Since the news conference, the media had been all over what they'd delighted in calling the department's "crystal ball." So far Wade had managed to keep Tierney's home address secret, but there'd been plenty of attention paid by both newspapers and television to cases she'd been involved with in the past, and law enforcement's use of psychics in general. It was his greatest fear that the killer might have gotten the wind up, gotten scared, gone to ground, or-worst case scenario-moved on, not to be heard from again until someday, in another part of the country, in another city, another town, women began dying.
Wade didn't know how he'd be able to live with himself if he let the sonofabitch get away.
On the other hand, there'd been some progress in the case. The DNA evidence still hadn't come back, which didn't matter much since they didn't yet have a suspect's DNA to compare it to. The canvass of traffic citations was being cross-referenced with juvenile, military and medical records and so far had come up with seven possible suspects. Four of those, known sex offenders, had been brought in for questioning and tentatively ruled out. Three hadn't been located-yet.
Absent some sort of break in the case, the task force was reduced to going back over ground already covered, talking to friends, family, neighbors and coworkers of the victims, sifting through files, culling through databases of similar cases in other cities. There was progress, but it was too slow and too little to suit Wade.
To keep himself from going nuts, he spent some after-hours time-well, okay, some on-the-clock time, as well- looking into the background of one Cory Pearson, journalist.
One thing he had to say. He was who he said he was. There was no dearth of information on him available on the Internet. Wade had been too young at the time to have paid much attention to what was happening on the far side of the world, but it seemed the guy had been a well-known war correspondent in his day-had even been captured and taken prisoner during the Second Gulf War. While a captive in Iraq, he'd met an airman named Tristan Bauer, who had been shot down during the First Gulf War, and at the time had been missing and presumed dead for eight years. They'd both been rescued together-there'd been a big to-do over that, all sorts of medals and honors and receptions at the White House-and in the process, Cory Pearson had met the airman's daughter, Samantha. They hadn't gotten together until years later, though, after the two of them wound up in the same Philippine jungle. Evidently, Pearson had written a book about some of his adventures. That, and a whole bunch of articles for every major news outlet from Time magazine to CNN.
Wade was about ready to conclude Tierney must have been mistaken about the source of the emotions she'd picked up that day in the Portland Rose Gardens. He'd probably have chalked the whole thing up to coincidence, except for one thing. With all that information, gazillions of words written by and about the man, there wasn't a thing, not word one about him between his birth-his birth certificate listed his mother as Susan Louise Pearson and his father as Christopher George Pearson and his birthplace as Indianapolis-and when he'd become a journalist. Okay, college. But before that-nada. Which could mean nothing. But could mean something. Sealed juvenile records, maybe? Which he'd need a warrant to access, and he had no cause whatsoever to justify a warrant.
Maybe someday he'd find a way to dig into it a little deeper, but for now…he supposed he could always ask Tierney to try again to pick up something. If he could keep his prurient imagination under control. Which he was having a lot of trouble doing lately.
No, unless another victim turned up, calling Tierney Doyle was simply too damn dangerous.
He thought about her. though. Thought about her a lot.
She popped into his head at odd times and in peculiar ways. Driving home from work, seeing a little girl with red-gold curls skipping across the street hanging on to her mother's hand, it occurred to him Tierney would have looked like that when she was little, and if she had a daughter…
Catching a glimpse of a rose, or the scent of one-and roses were everywhere in Portland, in May-always brought her vividly to mind, looking the way she did that day in the gardens, with her shoulders bare and the wind playing with her hair and skirt, and her shoes dangling by their straps from one finger.
He couldn't bite into a hamburger without seeing the blissful smile on her lips as she'd crunched on that veggie sandwich of hers…and remembering the way watching her eat had made hungry juices gather at the back of his throat.
He couldn't look at Officer Williams's crime scene photos without his chest contracting at the vivid recall of Tierney's face when she'd looked at the body, her eyes gone stark with grief and self-blame. And that would lead inevitably to the memory-not so much mental as sensory-of the way she'd felt up against him with his arms wrapped around her and his lips pressed against her hair. The sweet, clean smell of her hair, reminiscent of country roads and moist green gardens in the midst of the ugliness of that day.
Then, of course, there were all the usual ways a beautiful woman occupies a man's mind. Sitting at his desk, looking at the phone and thinking how much he wanted to pick it up and call her. Walking up the stairs to his apartment in the evening, his imagination seeing her nice round bottom swaying back and forth as she mounted the stairs to her place just ahead of him. Waking up in the morning in a sweaty tangle of sheets with the imagined image of her naked body entwined with his fading rapidly from his consciousness, and having to dive into a cold shower to clear his mind so he could get on with his day.
Between Tierney Doyle, Cory Pearson and a stalled murder investigation, Wade wasn't getting a whole lot of sleep. He figured if something didn't break somewhere soon, he might be tempted to do something drastic. Get drunk, or look up an old girlfriend, maybe. Except both of those options had about as much appeal as, say, sharing a lumpy sofa with Bruno the basset hound.
The break finally came on Friday night, though not quite the way he'd expected.
It had been a frustrating week, and as the members of the TK Task Force packed it in. one by one they stopped by Wade's desk to ask if he was planning on joining them for beer and pool at Friendly's, the department's watering hole a couple of blocks up the street. Last to go was Ed Francks, and Wade told him what he'd told the others: he might be along later. He wanted to check something out first.
"Come on. man, give your brain a rest," Ed said as he twirled his jacket off the back of his chair and onto his broad shoulders. "We all need it. This case has us chasin' our tails. Even Superman needs a little R and R now and then, and you ain't no superman."
'This isn't the case." Wade frowned at the screen as he brought up the Google search he'd saved. "Some personal stuff."
He and Francks had been friends for a long time, and partners before that, but the big man wasn't the type to presume. He stood for a moment looking down at Wade, then said quietly. "Anything I can do?"
Wade threw him half a smile and said, "Nah-no biggie. You go on. I might stop by later. Save me a cold one."
"I might, and then again…" Francks grinned, pointed a finger at him to say goodbye, and went off.
As the quiet of the off-hours squad room settled around him. Wade hitched his chair closer to the computer and began a search through his old cases, looking for somebody who might be looking for him.
The next time he looked at his watch it was after ten. His head was swimming and he had a cramp between his shoulder blades, and he didn't have any more of an idea who was stalking him-assuming it wasn't Cory Pearson-than when he'd started.
He powered down his computer screen, shoved his chair back and indulged in a good stretch and head scratch. Then he got up. put on his jacket, fished his car keys out of his pocket and turned on his cell phone, tucked his weapon in its holster and headed for the parking garage.
He wasn't sure why, but his nerves were on edge. Maybe looking at all those old cases, thinking about the crimes and the perps he'd helped put away. Thinking even more about the few he hadn't been able to catch, or who had managed to slip through the system's
fingers. Grim thoughts, some of them, and plenty of reasons why somebody might feel gleeful about tracking him down. But then again, why would they have to? He was still right here in Portland. Oregon, where the crimes had gone down and the perps were put away. Didn't make sense.
Dark thoughts, perplexing puzzles, flashed through his mind to the rhythm of the echoing scrape of his footsteps on the concrete floor of the parking garage. Not many cars this time of night-night-duty cops, dispatchers. 9-1-1 operators, cleaning crew vans and a few others, like him, working late. He wasn't the jumpy sort; normally, he wouldn't give a thought to the fact that he made a nice clear target walking alone through a deserted garage in the dead of night. Tonight he was conscious of the weight of his weapon nestled against the steady thump of his heartbeat, and his eyes scanned the shadows for suspicious shapes.
He had his car keys in his hand and was about to put them to use when one of those shadows became a flurry of movement on the outer edges of his vision.
In the space of time between two heartbeats he'd whirled and pinned the potential assailant belly-first against the side of his car. He had his weapon in one hand and the assailant's wrist in the other, pulled up and pressed hard between the shoulder blades.
With an adrenaline surge like the crashing of surf inside his head, he barely heard the whimper of pain and the airless, "Wade-please-it's me, Tierney…"
Chapter 7
"Sweet Jesus Lord…"
Wade was slumped against the side of the car with his face in his hands, and Tierney knew from the emotions rolling off of him like thunder that the words weren't meant as blasphemy.
She, on the other hand, was incapable of speech. Incapable of movement of any kind, even to cover her head with her arms, as she instinctively wanted to do. As if that would shield her from the bludgeoning of those emotions
Fury! Fear!
Regret… Remorse… Shame…
Fury again-and something else, something 1 can't understand because it's so tangled up with everything else.
Wade-please…stop!
"Are you all right?" The question came muffled but harsh. "Are you…" Then a pause for some muttered swearing. "Did I hurt you?"
She lied…shook her head. And his reply came instantly, almost a snarl.
"Don't do that! Don't lie to me. Of course I hurt you- I was trying to hurt…not you-whoever the hell I thought you were. Damn it, Doyle! What are you doing here? Were you waiting for me? Why didn't you call me?"
"I tried to." Her voice felt small and timid. "Check your voice mail." She stirred at last, turned and leaned her back against the car next to him, unconsciously mimicking his stance.
There was another long string of swear words, some of which Tierney was sure she'd never heard before. Wade grabbed his cell phone from its holster, thumbed some buttons and glared at the screen.
"I had it turned off. I was working on…something," he said in a calmer voice, transferring the glare to her. "But you could have said something, called out- Jeez. girl, give a guy some warning. I'm in the middle of a murder investigation, there's a serial killer running loose, and I've got God knows who stalking me, maybe. It's a miracle I didn't-" He broke off to stare at her. "Hell. Are you crying?'''
"No," she said, and dashed the betraying tear from her cheek. The last thing she needed tonight was for him to put his arms around her again. As far as self-control went, she figured that would just about do hers in completely.
Which evidently he realized, because instead of reaching for her, he folded his arms on his chest as if to keep himself from doing so and frowned at her. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? And you didn't answer my question. Why are you here? Did something happen-" He straightened, then leaned toward her, suddenly on full alert. "Did you pick up something new on our killer? My stalker?"
She shook her head and sniffed, swiped at another tear, then said in a choked voice. "Nothing like that. I probably shouldn't have bothered you with it. I didn't know who else-"
"Damn it, Miss Tee-"
"It's my grandmother.,Wade. She's gone. I've looked all over for her. I can't find her anywhere, and I don't know what to do. She's out there somewhere and-" Her voice caught on a little sob of grief and terror.
What could he do? He'd tried to keep his hands off of her, truly he had. But he was the comforter, the one weeping women counted on, and if she'd been any other woman…oh. what the hell.
He snaked one arm out and hooked it around her shoulders and brought her into the curve of his arm. Then that seemed like a half-assed kind of way to comfort her. and anyway, who was he kidding? He had no doubt she already knew where this was heading. So he turned her and got her properly wrapped in his arms with her head tucked in under his chin and her body snug and warm against his. Then he closed his eyes and let out a sigh while he gently rocked her.
After a while he lifted his head and said softly, "Tell me what happened.,Miss Tee."
She pulled away from him. wiping at her eyes with both hands, and he had the good sense to let her go.
"I know I should have called the police right away instead of trying to find her myself, and then waiting for you, but it was after hours, and I would have had to call
9-1-1, and my name's been in the news so much lately, and I was afraid some reporter might pick it up-"
"Never mind that. How long has she been missing?"
"I don't know. I don't even know what time it is now. I'd been in the studio, painting, and it was later than usual when I went upstairs. Jeannette was asleep in her chair in front of the television. So I thought it would be safe to take a shower before fixing her dinner. I don't know what happened. I was tired…maybe I forgot to lock the dead bolt. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes, Wade. And when I came out she was gone."
By this time Wade had his car unlocked and was guiding Tierney around to the passenger side door. Oblivious, she went on talking while he settled her in and fastened her seat belt for her.
"The front door was open, and she wasn't anywhere- not in the gallery or even on the street. I think I sort of went to pieces at that point. I know I went running off down the street like a crazy person, looking for her. calling and calling. Finally I realized I couldn't cover enough ground that way, and since I didn't even know which way she'd gone… Anyway, at some point I started thinking rationally-sort of-and went back and got my car. I've been driving around, calling your cell phone for…I don't know how long. Oh, Wade-"
She was looking up at him with swimming eyes when he bent down and kissed her.
Not a long kiss. Just a short, sweet one. Very sweet, although her lips tasted of salt and tears. He felt a peculiar little contraction around his heart as he pushed back from her and gently closed the door.
When he had the car running and almost ready to pull out onto the street, he looked over at Tierney. who was sitting exactly as he'd left her after the kiss. "Hey," he said, and she swiveled her head toward him, looking dazed. His heart gave another of those funny kicks as he wondered for a moment whether he'd gone too far, crossed some kind of line with her. He sure hoped not. Because he knew suddenly that he'd be losing something of real importance if he had.
Then she smiled. Just that. And he knew he had crossed a line-a different one-and that it was both a good and a scary thing. And that, either way, there was no going back now.
"Hmm?" she said, and he had to think for a moment what it was he'd wanted to ask her.
"I was just wondering," he said as it came to him. "about your…thing. Your gift. You said your grandmother has it, too. You can't-I don't know…tune in, pick up on her- wherever she is?"
"I used to be able to. Not anymore." The sadness in her voice made his throat ache. "The connection between us used to be like a river, this broad, deep stream of feeling, only unlike a river, it flowed both ways. This past year it's been slowly drying up, until now it's only this little trickle. Once in a while something comes through, but most of the time…" She shook her head and finished in a whi
sper. "No…I can't hear her now."
"I'm sorry."
He drove now as he often did, she'd noticed, when he was moved, or emotional about something: with his window down, elbow on the sill and his hand over his mouth. But the emotions, whatever they were, were shielded from her.
Her lips, where he'd kissed her, felt cold, and she touched them with her fingertips to warm them.
"Jeannette is the only family I've ever known," she said softly.
"You told me about your mother-she left when you were three, right?" He glanced at her as she nodded. "Kind of a lousy thing to do to a kid."
"I suppose so…although I've never been angry with her about it. Partly because I was able to empathize with her, thanks to Gran's connection. Neither of us blamed my mother. I know Gran didn't. She blamed herself."
"How so?"
"Well…to understand that I think you'd have to have known Jeannette the way she was back then. She was so beautiful, so full of life-a young Maureen O'Hara, people said. And in Hollywood in those days, that was saying something."
"Hollywood?"
"Yes-that's where she lived then."
"You're kidding."
"No, seriously. It's where my mother grew up. I was born there."
"I thought your grandmother was Irish-old country Irish, I mean."
"Oh. she is. Definitely. She moved to the United States after my grandfather was killed-her husband, I just found out," she added with some chagrin, still feeling hurt that her grandmother had kept such an important part of her history from her. "I always thought she was a single mother-it did seem to run in our family-and that she'd left Ireland to avoid the shame of an out-of-wedlock baby.
Not so, apparently. She was married after all, and her husband's name was Tommy. He died fighting the British in Northern Ireland.
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