“We’re trying, little bit. We’re trying.”
* * *
That evening, Jake drove his truck slowly into Bear Flat, trying to decide whether a bribe of chocolate would help sweeten Kallie’s temper. Flowers wouldn’t get him far with his macho sprite, but she’d had chocolate ice cream in her grocery basket a couple of weeks ago. He glanced at the dashboard clock. The grocery store kept tourist-season hours and would remain open for another hour or so. He turned toward downtown.
Whipple and the delivery guy stood talking on the boardwalk. The soda truck blocked the spot in front of the store. Jake U-turned, parked across the street in front of the police station, and stepped out of his pickup. Whipple did a double take and scowled. Jake snorted. If the grocer’s glare were an M16, Jake’s body would be spattered all over the concrete.
As he started across the street, he heard, “Hunt, hold up a minute.” Masterson stood in the doorway of the station. “I need to talk with you.”
The guy looked like he’d aged a decade in two days. I need to talk to your cousin, not you, Jake thought, but he didn’t want to piss off Kallie’s relatives more than they already were. “There a problem?”
“In a way. Let’s walk.” The cop wasn’t in uniform, and as he started off down the boardwalk, he stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Spit it out, Masterson. I have things to do.” Like getting some food to go with the ice cream. Having a picnic with Kallie. He hadn’t eaten all day; had his sprite?
“Then listen up.” Masterson started talking, and within five minutes, Jake’s appetite disappeared completely. Their boots thudded on the wooden planks of the boardwalk as he tried to take it in. A serial killer? Around here? “He’s been killing women—brunettes—for over two years?”
“Yeah. I warned Kallie to stay close to home.”
At the thought of Kallie in danger, Jake froze in place. But she’d take precautions. Wouldn’t she? He’d damn well ensure she did.
“If she—” He realized Masterson’s eyes had filled with pity. Pity? “Spit it out, Masterson.”
“We think your…friend…Mimi Cavanaugh, might have been one of the first.”
The words floated past him and then rebounded, hitting him right in the gut. “Mimi.” His voice went hoarse. “Murdered? She didn’t kill herself?”
Virgil’s attention turned to the street as they crossed to the other side. His jaw tensed for a moment. “Her death fits the pattern. I’m sorry, Jake.”
Mimi. Soft brown eyes, high, light voice, so very sweet. Some bastard had hurt her? Rage welled up inside like a forest fire, and Jake fought it back. The sun burned his shoulders, but the sweat trickling down his back felt cold. “You got any suspects or leads or whatever?” Someone to kill?
“The sheriff’s office is working the information and narrowing the list. It’s pretty much a given that he’ll be a single, white male who lives in the area. Since serial killers often begin with friends or family before escalating, they’re looking at the earliest victims and their relationships.”
Relationships. “You telling me that I’m a suspect?” No real surprise; cops didn’t like the notion of BDSM. He stepped up onto the boardwalk on the other side of the street.
“How’s it hanging, Hunt?” The old geezer who warmed the bench by the feed store gave a token salute.
“Good enough,” Jake answered.
Masterson nodded at the old man as they walked past, and continued, “No, you’re off the suspect list. Last year there was a murder in early spring; you and Logan weren’t even in the country. In fact, that one eliminated most of the seasonal workers.”
“Seems like there’d be far too many suspects.”
“God, yes.” Virgil rubbed his face. “Our station is interviewing the ones around here. If we get any dings, we’ll pitch it to the county detectives—or the FBI, who’ll probably descend like a bunch of locusts.”
“Ah-huh.” Cops shared their territory about as well as schoolchildren with candy, and they sure didn’t hand out information for fun. “What do you want from me?”
“Cynical bastard, aren’t you?”
“Realistic.”
“The chief needs to interview you about Mimi’s death. What was going on, who was around…that sort of thing.” The cop glanced across the street at his station. “He’s got interviews lined up for most of today, but I figured knowing ahead of time might let you give it some thought first.”
And would let him get over the shock of hearing about Mimi. A good notion. And he appreciated the news from someone who wasn’t a stranger. “Got it. And thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Hi, boys.” Mrs. Reed smiled, then resumed snipping dead blossoms off the yellow flowers in the half-barrel planter. She and Vanessa of Vanessa’s Antiques kept the boardwalk barrels filled with blooms all summer.
“Mrs. Reed.” Jake nodded, then stopped in front of the grocery. Should he still go see Kallie?
Masterson halted also, and the assessing gaze he gave the store startled Jake.
“You can’t possibly believe Whipple is a killer.”
The cop didn’t answer.
“Why the hell would you think that?”
“He dated her before you. Apparently smacked her around?”
Jake nodded. Searching for a dom without knowing it, Mimi had confused violence with dominance. Jake had taught her that submission didn’t have to involve getting the crap beat out of her. “He was pissed off when she broke up with him.”
“He’s been busted twice for drugs. Then again, he’s only one of far too many possibles.” Masterson shot him a dark look. “But when you’re thinking back, try to remember anything your girlfriend said about Whipple.”
“I’ll do that.” Nonetheless, he couldn’t quite visualize the geeky Whipple in the role of murderer. As Masterson turned away, Jake grasped the knob of the grocery store and saw a CLOSED sign in the window. Already? He checked his watch. The place should stay open for another hour at least.
“He’s closed,” Mrs. Reed said, looking up from her flowers.
“I didn’t think he ever shut down early.”
Mrs. Reed pressed the dirt around a small plant. “Never happened before.”
Whipple hadn’t locked the door, so Jake stepped inside. Maybe he could grab some ice cream and leave a few bills on the counter. Most of the lights were off, and Jake paused to let his eyes adjust. Someone taller than Whipple was stocking the shelves at the far end with soft drinks.
The man straightened. “Store’s closed.”
A shaft of light tinted his hair red, and Jake recognized the delivery guy who supplied the lodge. “Hey, Secrist. Where’s Whipple?”
“Dunno. He took off a bit ago like a cat with its tail on fire.”
Masterson blotted out the light from the door as he came in. “Was there an emergency?” the cop asked.
“Naw. We’d been talking outside.” Secrist hitched up his camo pants. “He was planning to visit his girlfriend after work. Said she was free or something. But all of a sudden, he goes, like, nuts. Shoves the paperwork in my hands and tells me to have Mrs. Reed lock up when I’m done.”
A girlfriend? Jake’s mouth tightened, remembering Whipple’s arm around Kallie in the bar and his gloating expression when Jake said he’d be out of town.
And his fury when Jake returned to town.
A serial killer in the area. Whipple had dated Mimi too—had been obsessed with her. Jake spun on his heel and strode out of the store, knowing he’d jumped to unfounded conclusions. Whipple didn’t have the guts to murder anyone.
So why didn’t that loosen the knot in his chest?
* * *
As the evening sunlight slanted through the barn door and Mufasa sprawled in the clean straw, Kallie started cleaning stalls. Yeah, she was pooped, but the mindless work of mucking out felt good. Felt orderly as everything else in her life fell apart. She’d lost her not-quite-a-boyfriend. A murderer ran loose in
the area.
A murderer. How strange. She tried to remember if anyone from Bear Flat had died on the trails, and an icy thought slid into her mind. Jake’s girlfriend had committed suicide…by jumping off a cliff. They didn’t know why. What if something else had occurred?
Would it make any difference to Jake?
She shook her head and flattened the hope. He was too much like Virgil, taking personal responsibility to whole new heights. Even if someone had murdered his Mimi, Jake would decide that was his fault too. For whatever reason. Kallie might as well face the fact that the man couldn’t—wouldn’t—move past his old girlfriend.
I’m not enough for him. That hurt. Needing something to hold, she gathered Mufasa into her arms. The hefty twenty pounds of soft fur and purring didn’t fill the echoing space in the center of her chest, but it helped. My cat loves me, and how pitiful can I get to need to know that?
She slid down into the fresh straw, leaned back against a post, and cuddled the cat in her lap. “I’m tired,” she whispered.
Mufasa’s ears flickered.
“And I hurt.” Everywhere. Her chest, like someone had wound rubber bands around it. Her stomach muscles, the muscles at the juncture of her thighs, her inner thigh muscles. Well, she knew why her lower half hurt, and she wasn’t going to think about any of the reasons why, like the last time when he’d put his arm under her knee, pulling her leg up so he could get deeper and—
Damn him anyway. Her eyes prickled, and the lump weighing down her stomach grew heavier. She laid her cheek on Mufasa’s furry head and gave an unhappy sigh. She’d given up on having a family love her, but was she asking too much to have a guy want her? Even if he didn’t love her? Other women managed it…why not me, dammit?
She didn’t find an answer—she never had.
Instead she stroked the cat and thought about Jake’s reaction in the tent and how he’d so carefully avoided entanglements since his girlfriend. “Mufasa, I can’t fight this one. Even if I hadn’t blurted out…that…he’d still have dumped me sooner or later.”
She’d gone into the affair with her eyes wide open—no one could say Jake had lied to her—but her feelings had changed. Jake had made it clear that he didn’t want her love, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—play up-and-down games with her emotions. She rubbed her chest. How many times could she survive being turned away by people she loved?
The sound of a vehicle’s wheels on the gravel brought her head up. Jake? As Kallie’s breath caught, Mufasa flowed out of her lap to stand in the doorway and peek out. Kallie pushed to her feet, heart pounding, and paused. No, I’m done with him. Even if Jake had come, she wasn’t going to roll over like an idiot dog who’d love a person no matter how badly he treated it. She stopped beside Mufasa. “I’m no dog—I’m a cat. Kick me and I’ll walk away, right, Mufasa?”
A furry head butted her leg in agreement.
She stepped out of the barn and saw a car, not a pickup. A man got out, and she recognized the sandy brown hair and stocky frame.
“Hey, David,” she said unenthusiastically. “What brings you up the mountain? You making deliveries now?”
Without speaking, he walked over to her. His brown eyes looked…odd. “Kallie. I came to you when I saw…” His face darkened. “I closed the store early to come out here.”
He never closed early. “Why?”
“I had a chat with Jake this morning.”
Jake? Her back stiffened, and she resorted to the tone Aunt Penny employed with rude salespeople. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not with him anymore, are you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Oh but it is.” He gripped her shoulder with one hand, and gave her a shake. His mouth worked for a second like a landed trout’s. “The bastard isn’t right for you. You’re too fine for him. No”—he shook her again—“it’s us. We’re meant to be together. You belong with me.”
Was the man out of his flipping mind? “Listen, David, I’m flattered that you—”
“You can move in with me,” he interrupted her, his words now tumbling out almost too fast to follow. “You shouldn’t be living here with a bunch of men anyway, even if they are your cousins and”—the way his expression changed so quickly, from pleasure to anger, set her nerves to twanging—“I don’t like that partnership with the Hunts at all.”
“You’re moving a little fast for me. We only dated twice.” She tried to ease away, but he didn’t let go.
“That’s okay. We’ll get to know each other real well.” Again that shift, as if his emotions controlled him.
The flush in his face and the way his gaze lingered on her breasts sent alarm through her, and her skin chilled despite the evening’s heat. Enough was enough. She didn’t want to have to punch him, so she shoved his hand off her shoulder and took a step back. “I like you, David”— and I’m rethinking that right now—“but I’m not interested in having a new guy. Not any guy, really, for a long, long time. I just am not going to—”
“It’s because of that bastard Hunt. Because he hurt you.”
Hurt me? Ripped my heart right out of my chest. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just—”
“He left town, you know.” He reached for her, and she retreated again. “Yeah, got groceries for at least a week. He went fishing. Without you. He—”
As his words slashed at her, she stumbled back another step. The pain knotted her throat closed until the only words she could force out were: “Go away.”
“Kallie, you need to stay away from Hunt. He hurt Mimi’s heart too. My pretty, pretty Mimi.”
Even as fear trickled up her spine, he grabbed her arm.
Chapter Eleven
By the time Jake hit the turnoff, his fingers had dented the steering wheel cover. He turned the truck onto the Masterson road without slowing, and gravel splatted across the foliage. Another car turned off right behind him—Masterson’s police car.
As his pickup entered the graveled yard, Jake spotted the two figures by the barn. Whipple had Kallie by the arm. Rage welled up. So Whipple was the one. Fucking murderer.
His truck skidded to a stop right beside them, and Jake charged out the door. He grabbed Whipple by his shirtfront and shook him, then threw him across the yard. He started after him. “You bastard. If—”
Masterson got between them and slapped a hand on Jake’s chest. “Ease up, Hunt. My job.”
Jake stopped. The gravel seemed tinged with red as he rode the anger like a bucking horse, trying to get it under control.
Masterson yanked Whipple up. “What the hell were you doing, Whipple?”
Seeing the cop’s hard grip on Whipple’s arm, Jake turned to Kallie, looking her over carefully. Clothes intact, no bruises or cuts. “Are you all right, sugar? Did he hurt you?”
“No, of course not, and I sure didn’t need your help.” She stared as Virgil pushed Whipple into the cop car. “What the heck is going on?”
“Didn’t your cousin tell you about the killer?”
Her face went white. “David?”
“Maybe. Looks like.” Whipple might have murdered Mimi. Jake still couldn’t get his mind around that, but the bastard had put his hands on Kallie, and that infuriated Jake all over again. “He could have killed you, dammit.” He curled his fingers around her shoulders, needing to hold her.
She started to move forward into his arms, then wrenched away. “Back off.”
“What?” This morning. Our fight. In his worry for her safety, he’d forgotten all about it. “Kalinda, I’m sorry. Let’s go—”
“Stop.” She retreated, looking at him as she had at Whipple. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, and I don’t want you near me.”
The ground shifted underneath his feet at the ice in her voice and the pain in her eyes. Guilt swamped him. He’d worried about hurting a woman again, and yet he’d done exactly that. “Kallie—”
He heard the crunch of footsteps, and then Masterson shoved hi
m away from Kallie. His voice sounded as cold as his cousin’s. “You’re leaving now, Hunt. Get in your truck.”
“Kallie and I need to talk.”
“No. You don’t.”
Jake paused, considered Masterson’s determined stance, and gave up. Might take him, but fighting a cop—and Kallie’s cousin—was a no-win situation. He tilted his head in acquiescence and took a step back.
Masterson’s voice softened. “Little bit, are you all right?”
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