by Laura Scott
Taunting her. Again.
When Luke’s familiar vehicle pulled into her driveway, she had to force herself not to run and throw herself into his arms.
“Megan?” He jumped out of the car and strode toward her, his expression full of concern. “Are you all right?”
She swallowed hard. Tried to speak. But couldn’t. She tried to nod.
“Megan,” Luke murmured her name like a groan. And then he hauled her close, in a warm embrace.
She clung to him, with her cheek pressed against his chest, her arms locked around his waist. She knew she shouldn’t be so weak as to need him this much. But at the same time, being held by Luke was extremely reassuring.
The killer couldn’t get to her. Not with Luke’s strong arms protectively wrapped around her.
She drew strength from Luke’s embrace, holding onto him longer than was proper. He didn’t let her go, though, until she loosened her grip.
Luke was looking down at her, his expression grave. “Show me,” he murmured.
“I came in after talking to Jake,” she began, as she headed back into the cabin.
“Wait,” Luke said, capturing her arm and preventing her from going inside. “Feeney was here?”
“He came to say goodbye,” she admitted.
Luke’s gaze narrowed. “He told me he didn’t know where you lived.”
“He claims he saw me leaving the motel parking lot and followed me. I didn’t come straight home after Deputy Frank dropped me off at the motel, I ate at the diner first.”
Luke’s intense gaze searched hers. “And that was all? He simply came to say goodbye?”
“Pretty much. He asked if I was helping you with the murder investigation and I managed to avoid a straight answer. I made it sound like I wasn’t.”
“Good.” Luke didn’t completely let go; instead he slid his hand down until he was holding hers. “Okay, tell me again exactly what you did.”
She nodded. “I was nervous being here alone, so I pretty much went through the entire cabin, looking for anything that was out of place. I didn’t notice any smears on the mirror, but after I took a shower, the message was clearly visible in the steam.” Feeling somewhat self-conscious, she stopped in the middle of her bedroom and waved him toward the bathroom door. “Even without the fogged-up mirror, you can still make out the words.”
“‘You can’t stop me,’” Luke said, reading them out loud. “We’ll need to dust your mirror for fingerprints.”
She’d thought of fingerprints too, although she seriously doubted they’d find anything. The murderer enjoyed toying with her and he wasn’t going to make amateur mistakes. “The real problem is that I haven’t been inside that bathroom since the night you dragged me out of bed to help you with Liza’s body. He could have sneaked in here to leave that message at any time.”
The idea was extremely unnerving.
“Or he could have purposefully left the message this morning, as a welcome-home surprise for you,” Luke said in a grim tone.
That thought was even less reassuring. Because it meant he knew everything about where she went and what she was doing.
“Pack up your stuff,” Luke said, coming back into the bedroom. “I’m taking you with me back to the station.”
She wasn’t about to argue. This time she packed a bigger suitcase, rather than just an overnight duffel bag. While she packed, Luke went back outside and then returned with a fingerprint kit. He dusted the mirror, making the message stand out starkly.
“Nothing,” he murmured when she came over to the doorway. “I should probably dust your entire house, but I have a feeling it would be a waste of time.”
“I tend to agree. He might be a copycat killer, but he’s not stupid. He’s been covering his tracks very well, leaving only the bits of evidence that he wants us to find.”
Luke let out his breath in a heavy sigh. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” She glanced around at the cabin that a few short days ago had been her refuge. Now she couldn’t get out of there quickly enough.
Luke took her suitcase and waited for her to head outside. He quickly stashed her case in the trunk of his squad car and then held the passenger door open for her. She hesitated, glancing at her car. “I think it would be better if I drove myself, don’t you?”
He hesitated, but then nodded. “I’ll be right behind you,” he promised.
The ride back to the sheriff’s department headquarters didn’t take long. The day-shift dispatcher was a younger woman named Cecilia. Luke quickly introduced her and then carried her suitcase down the hall to her office, setting the suitcase on the floor next to the cot. Somehow, the office seemed smaller than she’d remembered.
Maybe because it was clearly her home for the interim.
“Sheriff? Do you have a minute?” She recognized Frank’s voice.
“Sure.” Luke flashed a lopsided smile. “Make yourself at home.”
She tried not to grimace. Since there wasn’t a lot of room, she shoved the suitcase underneath the cot, and then sat down in the only chair in the room.
Now what? There had to be something she could do to help jump-start their case. Belatedly she remembered her promise to help expedite the evidence.
Raoul Lee, the chief microbiologist she’d worked with at the Chicago CSI lab, knew everyone in the business. He’d hired her and trained her. Mentored her. But it was Sunday, so he wouldn’t be at work. Well, maybe he would be, since Raoul often worked at odd times of the day and night. Would he answer his cell phone? Maybe.
She still had his cell number programmed into her phone. Before the St. Patrick’s Strangler had hit the streets of Chicago, Raoul had asked her out. She’d declined, explaining how she liked him as a friend, nothing more. He’d been upset at first, but then had taken her phone and punched in his phone number, telling her that she could call him anytime she’d changed her mind.
Shortly thereafter she’d met Jake, and Raoul had been angry when he found out. But then young victims were found in the parking lots of Irish pubs, so they all worked around the clock to bring the guy to justice.
After the trial, she’d avoided contact with her friends. She’d needed time to recuperate.
She stared down at the number indecisively. Raoul had seemed to get over his anger, but their friendship had certainly suffered. Would he be willing to help her out now? Or was he still holding a grudge?
Can’t hurt to ask, she told herself, pushing the button to dial his number. She held her breath, listening to the ringing on the other end of the line, more relieved than she should have been when he didn’t pick up.
She was happy to leave a message on his voice mail. “Hi Raoul, it’s Megan O’Ryan. I need your help, please call me when you get a chance, thanks.”
“Who’s Raoul?” Luke asked from the doorway.
She was proud of herself for not jumping like a scared rabbit, since she’d been engrossed in the phone call and hadn’t heard him approach. “Raoul Lee is the chief microbiologist at the Chicago CSI crime lab, and I was hoping to get his help with processing our evidence. Either to have him do the work himself or to pull some strings with the Madison lab.”
The furrow between Luke’s brows disappeared. “That would be great. I’m afraid the murderer is going to strike again and we don’t even have a single clue processed yet.”
“Yeah, the first murder happened Friday night, he left the beer bottle in my motel room on Saturday. Makes me wonder if he picked a weekend on purpose, knowing we wouldn’t get very far until Monday.”
“Possibly,” Luke agreed. He watched her for a moment and then said, “I have to head home for a bit, I need to talk to Sam. Is there anything I can get you before I go?”
She was ashamed at how badly she wanted him to stay. But of course he had to check on Sam. His son was going through a tough time, and she knew Luke was worried about him. “No, thanks, I’ll be fine. I thought I’d keep reviewing the transcript of Sherman’s trial.”
He frowned. “I don’t want you to read it if it’s going to bother you. You need some rest, Megan. Relax and read a book.”
The only book she had with her was a murder mystery, and somehow that wasn’t appealing at the moment. She’d picked it up at the store last week, not expecting to be thrust into a murder investigation of her own. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
Luke hesitated for a minute, but then nodded. “The dispatcher, or any of the deputies for that matter, can reach me at any time if you need something.”
“All right. Tell Sam hi for me.”
A ghost of a smile flickered in Luke’s eyes. “I will.”
When he turned and walked away, it took everything she possessed not to go running after him.
Luke forced himself to leave Megan, even though he didn’t want to. She was safe enough here in the building, with the deputies and the dispatcher around.
Frank had told him the interview with Sam hadn’t gone well. So no matter how much he wanted to spend time with Megan, his son needed him.
“He wouldn’t say much,” Frank had said, scratching his jaw. “Confirmed he was the last one to see Liza alive, but that she was fine when he left. Apparently he went back to crash at his friend Doug’s house. And he told me he was at a bonfire down at the south shore the night of the motel break-in. He did give me a list of all the kids who were at both parties.”
Luke had scanned the list, not too surprised to notice it was basically the same group of kids. Mostly seniors, except for Sam and Doug. “All right, thanks for doing the interview, Frank. What he told you matches what he told me, so hopefully he’s telling the truth. But I think we need to continue talking to these kids.”
“I’m on it. I’ve already talked to a couple of them. I’ll talk to them again about the second bonfire and get to the kids I missed as well.”
Luke trusted Frank would do exactly that. Even though Frank was looking forward to retirement, he wasn’t a slouch on the job. Not like some of the younger deputies, who did their best to get by on the bare minimum.
He headed for home, trying to think of a way to get Sam to open up a little. He stopped at the store, picking up a couple of steaks and the fixings for a salad, hoping that sharing dinner together might help reestablish some semblance of a relationship.
His hopeful mood vanished the minute he pulled into the driveway.
Sam’s rusted black truck was not parked anywhere in sight. He’d confiscated Sam’s keys, but his son could have had a spare hidden.
Although if that was the case, why had he walked to the bonfire on Saturday night? Irritated, he slammed the squad door and carried the groceries into the house.
“Sam? Are you in here?” he called as he headed into the kitchen to set the grocery bags on the table. Why did Sam keep pulling these kinds of stunts? His son knew very well he was grounded. Hadn’t he just been interviewed by a deputy regarding a murder investigation?
What on earth was Sam thinking? Hadn’t the seriousness of the situation sunk into his tiny teenage brain?
Muttering under his breath, Luke marched through the house, opening the door to Sam’s room without knocking.
The room was glaringly empty. As was the rest of the house. His son wasn’t anywhere to be found.
He opened his cell phone and called Sam’s number. But of course the ringing on the other end of the line went to voice mail.
Sam didn’t pick up.
Snapping his phone shut, he fought a wave of pure helplessness. Sam was gone and he wasn’t answering his phone. Did that mean he’d taken off for good? What if Sam was so angry he’d never come back?
Luke sank down onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands, desolation overwhelming him.
He’d failed Sam. Again. There was no denying this mess was his fault as much as Sam’s. He’d spent most of the day, on Sunday no less, at work. He was gone all the time. Was it any wonder Sam had taken off? He never should have taken on the added responsibility. He should have told Mayor Ganzer to give the job of interim sheriff to someone else.
Anyone else.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. He was making the same mistakes he’d made back in Milwaukee. Only this time, instead of drowning his sorrows in a bottle, he chose to bury himself in his work.
Either way, the end result was the same. He was losing his son. Had possibly already lost him.
Desperate, he opened his phone and sent a text message. The first one he’d typed was a curt, where are you? But then he erased it and sent a plea instead. Sam, please come home. I love you and I want you to come home.
After sending the text message, he stared blindly at his phone, waiting for a response.
But Sam didn’t reply.
Was he too late?
Dear Lord, please watch over Sam. Please guide him down the right path. Bring him home to me. And please, please keep him safe from harm. Amen.
NINE
Luke didn’t sleep well. Twice he’d gotten up to walk through the house when he’d thought he’d heard sounds indicating Sam had come home.
But Sam hadn’t returned. And still wasn’t home when Luke gave up trying to sleep at six o’clock in the morning.
After he showered and dressed in his uniform, he decided to drive around looking for Sam’s truck. He wasn’t sure what Sam’s work schedule was at Rose’s diner, so he started there.
Sam’s truck wasn’t parked behind the diner, but Luke didn’t let that stop him from going inside. “Hi, Josie. Have you seen Sam this morning?”
“No, Sheriff, but he wasn’t scheduled to work today. He is on the schedule again for the early shift tomorrow though.”
It was humbling to have to ask others about his son’s activities. “Ah, has he been showing up for all his scheduled shifts over the weekend?”
Josie flashed a sympathetic smile, as if she could relate to the trials and tribulations of raising teenagers. “Yes, he did. Sam doesn’t call in sick very often. He doesn’t say much, but he’s a good employee and a hard worker. I don’t care what the rest of the town thinks, he’s not a bad kid.”
Her comments were nice to hear. Even though they only reinforced how it was his relationship with his son that was the problem. And he didn’t like hearing that the rest of the townsfolk didn’t like his son much. “Thanks, Josie.”
“You’re welcome, Sheriff. Would you like a cup of coffee on the house?”
“No, thanks.” Coffee was tempting, as he was exhausted, but he could get some later. He left the diner and headed back to his squad car. Okay, so maybe Sam hadn’t really left town. Could be that he’d overreacted a bit, although Sam had still taken the truck when he was grounded.
Luke drove slowly through town, searching for signs of Sam’s truck. When he didn’t see it anywhere, he decided to go to Doug’s house. Sam’s friend’s house wasn’t far from theirs, just two houses down along the lake.
It was very early to be paying a visit, and his heart sank a bit when he didn’t find Sam’s truck in Doug’s driveway. He was debating whether he should wake up the occupants inside or come back later when a car pulled into the driveway.
A woman he estimated to be in her early forties climbed out of the car. She wore navy blue scrubs and had a heavy black stethoscope draped around her neck. She walked down the driveway toward him, her gaze wary. “Sheriff? Is there something I can do for you?”
“Hi, Ms. Larson, sorry to bother you so early, but I’m looking for my son, Sam. I know he hangs out here a lot.”
“No, I haven’t seen Sam or Doug for that matter. I’ve been working twelve-hour night shifts all weekend. I did talk to Doug on the phone several times, though. I’m sure Doug is still sleeping, but you’re welcome to come inside.”
He tipped his hat. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.” He followed her inside and stood in the foyer while she went down to her son’s room.
When she returned a few minutes later, her gaze was troubled. “Doug isn’t here. I kno
w I spoke to him last night around nine o’clock. He didn’t tell me he was going anywhere. You say Sam is missing too?”
“Yes, I know Sam was home around five but by the time I got home at seven he was gone. He isn’t supposed to be driving his truck. In fact, I took his keys. But he must have had another set, because the truck is gone.”
Ms. Larson pursed her lips. “Doug’s car is in the garage, so I think we can assume they’re together.”
For some reason, that idea was reassuring. Maybe Sam hadn’t totally skipped town, the way he’d feared. More likely, Sam and Doug had taken off to go somewhere.
But where?
“If you hear from Doug, would you mind calling me?” Luke asked.
“Of course. And let me give you my cell phone number too.”
He could have told her that it was highly unlikely he’d hear from Sam before she heard from her son, but he willingly exchanged cell phone numbers anyway. He tucked her number into his breast pocket. “Thanks, Ms. Larson.”
“Please, call me Lynette.” Her smile was strained. “I’m sure the boys are fine. We’re probably worrying over nothing.”
He wished he could believe that, and hated to know that he’d worried her too. Although she would have been concerned anyway when she came home to find Doug was gone. He thanked her and left the house, returning to his squad car. He took a long drive along the lake, but didn’t see any sign of Sam’s distinctive vehicle.
With a sigh, he turned and headed back into town, toward the sheriff’s department headquarters. Once he was in his office, with a large mug of black coffee to help keep the fatigue at bay, he tried again, for what seemed like the hundredth time, to call Sam. And when that didn’t work, he sent another text message.
Please call. I’m worried about you. So is Doug’s mom. We want to know you’re ok.
He set the phone aside, hoping for a response he didn’t really expect to get, and tried to bury himself in the investigation of Liza’s murder. He wanted to give up his job as interim sheriff, but solving the murder had to take top priority.