Love Inspired Suspense July 2015 #2

by Terri Reed

  “The RCMP discontinued using mounted patrol for regular duty in the 1930s,” Drew explained. “There is a yearly Musical Ride tour and we wear our uniforms for parades and special events.”

  “Have you been in the Musical Ride?” She’d like to see him on horseback. There was something about a man on a horse that appealed to her—and every other female. The mystique of the cowboy, she supposed. Or a Mountie, as the case may be.

  “No. Horses and I don’t mesh well.”

  She raised an eyebrow, curious if he meant what she thought he meant. “Afraid?”

  “Horses are big unpredictable creatures. I’d rather stay on the ground and watch.”

  “If we have to head out in the desert, you’re hoofing it on foot?”

  The color drained from his face. “That’s not even funny. I can barely tolerate this heat in an air-conditioned car. I don’t want to think about the desert.”

  She laughed, liking that he wasn’t afraid to admit to a foible. Not for the first time, she found herself realizing how much she liked this man. He didn’t have that macho chip on his shoulder the way so many men did when they discovered she was in law enforcement.

  Women’s equality might be alive and well; however, she’d faced her fair share of discrimination moving up the ranks of the Bureau. But Drew seemed to genuinely respect her, which she appreciated and in return respected.

  Being with him was easy. She didn’t have to force conversation or feel as if she needed to prove something to him. He accepted her.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone and felt an immediate connection.

  The thought sent agitated shivers over her sweat-drenched flesh. She wasn’t going down any road that led her to losing control of her emotions. Connection or not, she had a job to do. She could appreciate Drew as another professional; she could even appreciate him as a good-looking, charming man. She could handle attraction but nothing else.

  He made a left turn into the Majestic Palms Resort parking lot. Desert hills, towering palms and spiky cacti surrounded the elegant sprawling salmon-colored mansion-turned-hotel. The grounds of the resort were stunning, with flowering bushes heavy with red blooms, various-sized palm trees with wide and variegated fronds. A beautiful splashing water fountain drew her gaze. She couldn’t help but wish this visit were for a more pleasant purpose.

  She stepped out of the car. Waves of heat bouncing off the pavement hit her in the face like a wake-up slap. There was a purpose to this visit and it wasn’t to allow herself to bond with the man at her side. They might be working together for now, but as soon as they found his fellow countryman, dead or alive, she’d send Drew on his way.

  Then she could breathe again, because despite his assertion that their combined resources would make quick work of capturing Birdman, as long as they were together, she’d feel responsible for Drew’s welfare. She wasn’t going to let him get hurt on her watch. She carried enough guilt for what had happened to Ian, her last partner, to last a lifetime.

  They wound their way on a cobblestone path through wide arches to the resort lobby.

  Drew gestured to the two Phoenix police officers waiting discreetly off to the side. Sami squared her shoulders and walked to the office the resort employees directed them to. She’d called the city’s chief of police, giving him the pertinent details of their investigation and asking for the local LEOs’—law enforcement officers’—cooperation.

  Sami and Drew showed their badges.

  “I’m Officer Jensen. This is Officer Grant.” The older of the two men made the introductions. “Chief says you need a wellness check on a guest.”

  “Yes. A James Clark.” Drew handed over the fax he’d brought with them. The image showed an average-looking older man of average height with dark hair and dark eyes. “His credit card was found at a crime scene last night. The last charge on the account was here at the bar. A call to Hotel Registration confirmed he was a guest through the weekend. We need you to do a wellness check.”

  “We have his room number and card key,” Officer Grant said. “He has a terrace room on the fourth floor. Room four-oh-six, at the end of the hall.”

  Adrenaline rushed through Sami’s veins. Could Mr. Clark be the killer? Or would they find Mr. Clark’s mutilated body?

  She and Drew followed the two officers along another cobblestone path to a wing of the resort that stacked to six levels. Each room had a private balcony. The inner rooms overlooked the beautiful courtyard and the reflecting pool that beckoned with its sun-dappled water. The outer rooms, such as James Clark’s, had stunning views of the Camelback Mountain in the distance.

  They took the stairs to the fourth floor. The hallway was carpeted with swirling greens and rust-colored patterns. The smell of cinnamon overpowered the fragrant scents of the courtyard they’d left behind. The aroma grew stronger as they approached room 406. Though not necessarily an unpleasant smell, it was certainly surprising. Candles? Incense?

  A Do Not Disturb sign hung from the doorknob.

  Officer Jensen rapped his knuckles on the door. “Mr. Clark? Police. Open up.”

  No noise emanated from inside the room.

  Officer Grant stepped up, knocked again and then slid the key card into the slot. When the green light flashed, he pushed open the door. An intense wave of the spice burned her nose. But beneath the cinnamon scent she detected a foul odor.

  All four of them shared ominous glances.

  With his hand on his holster, Officer Jensen entered first. “Uh, you guys better get in here.”

  The officer’s dire tone made Sami’s heart sink. Most likely Mr. Clark was dead. The certainty took up residence in her chest, squeezing her lungs tight. Steeling herself against the inevitable, she filed into the room behind the men.

  She put a finger under her nose but it didn’t help quell the nauseating smell. The room was stifling hot. The curtains had been drawn, allowing the sun to bake the inside like a sauna.

  Officer Grant clamped a hand over his mouth and ran out of the room. Sami sympathized with the guy. She suffered with a strong gag reflex and only by sheer force of will was she able to keep from dry-heaving.

  Sami’s gaze landed on the dead Caucasian woman lying on the edge of the bedspread. She was coated in a white chalky substance that covered her like a dusting of snow. It was hard to determine age. Her dark hair fanned out around her head like a peacock’s tail.

  “Lime,” Drew murmured. A hydrated lime used on farms and in gardens as a soil modifier. When used on a corpse, it delayed the decaying process as well as minimized the stench.

  She nodded even as her stomach revolted. She clamped her teeth together to keep from throwing up. Stupid gag reflex. Her personal Achilles’ heel.

  Give me strength, God, she silently prayed.

  On the dresser was an empty bottle of cinnamon oil. The floor was soaked with the liquid spice.

  “I take it this is not James Clark,” Officer Jensen said. He cleared his throat. “Any chance this Clark fella could be your killer?”

  Sami snorted. “No way would it be that easy.”

  “Too bad.” Officer Jensen walked to the open door. “Hey, Grant, call in a missing-person alert on James Clark.”

  They needed to find Mr. Clark before he turned up dead. Time was not his friend. Sami gestured toward the bed. “How quickly can you identify the victim?”

  She ached for the family of the deceased woman. Their loved one wouldn’t be coming home.

  Drew moved to Sami’s side. “See any similarities?”

  She tore her gaze from the horrific scene before her to search the room, but she didn’t see anything on the desk, the dresser, near the television. She moved into the bathroom. Nothing there either. She didn’t understand. Birdman had led her here but now went silent?

  When she reentered the bedroom, her gaze fell to the bed. Something stuck out between the mattresses and beneath the body of the unknown woman. The sick madman wanted her close to his
handiwork. Fury erupted deep inside her, searing in its intensity. She grabbed a set of thin gloves from her pants pocket and snapped them on.

  “I see it,” Drew said, apparently reading her intent. “Officer Jensen, Special Agent Bennett is going to remove the paper sticking out from between the mattresses. If you’d be so kind as to have an evidence bag ready.”

  “Of course.” The officer quickly took a bag from his utility belt and held it open.

  Bracing herself to confront Birdman’s handiwork at eye level, she tugged on the edge of the paper. She swallowed back the rising bile. A brochure slipped out. Officer Jensen swiftly offered the evidence bag for her to drop the long, thin two-sided brochure in. The officer zipped the bag closed and handed it to Drew.

  Once the piece was secure, she stripped off the gloves.

  “Here.” Officer Jensen offered her another evidence bag.

  She shoved the soiled gloves inside before shifting her focus to the bag Drew held. “What is it?”

  He lifted it up for her to inspect and she took it from him to study the contents. A brochure for a theme park hotel in California. On the back side in the upper left corner was a tiny drawing of a bird.

  Birdman’s calling card. His signature. Which would lead to another death. And to another clue and another death and another clue…

  She rubbed her throbbing temples. Would this nightmare ever cease?

  Yes, when the killer was ready. Because right now he had the power and she was dancing to his silent tune like a puppet on a string.

  She met Drew’s gaze. His hazel eyes hardened to stone. He’d no doubt come to the same conclusion. The killer was getting his jollies from teasing and taunting her. But what choice did she have other than to follow his lead?

  Somehow she had to gain control. Shift the balance of power so that she was the one calling the shots. “We have to go to California.”

  “No.”

  She stared at Drew. “There’s another victim. If I don’t find her or him, who will?”

  “We’ll contact the local authorities. They will take care of the victim.” He stepped closer and placed his hands on her upper arms. His warm fingers touched her where the shirtsleeves left her skin exposed. “It’s time to stop running after Birdman. We need to get ahead of him.”

  She wanted that, too. “How do we do that when we don’t even know who we’re hunting?”

  “We start at the beginning.” His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on her biceps. “I want to see all the information you’ve compiled.”

  She blinked back the burn of sudden tears. For so long she’d been chasing this sicko alone, running on adrenaline and fury. All the while telling herself it was better this way. Better to be alone so there was no chance of anyone else she cared about being hurt.

  But now the thought of having someone help shoulder the burden, help make the decisions, eased the tension in her tightly strung nerves. She’d asked God for strength and He was providing Drew. Not what she expected or wanted.

  Allowing Drew to be fully a part of the investigation meant putting her life and her promise to avenge her friend’s death in his hands. Was she willing to relinquish that much control to him?

  She couldn’t deny how good it felt to have someone to share this load with. Especially a good-looking, conscientious man such as Drew.

  No. She stopped that thought in its tracks. She wouldn’t go there. She couldn’t let this become personal. She couldn’t let her heart become attached to this man. He was in the same business as she was; his job required risk, just as hers did. If he was willing to take on this burden, then she had to stay focused on what was important.

  This was about bringing justice to women who didn’t deserve to die. She needed to stay dedicated to her goal, stay in control of her emotions. Mixing business with pleasure never ended well.

  She’d already made that mistake once and wasn’t going to do it again.

  However, two smart brains had to be better than the one psychopath.

  Who was she to argue with God?

  “All right. We go to Portland.”

  She prayed Birdman wouldn’t anticipate that they would return to Portland rather than follow his bread crumbs. Someone else would check the hotel. She didn’t envy them the job.

  *

  When they arrived in Portland, Drew was grateful for the more temperate weather. The sky was blue, the sun shining, but the temperature was in the seventies. Sami had parked her small economical car in the airport’s three-story parking garage. They left the airport and joined the congested freeway leading into downtown Portland. Drew had never been to the City of Roses before, so he was impressed by the cityscape.

  He’d heard of the many bridges crossing the Willamette River, which bisected the city. He counted four before Sami turned off the freeway and wound through a neighborhood she referred to as Hawthorne District, named for the main avenue that ran from the river and traveled east for several blocks. Drew thought the area very avant-garde with trendy shops and coffeehouses. A place he’d like to explore given the chance.

  She turned down a residential side street and pulled the car into the single driveway of a quaint-looking home painted a sunny yellow. A well-kept patch of lawn and shrubs provided pleasing curb appeal. Red flowers offered a pop of color in baskets hanging from the porch beams. Sami unlocked the door and walked in.

  An eerie sensation of being watched tapped into Drew’s consciousness. He glanced behind him, studying the neighborhood for a moment. Cars were parked along both sides of the narrow tree-lined street of the genteel neighborhood. But no one was about in the middle of this Tuesday afternoon.

  Shaking off the sensation, he stepped inside the house and immediately noted the built-in gas fireplace and bookshelves that had been painted white and dominated a half wall to his left and a grouping of comfortable-looking furniture in the middle of the living room that provided a cozy conversation area. Recessed windows allowed natural light to fill the house.

  “Home, sweet home,” Sami said, shutting the door behind him. “I have a spare room upstairs you can use.” She led the way toward a staircase.

  He followed but halted when he glanced into the dining room. Though a table and chairs stood in the center, his gaze was riveted on the walls, which were covered with photocopies of police reports, newspaper clippings and copies of crime scene photographs, along with DMV-issued photographs of several women.

  A large map of North America had been tacked onto a huge piece of corkboard. A colorful array of small pushpins dotted the map.

  Unnerved by the pins, he set his suitcase on the floor and moved closer.

  “You can see his pattern moving across the US,” Sami said, joining him at the board after leaving her suitcase on the bottom stair. She picked up a box of pushpins and added one to Phoenix. She held up another pushpin. “Now he’s crossed over the boundary between our countries.” She tacked the pin into the little red circle indicating Vancouver.

  A shiver of dread chased down his spine. How many more pins on the Canadian side of the map would they have to add to the board?

  “I know you said you’ve been tracking Birdman, but this—” he made a sweeping gesture with his hand to encompass the room “—this has become an obsession for you.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. Her gaze didn’t waver. “Yes. For six months this has been how I occupy my nights and weekends when I’m not working another case.”

  “Why isn’t this an official investigation yet?” She’d told him her boss had wanted to start a case file.

  “The FBI only gets involved in local crimes if asked. Each of these murders happened in different jurisdictions. No official request has been made but I’ve had very good cooperation from the various police agencies. Most police departments are understaffed and overwhelmed.”

  Impressed and sad at the same time, Drew studied the woman in front of him, noting the lines of stress bracketing her mouth, her eyes. She really was pr
etty and formidable with the proud tilt to her chin and the squared shoulders. She was ready to take on the world. Ready to take on a killer. Her life had become about hunting death.

  A lock of her blond hair had escaped her clip. He reached out to tuck the strands behind her ear. She froze, her breath catching. Instantly the air felt charged with the electricity that sparked between them.

  He lowered his hand and stepped back, giving her room and himself space to gather his composure.

  What would happen to her when she finally found her friend’s killer? Would she have the restraint to not inflict her own brand of justice? Or would she do as her training taught her and apprehend him, letting the courts mete out the justice she fervently sought for her friend and the other victims?

  The questions circled in his brain with no answers.

  Only time would tell. He prayed she’d find the strength within herself to not seek out revenge but to do the job she’d committed her life to.

  FIVE

  “Walk me through these crime scenes,” Drew said, needing to know what they were up against. She handed him a tall glass of lemonade and set out a plate of cookies on the dining room table before joining him in front of the map and the many signs of Sami’s obsession. He needed to hear how she processed all the information she’d gathered.

  As she talked, he listened, growing more overwhelmed and appalled with each passing minute. Separately the crimes did appear random. No two were exactly alike. The perpetrator wasn’t ritualistic in his approach to killing. That Sami had somehow connected the dots between these crimes spoke to her attention to detail, the trait of a good investigator.

  “He seems to be more opportunistic,” Sami stated. “Meaning he doesn’t stalk these women but rather trolls the bars and restaurants for his victims. And the victims themselves appear random.”

  She pointed to each photo. “Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian, African-American. He doesn’t discriminate based on color or race. Blonde, brunette, black haired. Different occupations. A schoolteacher, a store clerk, a sales professional. There’s nothing linking these women together.”