Nocturne In Ashes: A Riley Forte Suspense Thriller, Book One

by Chase, Joslyn

  His lips curved in a smirk of pleasure, his hands tightening on her throat, pressing against her collarbone, cutting off her breath. His eyes, so dark, so dilated, locked onto hers and she couldn’t look away. He seemed to be pulling the life from her, sucking it into himself through those ravenous eyes. She struggled, but he was fueled by passion and a wiry strength and she made little headway. Her limbs felt heavy, filled with sand like an hourglass that has reached the end. Darkness pushed in at the edges of her vision and she let her eyes fall shut.

  He shook her viciously. “Look at me!”

  Her eyes fluttered open and she cut her gaze to where she’d seen the cub. He followed her line of sight and his hands went slack, surprise loosening his grip. She shoved an elbow into his belly and pushed away from him, scrambling three steps toward freedom before he clasped her upper arm with a hand like an iron band, keeping her a prisoner.

  An angry roar shook the ashen sky. Mama was on the scene, standing upright and bellowing her displeasure. A spike of terror speared down through Riley’s scalp, sending out waves of agonizing fear. Bits and pieces of her life flashed through her feverish brain—not her whole life, as convention holds, but snippets. Her father teaching her Minuet in G as her feet swung below the piano bench, his large hand, tanned and agile, on the keyboard beside her small one. Her mother, hair tied back in a crimson scarf, running to launch a kite into the sky, laughing with delight, the sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks standing out against her flushed skin. Her son, Tanner, wrapped in a periwinkle blue blanket and handed to her moments after delivery, still warm from her womb, tiny, wrinkled, and red, the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. Jim, dropping her off at the airport for another tour, his face twisted with an expression she’d read as equal parts regret and irritation as they’d kissed goodbye and she watched him drive away, not meeting her gaze in the rear-view mirror.

  These images passed in a split second, followed by the memory of a camp song about a bear in tennis shoes. Should she try to climb a tree? Run? She’d once read a book where someone escaped a bear by running downhill because bears can’t run well on a downgrade. Something about their hind legs. But no, now she remembered learning that was a fallacy. What to do?

  The man, John, stood transfixed, staring at the she-bear towering over her young. He’d frozen, his hand around her arm like an ice-bound vise, spreading despair through her veins. As the energy drained from her, a new image flashed on the screen of her memory. Teren, against a backdrop of moss-draped branches, bracing his paddle against the gentle current, teaching her about crickets.

  Sometimes, when danger threatens, it’s best to be still. Like the crickets.

  Teren had done so much harm in her life. It would take years to realize the extent of the damage. But he had given her this nugget, and it came when she needed it.

  Be still.

  John let out a harsh, rasping wheeze. Letting go of her arm, he shoved her toward the bear and shot away, running downhill, disappearing into the forest, the sound of his footfalls like the thump of a tom-tom. Riley froze, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact, watching from under the fringe of her hair. Mama bear fell to all fours, sniffing at her child, pacing in a fit of nervous pique. Alarm gripped Riley and she wanted to wipe her mind clear of it, certain the bear would smell her fear. She stood frozen, not even breathing, willing her heartbeat to quiet, the rush of blood through vein and artery to slow into silence.

  The she-bear growled and the hair on Riley’s arms rose and tingled, sending a tremor through her body. The bear roared and reared up again, complaining to the sky. Riley felt the earth tremble as the bear’s heavy front paws dropped onto the forest floor and the angry mama snorted and shook her woolly head before taking off in a loping run, following John’s scent.

  Riley melted into a heap of relief. A violent shaking afflicted her legs so that she could barely move, but she had to put some distance between herself and the cub. Once again, she set her face up the ridge, drew a deep breath, and steeled herself to persevere.

  She pushed forward, winding among the birch and pine. From downhill, hovering on the misty air, came a tattered human cry, drawn-out and eerie against the hush of the darkened forest. Riley stopped moving and strained her ears, listening for more sounds of a distant clash, but there was nothing.

  She let out a shuddering sigh. A deep weariness suffused her, touched with sorrow and loneliness. She was spent. She wanted to sink onto the needle-covered ground and sleep, but settled for leaning against a tree to catch her breath.

  Teren taught her about the crickets, and that had saved her. There was wisdom in the silence of crickets, a safeguard from danger. But another wisdom, just as profound, was woven into the crickets’ song. They sang to the end, hopeful of finding a mate, of making a connection, of leaving a legacy. They reached out with their music and, in the end, their need to connect surpassed their urge to remain silent.

  The rough bark of the pine left its impression in the palm of her hand. Riley shifted her position, leaning her back against the sturdy tree. She stood for a long time, breathing in and breathing out, savoring the stillness and peace. She stood, waiting in the gathering dark, until the crickets began to sing.

  CHAPTER 100

  NATE SAW THE PALE HANDKERCHIEF materialize in the middle distance before him. No longer pristine white, it fluttered where he’d tied it onto the stub of a branch early that morning, marking the start of his search grid. This was the third time he’d encountered it as he’d circled back in his fruitless search.

  He fought against the deepening gloom. It claimed the forest, and it claimed his soul. He’d heard the stuttering sound of a helicopter and knew help was coming, but that had been more than an hour ago and still he’d seen no one. Should he have gone back to the clubhouse to reconnoiter with the new arrivals?

  No, he needed to find Riley and with every passing moment he felt it more urgently. What could she have been thinking to head out on her own like that? This mountain was rife with hazards. A dozen different tragedies might have befallen her out here. If she’d made it over the ridge, she was safe, and might even have been the one to summon the helicopter crew. But his gut told him she was still out here, exposed and in danger.

  He needed to find Teren, too, and he hoped to heaven they weren’t together. Nate wished he had his partner to help cover the area. He’d made a mistake allowing them to split up, but he’d wanted to give the rookie detective some space and see what he’d do with it.

  He’d chosen Rick to help him with this case because he saw grit and determination there, and because he’d gotten a hefty nudge from the boss. Nate wasn’t the only one who had eyes on Rick. Someone was fast-tracking him.

  He passed under the handkerchief, suppressing a groan as he started another round of searching. He struck off in a different direction, hoping the variation would bring a better result. The light had dwindled to a matte gray, giving everything a flat look and a feeling of unreality, as if it were nothing but a set on a darkened stage. Night noises provided a gentle soundtrack, evening breeze and cricket song.

  Nate stopped, pulling the mask from his face. He cupped his hands around his mouth and barked out a shout.

  “Riley!”

  It was hopeless. He drew a deep breath.

  “Riiileeeeey!”

  “I’m here, Nate!”

  He almost yelped in surprise. Her voice sounded near. He stumbled toward it, and she appeared out of the misty pines, running to him. He wrapped himself around her and held on, absorbing her trembling, overwhelmed by the relief that swept through him.

  “Is that you, Nate?”

  Another voice cut through the woods, reinforcing Nate’s sensation of unreality. Was that Rick?

  His partner stepped into view and Riley grinned up at him.

  “I’ve brought company.” she said.

  Nate was stunned. Two minutes ago, he’d been in despair over the shambles he’d made and now…

&
nbsp; “Now, we just need to catch up with our suspect,” he said. “The man’s name is—”

  “Teren Kirkwood? Yeah, that’s what I risked life, limb, and liberty getting out here to tell you.”

  So the kid was good.

  “He’s killed a lot of people, Rick. We can’t let him get away.”

  “He’s not going anywhere. I can take you to him now, if there’s anything left to see. This place is crawling with predators out for a meal.”

  Nate gave a fervent nod.

  “Tell me about it.”

  CHAPTER 101

  RICK CHOSE THE RESTAURANT, BUT hadn’t thought he’d need a reservation. Chico’s had come up in the world since he’d last met there with Cal, and the place was packed, tray-laden servers threading their way through a maze of noisy tables, trailing the seductive scent of hot grease and cilantro. The buzz of conversation competed with piped-in Mariachi and cheers from the football fans gathered in the bar. Rick watched the hostess seat a table of twelve, passing menus and fielding questions, the smile never slipping from the broad planes of her pleasant face. As she returned to her station, he stepped forward to meet her.

  “What are the chances you’ve got a quiet table hidden somewhere?”

  “You’ve heard about the snowball in hell? How many in your party?”

  “There will be three of us.”

  She consulted a seating chart. “I can put you in D,” she gestured to a distant alcove, “but there’s a birthday party going on in there and it won’t be quiet. Or, you can sit in the bar.”

  Rick shook his head. “Don’t you have a private room?”

  She regarded him, head cocked. Rick gave her a hopeful smile.

  “No one is booked in the banquet room tonight.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “It seats thirty-six and there’s a two-hundred dollar minimum.”

  Rick winced. It had to be Chico’s, and it had to be tonight. He rejected the thought of doing it anywhere else, feeling the pull of tradition.

  “Do you take MasterCard?”

  She led him up a stairway to a room with a large central table and a few satellite booths with seating for four. TV monitors were mounted in two of the corners and Rick chose a smaller table under one of the monitors.

  “Do you have a remote for that?” he asked, indicating the TV.

  She found it for him, took his drink order, and left. Rick thumbed a button and turned on the TV, scanning for a news station, keeping the volume low. Nate and Riley wouldn’t arrive for another fifteen minutes and he liked to stay on top of the fallout from the volcano. Two weeks had passed since the eruption, and chaos still reigned, though Seattle and the surrounding areas were rallying with determined cheer.

  Rick had spent much of that time at an isolated island training center. With Cal. He’d been whisked there soon after his reunion with Nate, leaving his supervisor to wrap up the details of the case. They’d had little time to compare notes and share their separate experiences. That was the reason for tonight’s dinner date.

  When he’d found Teren’s body, Rick knew he’d have problems keeping predators away long enough to get a crime scene unit out there. The battery on his cell phone lasted just long enough for him to take several photos in the waning light, doing his best to document the scene, and fearing it wouldn’t be enough. As he scribbled notes on a pocket pad, he heard someone passing through the underbrush and tensed. Was it Teren’s killer? A knife in the back didn’t exactly square with self defense, and he didn’t know who’d killed the man, or why.

  He’d crept into the tree line, straining his eyes to see who was passing. He was surprised to discern the figure of a woman, and knew it must be Riley. He tried not to alarm her as he stepped out from the trees and introduced himself. She told him what happened with Teren and John, and while they were talking, they heard Nate’s shout.

  During the hours that followed, Rick learned a lot about Riley. He’d been so intrigued that he told Cal about her during their long debriefing, and Cal had followed up with several phone calls to Nate. After that, Cal’s superiors had taken the ball.

  The hostess brought his Samuel Adams, trailing Nate and Riley behind her. He rose and clasped hands with Nate, giving Riley a big grin.

  “Enjoy your vacation?” asked Nate. “Way to shuffle off and leave me with all the paperwork.”

  “Hey, I did my share of paperwork at the front end. Is it true you never found the guy?”

  Nate shook his head. “Mama bear must have swallowed him whole.”

  “And we still don’t even know who he is?”

  Riley scooted into the bench seat, making room for Nate. “Teren called him John,” she said. “I met with a sketch artist, so we have a likeness.”

  “But so far, no good leads on identity, and he’s still at large.” Nate said.

  Riley raised her hands in exasperation, turning to Rick for support. “Nate’s left me hanging in suspense about what’s going on. Some bullpucky about not discussing an open case.”

  A grimace passed over Nate’s face. “I’m sorry, Riley. I’ll come clean tonight, I promise.” He leaned forward, fixing a gaze on Rick that let him know he was in supervisor mode. “But before I do, I want to hear more about your process on this end, how you settled on Teren as the suspect.”

  Rick nodded. “After you took off to follow up on the jacket—”

  “Which you thought was a dead-end,” Nate reminded.

  “Don’t rub it in, man. That still smarts.” He swallowed a mouthful of beer. “The crime techs performed a miracle. They were able to raise a print off a rock, and that gave me a name. Then all hell broke loose and I couldn’t get out of town, so I used the time to find out all I could about Teren Kirkwood.

  “He taught for a while at UDub in Tacoma. I found a folder from the campus police reporting how a student had filed a complaint against Professor Kirkwood, claiming that he acted ‘weird’ and was inappropriately enthusiastic about a rash of animal sacrifices that had been found on and near the campus. Teren was investigated, but there was nothing to substantiate the complaint, and it was dismissed. The report suggested the kid had a beef with the professor because he was pulling a D in the course. The person, or persons, responsible for killing the animals was never apprehended. That perked up my antennae.”

  The waiter arrived to take their orders. As he left, Nate picked up the thread.

  “I’ve been able to piece together some background. Let me give you a picture of Teren’s psychological profile. He was born to a hippie couple who lived off the land in grand nomadic style, occasionally picking up citations for vagrancy or loitering. From what I can tell, they roamed mostly through Colorado and New Mexico, camping in a tent and worshiping nature. The mother, in particular, was an earth worshiper. Who knows what kind of whacked-out stuff she taught the poor kid. She died when he was eleven, taken by pneumonia during a cold snap.”

  Riley shuddered, and Rick noticed two lines furrowing her forehead.

  “She warped him,” she said, her voice low and forlorn. “I can’t believe I knew him for two years and never saw the madness in him.”

  “He hid it well.” Nate gave her shoulders a brief squeeze. “After the mother died, dad took a job as janitor and night watchman for a funeral home, and they lived on the premises. That’s a morbid place to bring up a child, and no doubt Teren witnessed a lot of things that a young boy just shouldn’t see.”

  “He was smart, though,” Rick said. “By the time he reached college, he’d learned to excel within the academic framework and gained the respect of his peers.”

  “What about his wife and child?” Riley asked. “He told me they died in a forest fire.”

  “That’s true,” said Rick. “According to the information I uncovered, Teren’s wife and his daughter were the only human casualties in a small wildfire that spread through a forest near Snow Lake. But here’s what I find interesting—” he paused to finish off his beer and gather his though
ts. “The news coverage on the fire was scanty. The media were busy elsewhere, covering a series of natural disasters. That was a particularly vicious hurricane season and there was a big earthquake in Peru.”

  Riley gasped, her eyes widening. “Are you suggesting…?” Her voice trailed off, her gaze becoming distant and sad.

  “There’s no way to prove it now,” Rick said. “But it’s interesting, all the same.”

  He looked at Riley, her head bent low over the table. When she lifted it, her eyes were hard and brilliant, like petrified fire.

  “He killed my family,” she said.

  Nate put his hand over her clenched fists on the tabletop. No one spoke.

  Rick felt the truth in what she said, and wondered how many more deaths should be laid to Teren’s account. Nate’s next words echoed his thoughts.

  “The man spread havoc and misery. Hal Jeffries suffered an overdose when he drank too many cups of spiked coffee intended for Sandy Dawson while he and Teren stood watch over Myrna. Teren was desperate to keep Myrna from waking up and blowing his beautiful cover. Hal will recover fine, but he was comatose for long enough to give his wife a real scare.”

  Riley smiled. “I was at the Newcombe’s last night and Hal and Sandy were back at it, sniping and cannon-balling each other with political fodder. He’s all back to normal.”

  “But there’s one thing we’ve been blaming Teren for of which he is innocent,” Nate continued.

  “What’s that?” asked Riley.

  “Marie Strauss came forward and admitted she was the one who attacked Jess, claimed she only wanted to frighten her. She was angry and jealous, thought her husband was having an affair with the woman.”

  “Wasn’t he?”

  Nate shrugged. “I talked to them a couple days ago. They’re trying to work it out.”

  “So that’s why there was a pentagram symbol on the floor,” said Riley. “Marie was trying to follow the Slasher’s MO, only she didn’t know the details. The media only released that there were occult elements involved, without specifying what they were.”