by Sharon Sala
* * *
Lucy Taft was in bed with the lights out, watching television in the dark, when she saw headlights flash across the opposite wall. This was how she used to know when her grandson came home. Now she was using it to keep tabs on her renter.
She got up to peek out the window and saw him through the rain, walking up the steps. He appeared to be wearing the same brown raincoat and hiking boots he wore every time he went out, which told her that wherever he’d been, it hadn’t been at any business meeting. She watched him turning on lights inside, then marked the time down in her journal and went back to bed.
* * *
It wasn’t until the next day when Megan Oliver didn’t show up for court that anyone began to take notice. Then, when she didn’t call in or answer her phone, her coworkers began to worry. After sending a police car to her residence, all they learned was that no one answered the door and her car was gone.
At that point her friends began to backtrack her whereabouts from the night before and found her car in the parking lot where she had class. When they found her purse beneath the car and a bouquet of bedraggled flowers scattered nearby, they called the police again.
Now she went from late for work to missing.
* * *
The story and Megan Oliver’s photo made the third page of the paper the next day, along with a phone number for the Washington, D.C., police department, should anyone have information as to her whereabouts.
Lucy Taft heard the information on the news while eating her breakfast and frowned. A second woman was missing? What on earth was going on?
* * *
Laura was finishing her cereal and Cameron was making himself another piece of toast when she saw Megan Oliver’s picture.
“Oh, no!” she said, and pulled the paper closer.
Cameron turned around. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“I recognize her,” she said, pointing at the picture. “She and Sarah were in school together.”
Cameron went back to the table to read over her shoulder. When he realized another woman had gone missing, his heart sank.
“So you knew her?”
“Not like a best friend, just like someone you would see around school.”
“And she’s missing? Is she married?”
“I don’t know. No, I guess not. At least, she still uses her maiden name.”
Cameron eyed the expression on her face and then reached for her hand.
“I need to talk to you. I’ve been putting it off, but I can’t any longer.”
Laura dropped the paper and turned to face him.
“What’s up?”
“This is the second woman who’s gone missing in the area in the past week.”
She frowned. “So what does that mean to me?”
Cameron rubbed a finger lightly across her forehead, as if trying to smooth away the frown.
“The thirty-first of August was the anniversary of Louise Inman’s death. Someone left a bouquet of roses near her grave in New Orleans in her name with a card that said, ‘Love you.’”
Without thinking, she grabbed the locket, tightening the chain around her neck.
When Cameron caught the move, he knew she’d connected the dots.
“We don’t know anything for sure. We’re just keeping track right now.”
“Has he contacted Tate like he did before?”
“No, the Bureau deactivated the phone months ago.”
Her fingers tightened on the necklace.
“So you can’t be sure?”
“Not yet.”
Her eyes welled with tears.
“Is he coming after me? Will I be next?”
Cameron felt sick. She’d already made the same connection he had.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because he went after Nola, then Jo, and I’m all that’s left.”
He stood up and took her into his arms, sick that he’d put fear back into her life.
“We don’t know it’s him, so right now let’s not borrow trouble.”
She could feel the thunder of his heartbeat beneath her cheek and knew he was as upset as she was. She looked up, her fingers still tight around the locket.
“You can’t lose me now, remember?”
He brushed a kiss across her forehead.
“Of course I remember, and no, I won’t lose you. Ever.”
She was shaking from head to toe. She heard him say the words, but they both knew that when it came to the Stormchaser, there were no guarantees.
* * *
Megan Oliver had always liked long soaking baths, but thirty-six hours’ worth of river water had been overkill in the worst kind of way. Unfortunately, it was a fourteen-year-old Boy Scout working on a cleanup project for a merit badge who found the body. After a frantic call to his father a short distance away, they contacted the police. They showed up within minutes, roped off the area and sent the boy and his father home. His good deed for the day had been done.
It took another twelve hours before they got a positive identification, and then the news went out. Megan Oliver was no longer missing. She had what appeared to be Taser marks on her face, and she’d been strangled the exact same way as boutique manager Patty Goss. No one at the precinct had said serial killer yet, but they were all thinking it.
When Tate Benton found out they had another murder victim, he sent a text to Wade and Cameron.
Another murder victim w/ Inman’s M.O. Going to talk to director. Catch up w/ you later.
Wade was coming out of court and frowned when he saw the message. He had his own grudge against Inman and would like nothing better than to drop him out of a plane, but his job demanded capture and arrest.
Cameron was in the field office when he got the text, and his first reaction was fear. He knew in his gut that if this was Inman, one of their women would become a target. Two of them had already escaped his grasp, though, and Inman knew Laura well. He had worked for her, which would make it easier for him to figure out how to get to her. But she’d already survived a plane crash this year. Surely to God, fate would not put her in the path of a serial killer, too.
* * *
It was after sundown when Hershel came out of the movie theater picking popcorn from between his teeth. The popcorn had taken the edge off his appetite, but he hadn’t eaten since morning. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted a steak or some clam chowder. Both of them sounded good, but the chill wind whipping around the corner of the theater settled the decision.
Clam chowder it was.
He strolled across the parking lot toward his van with his hands in his pockets, thinking about the movie he’d just seen. If he had it to do all over again, he might incorporate a couple of elements from the movie into his killings—not that he was into true torture, but the thought of someone hanging themselves was intriguing.
Stand them on a rickety stool with a rope around their neck and watch to see how long they lasted before the first leg came off the stool or they slipped off from exhaustion. It might be something to think about. In the meantime, he wanted some of that hot chowder and his business finished here soon. He was more than ready to head south for the winter.
* * *
Laura had gone through her workday in a daze, trying to get a grasp on the possibility that her life was in danger, worrying until she made herself sick. She knew Cameron was concerned and probably expected her old anxieties to return. She
was more than a little worried, too, and wanted to do something proactive instead of waiting for the other shoe to fall.
She’d been friends with Nola Benton and Jo Luckett for months, but they’d become even closer friends since the engagement. Now she needed something more from them than friendship. It was almost time to go home when she sat down at her desk and sent them a text.
I have a favor to ask. I want to know every chink you saw in Hershel Inman’s armor. Both of you escaped him. If he comes after me, I need at least a fighting chance to survive. Girls’ day out tomorrow for lunch?
Then she gathered up her things, sent a text to Cameron that she was going home and left the building.
She’d never thought much about the hours she worked until now, but now she realized how going home after dark would make it easier for someone to take her unawares. She walked with her car keys in her hand, her head up and her gaze shifting constantly to the slightest movement or hint of sound. By the time she reached her car she was running. The moment she got inside, she locked all the doors, then quickly drove away. She just wanted to be home. That was her refuge. She would be safe there.
Her cell rang, but the traffic was heavy and she didn’t even look to see who was calling. Moments later her OnStar system kicked in and the car phone began to ring. She hit the button to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey, honey, it’s me, Sarah, just checking in.”
She smiled in spite of herself.
“Hey, Sarah! So good to hear your voice. Are you still loving your job? Have you made some new friends?”
Sarah laughed. Laura always did want to know everything at once.
“Yes, the job is great. My flat is amazing. I have the best view of London nightlife from my living room windows.”
“I’m jealous,” Laura said, trying to picture her sister’s world. “What about friends? Any of them happen to be male?”
She heard her sister chuckle.
“Of course some of them are male, but none of them are special. I’m too busy getting acclimated to the job and the country for any of that. What about you? I want to hear all about the wedding shower. Was it amazing? Did you get my gift?”
“Yes! I can’t believe you sent a cappuccino maker. Cameron is all excited. He said I can be in charge of the panini maker and he’ll in charge of the coffee.”
Sarah smiled. She could hear the joy in her sister’s voice.
“So everything is perfect, right?”
Laura hesitated.
Sarah frowned. “What?”
“It may be nothing,” Laura said.
“Damn it, Laura. I’m half a world away. Don’t make me guess. What’s wrong?”
“The Stormchaser team may be about to reactivate.”
“What? No! You aren’t serious?”
“It’s not certain yet, but Cameron is worried. Flowers showed up on his wife’s grave in New Orleans on the anniversary of her death, and now two women have been murdered. They were both Tasered and then strangled.”
“Oh, my God. That’s the way he killed his last victims, right? Where did this happen? Was it back in New Orleans?”
“No. It was here. D.C., to be exact. They found both bodies in the Potomac.”
Sarah gasped. “I don’t like this. You’re connected to the team now. What if he targets you like he did the other agents’ wives?”
“We have that covered. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. No one is even certain it’s him, so don’t worry.”
“Come to London. You can stay with me until they get this sorted out.”
Laura frowned. “Don’t be silly. I’m getting married in a month. There are too many things to do, and I’m not leaving Cameron.”
“I feel sick,” Sarah said softly.
Laura sighed. “I know, and don’t tell Cameron, but so do I. This really put a damper on the wedding plans, but I can’t think like that. Two women are dead and I’m fine. This isn’t about me.”
“Yet,” Sarah mumbled.
Laura changed the subject.
“So talk to me. Have you done any sightseeing outside London yet? Have you been to France?”
“Yes. It’s amazing, just like I always thought it would be. You and Cameron will have to come for a visit.”
“We will. We definitely will,” Laura said, and then listened to her sister talk the rest of the way home.
Cameron’s car in the driveway signaled his presence as she pulled in behind it, and for that she was grateful.
“Hey, Sarah. I’m home now. I’ll talk to you again soon, okay?”
“Absolutely, and keep me updated on everything else.”
The call ended.
The wind had come up on the drive home, and when Laura got out, it was a cold slap in the face. She didn’t know what they were having for dinner, but something hot and warm sounded heavenly.
* * *
Cameron heard the key in the door, tossed the pot holder onto the counter and came out of the kitchen with a ready smile on his face. Laura was hanging her coat in the hall closet when he caught her from behind and kissed the back of her neck before spinning her around.
“What’s new, pussycat?”
She threw her arms around his neck.
“I just freaking love you,” she said, hugging him fiercely.
Sensing desperation in her voice, he stepped back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sarah called on the way home. I told her about the murdered women. She freaked. A little of it rubbed off on me, but it will pass.”
He could tell she didn’t want to discuss it further and let it slide.
“Something smells so good. What’s cooking?” she asked.
“It’s gumbo and rice. I picked the fixings up on the way home, which reminds me, we need to go grocery shopping.”
“Ooh, that sounds good,” Laura said. “We’ll start a shopping list tonight. Tomorrow is Saturday. I’ll do it while you’re gone.”
Cameron frowned. Going to Quantico, even for the day, felt like a careless move. What if she needed him and he was too far away to help?
In her haste, Laura missed the significance of his silence. “Do I have time to change into something comfortable?”
“Sure, honey. Food’s done. I’m just keeping it warm.”
“I won’t be long,” she said, and darted down the hall.
Cameron’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he watched her leave, and then he went back to the kitchen.
He hated this feeling of helplessness, as if they were sitting on a bomb and Hershel Inman was holding the detonator.
Nine
Hershel was heating up a can of chili and watching the evening news. He was watching the footage of the cops pulling Megan Oliver’s body out of the river and waiting for someone to say serial killer, but it hadn’t happened. He was in the backyard of the FBI, the nation’s experts, and they were just as silent as the D.C. police. It ticked him off.
He took the chili from the stove and poured half of it in a dish, then carried it and a sleeve of saltine crackers to the sofa. When the news went to commercial, he let his thoughts slide to more mundane matters as he ate.
His knee-jerk decision to go to D.C. had caused all kinds of ramifications back in Mexico. The last thing he wanted was for his friends to report him missing, so he’d called the manager early this morning and told him he would be gone for a while longer, that he was taking care of a relative with failing health. He’d gotten sympathy and understanding, along with the promise to look aft
er his mail and property until he returned.
He went back to the kitchen to put some grated cheese on his chili and refill his coffee cup. The news program resumed but without any further mention of the murders, which put him in something of a snit.
“Well, hell. What does a person have to do to get some respect around here?”
The scream in his ear was so sharp and unexpected that he actually jumped up, spilling coffee on his shirt as he turned to look behind him.
“What the—”
God has abandoned you. The angels have turned their faces away from you. Your soul is lost.
Hershel frowned as he grabbed a dishcloth and began mopping up the coffee he’d spilled.
“Damn it, Louise! What made you scream like that? Last time all you did was echo, and now this! What the hell’s the matter with you? If you have something to say, just say it.”
Every time you sin, it hurts. I can no longer bear the pain.
He frowned. He didn’t like feeling guilty, but she was doing it to him again.
“I don’t get it. You died. You can’t feel pain or sadness.”
I’m not talking about physical pain. You are killing people in my name.
“Oh. Shit. Well, I’m not finished with my business,” he muttered.
He heard what sounded like sobbing, and then nothing.
“Louise? Louise? You still there?”
Nothing.
Both the chili and the guilt sat on his stomach like a rock.
“Still doesn’t explain why you’re screaming like a damn banshee,” he said beneath his breath.
He carried the food to the sink and dumped it down the garbage disposal, then stomped down the hall. He took off the coffee-stained shirt, took a clean one out of the drawer and pulled it over his head as he strode back up the hall, still muttering.
“Damn it, Louise, I nearly died in that fucking flood, too. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t get to your insulin. I loved you. I took good care of you when we were married. Then you died. I went crazy from grief, you know. I had myself a nervous breakdown. I’ve been doing what had to be done to live with myself since then, so stop screaming at me, damn it.”