“Maybe he didn’t want her found right away.” The detective’s voice was gruff.
Harley frowned. “Maybe he didn’t want her found at all. We’ve been beating the bushes closer to town for days. A dog couldn’t bury a bone without someone unearthing it.”
“Laying out this timber sale has been on my calendar for a while now. You know how gossip is; half the town probably knew we’d be working up here this week.”
Harley kicked a fir cone, sending it ricocheting off a tree. “So he wanted her found, but not immediately. He was looking for a little breathing space.”
“Or he wanted the focus to stay on the hunt for the women who are still alive.” Dillon shoved his hands in his pockets. “The sick bastard must get off on staying one step ahead of us.”
The detective nodded. “Once he’s killed them, the fun goes out of it for him.”
“The tree is just up ahead.” He touched Harley’s jacket sleeve. “She’s in worse shape than Cybil was. If the FBI is taking over, there’s no reason for you to see Tricia like that.”
The sheriff jerked his arm away and stared at Dillon. His eyes were as cold as frozen mud. “I’ll do my job. My relationship with the victim ended years ago.”
“Still—”
“Drop it, Dillon. I can handle it.”
“Fine.” He walked the last few yards and stopped, head down, hands jammed in his pockets. He swallowed hard as the stench wafted on the breeze. Harley’s indrawn breath and strangled cry hit him like a fist to the gut. He didn’t look up. “Can I go back to my truck now?”
Watkins cleared his throat. “I’ll walk with you. I’ll take your preliminary statement and lead the coroner back when he gets here.”
“I suppose that works.”
The short, stocky FBI agent narrowed his eyes at Dillon. “Don’t make any plans to leave town. We’ll be talking to you again real soon.”
His fists clenched in his pockets as he met the man’s gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.” Turning on his heel, he headed back the way he’d come.
“That guy’s an ass.”
Dillon glanced over at the detective hurrying to keep pace with him, then ducked under a low hanging tree limb. “Who, Polk?”
Watkins grinned. “My wife would call it short man’s complex. Polk has it in spades. Don’t let him rattle you.”
“You’ve worked with him before?”
The detective nodded. “The other two keep him in line and get the job done.” His smile disappeared. “How, exactly, did you come across the body?”
“I was marking trees for harvesting. My men were scattered throughout this sector.” He let out a long breath. “The smell hit me, and I went to investigate, praying I’d find a dead animal. No such luck.”
“She’s definitely been there for a few days. An autopsy should be able to narrow it down.”
Dillon frowned. “You’re thinking he killed her last weekend.”
“Friday was a new moon.”
“So he murdered Tricia and then went after Stephanie.”
Watkins stopped beside the vehicles. The logging crew was gone, and the deputy was nowhere in sight. “That’s my guess.” He pulled out his notebook and a stubby pencil. “Let’s get the particulars—the time you found the body and your subsequent actions.”
Dillon ran through the sequence of events. Pressure built behind his temples as he spoke, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He’d kill for a couple of double strength aspirin and maybe a shot or two to take off the edge.
“I think it was around one o’clock when you and Harley arrived with the entourage of dead presidents.”
The detective’s lips twitched. “Don’t call them that in front of agent Johnson. She gets ticked off, and that woman is meaner than a rattlesnake when she’s riled.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Are we finished?”
Watkins slapped the notebook on his thigh and glanced up as the coroner’s van drove into the clearing. “Yep, you’re free to go, but I’m sure the FBI agents will have follow-up questions.”
Dillon paused beside his pickup. “Quite frankly, I’m worried about Harley.”
“It’s clear he’s taking the deaths of these women personally. This is his town.” The older man dropped a hand on his shoulder as he passed. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Thanks.”
Dillon backed his truck and headed down the rutted, dirt road, pressing his hand against the tight knot in his chest. The bastard who’d killed Cybil and Tricia had made it personal, for him as well as Harley. The murdered women were a part of his childhood. The ones missing were close friends. The sun glinted off his windshield as he stared up at the cold, blue sky. If the killer remained true to his pattern, they had less than two weeks before the next full moon, before Marnie’s time ran out and someone else he knew disappeared.
****
Brooke turned in a circle, a satisfied smile curving her lips. The dining room looked gorgeous. After stripping off the old, faded wallpaper, she’d added chair rails that matched the antique crown molding, then painted the lower walls pale green. New wallpaper in a delicate ivy pattern covered the upper walls. Her grandmother had sewn forest green drapes to accent the pair of tall windows overlooking the side yard.
“You did a magnificent job, honey.”
Brooke wrapped an arm around her grandmother’s waist. “We did a stupendously awesome job. With your old lace tablecloth and Wedgwood china gracing the table, breakfast will be an occasion to remember at Ransome House.”
“I certainly hope our guests think so.” June crossed her arms over her bright turquoise T-shirt. “Speaking of guests, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the bedrooms.”
“Fresh paint and new linens will make a huge difference without killing our budget. Maybe some new curtains in the bedroom James used when we were kids.”
“I’ll make a set as soon as we get the fabric. I forgot how much I enjoy sewing.” Her brows lowered, and defiance sparkled in her eyes. “My room may need a bit of additional clearing out and sprucing up. I have over fifty years of clutter up there.”
Brooke stared at her grandmother’s set expression. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m moving out of the best bedroom in the house. It makes perfect sense, and I won’t hear any arguments.”
“Where exactly do you intend to sleep?”
“I was thinking we could clean out the storage room adjacent to the pantry. It’s full of nothing but old crap.”
Brooke grinned at the snap in her grandmother’s voice. “You’re calling broken toasters, three legged chairs, and moth eaten blankets crap?”
“Don’t forget your grandpa’s collection of worn out work boots he refused to throw away. He was the packrat in the family, not me, but I’ve been too lazy to get rid of all the useless things he hoarded.”
“I don’t know, Grandma. That room isn’t very big.”
“It has a built in closet. All I’ll need is a bed and a dresser. In a few more years, I’ll be too old to run up and down the stairs, anyway.”
“There is a full bath down here. I was planning to use it myself once I move into the attic.”
“The attic!”
“I like it up there. All those trunks and boxes are filled with mystery and romance. Neila and I had a blast when we were girls, trying on old dresses from the twenties and thirties.”
“They belonged to Eli’s mother. That’s who he got his packrat tendencies from. I swear the woman never threw away a thing.”
“I’ll clean out the junk in the front of the room and drag up a mattress. Lord knows there’s plenty of cast off furniture to choose from.”
“And mice to keep you company,” June said with a shudder.
Brooke laughed. “I’m not afraid of mice, but we could always get a cat to take care of the rodent problem.”
“Wouldn’t that be a sight, our guests eating breakfast while our adorable kitty stalks a mouse, and big, clumsy Oti
s chases the cat in circles around the dining room table.”
“Isn’t there an old nursery rhyme based on that scenario?”
“I think it was a song. Now what was it that chased the dog? A pig or maybe a goat? We could have a whole menagerie of animals.”
A knock on the kitchen door interrupted her fit of giggling, and Brooke left the room to open it. Dillon stared at her with haunted eyes.
Her hand clenched the doorknob, her merriment evaporating. “What happened?”
He stepped into the kitchen and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He closed his eyes briefly before meeting her gaze. “I found Tricia.”
“Is she—” She broke off, choking on the word.
“She was killed a few days ago.”
“Oh God.” Brooke sank onto a chair. Her grandmother sat next to her and took her hand. She squeezed it, gathering strength.
“How?”
“The same way Cybil died. The mother fu—” He cleared his throat. “The killer left her tied to a tree. Harley called in the FBI. They’re taking over the investigation.”
Emptiness filled her, echoing in her ears. Her nose smarted, and tears burned her eyes. “I don’t know what to say. A woman died, and I could have helped her if only I’d stopped my car in time.”
“Don’t, Brooke. What ifs don’t accomplish a thing. They’ll only make you more miserable.”
“You’re right. Still—”
June stood, her knees clicking as she rose to her feet. She looked every one of her seventy-eight years as she let out a long sigh. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. I hear the school bus, and Zack will be on it.”
Dillon clamped his lips together and nodded as his son burst through the door. He rocked to a stop in his running shoes and dropped his backpack onto the floor with a thump. A smile lit his face.
“Hey, Dad, how come you’re home so early?”
“We finished up sooner than I expected. Do you have homework?”
“Just practicing my spelling words.”
“We can go over them after we visit Grandpa Jesse.”
“Can I take Otis with me?” he asked, his golden eyes sparkling with life and innocence.
Brooke nearly choked on her emotion. “Sure. He didn’t get a walk today, and I’m sure he’d love one.”
Dillon’s gaze met hers, and she wished she could tell what he was thinking. His face was drawn in tight lines, his eyes shuttered.
“Thanks, I’ll talk to you later.” Grabbing his son’s backpack, he followed him out the door. The boy’s whoops and hollers drifted through the cold air, bursts of warmth in the dying afternoon.
****
Brooke answered the door wearing a fuzzy, blue robe belted around her slim waist. Yellow flowered pajama legs stuck out below the hem, covering the tops of pink bunny slippers. Her hair was pulled back with a headband, and her face was scrubbed clean of makeup. She looked about twelve. Which makes me the worst sort of pervert. Dillon shifted uncomfortably, thankful his jacket hid his growing reaction.
“I didn’t expect to see you again tonight.”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
She opened the door wider and waved him inside. “Grandma went up to bed already. Have a seat in the front room.” She paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you want something to drink?”
He shook his head. “I have to make this quick. I left Zack home alone. He’s asleep, but if he wakes up—”
“He’s six years old and a bright boy. If he can’t find you at home, he’ll come straight over here.”
“I suppose so.” He held up a plastic receiver. “I dug out the old baby monitor and locked all the doors, just in case.” He flopped onto the couch and stared at her. “Come sit down. I’m here to apologize.”
She perched on the edge of the cushion. “For what?”
“Being so hard on you the other day.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You were worried and stressed and absolutely right. I was an idiot to wander around alone in the woods at night.”
“All true. Still, I’m sorry for snapping the way I did. I don’t want anything to happen to you, and I let my anxiety have free rein.”
She clasped her hands together in her lap. “I made myself an easy target. It was foolish.”
Dillon tugged her over to his side. Her body tensed before relaxing against him. He rested his cheek on her hair. “I’m scared to death for Marnie and Steph, but if anything were to happen to you—” He shuddered and held her tight.
“I’m being careful.”
“I know.” He nuzzled the side of her neck, breathing in the clean scent of soap and something vaguely floral. He licked the rim of her ear. She trembled in his arms. Heat burned through him in a wave of desire so strong it was painful.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was high and thin.
“Not nearly as much as I’d like.” He cupped her face in his hand and gently bit her bottom lip before deepening the kiss. She kissed him back, boldly thrusting her tongue into his mouth. When she groaned and buried her fingers in his hair, he laid her back onto the cushions. He pushed aside the lapel of her robe and felt supple flesh beneath soft flannel. Buttons slipped through their holes, baring her skin to his touch. Her nipples puckered into tight buds.
He tore his lips from hers and kissed his way down, fastening his mouth over one peak. She whimpered and squirmed beneath him. Blood pounded in his head, and for a moment he was afraid he would explode. He wrenched his mouth away, closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth, trying to take back some measure of control.
Her breath came in short pants, and her hand shook as she closed her robe. “We can’t do this again, Dillon.”
He released her and opened his eyes. Her gaze met his, full of lingering passion mixed with agitation.
“I agree your grandmother’s couch may not be the best place to start something.”
“We aren’t going to start something anywhere. Nothing has changed. You don’t want a committed relationship, and I don’t want to get hurt.”
Her words stung. “You’ve been back in town for a month. I don’t know what you expect from me.” The words sounded petulant, even to his own ears.
Her gaze was steady. Her smile held little humor. “I thought I could enjoy a casual fling. God knows the sex is amazing.”
He picked up her hand and squeezed her fingers. “I’ll second that.”
“Apparently I’m not great at casual flings. I can’t turn off my emotions.” She squeezed back, then pulled her hand away. “I care about you. If we keep doing this, I’m afraid it will turn into more than caring.” She flung out her arm. “And voilà, I wind up with a broken heart. Again.”
Her voice was edged with fear, and he felt lower than gum on a sidewalk for not reassuring her. But he wouldn’t lie. Dillon sucked in a breath and let the truth spill out. “I care—a lot.” He took her face between his palms and looked into her eyes. “The thought of something happening to you scares the shit out of me, because you matter. Is that love?” He flopped back against the couch. “Hell, I don’t know. Am I looking for the entanglements that always seem to complicate a committed relationship? Not on your life. I didn’t start this—” He raised his hands. “—this thing between us wanting a commitment.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know! When you’re angry, I lose sleep. When I don’t see you, I miss the funny things you say and your smile. Then there’s the sex.” His fists clenched at his sides. “Jesus, Brooke, just thinking about you gives me a hard on at some extremely inopportune moments.”
Her lips tilted in a tired looking smile. “Basing a relationship on your overactive libido doesn’t sound like the sturdiest foundation to build on.”
He stared at the glowing embers in the fireplace. Otis rolled over on the hearth rug and groaned in his sleep. “Probably not.”
She turned to look him squarely in the eyes. He could practically see the frustrat
ion rising off her in waves. “So, do we give this an honest try, or do we stay away from each other as best we can? It’s your call.”
He stared back, watching her blue eyes darken to the color of a stormy sea. Her full lips were pressed firmly together, and her back was as rigid as a flag pole beneath the tightly belted robe. He wanted to pull her into his arms and watch the tension melt away. He wanted to see her eyes light up with laughter. What he didn’t want was to let her go.
“Maybe a commitment isn’t such a bad thing. It beats the hell out of the alternative.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Seriously, Dillon, am I supposed to be overwhelmed by your enthusiasm?”
He grinned. “Hey, I’m trying.” He reached for her and pulled her against his side. Resting his chin on top of her head, he felt some of his stress ease. “Can we go slow and see what happens?”
“Yes.”
“Can we make out some more?”
“Not right this minute. You should probably go home and check on Zack.”
His gaze flew to the silent baby monitor. “I can’t believe I forgot about my son.” He rubbed his hands across his face and stared at her. “It worries me, the way I can’t think about anything else when I’m around you.”
She frowned. “You’re overreacting. Zack is safe. You didn’t forget about him. Having a conversation with me isn’t turning your back on your son.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right! God, you must think I’m a complete basket case.”
“No, I think you’re a single parent with a lot on your mind. I get that, Dillon. I know Zack is your number one priority. I wouldn’t think much of you if he wasn’t.”
He stood, took her hands in his, and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “I don’t deserve you. I honest to God don’t. I’ve been a complete idiot, but I’m really going to try this time.”
“That’s all I want.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. “Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
His body stirred, and he deepened the kiss. When he broke contact, his heart was pounding in his chest. “You could come home with me.”
A Deadly Love Page 15