by Paula Graves
And yet, she heard another set of creaking noises, as if someone was walking around on the wooden porch outside.
Stop it, she told herself, backing away from the door. This isn’t some isolated warehouse and you’re not really alone.
But she held on to the pepper spray anyway.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW RUDE you were.” Cissy kept her voice low, glancing around the restaurant as if she thought her half-whispered rebuke might cause a scene.
Gabe felt a hint of guilt, but it was eclipsed by annoyance at his niece and, more to the point, the pretty little egghead who’d stirred up Cissy’s emotions about her mother’s murder. “I prefer to call it direct,” he answered tightly.
“Call it whatever you want. It was still uncalled for.”
“Know what else is uncalled for? Dragging someone across the state on false pretenses.” Gabe gave Cissy a pointed look.
“They weren’t false. They were…incomplete.”
Gabe fiddled with the salad fork lying beside his water glass. “Victor Logan killed your mother.” Even as he spoke the words aloud, doubt nagged at him, making the back of his neck prickle with unease.
“You don’t sound as convinced here as you did back at Alicia’s place,” Cissy murmured.
“You haven’t mentioned any of this to your dad, have you?”
Cissy looked horrified. “No! I’m not going to him with anything less than hard evidence. He’s been through enough pain over the years trying to find Mom’s killer.”
“So you called me instead.” Not that Cissy could understand just how hard the roller coaster of false leads and dashed hopes had been on him, too. She didn’t know just how intimately he was involved in the disaster of that night, how much blame he had earned with his selfish thoughtlessness.
“You’ve been there for my brother and me, as much as anyone. I knew you’d come if I called.” Cissy looked across the table at him, her expression softening. “I trust your judgment about this particular topic.”
“Except when I disagree with your theories,” he added with an indulgent smile.
She grinned. “Exactly.”
The waitress arrived to take their orders. Cissy had chosen one of the higher-end restaurants in town, although in a place like Millbridge, Alabama, high-end was relative. A snowy linen tablecloth covered the small window-side table where they sat, their seats overlooking a moonlit garden partially obscured by their reflection bouncing back at them on the picture window. The flatware was stainless steel, but clean and shiny, free of nicks and stains.
At least the menu was unpretentious. Home cooking, plenty of options. Gabe selected a steak and vegetable plate, though he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry at the moment, thanks to Cissy’s ambush.
Cissy ordered cheese fries.
“As the apparent stand-in for your father, I have to tell you that cheese fries are almost completely lacking in nutritional value,” he said after the waitress departed.
“Cheese has protein,” she defended. “Besides, I’m feeling strangely in need of comfort food.”
Reaching across the table, he patted her hand. “That’s my fault, isn’t it?”
Her brow wrinkled. “Not everything’s your fault, you know.”
But it was, he thought. More than she realized. “You want to go back there tonight?” he asked. “Finish what we started?”
“Yes,” she answered simply.
“What do you know about this Alicia person, anyway? What’s her deal?”
Cissy gave him an odd look. “Her deal?”
“What made her decide to look into cold cases in the first place?”
“I don’t know, exactly. She was already working on her thesis when I took my first lab with her.”
“What kind of labs does she teach?” When Gabe had been in school, the labs he’d attended were usually limited to either the hard sciences or language classes. Of course, he had pretty much avoided the social sciences like the plague. His major had been marine biology, with a focus on freshwater ecosystems. Gave him a head start on figuring out where to find the bass when he was fishing a tournament.
“She’s helping the head of the psychology department develop research labs for criminal investigations. For instance, she and another grad student, Marlon, are spending a lot of their time working up a set of protocols to quantify the likelihood of a violence-prone individual to escalate to sadistic murder.”
Gabe grimaced. “Tell me you’re not helping with that one.”
“I’m not. You have to be a senior or a grad student to participate.” The waitress arrived with Cissy’s cheese fries, assuring Gabe his steak was on the way. Gabe took notice of her this time. She was tall, on the curvy side, with a wide, smiling mouth and eyes the color of dark chocolate. She didn’t look like Brenda, but there was something about her that reminded Gabe of his sister-in-law.
What little appetite he’d had fled.
“What’s the matter?” Cissy asked after the waitress left.
“Nothing.”
Cissy followed his gaze as he tracked the waitress’ departure. “She’s pretty. A little old for you, though. And I think she was wearing a wedding ring—”
Gabe looked across the table at his niece. “She reminded me of someone.”
“Mom?”
“A little,” he admitted.
“Not that much. She’s just on your mind. She’s on mine, too.” Cissy picked at the plate of cheese fries in front of her, swirling one thin strip of potato in the gooey sauce. “Some days, I barely remember her, and others, it’s like I’m right there, curled up in my bed, listening to her read me a story.” A hint of a smile curved her pink lips. “Our favorite was Sam, Bangs and Moonshine. So mysterious and adventurous. A good lesson about the consequences of lies, too.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have had to go through life without your mama.” I shouldn’t have let it happen, he added silently.
Cissy pushed her plate of cheese fries across the table, an unconscious echo of her mother’s habit of offering comfort through the distraction of food. In a family that included five active males under the age of thirty at the time, it had often proved a successful ploy. “I know this may seem like a long shot to you—”
“I just don’t know if your father can bear another let-down.” Gabe gently pushed the plate back toward her. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You may have to.” Cissy met his gaze directly, her expression deadly serious. Gabe realized, in that instant, that his little niece had grown up without his realizing it. How had that happened?
“Why’s that?” he asked aloud.
Cissy leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Because the murders are still happening.”
THE MOON EMERGED FROM BEHIND a wispy cloud, casting a pale blue glow across the front lawn of the Bellewood Manor Apartments. The real estate website was right—it did look like history come to life. He could almost imagine a parade of silly Southern belles strolling along the length of the porch, flirting and flitting and behaving generally like the weak little sheep they were.
He was safely across the street now, hidden by the limber fronds of a willow tree. He’d taken a chance earlier, walking right up to her front door. He’d been careful to stay out of range of the security peephole, though she would have seen him easily enough had she looked out the window.
But she wouldn’t look. For all her hardheaded determination to solve the mystery she’d uncovered, Alicia Solano was scared. Scared she fit the victim profile.
Scared she would be next.
Well, she did fit the profile. She was a curvy brunette with a strong, independent streak just screaming for a take down. Hell, sometimes, he wanted to do it himself.
But that wasn’t his job. He was the scout, not the hunter. That was Alex’s job.
And Alex didn’t take foolish chances.
Alicia wouldn’t be the next victim. Not here, surrounded by people who could hear or see something an
d share it with the cops. The next victim worked at a convenience store on Route 7, a cashier who could go a whole six-hour evening shift without seeing a soul now that the bypass to the interstate was completed, diverting traffic away from the dying store.
She would close up at eleven, no doubt relieved to be done with the mind-numbing shift. Her only thought would be of heading home, her mind already full of the things she had to do before she could finally go to bed and get a well-earned night of sleep before dragging herself to her first morning class.
Useless ponderings, of course. She’d never make it to bed.
She’d never even make it out of the store.
By midnight, she’d be dead.
Chapter Three
She heard footsteps on the front porch.
Alicia looked up from the files spread out in front of her, reaching for the aluminum softball bat she’d fetched from the bedroom. Unlike the previous time, these steps were swift and strong. Two sets, moving at a determined pace.
She rose, her heart pounding. She tightened her grip on the bat until her fingers ached.
The steps were almost at her door.
Stop. Just stop. You live in an apartment building, you hyper-excitable idiot. This isn’t where he does his work.
She put the bat down beside the sofa and forced her feet toward the front door, looking through the security peephole. Her body buzzed with relief at the sight of Gabe Cooper’s impossibly broad shoulders and stubborn chin distorted by the fish-eye lens.
She waited for his knock before opening the door. He blinked, as if surprised by her quick response.
“Is it all right that we’re back?” he asked, not bothering with any sort of customary greeting.
They weren’t friends, she reminded herself, nor likely to be. This was business.
“Of course.” She backed up, letting him and Cissy inside.
Gabe crossed to the sofa and stopped, looking down at the bat and back up at her. “Worried about intruders?”
Alicia grabbed the bat. “Just seeing if I still have my home run swing,” she joked, not wanting him to know how spooked she’d been only moments earlier.
“Cissy told me about the two new murders.” Gabe sat on the sofa and gave her a look of pure, stubborn-male challenge. “I’d like to know why you think they’re connected to Brenda’s.”
Alicia felt her own bulldog side snapping inside her head, but she held the beast back as she set the bat carefully aside and sat on the ottoman. Cissy stayed a little apart from the fray, her arms crossed and her gaze watchful. She’d done her part, getting Gabe here to talk to Alicia. But she clearly wasn’t going to take Alicia’s side against her uncle.
Like Gabe before her, Alicia didn’t bother with a preamble. “On January 22nd of this year, a coed named Meredith Linden was working at a television repair shop in Blicksville, about ten miles from here. She did their books, reconciled receipts, that sort of thing, and because she was attending college during the day, she worked at night. She lived off campus in an apartment by herself, so nobody noticed she didn’t come home. The owners of the repair shop found her body the next morning. She’d been raped, then stabbed several times, laid on her back and left to die. No fingerprints left, no DNA from the rape.”
Gabe met her gaze, unflinching. “Next?”
She felt herself grinding her back teeth. Forcing her jaw to relax, she continued. “On March 12th, Addison Moore was cleaning a small office in Pekoe, out near the railroad tracks. Also a college student, also going to school by day and cleaning at night after the business closed and her classes ended. Her roommate got worried when she didn’t show up at ten, as she usually did. She found Addison’s body in the first floor lobby, stabbed several times and positioned on her back.”
Alicia sat back, glancing from Gabe to Cissy, who gave a small shrug. She looked back at Gabe, who was watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.
“Two dead coeds in similar crime scenes and similar circumstances in the same town is possibly a sign you have a serial killer working here,” Gabe conceded, his jaw set in concrete. Alicia could see a spark of triumph in his eyes, as if he’d just proved to himself that his instincts were right, that these recent murders weren’t connected to Brenda Cooper’s death or the slayings of the other women chronicled in Victor Logan’s barbecued scrapbook.
She was pretty sure she knew why Gabe had dismissed her presentation as irrelevant, but she pressed him on the question anyway. “What about the similarities in the killer’s M.O.?”
“Ms. Solano, your two coeds have to be a good four or five years younger than any of Victor Logan’s victims. Victims in their mid-to late twenties are clearly part of Logan’s signature. M.O.s change. Signatures don’t. I’d think someone doing her dissertation on serial killers would know that already.”
She ignored the mild condescension, because she had him exactly where she wanted him. “They weren’t four or five years younger. Meredith Linden was twenty-eight. Addison Moore was twenty-nine. Both brunettes, just like the other victims. Curvy women, like the others.”
Gabe’s eyes shifted, his gaze dropping to her body as if searching for her own curves. They were camouflaged by the plain skirt and loose-fitting blouse she’d chosen from her closet this morning, but she could tell he was seeing beyond the shapeless clothing and picturing what lay below.
“Now do you understand?” Cissy asked her uncle.
He looked at her, his brow wrinkled. “There’s never been any evidence in Brenda’s murder that would suggest a second killer, Cissy. Evidence matters, too.”
“There aren’t two killers,” Alicia said. “Just one.”
Gabe swung his puzzled gaze her way. “You said you thought Victor was one of the killers.”
“He’s not one of the killers. Just one of the people involved.” Alicia could see his skepticism growing. “Look, Cissy says you’re a deputy, so I know you probably know this—sometimes there are serial killer pairs. Some of the time they both kill, but sometimes, the weaker of the two—the beta—only aids the killer by doing things like taking care of his kit or acting as a lookout. And sometimes, they just help the killer stalk the victims to pick the right time to strike. I think that was the case for Victor Logan. And I think now our killer has a new wingman.”
“Interesting theory.” He cut his eyes toward his niece. “Not one I find particularly plausible, but—”
“I don’t need you to believe it,” Alicia conceded grudgingly, although a little openness to hearing her theories would have been nice. “I just need—”
“Yeah, that’s another thing I’ve been wondering,” Gabe interrupted. “What do you need me for? Cissy probably knows everything I know about the murders. Maybe more, since she’s apparently been making them a subject of study.”
Alicia looked up at Cissy, an apology in her eyes. “Cissy doesn’t know what it was like to find Brenda’s body. You do. And that’s why I need to talk to you.”
Gabe shook his head quickly. “I’m not rehashing all of that with you. Certainly not with Cissy here.”
“I’ve read your statement to the Chickasaw County deputies,” Cissy said.
He looked up at his niece, his expression wary. “It’s not the same as hearing it.”
“Actually, what I’m hoping we can do is go a step beyond your statement,” Alicia said, her stomach tightening into a fist-sized knot. What she was going to suggest was invasive under the best of circumstances, and this definitely wasn’t the best of circumstances. “I think we should try hypnotic regression.”
Gabe’s hard gaze whipped around to flood her with molten fury. “You’re nuts.”
“Uncle Gabe—” Cissy warned.
Gabe pushed to his feet. “You want to play some sort of mind game with me so you can make a nice score on your paper? Too bad. I’m not playing. I’m done here.” He moved around the coffee table and strode angrily toward the door.
Cissy caught up with him before Alicia. “I know it�
��s a lot to ask, and I know it’s not something a lot of people are comfortable taking part in—”
Gabe interrupted with a hard laugh. “I hope you and Ms. Solano find what you’re looking for. I really do. But you’re going to have to count me out.”
Alicia caught Cissy’s arm when she was about to argue further. “Thank you for hearing me out,” she said sincerely. It was more than she’d had a right to hope for. “I’m sure Cissy will be in touch if we find anything new your brother needs to know about. And if you think of anything, here’s my card.” She pulled one of her business cards from the desk near the door, handing it to Gabe.
He tucked it into his pocket.
Alicia unlocked the front door and opened it for him. “Thank you,” she said again.
“I’ll walk you to the truck,” Cissy suggested.
Gabe turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. “No. You go home, lock the doors and be safe. I may not think your mother’s killer is still at work around here, but someone is. You be careful.” To Alicia’s surprise, Gabe’s blistering blue gaze turned to meet hers, softening as he dropped his voice a tone. “You, too.” His eyes dropped, taking in her well-camouflaged figure as if he could see right through her clothes.
Heat rose in her cheeks. “Will do.”
Then he was gone, broad shoulders and long legs disappearing into the darkening night.
“I’m sorry,” Cissy murmured. “I guess I knew it would be a long shot.”
Alicia gave the taller girl a hug. “He’s right, though. Go home. Get some sleep. Lock your doors.”
She watched until Cissy was safely inside the apartment two doors down, then stepped back into her own place and locked the doors behind her.
Gabe Cooper had looked her over. More than once. So he’d seen it, too. The obvious.
She walked slowly into her bedroom and unbuttoned her blouse, letting the garment slide to her feet. Next came the skirt, left where it lay as she crossed to her closet door and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror bolted to the door. Her dark eyes stared back, wide with the anxiety she tried to hide from the world.