Skye Cree Boxed Set Books 1 - 3

by Vickie McKeehan

  He knew she kept a vibrator in her nightstand, the one on the left hand side of the bed. He knew which store she’d purchased her last pair of underwear from.

  It excited him that he could come and go as he liked. He touched the ring he carried inside the pocket of his hoodie, the ring he’d taken from her jewelry box, some dime-store trinket he’d known when he took it that she’d never miss. The ring kept him focused, had for a week. Not that he needed incentive or purpose to think of what he wanted to do to Carrie. But the ring was a reminder that he could come and go in her things, get inside the place where she should’ve been the safest whenever he needed or wanted.

  Standing under the light from a street lamp, he watched as Carrie’s bedroom light went out right on schedule. Ten-thirty. He shook his head. One thing about Carrie, she was dependable. He walked to the end of the block, sliding into the shadows of the alley behind her co-op. When he reached the six-foot fence, he took the time to stretch on a pair of gloves. He had help vaulting over the barrier by using crates he’d had the forethought to stack along the alleyway beforehand.

  In the backyard, he took out his penlight. He went over to the little outdoor shed Carrie used as a greenhouse, found the metal pipe he’d spotted there a week earlier. He hefted the weight onto his shoulder and stepped to the sliding glass door. He didn’t need the tool to break the glass. Only amateurs made too much noise. And he was no novice at B&E or killing. No, he had another use in mind for the heavy rod. From the inside of his pocket, he took out his mask, pulled it down over his head. He pulled out his picklock and went to work on the door he’d already breached once before.

  Inside the living room, he scanned the area using the beam of light. Even though he had familiarized himself with the location of the sofa, the coffee table, the bookcase—which wall held the flat-screen television, which side of the room had the fireplace—he still took his time until his eyes adjusted. But knowing the layout made it easier for him to make his way to the staircase in short order. He managed to avoid the steps that creaked along the way up and kept to the path that allowed him the art of surprise.

  When he stepped into Carrie Bennington’s bedroom and stood over her sleeping form, he paused long enough to appreciate her golden hair, her soft skin, her long neck. By the time he placed his hand over her mouth it was too late. He thrilled at the terror he saw reflected in her green eyes. Not only that, but it excited him to know his face would be the last one she’d ever see.

  Chapter 1 Book 2

  Present day

  Seattle, Washington

  In the whole of her life Skye Cree would never get used to how brutal one human being could be to another. If given the opportunity and the motivation, man or woman could be one cruel, sick beast.

  She’d taken that as fact for a dozen years or more. It’s what drove her to hunt down the monsters, those who preyed on others, who set their sights on the most vulnerable and attacked, at times without reason or logic.

  Skye took in the crime scene, the bedroom belonging to the young brunette lying dead on the hardwood floor not two feet away. One thing that caught her attention and stuck fast was that even though the killer had brutalized the victim, evident by the cuts all over her body, even though he’d used a knife, he hadn’t been overly messy.

  He’d managed somehow to contain the blood splatter so it was kept to a minimal area around the body. She also thought he’d spent some time here with the victim.

  Skye considered both significant. She took a second glance around the room.

  Since the victim had shared the home with her longtime boyfriend, there was plenty of evidence to indicate that. Both nightstands held the usual clutter. One spoke female with its collection of body lotions, a box of Kleenex, a bottle of water, and a few odd pieces of jewelry.

  The other table held all the guy stuff, the TV remote, a pump bottle of lubricant, a stack of sports magazines, a cell phone charger, and the clock radio.

  The body hadn’t, in fact, been discovered until said boyfriend had flown home a day early from his business trip to Dayton, Ohio. He’d been gone three short days. During that time a killer had managed to gain entrance into the house and taken the life of Sylvia Waterston. According to the BF, the only way he’d been able to conclusively ID the love of his life was the one-carat diamond engagement ring he’d given her not three weeks earlier. The rock was still wedged on the third finger of her left hand. According to her Washington State driver’s license, Sylvia had yet to see her thirtieth birthday.

  From the looks of the damage to Sylvia’s pretty face, her loved ones would more than likely have to opt for a closed casket.

  Skye shook her head at that gruesome thought. In her mind, if a person could get used to dealing with this kind of vicious cruelty on a regular basis, she didn’t believe he was right in the head.

  She’d seen death before, had come close to it herself a time or two. If she counted the dreams that came to her in the night, visions that wouldn’t let her be, she’d seen and experienced quite a bit in her twenty-six years. But right this minute Skye had to wonder exactly what the lovely Sylvia had done to piss someone off enough that he’d left her naked, battered beyond recognition, especially the face, and posed her on the floor for the most possible humiliation factor.

  He’d taken the time to do all that while he all but set up shop in her bedroom—which meant he’d spent an inordinate amount of time admiring his handiwork—and making sure Sylvia made a statement, or rather her body did.

  Skye stepped closer so she could get a better look at the red marks, the distinctive fingerprints he’d left around Sylvia’s throat where he had choked the life out of the young woman with his bare hands. Had he strangled her before he’d taken some type of blunt object and smashed her pretty face in? Skye wondered. And when exactly had he taken out his knife and started slicing?

  That determination she’d have to leave to the medical examiner. At this point, she couldn’t even tell which method had ended Sylvia’s life. She chewed her bottom lip and tried to figure that out for herself. She’d already taken a tour of the adjoining bathroom and hadn’t spotted a visible trace of blood anywhere there. But then they were just getting started. The crime scene people hadn’t yet worked their magic. No doubt they’d earn their stripes on this one.

  Looking at the stone-cold, grayish corpse though, Skye began to regret ever answering the phone two hours earlier.

  She scanned the room a second time, hoping to pick up…something. She’d already determined the killer had obviously enjoyed being with Sylvia. Skye noted he’d rifled through the woman’s things because he hadn’t completely pushed each dresser drawer into its slot. He’d left all nine drawers open about an inch. Each drawer was left exactly that same distance. Could the killer have obsessive-compulsive tendencies? With a gloved finger, Skye wedged open what looked like Sylvia’s lingerie drawer. The sparse amount of underwear and teddies left inside said to Skye the killer had pilfered a few souvenirs to add to his war chest.

  The victim’s jewelry boxes had been gone through. Earrings had been paired up with the wrong mate. Which meant only one thing—he’d wanted them to know—it was the only thing that made sense. His intent to mix up the bracelets and necklaces had clearly been deliberate. That explained the odd pieces left on Sylvia’s nightstand. He’d taken what he wanted as a memento, not to steal to feed any type of habit, but to make sure he remembered Sylvia.

  Because he hadn’t taken anything of value, like the diamond solitaire on Sylvia’s left hand, Skye took a quick inventory. A Movado watch, not exactly worth a fortune, but something a petty thief would’ve keyed in on and grabbed, remained in plain view on one end of the dresser. But then a petty thief would have left a cluttered, disorganized mess behind. This guy had not. It was as if he’d wanted, no needed, to savor his time to meticulously go through Sylvia’s personal items one by one. He hadn’t been in a hurry.

  In Skye’s mind he hadn’t been afraid of getti
ng caught.

  Skye crossed over to the walk-in closet. Here, designer dresses and tops had purposely been slid off the hangers to litter the floor. She couldn’t help but wonder if Sylvia Waterston had known her killer. Otherwise why would a rapist even think to rummage through his victim’s outfits like this, tossing them here and there? Had she invited him into her home with the boyfriend conveniently out of town and things had turned ugly between them? It was something Skye would put in her mental data bank to check later.

  She turned to her friend of more than a dozen years, Seattle police detective Harry Drummond. For the first time since she’d arrived at the woman’s townhome, Skye took the time to give Harry a sidelong glance to study his face, his attitude, his demeanor. The man she’d known for half her life looked tired. He’d lost weight. Puffy bags under his eyes looked as though he carried a couple of extra pounds in his face and showed a serious lack of sleep. He looked as though he’d aged ten years since she’d last seen him. How had Harry gotten that old in such a short time? Skye wondered.

  Finally she wanted to know, “Why am I here, Harry? What is it you want from me? Even though the Farmer’s Market’s nice and all, Queen Anne isn’t my usual haunt. And you know that.” Skye locked eyes with Harry. Her violet eyes bored holes in his. She watched him lift a brow.

  Before Harry answered he couldn’t help it, he took in Skye’s high cheekbones, the raven-black, shoulder-length hair she hadn’t bothered pulling back today. It fell around her shoulders.

  He remembered the first time he’d seen Skye Cree as a twelve-year-old, a terrified little girl who had spent three days in the clutches of a sexual predator.

  Now he stared at the woman with the Native American cinnamon skin, the wide mouth that never seemed to have a problem giving him hell about something. “This is number five, Skye. Within a twenty-mile radius of where we’re standing. Five. Attractive. Single women. Random order. So far we’ve been unable to establish a connection other than the obvious. The first one had been bludgeoned to death with some sort of metal object and left a bloody mess in her bed. Two were strangled but they also had their throats slit. The last two, and now Sylvia, had additional knife wounds to the body. All of them had been raped. The DNA he left connects one guy to the first four, of that I’m certain. I’m pretty sure when we get Sylvia’s lab work back this will be his fifth.”

  Skye angled her head, chewed the inside of her jaw. “So why haven’t I heard anything about these women on the nightly news? Nada on the Internet.”

  “Because we’ve managed to cap this for the press. But after this one—” Harry’s voice trailed off before he nodded his head toward the body on the floor. “I don’t think it’s possible.”

  “So let me get this straight, you’ve got a serial killer and you haven’t yet warned the public? That isn’t right.” Skye rocked back on her heels and studied the windows, one on each side of the bed. She crossed over to the closed drapes, pulled the fabric back with her latex-gloved hand.

  “He watched her from outside—beforehand—probably multiple times before making his move. He got inside without a problem. Your guy is more than decent at B&E.”

  Harry’s eyebrows popped up. “There’s a pry mark on the back door. It’s becoming one of his trademarks. It seems this guy started out as a cat burglar and worked his way up to cold-blooded maniac. According to the neighborhood watch program there have been a number of petty thefts within a six-block area during which time he took nothing of real value, stuff like costume jewelry, pairs of panties, a few extra house keys have gone missing, insignificant items like that. Although four streets over, he did steal a couple of nickel-plated Berettas he found hidden in a portable safe, which he managed to get into by picking the lock. So far, that’s about the extent of his bounty, though.”

  Skye gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking, considering. “Then Sylvia didn’t let him in. He watched. He waited. He broke in with some skill and he surprised her while she slept.”

  Harry bobbed his head. “Let’s step out into the hallway for a minute.”

  “Gladly. This is a little too much even for me.”

  At Harry’s direction, the crime scene investigators moved in to bag and tag, collect and preserve. But once Harry got to the living room he turned to Skye and lowered his voice. “Did you pick up on anything in there?”

  Skye rolled her eyes before giving him a sneer meant to mock his question. “Since when are you a believer in that sort of thing?”

  Harry ignored the attitude. “How about we get out of here? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m trying to make peace here, Skye. Unless you’d like me to reconsider and we remain in neutral corners for another few months. Is that what you want?”

  Skye blew out a breath. “No. I don’t want that. But I have to say, I was surprised to hear from you. It’s been almost three damn months.”

  As they drifted out the open front doorway of the victim’s townhome and headed into the little courtyard outside, Harry acknowledged in the only way he could. “I know…but I needed time.” He scratched the stubble on his cheek where he hadn’t bothered to shave. “I took Callie out to Orcas like you suggested. You were right. It’s beautiful out there. We had a great five days of a long overdue second honeymoon.”

  For the first time Skye showed her dimples when she smiled. “Told ya. Glad you two had fun. It’s about time.”

  Harry made a thumbing gesture over his shoulder. “There’s a coffee shop two blocks that way. Feel like stretching those long legs?”

  “Sure. That’s how I wear out so many pairs of boots. Good thing I know a great thrift store.”

  Harry shot her a look. “You’ll never take a dime of Ander’s money, will you?”

  “It’s his money. He earned it.”

  Harry shook his head. “Washington is a community property state.”

  “Man, you are tired. Did that little part about a wedding escape you? Josh and I aren’t married.”

  This time, Harry’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Yet. By this time I’m sure Ander knows what a stubborn person he’s getting with you. I’d warn him about that but I’ve never seen you so…besotted.”

  “Besotted? Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  “Over the moon then where a man is concerned,” Harry corrected. “And you aren’t telling me Ander isn’t just waiting for you to come to your senses and take that walk down the aisle with him.”

  Skye gave Harry a steely-eyed glance while a bead of sweat popped out over her brow at the idea of that. “He hasn’t asked me yet, Harry. And even if he did, the answer would still be no way.”

  “Why? Does he have bad habits that didn’t show up in the background check I did on him?” Harry held up his hands to explain before Skye exploded in his direction. “A purely precautionary measure at the time. I’m sure if I hadn’t done it, Travis Nakota would have.”

  Skye knew that was probably true. Travis had been her father’s best friend. When her father, Daniel Cree had been alive, Travis and Daniel had been like brothers. And since the death of both her parents in a car accident, Travis had always been there for her. At least, until the day she’d gotten shipped off to live with a nutty aunt and uncle in Yakima. But Harry’s disclosure about the background check on Josh still didn’t make it right. “That was so unnecessary, Harry. Josh had the perfect life before he met me.”

  “Did Josh tell you that?”

  “Of course, he didn’t. He didn’t have to. I’m not blind.”

  “You’re selling yourself short,” Harry stated flatly. Thinking it best to end this topic of discussion and move on, he added, “Hard to believe Callie and I hadn’t gone over to Orcas before when it’s a mere ferry ride away. Has Josh taken you back out there recently?”

  Skye bristled at the question. But then, just as easily as she searched Harry’s face, she decided it fell under the heading of small talk between old friends and was not meant to
have any connotations other than banter between longtime pals. “We spent Fourth of July weekend there.”

  “I’m glad you found someone, Skye. I am. If I didn’t tell you that before I’m telling you now. Ander seemed…different though at the cabin that day, different than the first time I met him. I can’t put my finger on it. As long as the guy makes you happy though, it’s about time you had that. You deserve it.”

  “He does make me happy, happier than I’ve ever been before. We still haven’t known each other all that long, Harry. I might’ve fallen hard and fast but it’s the real thing, at least as much as I know about things like that.”

  “And Travis Nakota accepts this relationship?”

  Skye frowned. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “I don’t know. I always thought Travis was a little on the overprotective side where you were concerned.”

  The comment struck a nerve with her. “That’s weird. Josh said the same thing.”

  As soon as they reached the coffee shop, Harry swung the door wide so Skye could go in first. He followed her to the counter where they placed an order for two no-frills coffees. They kept the chat light until the barista handed them steaming cups which they took to the condiment bar for cream and sugar. Once they’d settled in at one of the tables, Harry got back to business. “So did you pick up anything back there?”

  “You mean other than the fact your guy is one very sick puppy? He enjoys what he does, Harry. I can tell you that. A lot. But Josh could probably tell you more.”

  Harry caught what she’d said. His brow creased in genuine puzzlement. “That’s the different thing I saw that day at the cabin last time we talked. And that means exactly what?”

  Harry thought back to when Josh and Skye had disappeared for a week right after Ronny Wayne Whitfield had his throat ripped out by some type of animal, supposedly a wolf.

  Harry stared long and hard at Skye, took in that stubborn set to her chin. When she said nothing, he uttered a soft, “Ah.”