else missing from Megan Landry.” She turned and looked at Croft. “We need these woods searched. There might be something he left behind to give away his identity.”
“Good idea, Sheriff. How many deputies do you have available?” asked Croft
“I have four on duty, myself, you, and Briggs.” She answered. “I can call in the rest if need be. The area behind ‘The Crossing’ isn’t that big. If we break it up, we can get it done in the next hour or two.”
Croft nodded, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his dress shirt, and slipping off his tie. He was prepared to get sweaty and dirty.
She faced Reese and Marshall. “Please get Ridge and Mason. We need to spread out and check the woods for anything that looks out of place.” Emma turned to Croft, who had remained quiet the entire time. “We better get moving. It’s going to get hot in a few hours, and I’d rather not be standing in a marsh at high noon.”
“I’m with you there,” answered Croft.
“Do you want to change into something a little less,” she paused, her eyes scanning up and down his sexy suit clad body. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the man in the tailored suit, she did. But they were about to trudge into the woods. “Formal?” she finished.
Croft grinned. “Worried I can’t keep up with you, Sheriff Starling? I’ll be fine. Lead the way.”
Emma shrugged. His dry cleaning bill was none of her concern. She simply snapped open the holster on her gun and started into the trees. “Try not to get lost, Agent Croft.”
It was when she tipped her head and sincerely smiled at him, that he was completely thrown off balance. His entire world tilted and his stomach flipped.
Briggs stared at his partner and almost wanted to laugh. The woman was openly challenging Croft. This was going to be fun to watch as long as no one ended up maimed or hurt in the crossfire.
Greyson Croft waited until she wandered off into the woods before turning to his partner, “Stay on one side of our good Sheriff, and I’ll get the other. I don’t like the idea of her drifting around aimlessly in the trees looking for a killer, like she was last night.” Croft reached under his arm and unsnapped his own shoulder holster.
“She’ll be pissed if she hears you say that Croft. I’m pretty sure that she can take care of herself,” reassured Briggs with a grin. Nothing rattled Special Agent Croft, but the gorgeous sheriff certainly had big time. Obeying the senior agent’s directions, he planted himself on one side of Sheriff Starling as they made their way through the densest part of ‘The Crossing’.
His voice remained low. “Then don’t let her know what we’re doing.” With that, Croft took off his suit jacket, tossing it onto the
nearby rock and headed for the trees after the woman who was obviously going to be his downfall.
* * *
So, they were going to look in the woods for The Hunter?
Just the idea entertained him. This was his domain. No woman sheriff and her lackey men would find him out here. This is where he stalked his prey.
It looked like it was time to screw with Sheriff Starling and scare the hell out of her once and for all.
He was there to purify and cleanse the town from the trash that lived there. This was his game, and that bitch wouldn’t stop his plans for the challenges ahead.
Tonight, he’d get the next woman, making her pay for her vile tendencies.
But first, he needed to teach the woman in the woods a little lesson on who was going to win this in the end. He had the perfect way to do it too.
He wondered if the sheriff would like having blood on her hands for the world to see…
* * *
After wandering through the dense thicket for two hours, searching for signs of the killer, the only thing they found were footprints matching the ones found at the edge of the clearing. It appeared to be nothing but a colossal waste of their time.
As they moved through the trees, Emma was blatantly aware that she’d earned two tails--both being FBI agents. She wasn’t sure if she should get angry or all hot and bothered by the close proximity of Agent Croft.
Emma was pretty sure it was the latter.
Hot, sweaty, and tired, they all headed back to the clearing to end the search. Enough was enough for one day. What they needed now was to regroup and reevaluate the footprints and the next point of attack.
Emma was glad she had chosen to wear a tank top to work that day. It was quite possibly hotter than hell outside. Immediately, she was feeling sorry for the deputies and the FBI agents. Watching Croft work his way through the trees had been entertaining and a big turn on for her. The man moved like a big sleek cat, and she kept finding herself wondering if he’d strip out of his shirt.
She was borderline obsessed with it.
Sue her!
She was a woman in the prime of her life, and the man was a fine specimen of masculinity. She was filled with intense disappointment that he remained covered the entire time. Oddly enough, Agent Croft looked unaffected by the heat. He had a little glistening perspiration on his face, and his sleeves were now rolled up, but other than that, he looked nice and cool.
Just like those hypnotic eyes.
Emma was the first person to break into the clearing. She waited for the men, heading to the cooler in the back of the Jeep for some water bottles to cool them down. They all followed her to the vehicles.
“Are you hanging in there, Agent Briggs?” she asked, noticing that the younger of the two FBI agents was looking the worse for the wear.
“I’ll live. I don’t have a military background. Trudging in this heat is hell.”
Croft grinned at his partner. “Don’t be a wuss, Curtis,” he teased, busting the man. “I’m almost old enough to be your father. Suck it up.”
Emma laughed with them. Over the last two hours, it was easy to see that the men had a really good working relationship. Agent Croft would continually check on his partner, offering him information and guiding him as a mentor. Agent Briggs was taking it all in willingly, obviously wanting to be just like the older agent.
“Good job on not bitching and moaning the entire time,” added Emma. “I tend to abuse my deputies when they whine like babies,” she grinned at him. She was duly impressed. Neither man complained once. In fact, they kept up the brutal pace she set.
“Anyone thirsty?” she asked, glancing over at the sweaty men. All six raised their hands in eager anticipation. Emma was more than happy to oblige them with a liquid reward. She flipped the lid of the large cooler open, reaching in to get the bottles of water. She pulled the first one out, preparing to toss it to the first deputy, when she saw the faces suddenly change from smiles to looks of concern.
“Emma, are you cut?” blurted Deputy Marshall, rushing toward her.
“No …” And then she looked down to see what they were talking about.
It was as if time froze still all around her as the horror all rushed back, slamming into her.
Croft quickly turned, staring down at the water bottle in her hand, his heart skipping in his chest.
Emma couldn’t breathe.
All of the sudden, she was back in Philadelphia and in an apartment with all the blood surrounding her. Forcing herself back to the here and now, she refocused on the bottle and bloody hand. “What the…?” she asked, dropping the bottle onto the ground before taking a step back from it. The revulsion was evident on her face.
Reese and the senior agent stepped forward immediately.
Agent Croft grabbed her arm and began checking to see if she was injured. His large hands delicately slid across her skin, and when he was finished, he stared into her shock filled eyes. “It’s okay. The blood isn’t yours,” Croft reassured, softly.
She nodded, saying nothing.
There was more hidden in her eyes than just what was going on in the moment. Her face was shrouded with horror and pure terror. It was the look of a victim, and he should know, he’d seen many in his time in the FBI.
Reese moved to the cooler and peeked inside. He bit off a curse, closing the lid and turning to the sheriff.
“What is it?” inquired Briggs.
“Emma, don’t look in there.” He was seriously pissed that someone was screwing with her.
They all watched Briggs lift the lid, and then close it once he checked on the situation. Immediately, the agent began slipping on a pair of rubber gloves to process the evidence.
“What the hell is in there, Reese?” Emma tried to pull away from Croft, who wouldn’t relent.
“Somebody replaced the water with blood. The cooler is filled with it,” replied the deputy. “It looks like someone wanted to give you a scare.” They seemed to accomplish what they wanted. He could tell that the tactic had been effective. Emma definitely looked rattled.
“Please let me go,” she whispered to the agent, pulling her arm away from him as she stared down at his now blood-covered hands. She had to hold it together in front of everyone. There was no way in hell she was going to get sick in front of her deputies, or Agent Croft for that matter. Emma kept reassuring herself repeatedly that it was going to be okay.
“Sheriff,” replied Croft, having her look up into his eyes. There was terror still there. It rocked his entire body to the core that she was hurting over this, and he didn’t know why.
“I’m okay,” she promised, lying her ass off. As she approached the cooler, Briggs opened it, so she wouldn’t contaminate the crime scene with her ungloved hands.
Inside, the water bottles were all covered in a sickly coating of red. Emma took a step back, nodding at Agent Briggs that she’d seen enough. Immediately, she walked to the ditch closest to the Jeep.
Agent Croft moved towards her, sure that she was going to be sick over what she found inside the cooler. Instead, he was surprised when he reached her side and Emma was staring into the ravine.
“That bastard,” she stated, glancing up into the agent’s eyes.
He had to agree with her there. In the ditch was a dead raccoon. Its throat had been cut, and it was eviscerated. There was no doubt about what else would be floating in the cooler with the blood and the water bottles. The critter hadn’t had a chance.
“Well, shit,” he muttered, touching her bloody hand with his, offering her support.
Emma turned her face towards the deputies and Agent Briggs. They were staring at her speculatively, waiting to see how she was going to react. It occurred to her that they assumed she went to the ditch to be sick. She ignored it, holding up the best she could. Her one solace was allowing herself a moment of weakness as she stayed connected to Agent Croft--fingers locked together. The reassuring squeeze from him allowed her to find the words, getting t
hem freed from the ice forming in her chest.
The blood was back on her hands.
It found her again.
“Emma, are you okay?” inquired Deputy Reese, trying not to notice the man beside her, holding her hand.
“He was here while we were in the woods,” she said, looking from deputy to deputy, and then the agents. “That SOB was here.”
Curtis Briggs offered up another scenario. “Now maybe this happened before you came to the clearing, ma’am. It was quite possible that this was done earlier.”
She stared at him blankly.
“Emma, walk me through your morning. What did you do before you got here?” demanded Croft, using her name to get her to focus on him and not the dead animal and the blood in the cooler. It had the effect he wanted. She looked directly at him with her eyes refocusing.
In her mind, she replayed the morning, still clinging to the man beside her. If she released his hand, she feared slipping into a moment of hysteria. “I woke up and had breakfast. I loaded up the cooler with water bottles, and then drove to the office. I wrangled up the deputies, and sent them here while I stopped for ice at the grocery store in town. I went out to my Jeep, opened the cooler, and dropped the ice in. I clearly remember looking into the container, counting the bottles and wondering if I was going to need more water or not. I closed the lid and then hopped in to meet my men here.”
Her voice held no emotion, but her eyes told a very different story. “You never left the cooler unattended until you got here?” inquired Croft, running his thumb over the pulse in her wrist. It pounded erratically, giving away her terror.
“No, I didn’t.”
Then they had eliminated the possibility that the killer stalked her elsewhere. It had to be here. “Then it looks like our killer, or some sick practical joker was here today.”
When he released her hand, she stared down at her free fingers, coated in drying blood.
Celestia is Falling (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 1) Page 7