Lynne shook her head, crossing toward the stove. “Doubtful.”
Passing by Kir, she wasn’t prepared for him to reach out and swing her toward him. She tilted back her head, her heart missing a beat as he leaned down to press a kiss against her lips.
It was soft. Like a question. Then, when she didn’t pull away, he grasped her hips and deepened the kiss. A welcome warmth poured through her, chasing away the lingering chill.
Lynne trembled, instinctively swaying toward his hard body. It wasn’t until she felt the carton of milk press against her stomach that she recalled what she was supposed to be doing.
“Breakfast,” she muttered.
“In bed?” he whispered against her lips.
The image of lying naked in the arms of this man was terrifyingly easy to summon. Lynne didn’t have to guess why. It’d been nestled in the back of her mind, just waiting for the opportunity to consume her thoughts. But she’d just been brutally reminded by Nash’s treachery that her ability to choose lovers sucked. Perhaps tumbling into bed with a man who was going to disappear from Pike at any moment wouldn’t be her brightest decision.
With an effort, she forced herself to take a step back. “Don’t push your luck.”
“I just thought I would throw the suggestion out there.” He grinned. “What can I do?”
More flustered than she wanted to admit, Lynne turned to stack the ingredients on the stove before waving her hand toward the counter across the room. “The coffeemaker is over there. I’m dying for a cup.” She recalled her unexpectedly early morning. “Or six,” she added.
“Ah. Coffee is my specialty.” He headed in the direction she pointed.
Lynne bent down to pull out a skillet. “Everything is your specialty.”
“I’m a talented guy.” He ignored her snort at his arrogance, planting his hands flat on the counter as he suddenly leaned forward to peer out the window. “What’s that?”
Lynne frowned, crossing to join him. If it was Nash again, she was going to get a restraining order against him.
The horse’s patootie.
Standing next to Kir, she searched for any sign of her ex-boyfriend. What she saw was a lot of snow, her utility shed, the empty alleyway, and Mrs. Norris’s black cat.
“You mean Tyne Daly?” she asked, her gaze on the cat as it leaped from her picnic table to the nearby tree.
“No. On your shed.”
Her attention shifted to the long metal building where she kept her gardening supplies along with her lawnmower and a snowmobile for the times her truck couldn’t make it to an emergency call.
It took her a minute to locate what had captured his attention.
“It looks like a piece of paper is stuck,” she said, watching the object flutter in the stiff breeze.
“I’ll check it out.”
Kir was moving before she could protest, heading out the back door and tromping through the snow. Lynne hurried to the door he’d left open, watching as he reached the shed and yanked the paper off the small hook she used to hang the hummingbird feeder.
He glanced down, and even at a distance she could see him stiffen.
“Kir?” she called out. “What is it?”
He lifted his head, his expression hard. “Call the sheriff.”
* * *
Kir finished his search of the shed and garage before he returned to the house. Lynne was just placing her cell phone on the table when he entered the kitchen.
Her face was pale, but she held her chin high. She’d displayed the same courage when he’d brought in the enlarged photo of her that had been dangling from a small hook on the shed. The black-and-white photo had been a close-up of her face. She’d been asleep, with a few wispy strands of hair brushing her cheek. The image had been unnerving enough, but someone had altered the photo to look as if there was a red ribbon tied around her neck.
The threat was unmistakable.
Enraged, Kir had forced himself to focus on ensuring there were no other unpleasant surprises hidden outside. He had to keep busy. If he allowed himself time to dwell on the horrifying realization that the killer had snuck into Lynne’s bedroom and stood there watching as she slept while he indulged in his evil fantasies, he wouldn’t be able to function.
And right now, being able to function had never been more important.
Blowing on his frozen hands, he moved to stand directly in front of Lynne. “Well?” he demanded.
“I talked to Anthony,” she told him. Then, as he sent her a confused glance, she continued. “He’s a deputy at the sheriff ’s office. He was in my class at school.”
“You didn’t talk to the sheriff?”
“No. He said the sheriff drove to Madison yesterday to deliver a packet to the WSC something or other. She should be back later today.”
“The WSCLB. The Wisconsin State Crime Lab,” Kir explained in absent tones. “I understand why she would personally deliver any potential clues from the murder scenes to protect the chain of evidence. I remember my dad doing the same thing. But I don’t know why she’d stay the night in Madison. I doubt she’ll get any results this weekend.”
“Anthony said he’d drop by later to pick up the picture.” Her gaze darted toward the photo he’d left on the kitchen table before skittering away. “I think everyone is feeling overwhelmed.”
“I’m feeling a little overwhelmed myself,” Kir admitted. “I checked through the shed and garage. I think we should do a quick look through your house to make sure there aren’t any other surprises.”
She paled, but grimly holding on to her courage she gave a small nod before leading him out of the kitchen. They searched the living room before heading down the hall to the bedrooms. Kir was briefly distracted from his fury at the thought of a pervert intruding into this house as they entered the bedroom.
It looked as if it was ready for Lynne’s father to arrive at any moment. The furniture was dark and heavy, with a brown-and-tan comforter on the large bed. The walls had a few framed pictures of Dr. Gale and Lynne together, along with various awards the older man had earned over the years. There was even a pair of boots next to a chair, patiently waiting for their owner to return.
Next they moved to Lynne’s room. There was nothing frilly about it. In fact, it was almost masculine, with solid furniture and beige walls, and a brown-and-black comforter on the bed. But there was a simple coziness that reflected Lynne’s personality. She would never be flashy or glitzy, and that somehow made her all the more fascinating.
Who knew solid dependability could be so sexy?
With a grimace, Kir dismissed his untimely thoughts, waiting for Lynne to make sure that nothing was out of place before they returned to the kitchen.
“Oh, I forgot about breakfast.” She came to a halt in the center of the floor, staring at the eggs and milk on the stove.
Kir’s heart felt as if it’d been put in a vise. She looked unbearably lost. “I doubt either of us can eat right now.” He gently urged her to the table, pressing on her shoulders until she took a seat. Then he crossed to the counter. “But I could use some coffee. I think I’ve been cold since the moment I returned to Pike.”
“I’m sure Freud would have a theory.”
His lips twitched as he switched on the coffeemaker and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. “No doubt.”
“But it isn’t your imagination. It’s even colder than usual this year.” She shivered. “And, I think there’s supposed to be snow later.”
Kir stiffened, whirling to face the window. “Snow.”
“Has it already started?”
Kir’s gaze scanned the backyard and he silently cursed himself for overlooking such an obvious clue. “The only footprints out there belonged to me,” he said.
“Okay.” She sounded confused.
“That means it had to have snowed since someone put the photo on your shed.” His gaze moved toward the alley beyond the outbuildings. Nothing. The snow was undisturbed.
“I
t was snowing when you left last night to follow Nash, but it had stopped when I went to bed at midnight,” Lynne said slowly. “So it had to have been before then.”
Kir turned toward Lynne, leaning against the counter. She was right. It’d been snowing heavily when he’d left the bar and gone home. “Did you notice anything when you first came home from work?”
She shook her head. “I stopped by the animal rescue for a few hours. It was already dark by the time I got here.”
“What about before you left for work yesterday morning?”
There was a pause as she considered his question. Then she gave a decisive shake of her head. “The snow had drifted during the night, so I had to go to the shed to get the shovel to clear the driveway. The photo definitely wasn’t there.”
That was exactly what Kir had expected. He moved forward to tap the photo on the table with the tip of his finger. “That means this was placed on your shed sometime after you went to work yesterday morning and before midnight.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Nash.”
“He’s the obvious choice,” Kir agreed. He tried to imagine the man driving to Lynne’s house and then creeping around the yard to put the photo on the shed. Why not put it on the front door, or even in the mailbox where Lynne would be sure to see it? Then he abruptly recalled Nash storming away. “When he left last night he used the kitchen door. Do you know where he was parked?”
Lynne made a face. “He always blocks the alley when he comes here. He’s afraid his truck might get scratched if he leaves it on the street.”
Kir’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. Now it made sense. “It would have been easy for him to hook the photo on the shed before coming to the house.”
“I suppose.”
Kir arched his brows. “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”
She reached to pull the photo closer, trying to hide her revulsion as she studied the picture of herself.
“Nash hates computers,” she at last continued, pointing toward the red ribbon that had been electronically added to the image. “I’m not sure he even knows how to turn one on, let alone be capable of using Photoshop.”
Kir couldn’t argue. It was an easy enough process, but if Nash truly didn’t know anything about computers, it seemed more likely he would have used a red marker to draw on the ribbon. It would have achieved the same effect.
“Who else would have a picture of you sleeping?”
She released a shaky breath, leaning forward to study the picture. “Wait.” She suddenly pointed toward the top corner of the photo where the paneled wall was visible. “This isn’t my bedroom. This is the couch at the clinic.”
Kir jerked in surprise. The location changed everything. “Do you sleep there often?”
She nodded. “If I’m out on a late call I’ll sometimes take a nap during my lunch break, or if there’s an animal in need of 24/7 care I’ll spend the night.”
“That means anyone could have taken this picture.” The clinic wasn’t huge, but it was busy with people constantly coming and going.
Not to mention the various animals added a layer of chaos that meant it would be easy to sneak past the distracted staff to Lynne’s private office.
“Yeah,” she agreed with a shiver.
The scent of coffee had Kir spinning back to fill two large mugs before he returned to the table and took a seat. “Nash is still at the top of the list,” he told Lynne, refusing to give up on his prime suspect. “No one would notice him coming or going from your office, and we know he walked past the shed last night.”
She looked unconvinced, but suddenly her eyes widened. “Oh, I forgot. There was a shadow.”
“What shadow?”
“I was standing there last night.” She pointed toward the window. “And I thought I saw something or someone dart across the yard. When I got to the back door, I saw Nash pulling into the alley.”
“So he couldn’t be the shadow?”
“No.”
Kir’s jaw tightened. Why was she working so hard to find someone besides Nash to blame as the potential killer? Did she still have feelings for the jerk?
The thought was more disturbing than it should have been.
With an effort, he resisted the urge to force her to admit that her ex-lover was more than likely a serial killer. “I don’t suppose you have security cameras?” he asked.
She lifted her brows at the question. “In Pike?”
“Crime is everywhere.” He deliberately glanced at the photo. “The good citizens of Pike aren’t saints.”
She sighed. “No, there are no security cameras.”
Kir sipped his coffee, silently sorting through various means of discovering who had been in Lynne’s backyard. The options were seriously limited.
“Maybe one of your neighbors noticed something.”
“Doubtful.” She squashed his one hope. “Cal and Denise live on the other side of the alley, but they spend the winter in Arizona. And my nearest neighbor, Mrs. Norris, is nearly blind.”
He muttered a curse. “Everyone in town would know they could enter your backyard with no one noticing.”
“Probably.”
A surge of fury raced through Kir. Not toward Lynne. But toward the lunatic who was stalking the women of Pike.
He tapped his finger on the photo. “Whoever left this was sending a warning, Lynne.”
Her face was pale, but she was obviously battling against the urge to panic. “We don’t know that it was from the killer. It could be a terrible joke.”
His lips thinned. He didn’t want her having hysterics, but she had to realize this was life or death. “I’m serious, Lynne,” he insisted. “Do you have any family you can stay with?”
“No.”
He glanced toward the nearby door. It was perfectly fine for keeping out the winter wind, but one good kick would shatter it. “You can’t stay here alone.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
Kir finished his coffee and rose to his feet. “I’ll get my things.”
Chapter 12
It was five thirty on Sunday morning when Lynne’s phone rang. She was out of bed and pulling on her clothes before she finished the call.
Unlike most professionals, Lynne worked with creatures who had no respect for the fact that it was her day off. Or that the snow was tumbling through the air in thick swirls. Like feathers escaping from a busted pillow.
She’d tried to be quiet as she crept through the darkened house, but she was still pulling on her heavy boots when Kir appeared from her father’s bedroom, already dressed.
Lynne hadn’t bothered to argue with him as they left the house to drive over the icy roads to the distant farm. She was still freaked out from the picture that’d been left on her shed. She wasn’t eager to be completely alone in such an isolated location.
And honestly, it was unexpectedly nice to have someone to chat with as she plowed her truck through the snowstorm. She enjoyed her own company most of the time, but Kir was easy to be around. Smart, interesting, and comfortable with silence when she wasn’t in the mood to talk.
It surprised her. When they were young Kir had seemed so shallow. Now she was beginning to realize that he used his reckless charm as an armor to hide his sensitive heart.
Because she kept her speed at a snail’s pace to avoid ending up in a ditch, it took almost two hours to reach the farm. Once there, she’d tried to convince Kir to stay in the truck. Not only was it going to be insanely cold in the barn, but she also suspected her work was going to involve a lot of blood.
She’d been right. The pygmy goat had managed to catch his leg on a barbed wire fence and ripped open his flesh down to the bone. It’d taken over an hour to suture the flesh back together. And then another half an hour with the owner so she could express her profuse gratitude. Which meant it was past eleven when they arrived back in town.
Relieved to be on roads that had been packed down by other vehicles, Lynne gla
nced over at Kir. He’d been quiet on the drive back, and his handsome face was paler than usual.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He sent her a wry smile. “That’s not for the faint of stomach.”
“I warned you to stay in the truck.”
“I wanted to see you in action,” he insisted. “I’m impressed.”
She turned her attention back to the road. There was a steady stream of traffic as the citizens of Pike headed to church. “Because I stitched up a goat?”
“Because you climbed out of bed at five thirty in the morning and drove through a blinding snowstorm to stitch up a goat.”
“Seesaw is like family to Jemma. She would be devastated if she lost him.”
He turned in his seat, his coat whispering softly against the worn leather upholstery. “You devote so much of yourself to caring for others. Who cares for you?”
Her heart gave a funny jerk. As if it was reacting to some deeper meaning in his soft question.
“I have my father.” She cleared a sudden lump from her throat, eager for a distraction. She found it in the small, red brick building with a towering steeple that was just ahead of them. “Isn’t that Pastor Bradshaw’s church?”
Without warning, Kir was leaning forward, his body stiff with tension. “Pull over.”
She whipped the truck against the curb across the street from the church. “What’s wrong?”
Kir pointed toward the graveled parking lot. “That van.”
Lynne studied it in confusion, not sure why he was so interested. “That’s the delivery van from Randi’s flower shop.”
“Why would it be parked at the church?”
She shrugged. “I suppose they’re going to have Randi’s funeral here.”
“Rita said Randi attended church in Grange,” he told her. “She didn’t think the churches in Pike were fancy enough for Randi’s taste.”
Lynne’s lips parted to point out her family might want a local funeral, only to have the words falter when she realized she recognized the woman headed toward the van. “That’s Jillian Bryant.”
Kir studied the short, heavyset woman who was precariously skidding over the icy gravel. She was wearing a thick, quilted red coat and matching stocking cap. Even at a distance, Lynne could tell her cheeks were as rosy as her coat. Whether from the cold or some emotion was impossible to say.
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