Danger Signals

by Kathleen Creighton

  Well-not counting the sex. He didn't see how he was ever going to top last night in that department. Assuming he ever got a chance to try.

  Yeah, he told himself, gazing down into her radiant face and shimmering eyes, this is the way to go. Partners. Keep things on a strictly professional basis between us. Until we get this other thing figured out, anyway…

  At least it looked like she'd gotten over being mad at him. or whatever it was that had been bothering her.

  "You want me to take you to pick up your car before we head out to the suspect's place?" he asked as he fished his keys out of his pocket.

  Her eyes followed Bruno as he went ambling off toward his favorite shady spot under the rhododendrons. Then she gave Wade a distracted smile that faded as he watched, and murmured. "I'd rather go with you-if that's okay."

  She's dreading this, he thought. And then, in mild surprise, Man, I 'm getting pretty good at this empathy thing.

  He reached out one arm. hooked it around her neck and drew her close, allowing himself one brief moment, no more. Partners…

  He closed his eyes, exhaled, then kissed the top of her head and let her go. When he did, something kicked him painfully under his ribs.

  Partners? Who am I kidding?

  "Mind if I ask who this person is-and how you found him?" Tierney asked.

  "Traffic tickets." Wade smiled darkly, aware that at the moment they were speeding through considerably more traffic than there'd been earlier this morning and he was in some danger of receiving a citation himself. He didn't want to use his stick-on lights and siren on the way to meet SWAT on the off chance their suspect was in the vicinity, after all.

  "Traffic tickets?" He felt her eyes on him as she waited for his explanation.

  He glanced in his mirrors and executed an illegal lane change before giving her one.

  "Yeah…since Officer Williams was a traffic cop, we figured maybe this creep targeted her because she'd given him one recently. Came up with a whole slew of possibles based on age and gender, then searched those for backgrounds that fit the profile you gave us. That knocked the list all the way down to seven. Interviews made it three-a small enough number that we were able to get warrants to search phone and credit card records. That's where we hit paydirt. Phone records were a bust, but turns out one of our candidates-fellow by the name of James Jeffry Larson, known in his checkered past as J.J.-had some expense items that dovetailed nicely with several of the murders." He paused for a tire squeal and leaned into a high-speed turn. When the car had stopped fishtailing, he smiled grimly at the mirrors and then at the street ahead. "Now I guess we'll see if those were just coincidences, or if this is our guy."

  There was no immediate response from his passenger, but he could tell she was looking at him. He risked a glance and found something in those blue eyes of hers that made a jolt of purely masculine elation go shooting through him-probably an unnecessary boost to the adrenaline already there.

  "What?" he said, and braced for her usual evasive reply.

  It didn't come. "It's pretty amazing, what you do." she said as she shifted her gaze to the front again. "The police work, I mean. In fact, I really don't know why you needed me."

  He gave her another quick look, wondering if she was regretting the circumstances that had brought them together. Maybe wishing they hadn't happened?

  "Just basic detective work, Miss Tee. A whole lot of man-hours, most of them not mine, by the way. The kind of eye-crossingly boring stuff you don't get to see on those TV cop shows. And yeah, we probably would have gotten here eventually without you. But not before who knows how many other women had to die unspeakable deaths. Die in terror and pain." He pulled his car into the parking area where the SWAT van and other members of his team had gathered, waiting for him. He cut the motor, pulled the keys and turned in the seat to face her.

  "You shut him down, Tierney," he said quietly. "I know it cost you. But those women the slime bag didn't get to kill? That's on you."

  He watched her eyes fill and knew he didn't dare touch her. He felt a weakening in his muscles and a cold knot in the pit of his stomach. Pure fear. What was the woman doing to him?

  She looked away from him…he saw her swallow, and blink her vision clear as she stared through the windshield. Then she went sheet-white.

  "Wade-this is-"

  "The park where the next-to-last victim was found. Your first. Yeah," he said with a grim smile, "that's one of those little things that might be coincidence-or not. The guy, J. J. Larson, lives just five blocks from here."

  He told her to stay put, then got out of the car and went to confer with the other members of the task force.

  Ed Francks came to meet him, stopped him a short distance from the rest of the take-down team and handed him a vest. "Hey, partner, where's your cryst-"

  Wade cut him off right there. "Don't say it, Ed. Not you, too. I swear to God-" He gave it up. exhaled and pointed with a head jerk. "She's with me. In the car."

  "Got one of these for her, too. Want me to-"

  "I'll take it."

  He looked up from what he was doing, strapping on the vest, getting his weapon and badge squared away. "What're you laughin' at?"

  "Me? I ain't laughin". Who's laughing?"

  "Grinnin" like a fool, then."

  "That right? Well, since you mention fools. I'm remembering some things vow said last time we were together in this park. Something about…what was it? Oh yeah… cheerleaders…"

  Wade squinted his eyes in a mock grimace of pain. "Ed, you and me go back a long way. Doesn't mean I won't kick your ass."

  That got him a hoot of friendly derision. Then a semi-serious, "Just watchin' out for you, man." Then a genuinely serious, "You just watch out for that little lady."

  "Yeah." Wade gave his vest a final hitch and took the smaller one Francks handed him. "See you there, man."

  The two men touched knuckles…grasped thumbs. Which was as close to embracing as most cops get.

  The take-down team rolled silently onto the suspect's street from opposite ends, leaving vehicles parked in strategic positions in order to block it. If the suspect was on the premises and took a notion to flee, he'd have to do it on foot.

  Wade pulled his unmarked gray sedan in behind the SWAT van where it would be screened from the suspect's house and any flying bullets-or emotions-in case things went bad. He shut it down and pocketed the keys.

  "Wait here until I come for you," he said tersely. "I mean it, Miss Tee. Stay put and keep your head down."

  "I will." It was a whisper. Her lips looked pinched, her cheeks pale. He couldn't bring himself to look at her eyes.

  Lord, how he wanted to kiss her.

  She nodded and managed a smile, and he knew he'd forgotten to block. And for once, didn't give a damn. He opened the door, got out. hit the safety locks and slammed the door. And walked quickly off to join his team.

  Things went off like clockwork.

  Communicating with hand signals, the team members took up their positions, surrounding the house and blocking every possible exit. When he was satisfied everyone was in place. Wade rapped on the front door with his knuckles-taking care to stand to one side in case the suspect should take a notion to open fire-and yelled out the customary command.

  "James Larson, this is Portland P.D. We have a warrant to search the premises. Open up, please."

  After a brief wait, another knock, with his fist this time. "Police, Mr. Larson. Open the door."

  Wait a short three-count. Try the doorknob. Locked. A nod to the SWAT guys standing by with the ram. A huge surge of adrenaline as the door crashed open, and officers in helmets and body armor with weapons at full ready made their way through the rooms, one by one, leapfrogging, taking turns covering each other.

  "Clear!"

  Shift…point. "Clear!"

  Satisfied finally that the perp was not on the premises, everyone stood down, still jumped up on the adrenaline they didn't get to use and now didn't quite
know what to do with. They looked around, looked at each other, took deep breaths, relaxed their arms, stowed their weapons. But nobody smiled. Not yet.

  Wade was on his way down the front steps, going to get Tierney, when one of the task force detectives, Ochoa, stuck his head out the door and gestured for him to come back. "Callahan, you better see this." The edge of suppressed excitement in Detective Ochoa's voice was impossible to miss.

  Wade followed him through completely unremarkable rooms, filled with the sort of shabby, unremarkable stuff he'd seen a thousand times before, in homes of perps and victims alike. Nothing to tell him whether James Jeffry Larson was capable of stalking, kidnapping, systematically and gruesomely torturing and murdering seven innocent women.

  Until he stepped into the garage.

  Like a lot of suburban garages, this one had been finished inside for living space rather than housing cars, probably without city permits being involved, since it still looked like a normal garage from the outside. Part of this garage contained the kind of stuff you'd expect in an add-on room-laundry facilities, pool table, treadmill, small bar with an extra fridge. Except for the washer and dryer, none of these things appeared to have been used in a while. Most likely installed by a former resident. Wade thought.

  Ochoa led him through the clutter to a small room that had been partitioned off on the far side of the two-car garage. The door to the room stood open, and Wade could see a couple more of his detectives moving around inside.

  "Santa's been good to us this year," Ochoa said gleefully, seemingly unaware they were a long way from Christmas.

  Wade glanced at Ochoa's grim but triumphant face and stepped through the door. And realized it wasn't going to be necessary for Tierney to come in. after all.

  It was all there. What every homicide cop dreams of finding in a suspect's house. The trophies, photos, articles clipped from newspapers and magazines covering every murder, every victim. Photos taken of his victims while they were alive and happy, and later when they very much were not, tacked up on every wall like a gruesome parody of an art gallery.

  Art gallery…

  "Have a look." Ed Francks' voice was a low rumble only Wade could have recognized as fury.

  Wade took the piece of newsprint Ed handed him and felt his soul freeze and his body go numb. Staring up at him in newspaper headline black and white were the words: Does PPD Have A Crystal Ball?

  They were all over the desktop, tacked to a corkboard on the wall beside it. Newspaper articles about the Portland cop with the crystal ball. Grainy photos of Tierney, circled in red marker, slashed, mutilated.

  It was his worst fear made real.

  A wave of nausea hit him. He felt cold, light-headed. Through the ringing in his ears he heard someone ask him if he was okay. He didn't have any idea what he answered.

  The next thing he knew he was outside that house and running down the street. Running as fast as he ever had in his life, he rounded the SWAT van. And now he could see Tierney's face through his car's windshield. She had both hands up, covering the bottom half of her face, and above them her eyes were wide with horror.

  My God, what am I doing?

  He jolted to a halt, heart pounding, knees shaking, and put out a hand, a gesture meant to reassure her and at the same time stop himself. Stop the terrible avalanche of emotions he knew she must be feeling like a physical assault.

  He managed to get the door unlocked and jerked it open.

  "Tee, I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" He flung himself into the driver's seat and stared up at the headliner. breathing hard. "God…I'm so sorry."

  "Wade…" Her voice sounded small and scared, like a child trying not to cry.

  He shook his head. He'd never wanted so much to touch someone. Reach out for her, wrap her up in his arms and hold her. He would, too, but not here. Not now. First he had to get her away from this place. As far away and as fast as he possibly could.

  He thought about what would have happened to her if he'd taken her into that house. Thought about what she'd have had to experience. The horrors.

  Bile rose into his throat. He stabbed the keys blindly at the ignition a couple of times before it occurred to him he might not be in fit condition to drive anywhere at the moment, and he gave up and pounded impotently on the steering wheel with a clenched fist instead.

  "Sorry," he muttered again. It seemed all he was capable of saying to her.

  Someone rapped sharply on the car window, inches from his elbow. He looked up to find Ed Francks' dark face and worried eyes peering in at him. He ran the window down and Ed's fingers curved over the edge and followed it the last half of the way.

  "Hey, man, you okay?" He didn't wait for Wade's reply, but moved the look of concern and compassion past him to where Tierney sat silent and pale.

  "Yeah," Wade growled, and it was so obvious a lie he amended it to, "will be."

  "She needs to be away from here. You want me to drive her-"

  "No. Stay here. Make sure they get every scrap of evidence, every hair, fiber and print. I want this guy, Ed. I want him caught. Locked up."

  Which was another lie. He wanted him dead. And he knew his old partner understood when he gave the window-sill a slap and stood back, his jaw set and eyes like obsidian.

  "We'll take care of things here." Ed said quietly. "You go on-get her to a safe place. And keep her there until we get the sonofabitch. okay?"

  "Count on it." Wade made another try with the keys and this time his hand was steady as a rock.

  Chapter 10

  Once again Wade drove with the window down, one-handed, elbow on the sill and his hand across the lower part of his face. For once, though, Tierney didn't mind that he was walling himself off from her in every way he could.

  Although she didn't blame him for it, she was still shaky from that terrible blast of emotion he'd hit her with. It had been the worst thing she'd ever experienced, all the horror of the crime scenes and the killer's twisted mind amplified a thousand times by Wade's own rage and fear.

  Fear of what might happen… to me.

  It wasn't until she realized they were heading in the wrong direction for downtown that she summoned the will and courage to attempt to penetrate that wall. It took her one abortive try and a throat-clearing before she was able to ask, "Are you taking me to pick up my car?"

  He moved his hand, cleared gravel from his own throat. He glanced at her. then back forward, and after a long pause, shook his head. "No. Your car stays where it is until impound can get it under lock and key. In the meantime, I'm going to be driving you wherever you need to go. As of about fifteen minutes ago. you are under twenty-four-hour police protection. I, or someone on the task force, is going to be with you 'round the clock. Understand?" He threw her another look, this one as hard and grim as any she'd ever seen from him. "No arguments."

  "I wasn't going to give you any." Tierney said quietly. "But I do think I deserve to know why. I know you found something in that house. Something terrible. Something you don't want to tell me about." She laughed shakily. "Trust me, Wade, nothing you tell me could possibly be worse than what I've been imagining."

  The side of his face she could see formed an ironic smile. "I keep forgetting you don't read minds." There was another long pause, then an exhalation.

  "Okay, for starters, he's definitely our guy. And he's in the wind. He's been derailed, thwarted, and for that…he blames you. He's read those damn newspaper articles about the department consulting 'our crystal ball,' and is scared enough by the notion of a psychic on his trail that he's gone to ground. For now. But he won't stay there."

  They'd stopped at a traffic light. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then turned to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed but brilliant and hard as diamonds. "He's targeted you as his next victim. He's got pictures of you. Tacked up all over the place. And he's done…to those pictures…what he means-ah, hell."

  The light changed. The car moved forward, and Tierney watched trees and cars and buildings
go by in a shimmering blur. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet felt tingly. She swallowed. "Does he know where I live?"

  This time the glance he gave her was bleak. "I don't know, Miss Tee."

  But she felt his fear. "You think he might, though, don't you?" And she fought to keep her own desperate terror out of her voice. Oh God… Jennie. Gran…dearest Gran. How I wish I could hear you!

  "Or that he can at least find out." Wade whipped the car into a no-parking zone near the front of the gallery and cut the engine. He gave her a stay-put gesture, then got out and surveyed the street and sidewalks in every direction as he circled briskly around to her side of the vehicle. He opened her door and held out a hand.

  "I don't think he's here," Tierney said breathlessly as she gave him hers. "I can't feel him, anyway."

  "Thank God for that." Taking her elbow in a firm grip, he hurried her into the gallery and flipped over the Closed sign on the front door.

  "Hi, welcome to Jeanette's Gallery, my name is Clair, just let me know if there's anything I can help you with…" Clair Yee, the Reed College freshman who helped out with the gallery and Jeannette sitting when Tierney had to be away for more than an hour at a time, came in through the back door, giving off waves of worry and concern-and a little bit of annoyance she was trying to suppress.

  She halted in her tracks when she saw Tierney and Wade, and said, "Oh! Oh, my God." in the overly dramatic fashion of the young. "I am so glad you're back."

  Tierney's heart rate kicked into high. "What's wrong? Is Gran-"

  "I didn't know what to do, I mean. I know she gets upset sometimes, and it's not like I don't know… I mean, I've dealt with her before, I'm sort of used to her moods…"

  Wade gave Tierney's elbow a little squeeze, then released it and fell back to let her climb the stairs side-by-side with Clair.

  "I mean, she just got so upset. Just all of a sudden, and for no reason, you know? One minute she's sitting there at the table working on this really pretty Monet jigsaw puzzle I got for her, and then all of a sudden she just, like, gets up and starts crying, and walking back and forth, back and forth. I didn't know what to do. I mean, should I have called 9-1-1?"