by Webb, Debra
That he could have been watching Adeline and had followed her here was a strong possibility.
He swaggered across the room, straddled a stool, and propped his arms on the counter. “Morning, Miss Leslie. How ’bout a cup of that outstanding coffee?”
Adeline resisted the urge to gag. Same mousy brown hair and squinty brown eyes as the rest of the male Cooper clan. Exactly like his older brother. All charm when it came to wooing the ladies out of their panties, pure asshole when it came to anything else. She didn’t miss the sudden burst of avid murmuring at the tables or the fact that the patrons seated at those tables were not so subtly dividing their attention between her and Clay.
As if she’d called his name, Clay’s attention swung to Adeline’s end of the counter. “Well, well, if it ain’t my dear old cousin Addy.”
He made the statement dispassionately enough, but there was no mistaking the sheer hatred on his face—not even from this distance.
Adeline gave him a salute with her mug, then finished off the last of the coffee. Leslie hurried to provide a refill. Even she looked nervous. Maybe one of the others had whispered Adeline’s identity to her. There was no more efficient means of rapid communication than a small town’s grapevine.
“My daddy says you’re here about that lady lawyer who’s missing,” Clay announced, holding the attention of everyone in the place. When a Cooper talked, people listened. They were afraid not to. “I guess that means you’re still playing at being a cop.”
He was baiting her. She wasn’t biting.
“You believe that?” Clay turned around on his stool to face those seated around the room. “Getting my brother killed and running away wasn’t enough to prove she had no business trying to be a cop. Wonder who she’s gonna get killed this time?”
Adeline could leave. Just get up and walk out. The courthouse was only a couple short blocks away. Someone would be in the sheriff’s office. All she had to do was ring the buzzer and identify herself.
But she wouldn’t give this sawed-off little bastard the satisfaction.
“Maybe you were too young to remember,” Adeline said, when she should have just let it go, “your brother got himself killed dealing drugs. A DEA agent put a bullet right between his eyes. I witnessed the whole thing.”
Fury tightened her cousin’s lips. “First off, my brother’s association with those people was never proven in a court of law. And”—that furious mouth slid into a sneer—“the way I heard it, that bullet missed its mark.” He laughed as he turned back to the counter and picked up the mug of coffee Leslie had delivered. “But fate has a way of catching up with those who slip under its radar. No matter how fast they run.”
“You think?” Adeline cocked her head and studied him. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “That’s a nice theory, Clay. But I never put much stock in fate. I prefer to make my own destiny.” She didn’t bother to pick up on the remark about running. Maybe she had run . . . but she’d had more reasons than this piece of shit knew about. Her motivation hadn’t been his business nine years ago and it wasn’t his business now.
“You might want to be careful around here, cuz.” The look that passed between them left no mistake as to the intent of his words. “A lot of folks have long memories and they don’t like what they remember.”
“I appreciate your concern, cuz.” She shouldered out of her jacket, let him see the holstered weapon she wore on the belt at her waist. “But just like nine years ago, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”
The grill sizzled beyond the serving window, underscoring the hush that had fallen over the room. She held the bastard’s gaze, dared him to clarify that threat in front of witnesses. Dared him to make even the slightest move of aggression. If he thought he could make her flinch, he was crazier than his half-dead old man.
The bell jingled. Clay broke the stare-off.
“Morning, Sheriff,” Leslie enthused.
The murmur of conversation and clink of forks on stoneware resumed as if the past few minutes hadn’t happened.
Wyatt chatted with the citizens seated at the tables he passed as he made his way in Adeline’s direction. Freshly starched uniform. Matching jacket and cap. There wasn’t a female in the place who wasn’t drooling.
Beyond him, Clay Cooper slid off his stool, threw down a couple of bills, and walked out. He glanced back once as he stomped away.
Adeline hadn’t seen the last of him.
“Morning, Addy.” Wyatt settled on the stool next to hers. “You sleep okay?”
He knew she hadn’t. It had rained. He would remember that she usually had the dreams when it rained. He’d held her and soothed her to sleep afterward enough times.
“I read the interviews.” She wasn’t interested in small talk. “Cassie Elliott and Jessica Huff the two you plan to interview again?” Adeline had picked up on the minor discrepancies in their statements.
“You nailed it.”
Was that approval she saw in his eyes? Or surprise? She was a good cop. She’d been a good one nine years ago.
Leslie placed a steaming mug of coffee and a fresh cheese danish before her idol. “There you go, Sheriff.” She beamed at him. “I warmed up your danish in the microwave. Just the way you like it.”
“Thank you, Leslie.” He flashed one of those wide, killer smiles that made his hazel eyes twinkle and the female hearts flutter.
“I aim to please.” The attentive waitress turned to Adeline with a little less enthusiasm. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything else, hon? We have a special on those whole wheat pancakes.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
When the awestruck waitress had scurried out of earshot, Adeline turned to Wyatt. “There’s one thing we haven’t discussed.”
His gaze collided with hers. “There are a lot of things we haven’t discussed.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant and he knew it. “About the case.”
He cradled his coffee in both hands, stared into the cup as if he would rather look anywhere than at Adeline. “What specifically have we not discussed?”
“The message he wrote on the photo.”
“ ‘One dead princess, two to go,’ ” Wyatt acknowledged.
Adeline nodded. “Assuming Prescott is the dead princess and I’m one of the two to go, that means there’s another victim out there.”
“Agreed, but there’s no way to know who she is. I’ve worked up a list of the similarities between you and the victim.” Wyatt set his mug aside and pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket. Every cop carried one. “Both in your thirties. Blond hair, blue eyes. Same general body type and size. Both born in Mississippi. Prescott’s an attorney, you’re in law enforcement. And that’s where the similarities end. That doesn’t give us a lot to go on as far as narrowing down potential victims.”
“Then we focus on what we have. Serial offenders typically hunt in familiar territory, which would make him a local or someone who comes through the area fairly often.”
Wyatt scratched a note on his pad. “With the movement of goods in and out of our port, we get plenty of repeat visitors.”
Yet Adeline just didn’t see this as a classic serial offender case. There was no clear strategy to his work. Not yet, anyway. “Why pick me? I live several hours away in a whole other state. I haven’t lived in Mississippi in a hell of a long time. It’s not like I’m the only blond, thirty-something, female cop between here and Huntsville.”
“We have to assume,” Wyatt suggested as he cut a piece of danish with his fork, “that there are other similarities between the two of you that we’re simply not aware of or that only he sees.”
Adeline hated that she watched with such interest as he popped the bite of cheese danish into his mouth. Focus, dammit! “I want to know why Prescott was here. Where I grew up. That point has to be significant somehow. I didn’t get an invitation to come here for no reason. The place is relevant somehow.”
“With that in mind,” Wyatt
said, setting his fork aside, “logic would dictate that the third victim has or will soon receive the same type of invitation.”
“She could be here already. A resident of the area. Someone who was drawn here by the news. A reporter or staff member of a newspaper or magazine.” Adeline didn’t have to ask to know that an influx of reporters and curiosity seekers would be or had been hanging around town. The other so-called princess could have been lured here in some similar manner. If that was the case, the would-be vic had apparently been smart enough to stay at one of the other lodging options. Adeline remained the lone guest at the Shady Oaks Motel.
“We find the connection between you and Prescott,” Wyatt reasoned, “and we’ll know where to look for the third vic, maybe even for the perp.”
“If he doesn’t nab her first.” And kill her. Adeline hoped like hell that Cherry Prescott was still alive, but her instincts were saying otherwise. If Prescott was alive, she wouldn’t be for long. Until someone else was reported missing or they heard from the perp, Adeline had no way of knowing if she was next on his agenda.
Chronology aside, there was another victim out there . . . somewhere.
Chapter Nine
8:30 A.M.
Wyatt watched Addy as she paced the perimeter of what had been the Prescott crime scene. The yellow tape was gone now since multiple sweeps by the forensics techs had revealed nothing in the way of evidence.
It was as if the lady had gotten out of her car and disappeared into thin air.
No signs of a struggle. Her car had been parked on the side of this lonely stretch of road deep in the woods. The one detail that stirred suspicion was the open driver’s side door. When she’d gotten out—or was dragged out—of her car, she’d left the door open. That was likely the sole reason one of his deputies had called in the parked vehicle that rainy evening. A car left on the side of the road wasn’t necessarily an indication of foul play. With the price of gasoline, drivers attempting to stretch every gallon often ran out. Other times mechanical problems required that the vehicle be left behind for a time. Wyatt suspected that the door had been left open on purpose, to ensure notice was taken well before the vic would have been reported missing.
There had been no blood inside the car. No indication of foul play whatsoever. The keys were in the ignition and the vehicle had started without hesitation. The tank had been more than half full.
The driver had simply vanished.
Addy crouched down to inspect something on the ground. She’d scarcely changed at all. Same wild mane of blond hair. Same intense blue eyes and sharp tongue. Still as ornery as ever. Tough as hell in spite of her size. No more than five four and a hundred pounds.
His gut tightened. He knew every inch of her body by heart.
She pushed to her feet. He braced . . . as if she might have heard his thoughts. She strode farther along the perimeter. A smile haunted the corners of his mouth. Still walked like a man—or tried to. She couldn’t really pull it off considering that cute little butt had a sashay entirely of its own.
Addy stopped abruptly and turned toward him.
Heat rushed up his neck. “Told you there was nothing to see.”
She braced her hands on her hips and surveyed the area for about the fifth time. When her attention landed on him, Wyatt felt himself holding his breath.
“I want to see the car.”
He shrugged. “Four different techs have been over the vehicle. The last search was conducted with the husband. There’s nothing there that shouldn’t be. Nothing missing.” That was another thing she’d always done. Questioned every damned step taken by anyone involved in an investigation. Never took anyone else’s word for anything.
“Indulge me.”
He supposed there was no harm in that. He’d gotten the search under way as scheduled this morning. The phones were ringing off their hooks with tips on sightings, most of which, so far, had proved to be cases of mistaken identity.
“No problem,” he said at last. “Multijurisdictional cooperation is my specialty.”
Their gazes held for another moment or two . . . as if there was more she wanted to say. She broke eye contact and headed for his SUV.
He ordered himself to relax and followed.
There were things he wanted to say to Addy. Things he wanted her to say to him—or to yell at him. This thing had festered between them for far too long.
About nine years too long.
But now wasn’t the time.
A woman was missing.
Whether her abductor was a killer or merely some sick bastard trying to prove a point, he had an agenda and Addy appeared to be on that agenda.
Wyatt had let her down all those years ago.
He wasn’t about to let her down this time.
Pascagoula Sheriff’s Department, 11:05 A.M.
Cassie Elliott squirmed in her chair. “Like I told you before, I can’t think of anything that was bothering Cherry. She was happy. Really happy. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
The woman looked Adeline straight in the eyes as she spoke but all the signs of lying were there. She looked away as she completed her statements. Couldn’t appear to get comfortable in her chair. Kept her fingers tightly laced in her lap.
Adeline had walked around the room a couple of times, but the woman’s hands never moved from her lap. She was working hard to conceal her outward display of nervousness. Probably had learned the signs from that stupid TV show about deciphering lies.
Elliott was thirty-five. Graduated from the same high school as Prescott. Brown hair that she wore short, brown eyes. A little on the chunky side, unlike Prescott who looked quite fit in all her photographs.
Adeline settled in the chair next to Wyatt on the opposite side of the table from Elliott. Adeline had insisted on using the interview room when he hadn’t wanted to since neither of the ladies were suspects and the whole concept was demeaning on some level. Small-town sheriffing would do that to a guy. Made him forget it was about the investigation not the comfort of the persons of interest. Even if they weren’t actually suspects in the investigation.
Adeline was relatively certain the ease with which he’d cooperated with her so far was more about trying to make up for the past than about what he believed to be the best decision for proceeding.
Whatever.
Adeline exhaled a heavy breath. Wyatt remained silent but kept his attention fixed firmly on the woman. Another tactic Adeline had requested.
“Look, Ms. Elliott,” Adeline began, leading up to something she hadn’t gotten Wyatt’s approval for. “We already know what was going on with Ms. Prescott. Her other friend told us just a few minutes ago.” The woman’s eyes got wider and wider with each word Adeline spoke. “All we want from you at this point is confirmation of certain specific details.”
“I . . . I don’t know what you mean.” Elliott looked from Adeline to Wyatt.
Adeline had to give the guy credit, he didn’t waver.
“What did Jessica tell you?”
Though Adeline hadn’t mentioned Jessica Huff’s name, the two had arrived at the same time for the interview. Deputy Womack had promptly separated the two, but not until after they had seen each other—which was the point. Elliott knew Huff was being questioned, as well. Adeline would wager the two had gotten their stories straight before coming. But neither one would likely have thought to have a plan B just in case the police attempted to trip them up.
This routine worked most every time, particularly with novices.
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss her statement with you, but,” Adeline said, nodding knowingly, “if we can confirm the things I mentioned, we might have a chance at cracking this case and finding your friend.” She actually hadn’t mentioned a single detail but she would bet her ass that Ms. Elliott wouldn’t even pick up on the slip.
“That’s the thing,” Wyatt said, his voice low, but firm, “I don’t think you understand that Cherry’s life could be at stake he
re. What you’re withholding could make the difference in whether we find her in time or not.”
Cassie Elliott visibly trembled. Her wide-with-worry eyes filled with emotion—the kind that would roll down her cheeks any second. “I don’t know what was going on. All I know is that something was wrong. It started about three months ago when her little girl turned four.” Elliott licked her lips and tried again to get comfortable in her chair.
“What started?” Adeline pressed. “We’d like to hear your version. The absolute truth is critical.”
Elliott’s face scrunched with confusion. “Some kind of nightmares. Cherry kept talking about being afraid to take a bath. The water scared her to death. It was bizarre. She reacted so strongly . . . as if the dreams were real somehow.”
Adeline’s spine locked with tension. “Had she been uncomfortable with water events in the past? You know, swimming, skiing, that kind of thing?”
Elliott swung her head side to side. “That’s what’s so crazy. She was a great swimmer. Good diver, too. It was weird. Like she was going through some kind of crisis. I’ve never seen anything affect her like this. But she stopped talking to me when I suggested she see someone.” She shrugged. “You know, a counselor. It was just so strange. I guess she opened up to Jessica. They’ve been friends the longest. Makes sense, I suppose.”
Adeline stood, locking her knees to ensure they didn’t shake. “I . . . have a . . . call . . .” She clamped her mouth shut and walked out of the room, every muscle in her body quivering. Wyatt was thanking the woman for her cooperation. Adeline had wanted to do that . . . but she couldn’t string the words together just now.
She walked straight to the ladies’ room. Didn’t make it to the toilet. Barfed in the sink.
The dreams had haunted Adeline her entire life . . . for as long as she could remember. She had forced herself to learn to swim. But she had never been a water sports fan. Every time she drove over a body of water she told herself she wasn’t actually afraid of the water . . . it was the stupid dreams that made her feel uncomfortable.