by Laura Scott
He stared at her again for a long moment, making her irrationally nervous, until he let out a heavy sigh. “Hey, it wasn’t for nothing, Red,” he said, using the nickname she’d once thought was cute but now struck her as annoying. “At least I had the chance to plead my case. And I can be patient. If you’re not seeing anyone else, I still have a chance.”
She frowned again, thinking that it wasn’t like Jake to plead his case to anyone. Maybe some woman had broken up with him and he’d figured he’d come see her, hoping she’d fall into his arms again.
Not.
“How’s work going?” she asked, desperate to change the subject from their disastrous relationship.
He shrugged and glanced away. “Same old, same old.”
There was another long pause, made even more uncomfortable because there wasn’t anything more to say. Once work had been the primary thing they had in common, but not anymore. She downed the rest of her soft drink in a long gulp. “Thanks for the drink, Jake, but I really need to run.”
“Hang on for a minute, I’ll walk you out.” Jake signaled the bartender for his tab. He signed off on the bill and tossed some bills on the bar for a tip before he shoved the receipt in his pocket.
He held the door open for her and then followed her outside. “If you change your mind, give me a call, Megan,” he murmured, brushing a kiss on her cheek. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“You too, Jake,” she said, relieved when he stepped back. He pulled a ball cap out of his back pocket and put it on his head as he headed around the corner to the small parking lot behind the pub.
She turned to walk back up to her hotel, but then hesitated and spun around, going back to look for Jake. She scanned the parking lot but didn’t see him. Was he still driving the yellow Camaro? If so, it wasn’t in the lot. Maybe he’d bought a new car. But as she continued to watch the lot, nothing moved. Either he’d parked somewhere else, or he had already gone in the minutes before she’d come back. She waited for a few moments before she finally turned away, feeling foolish.
Really, she needed to get a grip. Just because Jake had slapped a ball cap on his sandy-brown hair didn’t mean he was the guy who’d been following her for the past few days.
But the nagging possibility wouldn’t leave her alone.
After a silent meal of frozen pizza with Sam, Luke went back to the office to work. For the first few hours he spent his time returning phone calls from concerned citizens and moving his piles of paperwork from one side of his desk to the other. He took the time to jot down all his theories so far, sheer busywork since they were already imbedded in his brain.
Because it was a weekend, they still hadn’t heard back from the military bases he’d contacted to verify that Sean Mathews had truly joined up and was in basic training somewhere. Yet as much as he wanted to believe that possibility, he kept coming back to this being the work of a copycat killer.
At nine o’clock, he packed up the transcripts of Paul Sherman’s trial and headed home. He took a short detour, driving past the Crystal Lake Motel.
No sign of Megan; the windows of her room were dark. He sat in the parking lot for a few minutes, talking himself out of going inside to talk through the various theories. Finally, he shook his head at his own idiocy and told himself to forget about her.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, he was interested in a woman. But he wasn’t free to pursue any kind of relationship. Not when he was failing miserably as a father to Sam.
All he could offer was friendship.
When he returned home, Sam’s beat-up black truck was still in the driveway, so at least the kid hadn’t hot-wired it. Luke knocked at Sam’s bedroom door, listening for a moment, but didn’t hear anything beyond his son’s CD player belting out some heavy-metal noise disguised as music.
There was no response to his knock, so he opened the door a crack.
Sam glanced up from his computer, scowling. “What, don’t you knock?”
“You didn’t hear me,” Luke said in an overly loud tone, hoping he’d made his point. “Just wanted you to know I’m home.”
“Whatever.” Sam kept his gaze focused on the computer screen, his fingers tapping out messages, no doubt to his friends, effectively shutting his father out.
For a moment, Luke was tempted to yank the computer keyboard right out from beneath his hands. He controlled the urge with an effort. Really, what did he expect? That Sam would just sit around and watch TV or play video games all day? He was seventeen, not seven.
Cutting a teenager off from his friends was a fate worse than death. So Luke called out, “Good night,” before he stepped back and closed his son’s bedroom door.
He sat at the kitchen table, reading through the transcripts from Sherman’s trial, but when the words blurred on the page, he shoved them aside and stood.
Crossing over to the patio doors, he went outside to his favorite spot on the deck, overlooking the water.
The gently lapping water was mesmerizing. One thing about Crystal Lake, it was nice and quiet. When they’d first moved here, it had taken him a while to get used to the lack of noise. No traffic, no people, no sirens. Only the sounds of chirping crickets and belching bullfrogs echoing through the darkness. And the brightness of the stars overhead.
He’d grown to love it here. Too bad Sam hadn’t found the transition quite as easy. Maybe if Sam would give up wearing nothing but black and cut his hair, maybe start listening to country music, he’d blend in with the crowd.
Yeah, and maybe he’d sprout wings and fly, too.
Luke scrubbed his face with his hands. At this point, all he could do was keep talking to Sam, even though his son hated every minute, and pray.
God would look after his son.
Just like the previous night, he was woken by his radio. “Sheriff? Sheriff, do you read me?”
He lifted a hand to his stiff neck. He really needed to stop falling asleep outdoors when he had a perfectly good bed inside. Pushing himself upright, he reached for his radio. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“There was a break-in at the hotel. Some guy broke the lock on the window of the CSI’s room and tried to get inside.”
Megan’s room? He shot upright. “Did you capture the assailant?”
“Negative. Unfortunately, sir, he got away. But the woman is asking for you.”
He was already on his feet running toward his squad car parked in the driveway. “Tell her I’m on my way.”
FIVE
Megan stood in the doorway of her motel room, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist as she struggled to maintain her composure. She’d changed from her nightgown to her jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. The deputy who’d responded to the call was outside by the police car, since she’d refused to let him inside the room for fear he’d mess up the evidence.
The mostly empty beer bottle sitting on her bedside table mocked her. Seeing the figure dressed in black disappearing through her motel-room window had shaken her badly. But the evidence he’d left behind was almost worse.
Because now she knew for sure that the killer had targeted her, specifically. Liza’s killer had been there. In her room. There was no doubt in her mind that the bottle of Point beer sitting on the bedside table had been left on purpose. And she strongly suspected that once they tested it, Liza’s DNA would be found on the mouth of the bottle.
The killer was taunting her. Mocking her. Daring her to find him.
He’d turned the murder of a young girl into something personal.
The mere thought made her feel light-headed and sick to her stomach.
When Luke pulled up in his squad car, she was relieved. When he leaped out of the car and rushed toward her, his face full of concern, her fragile emotions broke through. She met him halfway, throwing herself shamelessly into his arms. They’d only known each other for a couple of days, but that didn’t stop her from locking her arms around his waist and burying her face against his chest, deeply breathing in
his reassuringly musky, male scent.
“Are you all right, Megan?” he murmured, resting his cheek against her hair and rubbing a hand on her back, soothingly. “Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head, breathing deep to control her emotions. “No, I’m not hurt.” For several long minutes she reveled in the safe haven of his arms, reluctant to move, drawing sustenance from Luke’s strength.
“Thank You, Lord,” he whispered.
She stiffened in his embrace and pulled abruptly away. “Not exactly. God gave up on me a long time ago.”
“What?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked by her comment.
But before he could say anything more, she turned and gestured to the interior of the motel room. “You’d better take a look. The intruder left evidence behind.”
Luke frowned, and her attempt to distract him worked as he stepped past her.
“Evidence? Like what?”
She led the way back inside the tiny motel room. Luke sucked in a harsh breath when he saw the bottle of Point beer sitting on the bedside table. Her tone was dry. “Yeah, I can guarantee I didn’t put that there.”
“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” Luke stood there for several long seconds, surveying the room as she had, no doubt looking for the smallest detail. “Nothing else was taken or disturbed?”
“Nothing.” Megan had done a quick inventory once the deputy had arrived.
“So why leave the bottle?” Luke asked in a low tone, almost as if he were talking to himself.
She suppressed a shiver. “I don’t know, but I’m fairly certain we’re going to find Liza’s DNA on that bottle. He must have kept it as a souvenir of some sort.”
Luke’s expression turned grim. “We need to bag it and get it sent out to the crime lab in Madison.”
“Yeah, that was my plan. But I didn’t bring my gear with me.” She shrugged apologetically. “I didn’t imagine I’d need it.”
“I have some gloves and bags in my trunk. How did he manage to get in without you hearing him?” Luke asked, swinging back toward her.
She flushed, feeling a little foolish and lifted her chin. “I didn’t hear him because I picked up a pair of soft ear-plugs on the way home from dinner last night. With all the tourists walking up and down Main Street, the noise was incredible. I’ve gotten used to the peace and quiet of my cabin,” she said, somewhat defensively. “Besides, if you look closely, you’ll see he used a razor to cut out the screen. I left the window open for the cool breeze since the air conditioner smelled musty. It’s a miracle I woke up in time to see him disappear through the window. I can’t even tell you why I woke up when I did.”
Luke nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “So that leaves one question,” he said slowly.
She tensed, knowing he’d come to the exact same theory she had.
“Why has Liza’s killer targeted you?”
Megan stood back as Luke bagged and tagged the Point beer bottle. When he finished, he came back toward her, taking a small notebook out of his breast pocket. “I need to take your statement, Megan.”
She nodded, knowing the drill. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, the killer had dragged her into his brutal crime. She sat down on the concrete curb and Luke lowered himself beside her.
“I decided to go down to Rose’s Café for dinner,” she began. “While I was there, a former boyfriend of mine called to say he was in town.”
That news caused Luke to scowl. “Former boyfriend? What’s his name?”
“Jacob Andrew Feeney,” she supplied. “He’s a Chicago cop.”
“How long have you been seeing each other?” he asked.
“We’re not seeing each other,” she corrected, glancing up at him, her expression earnest. “Jake broke up with me right after Katie’s murder. Claimed I was obsessed and he wanted to move on.”
“Jerk,” Luke muttered under his breath.
She flashed a crooked smile. “Yeah. Anyway, I haven’t seen him or heard from him since the trial. So I was pretty surprised when he showed up here in Crystal Lake, uninvited.” She couldn’t understand the desperate need to make sure Luke understood she hadn’t invited Jake to come up here.
There was a slight pause. “Did you meet with him?”
“We met at Barry’s Pub and I had one ginger ale. He claimed he wanted to get back together with me, but I refused. I don’t even know what I saw in him in the first place.”
“So then what?” Luke asked.
She shrugged. “Nothing. We went our separate ways.” She hesitated for a moment, then figured she’d tell him the rest. “But now is probably a good time to tell you that I think there might be someone following me.”
“What?” Luke stared at her. “What do you mean, following you? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“To be honest, I thought I was imagining things.” She sighed. “I’ve been imagining a lot of things lately. I hear Katie calling my name. Twice I thought I saw her in a crowd of tourists. I have nightmares and flashbacks more often than I care to admit. I thought I was imagining the significance of the cars too, since they weren’t the same make or model.”
Luke briefly touched her arm, as if empathizing with her fear of going crazy. “Did you get any license plate numbers? Or a description of the driver?”
“No plate numbers unfortunately, but the driver is always some guy wearing a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, hiding his face.” She felt better telling him everything. Maybe she wasn’t going crazy after all.
But now she realized going crazy would be preferable to having a killer stalking her, targeting her.
Luke jotted a few notes. “You think it’s possible this guy wearing the ball cap is our killer?”
Spoken bluntly out loud like that, the idea seemed rather ridiculous. “I don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “I mean, logically, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would a killer follow me around for a week before picking out a young girl to strangle fifty feet from my cabin? And then follow me again to stash evidence from the crime in my motel room? For what purpose? To scare me? Theatrics? Because he wants to be caught?”
“Any or all of the above,” Luke muttered.
She couldn’t quite buy it. “Luke, if he has some sort of grudge against me, why not just come after me outright and be done with it?”
Luke’s grim expression deepened. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all a game to him. But this proves you need police protection, starting right now.”
She nodded thankfully, hoping and praying police protection would be enough.
“Do you know if your ex-boyfriend is still in town?” Luke asked, closing his notebook.
“I have no idea,” Megan admitted. But then suddenly, she glanced behind her at the string of motel rooms. What if Jake was indeed spending the night here at the same motel? The coincidence caused goose bumps to ripple up her arms.
“I’ll check. Because I intend to have a serious chat with him.”
“Do you really think Jake Feeney could be involved in this?” As much as Jake had annoyed her, she couldn’t imagine him strangling an innocent young girl. “He’s a Chicago cop,” she protested.
Luke’s dark gaze collided with hers, his mouth drawn into a thin, hard line. “I think anything is possible. And right now he’s sitting close to the top of my suspect list.”
Luke couldn’t exactly explain why he was so irritated at how readily Megan defended that jerk of a former boyfriend. The guy walked out on her after her sister’s murder. How cold and callous was that?
So why was she sticking up for him? And why had she agreed to meet him for a drink?
What Megan did in her personal time was none of his business. But he still didn’t like it. Maybe because of the way she’d run into his arms. He’d been so glad to see her unharmed. The temptation to kiss her was overwhelming. Just thinking about Megan meeting up with her old boyfriend set his teeth on edge.
He tried to keep the foul mood off his face as he f
lashed his badge in the motel clerk’s face. The elderly bald guy wasted no time telling him that Jake Feeney was indeed registered at the Crystal Lake Motel in room one.
Luke strode back outside and knocked on the door of room one. He didn’t like disturbing the other guests at the motel, but he wasn’t going to wait. He wanted to talk to Feeney now, not later that morning. When there was no immediate response, he knocked again, harder, and shouted through the door, “This is the police. Open up.”
He heard a thump and a muttered curse before the door to the motel room opened a crack. “What do you want?” Feeney demanded, his expression haggard.
Luke flashed his sheriff’s badge. “Open the door. I need to question you about a break-in.”
For several seconds, he and Jake Feeney glared at each other. Then the other man let out a heavy sigh. “Give me a minute,” he muttered before closing the door.
Luke waited impatiently, glancing back at his squad car where Megan sat hunched down in the passenger seat. Because of her personal relationship with the guy, he’d convinced her to allow him to question Feeney alone. Since the deputies were still dusting for prints in her old room, she’d agreed to wait for him in the car.
The door opened again and Feeney stood there, wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans. A Chicago Cubs cap covered his head and his feet were bare. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s the problem? There’s been a break-in?”
“Yes.” Luke was glad to notice that Jake Feeney was shorter and slighter in build than he was. A ridiculous thing to care about, but he couldn’t help standing even straighter, looking down at the guy. “Tell me where you’ve been this evening.”
Feeney scowled. “I was at Barry’s Pub from about seven o’clock until closing. I came back here to my motel room at two in the morning and I’ve been here ever since.”