Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  Christ, one kiss and he was contemplating a relationship?

  His cell phone rang, and the tension coursing through him turned to dread. At—he glanced at the clock—two-twenty in the morning, this couldn’t be good. Without checking the caller ID, he answered, hoping to God it wasn’t Celeste calling about another nightmare.

  “We got him,” Roy said, his tone tired, but excited.

  He sat straight up in the bed and was already reaching for his pants. “You’re sure? How?”

  “The sketch. I sent it over the wire yesterday afternoon and apparently our suspect overindulged last night. State Highway Patrol picked him up on a DUI, just south of Eau Claire. After they finished booking him, one of the officers happened to see the sketch. He said it was uncanny. I guess our girl got it right, huh?”

  Our girl. “Yeah, I guess she did.” He didn’t know what to feel, pride in Celeste for the hit, regret for not fully believing in her, or disappointment that his time in Wissota Falls was nearing a fast end.

  “Get dressed and I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  He cleaned up, dressed, then waited for Roy outside of his room. The moon had sunk a little lower, its strong beams filtered through the swaying tree tops. He stood with his back against the motel door and instead of thinking about the suspect being detained in Eau Claire, his thoughts focused on Celeste. Deep melancholy settled on his soul. For what could have been, for what might have been. Time to explore the rattling emotions she’d evoked. Time to ensure that what he’d experienced in less than twenty-four hours wasn’t his body playing games with his mind.

  Headlights illuminated the parking lot. When Roy’s cruiser came to a stop, John pushed off the motel room door.

  “Helluva wake up call,” Roy said as John settled into the passenger seat. “I had Bev whip us up some coffee.” He nodded to the two travel mugs on the center counsel. “It’s black, hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, this is good, thanks. I could use some caffeine.” He reached for the mug and realized what Roy had said. Bev made the coffee?

  “Does Bev always work this late?”

  “Um...no.” Roy blew on the rim of his travel mug. “I...she...oh hell.”

  He held up a hand to stop him. “Enough said, Sheriff. It’s none of my business.”

  Roy released a hearty chuckle. “Yeah, tell that to the rest of this town. You take a crap and everyone knows about it. That’s small town life for you.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Of course not, you grew up in Richmond, Virginia, lived in Washington DC, New York, and now you’re in Chicago. With barely a thousand residents, Wissota Falls is a far cry from the big city.”

  Roy’s knowledge set him on edge. If the sheriff knew about where he’d lived, he likely knew that he was former FBI, about his reasons for leaving the Bureau and joining CORE. “Been doing your homework or did Ian tell you all of this?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “Consider me inquisitive?”

  “That’s what Ian said about you, and what makes you one of the best out there. Blow it off, John. We’re just bullshitting here.”

  Blowing off bullshit had never been his strong suit. Considering they’d likely caught their killer, he supposed it didn’t matter what Roy knew about him, or what the sheriff’s connection was to Ian. He’d likely be back in Chicago within a day or two, and on to another case. “Okay, bullshit aside, so you and Bev are a couple that no one in town is supposed to know about, but everyone does?” So strange, yet he understood. His family was just like that. Telling one person the latest gossip, that no one was supposed to know, but they all somehow did.

  Roy sighed. “To be honest, I wanted to make our relationship public—officially. I’ve asked her to marry me, to move in with me, but she’s turned me down.” He shook his head. “We’ve been together for about six years now, and I love her dearly. She had a rough go of it with her ex-husband and is a little gun shy. I’m a patient man, though. I’d wait forever for her. Yep, she’ll come around. Just wait and see.”

  John didn’t think he could be so patient. If he’d found himself in the same situation he’d...Celeste came to mind. Her bright blue eyes, beautiful smile, God, the way she tangled up his insides with crazy emotions. Needing to change the subject he said, “Tell me about the suspect.”

  The sheriff smiled. “What, my love life’s not interesting enough? Okay, here’s what we’ve got. The guy’s name in Garrett Winston. Like you thought, he’s a trucker. Owner/operator, has his own rig, no home address, just a post office box in Illinois.”

  “So he probably lives in his cab. Was he driving his truck when they arrested him?”

  “Yep, no trailer though.”

  “We’ll have to find out who contracted his last job.”

  “I’ll have one of my men take care of it in the morning.”

  John nodded. “Good, we need that trailer. We want as much evidence as we can find to ensure a solid case against Winston. It’ll also give the prosecutor a premeditation angle.”

  “He’s a sick son of a bitch keeping dead girls on ice while going off to find his next victim. Damn I wish Wisconsin still had the death penalty.”

  “Eye for an eye.” John took a sip of coffee, then after setting it back in the cup holder, he asked, “What time was he picked up?”

  “Midnight. I guess he was swerving all over the road. The arresting officer thought the driver might’ve been falling asleep at the wheel. He wasn’t expecting Winston to be drunk, but boy was he ever. Blew a two point four seven. He’s sleeping it off in his cell and has no idea the shit that’s about to hit the fan.” Roy twisted his mouth into a sneer. “Yeah, that SOB’s days are numbered.”

  “His rig’s a potential crime scene. Please tell me no one went inside. We don’t want to screw this up on some stupid technicality.”

  “Those guys aren’t a bunch of backwater asses. I know their commander. Trust me, nothing’s been touched. Winston’s truck is in the impound lot waiting for us. The forensics unit will meet us there and comb the cab.” Roy blew out a deep breath. “God, I hope they find something. I wouldn’t be surprised if Boysen runs the story, that little prick.”

  “They will. I guarantee his truck is loaded with incriminating evidence, hopefully enough to lock him away for four lifetimes.”

  Roy glanced at him. “So the profiler’s become the psychic now?”

  He shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” The mention of the word psychic turned his thoughts back to Celeste. Was she sleeping peacefully tonight? Hopefully, curled in a ball, snuggled into her warm blankets, soft, blond curls spread out on her pillow, a few loose tendrils caressing her face.

  “You know.” Roy interrupted his thoughts. “I never had the chance to talk with you about Celeste’s notes. Did you read them?”

  Shit, the sheriff was right, Wissota Falls was a small town. With Dan’s unexpected visit, not to mention her brother’s, word could be out by morning.

  “I read through some of them, then,” he sighed, “I went to see her.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that.”

  He looked out the window. “Small town?”

  Loud laughter filled the squad car. “Boy, don’t I know it. Yeah, Dan filled me in, and called right after you left. She’s a special gal and we’re all concerned about her.”

  “I understand, but she’s no longer needed now. We have Winston, and hopefully the evidence will take over from here.”

  “I’m not as convinced.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You heard what she’d said in Carl’s office. There are two killers.” He shrugged a shoulder and looked back to the road. “We just haven’t found the bodies.”

  He’d been so wrapped up in protecting her after the reading in the ME’s office, he’d almost forgotten about that enigmatic prophesy. Okay, honestly he’d blown it off. As much as he w
anted to believe in her, he still couldn’t wrap his logical brain around her prediction of more than one killer. It simply made no sense. What were they going to do, start combing the woods for more bodies based on a psychic’s hunch? Besides, what were the odds that two killers were stalking the same town?

  “You seriously believe that?”

  The sheriff toyed with his mustache and bobbed his head. “It’s like I told you, she’s got a gift. Yes, I believe her and already have Jesse and Lloyd doing a little checking.”

  “Checking what? Do they carry crystal balls, too?” He didn’t like this. Not at all. If Winston was the killer they were looking for, it would give her what he knew she needed...closure. If they continued on this ridiculous assumption, the only thing they would accomplish was to feed into Celeste’s belief that there was another killer out there. That theory would only add to her fears, something he wanted put to rest. He liked her. A part of him was starting to care about her, and he wanted her to be able to sleep through the night, not worry about dead bodies and killers. That was his job.

  “Look John, I get that you’re the type of guy who needs to see the hard, concrete evidence. But like I said, Celeste is special and I trust in her, something I’d think you would reconsider after yesterday.”

  He gave him a sidelong glance. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I saw how you were with her. You were ready to rip any of our heads off if we tried to get near her.”

  “I was concerned about her state of mind.”

  “Bullshit. You’re just too stubborn to let yourself see her for what she is and you know it.” Before he could argue, Roy waved him off. “It doesn’t matter what you think, I’m having Jesse and Lloyd running checks throughout the county and state. I want them looking for any female missing persons and runaways which may have occurred when Celeste’s visions started.”

  “You’re on a wild goose chase. Besides, half the victims we have are known prostitutes, and from out of state.” John tried rolling the tension from his neck, but it was useless. If Celeste was right, if she’d found their killer through her vision, then that meant...he didn’t want to think about it. There were no other bodies to back up her prediction.

  “She told me otherwise when I took her home. She sensed the girls in her dreams were local. Young, vulnerable, not quite living the life of a prostitute, but edging close.”

  “That’s news to me. So you’re going to waste the minimal manpower you have based on psychic intuition?”

  “Back off, John.”

  “That’s right, I’m the hired help.”

  Roy grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That you are. So I guess you have no choice but to go along with me here.”

  “Suppose not,” he said, and didn’t bother to hide his bitterness. He didn’t like being involved in an investigation without full disclosure, and both Roy and Ian were hiding something from him. What, he had no idea. But when the investigation was finished, he’d find out, or resign. He was nobody’s fucking patsy, not anymore. If he didn’t have Ian’s trust, he no longer wanted to work for him or CORE.

  * * *

  Garrett Alan Winston sat in the interrogation room shackled to a worn, metal table. The short chain of one handcuff pulled taut as he held a pen over a stack of papers.

  His confession.

  The sheriff leaned toward the two-way mirror. “I don’t get it. He has no record, not even a traffic violation. We’ve got jack shit, except for small amounts of blood spatter, a few hairs and fingerprints which haven’t even been processed, yet he’s signing a confession without an attorney?”

  John nodded and folded his arms across his chest. Not only stunned by Winston’s quick confession, but how eerily he resembled the sketch created based off Celeste’s vision. Comb his hair, trim his beard, give him some Visine, and that sketch could have been a photograph. “I don’t get it, either.”

  The door opened. A trooper ducked his head inside to tell Roy he had a call. While John had come to like the sheriff, despite whatever game he was playing with Ian, he was pleased to have a moment alone. He needed to weigh the options, consider other recourses should Winston find a sharp-tongued attorney willing to take his case.

  Winston, even in his disheveled state, appeared arrogant, confident as he signed the confession that would convict him of killing four women. Once he finished, the paperwork was quickly removed, and he leaned back in his chair. Bound to the steel table, he stared at the mirror, his eyes, wild, alert. Then he sneered.

  The man should be on edge, worried, rather than arrogant. Odd. Why was that? Even though the lab results would take time, John was hopeful the evidence would convict and condemn him. So why the look of triumph? Like he held the winning lottery number?

  Winston continued to stare at the mirror. His feral eyes held a ferocious glint that bore into him through the glass. They said he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

  As his skin crawled, his mind raced. He tried to quickly assess the man cuffed in the opposite room, but couldn’t shake the dread lodging deep in his chest enough to concentrate.

  The door bounced against the wall, making him jump. “Jesus, Roy, don’t do that shit to me.”

  “We’ve got to get back to Wissota Falls,” he panted as if he’d just run a hundred yard dash. His face ashen, his eyes filled with horror, he gave Winston a quick glance. “Now.”

  His earlier dread turned to a fear so intense he fought to catch his breath. “Celeste?”

  “No,” Roy said, already moving for the door. “Bev just called, they found another body.”

  “Where?” He hoped Roy would tell him Winston’s dumping grounds. Maybe this was his last victim. Maybe CSU missed the body.

  “Cranberry bogs,” Roy said over his shoulder as he left the room muttering that he’d meet him at the car.

  Cranberry bogs? Then it hit him.

  Little red balls, floating in my nose and mouth...

  Celeste’s trance, her vision. No amount of antacids would cure the burn running through his chest and gut. She’d been right all along, and he’d been too stubborn to believe her.

  He glanced back at Winston who still wore a cocky, mocking sneer. As if he knew.

  Impossible. They were in a sound proof booth, in front of a two-way mirror. Paranoia had him thinking irrationally, because he’d allowed himself to become too close to what appeared to be their only witness. Celeste.

  As he exited the room, a deep wicked laugh rolled through the intercom. Stopping, he turned and stared at the mirror.

  “I know something you don’t know,” Winston sang off key in a scratchy voice. He sprung from the chair, knocking it to the floor. “Do you hear me?” His face turned purple, blue veins stuck out of his wide neck as he screamed and pulled on his bindings.

  “I know,” he shouted, spittle oozing down his scruffy beard. “You’ll come back. You hear me? You fuckers need me. You’ll come back.”

  The officer guarding the interrogation room pinned Winston, as two others entered to help. John gaped at the scene. An eerie sense of foreboding consumed him, ate at his gut and sensible mind. All the while, Winston’s disturbing eyes pierced into his through the mirrored glass. They looked at him, into him and he had this niggling feeling Winston might be right.

  * * *

  “Hey Celeste, sorry again for just poppin’ over last night, but the wife isn’t. She loves your cookies. I swear she devoured half the box before kissin’ me hello.”

  She poured Dan a cup of coffee and smiled. “I told you it wasn’t a big deal. I’m glad to know I’ve got you looking out for me, even if it was a lame excuse to raid my stock of kalachkis.” She winked then turned to Lloyd. “How you doing today?”

  “I’ll be better after I have one of your Western omelets.”

  “You got it. What about you, Dan? The usual or are you going to take a walk on the wild side and try something new?”

  He grinned, his red mustache stretching across hi
s thin lips. “You know me. I’ll stick with the usual.”

  “Okay, I’ll have it for you in a jiffy.”

  “Oh and Celeste?” Lloyd grabbed her arm before she walked away. “Is your brother around? I wanted to talk with him about hanging those kitchen cabinets I ordered.”

  “He’s in the back doing inventory.”

  “You mean avoiding the customers.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, that too. You can head on back and talk with him if you like. You know the way.”

  He shifted his big body off the stool, then nodded to Dan. “I’ll be right back. I want to pin Will down to a date he can come by and help finish this pain-in-the-ass kitchen remodeling.”

  Dan grinned. “I hear that. Hell, you’ve only been working on it for the past six months.”

  She walked away from the counter, then went about her business, taking orders, filling coffee, smiling and making small talk with her customers. Although dead tired, she hoped it didn’t show. It was her fault. No, it was John’s.

  He had been the reason she’d tossed and turned all night. Thank God she hadn’t had any dreams though. Maybe a little loving and a couple glasses of wine had done the trick. Maybe the killer took the night off. Or maybe she’d been just having good old fashioned nightmares after all.

  As she dropped an order off at a table, Lloyd rushed from the back room. She immediately tensed. Wiping her hands on her apron, she followed him, hoping that he and Will weren’t arguing again. Over the last few weeks, they’d been bickering like an old married couple, and she didn’t like it, or how it had been affecting her already brooding brother.

  “Lloyd, are you okay?” she asked, when she caught up with him at the end of the counter where Dan sat.

  His silvery eyes were alert and darting between her and Dan. A sense of foreboding had her knees weakening and her hands gripping the counter for support.

  “Cancel our breakfast.” Lloyd turned to Dan. “We have to leave. Now.”