She didn’t make a sound, her gaze locked on his. “The note sounds as if he’ll be making a move more specifically for us next.”
“Yes.” He was counting on it. If Frank came for them, they’d be ready. They weren’t a couple of unsuspecting teenagers to be picked off like targets at the county fair. His gaze landed on Pressley’s cheek. Maybe they were. It wouldn’t happen again. He’d make sure it didn’t. This woman had come to mean too much for him to lose her now. “There.” He stood. “Time for bed. I’ve nothing pressing today, so sleep as long as you need to.”
“Sleep sounds wonderful.” She shuffled down the hall to her room.
After making sure the house was locked up tight, Jackson headed to his own room. Why hadn’t Frank come for them at home as he had other couples? The man came and left like a ghost. With Jackson and Pressley sleeping, he could enter easy enough—something Jackson intended to remedy first thing. He’d meant to install an alarm system; now was the time.
With the reminder that Frank could break in so easily, Jackson grabbed his pillow and a blanket and moved to the sofa. Anyone trying to reach Pressley would have to go through him first.
The sun squeezing through the front window blinds woke him far too early. Jackson glanced at his watch and groaned. Only four hours of sleep. Not enough. He swung his legs off the sofa and padded to the kitchen, still fully dressed from last night. He’d crashed before even removing his shoes. After measuring coffee grounds into the pot, Jackson stared out the kitchen window, watching the city wake up around him.
A light thud outside signaled the delivery of the morning paper. He opened the door, glanced around, then grabbed the paper and returned to the kitchen table. The morning’s headline reminded the residents about the mandatory curfew and the fine that resulted if it was violated. Hopefully, after hearing about last night’s murders, people would actually listen.
Jackson understood not wanting to live in fear and being stuck in the house, but in order to stay alive, chances were better at home. He read how guns and ammo were flying off store shelves as residents armed themselves against a violent predator. Some were packing up and leaving town until the murders stopped. Good. Those were the ones who would be the safest.
He set the paper down, feeling like a failure as a police officer. Serve and protect. He hadn’t done a lot of good in the protect department. At least Pressley was still okay.
Glancing up, he saw her standing in the doorway, her dark hair mussed around her face, and looking as gorgeous as he’d ever seen her despite the dark circles under her blue eyes.
“Morning.” She made a beeline for the coffeepot. “The aroma woke me.”
“I’m sorry.” He grinned. Unlike himself, she’d changed into a large tee-shirt. While he suspected she wore shorts underneath, he couldn’t tell since it fell to mid-thigh. “You’re cute in the morning.”
She shook her head. “I’m a mess.”
“A beautiful mess.”
She filled a cup of coffee and handed it to him, then poured another for herself and leaned against the counter. “What’s on the agenda today? I noticed you slept on the sofa.”
“An alarm system. I won’t sleep until I have one installed.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already.”
“Intended to, but it wasn’t a priority until now.”
Carrying her coffee with her, she headed back down the hall, returning a few minutes later wearing jeans and a more fitting tee-shirt, her hair pulled into a ponytail. He preferred her hair down, if he were honest.
“I’m going to hit the shower.”
“I’ll fix breakfast.” She refilled her coffee and opened the refrigerator.
When Jackson returned, a bacon and cheese omelet sat at his spot on the table. “My hero.” He sat and dug in. “I had mushrooms?”
“Canned, but they do in a pinch.” She smiled and sat across from him, tapping the newspaper. “Just like in the past with people buying guns and leaving.”
He nodded. “Except this time, we know the identity of the man striking fear in everyone’s hearts.”
She reached across the table and put her hand over his. “We’ll catch him. We were close last night. His luck can’t last forever.”
“Frank is smart enough to lead us on a chase for a good long while.”
“Let’s bring up using me as bait again.”
“No.” He pulled his hand from under hers. “Last night was too close. You aren’t a good enough shot to defend yourself if you face him alone.”
“All I need is more practice. We can go to the range again after you order your alarm system.” That stubborn look that said she wouldn’t change her mind settled across her face. “People are dying. It’s up to us to stop the killings.”
She was right, but there had to be another way. “We can set a trap, but it will be with undercover officers.”
“Yeah, that worked real well in 1946, didn’t it?” She arched a brow. “Roy wasn’t fooled in the least, and Frank is smarter than his relative ever was.”
Jackson’s shoulders slumped. They might have to do the very thing he hated doing, and that would put Pressley directly into the path of a killer.
Chapter Nineteen
Frank entered Applewood a little after ten the next evening. Using Google Maps, he’d found a hunting cabin that would serve as his temporary home. Since it wasn’t hunting season, he ought to be able to stay there undiscovered.
But first, he needed to light a fire in Pressley’s hometown.
A thrill shot through him as he entered new territory. This town wasn’t under a curfew, and while it had only around three thousand residents, he’d have plenty of opportunities.
There wouldn’t be as many young couples out on a weeknight, but it was summer. He drove slowly looking for a place people would gather, smiling as he passed a ball field. Two teams of girls played softballs, and there were a lot of young men cheering from the sidelines.
Frank parked and exited his car, pulling his cap low. No need for his mask yet. No one in this town knew him, so he could scout freely. He approached a young man cheering on the pitcher. “She’s good.”
The young man grinned. “That’s my girl. She’s the best.”
“Looks like they’re winning. Plan on celebrating afterward?”
He turned to Frank. “That’s a strange question.”
“Is it?” Frank shrugged. “I’m new to town. Not sure where someone would go to celebrate or even to get a good meal.”
“Maria’s is good. They serve all kinds of food.” He turned back to the game. “You can find it on Main Street, but they’re closed now. The game is in overtime, or we’d be out of here by now.”
Frank nodded and returned to his car. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Should he wait for this young man or find someone else? What if he simply dropped his girlfriend off at her house? Frank would have wasted valuable time. Was it a chance he wanted to take?
In order to lure Pressley back home, he needed to make the morning’s paper.
A young couple peeled away from the crowd and strolled hand in hand away from the field, cutting across a large green area. A road stretched across the other side.
Frank smiled and drove away. He’d make a brazen move that night, catching the couple as they stepped onto the far sidewalk. He parked and shot them the moment they stepped off the grass onto the cement, then sped away. Not his usual way of doing things, but Pressley would know he was the one who’d taken the shots.
~
Pressley woke to the sight of Jackson standing in the doorway of her room. A newspaper dangled from his hand. “What is it?” She shoved her hair out of her eyes.
“A shooting in your hometown.”
“Applewood?” She bolted upright.
“It isn’t the same MO. These two were shot leaving a ball game. They’re expected to survive.” He handed her the paper.
After scanning the article, she climbed out of bed. “
We have to go. This was Frank. He wants us to follow him.” She grabbed her suitcase from under the bed and started tossing in her clothes. “There’s an annual feed-the-homeless event in a few days. Frank is bound to show up there. We can volunteer to help and blend in that way. What?” She paused at the stoic look on Jackson’s face.
“I don’t like this at all.”
She sighed and stood in front of him, taking his hands in hers. “It’s all coming to an end. Can’t you feel it? It’s almost over.”
“You might die.”
“My life will be worth losing if it stops Frank from killing.” She reached up and cupped his face. “We have to do this, Jackson.”
“I know.” He stepped away and went back down the hall.
Her heart warmed to know he cared, but she couldn’t let his worry interfere with them stopping a crazed killer. Did she want to die? No, but putting herself out there was the only way.
Pressley finished packing and headed to the kitchen for coffee and a quick breakfast. She wanted to be on the road as soon as possible. In the living room, Jackson was telling someone he’d be gone for a while. The chief, most likely. Hopefully, the chief would alert the small department in Applewood. The peaceful town wasn’t equipped to handle a rash of murders.
A few minutes later, Jackson joined her in the kitchen. “I’m free to go. Let me pack a few things, and I’ll be ready to leave.”
“Looks like you’ll be staying with me now.” She smiled around the rim of her cup.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Only fair that it’s my turn to use up all the hot water in the shower.”
“I do not!”
He winked and headed down the hall.
She sobered, knowing their banter was only to ease the anxiety over the reason they were packing. Now that things were winding down, what would she do once Frank was behind bars? Stay in Applewood or follow Jackson back to Texarkana? Pressley knew what she wanted to do, but he still hadn’t asked her to stay.
Hinting wasn’t enough. She needed to hear the question. Pressley set her cup down and scrambled some eggs, added cheese, and rolled them into tortillas. Breakfast burritos could be eaten in the car easy enough. She wrapped them in foil to keep them warm as Jackson joined her again, this time with a duffel bag in one hand.
“I’m ready.”
She poured coffee into two thermoses. “Let’s go.”
He led the way, then locked his house behind her. “I never had time to order the alarm system.”
“We don’t need it here any longer, and my grandmother’s house has one. She remained paranoid after 1946.”
~
Jackson munched on his breakfast as they drove north. If they didn’t succeed in catching Frank, would he move on in a few days, staying just ahead of capture? Would he ever stop on his own? Most likely not. Most serial killers didn’t.
Cutting a sideways glance at the woman beside him, Jackson would do everything in his power to keep her safe…even if it meant taking the bullet meant for her. “Do you want to go home first or stop at the station?” he asked.
“Whichever you think best.”
“We’ll want to question the survivors and those attending the ball game. Someone saw Frank.”
She nodded. “We’ve a full day ahead of us.”
Too full. Hopefully, the chief of police in Applewood would be glad for their help and not feel as if they were stepping on his toes. “We’ll go to the station first, introduce ourselves, and make sure there isn’t something they want us to do.”
“You think they’ll ask us to stay out of it?”
“Maybe.”
“I won’t.” She hiked her chin, a glint of determination in her eyes. “I’m valuable to this investigation.”
“I see that, and you see it. Let’s hope they do too.”
The sun was high in the sky when they pulled in front of a metal building housing the small police department. “Let me do the talking,” Jackson said. “One officer to another.”
“Okay.” She followed him into the air-conditioned building.
An officer sat behind a desk instead of a receptionist. “May I help you?”
“I’m Detective Hudson out of Texarkana.” Jackson showed his badge.
“Your chief called. Seems you might know something about our shooting last night.”
“A bit. Is your chief in?”
“Chief Stone is in there. Go on.” He jerked his head toward a door on his left. “He’s expecting you.”
This might be easy after all. Jackson rapped knuckles on the door, then entered when told to, introducing himself and Pressley.
The chief, a middle-aged man in good shape, smiled and nodded at Pressley. “Good to see you again, Pressley. Have a seat, both of you. Tell me what you know. Chief Rawlings told me the two of you are getting close to stopping this guy. If we do have The Phantom on our hands, we’re grateful for any help.”
Some of the tension left Jackson’s shoulders as he and Pressley took their seats. He explained what they knew about Frank. “We’d like to speak to the victims and those attending the softball game.”
“Here’s the list. We’ve already questioned them, but you might learn something new. This young man—” he pointed to a Seth Moore, “said he might have spoken to your man. Said he asked some strange questions. No one else noticed Beckett.”
“Then we’ll focus our efforts on Mr. Moore.” Jackson handed the sheet to Pressley. “Do we have free rein, sir?”
“Do what you need to in order to stop this man. I know Miss Taylor, her grandmother, too. This is a small town. A newcomer will stick out.”
Jackson stood and shook the chief’s hand. “Thank you.” He was counting on the grapevine to help them.
“It’s good to see you again.” Pressley held out her hand.
“Looks like you’ve shaken up a hornet’s nest, little lady. Rumor has it that your grandmother did the same back in the day. You be careful.” The chief returned her handshake.
“I intend to.” Pressley led the way from the office. “You can stay in my grandmother’s room. I never found the time to move my things in there. You’ll have your own bathroom.”
“I’ll sleep wherever.” Jackson had been glad to hear about an alarm system. No more sofa sleeping for a while.
His room was more than adequate with a queen-sized bed. He set his bag on the crocheted bedspread and rubbed his hands briskly down his face. Jackson doubted they’d learn much from the victims, but they had to speak with them anyway. He went in search of Pressley, finding her in a room that matched his only without an en suite bathroom. “Ready?”
“Yes. Here’s the alarm code.” She handed him a slip of paper.
“One, two, three, four? Really?”
“I’ve been meaning to change it.”
“I suggest we do so before we leave.” He raised his brows. “A five-year-old could figure this out.”
“Grandma wanted to keep things simple.” She scribbled another set of numbers on the paper. “Ten, nine, eight, seven. Better?”
“Not by much.”
“Are you hungry? We could stop at Marie’s, eat a burger or something before questioning Seth Moore.”
“Sounds good to me.” His stomach growled.
The restaurant had painted murals on the wall and mismatched tables and chairs. Quaint. He hoped the food was good.
An older woman led them to a table and handed them menus. “I’m Sue. Good to see you again, Pressley. You’ve been gone a while. Can I help you?”
“I’ll take a diet soda,” Pressley said, glancing at the menu.
“Regular.” Jackson pulled a photo of Frank from his pocket. “Have you seen this man?”
Sue studied the picture. “He came in for breakfast this morning, except he wasn’t wearing a suit and his hair was shaggy. I’ve never seen him before, and I know everyone around these parts.”
“Anywhere a newcomer could stay and not be easily found?”
“Sweetie, these hills are full of hunting cabins. If I wanted to hide, I’d pick one of them this time of year. It’d be a miracle to find him.”
That’s what Jackson was afraid of.
“You here to help with the feeding?” Sue asked.
“Never miss it.” Pressley smiled. “I’ll have the bacon mushroom burger. If you see this man again, will you call me?”
“What’s he done?”
“He’s a serial killer,” Jackson answered. “The one who killed in Texarkana the last few weeks.”
The woman went as pale as the pad of paper in her hand. “What have you gotten yourself into, Pressley? Why bring trouble to our town?”
Chapter Twenty
Pressley’s throat clogged. Sue was right. Pressley had brought trouble to her small town. “We’ll put him away.” She prayed they would.
“I sure hope so. We don’t need this. There are people who were children in 1946. They remember the horror of that time.” She scowled and dropped some napkins on the table before leaving to place their orders.
“This isn’t your fault.” Jackson entwined her fingers with his. “Frank would’ve snapped if you hadn’t pursued The Phantom case.”
“You don’t know that. My interfering was the trigger.”
“Insanity has no reason.”
She appreciated his attempt to cheer her up. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.
The rest of lunch was silent except for Jackson praising his double cheeseburger. When they’d finished, paid, and left a healthy tip, they headed to the address given for Seth Moore.
The only consolation Pressley had that morning was that they were actively hunting Frank, and his last two victims had survived his attack. She’d hold onto that fact for as long as possible.
Seth lived with his parents in a small white boarded house. He opened the door before Jackson could knock. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Detective Hudson from Texarkana PD, and this is Pressley Taylor. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the man you spoke with last night.”
He stepped onto the front porch, pulling the door closed behind him. “Mind if we talk out here? My mother is sleeping. Last night’s shooting gave her stress.” He motioned for them to sit in two metal chairs while he perched on the porch railing.
The Lovers' Lane Murders Page 12