A crow cawed behind him and he heard the distant buzz of a car on the road. He lowered his rifle and crouched down. It was still dark enough to obscure his movements, but he was taking no chances. He was a careful man.
As he pushed aside a small branch to have a better view, it snapped back and grazed his cheek. He let out a quiet curse, and reached up to touch the scrape. He pulled his finger away with a stripe of blood smeared across it. He licked it off with the tip of his tongue, savoring the saltiness.
Out of the corner of his eye, he detected a flash of color. He raised his gun once again and searched the trail. His heart pounded in his chest. There! He removed the safety and peered down the scope. The rising sun blazed on its head, reflecting strands of copper. His target was moving rapidly toward him. He took a deep breath and released it slowly as he began to squeeze the trigger.
Agent Jo Schwann looked beautiful in his crosshairs.
Chapter Three
Turners Bend
August
Chip bought a dog whistle and the book, How to Train Your Retriever. He quickly learned that he would not be able to break Honey, his golden retriever, and Runt, her son, from their bad habits of sleeping on the furniture and begging at the table. Runt, however, loved the whistle-training sessions with his master. He raced to the side yard whenever he saw the whistle in Chip’s hand. In no time he learned to come, sit, heel, stay and retrieve. Honey found a spot in the shade of the red maple and watched like a soccer mom in the bleachers. The training sessions were not only diversions for Chip, but also his excuse for slacking off on his real work … writing Mind Games.
Chip was putting Runt through his paces when he heard the rumble of a pickup in the distance. Soon he saw Jane’s rusty red truck turn off the main road and head down the long drive to his farmhouse. Their “friendship” had been somewhat tense and awkward the past month. Chip cautioned himself not to be too hopeful as he watched the truck come to a stop by the shed.
He was disappointed to see it was not Jane, but her son, Sven, who jumped out of the cab and strode toward him and the dogs. During the past year Chip had seen Sven mature from a gawky, misdirected teenager into a self-confident young man. He was tall and lanky and wore his reddish brown hair styled like the pop singer whose name always escaped Chip. His jeans were tight and his muscle shirt revealed a few chest hairs. Chip liked the boy, and Sven had seemed to grow closer to him since the absence of the boy’s father.
“Hey Chip. I’m just stoppin’ in to say ‘bye’ before mom takes me up to Minneapolis for orientation week at MCAD.”
“I’ve heard good things about the Minneapolis College of Art and Design. I’m sure you’ll do well. You have time for a Coke?”
“Sure.” Sven sat on the back steps waiting for Chip, who entered the house and returned with two cans.
“What about your friend Leif? What’s he up to?” asked Chip.
“He dropped out of school the month before graduation, and I haven’t seen much of him this summer. We’ve been friends for so long, but it’s hard to hang on to friends who are going down a different path.”
“I, for one, am happy about the path you’ve chosen. You’re going to do great things, make great films. I just know it.”
“Thanks, Chip. I won’t forget how much you’ve helped me.” Sven took a sip from his pop can, as he watched the dogs. “Hey, looks like Runt’s turning into a fine bird dog. Dad and I would’ve loved a dog like him for duck hunting. We had old Archie, but he died before I got my first shotgun.”
The two sat, drinking their Cokes and watching Runt nose around the yard. A wasp buzzed around Chip’s can, and he shooed it away. The heat of the sun made their cans sweat. Sven finished his pop and crushed the can with one hand. He tossed it into a nearby garbage bin and said, “No rim … two points,” pumping his arm.
Chip debated whether or not to broach the issue of Sven’s missing father and Jane’s ex-husband, Hal Swanson, who had skipped the country with several federal agencies on his trail. Since Sven had brought up the subject, he decided the time might be right. “I’m sorry about your father, Sven. It must be hard for you. Have you heard from him?”
Sven stared off into the distance, taking a few moments to respond. “No. I know he’s done some bad things, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss him. Ingrid and Mom refuse to talk about him. Why did he do it, Chip?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s just a slippery slope. One thing leads to another. And, his drinking probably clouded his judgment.”
“I didn’t tell Mom or Ingrid this, but two undercover DEA agents came to the house right after the Fourth of July and questioned me about Dad. They asked if I knew where he was and if I knew anything about drug money. I told them I didn’t know anything and didn’t believe Dad was involved in buying or selling drugs. They kind of creeped me out. They were dressed like migrant workers, but I could tell they were packing heat.”
Chip chuckled and shook his head. “Packing heat … I think you have been watching too many TV crime shows.”
“Or reading too many crime novels.” They both laughed.
“The FBI said several federal agencies would be involved, so I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Chip. “In fact, I remember those two guys and wondered who they were. Undercover DEA agents, huh? I never would have guessed.”
Sven hesitated, and then said, “I’m sort of worried about Mom. Don’t mean to pry, but what’s with you two? I thought you had like a romance going on.”
“So did I, but maybe she just needs some time to work through things. I don’t have the best track record with women. Piece of advice for you … stay away from those pretty girls at MCAD.”
Sven laughed. “That’s one piece of advice I probably won’t follow.” He reached into his back pocket. “Oh, I brought something to show you. I found it this summer when I was working with the Historical Society on that documentary.”
Sven pulled an old, sepia-colored photograph from his jeans pocket and handed it to Chip. “Seems Turners Bend had a theater for movies and stage shows back in the 1930s. It was named the Bijou. It was in the empty building next to Harriet’s House of Hair. Sylvia Johnson told me she remembers it from when she was a girl, and that it was a grand place with gilt fixtures and a crystal chandelier and red velvet curtains. She said the owner died some years ago, and she heard the marquee that was taken down is stored inside.”
Sven returned the photo to his pocket. “Wouldn’t it be cool if it was restored and The Cranium Killer movie was shown at its grand re-opening? Maybe the director or some of the stars would even come to town. If I weren’t going off to school, I’d get the town to do it.”
Chip could sense the boy’s excitement, and it was catching. “That’s a great idea. Maybe I can help.”
Just then Runt began to bark and chase something across the yard. He stopped at the woodpile and stuck his nose between the logs. Sven ran to the pile and pulled a baby kitten out of the gap.
Chip grabbed his whistle and blew the commands for ‘sit’ and ‘stay’ and Runt complied. Sven returned to the steps with the kitten clinging to his shirt by its claws. “Aaw, look at her, Chip. She can’t be more than six weeks old.”
“How do you know it’s a female and how old she is?”
“First of all, she’s a calico. See the three colors, white, black and orange? All calicos are females. Second, you’re forgetting that my grandfather was a vet and my mother is a vet. I’ve been around animals my whole life. She’s pretty scrawny and matted. I bet she’s really hungry. We better feed her. Here, hold her. It looks like you have another pet.”
Chip held the kitten in his lap. She began to purr and knead his legs, her sharp claws snagging his shorts. When she began to lick his hand with her sandpaper tongue, he had the sinking feeling he would be adding to his household menagerie. “But, I don’t know anything about cats,” he said.
“No problem, you know a good vet who can teach you.” Sven’
s face lit up with a wide grin. He stood, unfolding his long limbs and waved at Chip as he ambled to the pick-up. He backed down the road too fast and gunned the motor as he sped away, spewing gravel from the rear tires.
Both dogs came to sniff at their new housemate. “Meet your new friend. What should I name her? How about Callie, since she’s a calico?”
He and his pets went into the kitchen, and Chip dialed the animal clinic. “Mabel, this is Chip. I need to know what to feed a kitten, and I guess I better schedule an appointment to have her checked over by Jane.”
He was happier than he’d been for weeks. His emotional state influenced his motivation to write. Happiness made him feel good about his new story, and he was eager to continue to build suspense by putting Jo in peril. He recalled a brief time in his past when he had tried to be a runner, mainly to impress a woman who was a fitness freak. Certainly an FBI agent would have to be fit … Jo would be a disciplined runner, he thought, as he opened his laptop.
Chapter Four
Mind Games
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Late July
Special Agent Jo Schwann felt the exhaustion fall away as her feet pounded out a cadence on the asphalt of the Minnehaha Trail. For once, she didn’t pay attention to the elegant homes lining the parkway—her thoughts were elsewhere.
She had run two miles before she realized she hadn’t turned on her running playlist on the smartphone strapped to her upper arm. She smiled wryly to herself. It was a good thing the endorphins released in her brain were relieving some of the stress.
It was 3:00 a.m. before Jo had climbed into bed last night. She had been finishing up paperwork and getting everything in order for her staff before leaving on a long weekend away.
But I still have to deal with those damn depositions this morning before I can hop on the plane. Candleworth’s widow had filed a wrongful death lawsuit against Jo and the Bureau. Her husband had created a multi-billion dollar corporation around mind-controlling microchips, and she blamed them when one of his employees shot him.
Jo felt the muscles in her neck bunch up again, so she lengthened her stride as she passed the bronze statue of a bunny near Portland Avenue. Normally, she took a water break at the whimsical statue of the reclining rabbit, but today she had no time.
The case had been officially closed for months now, and Jo felt like she was still treading water in a lake of red tape and Bureau CYA memos. Not to mention meeting after meeting with the lawyers. All due to this bullshit lawsuit.
And, of course, there was the last test subject. His disappearance nagged at her. Almost everyone at the Bureau, including her boss, assumed he was dead, like all the other NeuroDynamics victims. She shook her head. She couldn’t let it go until they found the body.
Jo blew out a puff of air. At least she met John on the case. Dr. John Goodman, the FBI expert called in to assist had not only broken the case wide open, but he had saved her life.
And she had fallen in love with him.
Maybe we’ll wrap up the depositions early and I can swing by the Victoria’s Secret store in Mall of America on my way to the airport. Jo smiled at the thought of John’s expression when he saw her in something new and barely there.
Just then, the smartphone buzzed on her arm. She came to an abrupt stop, and pulled it from the armband.
“Special Agent Schwann.”
“Jo, where are you? Sounds like you’re out of breath.” It was the rich baritone of her boss, Tom Gunderson.
“Just on my way back to the house. What’s up?” Jo tried to make her voice sound normal. “Never a good sign when you call me before I make it into the office.”
“Yeah, well. I hate to do this to you, but …”
Jo’s heart thudded harder, as if she was still running down the path. “Oh, no, don’t tell me. Tom, I’ve been planning this trip for weeks. You get to have a wife and kids. At least let me have a boyfriend.”
She heard him sigh across the miles. “Can’t help it this time, Schwann. I need you on this one. I’m assuming you heard State Representative Freemont was missing.”
“He’s the one running for governor, right?” Jo paused, and then said, “Wait, did you say ‘was missing’? Does that mean they found him?”
“Uh-huh. Just received a call a few minutes ago. He’s dead, Jo.”
Jo felt the bands of tension strapping themselves across her shoulders again. “What was the cause of death?”
“Single gunshot to the head. A construction worker found him in one of the wings of the Capitol undergoing renovation.”
“Any idea how long he’s been there?” Jo asked, as she wiped a trickle of sweat from her temple with the back of her hand.
“Medical examiner’s trying to figure that out right now, but it could have been as early as Tuesday afternoon, the last time he was seen alive. Body wasn’t discovered until this morning, because the construction crew has been on strike for the past two weeks. ”
“Shit.” She blew out a breath and wondered how she was going to cancel on John again.
“Yeah. You could say that. I need you to head over to the Capitol right away.”
“Tom, what about the NeuroDynamics depositions?”
“I’ll reschedule for you. Just get your butt over to St. Paul.”
Jo clicked off the call and strapped the phone to her arm once again. She took off running down the trail, endorphins no longer helping her mood.
She was about a mile from home when Jo felt a sudden pain in her side. She didn’t realize how agitated she had become until she developed a side-stitch from the irregular rhythm of her breathing. She stopped, and raised her right arm high above her head, inhaling deeply to relieve the ache.
“Damn it.” She walked around in a circle, impatient to be on her way again. “There are times when I’m ready to chuck this whole job into Lake Calhoun.” She spoke to no one in particular. “John, don’t give up on me.” She decided to call him on the way to St. Paul. She wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to him.
When the pain eased a fraction, she caught a flicker of movement in the grouping of trees to her far left, close to the creek. Rubbing the back of her neck where she felt the hair rise, she shook her head. Probably some squirrel jumping in the branches. God, I’m getting paranoid. Too much woolgathering in dark corners. She broke into a run again, concentrating on her breathing.
* * *
The hunter released pressure on the trigger when Jo looked his way. He couldn’t say what kept him from shooting her. Shock, perhaps. He had been picturing this exact moment in his head for months and now he had blown the perfect opportunity.
He almost fell backwards when he felt her eyes upon him as she ran past his hiding spot. He ducked down, but not before he realized she had stared right into his soul. That is, what was left of it.
She hadn’t really seen him. He was sure of it. The Hunter had studied her long enough to know she would have marched right over to where he stood to investigate if she had detected him there.
His hands that brought the rifle upward again were slick with sweat. He watched her run toward her home through his scope, her copper-colored ponytail bouncing in time with her steps. He watched her shapely ass move in her tight running pants and felt himself growing aroused. I could still shoot her. Even from this distance, I wouldn’t miss.
But he wouldn’t do it. Not now.
She fascinated him. In the beginning, it was all about revenge. And relieving the rage. She and Goodman were responsible for the death of Dr. Candleworth, the genius who had saved him from a lifetime of unbearable pain. As if that weren’t enough, the doctor had also provided him with a lucrative new career, one that suited his particular skill sets.
The anger and sorrow that had overwhelmed him when he learned of Candleworth’s death had been replaced by a cold, weighty resolve. Which is why he now found himself standing in a small stand of trees, twenty yards from a running path in south Minneapolis.
&nbs
p; He had never stopped at this critical juncture of a kill before. Murder didn’t bother him; it was just a job.
Maybe that was the problem. This wasn’t an assignment. It was personal. It was about to get too personal. For the first time in his life, he was in love.
He shivered in spite of the trickle of sweat that rolled down his back.
Chapter Five
Turners Bend
September
Chip read the chapter he had just finished. He wrote organically and was still amazed at the source of his ideas, the events from his life that tended to pop up in his stories. The political conversation with Flora Frederickson had obviously influenced his victim choice. And Jo’s conflicted feelings about her relationship with John…that part was so close to his real life that he did not want to think about it.
He saved his file, emailed it to Lucinda and shut down his laptop for the day.
* * *
A new kitten was a good excuse to see Jane. As Chip entered the clinic he saw Jane standing at Mabel’s desk. He grinned at her. God, that woman is more attractive every time I see her. Today her red hair was tied into a ponytail at the back of her neck, and she was wearing blue scrubs which hid her small frame. No make-up, no jewelry, and yet she was stunning. How could a guy not fall hopelessly in love with such a creature?
“Ah, I see you two have bonded already. Bring her in, Chip.”
Jane examined Callie by checking her ears for mites and slipping a thermometer into her bottom to take her temperature.
“Today we’ll start her immunizations, and I’m sending home an antibiotic to treat her ear mites. You can bring her back to be spayed in six weeks. Don’t make the mistake you made with Honey. You were lucky to be able to find homes for all those puppies, but responsible pet owners should spay or neuter their animals. I recommend you make her an indoor-only cat. There are too many wild animals around your place for her safety.”
Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 02 - Love Can Be Murder Page 2