He was gentle as a lamb, but his sheer size was enough to terrify most people.
A perfect houseguest.
Chapter 14
Dear Rudolf,
Did you study the Effigy Mounds when you were in school? I did. Our fourth-grade class took a field trip to visit them. The other kids ran around pretending they were cowboys. Or sneaking into the nearby woods to play stupid kissing games. Idiots. But not me. I was fascinated by the mounds. Just imagine capturing the spirit of the dead in those tombs. As soon as I got home I ran to an empty field and built my own mound. It was supposed to be a Thunderbird, but it looked more like a wonky cross. Still, I wanted to see if it would give me the powers I so desperately craved. I had no dead body, but that didn’t stop me. I slit the throat of our cat and put it inside.
That’s when my mother came to find me.
I thought she would be proud of me. I had created my very own Effigy Mound. Foolish, of course. No one was ever proud of me. She saw the dead cat and assumed I must be doing some sort of devil worshipping. She stared at me in horror and screamed.
Oh, God. Those screams.
That’s how I remember her, you know. Her screams echoed through our house night and day. They were a symphony of anger and pain and self-indulgent torment.
When they were finally silenced, I thought I would find peace. Just one night without those incessant shrieks. But there was no peace.
Instead there was an aching void deep inside me. I didn’t know what I needed to fill it.
Not until last night when I heard those screams once again. They were vibrating through me as I found my release.
Sweet success, dearest Rudolf.
And this morning ...
Crimson blood stains the pure white snow. Life spills from warm to frozen. Don’t look. The pain is gone.
Lynne woke early Monday morning and prepared for work.
She had slept remarkably well, considering there was a crazed killer loose in her hometown who was leaving creepy photos on her shed. And there was a man she hadn’t seen in years sleeping on the other side of the wall. Oh, and she had a hundred-and-twenty-pound dog crowding her bed, who snored like a trucker.
Maybe it was because she wasn’t alone in her house. She had her share of courage, but she wasn’t an idiot. There was safety in numbers. Especially when the numbers included a massive dog. Or maybe it was the relaxing evening she’d spent watching television and sipping a glass of wine with Kir.
By mutual agreement they’d shared what they had discovered. Kir had told her about Chelsea cornering Nash in the church, as well as his conversation with Ms. Lockhart. She’d told him the sheriff had been to the sanctuary, and that there’d been a break-in months ago. After that, they’d deliberately avoided any subject that would remind them there was a killer in town.
Lynne had snuggled in the couch with Kir just a few inches away, feeling so . . . comfortable. It was almost as if she’d spent years, not a few days, with this man.
How had that happened?
Once, when her father was trying to explain why her mother had left, he’d told her that life wasn’t always predictable. Sometimes you traveled along, able to look behind you to see each footstep that led you to a precise point. Other times, you looked around and you had no idea how you’d gotten so lost. It was as if a wave had swept you off your feet and landed you in a place you never intended to be.
It could be good or bad, but it was inevitable. A gift from fate, he’d called it, while Lynne had called it a curse.
Hard to say which one Kir would turn out to be.
Showered and dressed for the day by five forty-five, Lynne strolled into the kitchen to find Kir already up with a hot pot of coffee and fresh toast waiting for her. He’d pulled on a pair of worn jeans and an old sweatshirt, and his golden hair was tousled from sleep. Heat swirled through the pit of her stomach. How could he look so decadently sexy at such an early hour?
More of a gift than a curse so far, a voice whispered in the back of her mind.
She grabbed the mug of coffee he handed her and leaned against the counter to nibble her toast.
“How did you sleep?” Kir asked, his gaze skimming down her cream cable-knit sweater and casual slacks like a physical caress.
She battled back a girlish urge to blush as she swallowed the last of her toast and took a sip of coffee. “King snores.”
He chuckled, moving until she could feel the heat of his body. “I don’t.”
She tilted back her head, meeting his teasing smile. “And you’re telling me this because . . . ?”
“Future reference.”
“Good to know.”
He stepped even closer, his hand against brushing her hip. “I do, however, steal the covers.”
Tingles of pleasure shot through her. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“It doesn’t?”
“You seem like the kind of guy who knows what he wants and goes after it.”
His hand skimmed over her hip to the lower curve of her back. “I’m determined.”
“Stubborn,” she corrected.
“I’m also a realist.”
She instinctively arched forward, allowing herself to press against the rock-hard strength of his body. “What’s that mean?”
An aching regret darkened his eyes. “It took me years, but I finally accepted that I can’t change others. No matter how much I might want to.” He paused. “You have to decide I’m worth the risk.”
Her mouth was as dry as the desert. Kir was barely touching her but there was a connection between them that was frighteningly intimate.
Instinctively, she took a step back, breaking his light hold. “I’m too boring to take risks.”
He blinked, as if she’d just said something outrageous. “Are you kidding?”
“No.”
“Lynne, you have bumps and bruises all over you, not to mention at least one bite mark I can see.” He pointedly glanced down at her hand that was healing after her battle with a terrified Yorkie. “You drive through blizzards and work insane hours. Your entire life is a risk.”
“Not my heart.”
“Ah.” His hand lifted as if he was going to pull her back toward him. Then, with a grimace, he allowed it to drop back at his side. “What are you afraid of?”
“I don’t know.” The words weren’t an answer, but they were sincere. She briskly moved to grab her jacket, which she’d hung over the back of a chair. “I need to get to the clinic. What are you going to do today?”
Kir folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the dining table. “I thought I might take King on a walk.”
Lynne moved to pat the head of the mastiff, who had finished his breakfast and was snoozing by the back door.
“Not too far. His paws will freeze in this frigid weather.”
“He’ll be fine.” Kir smiled at the dog. “Won’t you, boy?”
King barked in agreement.
Lynne rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse and medical bag she’d left on the counter. “If I’m not home for dinner, you can find some stuff in the freezer.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Without warning Kir moved to frame her face in his hands, then he pressed a fierce kiss against her lips. “You stay safe.”
He released her before she knew what was happening, and Lynne rushed out of the kitchen and through the living room. Moments later she was seated in her truck, allowing the engine to warm. What was wrong with her? Her heart was racing fast enough to make her lightheaded, and her lips were tingling from his kiss. As if she was a giddy teenager.
Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Nash? The words, however, were hollow. Kir was nothing at all like Nash. And her increasing fascination was just the opposite of what’d happened with the men she’d dated in the past. Usually, the closer she got to them, the more she wanted to bail from the relationship. With Kir, the more time she spent with him, the more she respected and liked him.
Muttering at her ri
diculous thoughts, she put the truck in reverse and backed out of the drive. Thankfully, Kir had parked across the street so she didn’t have to worry about his vehicle blocking her. And the snow had stopped on her way home from the sanctuary, so she didn’t have to clean the windows.
But as she put the engine in drive, Lynne frowned.
Something felt weird.
She allowed the truck to roll forward, trying to pinpoint the source of her unease. When she couldn’t, she chalked it up to the strangeness of starting her day with a man in her kitchen and put her foot on the gas. She had enough to worry about without adding to the list.
Rolling down the empty street, she turned the corner to head to her clinic. It was early enough that dawn was just beginning to spread across the sky. The lingering shadows made it easy to see the flashes of light coming from the center of town.
Now what?
She braked. Her clinic was to the right. Just drive straight to work and pretend that nothing is wrong, she told herself. After all, she wasn’t a sheriff or a trained medic—what could she do to help? But a sick curiosity compelled her to drive forward. As she turned down Main Street, Lynne’s stomach clenched at the sight of the numerous emergency vehicles circling the park.
Oh God. Something bad had happened.
Focused on the shadowed figures, along with the sheriff she could see moving around the ambulance, Lynne released a squeak of shock when a van coming from the opposite direction suddenly swerved to a halt directly in front of her.
Slamming on the brakes, she cursed as the truck fishtailed before she regained control. She was still shaking when a familiar man climbed out of the van and headed toward her door.
Parker Bowen.
Lynne rolled down the window, resisting the urge to snap at him for nearly giving her heart failure. She assumed he had an important reason for his reckless maneuver. “What’s happened?”
Parker stepped into the glow of a nearby streetlamp, revealing his tense expression. “Go to the station.”
“What?”
“The television station,” he clarified. “I’ll meet you there.”
She shook her head. There was no way in hell she was ending up on the morning news. “As much as I appreciate all you’ve done for the sanctuary, Parker—”
“This is important,” he interrupted.
Without waiting for her response, he turned and hurried back to his vehicle. Lynne frowned as the van cautiously pulled away. Did she ignore his request? She didn’t trust him not to try and urge her to be interviewed. Then again, he did say it was important. What if it had something to do with the murders?
Blowing out a frustrated sigh, Lynne took her foot off the brake and did a U-turn. The sheriff was too busy to notice, and she didn’t want to drive past the park. Not when she had no idea who was lying dead in the snow.
And she didn’t doubt there was someone dead.
Why else would every emergency vehicle in the county be there?
Trailing behind the van, Lynne was relieved when they pulled into the parking lot next to the station. It was early, but there were already several vehicles in the lot and the lights were blazing from the single-story brick building. It was true—the news never slept.
Parker halted in a space with his name painted on a wooden sign. Lynne parked next to him. She didn’t plan on staying long enough to be in anyone’s way.
He waited for her to climb out of the truck and led her through the locked front door. Together they crossed the lobby where a pretty young receptionist was already at a glass desk, her expression perking up at the sight of Parker. Were the two lovers? Probably. Lynne wasn’t personally attracted to the man, but he was young and handsome and ambitious. All the things most women wanted in a potential husband.
Without glancing toward the receptionist, Parker led her down a hallway that was heavily carpeted and lined with glossy photos of the current newscasters.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they turned a corner. There was a hushed silence in this part of the building that she didn’t like. It made her feel too isolated. She reached in her purse to wrap her fingers around her phone.
“My office.” He used his keycard to unlock the door and pushed it open. “Come in.”
Lynne tightened her grip on the phone. “I really need to get to the clinic.”
“This won’t take long.”
He stepped over the threshold and disappeared from view. Cautiously, Lynne moved forward, peering into the office. It was starkly masculine with heavy leather furnishings and shelves filled with statues that she assumed were some sort of awards. One wall was floor-to-ceiling glass that revealed a view of the rolling fields that surrounded Pike.
Parker crossed the silver carpet to take a seat behind the heavy cherrywood desk and impatiently motioned for her to join him. “Close the door.”
Lynne hesitated, then, squaring her shoulders, she forced her feet to carry her forward. “Actually, I prefer to leave it open.”
He frowned. “Okay.”
“Sorry, it’s just . . .”
“Yeah, it’s a strange time in Pike,” he agreed with a humorless smile. “And it just gets stranger.”
Lynne perched on the edge of a leather seat near the desk. She absently noticed the stacks of notebooks on his desk, along with two laptop computers. On the opposite wall there was a television with the early morning show flickering on the screen and below that was a series of framed photographs of Parker holding up a variety of large fish.
Parker might not be from this area, but he’d obviously developed the local obsession.
Reassured that the office looked exactly like she’d expected for a busy anchorman, she turned her attention to the man watching her with an unreadable expression. “Do you know what’s going on in the park?” she asked.
He leaned back in his chair, swiveling from side to side. “I have a few contacts in the sheriff ’s office. They called me at five o’clock to say a dead body had been found.”
It was hard to breathe, as if the air was solidifying in her lungs. “Do you know who it is?”
Parker hesitated, reaching to grab a notebook off the desk. He flipped it open. “Ms. Randall,” he read out loud.
“Madeline Randall?”
“Yes. She’s a . . .” He grimaced, glancing up from the notebook. “Excuse me. She was a retired teacher.”
“I had her in the third grade.” The fear that Parker was about to name one of her close friends faded, leaving Lynne oddly numb. She hadn’t known the older woman beyond the classroom. And if she was brutally honest, she’d hated Ms. Randall as a teacher. Even back then she’d been a bitter, resentful woman who’d been downright cruel to children. “Do you think it was the same lunatic that murdered Sherry and Randi?” she asked.
The anchorman tossed the notebook back on his desk. “By the time I got there the park had been barricaded and they weren’t very forthcoming with information. But there was a look on the deputies’ faces that tells me it’s the same killer.”
Lynne nodded. “It’s horrible news, but I’m not sure why you insisted I come to the station.”
“When I realized I wasn’t going to get any footage of the crime scene I returned to the station.”
Lynne hid her shudder, trying not to be disgusted. It was Parker’s duty to cover the news, whether it was the new STOP sign in front of the bank or a meeting of the 4-H Club or dead bodies.
“That’s when I remembered that we have a camera in the park.”
Her eyes widened in shock. A hidden camera in the park? That seemed . . . intrusive. Maybe even illegal. “Seriously?”
“We use it for live footage during the morning and evening weather reports.”
Oh. Lynne suddenly recalled the early dawn and sunset views that were shown during the broadcast. She’d never considered where the cameras might be located. Now she leaned forward, a surge of hope racing through her. “Are you saying the murder was caught on live television?”
>
He held up a slender hand. “The camera is in the park, but it’s pointed toward the town square. Still, I hoped we might have caught something that would reveal the identity of the killer.”
“Did you?”
“Unfortunately, no.” His jaw tightened with frustration. “A damned shame. It would have been my shot at the national networks.”
“Parker.” Her disgust was replaced with bone-deep shock. For a crazed second she wondered if he might actually be responsible for the deaths. What better way to ensure you were covering the hottest story in Wisconsin?
Then she squashed the nasty suspicion. Not even Parker was that ambitious. Was he?
“Plus we could have brought the monster to justice,” he continued in smooth tones.
She shook off her dislike for Parker. He had every right to further his career. It wasn’t like a small station in Pike, Wisconsin, was a dream job for any anchorman. “There was nothing that could help the authorities?”
“There was only one vehicle caught on camera.” He sat forward, grabbing a remote control off the desk. Pointing at the television on the wall, he changed from the live feed to the earlier video from the park camera. “See for yourself.”
She frowned. Did he hope she would recognize the vehicle and give him an inside track to the identity of the killer?
The image on the tape was a sharp contrast of light from the streetlamps and the shadows of predawn, giving the town square an artificial quality. As if it was a Hollywood set, not the town she’d known her whole life. The stores were dark, and the streets were empty. Just a sleepy night in Pike.
Then headlights slashed across the park and the camera’s shutter opened and closed in an effort to focus. The technical glitch nearly obscured the vehicle racing down the street, the tires throwing up loose snow in a spray of white. But just before it disappeared off the screen, Parker hit the pause button on the remote control and zoomed in.
Lynne surged to her feet, taking a step toward the television. “That’s my truck,” she choked out, pointing toward the license plate with the letters PAWSPRO. A joke from her father. “What time was this?”
Don't Look Page 15