Jessica remained silent, her posture still stiff. She was obviously not pleased with the other woman’s presence. For good reason. She’d tried to stop Vince from leaving, but he’d put his friendship with Olivia over the wishes of his wife.
Caleb shifted his gaze to where a fireplace graced the opposite wall. Glass shelves framed it on both sides. The vases and figurines there were probably valued at more than his annual salary. Likely, none of the opulence meant anything to Jessica at the moment.
Olivia continued. “Maybe his car broke down and he set out walking.” False optimism filled her words.
Caleb frowned. She was grasping at straws. If Vincent broke down, he would’ve used his cell phone. If he’d had no service and had set out walking, someone would have found him.
But if he was dead...there were a lot of woods along State Road 121 between the Mahoney home and Williston. Authorities were likely already combing them.
He pushed himself up from the couch and headed toward the front door. When he stepped outside, the deputy was sitting in his car. The sun was halfway to its apex, promising yet another scorching day.
Caleb released a heavy breath. Those fishing plans he’d had this morning seemed light-years away. It wasn’t even ten o’clock and it had already been a long day.
The deputy waved then reached for his radio. A few seconds later he stepped from the vehicle. Judging from the set of his jaw, he didn’t have good news.
He closed the car door. “They found the victim in the woods about a quarter mile from his car.”
“And?”
“Shot in the back of the head, execution style.”
Caleb cringed then watched the deputy shuffle toward the porch. Notifying victims was always the worst part of the job.
He turned to follow. He’d leave the unpleasant task to the deputy. But Amber was inside that house. Vincent’s death would hit her hard.
It also meant the killer was one step closer to his goal. Three of the original six friends were gone. Only three were left.
He needed to confront Olivia and Raymond with the information Amber had given him last night. He was convinced Amber had told him everything she knew. He was equally convinced the others were keeping secrets, both from him and from their one-time friend.
What were they hiding?
Had they followed through with their plans to beat Landon up and gotten carried away? Had they put someone else up to it?
What actually happened that night ten years ago?
* * *
Amber sped down Hodges Avenue, happy to have something to occupy her thoughts. The events of Thursday morning had haunted her for the past two days. Vincent gone. Shot in the head. Jessica left with a big, beautiful home and no one to share it with.
And Liv, having to forever deal with the knowledge that her phone call to Vince had led to his death.
Olivia had never been the most emotionally secure of them. With an alcoholic father who’d taken off when she was a baby and a string of stepfathers who hadn’t given her the time of day, she was always grasping for attention. When things didn’t go her way, her reactions seemed over the top, as if she was one step away from a nervous breakdown. Amber wasn’t sure what was for show and what was real.
Recent events were clearly taking their toll. Her hysteria at the reunion was just the beginning. Amber had already fielded several panicked phone calls, two of which had come in in the past two days. The situation with Vincent was about to push Liv over the edge.
She tapped the brakes and turned onto 166th Court. She was only a block from her house. But home would have to wait. A call had come in a few minutes ago, someone shooting off fireworks behind the Cedar Key Museum. Hunter was right behind her, following in the department’s SUV. Her chief and her annoying big brother were taking the threats against her seriously.
Actually she was taking them pretty seriously herself.
This one was probably nothing more than a little Saturday night rowdiness, teenagers getting a jump on their Independence Day celebrations. But what they were detonating was likely illegal.
She braked to a stop in the museum’s parking lot. As soon as she opened the door, a boom broke the stillness and a vertical streak lit the space beyond the museum building. Yep, definitely illegal.
She stepped from the car and clicked on her flashlight. Darkness had fallen some time ago. She was into the tenth hour of her usual eight-hour shift. But one officer was on vacation and another had contracted a summertime bug. So the rest of them were putting in extra time.
As she moved with Hunter down the wide sidewalk bordering the museum building, she swept the beam of her flashlight over the area. Ahead, a huge metal bowl stood just past where the concrete ended, a Confederate salt kettle on display. To the left, a curved brick walk led to the Whitman House, nestled against the woods. The soft glow of its porch lights didn’t reach where they stood.
Hunter held up a hand and clicked off his flashlight. She did the same, casting them in near blackness. The scent of smoke lingered in the air but the night was quiet except for the whisper of a breeze through the trees. The suspects had probably lit one last rocket then taken off.
Hunter clicked his flashlight on and continued down the sidewalk. A twig snapped nearby. She whirled toward the woods, eyes straining for any sign of movement. Hunter stopped, too, then moved in that direction. Perspiration dotted her forehead and she reached up to swipe it away. The afternoon shower that had blown through around five o’clock had turned the entire island into a sauna rather than providing a respite from the heat.
But the sticky Florida humidity wasn’t the only reason she was sweating. Unease draped around her, a sense of being watched. Weapon in her right hand and flashlight in the other, she stepped off the sidewalk to follow Hunter past the house. In the woods, the darkness was thick. There was no moon, and clouds obscured the stars.
For the next fifteen minutes the two of them combed the area. Finally, Hunter headed back toward the museum building.
“Apparently whoever was here earlier has left.”
She looked up at him in the darkness. If he believed that, he wouldn’t be whispering. When they stepped from the trees, she pointed toward the rear of the building some distance away. “That’s where the bottle rocket or Roman candle went up when we first arrived.”
As they made their way past the salt kettle, Hunter’s flashlight beam stopped its sweeping movement to lock in on some small objects. Some kind of debris was lying on the ground behind the building. She stepped forward to study the items illuminated by the flashlight. A couple of burned-up cylinders lay at her feet, along with remnants of paper, several long sticks and cardboard with singed edges.
The scene was comforting in an odd sort of way. Through her teen years, she and her friends had shot off more than their fair share of fireworks. It was amazing they still had all their fingers.
She smiled up at Hunter. This call was what it appeared to be. “Looks like we interrupted someone’s pre–Independence Day celebration.”
“I’d say you’re right.” He nudged one of the items with his foot.
A faint sizzle sounded somewhere behind her. As she spun, an explosion rent the air and a ball of fire lit up the darkness. Heat seared her left shoulder and she grasped it with her other hand, stumbling sideways.
Hunter tackled her, bringing her to the ground behind the kettle. After swiping his fingers down her ponytail, he gave her arm a few rough pats. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Go after him.”
He hesitated. “Are you sure?”
She pushed him away from her. “I’ll call for backup. Go.”
Hunter sprang to his feet and jogged toward the woods. Still crouched behind the kettle, she snatched her radio from her belt. When she’d finished her call, she walked int
o the woods where Hunter had disappeared a minute earlier.
The killer was likely nearby. What just happened wasn’t a case of carelessness. Someone had intentionally fired a bottle rocket at her. If she’d taken a direct hit, instead of the flare grazing her shoulder, she’d have been seriously injured.
Even now, her right palm felt as if she held a handful of stinging nettles instead of her pistol grip, and her shoulder throbbed with heat. Judging from the way Hunter had patted her upper arm, her shirt sleeve had likely been smoldering.
He’d swiped a hand down her ponytail, too. She reached up to feel the tresses—silky until she got to their ends. Dry and brittle, they disintegrated in her hand. Apparently when she’d spun, her hair had swung around and gotten hit at the same time as her shoulder. She was hurt, but tonight could have turned out so much worse. A little higher and to the right, and she’d have been hit in the face.
In the distance, beams of light flashed through the trees, Hunter searching for the suspect. Soon sirens sounded, drawing closer. More law enforcement would come from the mainland, Levy County lending aid. Authorities were likely already setting up a road block on 24. It was the only way on and off Cedar Key. Unless one had a boat.
An hour later she pulled into the station’s parking lot. They hadn’t found anyone near the museum and no one suspicious had tried to leave Cedar Key. She parked the cruiser and got out to circle her SUV. It had been sitting there for the past eleven hours, but no one had placed any notes on the windshield. She blew out a relieved breath. As she continued down the passenger side, she gasped.
On the rear side window was a familiar message, sinister in its simplicity. “One by one” spelled out with what looked like white shoe polish.
Hunter hurried over to stand next to her. “‘One by one.’ It seems to be the killer’s motto.” He draped an arm across her shoulders and pulled her against his side in a protective big-brother hug. “Why is he singling you out for these warnings? Why not just strike?”
“I don’t know.” Sometimes killers got a thrill out of taunting law enforcement. That was common in scenarios like this. But this wasn’t a game, an opportunity to pit his wit and skill against that of the police. This was revenge, pure and simple.
The killer believed they’d all murdered Landon. But she was the one who’d set the whole thing in motion. She was the guiltiest of all. So death alone wasn’t enough. He had to torment her first.
Hunter gave her another squeeze then guided her toward the door of the station. “Let’s get our reports written. Then I’ll follow you home.”
She nodded. No use trying to argue with him. Besides, she didn’t relish the thought of going into the house alone. Since the threats had been left at the station, the killer apparently didn’t know where she lived. But in a community the size of Cedar Key, it would only be a matter of time.
When she arrived home a short time later, Hunter pulled in right behind her and stepped from his truck. She looked around and gave him a cautious smile. “No boogeymen.”
“None out here. I’m going to check inside.”
“I think I’m capable of that. I am a cop, you know.”
“First and foremost, you’re my sister. I’m checking inside.”
“Bossy much?” Actually he’d always been. It didn’t annoy her as much now as it had when they were kids. Sometimes she wished she’d have listened.
She turned the key in the lock and opened the front door, careful not to let any cats escape. Two occupied the couch and two shared the love seat. Tippy was stretched out on one of the upper shelves of the entertainment center, lying against a row of DVDs.
As she closed and locked the door, all five eyed Hunter warily, but not with enough concern to give up their comfy seats. Since she’d taken care of them during her dinner break, they were all full and happy.
Hunter walked into the kitchen then doubled back toward the two bedrooms. Instead of following, she greeted each cat. Down the hall, a closet door slid open on its track and closed again.
When he returned a few minutes later she straightened to face him. “Feel better now?”
“Not really.” He frowned. “Come and stay with Meagan and me.”
She made a wide sweep of her arm, indicating the five fur balls staring at her from different places around the room. Cimba took the motion as an invitation and jumped down to approach.
“Take them back to the shelter.”
“There isn’t room.” She bent to pick up the yellow tabby weaving in and out of her legs. The cat nuzzled her chin and began to purr. Soon both front paws were kneading air.
Smokey, Ash and Shadow left their lounging places to plead for the attention Cimba had garnered. Tippy paused then returned to grooming herself. She craved love, too, but without the desperation the others displayed.
Amber placed Cimba on the floor and squatted to pet the other three. She’d promised to keep them until they found permanent homes. She wasn’t going to abandon them if she had any choice in the matter.
When she straightened and looked at Hunter, he was still frowning.
“You need to think about yourself for a change.”
For a change? Thinking of herself was what she’d done for the first eighteen years of her life. And look at the damage she’d caused. Landon was dead and her dad would never work again.
Although Logan blamed her, her parents never had. Heart problems ran in her dad’s family, they’d said. But she blamed herself. She’d heard the doctor’s orders. Absolutely no stress. That had been what she’d given him all through high school. Harold had started the process and she’d finished it.
She put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “He doesn’t know where I live. I’m being careful. I’m armed. And I’m trained. Remember, I went through the same police academy you did.”
“You’re being targeted.”
“If I feel at all threatened here, you’ll have a house guest.” She led him toward the door. “I’ll figure out other arrangements for the cats.” Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
She gave Hunter a hug. “I love you, even though you’re overprotective and annoying sometimes.”
“I love you, too, even though you’re too stubborn for your own good.”
When he stepped off the front porch, he turned and motioned toward the door. “Lock that right away.”
“Trust me, I will.” The killer may not know where she lived, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d checked and double checked the windows and doors repeatedly since the reunion.
When Hunter reached his truck, she closed and locked the door, then crossed the room to where Tippy lay. If she had to move in with Hunter in the future, maybe she could take Tippy and keep her closed up in the bedroom. One cat would be doable. Five wouldn’t.
She dropped her hand and moved to the couch. Ash and Shadow jumped up to pace back and forth across her lap. Cimba and Smokey joined them. As she spread her attention between the four, her heart twisted.
Soon she’d call Sheltering Hands and give them a heads-up. She’d have to relinquish the cats eventually. By holding out, she was just delaying the inevitable. The killer wasn’t going to give up.
One by one.
The words were no longer on her window. After taking a photo to add to the file, Hunter had cleaned them off with a sponge and soapy water. But they were still engraved clearly in her mind.
One by one. Mona, Alex and now Vince.
She’d promised Hunter that if she felt threatened, she’d make arrangements for the cats and leave.
Something told her that moment might come sooner than she anticipated.
SIX
Caleb eased to a stop in Amber’s driveway then laid his sunglasses on the dash. In the rearview mirror, the sun was barely visible over the tops of the trees. He’d driven all the
way down Hodges with it shining in his eyes.
After picking up the file folder lying in the passenger seat, he stepped from the truck. A short distance away, an unmarked car sat just off the road. Its presence brought a measure of comfort. There would be a similar sight in Olivia’s and Raymond’s neighborhoods.
The morning Vincent was killed, the deputy patrolling Olivia’s neighborhood had been pulled away on another call. Fortunately for her, the killer had focused his attention on Vincent. Now all three of them had twenty-four-hour protection. And no one was to go anywhere without a law enforcement escort.
Caleb closed the door of the truck and walked toward the house. As before, the blinds were drawn, but no cats occupied the windowsills. There was no need to keep watch. The cat lady was in residence.
He smiled at the image that popped into his mind—a little old lady with a fur ball occupying every flat surface. Except Amber only had five. And she was hardly a little old lady.
After he rang the bell, the blinds at the nearest window separated. A moment later the door swung inward. Amber motioned him inside, using her foot to block the path of a black cat that looked ready to bolt. Three others lay on the couch, their eyes alert. The fifth was on the dining room table, the one she called Tippy.
Amber locked the door behind him. “I figured you’d want to come at a different time. With church this morning, you couldn’t have gotten much sleep.”
“I managed a few hours and even grabbed some supper.”
“Good.” She gave him a half smile but her features held tension.
“Are you okay?”
“Chief Sandlin called me. I have another poem.”
“When? Where?”
“Taped to the door of the police station, in an envelope with my name on it. This one’s short, only two lines. Our killer’s getting lazy.” She laughed, but it sounded hollow.
“What does it say?”
“‘Three down, three to go. Who’s next? You don’t know.’”
A block of ice replaced the hot dinner he’d finished a half hour earlier. Three down, three to go. Logan’s words to Amber in the Walmart parking lot. Only the numbers had changed. She’d probably made the connection, too.
Reunited by Danger Page 7