“I’m sorry.” Cassie set down her menu. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I probably wouldn’t have noticed, except for Dad.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, there’s a resemblance. Let’s hope I don’t have a stroke someday that effects the other side of my face. Although if it keeps me expressionless, it might be as good as Botox.”
Cassie laughed. “You’re a champion at the expressionless thing anyway.”
“It’s part of being a badass.”
She rolled her eyes.
The waiter appeared then to take their orders. Once he was out of earshot, Grant focused on her. “You were telling me about your day.”
“Was I?”
He smiled.
So she told him about her serendipitous encounter at the deli, and the other friends and acquaintances of Curt and Travis she’d tracked down.
“Of course, they all wanted to talk about the football hero and heroic veteran who had come home to serve as sheriff.”
“Good God. What was the point of all this?”
He had to know, but she explained about the article she planned. “It started out as cover so I could find out more about any tensions at the high school when you were there, but I think the article will be good. Assuming I can slip it by my father.”
“Not his style?”
“No.” She saw that Grant understood.
Their salads arrived, but even as she picked up her fork, Cassie teased, “It so happens that I talked to several ex-girlfriends of yours. I was with Lauren Jeffrey when you called, in fact. You made the rounds when you were in high school, didn’t you?”
He muttered something under his breath that she suspected might have offended his voters. “I was full of myself,” he admitted. “Amazing how fast I got over that once I was out in the world.”
“Maybe not being voted Prom King was the beginning of your new humility,” she suggested kindly.
This was one of his wicked grins. “Travis never let me forget that.”
He insisted she tell him who else she’d talked to, and did some wincing. “Tell me none of this will appear in the newspaper.”
“Not unless you become newsworthy.” The minute the words were out, she wished she hadn’t said them.
His smile died, too. He had to be thinking the same thing she was. If the killings had anything to do with old resentments, he’d be a prime target.
No. Please no. Would it help if she knocked on wood?
“Let’s talk about something else,” she begged.
“Okay.” He spoke slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I have a question. What happened with your mother?”
He might as well have dropped her in ice water.
CHAPTER NINE
The prolonged silence had Grant second guessing himself. This had been lousy timing to ask about her mother.
“I…don’t talk about her,” Cassie said.
Her usually expressive face was anything but. Her hair glowed brighter against skin that had lost color. The liveliness, the inquisitiveness and mischief that amused him and drew him, too…wiped away. Disturbed, he realized she’d withdrawn as completely as it was possible to do without moving a muscle.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’d guessed she’s a sensitive subject for you. I shouldn’t have asked.” Especially not here, surrounded as they were by other diners.
“I shouldn’t be so sensitive about it,” Cassie said in a stifled voice. “The short answer is, she committed suicide.”
Oh, hell. “How old were you?”
“Eight.”
There must have been talk at the time, but, chagrined, all he could think was that he’d have been a self-absorbed twelve – no, thirteen-year-old.
He reached across the table for her hand. Her fingers turned in his clasp to grip tight.
“No wonder you don’t want to talk about her.” To a child, having her mother choose to leave her would feel like the worst betrayal. Her father was unlikely to have handled the aftermath with gentleness or empathy, either.
Cassie averted her face. “If she’d done it differently…” A shudder moved through her. The eventual vibration reached her small hand enclosed in his.
Differently? Grant dreaded finding out how her mother had killed herself. Or was it the where or when that made the bad worse? Surely she had ensured that her young daughter wouldn’t find her? But he’d seen enough suicides on the job to know how selfish depressed people could be. Maybe because of the density of the gray cloud that swathed them, they rarely gave thought to how family and friends would feel.
And then Grant had a more troubling thought yet. The short answer, she’d said. How much had she left out? What had she left out?
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. The most worthless words every spoken.
Cassie met his eyes again, hers a dark, almost muddy brown, the gold highlights extinguished. “Thank you.”
He glanced to the side. “Here comes our food.”
“Oh!” She blinked a few times, fast, and pasted a smile of sorts on her mouth.
Seeing it felt like a kick in the chest to him. What had he been thinking, asking about a past tragedy while he was trying to…what? Seduce her? But the word didn’t fit, because she already made him feel too much.
His steak was barely in front of him when his phone rang. He pulled it out. “I have to take this. It’s one of my deputies.”
“Sure, no problem.” She carved off a tiny bite of her filet mignon, probably for show.
“Holcomb.” He should probably go outside.
“Ah, Sheriff?” The caller was a young deputy who would do fine with some more experience, but still lacked confidence. “I just picked up Vic Bowers. Said he’d been attacked in the parking lot of the tavern.”
No real crisis, then. “He lied,” Grant said flatly.
“Far as I can tell, he’s just drunk. No indication of injuries. He didn’t want to go by the E.R. Said just to take him home.”
“Arrest him.”
Unashamedly eavesdropping, Cassie appeared startled, then curious. He’d let himself forget she was a member of the press.
“What?” Deputy Numsen said.
“This is the third time he’s done this in the past few months. I told him last time we’re not a taxi service. We can’t not respond when we get his kind of call, which means he has to be made to understand that crying wolf will get him in serious trouble.”
“Um…yes, sir. What should I charge him with?”
“Improper use of emergency communications system should do for now. Let him spend the night in the tank.”
“That’s a crime?”
“Yes, it is,” Grant said, almost gently.
He stowed the phone, relieved to see a recovered glint of humor in Cassie’s eyes.
“A taxi service?”
“Yeah.” He told the story, without naming the idiot who thought the cops ought to give him a lift home whenever he pleased. “This is not to appear in the Courier.”
“It would make a humorous little—”
“No.”
“You’re lacking in diplomacy, you know.”
He let himself smile. “You’ve mentioned that before.”
Their conversation stuck to the surface thereafter. He’d have called it light, except he thought Cassie was faking it some of the time.
Unfortunately, once he’d paid and they collected their coats, too many diners were coming and going for Grant to do more than walk Cassie to her car and brush her lips with his before saying goodnight. He added, “I’ll be following you home.”
“What? That’s ridiculous! You won’t—”
Smiling, he walked away, getting into his truck before she pulled out of the parking lot. He half expected his phone to ring so she could berate him, but apparently she was seething silently.
His headlights let her see her way to the back door, but somehow she failed to turn for a last, cheerful wave before disappearing inside.
*****
A cleared throat was followed by, “Hey.”
Cassie lifted her head to see Andy Sloane standing beside her desk. He’d been out last time she’d checked, although several other staff members were here, either on their phones or absorbed in whatever they were doing on their computers. It was mid-afternoon the day after her dinner with Grant, and she was still torn between irritation at his high-handedness and a warm spot inside because he cared enough to want to protect her.
Boy, didn’t that stir up a lot of unwelcome stuff. She hadn’t gotten where she was in a demanding profession by letting any man dominate her or protect her. Ever.
Her attention had been scattered all morning, because the paper was being distributed today. How annoyed would the killer be by her article? Her tension got cranked tighter the longer she went with her phone remaining silent.
Leaning back in her chair now, she said pleasantly, “I was looking for you earlier. Good article on the latest pissing match between the county commissioners and the city council. I wanted to thank you for picking up the slack.”
His smile wasn’t all that convincing; Lord knows, as the reporter who covered the police beat, he had reason for feeling disgruntled. Even outright resentment. Having her keep the biggest story of the decade for herself must rankle. Maybe even more because she was only a fill-in for her father. In his twenties, Andy probably harbored ambitions, and the smiley face balloon killer might have garnered him national attention. Once, of course, the Hayes County Courier managing editor okayed mention of the balloons.
“Just wondered if there’s anything new on the killings.”
“Nothing that Sheriff Holcomb has shared with me.”
“No new calls, I take it?”
“Thank God,” she said, more fervently than she’d intended. Seeing his expression, she did tell him about the gifts.
“Creepy guy.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
He tilted his head. “Why are you keeping those quiet?”
A reasonable question since he didn’t know about the balloons. If she couldn’t tell her father, she wasn’t about to tell anyone on the staff. When Andy found out, he’d feel sidelined, which she regretted. When Dad found out… Well, better not to think about that.
She explained that she didn’t want to make the story about her, and she especially resisted rewarding the killer for his presents/threats by giving him additional press coverage.
“I guess I can see that,” he said reluctantly. “Maybe once he’s arrested you could write about having these creepy interactions with a serial killer.”
Oh, yeah. How about, My Creepy Relationship with a Serial Killer? Perfect for a grocery store tabloid cover.
Her cell phone rang, and he went on his way.
Unfamiliar number. Not local. Time to try out the recording app she’d downloaded. Activating it, she answered, “Managing editor.”
“Surprise!”
It was him. Apprehension grabbed her by the throat, even as her mind worked in strange ways. What if she’d screwed up with the recording thing? She should have tried it ahead of time.
Please don’t let anyone else have died.
“It’s a surprise to hear from you,” she said with a good facsimile of coolness. “That is, if you’re calling to chew me out. Have you already seen the paper?”
“I have. You’re still cooperating with the police.” Was that mockery, or something more disturbing. “Why would you do that?”
“If I defy them, I won’t get any information out of them in the future.” Maybe that was an argument he’d understand.
“Did you like my present?”
Or maybe not.
“I don’t like being threatened.” How was he altering his voice like this? Cassie strained to absorb his intonation, pacing, anything that she would recognize if she should happen to chat with him face to face.
“Is that how you took it?” He chuckled. “Well, I’m giving you another chance to do your job the way it should be done.”
No. Please, no.
“You can call me a cop killer now,” he said with apparent good humor. “I’m tempted to tell you where to find the body, since our local law enforcement hasn’t exactly been impressive so far. But watching will be half the fun.”
He was gone.
Sick and terrified, she called Grant, needing desperately to hear his voice. If he died, too…
By the third ring, her fingernails had dug gouges in the wood desktop. Fourth. Fifth.
“You’ve reached Grant Holcomb. Leave a message.”
No, no.
“This is Cassie. Please call me. Please.”
Not until she ended the call did she realize she hadn’t relayed the real message.
Shaking, she made herself dial 911.
*****
There wasn’t anything Cassie could realistically do but wait. If she hadn’t been so damn scared, she might have run the distance to the sheriff’s department. But all she’d do was get in their way. Plus, it was entirely possible the receptionist would be alone there. Deputies on duty would be out on the road, or following up on calls. She had no immediate deadline that would require her to scramble for what scraps of information she could cobble together to make a story.
Grant always answered his phone.
She clenched her jaw, trying desperately not to imagine him, his big body slack on the ground, his head destroyed. The man…gone. Her teeth tried harder to chatter.
Somebody walked in front of her desk. She didn’t even attempt to take in who it was, until that someone asked, “Are you all right?”
Forcing herself to focus proved painful. Helen Ames, early forties, tall, angular and warmly maternal.
“No.” Cassie swallowed. “There’s been another murder.”
Despite being on the phone, Paul Lawseth swung slowly to stare at her. He handled sports and general news.
Next thing she knew, Andy hovered beside her desk, too.
“Who?” He couldn’t completely hide his eagerness. “Did he say? And where? I can go out there if you want.”
She shook her head. “Don’t know who. Or where.” She hesitated. “It’s a cop. That’s…not for general knowledge.”
Her staff had wrenched her into the now. Cassie didn’t know if this was an improvement. Given what a short time she’d known Grant, her terror seemed disproportionate. She hated having to sit here with adrenaline flooding her body until she wanted to scream. Do something. Anything.
She went back to staring at her phone, willing it to ring.
What was happening? If they couldn’t find Grant, who would be in charge? For the first time, it occurred to her that the dead man could be a Fort Halleck P.D. officer, not a sheriff’s deputy.
Or sheriff.
With a lunge, she pulled her laptop close and typed in ‘Fort halleck oregon police department’. The site opened, causing her to silently swear. The police chief’s “message” was accompanied by a photo of him smiling benevolently, but the other officers weren’t pictured, or even named. Andy would know them, but she was reluctant to explain her fear that the killer was targeting former high school classmates. This murder might entirely disprove it.
Why hadn’t Grant called? Or…somebody else? That detective, maybe. Ridiculous to be too rattled to remember his name, even though she’d met him and knew it.
Dawson. Something Dawson. Jeb…no, Jed. She thought.
Her chest felt squeezed by a big, rusty vise like the one attached to the workbench in her father’s detached garage. If it wasn’t oiled, it might never loosen.
Her mind continued to wander oddly. Her phone looked like a shiny slab of black marble, she decided. A gravestone, waiting to be etched.
One of the newspaper office’s three lines rang. Helen started to turn away, but Cassie shook her head and picked up the receiver.
“Managing editor.”
“Ms. Ward? This is Detective Dawson.” Strain underlay a voice Cassie recalled as calm w
ith a hint of Southern drawl. “I need to know if he offered any clues at all. About the victim or where to find the body.”
“Nothing. He said…” She swallowed and tried again. “That he was tempted to tell me where to find the body, since—” how exactly had he phrased it? “—our local law enforcement hasn’t exactly been impressive so far. Then he said watching would be half the fun.”
She took note of the “our” for the first time. He must identify as local, then.
Cassie ignored the three staff members who hadn’t moved.
Dawson was quiet. Longer than she could bear.
“Have you been in contact with Grant?” she blurted.
“No. That’s a…concern,” he said carefully. “He went out to the Circle S to talk to Mrs. Steagall again. She isn’t answering her phone any more than he is.”
Amazing the detective said that much. Had Grant talked about her? She closed her eyes. “I recorded the conversation. I think I did. I haven’t checked yet to see if it worked.”
“Good, I’ll want to hear it.”
“Have you been able to locate all your deputies?”
“We’re working on that. And, of course, Chief Seward is doing the same with his officers. The ones on shift haven’t been a problem.” Except for the sheriff himself, of course. That went unspoken. “It’s the men who are off. Some are probably sleeping.”
“Yes. I understand. Will you…let me know?” Did he have any idea that his sheriff and she had a personal relationship, however undefined?
“I’ll tell you what I can. I’ll, ah, probably be by later to listen—”
Her cell phone rang. The number displayed worked like a cattle prod. It was Grant. Or someone using his phone.
“Just a minute,” she interrupted, set down the receiver and picked up her mobile phone. “Grant?”
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t answer. I see my office called, too. And Dawson. Did something happen?”
“Yes.” Oh, dear God, was she crying? She never did. She didn’t pray, either, but she’d done a lot of that in the last twenty minutes, too. There was a reason she’d never wanted to be this vulnerable again. Angrily, she swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “He called again. He said—” Her voice broke. Crap. “—that he’s a cop killer now. So…when you didn’t answer your phone…”
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