Dead Moon Rising

by Dead Moon Rising [Siren Menage Everlasting, American Heroes- South Dakota] (lit)

  “No, my uncle told me earlier today when I called him that he thinks my alternator’s going bad.” She snorted with frightened, nervous laughter. “Gone bad. The lights started going dim, then it just died.”

  “I’ll call you a tow truck. Wait here.” He returned to his cruiser, ran her info on his computer, and found out she was clean. Then he called for a tow, and that’s where the bad news started.

  * * * *

  The darkness had totally faded from her system. Yes, he’d scared the crap out of her at first, so badly she might have piddled her pants just a little, but the hunky brown-haired trooper’s blue eyes and friendly smile set her at ease once her heart slowed. He meant safety.

  He would get her off this road so whoever was in that dark sedan wouldn’t stumble across her.

  He returned, a frown on his handsome face. “The guy on rotation tonight is having problems with his truck, and there’s no one else available. I can get you back to Mitchell before he even gets on the road.” He glanced through her back window again and apparently noticed her stuff crammed inside. “Moving?”

  She nodded, and that’s when she broke down in tears again. “I’m almost broke. I won’t have enough for a hotel room and to get it fixed and a new alternator. I’m moving to Florida to live with my uncle.” She felt pitiful enough, no pride left, might as well admit it. “I don’t know what I’m going to do!”

  “Just calm down, Miss Aston,” he soothed as he returned her license and registration. “You were pretty upset when I found you. What’s going on?”

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “I’m a trooper who works a stretch of road that sees crazy in a big way every year during Sturgis. Trust me, I’ve probably seen it all.”

  She smoothed her hands over her arms to sooth the creeping gooseflesh as she recounted the dark sedan.

  “Where did you see the sedan exactly?” he asked. “When you stopped for gas?”

  She dug her credit card receipt out of her center console. The gas station’s address was printed on the slip. “There’s the exit. He was also heading east. I saw him pulled up behind an RV rig a few miles back when I went by. Looked like they had a flat tire. Truck and trailer.” She tried to laugh it off. “You know, it’s probably just my nerves and an overactive imagination.”

  She didn’t like how he frowned. “Why don’t you gather what you need and any valuables from your car, lock it, and come with me? I know a place you can stay tonight. We’ll get your keys to Tom, the wrecker driver.”

  She sniffled. “I only have like eight hundred total. I can’t afford a motel. I was just going to drive straight through to Florida and sleep in my car at rest areas.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just get your things.” She didn’t like how he suddenly scanned the area, as if on high alert.

  That did worry her. “What’s wrong?”

  He frowned. “Let’s just say you aren’t the only one with intuition issues, ma’am.”

  * * * *

  Del called for someone to check out the broken-down RV rig, but the closest unit was sixty miles away in the opposite direction. He was the only one available, and he didn’t dare risk taking her with him. He got her and her things loaded into the back seat of his cruiser, called John to wake him up, and raced home to Mitchell in record time.

  John had left the front light on and stepped outside, using his cane, when he heard the cruiser in the drive.

  Del let her out of the back seat and helped her with her things. “Sarah Aston, this is John Riley, South Dakota Highway Patrol, retired.”

  She nodded, looking weary. “How do you do? Thank you for opening your home to me like this. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am.”

  John smirked. “You didn’t tell her, Del?”

  “I’m in a bit of a rush. I need to get back out and check another vehicle.”

  “Tell me what?” she asked.

  John smiled. “Our home, not mine. Del and I live together.”

  After Del got her things out of his car, he handed John the keys to her car. “Tom will come by for them in a little while.”

  John frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”

  He glanced at Sarah, as she’d insisted he call her, then back to him. “I hope I’m wrong, but it may be a new moon issue,” he softly explained.

  John grimly nodded. “Then get back out there and stay safe.”

  * * * *

  Sarah watched the men interact, feeling embarrassed by the way she almost spied on them as they kissed good-bye, and envious that they were so obviously in love. The way John brushed his fingers down the other man’s arm, briefly, but with more than a hint of subtle longing. The way Del’s eyes lingered on John’s face.

  That, and her intuition screamed at her that they were good men and their home was a safe haven.

  For once, she welcomed that damn freaky inner voice.

  Inside, John offered her a sweet smile. “Can I make you anything to eat?”

  She shook her head. “I’m so nervous I’d probably throw it up.”

  He helped her schlep her stuff into the guest room. The tidy house felt homey and lived in, warm and inviting, much like John. A handmade quilt in rust and turquoise covered the double bed. “The bathroom’s across the hall there.” He pointed. “There’s fresh towels under the sink. Make yourself at home.”

  She nodded, then jumped at the sound of a knock on the front door. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  She felt something swirl through her intuition, but nothing major, and nothing to do with John. She heard the front door open and John greet someone, the muffled sound of a woman’s voice, then the door shut again and a vehicle drove away. He returned.

  “That was Tom’s sister, Cindy. He’s the wrecker driver on call tonight. He sent her over to get your keys while he’s trying to get his truck running.” He leaned in the doorway, the picture of ease in a T-shirt and jeans, barefoot. He had short sandy hair, just long enough to run your fingers through, and deep caramel-colored eyes. “You all right?”

  She sank to the bed and nodded. “I’m sorry to put you all out like this.”

  “It’s no trouble, sweetie. So you’re heading to Florida?”

  “Yeah. Miami. That’s where my uncle lives.”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “Graphic artist. Mostly web design. I work freelance.” She sighed. “I told everyone I’d be out of touch for about a week, but this really messes me up.”

  He seemed to perk up at that. “You have a portfolio?”

  Weary, she nodded and pulled out one of her laptops to show him.

  He smiled as he looked through some of her past projects. “You looking to make some extra money?”

  From his tone of voice and expression, she realized this was a good thing. Then a rare wave of positive vibes flowed through her, one of the few times she enjoyed her little gift. “Depends on what you have in mind.”

  He crooked his finger at her to follow him and led her down the hallway into another bedroom. This was obviously his home office, and she nearly nerdgasmed at the sight of the three large flat-screen monitors on one desk, along with the server tower in one corner.

  “I run a software company and do some web design of my own,” he explained. “I could use an in-house graphic artist.” He smiled again, and part of her heart melted. “After you leave, we could still work together. My entire staff telecommutes. You game?”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  He sat at the desk and fired up his computer. “Pull up that chair over there.” She did, and a few minutes later she realized the worst night of her life had turned into the best.

  “You’re Riley Development? I love your CMS system! I’ve set it up for clients before.”

  He smiled. “I’m flattered. Most people, including Del, their eyes start glazing over long before now. It was always my hobby while I still worked, then I turned it into a full-time living after I retired.” />
  She shook her head. “No, seriously, I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass. This…I can’t believe this!”

  He extended his hand. “Then let’s let you get some sleep because you start work tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  John settled in his bedroom with the TV tuned to HBO and the phone on his chest. This could work out really well. Poor kid still acted nervous as hell, but he definitely wouldn’t mind her hanging around for a few days or longer. She seemed really nice.

  Really cute.

  He tried to focus on the movie and couldn’t. Del had bounced his theory about the New Moon Killer off him in hopes John could punch holes in it.

  The problem was he couldn’t. And he had a feeling the girl now trying to sleep in their guest room had barely escaped becoming the next victim.

  All he could do was wait for Del’s call.

  Chapter Two

  Del called in his status to base and floored it westbound away from Mitchell. He had no traffic in front of him to make it worth putting on his flashing lights.

  That might warn his quarry.

  He pushed the cruiser over a hundred as he counted off mile markers. He hadn’t seen any cars heading east, only two semis.

  He quickly passed her disabled car and pressed the accelerator a little harder, switching to high beams as he raced down the highway.

  Ten minutes later, he came up on the truck and RV.

  No sedan.

  Now with his jackpot lights on, he called it in to base and tried to ease his racing heart as he made a u-turn and pulled in behind the rig. The truck’s emergency flashers blinked eerily in the darkness, and the driver had set out a triangular reflector. He stayed far enough back that he could see the impression in the gravel shoulder of where another car had parked.

  No sign of life. He activated the PA and keyed the mic. “Attention driver, this is the South Dakota Highway Patrol. Please open your door slowly.”

  No response from the rig.

  He chirped his siren at them on the snowball’s chance they might have slept through his announcement. “Attention driver. South Dakota Highway Patrol. Please step out of your vehicle.”

  No response.

  He updated base and pulled on his gloves before he stepped out of his cruiser. For the second time that night—and a rarity to begin with—he unsnapped his holster and kept his hand on it. He used his flashlight to examine the trailer as he walked down the shoulder along the driver’s side.

  One of the rear driver side tires on the RV was flat. That agreed with Sarah’s story.

  The back seat of the large crew cab had been packed full with stuff. Probably retired snowbirds heading out before the Sturgis invasion and the end of summer he guessed, based on the Pennington County, South Dakota, license plates, and bumper stickers for Key West and Marathon, Florida. They probably hailed from around Rapid City.

  The cab was empty of people. Keeping one hand firmly on the butt of his gun, he used the hand holding the flashlight to try the driver’s door and found it unlocked. When he opened it, the smell hit him immediately.

  Blood.

  Despite the dome light coming on, he played the flashlight beam inside the cab and spotted the sticky pool of blood on the passenger floor mat. Backing quickly away from the door, he jogged around the back of the rig to the other side and forward again to where the door sat on the fifth-wheel’s passenger side. Using the butt of his flashlight, he rapped on the door. “South Dakota Highway Patrol! Open up!”

  Nothing.

  He used the flashlight to look around on the ground, and that’s when he spotted more blood, a large area of it, in matted weeds where it looked like a body had lain. The only sounds around him were his car running, the eerie click of the rig’s flashers, and the breeze in the high grass. He didn’t even hear any bugs or night birds.

  This is not right.

  He drew his gun, chills washing down his spine as he tried the door and found it unlocked.

  He spotted the man’s body first, lying directly in front of the door, his feet in the stepwell, with his throat slit. The woman lay farther back in the trailer, her sightless eyes open and staring in eternal shock.

  Backing out of the trailer, and with his heart now pounding, he called in for backup. On high alert, he scanned the area to ensure he was alone.

  Of course he was. The killer was long gone.

  “Jesus Christ!” He holstered his gun and tried to calm himself and get back to procedure while waiting for the crime scene techs to show up. Set out flares, don his reflective vest…

  Fuck. Call John and warn him they might have a killer in their house, or at the very least, the only living witness to the New Moon Killer’s activities.

  His money rested on number two. And if the killer knew she was still anywhere around…

  She was probably in a lot of danger.

  * * * *

  Del’s official cell rang from Tom Davies, the wrecker driver. “Hey, Del, what happened to this car? The broke-down Subaru.”

  “What do you mean?” The crime scene techs were still about ten minutes away. They couldn’t get there soon enough for his liking. An officer from the Mitchell PD was en route as well for backup, even though they were outside city lines.

  “There’s blood all over it. At least, I think it’s blood. Damn sure looks like it.”

  His heart froze. “Inside it?”

  “Naw, looks like someone finger-painted the outsides with it. Damn creepy. I thought it was paint at first until I saw the flies lighting on it. It’s still tacky.”

  “Don’t touch it!” That answered that question. He knew that Sarah’s car didn’t have blood on it before.

  “Like hell I’m touching it. Not till someone gets here and tells me what the heck to do with it.”

  “I’ll have someone there in a little while. Put up flares and keep your flashers on.”

  He updated base and got more units rolling, putting out a BOLO for a dark sedan.

  Not that he had any hopes of finding the guy that easily. If the exit Sarah had seen him at was even his home base, which he doubted, that highway led to several others that ran forty or fifty miles in several directions.

  He called base again. “Have someone rouse the owner of that station over in Pukwana. Clarke’s Shell. Find out if they have outside security cameras running tape and get someone to review them.” He looked at Sarah’s receipt. “Specifically, a transaction that happened at twenty-three thirty-five hours. White Subaru, white female. She spotted a dark sedan driving by, heading for I-90, then saw it parked again by this rig. Whoever drove that sedan is a person of interest. Have them review tape and transaction receipts on both sides of the event time, see if maybe our guy gassed up. We’ll also need someone to canvass the stations between here and there to find out if they saw anything.”

  His next call was to John.

  “What’s wrong?” John said immediately upon answering.

  Aware of his dash cam still running and able to pick up audio, he asked, “How’s our house guest?”

  John knew damn well he couldn’t talk. “Fine. You’re creeping me out.”

  He took a deep breath. “I won’t be back until well after dawn. I’m waiting for crime scene techs.”

  “Fuck,” he softly swore. “The rig?”

  “Yeah.” He thought for a moment. “Lock the doors.”

  “And keep my sidearm handy?”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  He ended their call and made a few others. After he finished, he sat back and stared at the trailer, then reached over and hit his door lock button. All he could do was sit tight.

  * * * *

  The crime scene tech, Bob Clanton, shook his head. “Fuck, Del. If I didn’t believe your theory before, I do now.” Specifically, he stared at the evil-looking smiley face painted over Sarah’s trunk lock with the lock itself as a nose.

  Human blood. While still speculation, safe money was on the blood belonging to the
unfortunate Mr. and Mrs. Engalls, the now-deceased owners of the rig.

  A quick review of Del’s dash cam footage by his supervisor proved beyond a doubt the car had been clean when he’d pulled up behind her. The killer hadn’t left a single fingerprint, either, using gloves to make his grisly artwork.

  As dawn turned the sky grey, his supervisor, Major Mark Guffrey, ran a hand through his hair. “Where is she now, Del?”

  “At my house with John. Safe.”

  “Do I want to know why a potential witness to a possible serial killer is at your house and not in protective custody?”

  At least Mark was finally saying what Del had been pushing for months.

  “Because when I picked her up, she wasn’t a potential witness, she was a stranded motorist. Come on, this isn’t the big city. How many times have you bought someone a meal or found them a place to stay when they were down on their luck? She was scared to death when I found her.”

  “How do you know she didn’t see more than she says she did?”

  Because I understand intuition. But he didn’t say that. What he actually said was, “Because what she did see totally freaked her out. Young woman traveling alone in a dying car in the literal middle of nowhere. She’d seen one too many slasher movies, I would guess, and her imagination ran wild. It’s not her fault her imagination mirrored true life in this case.”

  * * * *

  Del finally made it home a little before ten that morning after filling out reports. John walked out to greet him and leaned against the cruiser’s fender.

  “Talk to me.” Del recounted the basics. John let out a low whistle. “She can’t leave. Not only because of her car.”

  “I know.”

  “When will you talk to her?”

  “Guffrey wants her formal statement taken today, but if I don’t get some sleep you’ll be peeling me off a guardrail with a paint scraper. I need to hit the hay.”