by Kylie Brant
Despite the spike to her temper, Cait kept her voice modulated. “Some would say the people whose bones were dumped in the cave were innocents, too.”
“We don’t know that.” Joanie was gesticulating with both arms. “Maybe they were druggies who got on the wrong side of some gang somewhere. Maybe they got exactly what they deserved, did you ever think of that? And yet law-abiding folks are getting dragged into their mess.” There was a sheen to her eyes from impending tears. “Our business is hanging on by a thread, what with the drop in tourism. Now this. It won’t matter what we do. The way people talk, it’s probably already all over town that Del was taken in by the sheriff. Who’s going to want to go to a place that’s owned by a suspect in a murder case?”
She didn’t lack sympathy for the woman, even if Joanie couldn’t see beyond the ramifications to her family. Her business. “As I said, Del should return soon. And he told me that you’re the brains behind the Internet café, so I’m certain you have a handle on that part of the business, as well.”
“You misunderstood,” the woman said flatly with a toss of her head. “Not surprising since you and the sheriff’s department have screwed up every single other piece of your work. The café is Del’s baby. I know enough to log people in and out, but he does all the troubleshooting. He’s absolutely brilliant with computers. Ask anyone around here.”
“We have.” Edging away, Cait sent the woman an insincere smile. “They all agree. There’s nothing he can’t do with a computer.”
And that was exactly why the man was headed back to Eugene for questioning at this very minute.
Chapter 19
It was all over town. He’d had three calls already with the news. Del Barton had been taken in for questioning by the cops.
There had been more, of course. Details factual or exaggerated, he didn’t know. He didn’t listen carefully past that first part. His heart had stopped beating in his chest at the words. Then had sped up like a runaway locomotive. For a moment he thought he was having a heart attack.
The sheriff’s department had Sweetie.
He paced his house, ignoring the next few calls. To think prior to that first call he’d been feeling peaceful. Joyful, even. Still pumped about the plans he’d made with Sweetie—had that just been last night? With a renewed sense of purpose he’d gone to the shed and moved Barb Haines’s carcass into the enclosure holding his beloved beetles. Had experienced a feeling of absolute bliss as he’d watched them cover the bones like a hungry ever-moving blanket. He’d raised them by hand, from the larva he’d acquired over the Internet. They never failed to instill a thrill of pride.
But then he’d gotten the first call.
He knew how these things worked. The fact that Del hadn’t been cuffed meant he wasn’t under arrest. If there had been enough evidence against him, he would have been. This part was preliminary.
But it’d also make it harder. Far harder for Sweetie to get away like they’d talked about. Fear was firing frantic bursts of panic through his veins. But he had to be calm. Had to think. He couldn’t afford a mistake this time. It wasn’t enough to take Fleming out of the equation. He had to make it clear that Sweetie couldn’t possibly be involved with those bones.
And then, midstride, it hit him. The thought was so shocking in its clarity that he paused, certain there was a flaw in it.
But there wasn’t. And it was so simple he laughed out loud in sheer delight.
Taking Fleming out of the equation not only removed the brains from the investigation. Killing her while Sweetie was in custody absolved him of all guilt.
He looked out the window. It was nearing dark. Swiftly, he got his pistol. Then, after a moment, also grabbed his shotgun. Extra ammo. All of the callers had given a full account of Fleming standing on the sidewalk engaged in an argument with Joanie. And he knew, because he’d been keeping tabs on her, that she hadn’t checked out of the McKenzie Motel. Chances were if she’d been in town she might stay here tonight. If not . . . he headed for the back door. If not, he knew she had a room in Eugene, too. If he couldn’t pick her off driving by in her vehicle, it shouldn’t be too hard to make some calls. Find out where she was staying and then pay her a visit.
With Fleming dead, their problems were over.
Zach stared at the meager contents of his refrigerator and muttered a curse. The last of the bread had mold on it. He’d emptied the milk carton two days ago. And even he wouldn’t eat the lunchmeat that was hard and curled up at the edges. Unless he was willing to dine on sheetrock, he’d have to go to town for something to eat.
And only hunger would have driven him to head for his Trailblazer and start for town. The prospect of a sandwich and beer was too tempting. He wasn’t in the mood for company, but he wouldn’t say no to a chance to kick some ass in pool.
He was in the mood to kick some ass.
The fact that the ass most in need of kicking was his own just made his mood meaner. He took the gravel faster than he usually did and heard the rapid ping of the rocks as they shot up and sprayed his vehicle. Consciously, he let up on the accelerator. Every time he thought of Andrews’s expression when she’d probed about the missions he’d run in the army, he wanted to put his fist through something solid. Like she’d have a clue about scouting surveillance and counterintel. About the kind of men it took and the training it required.
All she’d cared about was whether he’d come back broken. Whether he’d used some of that training and systematically started picking off strangers and snapping their necks to get his jollies.
Damn hard not to get offended by that.
He turned on the highway, his mood grim. He’d spent the hours he should have been sleeping last night rerunning the questioning backward and forward in his mind. He’d thought at the time the sheriff had been playing it cagey. That she knew more about his missions than she’d let on and was trying to trip him up. She’d dangled Cait’s involvement in acquiring the information on him in front of him like catnip. And like a damn idiot, his brain had partially shut down and all he could concentrate on was the feeling that had bloomed inside him.
A dark-colored compact passed him as he slowed for the turnoff to town. When the fog of temper had passed, it had been easier to see how Andrews had played him. How she’d used the mention of Cait to throw him off stride. And wondered now why he’d so easily accepted her suggestion that Cait had given her more, far more, than she was revealing.
The resulting burn of betrayal had been difficult to see through. But when his fury had faded, he wondered, staring blindly at the ceiling as he lay in bed, why it had been so much easier to believe Andrews, a woman he couldn’t stand, rather than Cait, a woman he . . .
His mind jittered away from completing the rest of that statement. The sheriff might play games and get off by jerking people around, but Cait was straightforward to a fault. If she’d gone deeper into his military file, she’d have told him, flat out. And made no excuses for it, he thought wryly, automatically slowing to scan the cars in Ketchers’s parking lot. She’d say it upfront and deal with his reaction.
He’d all but called her a liar, and he’d deserved everything she’d had to say in return. She hadn’t called him a coward before leaving, but he knew that was exactly what had him drawing his hand back each time today that he’d reached for the phone.
Better to end it this way. Because the thought had his throat drying out, he swallowed. Found the act difficult given the knot in his throat. She’d be gone in a matter of days or weeks, and what was the use, really, in drawing it out? He’d never managed to keep a relationship going more than a matter of months before losing interest. Which made him a poor choice for trying a bicoastal one.
And the hollowness in his chest at that thought was surely due to hunger. He found a spot in the parking lot behind JD’s. Locked his vehicle and used the back entrance.
He was a man who knew his limits. A realist who recognized that wanting something didn’t mean he’d be any go
od with it once he had it.
And wanting Cait Fleming wasn’t good for either one of them.
Spending the next few hours in the company of Deputy Tony Gibbs was almost enough to have Cait wishing she’d never given up modeling.
The act of collecting the computers turned out to be more of a chore than it had to be. None of the resort owners were happy about the request. And not one was willing to deny their guests computer access for an indeterminate amount of time while the sheriff’s office had a forensic cyber detective go over the machines with a fine-toothed comb.
Despite Gibbs’s claim of the other night, Cait didn’t notice that any of the owners were more enthusiastic given the fact they knew the man at her side.
Since their cooperation at this point was purely voluntary, in the end Cait convinced each place to give up two computers. And that had taken making a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep about how long it would be before they were returned. She wondered if they needed to collect a couple from JD’s’s Internet café, as well, but in the end decided against it. The identified victims had been in the area long before it had been opened.
Plenty of time to pick up Del’s computers after she checked with Barnes about what the man’s questioning had elicited.
She slanted a glance at the man beside her. “How long has JD’s had the Internet café?”
Gibbs’s brow furrowed. “I dunno. Two years maybe? Something like that.”
So that part of Del’s conversation with her had been the truth. Cait checked the clock on the dashboard and wondered how the interview of Barton was coming. She would have liked to be present for it, but Barnes had made it pretty clear that he figured it was his territory. And in her line of work, she was more familiar than she wanted to be with cops protecting their territory.
They were coming to the town limits, so she said, “Drop me off on Main Street. I left my vehicle there.”
Obediently Gibbs made the turn. “You staying in town tonight or going on back to Eugene?”
At the question, her stomach did a neat flip. In between resorts, she’d made a quick call to the hospital. Was told by a not unsympathetic nurse that Lydia didn’t want to speak to her. To see her. There was no use going by the hospital tonight.
“I’ll probably go back to the Landview,” she said finally. “So if you want to transfer the computers to my vehicle, I can drop them by the sheriff’s office tonight.” It’d give her a chance to catch up on the results of the interview.
“Saves me a trip.” The prospect had Gibbs sounding decidedly cheerful. “Say, did you ever give any further thought to what I told you before? About getting you access to properties around here for those soil samples?”
“That lead is probably a dead end until we nail the UNSUB and take a sample from his property,” she admitted, looking out at the nearly empty Main Street. Then as memory flashed, she allowed herself a small smile. “Unless you happen to know of a place that not only possibly has hot springs but also keeps sheep. Or used to.”
He pulled at his long blade of a nose as he slowed to swing in next to her vehicle. “Know a couple places like that actually. Not right in town, of course. But Kathy Gerber and Rick Moses rent an acreage and keep a few sheep. Jodie Paulsen’s dad used to raise them years ago.” His voice went eager. “You want me to call them?”
With a shrug, Cait said, “May as well.” If nothing else, the soil samples would give Kristy a way to test the theory she’d concocted while ogling the NRCS employee. “But let’s not transfer the computers until we know whether we’re making more stops. I don’t want to leave them in my vehicle unattended.”
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.” Cait tucked her cell into her jeans pocket in case Barnes called and grabbed the pack she’d retrieved from her vehicle before getting out of the car.
“I know he’s here. I just talked to him.” Gibbs scratched one large ear. Knocked on the front door again. But no one answered it. “He spends a lot of time out in his shed putter ing.” He strode to the end of the porch and jogged down the steps, peering around the corner of the house. “I see a light out there. That’s where he’s probably at, all right.”
Wonderful. A fine mist had begun to fall. As if the air had exhaled, a slight wind followed. Cait trailed behind the deputy as they crossed the uneven yard, by a garden, a compost heap, and hulking shapes of old discarded machinery. Toward a wooden shed patched with bits of metal. Like he’d said, there was dim light coming from the tiny cracks between the wooden slats. But the door was padlocked from the outside.
“Well, he’s not in there.” In disgust, Cait looked at the deputy. She should have known this would be nothing but a time waster. “Just take me back to my vehicle. I’m going to ... ”
The wooden door splintered in front of her a fraction of an instant before she heard the shot.
She shoved Gibbs, hard. “Down, get down.” They dove in opposite directions, Cait drawing her weapon from its back holster to aim at the unseen assailant. Scanning the terrain, she saw nothing moving. “Call in on your radio!”
“It’s in my car!” Gibbs shouted back. She could see the outline of him, crouched low on the opposite side of the shed, only his head poking out. The shadows would give them cover, she figured, peering intently into the darkness as she dug her cell out with her free hand. As much as it did their assailant.
“Paulsen!” Cait’s voice rang out in the eerie silence. “We just came to talk. You invited us, remember?” She tried to shield the light from the screen of the phone while she dialed 9-1-1. Another shot split the night, close enough to feel the heat of the bullet kiss her cheek. Hastily she crawled to the other end of the shed and around the corner, jamming the phone back in her pocket for the moment.
She focused on the direction the last shot was fired from. The looming bulk might have been an old tractor. Massive enough for a man to hide behind it. She sited, squeezed off a shot. Heard the ping of metal. There was no sign of movement.
Staying low, she made the 9-1-1 call and, afterward, ignoring the operator’s direction to stay on the line, shoved the cell back in her pocket. Still no sign of Paulsen. Carefully she made her way to the opposite corner of the shed, peered around it. She needed to talk to Gibbs. Together they could . . .
Except Gibbs wasn’t where she left him.
Shit.
She did a crouched run along the wall. Heard the creak of rusty hinges. And when she whirled around the corner, in police stance, the space in front of the door was empty.
But the padlock was off the door.
“Gibbs,” she breathed. Looked frantically around. But the man had vanished. He was armed. At least that was a consolation. Because if they had to wait for backup to come all the way from Eugene, they just might be screwed.
She stared at the entrance to the shed again. Who had gone inside? Gibbs? Or Paulsen?
Using the door as cover, she drew it back to open it fully. Then dropped to the ground before it and rolled, coming to a halt with her weapon sited on the figure framed in its opening.
Her blood congealed in her veins when she saw not one, but two figures inside it.
Jodie Paulsen smiled beatifically. Pressed his pistol harder against Tony Gibbs’s temple. “Welcome to the party, Ms. Fleming.”
“You don’t want to hurt Tony,” she murmured, not lowering her weapon. She inched inside the shed where she could better navigate an angle for a shot. “You two are friends.”
“I’ve got lots of friends.” His voice was conversational as he dragged Gibbs farther back into the interior of the shed with one arm around his throat. “One less won’t hurt. And he’s not the friend that counts here, is he?”
“No, I’m guessing that’d be Del Barton.” She kept her eyes trained on Paulsen’s face. She couldn’t afford to focus on Gibbs’s wide-eyed panic. His empty holster. “He was the brains and you supplied the muscle, right? Had a nice little racket going siphoning off all those funds.”
“Have,” he corrected. “Nothing has changed. With you dead, Andrews will see that Sweetie couldn’t have had a thing to do with the whole mess. They’ll let him go. We’ll be together.”
Shock jolted through her. “So it’s more than business between the two of you.” She edged toward the left, hoping for a clear shot. But Paulsen was moving into the shadows. Away from the light spilling from a single lamp in the center of the shed.
“We’re in love.” Gibbs made a sound then, a choked sort of snort and Jodie lowered the barrel of the gun to shoot him in the knee. The man’s cry was hideous.
“Next time it will be your brain, not that you ever had one, you stupid fuck.” His voice was fierce as he whispered into the man’s ear, his gaze never leaving Cait. “Drop the gun,” he told her, his weapon pressed again against the man’s temple. “Or he’s a dead man.”
“Won’t be the first time you’ve killed, will it?” Keep him talking. It took one moment of distraction to catch him off guard. Cait circled around him so she could control his movements to some extent. Keep him away from the inner edges of the shed that were shrouded in shadow. “Which did you enjoy more? The men or the women?”
“I’m not a killer. I’m not. They were treated with respect. Given a decent send off with a fitting memorial. No one can say I was unfeeling.” Gibbs’s whimpers turned into a low keening sound. “I’ve always been too sensitive for my own good.”
“So that’s why you painted on the bones?” It was difficult to follow his reasoning, but that wasn’t unusual. A psychopath wasn’t logical.
“I commemorated their lives,” he corrected. “Which is more than my mother got. And more than you’re going to get.”
Something in his tone warned her and she dove, rolling away as a shot echoed and re-echoed in the interior of the shed. But she realized her mistake an instant later when she heard the thud of a body hit the dirt floor. Gibbs.