A Deadly Love

by Jannine Gallant

  Dillon turned to January and pointed. “Wednesday the nineteenth was a full moon.”

  “No one remembers seeing Cybil McCoy after she left a party in Malibu late that evening. We pegged it as the night she disappeared.”

  “So whoever has these women takes them on either a full or new moon.”

  “It looks that way.” The officer gestured to the timeline. “Miss McCoy’s body was found the night before Marnie Palmer was reported missing.” His bushy gray brows furrowed. “The first woman was killed and the third taken within hours of each other.”

  Acid rolled in Dillon’s gut. “You’re assuming there’s a connection between the missing local women and Cybil.”

  “Seems like a fair assumption.”

  “I hope to God you’re wrong.”

  “Yeah, so do I. If we’ve identified his pattern, it would make sense that the second woman was killed the night the fourth woman was taken.”

  The breath left Dillon’s body, and he pressed a hand to his aching chest. “No one’s found Tricia.”

  “Not yet.”

  ****

  Brooke stared out the kitchen window as long shadows crept farther across the yard. She bit her lip. Dillon hadn’t called.

  “Do you think it’s dry yet?”

  She turned and leaned against the sink. Strips of newspaper along with flour and water paste stuck to the kitchen table in clumps. Splashes of green and blue paint added a second dimension to the mess. Zack’s masterpiece, a paper mache replica of the earth, sat in the middle of it, drying on paper towels.

  “I’d give it a little longer. You don’t want to ruin that beauty by touching it too soon.”

  The boy heaved a weary sigh. “It’s taking forever!”

  “It only seems like forever.” She glanced over her shoulder at the gloomy back yard. The rain, at least, had stopped.

  “Can I go outside and play while I wait?”

  “Sure, but put on your jacket and boots first. It’s soaking wet out there. And promise me you’ll stay in the yard.”

  He heaved another sigh. “You might not be a mom, but you sure sound like one.” Zack shoved his feet into red rubber boots and jammed his arms through the sleeves of his black, waterproof jacket.

  Brooke wondered if she should be flattered or insulted by his comment. Amusement won out, and her lips curved as he slammed the door shut behind him.

  “Supervising little boys requires a lot of energy.” June set the teakettle on the stove and turned on the burner. “I can’t remember the last time I spent the day with Zack and actually had a few minutes to sit down and put up my feet.”

  “You only did today because you deserted me during the creation of that lopsided marvel.” Brooke fisted her hands on her hips and stared at the table. “Dare we move that thing to clean up the mess?”

  “Maybe we can clean around it. The paint still looks runny.”

  “That’s because Zack mixed it with water to make sure we wouldn’t run out before we finished.”

  June pulled mugs patterned with daisies and a box of tea bags from the shelf and grinned. “You can’t fool me. You had as much fun making it as he did.”

  Her lips twitched. “Possibly. It certainly took my mind off—other things.”

  Her grandmother glanced toward the window. “It’s getting late.”

  Brooke squeezed the sponge between her fingers until her knuckles turned white. “I wish Dillon would call.”

  “I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.” The teakettle whistled. June turned off the burner and poured water into the mugs. “How was the party last night? With everything else that’s happened, I forgot to ask.”

  “You didn’t miss much.” She took the mug her grandmother handed her and blew on the steaming tea. “Everyone was in gloomy spirits even before Stephanie—” She took a breath and controlled the quaver in her voice. “Elliot wasn’t feeling well and left early. Then Harley and Carter both got called away on work related emergencies. The evening was a bust.”

  June’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you get home?”

  “Dillon drove me.” She looked down at the cup, avoiding her grandmother’s gaze. Remembering the goodnight kiss that had curled her toes and stolen her breath sent heat creeping into her cheeks. Finally she glanced up. “You can wipe that smirk off your face, Grandma. Nothing happened.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone to the dance with Carter in the first place. You should have waited for Dillon to ask you.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “You make the whole affair sound like something from a seventies’ sitcom.” She wiped her hands across her paint stained jeans. “I should be wearing heels and a frilly apron, waiting in anticipation for the big, strong man to remember my existence and pick up—”

  The phone rang, shattering the quiet in the house along with her nerves. Her grandmother’s smile faded. Brooke grabbed the receiver, closed her eyes, and prayed. “Hello.”

  Dillon’s voice was a sigh in her ear. “We haven’t found her. A few of us are going to search a little longer, until it’s too dark to see.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the wall. A lump lodged in her throat. “Did you find anything at all?”

  “Not a damn thing. I’m about ninety-nine percent positive the lunatic who has the women isn’t holding them in the woods.”

  “Then where—”

  “Hell if I know. Harley’s calling in the FBI. His frustration level is through the roof. With Tricia and Marnie, he wasn’t certain they didn’t leave of their own free will, but Stephanie is definitely a kidnapping.”

  “How is Rod holding up?”

  “As well as can be expected. Carter kept a close eye on him today, but he toughed it out without breaking down completely. His parents arrived earlier this afternoon, so at least he won’t be home alone with the kids tonight.”

  “Good.”

  “How is everything there?”

  Brooke wiped a tear off her cheek and sniffed. “Fine. Zack’s model of the earth is still drying, but it should be ready to take to home in a couple of hours.”

  “Thanks for helping with that.”

  “We had fun making it.”

  “I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

  “Bye, Dillon.” She hung up the phone and met her grandmother’s worried gaze. “They didn’t find her.”

  June’s hand shook as she set down her mug of tea. “Maybe tomorrow...”

  “There’s always tomorrow.” She squared her shoulders. “I’d better go check on Zack.”

  Pulling her fleece jacket off the hook by the door, she stepped out onto the back porch. Full darkness was closing in, and the boy and dog were nowhere in sight. Uneasiness stirred, pebbling her arms with goose flesh beneath the warm jacket.

  “Zack, where are you?”

  “Here.” His high pitched, anxious voice did little to relieve her nerves. She crossed the yard and spotted him standing near the compost pile. “Why are you playing over here?”

  He kicked a tree root with his rubber boot and hunched his shoulders. “Otis ran into the woods. I wanted to follow him, but you said to stay in the yard.”

  She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you remembered. Don’t worry about the dog. He’s always chasing squirrels. He’ll find his way home.”

  “But it’s almost dark.” He glanced up, and his lower lip trembled. “What if he gets lost?”

  “He won’t.”

  His brows drew together. “He might.”

  Brooke sighed. “Will it make you feel better if I go look for him?” At his nod, she squeezed his shoulder. “Go back inside. I’ll find Otis and be along in a minute.”

  The boy ran across the lawn, and she walked a few steps into the woods. The last rays of light from the setting sun were swallowed up by the immense trees. She breathed in the scent of evergreen needles and damp earth and let out a shaky breath.

  “Otis, come here boy!” she yelled. Her ears rang with the a
nswering silence. Cursing under her breath she struggled through the underbrush, stopping every few yards to shout for the dog. She could barely see her hand in front of her face, but faint noises up ahead spurred her onward.

  A branch snapped behind her. She spun, slipping on the needle covered ground. “Otis!”

  A hand touched her arm. She screamed.

  “Jesus, Brooke, you scared the hell out of me.”

  She pressed her hand against her pounding chest. “You! What about me? I nearly had a heart attack.”

  Harley rested his hands on his hips and scowled at her. “You should be scared! What in the hell are you doing out in the woods by yourself at dark? I ought to lock you up for your own safety.”

  She stiffened. “I was looking for my dog. I only meant to go a short ways.”

  “You’re a good two hundred yards from the house. My God, Brooke, women are missing.”

  Her defenses crumbled. “I’m sorry. Zack was anxious about Otis, but I shouldn’t have—”

  “Hey, I’m sorry I yelled.” He let out a long breath. “I’m beyond worried about those women. Still, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

  “And I should have used better judgment. When I heard something up ahead, I just kept going.”

  “It wasn’t your dog. I saw that big brute making a beeline for the house a ways back. You probably heard the last of the searchers heading toward the road. We’re calling it a night. You can’t see squat anymore, even with flashlights.”

  She followed Harley out of the forest and into her grandmother’s back yard. A few men were gathered on the road. Car doors slammed, and engines started. Dillon crossed the lawn with his son at his side, the paper mache world clutched in the boy’s arms.

  Dillon’s face was grim in the glare of the outdoor floodlights. “You don’t have the sense God gave a gnat.”

  Harley frowned. “Lay off, Dillon. I already lectured her about safety.”

  “It’s my fault, Dad. I made her go look for Otis.”

  “It’s no one’s fault.” Brooke squatted beside the boy, feeling a little sick to her stomach. Nothing had happened. Still... She swallowed. “Are you sure your project is dry enough to move?”

  “Grandma June used a blow dryer on it.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Night, Brooke.”

  She rose slowly and met Dillon’s gaze. His eyes flashed with unspoken fury. Without another word, she headed toward the house, his anger weighing heavier with each step.

  She shut the kitchen door and leaned against it. Tears stung her eyes. June shut the freezer door and laid a bag of peas on the counter. Chicken sizzled on the stove, filling the room with a delicious aroma. She could use a big dose of comfort food about now.

  “Dillon was worried about you.”

  “I gathered that.” Brooke sniffed, ripped a paper towel from the roll, and blew her nose. “He and Harley yelled at me like I was a brainless two-year-old.”

  “They care.”

  She tossed the towel in the trash and sighed. “I know. I’m as concerned about Stephanie and the others as they are. It’s just so frustrating feeling like I can’t even walk out my own back door. We live in constant fear of what will happen next.”

  “It won’t be forever, but until they stop this man—”

  The phone rang, and Brooke jumped. Pressing her hand to her chest, she lifted the receiver. Her heart pounded. Good news or bad? “Hello.”

  “Brooke, it’s Carter.”

  Her shoulders slumped. No news at all. “Hi, Carter.”

  “I’m sorry I had to cut out on you last night.”

  “That’s all right. The evening wasn’t exactly relaxing and fun even before—” The words stuck in her throat.

  His sigh carried over the line. “Let’s take a break, have a nice dinner, think about something else for a few hours. I’m free tomorrow night.”

  She rubbed her forehead and frowned. “It wouldn’t seem right. I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t help them by sitting at home worrying.” His tone held and edge.

  “No.” She straightened, irritation stiffening her spine. “Thank you for asking, but no.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Maybe another time, then.”

  “Sure. Goodnight, Carter.” She hung up the phone and turned to face her grandmother.

  A smile stretched across her wrinkled cheeks. “See, you’re making better decisions already.”

  ****

  The clouds parted, and stars glimmered in the moonless sky. The house was a darker shadow in the night. Brooke was tucked away inside, asleep. Earlier, she’d been mere yards from where he stood. So close he could see her hands shake, hear the quaver in her voice as she called the dog.

  He’d been tempted to take her. So tempted. His hands had twitched with longing to reach out and close around the soft skin of her arm. But it wasn’t her time yet.

  Inside the house, the dog barked, a cacophonous racket loud enough to wake the dead. A light snapped on in an upstairs window. Brooke’s room.

  A sigh shuddered through him. Soon. It would be her turn soon. As quietly as he’d come, he slipped away into the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dillon stomped through the underbrush, pausing every few yards to tag a tree with orange paint. A blue jay squawked overhead, and the wind whistled through the dense branches. Faintly he heard the sounds of his men calling back and forth as they worked their individual sections. It was a clear, sunny day without a hint of warmth. He sprayed paint on the thick trunk of a Douglas fir and moved on, skipping the smaller trees, leaving them to grow.

  He’d stopped clear cutting when he took over the reins of Big Timber. After years spent studying forestry management, he was a firm believer in selective harvesting. It was better for the environment, and in the long run, more profitable. He sprayed another shot of paint and pressed onward. This tract of land was several miles from town, far from the area he and the other volunteers had spent the last few days searching. They’d come away empty. Again. Harley had called off the search, deeming it pointless. Wherever the women were being held, it wasn’t in the forest.

  Wind gusted from the north, sending a chill through his heavy, canvas work jacket. A smell carried on the air, so strong and offensive, he gagged. He dropped the paint canister and stumbled toward the area from which the odor emanated. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. The rotting carcass of a deer or bear would produce such a stench. Covering his nose with his sleeve, he prayed he’d find one or the other. Fear he wouldn’t trickled like ice water down his spine.

  He pushed through a thicket of Sitka spruce and dwarf maple and halted, his knees buckling. The body hung on a redwood, one of the few growing near a thick grove of fir trees. Animals had been at her, and what was left was barely recognizable. Except for the cloud of dark, curly hair. Matted and tangled, it hid most of her ravaged face. Some sort of long, white garment, similar to what Cybil had worn, covered her body.

  Dillon sunk onto the soft, needle covered floor of the forest and focused on breathing through his mouth. He pressed his eyes tightly closed, waiting for the world to stop spinning. When he was confident he wouldn’t heave up his breakfast, he turned his back to the tree and pulled out his cell phone. Two bars. His hand shook as he punched the buttons to connect the call.

  Harley answered his personal line. “Sheriff Boone speaking.”

  “Harley, I found her.” His voice broke.

  “Dillon, is that you? ...barely hear you.”

  He stood and walked several yards. A third bar lit up on the display, and he took a deep breath. “I found Tricia.”

  “Jesus.”

  “She’s been dead a few days, maybe longer. God. You might want to send someone else.”

  The sheriff’s voice was granite hard. “I’ll come. Where are you?”

  Dillon gave his coordinates. Tears burned his eyes as he glanced over at the tree. “She’s just hanging there. Sh
ould I—”

  “Don’t do anything! Stay away from her for Christ’s sake. Don’t touch anything.” Emotion vibrated in his voice. “Just wait for me to get there.”

  He pressed his hand against the back of his neck and stared up at the blue sky. “Harley, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, so am I.”

  It was nearly an hour before the sheriff arrived, accompanied by an entourage that made it clear this was no longer a local investigation. Dillon and his crew waited at the end of the dirt logging road where they’d parked. It was past noon, but he didn’t feel like eating. Just the thought of food made his stomach roll. They’d packed up their gear as it seemed obvious they wouldn’t be working in this section of forest again anytime soon, not with an active murder investigation in progress.

  Dillon slid off the tailgate of his pickup. Car doors slammed. Harley, followed by his deputies, headed in their direction. The two state detectives, Watkins and Hanks, were with them along with a trio of men wearing suits, ties, and spit shined patent leather shoes. The dusty road took the gleam off before they’d gone ten feet.

  “The FBI agents I contacted were already en route when you called.” The sheriff was pale, his mouth a tight, pinched line. “They’ll be taking over the investigation once the detectives and I bring them up to speed. Dillon, these are agents Washington, Polk, and Johnson. This is Dillon Tremayne, the man who discovered—the victim.”

  Dillon’s brow shot up at the Presidential names, but his old friend didn’t so much as crack a smile. Dillon shook hands with Washington, a whip thin black man with liquid brown eyes. Polk was a fireplug with attitude to burn if his sneering expression was any indication. Johnson was—a woman. His eyes widened as he shook her hand. With ruthlessly short, dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses, she towered over the other two agents.

  Harley cleared his throat. “Dwayne, you stay here and take statements from Dillon’s crew. Once you have them, they’re free to leave. The rest of us will head out to the crime scene.”

  Dillon fell in step between Harley and Detective Watkins, a short distance ahead of the others. Dead branches crunched under their boots. Robins chirped in the fir trees. He let out a long sigh and broke the silence between them. “Why do you suppose he left her way out here?”