by Mary Stone
Curiosity killed the cat. He might not know it yet, but Noah just darted out into a ten-lane highway.
25
Beth McAuliffe let the lace-trimmed curtain over the kitchen window fall back into place. The police car parked outside their house hadn’t budged since early that morning. She was tempted to go out and ask the officer inside if she’d like a cookie and some lemonade.
Or grab her by the collar and demand that this officer call her superior officer, and so on, all the way up to the President of the United States, if Beth deemed it necessary. She wasn’t a forceful person by nature, but she needed to find out what was going on with her beloved grandbaby.
“She hasn’t called yet?”
Jack always managed to read her mind.
Beth turned to her husband, sitting at the little dinette table in the kitchen. She smiled. He always looked like the Hulk when he perched on one of those aluminum and fake leather chairs. She’d had similar thoughts, ever since they bought the set together in 1952.
But “Big Jack” didn’t look as out of place in that chair as he had even a few weeks ago. He’d lost more weight. The flesh on his cheeks sagged in parchment-thin folds, and he looked…old. Unhealthy. The doctor said it was just old age creeping up on him.
Beth knew better, but she pushed the thought away. She’d have to face it soon, but not now.
“No. Not yet. Nothing since her text last night, telling us she was doing fine, working that new desk job of hers.”
Jack snorted and took a little bite of the thick ham sandwich she’d made for him. Even a year ago, the plate would be empty, and he’d be whining like a little boy for a third cookie and another glass of sweet tea.
She knew he’d only taken the bite because she’d pester him into it otherwise, and that made her sad. Jack’s mind was still sharp.
He looked up at her, his blue eyes narrowed under shaggy brows. “She never was a good liar. I don’t think she’s working a desk job at all.”
“Neither do I. I think we should drop in on her. See for ourselves how she’s settled into the apartment.”
Jack shook his head in warning.
“Now, Bethie, she’s been there for months. She’s an adult now. We can’t overstep.”
“I’d never dream of overstepping,” she responded indignantly. “But I’m going, and you’re coming with me.”
She stalked across the kitchen, her heels clicking on the old linoleum she’d polished for the umpteenth time the day before, until it shone like a new copper penny. Jack grinned and winked at her as she sat down but didn’t laugh at her like he used to, when he’d ruffle her feathers on purpose. She missed his big belly laugh that always seemed to shake any room he was in.
“You promised me a vacation this year,” she reminded him. “To anywhere I want to go. You can’t go back on that now.”
“To Richmond?” He snorted again. “Some vacation. I thought you had Bora Bora or Italy in mind when you made me promise that.”
It had been Ireland that she’d had in mind, along with a tour of Wales and Scotland, but Beth didn’t correct him. He pushed the hardly touched sandwich aside and took a sip of the tea she’d mixed up fresh for him that morning. She squashed the urge to pester.
“I have to see for myself that she’s really okay,” Beth admitted. “She might think we’re a couple of brainless old farts with nothing better to do than bitch and play bridge—”
He snorted. “You bitch and play bridge. I make pithy observations on life and play poker.”
“Hush, you idiot,” she told him mildly, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’m serious. You saw the pictures on the news last night of the serial killer they launched a manhunt for. It’s no coincidence that the police have been camped out on our doorstep for the last couple of days.”
Jack nodded, resigned now. “You have to check on your chick.”
“It’ll do you good to get out.”
“Maybe,” he allowed, popping the lid open on his pill organizer and fishing out an oblong yellow one. “But you’re driving. These things make me sleepy.”
An hour later, their overnight bags packed and hotel reservation made, Beth stepped out into the sunshine and headed for the Fredericksburg PD car parked at the curb. The woman inside straightened up quickly and dog-eared the page on the novel she’d been reading. She set it on the seat beside her and rolled down her window.
“Everything okay, ma’am?”
“Of course,” Beth replied, her tone bright. “I just wondered if you’d like a chocolate chip cookie.”
“That’d be great. I was just thinking about lunch, but those smell a lot better than the egg salad sandwich I packed.” The dark-haired woman, her nametag reading “Louise Felcher,” took the small plate gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Any sign of The Preacher?”
Louise had already fished out a cookie and taken a bite. Her eyes were half-closed in ecstasy but flew wide at Beth’s casual question.
“Don’t choke, dear,” Beth fussed with a small smile, handing her a napkin.
Officer Felcher swallowed hard, her eyes watering. “No, ma’am,” she coughed. “I heard The Preacher was in Richmond. What makes you ask that?”
Beth handed her the thermos of coffee she’d made as Louise coughed again, trying to clear her throat.
“That’s a silly question, Officer Felcher, and we both know it.” Beth waved a hand airily. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to let you know that my husband and I will be taking an overnight trip, so you don’t have to stay out here if you have better things to do. My granddaughter lives in Richmond. She’s an FBI agent, you know.” Beth smiled sweetly and tapped her temple. “Winter is a smart girl. Takes after her grandmother. She’s smarter, though. I’m just a little old lady.”
Louise nodded, finally composed, and her dark eyes twinkled. “Mrs. McAuliffe, I sincerely doubt you’re an ordinary lady, young or old.” She unscrewed the cap on the thermos and poured out some of the steaming liquid into an empty travel mug beside her, sniffing appreciatively. “Coffee. Bless you.”
“Cops and coffee. It wasn’t a stretch.” Beth eyed the book Louise was reading. “Is that one good? I run to the store every time a new one of hers comes out.”
Louise looked down at the Nora Roberts book in her lap and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Not bad. I’m glad I’m not the only one who likes a good happy ending.”
“We all like happy endings, dear. And don’t be ashamed.” She patted Louise on the shoulder comfortingly. “If you didn’t like happy endings, you wouldn’t be a good police officer. Our spare key is on top of the doorframe. Feel free to come in and use our restroom if you’d like, and just set the dishes on the front stoop if you don’t. I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”
Louise watched her with new respect. “If you’re leaving soon, I might just head back to the office.”
“I thought you’d say that,” Beth replied. “Will my husband and I see you or one of your colleagues when we come back tomorrow afternoon?”
Louise laughed, a cheerful, tinkling sound that was at odds with her stocky frame and strong jawline. “You won’t be able to get rid of me now that I’ve tasted your cookies, Mrs. McAuliffe.”
“Do you play bridge, Louise?”
“No, but I’m a mean poker player.”
“Then you’ll have to meet my husband when we return. Enjoy the rest of your day, Officer Felcher.”
“Safe trip, Mrs. McAuliffe. Give your granddaughter our regards.”
Louise was still parked outside when Beth carefully backed their big, silver Buick down the driveway. Beside her, Jack was already dozing. She pulled out into the street, waving toward Officer Felcher as she drove by. Louise waved back and grinned.
Beth braked at the four-way stop down the block. Across from her, a white delivery van did the same. She waved him forward.
For some reason, a chill went through her as the van slowly passed them, and she shuddered a little.
The windows were darkened to the point where she couldn’t see the driver.
“You okay?” Jack roused himself enough to ask.
“A goose walked over my grave, is all.” She fixed her eyes on the van in the rearview mirror, but it drove past their home without braking. The police cruiser hadn’t moved yet. Coincidence, she told herself.
“Damned geese,” Jack muttered, closing his eyes again. “Devil birds. Just be glad it didn’t shit on your grave while he was at it.”
“Yes, dear,” she murmured, too distracted to appreciate her husband’s warped sense of humor.
She didn’t want Winter to be the one to catch The Preacher—didn’t want Winter within a million miles of him—but she was looking forward to the day when the monster was locked up.
Maybe when he was twisting in agony on the electric chair, the edgy anxiety and white-hot rage that had dogged her for the last twelve years would finally die too.
The air felt electric, like a storm was getting ready to break.
Noah parked his truck in front of his apartment and grabbed the paper bags from the passenger seat beside him.
He was pretty sure the charged feeling in the air wasn’t from the weather since the moon shone clear overhead and the night sky was cloudless. It had to be the waiting. They were doing everything they could—everyone who could be spared had been mobilized into action—but it still felt like The Preacher was calling the shots.
They hadn’t turned up shit on him. He was a ghost.
He headed for Winter’s door, a few down from his, his stomach already growling at the smell of food coming from the carryout bag. Kung Pao Chicken wouldn’t take the kinks out of his neck from sitting hunched over his computer all day. Fortune cookies wouldn’t ease the frustrated pulse that beat at the backs of his eyeballs. But tension headache or not, he was hungry.
He knocked only once before Winter’s door swung open. “I thought I heard your truck. Come on in.” She smiled, showing even white teeth.
Winter looked good today, he noted. She smelled fresh, like strawberries, when he moved past. Her hair was still wet from the shower, hanging down over her shoulders in damp, ropy strands. Her cheeks were flushed with color, and her eyes snapped blue sparks.
Wicked blue sparks. She was pissed. At him.
He set the bag down on the kitchen counter cautiously.
“Cabin fever getting to you?” He tried not to make eye contact as he grabbed two craft brews out of her fridge. “You seem a little on edge.”
“Oh?” Her tone was sweet. “What would I have to be on edge about?” An undercurrent ran there, as sharp as a stiletto heel.
He popped the top off his bottle and took a bracing swig. “Out with it. What’d I do?”
Winter grabbed her own beer but made no move to open it. Her knuckles were pale where she gripped the bottleneck.
“Besides take advantage of our friendship? Sneaking around behind my back? Siccing a fucking lunatic doctor on me and telling him about my fortune-telling migraines?” This time, when she smiled, there was no missing the dangerous edge to it. “Other than that, you’ve done nothing, friend.”
Dr. Ladwig. Noah swore.
“I’m sorry. I forgot all about that—”
Dammit, wrong choice of words. But he hadn’t said a word to the doctor about the migraines.
“Forgot? Where do you get off, Dalton? My health is none of your business.”
His own temper bubbled in response, but he pushed it back. She obviously didn’t understand. If she had just gone to a doctor like he’d told her to, he wouldn’t have had to go behind her back.
She wouldn’t take care of herself. Someone had to.
He held tight to his own calm, not wanting to put a light to this particular pile of tinder right now. It wasn’t a good time.
“Are we going to pull this food out and eat it while it’s still warm? This restaurant is great, but I’ve heard bad things about their cold takeout.”
She slammed her beer on the counter so hard that he was surprised the bottle didn’t shatter. The sound grated his already exposed nerves. Fine. They’d fight. This might even be fun. He stopped fantasizing about hot and crunchy fried food and slippery hot noodles, and resigned himself to a lukewarm, greasy dinner.
Winter took two steps toward him, jabbing her finger into his chest with every angry word that poured out of her mouth.
“What gives you the right to pull something like this? To invade my privacy? Share details about my personal life?”
He smiled down at her upturned face, hot with anger. That smile just fueled the fire, but he didn’t care.
“I never said a word about your visions. And, darlin’, you can blame me all you want, but this is your own damned fault.”
Gasoline to her open flame. And three…two…one…
He wasn’t disappointed. The hectic color bled from her cheeks, and she drew a deep breath to blast him. Her hands clenched into fists, and she brought one up, swinging straight for his face.
Winter was a formidable opponent when you were sparring with her. She’d taken him down in the gym, on the mat, and sometimes, she ran circles around him on the track. She was young, sure. Skinny to the edge of unhealthy right now. But she was no weak and wilting debutante.
He caught her fist an inch from his face.
Her only weakness was that when you goaded her, she lost her edge of control.
With an unyielding grip, he pulled her forward, into his space. He swept one arm around her back and held her still, so they were almost nose to nose.
“I care about you.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love. Neither one of them could handle that, and it wasn’t the time. There was too much going on.
He could smell mint on her breath. She struggled against his hold like a feral cat, but as strong as Winter was, he was stronger.
His statement hadn’t even registered, and he frowned fiercely in exasperation. This time, Noah spaced his words evenly and ratcheted up the volume, so she’d be sure to understand.
“I. Care. About. You. I’m not sorry I called Dr. Ladwig.”
Her face was dark with fury, and he almost just let her go and damn the consequences. He could have apologized for what he’d done. But that would be a lie.
“You overbearing son of a bitch,” she spat. “This time, you’ve gone too far.”
So be it.
Noah released her arms. Braced for the blow. He could take it. Hell, who knew. Maybe he deserved it.
Instead of breaking his nose, Winter’s eyes widened abruptly before they rolled back in her head. Before he could blink, she went boneless.
Thrown off guard, he barely managed to catch her on her way to the floor.
26
Winter was so wound up that she didn’t even feel the vision coming. There was no headache to announce it. She was fired up and furious one second—Noah’s smug face didn’t even reflect any kind of remorse at the confrontation, and she hated being confined. In the next second, those angry green eyes were fading out.
This vision was different.
She went from fighting with her best friend in the kitchen to standing in the middle of a dark room in a bare instant.
The edges of the room were shadowy and indistinct. It felt small. Could have been a closet. She struggled to switch gears, fighting a sense of claustrophobia. To turn on her dispassionate observational skills, even while her chest still heaved with fury and a tinge of fear.
In front of her, beaming out from the darkness, a cherry-colored coat hung on a hanger. It glowed red, but not like anything that had been touched by darkness. It wasn’t connected to a crime—at least not yet. It just hung in the center of her perception, the bright color a beacon of cheer and the cut of the coat signifying only that someone had good taste in outerwear. It looked so familiar that she reached out to touch the soft-looking, nubby-textured fabric.
Before her fingers could reach it, painlessly, the image evaporated.
>
She became aware of Noah’s strong arms, still tightening around her as if she was in the process of falling, and sucked in a sharp breath.
“Winter?”
She was cradled in his arms, and he was looking down at her with concern, fear, and a touch of something else that she shied away from analyzing too closely.
“Sorry.”
The word came out normal. Not a raspy whisper. Not a tortured moan of angst.
Just…normal.
Embarrassment flooded her, and she focused on getting her feet under her. She wasn’t dizzy, so it only took a second.
“What was that?”
Noah released her but didn’t move away, in case she went down again.
She let out a half-laugh, her anger forgotten.
“I have no idea. Am I bleeding?”
She swiped her hand under her nose without waiting for an answer. No blood.
“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” he demanded. “Go sit down.”
It rankled, but she recognized that the bossy tone was just his way of showing his affection. Not unlike the way he’d gone to Dr. Ladwig. With his hand under her elbow, she made her careful way to the living room couch.
She sat down, but her head didn’t spin. She was fine.
Noah was already back, chopsticks in one hand because he knew she preferred them, and a white cardboard container in the other. He shoved them at her and went back to the kitchen.
“Do you have water?” The question was steady, but she could still hear the concern. He’d said it himself. He cared about her. She felt tired, just thinking about it. Not drained, fatigued, or exhausted, but tired.
“Noah, I’m fine.”
She heard the refrigerator open, and he came back a moment later with a cold bottle of filtered water, pushing it into her hand.
“I thought you liked Bree.”
He’d taken the carton from her hand to open it since she apparently wasn’t moving fast enough, but he stopped on a surprised laugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course, I like Bree.”