Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2)

by Jayden Hunter

  The restaurant was busy. A good sign, he’d picked a popular spot. They waited for a table, and the crowd forced them to stand close. Drew slid her arm around his waist.

  “No shoulder holster on first dates?”

  “Nope. Service weapon is in the trunk, locked up. But ready to go if a major incident happens. It’s not likely. Do you shoot?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m not so bad either, for a beginner.”

  Drew explained how her old friend Marc had introduced her to firearms. She’d protected herself with a Mossberg when she’d been attacked and had grown to love firing handguns as sport and competition.

  “I still shoot regularly with my best friend, Ben.”

  “Your best friend is a guy?”

  “Of course. Women get too clingy. Besides, I always wanted a brother.”

  “So how come you and Ben didn’t end up in a relationship? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “It’s a little complicated and a little simple. First off, he is a really nice person. I do love him like a brother. But I also realized when he helped me last year I needed a friend like him in my life. Partially it’s because I’m an only child, and you can’t love someone like a brother and sleep with him.”

  “Sounds like you have a good thing going.”

  “I do. We are in the middle of a fight right now. I haven’t talked to him much lately. I guess I should schedule a lunch.”

  “Sounds like true siblings. I have two sisters, both younger than me, and one brother, older. I can’t imagine being an only child.”

  “Are you saying I’m a spoiled bitch?”

  Rick laughed and looked her in the eyes. “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  He was still laughing when the hostess called his name, their table was ready, they held hands on the way and Drew felt at peace.

  ...................

  Rick took Drew to his place.

  Drew was thrilled that he didn’t ask her directly.

  He was an alpha male. No doubt. She knew she’d be taken home if she asked. There was safety knowing that he was in charge, but not domineering. That balance was hard for alphas.

  “Wine?” Rick asked. He pulled out a chair for her.

  They were on his balcony. The night air was cool and still.

  Drew could sense the ocean if she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. The city lights were in the distance.

  Rick had lit a candle.

  Total seduction.

  The prescription for happiness and bliss.

  He returned with two glasses. They sipped, set the glasses down, and kissed.

  It was as if they’d rehearsed this moment for a movie scene.

  She tilted her head at the same moment he leaned.

  His mouth tasted like wine. His kiss felt like strength and power wrapped in softness, like a gift of fine crystal. Drew let herself be guided as a dancer would, in control of her own movements, while being gently lead across the floor. He moved his hands through her hair. He touched her neck and caressed her shoulders.

  “Rick?”

  “Yes?”

  “I need you to be gentle, but I want to stay the night.”

  “As long as you’re sure.”

  She was.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Perhaps it is better to be irresponsible and right, than to be responsible and wrong.

  ~ Winston Churchill

  There is something intoxicating about vulnerability.

  ~ Professor Kyle Fisher

  ...................

  Drew was happy; she’d been dating Rick for a month. He wasn’t married, had never been married, and between his dedication to work and the love he expressed towards his family, Drew felt secure.

  Their lovemaking had been awkward at first; Rick being unsure of what she expected, wanted, and needed. Drew told him to be himself, and they’d found a rhythm that they both enjoyed. It was tamer than what she was used to, but more exotic for him. They promised each other patience and willingness to learn. Drew told him she looked forward to a time that he’d allow her to handcuff him. He told her that hell would freeze over first.

  “That’s a sorry-ass cliché,” she’d said.

  “Okay, when pigs fly?”

  “God, doesn’t the FBI teach original thinking?”

  “Okay, how’s this...”

  “Waiting...”

  “I’ll let you handcuff me when the French acknowledge the superiority of American culture.”

  ...................

  It was a Thursday night when Drew received a text message from him.

  Incoming text: Drew is there any chance you can rearrange your plans? For Friday?

  Outgoing text: I’m sorry. I can’t. People are depending on me. Forgive me?

  Incoming text: Yes, of course. I was just asking because my sisters want to meet you. Another time.

  Drew hated being so cryptic about her Friday nights.

  She hadn’t lied to him, in her mind she truly believed that people were depending on her, even though they didn’t realize it. Vulnerable people. Unaware people. Young blonde female people. Ryan wasn’t going to stop. Another coed would die if she, or someone, didn’t act to stop Ryan and it seemed the police had moved on.

  She knew all this in the core of her being; it was more than a feeling, it was like a premonition. She knew.

  She also knew that she didn’t want to tell the FBI agent she was dating that she was staking out a potential serial killer every Friday night.

  He assumed she was studying and working on group assignments for school. This was the truth as well. As Drew sat outside the Mills residence on Friday nights she worked on assignments. It kept her mind occupied, and it allowed her other nights off to see Rick.

  Ryan Mills pulled out of his driveway a little after ten.

  Drew felt her heart pounding. She started her car and attached her seat belt. She was finally playing detective. She was about to follow a suspect, her suspect, after many nights of sitting and waiting.

  She followed him out of his middle-class neighborhood, and stayed behind him, as he took an on-ramp and merged with the light traffic on Interstate 5. He exited not far from the campus property and drove into a neighborhood predominated by cheap apartments and condos for rent. Mostly students and low-income families lived in these areas, a drastic contrast to the multi-million dollar homes sitting on the edge of cliffs along the Southern California coastline.

  Drew bit her lip. She slowed down to keep him from seeing her. When he stopped, she drove into an alley, turned her car around, and waited.

  She could see by the glow of his phone that he’d remained in his vehicle. Two minutes later a lone women crossed the street, she spoke to Ryan, then sat in the passenger’s seat.

  Drew couldn’t see her well, but she was short and small figured. She appeared to have light colored hair. Another victim.

  She panicked and dialed 911. Then she realized she didn’t have anything to report to the police, not yet. The woman was in his car voluntarily. Drew had gone with him, twice. She knew he was soft spoken, charming, and unassuming. A true sociopath, like a human chameleon.

  Ryan drove back to the freeway.

  She followed.

  ...................

  She internally debated about what to do.

  She had been sitting in her car, in the marina parking lot, waiting, watching, thinking, for the better part of a long hour. The smells shifted with the wind. One moment the sweet aroma of the ocean, salt, and brine, brought adventurous memories. The next moment, dead fish. Waste. Stale air and death.

  The first time she’d gone with Ryan he’d been polite. A good host. Sure, he’d tried to seduce her, but when she turned down his advances he’d taken her home. He had been a gentleman, ultimately. There wasn’t any law against seducing coeds.

  If she called the police, what would she tell them?

  On the other hand, what if this girl ended up mis
sing?

  Drew knew she’d hate herself if the girl on the boat ended up hurt. She dialed 911. In California, emergency calls from a cell phone automatically route through the highway patrol dispatcher, so Drew explained the situation twice: first to the California Highway Patrol and then again to the San Diego Police Department. As she listened to herself, she started to doubt that she was doing the right thing, she wasn’t reporting a crime; she was reporting a potential crime.

  What finally tipped the conversation over the edge was her description of the girl as looking underage. The girl was probably a woman in college, over eighteen years old, but she did look young to be a high-school girl. Better safe than sorry.

  Drew mentioned drinking, weed, and other drugs.

  She said the words abduction, rape, and murder. She spoke of a weird feeling she felt; she wanted to get explosive words recorded. Drew realized that nobody would want a recording to be played on the evening news six months after a crime was committed. A crime that could have been prevented. The media would expound on the inability of the cops to act on a clue that had arrived like a gray whale off Point Loma. CYA, cover your ass, was standard operating procedure in any large bureaucracy.

  A police cruiser arrived forty minutes later.

  Drew watched from a distance.

  The pair of police officers walked onto the wharf. The boat was occupied. No mistaking it. Lights on, music playing. Drew assumed they’d smell the marijuana in the air.

  They approached the boat. The officers talked to Ryan.

  He stood shirtless on the stern and listened to their questions.

  Drew could see his arms waving as he explained himself. He left the police on the wharf, walked back into the cabin, and returned wearing a tee-shirt and a woman at his side. The woman opened her purse and handed the officers something, her adult ID, undoubtedly. The cop handed it back to her and walked away. The couple returned to the cabin.

  There was nothing else Drew could do. She drove home feeling defeated, unsure of herself, and lonely.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Ihr seid verfluchte Hunde!

  ~ German Barbarian. Gladiator, 2000 (You are cursed dogs!)

  Do good. Stay out of the shit. Don’t let the bad guys win. Remember what it’s all about.

  ~ Jerry Turner

  ...................

  Stevenson sat at his desk.

  Much of the work done by law enforcement was still referred to as “paperwork” even though most of it was electronic. He had received a notice from the Las Vegas PD on one of the missing women, Madison Reed, and he hadn’t had a chance to give Drew a heads-up. The missing coed had been arrested inside the city limits of Vegas on drug and prostitution charges. She had left San Diego on her own, taking her drug problem with her, apparently not caring about her family’s worries. The Vegas PD report didn’t mention whether she knew she had been on the national news as a possible kidnapping and murder victim, and it didn’t matter, at least not legally, there were no laws against hiding from the press.

  Stevenson needed to call Drew officially, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “Hello?” Drew answered.

  “Good morning, Ms. Stirling. It’s Agent Stevenson, FBI.”

  “Um, yeah?”

  “It’s an official call, Drew, recorded and so forth. Part of the case. I have some updates I need to talk to you about; I wanted to catch you before you heard anything on the news.”

  “Did they arrest someone?”

  “No. That’s not it. One of the missing women showed up. Madison Reed was arrested in Vegas.”

  “She wanted people to think a serial killer had taken her?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. She’s got a drug problem. She got mixed up in prostitution; it’s possible that shame kept her from contacting her family. For all I know, she had no idea she had been part of a media frenzy. I don’t want to say this, but your name is going to come up in the press, and it won’t be flattering.”

  “Crap.”

  “Yes, crap. But ignore it. You’ve done nothing wrong. You can’t control what other people do or what they think.

  “What about the other woman?”

  “Jillian is still missing. Unfortunately. No word on Laura Wistern, either. Of course, I’d be happy to hear that neither of them was hurt, but I’m not sure we can expect a hat trick on this. Jillian has been missing for a while and statistically speaking...”

  “I hope this doesn’t make you doubt me?”

  “No. Not at all. Don’t forget, Drew; I was at the hospital with you. I believe you. But don’t expect such fair treatment from the press or the paparazzi. You might want to stay out of public places for a few days while this mess sorts itself out.”

  “Understood. Call me later?”

  “Of course. And Drew?”

  “Yes?”

  “I believe you and trust you.”

  ...................

  Agent Stevenson received a phone call from Detective Turner that afternoon.

  “Stevenson here,” he answered.

  “Agent Stevenson, it’s Jerry Turner, from SDPD.”

  “Jerry, how’s it going? I was expecting your call.”

  “Going alright, always better when someone shows up alive. Where does this leave us?”

  “Officially, The Bureau is doing everything it can to support local authorities. Off the record, we’re in a holding pattern. We don’t have any substantial evidence of a serial killer. We have two missing women. The McCormick case is cold, no leads. This Wistern case is too fresh not to expect her to show up with a domestic issue or something behind it. If we get too crazy, we’ll get caught with our dicks in our hands, and if we don’t do everything we can, we’ll be called out in the press for being ineffective and callous. There’s not enough here to bring us into a hunt for a serial killer unless something changes on your end. I hate to say it, but without a body, or actual evidence of some kind, we’re a just a bunch of guys standing around gossiping and guessing. Sometimes I think this job is a constant Catch-22. If we get the bad guys, well, we’re merely doing our jobs like were expected to. If we don’t then we’re key-stone cops sitting around waiting for our pensions to kick in. Sorry. I’m just venting.”

  “I hear you, brother. It’s the same song around here. What about the situation with Drew Stirling? Thoughts?” Turner asked.

  “I believe her story if that’s what you’re asking,” Stevenson answered.

  “Yeah, I was there in the hospital, too. So I’m inclined to believe her, but it doesn’t look good. The media is going to eat this up: Drew’s history, the Congressman, the nudes, the fact she hid out before and had the spotlight on someone for her disappearance, it makes for engaging press coverage, if nothing else. And there’s shit we can do about the professor unless something new shows up but I’m suspecting he’s no fool.”

  “I think he’s a sociopath, but I agree with you, the evidence sucks,” he said. Rick sighed and then took a deep breath. Most cases were just business, but this one was now personal, and it was hard for him to keep his emotions from showing.

  “There’s something else you need to know.” Turner had turned on the voice of a concerned colleague about to give some personal advice.

  “Yes?” Rick hoped that it wasn’t more bad news, but people don’t normally preface good news, so he was prepared for another letdown.

  “Last Friday night SDPD sent a cruiser out to Professor Mill’s boat. Nine-one-one got a call from Drew; she’d been following him. The woman with the Professor was a student. She was young, and she fits the profile if there is one, but she was with him voluntarily. We aren’t the morality police here. It came across my desk due to the connection between Drew and Mills. I figured you’d like to know about it.”

  Rick remained silent.

  Jerry, after a few moments, asked him if he was still on the line.

  “Yes. Sorry, just thinking to myself.”

  “Understood. A
ny answers come to mind?”

  “Look, can you keep me updated on anything else about her? It’s personal, I know, but I’d also hate to see her get into the shit by trying to play cop and robbers.”

  All cops understood the gray area between personal relationships and the job.

  “Of course. Understood. Lucky guy,” Turner said before ending the call.

  “Darn it,” Rick said to nobody in particular.

  ...................

  Rick took Drew to an American diner, comfort food on the menu, and a no stress environment. Back at home, he had a small cheesecake thawing in the refrigerator and a bottle of Champagne.

  She looked stunning to him, she always did, as if he’d shown up at a red-carpet event each time they went out to dinner, and a modeling session whenever they were doing something casual. He noticed how other men viewed her, and it gave him a sense of pride. She was with him, and she’d given him the impression that their relationship was serious. Drew was normally happy, cheerful, and confident whenever they were together; considering all that had happened to her he had been expecting more ups and downs, but this evening she was distracted.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” Drew answered, but her tone betrayed her.

  “You don’t look fine.”

  Drew stuck out her lower lip.

  “I don’t mean that. You’re always beautiful. I mean it’s like you’re not all here, you don’t sound fine. This whole case—I know it’s weighing on you.”

  “That asshole. I hate that he’s out there. Free. That he’s getting away with everything.” Her voice changed from frustration to anger. “This whole thing is bullshit; he should be locked up.”

  “He’ll get caught. I’m confident of that. These guys always end up making mistakes. They get over-confident as if law enforcement agencies only employ high-school dropouts. I think that because he’s an intelligent professor, he’ll be doubly arrogant and in his belief that he’s untouchable, he’ll make a mistake. You’d be surprised how many felons convicted of major crimes are Mensa members. He thinks he’s invincible, too smart to get caught, too careful to leave evidence, and too special to play by normal rules of society. Don’t think that he won’t get arrogant and make a mistake. He will.”