CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger

by Kristine Mason

  He half-laughed. “Psychic and sarcastic. Got any other hidden talents?”

  She didn’t reply, instead, she stared out the passenger window, wringing her hands. As he parked the sedan alongside Roy’s cruiser, he couldn’t see her face, but based on her rigid posture and the way she tortured her fingers and knuckles, his words must have hit a chord and planted some self-doubt.

  Pleased, he pulled the key from the ignition. “You ready?”

  “No, I don’t think I am.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Gee, I dunno, are my dreams related to these crimes or are they just good old-fashioned nightmares?” She turned and leveled him with such a questioning, probing gaze filled with so much indecision, and yes, doubt, that a punch of regret hit him square in the gut.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to be realistic.”

  “Funny, you have no idea what a realist I am.” She shrugged and the disillusionment in her eyes made him ache. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He’d only wanted her off the case so they could focus on whatever evidence they had.

  “This isn’t a good idea.” She waved a hand toward the ME’s building. “I should skip this and head back to the diner. I’ve got some paperwork to look over, payroll to do and—”

  “Celeste.” He turned in his seat and took off his sunglasses. When she met his gaze, he had the sudden urge to believe in her. Maybe because of the strange connection he’d felt the moment he’d touched her at the diner, or maybe it was the way she stared at him. So trusting, so unsure. Whatever it was, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “No one is making you do this, but if you don’t, won’t you always wonder?”

  “I would,” she answered, “but what if I’m wrong? What if I can’t get a reading off the necklace?” She shook her head. “I’d look like a fool, make Roy look like one, too, and waste valuable time.”

  She drew out her cell phone from her purse. “I’m going to call Lloyd and see if he could give me a ride back to my car.”

  The fucking Viking. A splinter of jealousy fissured, and before it could completely crack his judgment, a thought occurred to him. If she quit now, Roy would question him, or her for that matter. Either way, the sheriff would figure out that he’d been the one to plant the seeds of doubt, then rat him out to Ian. Who knows what would happen from there. He sure as hell didn’t because he hadn’t had time to piece together the connection between Roy and Ian yet.

  At the same time, despite his disbelief in the supernatural, he wanted her to walk away from this feeling as if she’d made a difference. Something told him that she’d need the reassurance. To know that she mattered.

  “What if you do pick up something by touching the victim’s necklace?” he asked, even as his mind screamed you had her right where you wanted her —doubting. Ignoring logic, he spoke from the heart, encouraged by the way her eyes began to brighten. “Think about the families, heartsick and devastated by their loss. What you may or may not see might not solve this case, but it could give us an insight into the killer or the victim herself. It might lead us to something the evidence doesn’t.”

  She searched his eyes with suspicion. “I thought you didn’t believe in using psychics.”

  Smiling, he said honestly, “I don’t, but if you have this gift, then use it. Prove me wrong. Don’t run away just because you don’t understand why the pieces of the puzzle aren’t coming together.” He broadened his smile at the irony of his own unsolved puzzle with Roy and Ian. “If I did that, I wouldn’t have a job. I might have to come work for you at The Sugar Shack. Maybe do the dishes for a piece of that cheesecake you were telling me about.”

  Celeste studied him for a moment. He had her head spinning in circles. First he made her doubt herself, now he encouraged her to prove him wrong. If she walked away, she would always wonder if she could have helped with the investigation. Especially if they ran into a dead end and the murders were left unsolved. Knowing she had a tendency to over think, if she did as she’d suggested, and had Lloyd cart her away, she’d stew. She’d regret. She’d always wonder.

  “So?” He raised his shoulders, then jerked his head toward the building. “Are you in?”

  Encouraged, yet still confused by his turn around, she nodded, and opened the door. “Yeah, and by the way if you did the dishes, I’d throw in a cup of coffee, too.”

  He climbed out of his seat, and met her around the front end of the car. “Aren’t you generous?”

  “I’m a fair boss,” she said, then drew in a shaky breath, as she hesitated at the bottom of the concrete steps leading to the double wide doors of the morgue. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to look like a fool.

  He grasped her elbow. “Prove me wrong,” he whispered in her ear.

  She turned. His touch gave her comfort and confidence. His woodsy scent filled her senses. She flicked her gaze to his lips, only a fraction of an inch from her own, then back to his eyes. They challenged her, and if she wasn’t mistaken held a hint of...admiration? Couldn’t be. Then again, who knew with this man? He had her confused, intrigued, and despite what they were about to do, turned on. Could her week become any more weird? “I plan to,” she finally said, then pulled away from him, and took two steps at a time.

  Jesse held the door open for her. Roy walked in next to her as she stepped inside, while John trailed behind. A faint trace of his scent still clung to her, reminding her of the desire he’d awakened. She needed to rein those emotions in and stay focused, which wasn’t hard once she stepped into the foyer.

  Dean Atwell greeted her, his expression grim and devoid of the normal, shy grin that usually tilted his lips when he visited the diner. “Hey, Celeste. Roy, Jesse.”

  She’d known Dean all her life. He’d grown up in Wissota Falls. While he now lived in Eau Claire, he was always visiting his family, and was considered a regular at The Sugar Shack. “Hey, Dean.”

  Roy shook Dean’s hand. “Lookin’ good, kid. That crabby old bastard must be treating you right.”

  “He goes for the gut where the bruises can’t be seen.”

  Roy chuckled. “I bet he does,” he said, then nodded to John. “This is John Kain, he’s part of the investigation. John, this is Dean Atwell, Carl Saunders’ right hand man.”

  After the two men shook hands, Dean led them down the hallway. He stopped, then angled his head through the only open door. “They’re here,” he said in a voice that reminded her of the little girl from Poltergeist.

  Jesse snickered, and both John and Roy shrugged. She couldn’t believe Dean could make a joke when he and Carl had been performing an autopsy all afternoon. Although she supposed even twisted humor helped ease the pressure of dealing with death on a daily basis.

  “What the hell are you waiting for?” Carl groused. “Bring ‘em in, goddammit.”

  “He’s in rare form today,” Dean whispered. “Dead bodies tend to get to him.”

  “Aren’t dead bodies his job?” Jesse whispered back.

  “I might be old, but I still have my hearing,” Carl griped as she trailed behind the others into his office. “To answer your question…” He squinted at Jesse’s name plate. “Deputy Peterson, I’m used to old people crappin’ out at the old age home, or in their own homes, or at the supermarket. Not young women bein’ strangled and ra—oh hey there, Celeste. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  She stepped inside the small, cramped room, filled with too many filing cabinets, too many chairs, and not an element of order. But she knew Carl. He was a methodical man, and seemed to thrive on organized chaos, both at work and at home. “Hi, Carl. Don’t mind me.”

  Apparently he did. He glared at Roy, who raised his hands and said, “Carl, I asked Celeste to join us, not to look at any of the victims, but to maybe get a reading off that necklace Dean found in Ruby Styles’s hair.

  Carl shifted his gaze to her. His eyes softened. “Couldn’t hurt. She did help find my wife’s antique diamonds.”

  �
�And your prized Labrador Retriever, if I do recall,” Roy added.

  That Lab, which had cost Carl over a thousand dollars to purchase, then another five hundred to train as a hunting dog, had gone AWOL last summer. The dog might have been able to catch the scent of pheasant, but he couldn’t find his way home even if Carl had lined a trail with dog biscuits.

  “How is Lucky?” she asked.

  “Stupid is what he is, goddammit.”

  She held back a giggle. Carl really was a softy, once you got to know him.

  Carl jerked his silver head toward John. “Who’s this guy?”

  “John Kain. He’s part of the investigation.”

  “Looks like FBI. Smells like one too.”

  John sniffed. “Really? And here I thought I’d gotten rid of the stench.”

  She shifted her gaze to him. Former FBI? Interesting.

  Carl’s chuckle drew her attention away from John. “Okay, enough of the chitchat, I’ve got three other women to autopsy. So let me give you the rundown on Ruby Styles.” He rested a pair of cheap, black framed reading glasses at the tip of his nose.

  “Wait,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to know any of this. It might interfere with my reading.”

  Roy nodded. “Whatever you say.”

  John didn’t roll his eyes like she’d expected him to. Instead he suggested they let her sit in Carl’s office with the necklace, while they stepped into the corridor to discuss the details of the autopsy.

  Carl handed her a sealed sandwich bag. “Have at it. The only prints on the charm are the victim’s, so you’re free to touch it with your bare hands. Let’s let Celeste do her thing.” He rose, nodding to the others, and headed out the door.

  They all followed, except for John. “You need anything?”

  “You mean like my crystal ball?” Lame joke, but her nerves were working overtime.

  He smiled without mirth. “Seriously.”

  “Nope, I’ll be fine. Would you please close the door behind you?”

  Although he nodded, he lingered.

  “Go, shoo,” she said, and waved her hand.

  Shaking his head, he moved into the hallway, closing the door.

  When silence filled the room, she unsealed the plastic bag, then drew the gold heart-shaped charm and broken chain into her hand.

  “What happened to you, Ruby?” She closed her eyes and clutched the charm. The pointed part of the heart bit into her palm. She winced and clutched the charm closer to her chest. She regulated her breathing and stared at the tile floor.

  Concentrating on the black and white mosaics, she felt a pull, a slight tug to her psyche as her mind began to fall into that familiar tunnel she’d been down before when trying to gain a reading from an object. Her mind spiraled and pitched from side to side. Rapid movements, flecks of images lined her peripheral vision, but it was what was at the end of the vortex she wanted to see, needed to be a part of to gain the vision she needed. Swirling, colliding, a kaleidoscope of colors...

  There.

  She gasped. Crystal clear. She blinked her dry eyes, focusing...focusing...

  “You lookin’ for some company, honey.” Ruby used her best sultry voice to command his attention.

  He leaned against his rig, one booted foot crossed over the other, while he smoked a cigarette. “I don’t know,” he drawled. “Are you?”

  Ruby released a low, husky laugh. “Honey I’m always lookin’ for company.”

  He appraised her, seemed to drink in her shiny black hair, her skimpy hot pink tank top, ultra short denim skirt and spiky black heels. “I bet you are,” he said and tossed the cigarette onto the asphalt. The red hot ember sparked as it hit the blacktop, then crashed and burned.

  Oh, she had a hot one tonight and might even enjoy this ride. He wasn’t hard on the eye, with his sexy smile and dark beard. She liked a guy with a beard. It made him look rugged, masculine.

  She cocked her head to the side and batted her lashes. Not too much, though. She’d perfected the look and didn’t want to overdo it. Sauntering over to the rough cowboy, she settled a manicured hand on his hard chest, inhaled his cologne and smiled.

  “Mmm-mmm, you smell good.” She flattered him with a sensual smile. A little something she’d picked up from one of the other lot lizards who worked the truck stop. “I love a strong man,” she said in a sultry tone as she tip-toed her fingers across his muscular chest.

  He grinned and settled his gaze on hers. His silver eyes seemed to assess her worth. “Come on, I know of a place we can go.”

  She hesitated, then jerked her head toward the old motel opposite the truck stop. “I’ve got a place here.”

  He shook his dark head. “Uh-uh, baby doll. I’d like to go someplace a little more private. Away from this. I don’t like folks knowin’ my business.”

  She understood, yet wasn’t too keen about climbing into his rig and driving off into the night. One of the first rules she’d learned: never, ever get in the cab unless it’s parked for the night.

  It had been a slow week, though. More like a slow couple of weeks. She needed the money and he seemed all right. “Okay, cowboy, but it’ll cost you,” she teased.

  “Worth every bit, I’m thinkin’.” He bent down and nuzzled her neck. “Come on, climb in.”

  “Where we headin’?”

  “Just to the next rest area, ‘bout five miles down. Shouldn’t be too many cars there at this time of night. And I’ve got a bed in my cab, so we can have a good, private time.” He winked and grinned.

  His smile reassured her and she caved. He really was a good looking guy. If the opportunity came up, he could have gotten for free what he was about to pay for now.

  He drove his rig for a few miles then slowed and turned off the exit heading north. Her stomach somersaulted. The rest area was south, and he was heading north. She gripped the door handle and shouted, “Hey, where are you going? This isn’t the way to the rest area. Turn around and take me back.”

  He ignored her, never taking his eyes from the road. Panic clawed at her insides. She broke into a cold sweat. Oh God, why didn’t she turn him down? Why didn’t she stay in the safety of her motel room where one scream sent her pimp crashing in, guns blazing? She had to get out. Had to run.

  He started to pick up speed and she realized now would be her only chance. Open the door and jump. Open. Jump. At this speed she might break her neck.

  He might break your neck anyway, she reminded herself.

  Okay, ready, one, two, three...

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He grabbed her by her upper arm, his grip strong enough to bruise her flesh and maybe break the bone. “Uh-uh, baby doll, I’m paying for this ride and you’ll give me what I want, where I want it.”

  He yanked her closer to him, hard enough that she saw stars. She cried out and clasped her shoulder, gasped for breath and fought the pain. “I...I can’t move my arm,” she sobbed. “Why are you doing this? Why?”

  He sneered. Gone was the rugged, handsome cowboy. In his place sat a lecherous, vile creature with the strength of a bull and the bite of a rattlesnake.

  He shrugged. “Because I can.”

  She didn’t understand, didn’t get the enigmatic remark. Widening her eyes she tried to talk him down. “Okay, whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me. Please,” she begged.

  “What I want is for you to shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride.”

  He punched her in the jaw. Her head shot back and smacked the window. She tried to stop the second blow with her good arm to no avail. He rained punch after punch. Blood seeped into her mouth, the metallic taste reminding her she was still alive. Still conscious. Then she watched in horror as he cocked his fist back again.

  “No!”

  “No! No! No!”

  “Celeste, shhh. Wake up. It’s John. Wake up.”

  She gasped for air and clung to John’s shoulders. “Oh God, it was so bad,” she sobbed into his chest. “John...you don’t understand.
He’s evil. So...Oh God.” She buried her face into his crisp button down shirt, and soaked it with her tears.

  “Shhh.” His soothing voice worked magic on her muddled senses. His touch, both reassuring and protective, calmed her. “Take your time. Breathe deep.” He turned toward the door.

  Over his shoulder she watched as Roy, Jesse, Carl and Dean all gaped at her. They looked concerned, anxious and lost.

  “Get some tissues and water,” John demanded.

  Jesse and Dean both bolted, which seemed to satisfy John. He turned his full attention back to her, cupped her face, searched her eyes, and rubbed his thumbs along her jaw. The alarm and trepidation in his deep brown eyes made her heart ache and wish that for one moment, he was hers. That he could erase what she knew. What they didn’t.

  An involuntary shiver ran through her. He ran his hands up and down her arms, as if to warm her. She wasn’t cold. Even if she was, every one of his stimulating strokes left behind a trail of heat. His touch strengthened her and gave her confidence, control.

  She slipped her arms away from his shoulders. Still not ready to relinquish her hold on him, she reached for his hands, her lifeline, and tried to suppress her emotions.

  “John, I...” She took another deep, gulping breath.

  “Take your time. Did you see something?”

  Oh, she’d seen something all right. “Yes,” she whispered. “I saw the killer and Ruby.”

  Roy stepped forward, worry lined his face. “Could you give a description to the sketch artist?”

  She nodded, keeping her eyes locked on John’s.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Tell me.”

  “I know you don’t believe...you’re not going to believe...” She trailed off not knowing how to put what she’d seen and what she’d felt into words.

  “Believe what?” he coaxed.

  She drew in another breath. “I did see the killer. I know he murdered those women. I can feel it. But...he’s not the one from my nightmares.”

  He searched her eyes and wrinkled his brow. “What are you saying?”

  She tightened her grip and drew his hands closer to her pounding heart. “What I mean is. This killer and the one in my visions are two different men. There’s more than one killer. More bodies. You just haven’t found them yet.”