Scene of the Crime: Deadman's Bluff

by Cassidy, Carla

  Time seemed to stand still as they remained embraced, him holding his body weight on his elbows as he looked down at her and grinned. “Now that’s a vacation.”

  She laughed and then his grin fell and he shook his head. “Like a couple of horny teenagers with no thought of tomorrow and no thought of protection. We should both be shot.”

  “Can you wait until the glow leaves me before you shoot me?” she asked.

  He smiled down at her. “You are glowing. You look gorgeous.”

  “It’s the look of a sated woman.”

  “I like it.” He finally disengaged and rolled to the side of her. “But we should have thought about protection.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.” She didn’t want to think about accidents or mistakes at the moment. There was no way she could consider getting pregnant by Seth a terrible mistake, and yet the thought filled her with an inexplicable anxiety. What kind of woman was she that the thought of having a child filled her with a whispering dread?

  She rolled away from him and off the bed. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She padded into the adjoining bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink.

  Who was she? She still only had bits and pieces of herself, not enough to remember what experiences she’d been through, what paths she’d taken in life that formed her.

  All she really knew after the past thirty minutes in bed with Seth was that she was in love with him. And she had no right to be. As he’d reminded her earlier, this time they shared wasn’t real life. Ultimately, no matter how she felt about him, no matter how much he wanted her, they both had separate lives to go back to.

  The only thing she really had to remember was that she was a key witness and Seth was the FBI agent in charge of her case. And that there was still a serial killer who wanted her buried in the Deadman’s Dunes.

  * * *

  SETH AWOKE LONG BEFORE dawn, his naked body spooned around Tamara’s back. He fit perfectly around her, like the shell on a turtle.

  He was in no hurry to leave the bed, to leave the comfort of her warmth, the fragrant scent of her or the memory of making love to her. He was in no rush to begin his day, hunting for a killer with little success, another day of utter frustration.

  Maybe it was time for him to call in reinforcements. Maybe he needed to contact Director Forbes and have a couple more agents come to town to help work the case. Although he hated to admit defeat, he wasn’t too proud to ask for help if he thought it was warranted.

  The issue was he wasn’t sure what any other agents could do that he and Tom and his men weren’t already doing. He had a list of potential suspects, but nobody who popped to the top of the short, pathetic list, except perhaps Sam Clemmons, who could be picked up simply because he’d been at all three scenes. Still, Seth was reluctant to jump to obvious conclusions. There were too many players in the game.

  A womanizing restaurateur, a deputy with a reputation as a bully, an ex-brother-in-law and a handful of dirt-bike-riding kids...not exactly the stuff that thriller movies were made of, and yet someone, perhaps one of those very people was burying brunettes in the sand dunes.

  Somebody wanted Tamara to be the third victim badly enough to make a bold move and steal her right out from under Seth’s nose. Thank God, the Sandman had been thwarted by Tamara’s scream. But Seth knew deep in his soul that the misstep had probably only fired a new determination in the killer to take Tamara.

  Reluctantly, he rolled away from her and out of the bed. It was easier to think about murder and suspects than it was to analyze his feelings for Tamara.

  He padded naked from the guest bedroom and down the hallway to the main bathroom and within seconds stood beneath a hot shower.

  There was no question that last night had been a mistake, but what a wonderful mistake it had been. Even now he could still taste her skin, feel the heat of her body against his, hear the echoes of the cries she’d made in the throes of pleasure.

  Making love to her once had been a mistake, but then he’d repeated it by making love to her a second time before they’d fallen asleep. That time they’d gone slowly, exploring each other with both the familiarity of old lovers and yet the sizzling excitement of new ones.

  The greatest mistake he’d made of all was falling for her, for being sucked into feelings he’d never wanted to feel in his life. He’d allowed himself to get so close and now it was going to be difficult on them both when it was time for her to head back to her home, her life and anyone who might be waiting for her there.

  It was a bit odd that she’d been gone for well over a week and yet nobody from Amarillo had filed a missing persons report. He knew from the information he’d gained that she’d been known around her neighborhood as a loner, but surely there was somebody somewhere who cared, who’d noticed that she was missing? And the idea that there wasn’t anyone shouldn’t affect his heart like it did.

  He had to separate from her, he had to regain the relationship of investigator and potential victim. He had to get back on a more professional footing with her, not just for his own sake, but for hers, as well. It should be fairly easy today.

  He’d be stuck in the interrogation room all day and she’d be back in the lounge. Then when they got back home tonight they’d eat dinner and he’d set up his laptop on the kitchen table, a not-so-subtle hint that he intended to continue to work.

  Once he was dressed he left the bathroom and headed to the kitchen to make the morning coffee. He consciously willed away any further thoughts of Tamara or the night before. He had to focus on getting this madman in jail as quickly as possible.

  Minutes later as he stood at the window and watched the sun slowly peeking over the horizon, he sipped his coffee and once again ran over his list of suspects in his head.

  Tom’s men were checking alibis for both the murders and the night and morning of Tamara’s near death. But people’s memories were faulty, and at least in the case of the first two murders, alibis were tough to pin down definitively.

  In the case of Rebecca Cook it was particularly difficult as the death was initially ruled a freak accident. All the young people in town knew where they had been that night...at the party on the dunes. But where had Henry Todd been? Where had Raymond Michaels spent his time on that night? And Mark...where had his brother-in-law been?

  Hell, Seth couldn’t come up with an unbreakable alibi for a particular night two months before. Days went by without specific incidents; nights were spent mostly at home alone.

  While he was certain that Raymond’s wife would alibi him for whatever time necessary, both Todd and Mark lived alone. None of them lived in an area that was remote enough to keep a woman alive for hours before dumping her at the dunes.

  As he thought of that moment when he’d seen Tamara’s face in the sand, frustration gnawed with sharp teeth at his gut. As he considered what Rebecca and Vicki had endured in the last moments of their deaths, he wanted to smash his fist into something...preferably the perp’s face.

  He was on his second cup of coffee when Tamara entered the kitchen. She’d showered and was dressed for the day in a pair of formfitting jeans and a turquoise tank top. Her dark hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, showcasing her delicate features to perfection.

  He steeled himself against the automatic response he suffered at the sight of her, the desire to take her into his arms, the need to kiss her lips as he told her good morning.

  “Morning,” he said, the word more of a grunt than a real greeting.

  “Good morning to you,” she replied cheerfully as she walked straight to the coffeemaker on the counter. She poured herself a cup and then turned to face him. “I see morning regrets all over your face.”

  “Maybe a few,” he admitted. He took a sip of his coffee and eyed her over the rim of the cup. Her cheerful smile slowly fell and she raised her chin a notch, as if anticipating a fight.

  “I have absolutely no regrets, and you don’t have to worry about last night h
aving any long-term repercussions. I’m a big girl, Seth. I know the score. I know there’s no future between us and I don’t anticipate there ever being one. Still, there’s no reason to regret what was a beautiful, wonderful night.”

  She carried her cup to the table and sat. “Now, tell me about the plans for the day.”

  Just that quickly the night was left behind and a new day had begun. They were at the sheriff’s office by eight and within fifteen minutes Tamara was in the break room and Seth was interviewing another of Rebecca’s friends.

  The day passed with person after person brought in for Seth to interview and no answers forthcoming to aid in the breaking of the case.

  He stopped at noon and ordered in lunch from a nearby Chinese restaurant for himself and Tamara. When the order arrived he carried it back to the break room where Tamara was sprawled in a chair, staring blankly at the television.

  She straightened as he entered, eyeing the white bag he carried hungrily. “I was afraid I was going to have to hit up Deputy Michaels for another trip next door to get fed.”

  Seth scowled and set the bag in the center of the small round table. “I want you to stay away from him,” he said as he began pulling out boxes of food.

  She joined him at the table. “You can’t really believe he has anything to do with the murders,” she said in a low voice.

  “I don’t know what to believe about anyone,” he replied.

  They didn’t speak again until they were seated at the table with a combination of Chinese fare on their paper plates. “These murders were about power,” he finally said. “And I know from the scuttlebutt around town that Michaels wields his official power heavily. It just doesn’t sit well with me, nor does the fact that he asked you so many questions about your amnesia yesterday.”

  She speared a piece of sweet-and-sour chicken. “Speaking of, I’ve had more of my memories return. Unfortunately, none of them will help you. I remembered that my parents are dead, that my life was mostly my web business and that I was lonely.” She popped the chicken into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

  When she was finished, she gazed at him, obviously troubled. “I wonder if maybe I’m not remembering what I need to because I don’t want to go back to my former life.” The words came from her slowly, as if they were a painful admission.

  “I don’t believe that,” he replied. “Your memories are coming back to you as they should...the safe things first. The more painful things will try to remain repressed, but I can’t believe that you’d even subconsciously not want to remember a killer who is going to kill again because you don’t want to go home to a lonely life.”

  “I hope you’re right.” She grabbed another piece of chicken. “I want to remember that night in the dunes. I want to believe that I can help you put this monster away before he strikes again.”

  Their conversation turned to mundane things as some of the other deputies entered the room for their lunch break. The mood among them all was somber.

  “I still think we should get Clemmons in jail and charged,” one of the younger deputies said.

  “We don’t have enough evidence for the DA to even be interested in charging him,” Seth replied. “We can’t find anyplace where he might have stashed the women before burying them. Sam rides those dunes almost every day and half the night. The dunes might be Sam’s playground, but that doesn’t make him a killer. A defense attorney would rip the case apart. We need more,” Seth said in frustration.

  Each and every day they were all waiting for another body to turn up, speculating that if the killer couldn’t get to Tamara, he’d eventually be unable to stop himself from taking somebody else. Although the dunes were being patrolled as much as possible, they all knew it was impossible to keep a determined person from finding a place where nobody would see, where the body wouldn’t be found until some errant dirt-bike rider kicked up the sand in just the right place.

  Lunch finished, Seth returned to his duty and left Tamara once again. The afternoon crawled by in increments of the nervous sweat of the interviewees, Seth’s growing frustration and the sweltering heat of summer filling the building.

  He had to hand it to Tom. With the lawman coordinating the people coming in, the interviewing process was going relatively smoothly, just not yielding any kind of result that Seth could use.

  By the time Seth decided to call it a day he was in a foul mood. Someplace inside him he felt the tick of a time bomb that could explode at any moment, resulting in another innocent woman’s horrific death, but he wasn’t any closer to finding the guilty party than he had been on the day he’d dug Tamara out of the sand.

  Tamara must have read his mood for the ride home from the office was a silent one.

  Seth was certain these murders were about power and control. He knew that the victim profile was brunettes and there was a reason that the killer was burying them in the sand.

  The sand was important to the killer. But why? It was part of the ritual. Take a woman, somehow render her helpless and then bury her in the sand. The sand was the key, but what did it mean?

  He cast a quick glance at Tamara, who stared out the window as if lost in thoughts of her own. He had to keep her safe. As long as she was with him nobody was going to touch her.

  But that meant the killer would have to take another victim. He was already overdue, probably filled with the anxiety of the need of the kill. A bomb ready to detonate and nobody had the answers to stop the explosion of death.

  Except perhaps Tamara.

  They went to the drive-through at the burger joint to get dinner and now, back at Linda’s, sat across from each other at the table to eat. “I’m going to gain a thousand pounds while I’m here if we keep fast-fooding it,” she said, finally breaking what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable silence.

  “I didn’t figure you’d want to cook after a long day at the sheriff’s office and I’m no good in the kitchen unless you can zap it in a microwave.”

  “I like to cook. I wouldn’t mind making dinner each night when we got home.”

  “Linda has a freezer full of meat. Whatever we use I’ll replace.” He shrugged. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me. I’m male, I’ll eat anything and, to be honest, a home-cooked meal sounds good to me.”

  He finished his burger and wadded up the wrapper. “Have you given any more thought to seeing that therapist or maybe a hypnotist to help you retrieve the last of your memories?”

  She stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted an order of French fries in the center of his forehead. She toyed with her straw in the diet drink, her gaze focused on the cup. “Honestly, I hadn’t considered either option, but if you think that’s what we need to do, then I’ll do whatever is necessary.”

  Seth knew what he was asking of her, knew the damage that might come to her by forcing her to remember what her brain was protecting her from, but he was at a dead end, and so afraid of more bodies showing up. His heart broke with his suggestion, but his admiration for her grew by her immediate acquiescence.

  He was unable to look at her as he told her he’d look into finding somebody to work with her the next day. Thankfully when they finished eating she went into the living room and turned on the television and he set up his laptop on the table and fed in notes and impressions from the day.

  He consciously willed himself not to look at Tamara, not to feel the fear she must be feeling as she thought of being forced to remember the horrible moments just before he’d found her in the sand.

  He didn’t want to think about the night to come when there was nothing he’d like better than curl up in bed with her at his side, feeling the silk of her hair and smelling the scent that belonged to her alone. He was half in love with her and hated that he couldn’t control the softening of his heart where she was concerned.

  Still, she’d sleep alone tonight in the guest room and he would bunk on the sofa. With the window in the guest room boarded up there was no way anyone could get to her without S
eth hearing them. She’d be safe, both from the killer and from any further deepening of the bond that she and Seth shared, a bond that shouldn’t exist.

  He wasn’t surprised when at nine o’clock she got up from the sofa and turned off the television and announced that she was going to bed. He felt her questioning gaze on him but he didn’t look up from his computer screen as he murmured a good-night.

  He didn’t look up until he sensed that she was gone and had disappeared into the guest room and only then did he realize he’d been holding his breath. He released it on a deep sigh.

  Did he want her again? Absolutely. Was he going to follow through on his desire for her? Absolutely not. He frowned and stared at the screen in front of him where he had typed his list of persons of interest. Hell, he couldn’t even call them suspects. There just wasn’t any hard evidence to tie any of them to the murders. They didn’t have enough to ensure the state a foolproof case and no self-respecting district attorney would go forward with what little they had.

  He leaned back in his chair and released another deep sigh. Maybe he should call it a night, too. Last night sleep had been in short supply with the two bouts of lovemaking with Tamara.

  And when he had finally fallen asleep he’d suffered nightmares of being stuck in sand, unable to save Tamara, unable to move as he heard the scrape of a shovel nearby.

  The last thing he wanted to do was force Tamara to face her nightmares and even asking her to see somebody who would actively chase after them broke his heart. But that was Seth the man thinking.

  With the growing anticipation of another kill at hand, he had to put his personal feelings aside and become Seth the FBI agent, who was tasked with finding and stopping a killer and using every resource available to him to get the job done.

  He shut down his laptop and then got out of the chair and stretched with his arms overhead, working out kinks from sitting too long.

  He checked the back door to make sure it was locked and dead-bolted and then walked to the living room to do the same with the front door. After checking it, he moved to the front window and pulled one of the curtains aside to gaze out.