“It’s a deal,” Jesse agreed easily, although he knew it was a false promise on her part. This was a place to hide, a state of limbo for her.
When her sight returned and her life was no longer threatened, she would go back to Chicago and never look back. He knew that he and Mustang, Montana, would simply represent part of a very bad dream she would never again want to revisit.
Chapter 4
Sheriff Jesse Wilder had lied to her, Allison thought as she sat on the sofa and listened to the sounds of him clearing the table and cleaning up the breakfast dishes.
He’d told her he wasn’t particularly good-looking, but her fingertips had told her something altogether different.
Even now, her fingers still held the memory of his skin and features. His face was slender, with high cheekbones and a straight nose. He had long lashes and she could easily see in her mind his blue eyes framed by the dark fringes.
His mouth was soft, achingly soft, and if she dwelled on it, it would be far too easy to imagine those lips pressed against hers.
She stirred restlessly and smiled as she heard him whistling “Camelot” as he worked. She could imagine his dark hair falling carelessly over his forehead as he rinsed the dishes. She knew from touching that his hair was thick and silky and she had a feeling he needed a haircut.
When she put all the single images together, what she got was a mental image of a handsome man.
A confirmed bachelor, she reminded herself. Not that she was interested. She had a life, a full life waiting for her return to Chicago. That was her Camelot.
“Want another cup of coffee?” Jesse called from the kitchen.
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” she replied. She heard him enter the room and smiled in his general direction.
“I thought maybe we’d eat lunch down at the café this afternoon,” he said. She heard the squeak of a cushion and knew he’d sat in the chair opposite the sofa.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” The thought of going out, of being vulnerable, sent a flutter of anxiety to the pit of her stomach.
“Keller told me to keep my routine as normal as possible and to tell everyone you’re my girlfriend. Every person in town will begin to wonder about you if I keep you isolated here. That wouldn’t be normal.” He sighed audibly. “Besides, trust me that we’ll know if a stranger shows up anywhere in the vicinity. A fly doesn’t land on the back of a dog, that somebody in this town doesn’t comment about it five minutes later.”
She laughed, her anxiety ebbing somewhat. She had to trust his judgment, had to believe that he not only knew his hometown and the people in it, but also knew the business of protection. “Okay, lunch out sounds good.” She jumped as a heavy knock fell on the front door.
Jesse got up and walked to the window. “Relax, it’s my deputy,” he said to her, then opened the door. “Hi, Vic, what’s up?”
“Jesse, I think we’ve got another one.” The deputy’s voice boomed loud and deep.
“Dammit!” Jesse exclaimed. “Who?”
“Maggie Watson. I don’t know, Jesse. She’s in bad shape. She’s locked herself in her house and won’t let anyone in.”
“Has she been hurt physically?” Allison heard the concern in Jesse’s voice.
“Nobody knows. Amanda Creighton came down to the office and said something was wrong with Maggie, that she and Maggie were supposed to meet this morning at the café for coffee. When Maggie didn’t show up, Amanda went to her house.” The deputy paused, apparently to draw breath. “Maggie wouldn’t let her in the house, but she says she is a victim of Casanova. I don’t know what’s going on, but it sounds like she’s freaked out totally.”
“Okay, you go on back to the office and I’ll check things out at Maggie’s place,” Jesse said briskly. “You might try to find Shelly. Maybe Maggie will feel more comfortable talking to a woman deputy.”
“Shelly left early this morning to visit her parents. By this time she’s miles and miles away from here.”
Allison listened with interest as the two men finished their discussion and Vic left the house. She tilted her head questioningly, aware that Jesse hadn’t moved from the door. “I’ll be fine, Jesse. Go where you’re needed.”
“I’m not comfortable leaving you here alone.” He hesitated a moment, then continued. “Why don’t you ride along with me? I can’t promise you how long we’ll be gone and I’ll ask that you remain in the car, but I’d feel more comfortable if you don’t stay here alone.”
“Okay,” she agreed, and stood. It didn’t much matter to her whether she sat in his car or sat on his sofa.
Moments later she was safely ensconced in the passenger seat of Jesse’s car. “Who’s Maggie?” she asked.
“Maggie is a twenty-eight-year-old who works the evening shift as a waitress at the Round-Up.”
“And the Round-Up is?”
“A bar at the outskirts of town, decorated like an old-fashioned saloon.”
Allison nodded and sank deeper into the plush leather seat. “Your car is new.”
“How did you know that?” he asked with a note of incredulity. “It’s less than a month old.”
She smiled. “It still has that new smell.”
He sniffed. “I can’t smell it anymore.”
“I guess it’s true that senses compensate for each other when one no longer works. I’ve noticed in the last month both my hearing and my sense of smell seem to be more acute.”
“Let’s hope Maggie’s sense of smell and hearing were working overtime while she was with Casanova.” He pulled to a stop. “We’re in front of Maggie’s house now. I’m going to see if I can get her to come out. You just sit tight.” His car door opened then closed, and Allison knew she was alone in the car.
She rolled down her window, letting in not only the sweet scent of summer, but Jesse’s voice, as well.
“Maggie, come on. Open the door and talk to me,” Jesse said, his tone soft and pleading.
“No.” The female voice was muffled, but audible to Allison. “I don’t want to talk to anyone. Just leave me alone.” Apparently Maggie was talking through an open window.
“I can’t do that,” Jesse replied. “We need to talk. I need to file a report.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. I just want to be left alone.” Maggie’s voice rose both in volume and in tone. “I don’t want anyone to see me. I feel ugly and dirty. Go away!”
She didn’t want anyone to see her. Allison frowned thoughtfully, then before the impulse could pass, she opened her car door and stepped out. “Jesse?” she called hesitantly.
He walked toward her, his footsteps brisk on the surface of the sidewalk. “She won’t let me in,” he said when he stood close enough to Allison that she could feel his presence. “Something is wrong. This doesn’t feel like the other two.”
“What do you mean?”
“The other women were upset, scared and traumatized, but not to this level. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“Why don’t you let me try? Maybe she’ll let me in.”
“Why would she? She doesn’t even know you,” he said.
“And that’s exactly why she might talk to me,” Allison countered. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
Jesse sighed, then took Allison by the hand. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.”
He guided her down the sidewalk toward the house. “There are three steps up to the porch,” he instructed. She nodded and took the steps carefully, intensely aware of the heat of his hand on her elbow, the evocative scent of his cologne. “Okay, the front door is about three steps straight ahead.” He released his hold on her.
Allison drew a deep breath and walked the three paces to the door. She knocked softly. “Maggie? My name is Cecilia Webster. I’m a friend of Jesse’s. Could I come in? Would you talk to me?”
“Please, just go away and leave me alone.” Maggie’s voice was filled with anguish and her deep suffering touched Allison’s heart.
She knew wh
at it was like to be tormented, to feel dirty and ugly. It was exactly how she felt each time she thought of the night of John’s and Alicia’s deaths. It was the same way she felt when she awakened each day to her blindness, a blindness induced by her inability to cope, by the weakness of her character.
“Maggie, if you let me in to talk to you, I won’t be able to look at you. I’m blind.” Allison held her breath as silence greeted her words.
The silence stretched immeasurably long, and defeat weighed heavy on Allison’s shoulders. Jesse stepped beside Allison and touched her arm, as if to tell her to forget it.
“Is this some kind of a trick?” Maggie’s voice broke the stifling silence.
“No trick,” Jesse replied. “Cecilia is blind.”
Again silence.
Allison held her breath, her heart pounding anxiously. The breeze that had been softly blowing stopped, as if all of nature held its breath, as well.
Allison could feel the other woman’s hurt, her fear and her irrational shame wafting through the door. An audible click cut through the stillness, the click of the door being unlocked.
“Cecilia can come in…but only her,” Maggie said.
Jesse’s fingers tightened on Allison’s arm. “I have to talk to her. You have to get her to agree to let me in.”
Allison nodded, then reached for the doorknob. She opened the door, but remained standing on the threshold. “Maggie?” She held out a hand. “You’ll have to help me.”
It felt as if she waited for an eternity. Finally a cold, trembling hand grasped hers. “Maybe we could sit on the sofa,” Maggie said.
“That would be fine,” Allison replied and allowed herself to be led across the room. Five steps to the sofa, Allison calculated. When the two women were seated, Maggie drew her hand away and again silence reigned.
“You want to tell me what happened?” Allison asked gently.
A deep wrenching sob was the woman’s reply. Allison felt the sob clear down in her toes, and with the compassion of a fellow victim, she reached out and embraced Maggie.
Initially Maggie stiffened and held herself erect. But as another sob choked in her throat, she melted against Allison and cried.
For several minutes, Allison held her and soothed her, allowing her to vent the emotions that ripped through her. “Maggie, you have to tell me what happened,” she said when Maggie’s sobs had eased somewhat.
Maggie released one final, shuddering gasp, then straightened and pulled away from Allison’s embrace. “In the middle of the night, somebody came into my room. He blindfolded me and gagged me, then tied me up and threw me over his shoulder.”
Her voice was soft, nearly inaudible and Allison sensed the tenuous grasp she had on her control. “Maggie, before you tell me anything more, couldn’t you let Jesse come in? He needs to hear this so he can catch whoever did this to you.”
“Okay,” she conceded, although another sob caught in her throat. “But just Jesse. Nobody else.”
Allison stood and slowly walked the five paces back to the front door. She opened it and Jesse stumbled into her.
“She says you can come in,” Allison told him as he grabbed her hand. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Be gentle, Jesse. She’s very fragile.”
He squeezed her hand. “Thanks.” With him still holding her hand, they moved back into the main-room. Maggie was once again softly weeping.
Allison rejoined her on the sofa while Jesse remained standing. Allison reached for Maggie’s hand as Jesse began to question her.
As she listened to Jesse inquire about the previous night’s events, she marveled at his smooth, calming tone, the compassion and support he offered Maggie.
Allison was drawn to him like she’d been drawn to no other man. Was it because he was not only attractive with a broad, hard chest, but also seemed to be a genuinely nice guy? Or, was her attraction based solely on the fact that she was blind and vulnerable, and he was her sole security in an alien world?
Was it a mysterious chemical reaction at work within her, attracting her to Jesse like an ocean seeks the shore, or would she have been attracted to anyone who was kind to her in these hours of need?
For all she knew, had she remained in Keller’s care for a few more days, she might have enter tained fantasies about him. She frowned as she thought of the cold, distant man. No way, she scoffed.
Still, she knew better than to trust anything she might feel toward Jesse. Nothing was real in her life at the moment, not even the name she was known by.
She had to remember that she was living a fantasy existence provided to ensure her safety. Nothing she experienced here in Mustang had anything at all to do with her real life back in Chicago.
She focused again on the conversation between Maggie and Jesse.
“When he got you to the kissing tree, what happened?” Jesse asked.
“He put me on the ground…and kissed my cheek…then he…he—” She broke off, sobbing once again.
Allison squeezed her hand, willing her the strength to get through the trauma of telling aloud what had happened to her. Maggie’s hand gripped Allison’s so tightly, pain radiated up her arm.
“He…he ripped the tape from my ankles…. and then he…he raped me.”
Allison heard Jesse’s swift intake of breath at the same time shock riveted through her. It would seem that Casanova had degenerated from a female-kissing crazy to a rapist.
It was nearly seven when Jesse led Cecilia into the café for a bite to eat. Weariness weighed heavily on his shoulders as he guided Cecilia to a booth in the back of the room.
It had been a long, disturbing day. After taking a statement from Maggie, Jesse and Cecilia had taken her to the hospital where she’d undergone a physical examination and some crisis counseling.
Jesse had contacted Amanda Creighton, Maggie’s best friend, to come and stay with her, then he and Cecilia had driven out to the scene of the crime.
While Cecilia sat patiently in the car, Jesse looked for physical evidence that might point him to the perpetrator. Casanova, whoever he was, was smart. He was smart enough to leave nothing behind—no footprints, no cloth snagged on branches or brush, no cigarette butts or gum wrappers. Nothing to give a single clue to his identity.
The only thing Jesse had as evidence was the duct tape Casanova used to bind his victims. Ordinary duct tape was sold in a half-dozen stores in Mustang, and hundreds of thousands of stores around the country. He’d packaged the tape in evidence bags and sent it to the crime lab in Butte, hoping for fingerprints, but certain there would be none. Maggie, as well as the other two victims of Casanova, had been certain he’d worn gloves.
Jesse opened the menu, then looked at Cecilia. “The special tonight is meat loaf and mashed potatoes, with a choice of two vegetables.”
“Sounds fine,” she said without enthusiasm, as if she didn’t much care what she ate, but knew she needed to refuel.
He felt the same way. He had no appetite, but knew he had to eat something. Breakfast that morning seemed a lifetime ago.
When the waitress—a giggling high school student working part-time—arrived, he ordered their meals, then leaned back in the cracked leather booth and released a sigh of exhaustion.
“Long day,” Cecilia said, as if his sigh had come from her.
“Yeah. Long and frustrating.” He leaned forward and stared at Cecilia for a long moment. She looked as tired as he felt. Her face was pale and a faint wrinkle creased her forehead.
His mind flashed with a picture of how she’d looked when he’d met her at the bathroom door that morning. For just a moment, he’d been mortified, aware that he was clad only in a pair of boxers. Then he’d remembered that she couldn’t see him and he’d relaxed somewhat.
Still, he’d been able to see her. He’d noticed her sleep-tousled hair, the drowsiness that darkened her eyes. She’d been wearing a pale blue nightgown and a matching robe. The silky material had been cool to his touch as he’d grabbed her shou
lders, but had quickly warmed beneath his fingers. She’d looked tender, inviting and sexy as hell.
In a single instant, he’d wondered what it would be like to awaken each morning with her next to him in his bed. The thought had been fleeting and instantly dismissed. He didn’t want a woman—he didn’t want anyone in his life.
“Jesse?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Just thinking.” He had a feeling she sensed him staring at her. He looked down at the top of the table and thought back over the events of the afternoon. “I don’t know what I would have done without you today. I don’t think Maggie would have ever talked to me without your help.”
She picked up her napkin and unfolded it in her lap. “I’m glad I could be some help.”
“You were more than help. You were Maggie’s lifeline.” He thought of how Maggie had clung to Cecilia not only through the initial interview phase, but Maggie had also insisted Cecilia be with her during the physical exam.
“Maybe victims somehow recognize each other and Maggie knew instinctively that I’m a soul mate when it comes to suffering senseless violence.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But I think it has to do with the fact that you were really good with her. She trusted you. If your sight never returns, you could always get a job working with people.”
The frown on her forehead deepened. “My sight will return and I’ll go back to running my shop and decorating homes.” Her voice trembled slightly, as if she were afraid to consider that her sight might not return.
Had Paul fought against his blindness? Had he refused to accept what fate—what Jesse had handed him? Jesse pushed away thoughts of Paul. He had enough on his mind without adding in ancient history.
“Here we are,” Trish, the youthful waitress, said, arriving at their table with their drinks. “Coffee for Sheriff Wilder, and iced tea for his lady friend.”
“Thanks, Trish.” Jesse wrapped his hands around the coffee mug, hoping some of the heat would seep into his bones, bones weary and cold with thoughts of a rapist terrorizing the town he loved.
“Amanda Creighton seemed like a nice woman,” Cecilia said.
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