by Mary Burton
It had taken Lara six years to get up the nerve to return to Seattle and shoot. She’d started trembling the instant she’d crossed into Washington state. At the scene, she’d sat in her car for almost an hour, before she’d found the courage to get out and set up her equipment.
Her hands had quaked so badly, the collodion hadn’t entirely reached the edges of glass so the negative had had an uneven edge that instead of detracting had enhanced the dark, moody quality.
She’d glared at the scene countless times before the show opened, willing it to talk to her. Who did this to me? Who? But it had remained as stubbornly silent as her mind.
“Isn’t this the one you said was the jewel and you priced it the highest?” Lara said.
Cassidy managed a smile. “I know when a piece is going to sell for a good price.”
As she imagined the piece she could feel the cool Seattle breeze thick with rain. The ground had been wet that day and her feet had been soaked by the time she’d crawled back in the truck.
“Who bought the piece?”
“A Mr. D. Smith of San Antonio. And he paid full asking price. Which means,” she added in a singsong voice, “you can get a new truck.”
Lara barely heard what Cassidy said. “Did he come to the show?”
“I didn’t ask. He purchased the image online.”
“Did he read the article about me?”
“Didn’t ask. When someone is offering to buy it’s best just to say thank you.”
Tension inched up her spine. “I don’t feel so good about selling this one.”
“What do you mean? It is the most expensive image in the collection.”
“It just feels odd selling it now. The article. The murders. It feels like I’m profiting from another death.”
She’d never expected to feel this way. The images had begun as a form of therapy for her. She wanted to see through photography what her naked eye did not.
But she’d come no closer to understanding violence.
“I don’t want to sell it.”
Cassidy blinked, her tone annoyed. “It is not about what you want anymore, Lara. It’s a done deal. I processed his credit card and shipped the image. It’s gone.”
Sickness twisted her belly. “That soon?”
“He was willing to pay extra to take possession of the photo before the show closes next week. And considering your battered truck and my upcoming mortgage payment, I agreed. The money has been spent. We can’t go back.”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“This is just one of those artist moments. You all get attached to a work of art and when the sale goes through you have a moment of panic. Like surrendering a child.”
It wasn’t that at all. She was happy to let the other pictures go. But not this one and not to a man who might be a killer. “I almost didn’t include the piece,” she said more to herself.
“I’m glad you did.”
“I’m not.”
He was glad to see the latest killing had finally made the paper. He’d started to think the cops would try to hide his work from the public. He wanted Lara to worry and fear. He wanted her to admire his cunning and intelligence.
Poor little Blair Silver. She’d been so full of fire and spit, like she was better than him, when in fact she was nothing more than his little plaything.
He’d kept the police guessing for almost seven years. Who was the Strangler? Why did he choose his victims? Why go dark? Why return?
Before he was finished the police would look like fools, and Lara would be a terrified mess. He would crush her hoity independence and she would never make him feel ignored again.
He glanced at the article in Sunday’s paper, traced the line of her jaw in her photo image, and looked at his most recent purchase—her gallery photo.
He took pride in knowing that his actions then and now had totally shaped the course of her life. She might claim independence, but her life had been completely controlled and manipulated by him.
After he’d chosen not to kill her, he had been furious with himself. Why hadn’t he killed her? He had been tempted to go after her in the hospital, but he held back, telling himself it was better to let her live in fear. Soon he’d have a second chance with her.
He held up a necklace that had belonged to Lou Ellen Fisk. The waitress/student had told him proudly she was going places. She wanted out of Texas and wanted to see the world. He’d listened quietly. Later that night, when she’d been driving home, he’d been waiting for her at her house. When he’d pinned her to the ground that first time, the shock in her gaze had been priceless. And when he’d wrapped his hands around her neck and started to squeeze, he’d imagined Lara, and had felt a sweet rush he’d not known for a long time.
Lou Ellen. Gretchen. Blair. Seeking his satisfaction with others had its own reward, but soon the games would end.
And it would be Lara’s turn.
Chapter 16
Wednesday, May 30, 11 AM
Danni’s head pounded when she showed up for her shift at the café. Her eyes felt gritty and dry, and her muscles ached. She needed sleep but found it had been damn near impossible to nap for more than minutes at a time in her mother and stepfather’s house. Her stepfather, a.k.a. Mr. Creepy, had been wandering the halls last night. He’d tried her bedroom door several times, but found it locked. As she’d sat in bed and watched the handle jiggle, she’d gotten up and pushed her dresser in front of the door. Mr. Creepy had laughed.
She now glanced at her reflection in the stainless door of the refrigerator and grimaced at the dark smudges under her eyes. Her blond hair looked like a bird’s nest and her cheeks sallow.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Mack joked.
She glared at him. “Very funny.”
He grinned as he set a stack of dishes on the wash station. “Too much partying?”
“Too much studying. Exams coming.”
Shoving her purse in her locker, she grabbed her apron.
He laughed. “Studying? Is that what they call it these days?”
“No. Really. Studying. Got to make the grade if I hope to win the scholarship.”
He shook his head. “You, a scholarship?”
“Yeah, I’m going places.”
His grin faded. “What’s so wrong with here?”
She rolled her eyes. “Everything.”
His lips flattening into a grim line, he carefully and deliberately wiped his hands on his apron. “So what are you gonna study in college?”
“Whatever gets me out of Texas.”
He sniffed. “Texas ain’t so bad. It’s been good to me.”
She didn’t answer, not trusting her surly mood. Mack loved Texas, his old football days, and anything to do with the past. “Yeah.”
Feeling his glare on her, she stepped out onto the restaurant floor one minute late. The next half hour was a buzz of people, food orders, and dishes. All the while her head pounded in the back of her skull, making her wish she’d taken five aspirins instead of two.
When she spotted Mike Raines the strain in her back eased a fraction. He had quickly established himself as a welcome regular. Not only did he tip well, but also he was nice, always wishing her a good day on the way out. Too bad they didn’t make more guys like Mike.
Coffeepot in hand she moved up to his table, her smile now genuine and not forced. “So can I get you the regular?”
He glanced up from his paper over readers. His gaze skimmed over her and he frowned. “What happened to you?”
Danni shrugged her stiff shoulders. “What do you mean?”
He set down his paper and removed his glasses. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. You sick?”
“Not sick, just need a good night’s sleep.”
Lines furrowed his brow. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
His voice carried a paternal hint that made her yearn for better. “That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”
“I like you. I�
��m concerned. So why aren’t you sleeping?”
Danni shrugged, trying to make light of a situation that grew more serious daily. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“I disagree.” He leaned toward her. “What gives, Danni?”
“Look,” she said, dropping her voice a notch. “It’s not that big a deal. I was just up late studying.” Which had been true for part of the night.
Behind the intensity radiated genuine concern. “Spill it.”
Her guidance counselor had been asking the same question for weeks, but now she wanted to answer. “My stepfather is a douche. But he’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Is he hurting you?” All the lightness evaporated and what remained distilled to menace.
Her fears and worries rushed to the front of her mind and begged to be told. And then she caught herself. “No, nothing like that. He’s just being an ass.” She glanced toward Mack, who was staring at her. Always staring. “Look, we better drop this, or I’m going to lose this job, which I need. So can I get you the pancakes?”
He leaned back in the booth, making a visible effort to relax. “Pancakes sound good.”
As she moved into the kitchen, embarrassment burned her cheeks. She’d nearly told a total stranger a nasty truth. She’d tried to tell her mother once, but she’d called Danni dramatic and selfish. Since then she’d never told anybody about her new stepfather.
When Raines’s order was up she was half tempted to get another waitress to deliver it. She didn’t want to see pity or sadness in his eyes when before there’d only been easy laughter. He was one of the few people she enjoyed.
“Man up, girl,” she muttered as she stared at the steaming plate of pancakes.
She grabbed the order, thrust back her shoulders, and pushed through the swinging doors. He sat at his table, just like always, reading his paper. She liked the half glasses perched on his nose. They had a way of softening the sharp edges of his face.
As she approached, he pulled off his glasses and laid them carefully on his paper before leaning back.
She set the pancakes in front of him. “Here ya go. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I’m all set, Danni.” As she turned to go, he said, “Wait.”
He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “My cell number is on the card. I can be reached at any time.”
She stared at the white card with its simple embossed black lettering. Raines Investigations. Maybe if she could summon enough pride she could just make him forget that she’d ever spoken about her stepfather. “Why would I need to call you?”
He pushed the card toward her. “Take it.”
As she stood there frozen, he cut into his pancakes. Irritation and anger nipped at her heels. “I take care of myself, Raines.”
“Take the card, Danni.” His pancake-loaded fork hung midair inches from his mouth. “Take it.”
She scraped the card off the table and shoved it in her pocket. “I can take care of myself.”
He smiled. “I’ve no doubt. The card is just in case.”
Lara was grateful when class was over today. Spring fever had struck and no one was interested in listening to a review on technique when the sun shone outside. Mr. Gregory hadn’t shown and the cheerleaders looked as if they needed a nap. Even Danni had appeared quiet and distracted.
She’d wanted to talk to Danni after lab, but she had made a quick excuse about work and hustled out of the darkroom. Lara packed up her backpack, and she and Lincoln left the building. The semester would be over soon and she was looking forward to spending more time in her own darkroom.
She arrived at her truck and noticed a slip of paper under her windshield. Her body tensing, she tugged the paper free and glanced at the words.
The killer is close.
Her heart jackhammered against her ribs as she stared at the handwritten note that reminded her again of Mr. Gregory’s beefy hands gripping a pencil. Crumpling the page, she cursed. She opened her door, tossed the wadded paper on the ground, and let the dog hop up onto the seat. Slowly she got behind the wheel. Once was annoying. Twice deserved a call to Beck.
A tap on her window made her screech. Her gaze darted up to find Jonathan standing by her car. He was grinning down at her, a quizzical look on his face. Hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest as she rolled down the window. “You startled me.”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s just one of those days. Do you teach today?”
“No. I was looking for you. I thought you might like to grab a quick dinner. I’ve barely had a chance to see you in the last few weeks and thought it would be fun.” He nodded toward the dog. “And I know a place that’ll allow Lincoln if we sit outside.”
A hot meal was a welcome thought. And she could use a friendly face. “Sounds good.”
“My car is parked two spaces over. Follow me.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of a small restaurant that had a lovely outside garden. As promised, Jonathan had a table on reserve outside where Lincoln could sit.
She settled into her seat and savored the day’s heat. It wasn’t blistering hot but warm, a welcome relief from the university’s chilling air-conditioning.
“They have great vegetarian fare here,” he said as they opened the menu.
Her stomach grumbled. “I am starving.”
“Good.”
They scanned the menu and placed their orders, and when their drinks arrived Jonathan leaned back in his chair. “So have you sold any pieces from your show?”
She sipped her sweet tea. “Four, as a matter of fact.”
Brown eyes warmed with pride. “Well, good for you. I knew you’d be a success.”
“Well, that makes one of us. I was convinced I’d be hauling all the pieces home and stashing them in the back room.”
“You never used to underestimate yourself. When you were a teenager you were ready to set the world on fire. Seattle changed you.”
She rarely referenced her life in Seattle or the days her grandmother had sent Johnny to take care of her. “I got burned, remember?”
“I was surprised you told that reporter about Seattle.” She shrugged. “I am starting to feel like my old self. About time the wounds healed.”
He grinned. “About damn time.”
“I haven’t had a chance to thank you for putting the good word in for me with the university. I don’t think I’d have gotten the job if you hadn’t.”
“Didn’t take much effort on my part at all. So how do you like the teaching?”
“Honestly, I’m still trying to figure that out. Some of the students are great. Others, well, they try my patience.”
“How so?”
“Since the article, someone has been putting notes on my windshield.”
“What kind of notes?”
“‘The killer is close.’ That kind of crap.”
Jonathan frowned. “That’s not good at all. Do you know who’s doing it?”
“Ideas, but no proof.”
“Who do you think is doing it?”
“I’d rather not say. I could be wrong.”
He leaned forward. “Have you told the police?”
“Not yet. But I plan to.”
“It should be top priority.”
“I know.” Nervous, she realigned her fork with her plate. “I guess learning to trust the cops again isn’t so easy.”
“Lara, if you don’t tell the cops, I will. This is not good.”
“I know. I will call.”
His gaze lingered on her a beat too long, but to her great relief he didn’t press. “So do you think you’ll stay for another semester?”
She traced her finger down the side of the iced glass. “I got an e-mail today as a matter of fact. The university offered me two classes in the fall.”
“Are you going to take them?”
She ignored the faintest hint o
f hopefulness in his voice. “I’m thinking about it.”
The waitress arrived with their meal. The spicy scents of cumin, peppers, and cheese rose from the enchilada.
“Smells great,” she said.
He smiled. “Dig in.”
Since it was easier to focus on the details of the meal than his warm smile, she dropped her gaze to the steaming plate in front of her. “I will never get tired of the food in Texas. Never.”
“There’s a lot to love about the state.”
“So how has the custom furniture-building business been going these days?”
“Not the boom days we had a couple of years ago, but we’re surviving. I haven’t had to lay anyone off, and we just got a big order from a rich patron. That’ll keep us all going for months.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
He stabbed his fork into a plump enchilada. “Any other issues since the article came out?”
“Most folks don’t recognize me from the picture in the paper. Thankfully, I’m rarely dressed up and wearing makeup and heels.”
He smiled. “What about the media?”
“My answering machine is managing them well enough for now. And so far no one has come up to the house. Here’s hoping there are more important matters for the world to worry about than a seven-year-old case.”
“A tie-in to the current murders is newsworthy, Lara.”
“I’m still hoping there is no connection.”
He shook his head. “Hoping won’t cut it, Lara. You’ve got to be careful. Proactive.”
Lincoln stretched out under her feet, and she glanced down at him. She’d tell Beck about the notes.
The rest of their dinner was pleasant and Lara realized she was enjoying herself. Jonathan had been her friend since she was a kid, and he felt like family.
By the time she and Lincoln made their way back home it was nearly eight in the evening. She was feeling relaxed and at ease and ready to crawl into bed with a book.
However, the sense of goodwill vanished when she spotted Beck’s truck parked in front of her house. He was sitting on her front porch, his legs outstretched and his hat dangling from his fingers. When he saw her truck, he rose and moved with a predator’s ease.