For a small person, Cassandra took long strides. Adam couldn’t help but notice the way her jeans tightened and relaxed as she walked. She used her entire leg to move forward, and she set a pace that made Adam hustle. The terrain was uphill, and he felt perspiration break out on his forehead even though the morning was still cool.
“The McBeth family has been in these parts for as long as the mountains have been settled,” she continued, unaware of his scrutiny. “My dad’s folks came over from Ireland, and they laid claim to this part of the mountain. My dad was the last, though. Or I should say that I am. He was an only child. I understand it was a bit of a fray when he married my mother.”
“She wasn’t from these parts then?”
“Not by a long shot.” Cassandra laughed. “My mother is European. It depends on her mood which country she’s from, but always European.” She laughed again. “She is exotic.”
“How did she learn to tell fortunes?”
“Family trade. Her mother and her grandmother had done it. She said it was a gift, and she believes it. She does have an...ability to know about people. It’s extraordinary.”
“Where is she now?” Adam had wondered at Cassandra living alone. He’d assumed she had no relatives.
“Traveling. The last I heard, she was in Poland. I guess we have relatives all over the place. After my father died, she stayed here as long as she could. I don’t think she ever wanted to stay in one place long. She was like a tumbleweed marrying a fence post. As long as Dad was alive, he kept her anchored to this place. Then—” she waved one hand in the air, palm up “—she was gone.”
“And you stayed.” That fact was more than a little interesting to Adam. “Why?”
“I guess I’m like my father in the way that I love this place. Even after the folks in town treated him badly about Mom, he still loved this land. He couldn’t have left it, and I’m like him that way.”
An hour had passed and they had covered several miles. Cassandra showed no sign of tiring or fatigue. The path split in two directions, and Familiar stood patiently at the intersection. Adam’s natural inclination was to go right, but Cassandra tugged at his sleeve.
“Not that way.”
“Why not?”
Cassandra’s blue gaze was direct. “Bad memories. There’s an overlook there that goes all the way down the mountain.” She could tell by the way Adam’s eyes brightened that the idea interested him.
“My father died there when I was a child,” she added.
4
Ah, a simple country meal of chicken and cheese. None of that fancy sauce that I was eating in Washington—ruining my figure, too. No, this is the life. Fresh air, sunshine, exercise, a little snooze on the quilt Cassandra brought.
My leg is getting stronger and stronger, and along with watching out for Miss Locks, I’ve been putting a lot of thought into what happened with Eleanor.
She’s alive. I know it. If she weren’t, I’d be able to tell. Hanging around Miss Locks has given me a new appreciation for my feline instincts. Well, it isn’t totally my instincts. The news report said no bodies were found in my bombed home. Eleanor is alive, but I think she’s hurt. That bothers me. Where is she? What can I do to help her?
Chances are Dr. Doolittle would get her out of Washington, if at all possible. He has contacts in the medical profession. But where would he take her? How can I get there? I’d never admit it to anyone else, but there are times when being a cat has distinct disadvantages. I mean, I’m a better driver than most of these maniacs behind the wheel of a car, but do you think they’d give me a license? Besides, I can’t really see over the steering wheel. And who designed the automobile anyway? The pedals are too far down on the floor. The upshot is that I have to figure out a way to catch a ride back to Washington. Getting in a car might not be that difficult, but getting it to go where I want, and then getting out of it again, will be tricky.
First, though, I have to figure out what to do. I tried to dial the phone the other day, but the line was dead. I guess that’s the next step. Get the phone repaired and make an effort to get Dr. Doolittle’s office. I remember the number. If I can just get him to answer instead of that battleax Lucille. She’ll hang up on me. Dr. D. might have enough savvy to figure out my voice.
Get the phone fixed. That’s the first step. Eat, rest, and keep a watch on Miss Locks. From what I can see, Lancelot is quite willing to keep an eye on her. I’ll bet he’d like to put a hand on her, too. Hey, hey. At least I haven’t lost my touch for puns.
* * *
Adam leaned back on the quilt. The pattern was the Rose of Sharon, one her grandmother on her father’s side had made for her hope chest when Cassandra was still an infant. It was a thought that interested Adam. Why hadn’t Cassandra married? She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen—not just in body but in spirit. Why had she chosen to lead such a solitary, isolated life?
“More bread and cheese?” Cassandra asked. She cut another piece of cheese for Familiar. The cat’s appetite was ravenous.
“I can’t eat another bite,” Adam said, stretching even longer on the soft quilt.
“You’ll be hungry again—when we walk down the mountain.” Cassandra was on her side, resting on one elbow. Adam’s eyes were closed, and she studied this unusual man who’d broken into her life. He’d come when she was in the throes of a dream, when all of her defenses were trashed and useless. Otherwise, he’d never have gotten his toe in the front door. But she had to admit, it was odd how he fit in so easily—almost like the cat. She smiled slightly. Running Stream would say that the gods had sent her a gift when she needed him. To the Cherokee woman, every action had a purpose.
“Meow,” Familiar said, as if to insist that it were true. He went to Cassandra and flopped onto his back at her side. Motor running, he demanded a rub.
Still stroking the cat, Cassandra lightly cleared her throat. “Thanks for being with me. Beaker’s a difficult man, and he didn’t believe a word I told him.”
“No thanks necessary.” Adam kept his eyes closed by an act of will. He felt Cassandra was going to say something. If he looked at her, she might shy away.
“I’ve been alone since my father died. That’s the emotional reality if not the physical truth. My mother...” Cassandra paused, “well, we’re just very different. It was odd having someone on my side. Thank you, Adam.”
He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, but he knew he couldn’t. He’d done it once, only because she’d been trapped between consciousness and a terrifying dreamscape. If he tried it now, she’d run away from him. “I’m not in the habit of traipsing around the mountains helping out women in distress, but I have to say, it made me feel good, Cassandra. You gave me something, too, an opportunity to help another person. One, I think, who doesn’t often accept help from anyone.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Thank you.”
The rush of warmth that Cassandra felt toward Adam made her want to lean over and kiss him. “We’d better go back,” she said, her voice slightly roughened from the many emotions she held so tightly in check. She stood up quickly and began repacking the basket. Adam Raleigh troubled her—because he’d pierced her barriers and made her feel.
Adam carried the basket down the mountain with Cassandra at his side and Familiar pouncing from one clump of brush to another. The sun warmed their backs, and the silence they shared was companionable. They both had lots to think about.
At the cabin, Cassandra took the basket while Adam retrieved his things. It would be better for all if he left immediately. “Thanks for everything, Adam. I’m sorry I couldn’t represent your cereal.” Why was this parting so hard? She wanted Adam to leave. He disrupted the serenity she valued so much, and yet she was so drawn to him. In a rare impulsive gesture, she took the two steps that separated them and kissed his cheek. The sensation made her lips tingle. His skin smelled of sun and orchard. “Good luck with your company.” She retreated behind the screened door, waiting
for him to leave.
Adam squelched his desire to take her in his arms and kiss her properly. “Please check the phone before I go and make sure it’s repaired.” Every instinct in his body told him to stay with Cassandra. Yet he was packed and ready to leave. He had no valid reason to stay, and she’d made it clear that she preferred him to go.
Cassandra motioned Adam inside as she stepped into the den. She put the receiver to her ear. “Still dead.” She gave it a puzzled look. “That’s odd. There haven’t been any severe storms. Usually they get the service back on in a few hours.”
“I’ll check the line,” Adam offered. He dropped his bag before she could protest. A loose wire wouldn’t be a problem, but it might be an excuse to delay his departure. He walked to the back of the cabin, tracing the line from the pole to the house with his eyes. When he found the wall box, he stopped. The line was cut—clean and straight. Whoever had done it meant business. A chill of apprehension tickled his neck. This wasn’t a premonition. The damaged line was a fact. He wasn’t leaving, no matter what Cassandra said.
Determined to stay, Adam went back into the house. To his amusement, the cat was sitting on the sofa watching television with Cassandra stroking his back.
“The line is—”
“Listen.” Cassandra held up a finger for silence. “It’s Martin West. He’s doing a show on the strangled women.”
Adam’s attention went to the screen. He recognized Sheriff Beaker, but he’d never seen the two women who were sitting on either side of the lawman.
“One is a psychologist specializing in violence against women, Dr. Libby Smith. The other is Janey Ables’s mother,” Cassandra explained.
On closer inspection, Adam could see that one woman had obviously been crying. She was talking about her daughter’s dreams and ambitions, all gone now.
West moved skillfully between his interviewees, building a picture of two young women who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then he shifted the focus to the lawman.
There was no reason behind the killings, as far as Beaker could determine. Under West’s probing questions, the conclusion was chilling: a killer who killed for the pleasure of inflicting pain and death, a person acting out some fantasy over and over again.
“He’s a smart man,” Beaker said. “FBI profiles of this type of killer show that they’re usually of very high intelligence. They don’t think they’ll ever get caught. Sometimes, it becomes a game with him, tricking the authorities or anyone else who tries to track him down.”
“Him?” West questioned.
“Him,” Beaker said. “It’s a man.”
“You’re very positive on that point. In fact, that’s the only thing you’ve been positive about, Sheriff.” West grinned at the camera. “You mentioned before the show started that there is some...disfigurement to the bodies.”
Anger touched Beaker’s face. “You agreed not to mention—”
West abruptly jumped in. “What do you make of the fact that the killer removes hair from the victims?”
“We have specialists studying that fact.” Beaker was upset.
“It isn’t a scalping, exactly,” West continued. “The hair is cut close to the scalp, in the front, correct?”
“Yes.” Beaker’s voice was rigid.
“Based on your other deductions, perhaps we can assume that the killer is a bald man who is so self-conscious he thinks women don’t like him so he decides to strike back.”
Cassandra’s fists clenched in her lap. “He’s making a joke of all of this. Women are dying, and he’s using it as a stage to mug.”
Adam eased down onto the sofa beside her, and the cat inched closer so that he purred against her leg. Martin West didn’t interest Adam; he’d seen a hundred fame-hungry television personalities who’d perform any indignity in the hopes of getting noticed. It was Cassandra who worried him. She was at the breaking point.
“I could sense part of this,” she said softly. “He doesn’t mean to kill. At least not at first. He thinks he isn’t going to do it this time. But then he does. He has to win; he has to be dominant over the woman. And the sheriff is correct. Now it’s becoming a game of who’s smarter. You know Beaker could become a target himself.”
“Yeah, well, Beaker’s going to start a panic for sure,” Adam said. “I’m no director of tourism, but this is the beginning of the summer season here in Gatlinburg. I suspect the town is swarming with young women earning money for college. If they think a killer’s on the loose preying on young women, it’s going to turn this town into total chaos.”
“Beaker must be very concerned to risk going on television. He must not have a single lead.”
Cassandra watched as the camera closed in on the sheriff’s face. Beaker was speaking calmly of the need for all young women in the area to practice sensible precautions. He was reminding the citizenry to lock all doors and windows, to avoid dark and dangerous locations and above all, not to talk with strangers.
“Because of the high influx of tourists into Gatlinburg at this time of year, we’re looking for a stranger in town, a transient,” Beaker said. “Gatlinburg is a small community for most of the year. We know our neighbors. This is a problem that stems from outsiders,” he said grimly.
Adam shifted uneasily on the sofa. “Beaker’s doing the best he can, but that Martin guy has really painted a frightening picture. There’s nothing worse than a killer who has no motive, who kills for the pleasure of the kill. That’s what West has projected. Some kind of monster.”
Cassandra nodded. “Yes, a brilliant monster. Martin West has become very popular with this kind of tactic. I seldom watch his show. He seems to have a penchant for attracting controversial guests with emotional topics.”
“I’ve seem similar shows. Women who are married to men who have had sex change operations to become women.” Adam shook his head. “The public desire to confess to anything is amazing.”
“Martin West is good at it. He gets the audience stirred to the point of panic. There have been fights on his show, members of the audience hitting each other. It’s apparently a great rating gimmick. I hear he’s even getting some nibbles of interest from the networks.”
Adam clicked off the set. “West may benefit from this kind of story, but no one else does.”
“You’re right about that.” Something about Beaker was nagging at Cassandra. “What about the phone?”
“The line is down.” Adam twisted the truth, for the moment. Cassandra had enough to worry about. Since he was staying, she didn’t have to know the line had been cut. “Until you have phone service, you have a guest.” Cassandra calmly met his gaze. She could see the hint of belligerence in his eyes, the set to his jaw. It would be useless to argue.
“Okay. Until the phone is repaired.” Adam could stay, but she refused to probe her reasons for allowing it.
He couldn’t believe her easy acquiescence. “Are you okay?”
“My car has been towed to town. My phone line is down. It would be really stupid of me to send you away, wouldn’t it? I like my privacy, but until I can get in touch with some of my friends, it’s nice to have another adult around.”
“Meow,” Familiar agreed before either could speak.
Adam checked his watch. “I need to run back into town before it gets dark. Can I bring anything?”
“No.” Cassandra picked up Familiar and rose from the sofa. “We need to do some work out in the garden. I have some buds that must be protected. There’s a cool front coming in.”
“I have to make some calls to my office.” He also had to report her cut line. “I’ll be back.”
Cassandra nodded. It was strange. Her feelings were mixed as she watched him leave. There was a sense of relief and just a small tingle of...regret. The thought that he would return made her smile. She’d spent so much of her adult life alone it was a new experience to anticipate another’s presence. It was something she wanted to think about as she transferred her plants to
a warmer environment. Gloves in hand, she went to the back door with Familiar at her heels.
Three hours later, her knees and back tired, she started for the house. She wanted a bit of her mint for iced tea. She’d planted it near the spigot on the side of the house.
The leaves were tender as she pinched off a few. Rising, she glanced at the hookup for the telephone. She knew immediately that the line had been cut. Her fingers tightened on the delicate leaves, crushing until the minty odor seeped from her hand. The line had been cut. By whom?
More importantly, why had Adam lied?
The obvious answer was so frightening that she refused to acknowledge it for a moment. Turning stiffly, she walked toward the house. She didn’t allow her mind to think until she’d closed the door and taken a seat at the kitchen table.
If Adam had cut the line, then he was deliberately trying to isolate her on the mountain. Why?
Because he was…Beaker’s words of warning came back to her like a second, cruel blow…stranger in town. When Carla Winchester was killed, Adam had claimed to be in the Knoxville Marriott. He’d claimed to be there. Even if he had been, it was close enough that he could have driven to Gatlinburg the night of her murder. And Janey Ables? He could easily have been in the area for a week or more.
Cold sweat spiked the small of her back. She felt fear tightening around her rib cage, squeezing off her lungs. Forcing a deep breath, she held it until she felt the stricture relax. Now was no time to lose her nerve.
But why was he coming after her? That didn’t make any sense at all. She pushed her panic down a notch. No, it didn’t make a bit of sense that Adam would seek her out, and that she would suddenly be having precognitive dreams of the murders.
Unless the dreams had recurred because he was somehow linked with her!
For a second she thought her heart would stop. Her scalp began to burn, as if thousands of ants had suddenly started biting her. She dropped her head between her knees and drew in long breaths.
Too Familiar (Fear Familiar Book 2) Page 5