He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He'd done it once, only because she'd been trapped between consciousness and a terrifying dreamscape. If he tried it now, she'd run away from him. "I'm not in the habit of traipsing around the mountains helping out women in distress, but I have to say, it made me feel good, Cassandra. You gave me something, too, an opportunity to help another person. One, I think, who doesn't often accept help from anyone." He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Thank you."
The rush of warmth that Cassandra felt toward Adam made her want to lean over and kiss him. "We'd better go back," she said, her voice slightly roughened from the many emotions she held so tightly in check. She stood up quickly and began repacking the basket. Adam Raleigh troubled her— because he'd pierced her barriers and made her feel.
Adam carried the basket down the mountain with Cassandra at his side and Familiar pouncing from one clump of brush to another. The sun warmed their backs, and the silence they shared was companionable. They both had lots to think about.
At the cabin, Cassandra took the basket while Adam retrieved his things. It would be better for all if he left immediately. "Thanks for everything, Adam. I'm sorry I couldn't represent your cereal." Why was this parting so hard? She wanted Adam to leave. He disrupted the serenity she valued so much, and yet she was so drawn to him. In a rare impulsive gesture, she took the two steps that separated them and kissed his cheek. The sensation made her lips tingle. His skin smelled of sun and orchard. "Good luck with your company." She retreated behind the screened door, waiting for him to leave.
Adam squelched his desire to take her in his arms and kiss her properly. "Please check the phone before I go and make sure it's repaired." Every instinct in his body told him to stay with Cassandra. Yet he was packed and ready to leave. He had no valid reason to stay, and she'd made it clear that she preferred him to go.
Cassandra motioned Adam inside as she stepped into the den. She put the receiver to her ear. "Still dead." She gave it a puzzled look. "That's odd. There haven't been any severe storms. Usually they get the service back on in a few hours."
"I'll check the line," Adam offered. He dropped his bag before she could protest. A loose wire wouldn't be a problem, but it might be an excuse to delay his departure. He walked to the back of the cabin, tracing the line from the pole to the house with his eyes. When he found the wall box, he stopped. The line was cut— clean and straight. Whoever had done it meant business. A chill of apprehension tickled his neck. This wasn't a premonition. The damaged line was a fact. He wasn't leaving, no matter what Cassandra said.
Determined to stay, Adam went back into the house. To his amusement, the cat was sitting on the sofa watching television with Cassandra stroking his back.
"The line is— "
"Listen." Cassandra held up a finger for silence. "It's Martin West. He's doing a show on the strangled women."
Adam's attention went to the screen. He recognized Sheriff Beaker, but he'd never seen the two women who were sitting on either side of the lawman.
"One is a psychologist specializing in violence against women, Dr. Libby Smith. The other is Janey Ables's mother," Cassandra explained.
On closer inspection, Adam could see that one woman had obviously been crying. She was talking about her daughter's dreams and ambitions, all gone now.
West moved skillfully between his interviewees, building a picture of two young women who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then he shifted the focus to the lawman.
There was no reason behind the killings, as far as Beaker could determine. Under West's probing questions, the conclusion was chilling: a killer who killed for the pleasure of inflicting pain and death, a person acting out some fantasy over and over again.
"He's a smart man," Beaker said. "FBI profiles of this type of killer show that they're usually of very high intelligence. They don't think they'll ever get caught. Sometimes, it becomes a game with him, tricking the authorities or anyone else who tries to track him down."
"Him?" West questioned.
"Him," Beaker said. "It's a man."
"You're very positive on that point. In fact, that's the only thing you've been positive about, Sheriff." West grinned at the camera. "You mentioned before the show started that there is some…disfigurement to the bodies."
Anger touched Beaker's face. "You agreed not to mention— "
West abruptly jumped in. "What do you make of the fact that the killer removes hair from the victims?"
"We have specialists studying that fact." Beaker was upset.
"It isn't a scalping, exactly," West continued. "The hair is cut close to the scalp, in the front, correct?"
"Yes." Beaker's voice was rigid.
"Based on your other deductions, perhaps we can assume that the killer is a bald man who is so self-conscious he thinks women don't like him so he decides to strike back."
Cassandra's fists clenched in her lap. "He's making a joke of all of this. Women are dying, and he's using it as a stage to mug."
Adam eased down onto the sofa beside her, and the cat inched closer so that he purred against her leg. Martin West didn't interest Adam; he'd seen a hundred fame-hungry television personalities who'd perform any indignity in the hopes of getting noticed. It was Cassandra who worried him. She was at the breaking point.
"I could sense part of this," she said softly. "He doesn't mean to kill. At least not at first. He thinks he isn't going to do it this time. But then he does. He has to win, he has to be dominant over the woman. And the sheriff is correct. Now it's becoming a game of who's smarter. You know Beaker could become a target himself."
"Yeah, well, Beaker's going to start a panic for sure," Adam said. "I'm no director of tourism, but this is the beginning of the summer season here in Gatlinburg. I suspect the town is swarming with young women earning money for college. If they think a killer's on the loose preying on young women, it's going to turn this town into total chaos."
"Beaker must be very concerned to risk going on television. He must not have a single lead."
Cassandra watched as the camera closed in on the sheriff's face. Beaker was speaking calmly of the need for all young women in the area to practice sensible precautions. He was reminding the citizenry to lock all doors and windows, to avoid dark and dangerous locations and above all, not to talk with strangers.
"Because of the high influx of tourists into Gatlinburg at this time of year, we're looking for a stranger in town, a transient," Beaker said. "Gatlinburg is a small community for most of the year. We know our neighbors. This is a problem that stems from outsiders," he said grimly.
Adam shifted uneasily on the sofa. "Beaker's doing the best he can, but that Martin guy has really painted a frightening picture. There's nothing worse than a killer who has no motive, who kills for the pleasure of the kill. That's what West has projected. Some kind of monster."
Cassandra nodded. "Yes, a brilliant monster. Martin West has become very popular with this kind of tactic. I seldom watch his show. He seems to have a penchant for attracting controversial guests with emotional topics."
"I've seem similar shows. Women who are married to men who have had sex change operations to become women." Adam shook his head. "The public desire to confess, to anything, is amazing."
"Martin West is good at it. He gets the audience stirred to the point of panic. There have been fights on his show, members of the audience hitting each other. It's apparently a great rating gimmick. I hear he's even getting some nibbles of interest from the networks."
Adam clicked off the set. "West may benefit from this kind of story, but no one else does."
"You're right about that." Something about Beaker was nagging at Cassandra. "What about the phone?"
"The line is down." Adam twisted the truth, for the moment. Cassandra had enough to worry about. Since he was staying, she didn't have to know the line had been cut. "Until you have phone service, you have a guest."
Cassandra calmly m
et his gaze. She could see the hint of belligerence in his eyes, the set to his jaw. It would be useless to argue. "Okay. Until the phone is repaired." Adam could stay, but she refused to probe her reasons for allowing it.
He couldn't believe her easy acquiescence. "Are you okay?"
"My car has been towed to town. My phone line is down. It would be really stupid of me to send you away, wouldn't it? I like my privacy, but until I can get in touch with some of my friends, it's nice to have another adult around."
"Meow," Familiar agreed before either could speak.
Adam checked his watch. "I need to run back into town before it gets dark. Can I bring anything?"
"No." Cassandra picked up Familiar and rose from the sofa. "We need to do some work out in the garden. I have some buds that must be protected. There's a cool front coming in."
"I have to make some calls to my office." He also had to report her cut line. "I'll be back."
Cassandra nodded. It was strange. Her feelings were mixed as she watched him leave. There was a sense of relief, and just a small tingle of…regret. The thought that he would return made her smile. She'd spent so much of her adult life alone, it was a new experience to anticipate another's presence. It was something she wanted to think about as she transferred her plants to a warmer environment. Gloves in hand, she went to the back door with Familiar at her heels.
Three hours later, her knees and back tired, she started for the house. She wanted a bit of her mint for iced tea. She'd planted it near the spigot on the side of the house.
The leaves were tender as she pinched off a few. Rising, she glanced at the hookup for the telephone. She knew immediately that the line had been cut. Her fingers tightened on the delicate leaves, crushing until the minty odor seeped from her hand. The line had been cut. By whom?
More importantly, why had Adam lied?
The obvious answer was so frightening that she refused to acknowledge it for a moment. Turning stiffly, she walked toward the house. She didn't allow her mind to think until she'd closed the door and taken a seat at the kitchen table.
If Adam had cut the line, then he was deliberately trying to isolate her on the mountain. Why?
Because he was…Beaker's words of warning came back to her like a second, cruel blow…a stranger in town. When Carla Winchester was killed, Adam had claimed to be in the Knoxville Marriott. He'd claimed to be there. Even if he had been, it was close enough that he could have driven to Gatlinburg the night of her murder. And Janey Ables? He could easily have been in the area for a week or more.
Cold sweat spiked the small of her back. She felt fear tightening around her rib cage, squeezing off her lungs. Forcing a deep breath, she held it until she felt the stricture relax. Now was no time to lose her nerve.
But why was he coming after her? That didn't make any sense at all. She pushed her panic down a notch. No, it didn't make a bit of sense that Adam would seek her out and that she would suddenly be having precognitive dreams of the murders.
Unless the dreams had recurred because he was somehow linked with her!
For a second she thought her heart would stop. Her scalp began to burn, as if thousands of ants had suddenly started biting her. She dropped her head between her knees and drew in long breaths.
This was the thing that had most disturbed her about the dreams. Why her? Why now? She had nothing that she knew about in common with either of the victims or the murderer. So why was she having the dreams? Before, with her father, it had been a strong link, a bond of love. And the dream had occurred simultaneously with the event.
Could it be Adam? He stirred emotions in her, there was no point denying it. He made her think of things she'd long ago put aside, intimate things. Had he upset some delicate balance that opened her to the "talent" she had so long buried?
The dreams had come before his arrival. Perhaps his presence in the area was enough. If he was the killer…
The sound of his car in the drive held her frozen. She knew then the feel of a rabbit in the road blinded by the headlights of a car. She had to move, to act normally. She was alone with him now, for the night at least. Unless she could get his car keys. But if he suspected anything, he might kill her.
Footsteps echoed along the front porch. Wiping her hands on her jeans, Cassandra put a smile on her face.
Adam came through the front door with his arms loaded with grocery bags.
"Since I'm an uninvited guest, I thought I might at least bring some food. I also got some wine." He put the bags on the table. "What's wrong?"
"Uh, a little scare in the garden. Snake." Cassandra laughed, but it was a ragged sound. She forced her gaze away from his. She wanted to stare at him, to see if she could ascertain the truth by looking at him. "It's a little early in the season, and I wasn't expecting a reptilian visitor."
"Poisonous?"
"No, just a rat snake. He went his way and I went mine."
Adam unloaded the sacks. With a start, Cassandra moved to put the food away.
"The company is running smooth as silk. They said for me to stay away as long as it took."
"That's wonderful."
"I also stopped by the phone company and asked them to come up and make the repairs."
Her fingers clutched the bread in her hand. "Oh? What did they say?"
"First thing tomorrow." Adam took the bread from her hand. For a long moment he stared at her. "You found where the line was cut, didn't you?"
Cassandra had never felt so alone in her life. Dusk had settled around her cabin, the home that had always felt like a fortress against disappointment and loneliness. She had never been more in danger. With his dark eyes examining every nuance, she knew it was pointless to lie. He knew the truth. "Yes," she whispered.
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to frighten you."
She swallowed. "I see."
"You think I did it, don't you?"
He didn't move, but Cassandra took a step back. "How long have you been around here?"
"Cassandra, I didn't do it. I found the line cut and I did report it. That's why I went into town. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to frighten you. I knew I would be here, and you've had enough on your mind."
"Who did it?"
Adam folded the paper sack and placed it carefully on the table. "When was the last time you used the phone?"
"I don't know," Cassandra answered. "Days ago."
"You said teenagers come up here to steal things. Could it have been one of them?"
"Yes, but that isn't likely. They take plants and knickknacks from the yard or porch. Cutting the phone wouldn't help them. By the time the sheriff got here, even if I called him, they could walk off with most of the house."
Adam nodded as he accepted the truth. "Well, whoever did it meant to cut your connection with the rest of the world. For whatever reason."
"Did you do it, Adam?" She held her gaze steady on him. She couldn't read the truth in a person. Not always. But she could try.
"I did not."
She didn't completely believe him. Not at all. But she did believe that if he intended to hurt her, it wasn't at this particular time. If he was insane, then his madness was momentarily at bay. That thought sent a chill down the length of her body. She forced herself to focus on the positive aspect— at least she had time. There was a chance she might escape.
"I'm going to stay in my car," Adam said. He could read the fear in her eyes. It was evident in the way she stood, her arms so motionless she was terrified to make even the slightest move.
"No!"
The vehemence of her denial startled him. "Why not?"
"Stay in here. I'd rather be able to see you."
"Okay," he agreed. "But you have to stop acting as if I'm going to do something dastardly if you even breathe. I know it's hard for you, and I don't blame you, Cassandra, but I'm not going to hurt you."
"Give me your wallet."
He drew the billfold from his hip pocket and put it on the table. "I
am Adam Raleigh. In the morning, when the phone is repaired, you can call my company. Until then, I guess you're going to have to take my word. Now will you let me prepare some dinner, or do you think I'm going to poison you?"
Cassandra picked up his wallet and stepped out of his way. In a moment she had out his driver's license, insurance card, credit cards and several photographs of a teenage girl.
"My niece," he said without looking up. "My sister's child, Bethany. She's a pretty girl, isn't she?"
He'd picked up catfish fillets in the local market and was busy preparing them. He cut a sliver of the white meat and put it in the cat's dish on the floor. When Familiar walked over to sample the morsel, he stroked the cat's back. "I'm who I say I am, Cassandra. Be wary of me, if you must. But don't do anything to get yourself hurt."
The rumble of thunder seemed to underline his words.
"The cold front," she said softly. Oh, great. She needed a storm now! With her nerves pulled as tight as piano wire, she'd never survive the booming and crashing of a mountaintop storm.
"We'll eat, batten down the hatches and wait for morning," Adam said. "You're safe…I can promise you that, but I can't make you believe it."
She put his billfold back on the table. "If you're who you say you are. If you did send all of those contracts. If you're telling the truth, maybe I am."
"Trust me," Adam answered.
"Said the wolf to Little Red Riding Hood."
* * *
THE STORM HIT the cabin in the early hours of the morning. Cassandra sat huddled at one end of the sofa watching the lightning fork against the graying windows. Dawn was coming, and she was glad. She'd slept fitfully, on and off, amazed that her body would betray her so when she wanted to stay awake.
Sleep held its own torment. The dreams were always lurking, always possible. She hadn't slept soundly in at least a week, and the deprivation was beginning to take its toll on her.
In contrast, Adam had taken his former space in the loft bedroom and was snoozing soundly. Cassandra had checked on him to make sure. He'd effectively hamstrung her plan to escape by pointing out that if he weren't the one who cut her phone line, then the real culprit could be hiding out somewhere in the dense woods around her house. Rushing about in the dark, she might accidentally encounter the one person she didn't want to meet. He'd pressed that point home to her with emphasis. It was better to stay with the devil she could see than to brave the devil she didn't know at all. At least for the night.
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