Find Me

by Debra Webb

  Jerri Lynn shook Sarah's hand and managed a smile but it was less than enthusiastic. Like her mother, she had the infinitely dark hair but the eyes were more blue, like her father's, than green.

  "Our MIA daughter got caught up in a grief session at the high school auditorium with her friends."

  "It was too sad," Jerri Lynn said, her expression downtrodden. "Alicia's brothers were there." She leaned into her dad. "It was just awful."

  "Are you all right?" Lynda asked, the frustration in her expression softening to concern.

  "I suppose." Jerri Lynn shrugged. "It was just awful, that's all."

  Pope ushered his daughter to the sofa next to her mother. Sarah resumed her seat.

  "As difficult as it was, showing your support was the right thing to do," her father assured her.

  Jerri Lynn abruptly turned to Sarah. "Is it true they were stabbed through the heart?"

  Her parents both jumped to scold her for asking such a thing.

  Sarah saw no reason to pretend she didn't know the answer. "I believe that's correct." The news had reported that detail. The kids at school were likely talking about it.

  "That would be a gross way to die," the girl said with a shudder.

  "I can't imagine any parent recovering from losing a child," Pope offered.

  Lynda shivered visibly. "I can't imagine what kind of nightmare this must be for those families."

  "Is it true your mother killed your father, Ms. Newton?" The question caught Sarah so off guard it took her a moment to realize Jerri Lynn had actually posed it aloud.

  "Jerri Lynn," Lynda chastised. "Why would you ask something so personal?"

  Pope didn't reprimand his daughter this time. Instead he appeared equally interested.

  "It's true," Sarah confessed. She couldn't expect people to open up to her if she didn't do the same, but she set the pace and boundaries. It wasn't like Pope didn't have a dossier with all the dirty details. "My mother killed my father as well as seven other people."

  "Why?" Jerri Lynn asked in spite of her mother's obvious mortification.

  "Because my father was unfaithful. Over and over again. When she'd had enough, she got even."

  "Wow." Jerri Lynn scooted to the edge of her seat. "Did you see the bodies?"

  "That's quite enough," her father cautioned. "Don't be so forward."

  Sarah shook her head. "It's all right. The truth is what it is." She met Jerri Lynn's curious gaze. "Yes. I saw several. I've seen more since. I guess my profession is a little gruesome but it's what I know better than I know anything else."

  Maybe that was a little more honest than she'd intended to be.

  "Do the police have any clues about the killer?" Jerri Lynn wanted to know. "Everybody says they're totally lost."

  "Unfortunately, no clues yet. But they'll figure it out." At least, not unless there was something Sarah didn't know about yet. She'd been shut out of the Appleton briefing.

  "I knew that curse stuff was crap." Jerri Lynn scoffed at the idea. "The police are just too stupid to figure it out." A pointed look from her father had her backpedaling. "Sorry. I guess they're doing the best they can."

  "Do you think this case will go unsolved like the one from twenty years ago?" Lynda asked, her own curiosity showing.

  Sarah weighed the question. "I think this case will go unsolved until they have some evidence or get extremely lucky."

  The evening dragged on another hour. Sarah used that time to further analyze the Popes. Jerald was difficult to read. Careful. Polite. The daughter was another story. Outspoken Curious. The mother was a little jaded but honest. Sarah appreciated honesty.

  When Sarah announced that it was time for her to go, Pope walked her to the door.

  "You are a genuinely fascinating woman, Sarah Newton." He helped her into her coat. She'd worn the same black dress from dinner with the Conners. It was the only dress she'd brought on the trip. It was her stock packing item. Wrinkle-free, slinky material. No buttons, no zipper. Just stretchy, clingy material that looked elegant without maintenance.

  "Thank you for dinner," Sarah said to her host. "And for a pleasant distraction."

  "I would like to ask one last question," Pope said before opening the door for her.

  "Ask away." Sarah looped her bag onto her shoulder.

  "Do you believe that who we are is entirely genetic?"

  That was easy. "Pretty much."

  "So you ultimately become some version of who your parents are or were?"

  Sarah stiffened. She should have seen that one coming.

  "To some degree," she answered carefully, after all, she'd told him to ask, "everyone does." Her pulse reacted to an adrenaline charge. Her heart pounded. Her muscles tensed with the fight-or-flight response.

  "If that's true"—he pushed the issue when she was more than ready to let it go—"one with the misfortune of being born to parents who kill, could, in fact, become a killer simply by virtue of DNA."

  Sarah couldn't respond for a pulse-pounding moment. She'd asked herself that question a million times. She'd researched the subject. Read every relevant published journal and book.

  And the conclusions were always the same.

  She could walk out the door and not answer the question. Instinct compelled her to play along… see where this went.

  "Some say," she ventured, "that we make our own choices regardless of DNA. Their opinion is that those who make the wrong choices use their genetic history as an excuse. Others insist that we do what we're hardwired to do with no real free choice. Bottom line, in my assessment, inheriting the DNA of a killer puts the potential into play."

  He searched her eyes as if looking for her thoughts beyond her words. "That," he said finally, "is a very heavy burden to wake up to each morning."

  Yes.

  It was.

  CHAPTER 26

  Sarah sat at the intersection of Calderwood Lane and Beau-champ Road.

  She stared into the mist swirling around her headlights.

  Not once, except for maybe when she and Lex parted ways, had Sarah felt the compulsion to kill anyone.

  To actually commit the act.

  Okay, so she hadn't really wanted to kill him, but the temptation had crossed her mind. For about two seconds.

  But there wasn't a day that passed that she didn't wonder if, forced to defend herself, the act would plunge her into a different reality. One where she couldn't resist the desire to take another life given the proper motivation or not.

  Her mother had killed eight people and kept the ongoing activity hidden for a decade.

  Sarah's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Her father had been a cheat who cared about no one but himself. For the duration of his short life, if Sarah had her guess. According to her aunt, he'd always been a no-good two-timer.

  Sarah's entire genetic makeup, all that she was… was the combination of deceit, uncontrollable urges, and lies.

  She understood, even before her shrink had told her as much, that her past was the reason truth was so intensely important to her. She damned sure hadn't needed Lex to tell her so.

  And Sarah could live with that.

  But, if the trigger for one or more of those bad traits—and all addicts had triggers for their vices—was ever tripped, would there be any turning back?

  The age at which her hair grayed or wrinkles developed or the propensity for illness kicked in—it was all genetic. The color of her eyes… her hair… her height… every damned thing.

  Her mother had been thirty when she'd murdered her first victim. Did that make Sarah's upcoming birthday a long-buried trigger? Was she more likely to commit the act at that point, the same as she might expect certain physical changes?

  If she knew for certain that would happen… was there anything she could or should do about it? Put herself on house arrest? Kill herself before she could kill anyone else? Did repeat murderers consider killing themselves to stop the compulsion? Or was the power and excitement of the act far
too big a rush to miss?

  Sarah scrubbed at her eyes. She was definitely losing her perspective, maybe even her mind.

  This case hit far too close to home… for reasons she couldn't yet discern.

  Was staying another day, even another minute, a mistake? Conner had tried to reach her five or six times. She wasn't calling him back. He was a distraction she didn't need.

  His family, like the Popes, made her too keenly aware of what she'd missed growing up.

  And he, Kale Conner, the good-looking fisherman who'd given up his own future to live out his father's dream, was some kind of kryptonite to her.

  He made her wonder… made her want to be a part of something…

  Yet, he was ultimately no better than she. He was faking it, too. Pretending that work was all life was about. No wife, no girlfriend. Just his work to keep him company. Oh, and the dog. How was his life so different from hers?

  They weren't good for each other. He needed her about as much as she needed him.

  Taking her foot off the brake, she headed for the inn. Sleep would do her good.

  And maybe for once she'd follow the doctor's orders and take the stupid medicine.

  Yeah, right. The ability to function at full capacity was far too important to her.

  Chief Willard had shut her out of the investigation. Lex would ensure she didn't get back in. If new evidence had been discovered, the cops might just eventually find the killer with or without her participation.

  Maybe Tae was right and she should go back to New York. If she couldn't accomplish anything here, why stay? The only mystery that needed to be solved was identifying the scumbag who liked murdering young women.

  No spooks, curses, or boogeymen here.

  The fog hovering around the harbor obscured the lights, giving it a definite creep factor and seeming to defy her conclusion.

  It was too dark to see much of Bay View Cemetery. Just that foreboding black iron fence.

  Were the two crows still waiting on Mattie Calder's headstone?

  Sarah shook her head. She'd drifted way off course, intertwining fact with fiction.

  Time to set a new one.

  The inn stood alone atop that steep hill, the few illuminated windows staring out like pale eyes watching over all of Youngstown.

  Tomorrow morning she would need to get a foot in the reverend's door. Or catch him away from the house. Or the niece. The niece might even be better. She appeared anxious to talk. Possibly to get even with her uncle for whatever he had done to her.

  Maybe Sarah would catch Barton Harvey in a good mood and go over a few details with him. Like whether or not he wanted to chase her through the woods again.

  Yeah, and maybe it would be a pleasant eighty degrees tomorrow.

  Not going to happen unless she hopped a plane south.

  Her headlights flashed across a silver vehicle.

  Jeep Commander.

  Conner was waiting for her.

  Anticipation shimmered, warming her in ways that should set off any number of alarms. But that didn't happen. Instead, she made excuses for not turning around and driving the other way. Maybe he had news he intended to share on the investigation.

  But then he would only give her what the chief had authorized. She could get that on Fox News.

  Sarah parked her car and got out. The Jeep was deserted. She glanced at the inn. He would be waiting for her in the lobby.

  Or in her room.

  Another rush of heat, this one lower, deeper.

  The lobby was closed for the night; a small desk light spread its glow across the registration counter, otherwise the room was dark.

  Sarah climbed the stairs, listening to the silence. No television noise. No chatter of conversation. Not even the roar of the oil furnace.

  But he was here, she didn't have to hear him… she felt him.

  Sure enough, down the hall, propped in front of her door, was Kale Conner.

  His coat lay on the floor at his feet. With his head leaned against the wall and eyes closed, he looked asleep but she knew better.

  As she came closer, he lifted his head and turned toward her. She braced for the confrontation.

  "You have a message." He unfolded his arms and held a piece of paper in her direction.

  She took the paper in one hand and dug for her key with the other. "Thanks." The number on the message was her shrink's. She wadded the note and shoved it into her coat pocket. "You been waiting long?"

  He picked up his coat. "Long enough."

  She wondered how long they could dance around the real reason he was here. He would want to know if Lex had told the truth… how she'd managed to survive… et cetera, et cetera.

  She didn't want to talk about it.

  In her room, she tossed her bag on the floor by the bed and shrugged off the coat. "Have you been authorized to bring me up to speed on the case?"

  "No."

  Well, that was short and direct.

  She looked him square in the eyes. "How much do you plan to tell me off the record?" The man had something on his mind. That was certain.

  He dropped his coat onto the chair next to the seriously lacking excuse for a minibar. "Everything."

  Surprised, she took a step in his direction. "You're going to break the rules?"

  "Yeah."

  "Is there some reason you feel compelled to do that?" She took another step; her pulse reacted to his nearness, to merely looking at him. Those broad shoulders… lean hips… long legs… and that face.

  His shadowed jaw only made him sexier.

  Hadn't she decided that being involved with him like this was a mistake?

  "I don't want to talk about it right now." He claimed the final step between them. "I want to talk about you." He hitched his head toward the door. "I've been standing out there all this time thinking about you. And what I wanted to say to you." Sympathy flickered in his eyes. "I'm sorry about… today."

  Oh, hell no. She didn't want or need his sympathy.

  "You're sorry?" Anger scaled her senses. "Why should you be sorry? Lex is an asshole; my past is what it is. None of that has anything to do with you."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Tell you what?" She planted her hands on her hips. Her personal life was none of his business. If he wanted to give her information or to fuck, fine. Otherwise, he could go.

  He stared at the floor a moment, then met her eyes, his filled with more of that misplaced concern. "About what happened when you were a kid." He exhaled a troubled breath. "Your mom… that had to be tough."

  "My mother chopped up and buried seven victims. Then she ground my father into sausage. She was nuts. They put her away. End of story." Tension throbbed in Sarah's veins. She never discussed her past with anyone but her shrink. This was unnecessary. A waste of time and energy.

  "And you were there… ?"

  If Conner just wouldn't look at her that way… maybe she could deal with this. Get past it. But those eyes… damn those eyes. "I was there. I heard the screams, the voices. Sometimes I stumbled over body parts. Just another night in the butcher shop."

  The memories rammed against her defenses. She closed her eyes, forced them back. Still they came. She'd been terrified of the basement under the butcher shop. Blood-soaked earth. All those bones. All the rotting personal items.

  Stop.

  She opened her eyes and stared at the man watching her with such overwhelming compassion in those dark eyes. "I got over it."

  Silence thickened in the air.

  "Did you?"

  Her stomach clenched. His voice… the way he kept looking at her… made her want to let him hold her. To protect her. No one made her feel that way. No one. She had to get this under control. Now. "Enough about the past, Conner." She folded her arms over her chest, banished those weak emotions. "Brief me on the case or fuck me, those are your options."

  The heat that flared in his eyes matched the fire that roared inside her. Disrupted her ability to breathe.
Even as she ordered herself to pull it together.

  "Sarah." He lifted his hand, touched her cheek with such tenderness the urge to cry welled.

  She drew away, startled at the unexpected emotion. "Don't even think about it. I don't need your sympathy."

  Those eyes… those damned dark, dark eyes. Like the night… like a place she could fall… and just keep falling. "Why won't you trust me?" he urged. "Let me hold you the way I want to. The way I know you need me to."

  "I see." Don't give in. Be strong. "You're going to make my ugly past all right, is that it?" No way. As if to defy her, her chest tightened… her entire body yearned to lean into him. "I think maybe you'd better pay attention to your own screwed-up existence before you start trying to repair mine."

  "Don't try to change the subject. Running away from your problems isn't the answer," he argued quietly. "You can't hide in places like this, on cases like this."

  This was priceless. Fury swept away the emotions wearing down her resistance. "Like you don't." She leaned in close, stuck her face in his. "You're so full of shit, Kale Conner. You dropped out of college to take care of the family business. You never went back. You're living your father's life, not yours. How are we different?"

  He shrugged those broad shoulders. "I do what I do to take care of my family, not to run away from my past."

  "Really?" He was so damned blind. "Then why not go back to school when your brother finishes? Let him take the helm for a while." When he would have argued with her suggestion, she added, "Or are you afraid you can't do it?" She had to laugh. "Why not let Deputy Brighton, or the chief's secretary, make an honest man out of you? Are you afraid of personal commitment, too?" He had no right to throw stones.

  "You're right." He held up his hands in surrender. "I put my life on hold to take care of other obligations. Eventually I need to get back to my own goals." He shook his head. "But you, you're the one who's scared. You have no excuse for running away from your life. You have no family obligations. You have choices. Choices I didn't have. And you're pretending they don't exist. It's all about work. It's all about hiding from the emotions that scare the hell out of you."