CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger

by Kristine Mason

  “In my experience, anybody with the media is something to worry about. Have one of your deputies stop him before he starts snapping pictures. Promise him the first interview if he can keep his mouth shut.”

  Roy called over Jesse Peterson, the deputy who had picked him up at the Eau Claire air field, and told him to take care of Boysen. Once the deputy ran off, the sheriff smoothed his mustache. “Okay, John, let’s not pussyfoot around here. You work for Ian, and he says you’re one of the best criminalists out there. I need to make this go away, so gimme your best guess.”

  John turned and studied the sheriff. Less than two hours ago, Ian had him flying off in CORE’s private jet to Eau Claire with no information about this case other than the sheriff’s name, that four women had been found dead just outside of Wissota Falls, Wisconsin, and that he was to follow Roy’s lead and instructions. The only other thing Ian had mentioned was that DCI wasn’t involved. John knew better than to question Ian, he had always been one of those “need to know basis” type of guys, and for whatever reason, he hadn’t felt John needed to know. But he wanted to.

  Most local law enforcement agencies who didn’t have the capability or capacity for this type of murder investigation would have asked for assistance from their state departments, or even the FBI before they called CORE. Why would Roy call Ian first? What was their connection? And his gut told him there definitely was a connection. John had known about Ian’s private line—a number none of the other agents had been given. Roy had called him on that line, which meant this case might be...personal.

  He’d find out eventually, either on his own, or when Ian deemed the time right. Releasing a smug smile when Boysen climbed back into his van, red faced, waving his arms and swearing a litany of curses at Jesse Peterson, John turned to the sheriff. “Without the ME’s report on the victims’ autopsy? Best guess? You’re looking for a long haul trucker, maybe one running a trailer with a refrigeration unit. I’m betting this guy didn’t do all four women in one night. I’m betting he froze them, then when the bodies built up and he had a load to haul...he dumped them.”

  Roy whistled. “Makes sense. Ed and Dan were always bitchin’ about the truckers that passed through here. Like Dan said, though, we just don’t have the manpower to ticket them.”

  John understood. Roy’s county covered many miles, with only a smattering of small towns popping up here and there like zits on a teenager. “I’m also thinking owner/operator. The killer owns his own rig. But again, that’s my best guess until the ME does the autopsy.”

  “It’s good though.” Roy nodded, then paled, his eyes focusing on the embankment.

  John turned, following the sheriff’s gaze, and clenched his jaw. A couple of members of the Eau Claire CSU team were hauling a black body bag up the slope. Four dead women. Brutalized, raped, and murdered. One in a bag, three to go. And one sick, twisted bastard to find.

  “You got a place to stay?” Roy asked as he continued to watch the CSU team load the body into their van.

  “CORE made the arrangements. I’ll be at the Chippewa Inn.” The only hotel/motel in the area. Lucky him. He’d love nothing more than a Marriott with room service and all the amenities. But this was Small Town, USA, so the Chippewa Inn would have to do.

  “It’s not a bad place. Arthur Foley and his wife own it.” Roy kept his gaze on the body bag. “Good coffee, clean rooms.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” he replied quietly, as another body bag was hauled up the embankment.

  They stood in silence as the third victim was loaded into the van, then Roy scrubbed a hand down his face. “I gotta go talk to the mayor. When the media catches wind of this, I’ll handle them, or let the mayor. So you know…Ian wants you to keep a low profile.”

  John wondered what else Ian wanted out of this. “Understood. I’d like to come back here later, though. Do another walk through while we’re waiting for the ME’s report.”

  “Me too. I’ll have Jesse drive you into town. Bev, our receptionist, said there’s a rental car waiting for you at the Sheriff’s Department. I gotta hand it to Ian, he works quick when needed.”

  Yeah, and why was that? What was the history between Roy Hauserman and Ian Scott? The connection and tie to Wissota Falls?

  Roy looked at his watch. “It’s twelve-thirty now. Meet me at my office around two. That’ll give me enough time to talk with the mayor and grab a sandwich. While you’re at it, you might want to do the same. Check out The Sugar Shack, it’s on the way to the Chippewa Inn. The food’s good...” Roy’s voice trailed off as the last body bag was hefted into the CSU van. “If you have an appetite.”

  John climbed into Jesse’s cruiser. He had an appetite, all right. A hunger for information. Who had killed those women? And what exactly was Ian keeping from him?

  *

  He clenched his jaw as he stared at the woods, the CSU vans, the cruisers, and controlled the rage, the betrayal coursing through him. Garrett had gone behind his back. He’d killed without him.

  Without him.

  Worse yet, he’d dumped bodies out in the fucking open where anyone could find them?

  When his vision blurred with hatred, causing a kaleidoscope of oranges, reds and yellow as he stared at the trees, he quickly reined in his temper. He needed to keep his cool, not allow his judgment, his instincts to be warped with vengeance against his brother. He’d deal with Garrett later.

  Despite the anger surging through him, he fought a smile. If only that cocky son of a bitch knew he’d had a little fun of his own. His dick hardened as he pictured the fifteen-inch hunting knife stowed in his workshop. Garrett had called him a pussy one too many times in the past, but in reality that asshole was the pussy. He couldn’t handle the sight of blood, the idea of gutting a woman, ripping her flesh with the sharp edge of a steel blade. But he could, and he did. The thought of going back to using a cord to snuff the life out of a whore no longer interested him. Before their last two kills, he’d graduated, from a cord to a knife. From whores to the girl next door.

  While slicing that debutant had been exhilarating, intoxicating, he’d missed having Garrett with him. Missed staring into his gray eyes as he’d taken that mouthy bitch.

  He shifted, wishing he could rub his arousal. At the same time, he cursed himself for allowing his disgusting, immoral thoughts to continuously invade his mind.

  He’d take care of his sexual urges in the shower later. Right now he needed information. He needed to know what the sheriff knew, and what part the outsider, who looked like an agent, played in this. He needed to make sure they didn’t mess up what he and Garrett had, because if they did, he’d make them pay. Four dead bodies in the woods would be nothing compared to what he could and would do.

  Chapter 3

  “Celeste, phone,” Rick Stanock, The Sugar Shack’s short order cook griped, as he dropped a couple of plates, piled high with burgers and fries, under the hot lamps.

  “Who is it?”

  He slammed a few more plates. “It’s the middle of lunch rush, don’t know, don’t care.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, making him grin, then grabbed the burgers, and headed off to deliver them. After making sure the couple didn’t need anything else, she headed back to the kitchen and grabbed the phone receiver Rick had left dangling against the wall. Realizing she really needed to bring the diner into the twenty first century and buy some cordless phones, she yanked the receiver up by the curly cord.

  “Hello, this is Celeste, how can I help you?” she asked, businesslike. She hoped the call came from either Booker Foods, who owed her a credit to her account after they’d screwed up the order she’d placed last week, or from Sam, her bus boy who hadn’t bothered to show up for work today.

  “It’s Roy.”

  She leaned against the wall, and flipped through her notepad, itemizing what table needed what and when. “What’s up? We’re in the middle of lunch rush and you know how the meatloaf sandwich draws a crowd when it’s on
special.”

  “I do, so save me one.”

  “Okay, will do. I’ll drop it off on my way home.”

  “Why don’t you come by around two instead? I’ve been looking over the notes you gave me, and I thought maybe we could talk a bit. Do you think Will could cover you for the rest of the afternoon?”

  She glanced around the kitchen, where her brother should be helping Rick or at least the two other servers. While she adored her brother, his mind was always on his paintings, not their livelihood. He might not be happy about having to stick around this afternoon, but he owed her.

  “Don’t worry about Will. I’ll see you in a bit.” She hung up the phone. After she made a quick round to her tables and the customers at the counter, she went in search of her brother, knowing exactly where he was, and where he liked to hide.

  “Hey,” she said, and leaned against the doorjamb of their stock room.

  Will looked up from his clipboard. “How’s it going out there?”

  “Busy.”

  “Meatloaf sandwich on special?”

  “Duh, it’s Tuesday.”

  “I know what day it is.”

  “Then you should also know now isn’t the time to do inventory.” Irritated at how obtuse he could sometimes be, she pushed off the doorjamb. “I mean, you do realize we’re in the middle of lunch rush.” She eyed her brother and waited for his next brilliant excuse to avoid dealing with the hungry customers keeping their business alive.

  “I...I...hell, you know I hate waiting tables.” He cringed and held up his hands.

  God, he acted like she was forcing him to wear a g-string rather than an apron. “I know,” she said, softening her voice and offering him a sympathetic smile. Will embodied the dark, brooding artist who’d rather sit on the sidelines and observe than place himself at the center of attention. “I don’t need a server, but I do need a bus boy. Sam never showed today.”

  He tapped the clipboard against his leg. “I don’t have to take any orders or mingle with the customers?”

  She fought an eye roll. While her brother inherited their father’s size and brawn, his strength lay in his art, not his social skills. He hated working at the diner, and hated living in Wissota Falls even more than she did. Small town life had never agreed with him. Until he could survive on his paintings alone, he was stuck here, helping her run the diner while her dad was finding himself in Florida. Finding himself my ass, she thought bitterly. He was golfing, dating again, and now that he’d bought a condo rather than rented one, she doubted he’d ever return to Wissota Falls.

  “Nope, you don’t have to talk to anyone.” Shoving the bitterness aside, she tugged an apron off the hook, then tossed it at him. “Now, how about it? I can really use your help. Pretty please,” she added, widening her eyes and batting her lashes in a pathetic attempt to guilt him into doing his job.

  Will narrowed his eyes, and twisted his mouth into a droll smile. “Don’t bother with the ‘Oh my, I’m so in the weeds, I need your help’ act.” He’d hitched his voice and mocked her by batting his long, thick eyelashes.

  “Snot.” She grinned, and swatted him with her notepad. “You’ve got eyelashes like a girl.”

  “You’re just jealous,” he teased as he gave in and put on the apron.

  “Oh and before I forget, I’ve got an appointment at two, so you’ll have to watch the diner after lunch.” She dashed out of the stock room and headed toward the kitchen, her brother’s protests muffled by the crowd in the diner.

  Several plates of The Sugar Shack’s signature sandwiches, piled high with golden brown, hand-cut fries, greeted her under the hot lamps. She pulled the ticket and the plates then made her way to the counter.

  “Here you go, boys. Your usual.” Both Glen Anderson and Stu Clemens’ eyes bulged as she set the sandwiches in front of them. She’d known these local cranberry farmers for years. Every other week they came into town for a supply run and always stopped by the diner for a couple of roast beefs on rye with horseradish mayonnaise and cheddar, one minus the tomato.

  “Geez, Celeste, you’ve outdone yourself.” Stu salivated.

  “I’ll say.” Glen tore his gaze away from his sandwich. “Before I forget, can you pack up a couple dozen of your chocolate chip cookies? Ya’ know, for the wife.”

  “Uh-huh. For the wife, is it?”

  “Yeah and the kids, too. They love ‘em. Don’t know what you put in ‘em.”

  “Oh, and the kids too. Aren’t you thoughtful.”

  “He’s full of it,” Stu said around a mouthful. “Those cookies won’t make it home. He’ll have ‘em—umph.” He rubbed his ribs. “Whaddya do that for? She knows you eat them all and—umph—ouch, cut it out.”

  “Then shut your trap, she don’t need to know about my addiction to her cookies.”

  “Boys, please.” Her heart swelled with pride. She did make a damned good cookie and knew these guys were putting on a show for her. “Tell you what. I’ll throw in a few extras, on the house, and they better make it home.” She pointed an accusing finger at Glen. “Don’t forget, I know your wife.”

  They chuckled as she turned away, giving her a couple of “yeah, yeah’s.” They were always suckering her into a few extras here and there. She didn’t mind, they’d be harvesting soon, and always gave her the best cranberries at cost.

  A full coffee pot in hand, she eyed the diner, pleased at the number of customers crowding booths, tables and the counter. After her mom had died and her dad went off to grieve and find himself in Florida, he’d turned over all responsibilities of the diner to her and Will. She’d worried they’d lose business. But with her degree in accounting, not to mention her knack for baking, she and Will had managed to not only keep the diner alive, but helped it grow, even if it was a continual bane to her and her brother’s own aspirations.

  Rather than frown at that last thought, she smiled when she caught Will efficiently busing tables, especially when he went out of his comfort zone and greeted several patrons. If it wasn’t for the nightmares, life would be...just as boring and unfulfilling as it had been for the past three years.

  With a sigh, she refilled empty coffee mugs and joked with the regulars sitting at the counter. The bell on the front door chimed, and sunlight spilled into the diner. When she glanced up from the mug she’d been filling, she nearly fumbled the scalding coffee pot as she caught her breath and stared at the man strolling through the door.

  Very male, very hot, and certainly not from Wissota Falls. If he had been, she would already have known every detail about him. Who needed to be psychic when the diner was a regular gossip factory?

  Tall, dark and sexy glanced around the busy diner, then chose a vacant stool near the wall at the end of the counter. If a man that big could move with such a fluid, commanding grace by simply walking, she’d bet he had even better moves in bed. She startled herself with the thought, then even further when she pictured him in her bed, naked and between her thighs.

  “Can I get a little more coffee?”

  Her cheeks burned. Good Lord, she was fantasizing about a complete stranger when the diner was hopping with customers needing attention. “Sure, Russ, need anything else?”

  He grunted a refusal, which gave her a chance to lose the coffee pot before she did some serious damage. She wrung her hands on her apron, then reached for her notepad and pencil.

  He’s just a man like any other, she told herself. No big deal. So what if her fingers tingled and itched to touch his thick black hair? So what if she’d already pictured him naked? It had been a long time since she’d had sex. Too long, she supposed, based on the sudden desire to touch and be touched sizzling through her body. She stuffed any notion of having sex with the stranger in the back of her mind, like she did with any thoughts or memories she wasn’t sure she could control. This time, though, it didn’t work.

  Images of his large hands caressing her bare skin forged past her mental barrier. Thoughts of his firm, kissable lips exploring
her mouth, breasts, and between her thighs where she now throbbed and ached took over and made her body hum with urges she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

  In an effort to control and hopefully hide the pure lust and attraction this complete and total stranger had evoked, she plastered on a smile as she approached him.“Hi there. What do you want me to do to you?” She winced, realizing her gutter mind had taken over her tongue when a few of the regulars sitting nearby snickered. She narrowed her eyes at them. “I meant, what would you like me to get for you?”

  He shifted his gaze from the menu. His dark chocolate eyes, heavily fringed with long lashes, swept up, and briefly settled on her breasts before finally meeting her gaze. Thank God for her stiff, uncomfortable apron and the way it hid her hardening nipples. If she hadn’t been in lust before, she sure was now. His gaze alone set her body on fire, and she could only imagine what his mouth and hands could do. And she had a very vivid imagination.

  When he cocked a brow, she shook her head, but couldn’t shake the thought of him touching and caressing her. Damn, Roy was right. She really needed to date more. “I’m sorry, I was distracted. What did you say you’d like to order?”

  “I didn’t say anything.” He sent her a crooked grin, his deep voice holding a hint of amusement. “But an iced tea would be great.”

  She made the mistake of glancing at the regulars sitting at the counter watching her make an ass of herself. Stu and Glen were grinning like idiots, and Russ sent her a wink and a nod. Rolling her eyes at them, in an effort to act as if she wasn’t a lust-struck fool, she left the counter to grab his iced tea.

  When she returned to take his order, she kept her head down and her eyes off his mesmerizing gaze. She didn’t want the guy thinking she was some sort of small town girl easily flustered by a handsome city slicker. City slicker? God, now she sounded like her neighbor, Mrs. Turner. Next she’d be using words like whippersnapper and scallywag.