Keeping her body still and her expression neutral, Ricki nodded. “Meeting a lover makes sense.”
Jonathan smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. “Yes. Perfect sense.”
He glanced at his watch before standing and holding out a hand in a clear signal that the meeting was over. Still wary, Ricki also stood and reached across the table to shake his hand.
He nodded at her and stepped back. “Thank you for talking with me. I think you’ll do just fine.” When her gaze narrowed on his, he blandly added, “with your case, Ricki. I’m sure you’ll have it solved in no time.”
Chapter Twelve
A night of tossing and turning didn’t bring her any more answers than she’d had before. What it did bring was the same nightmare that had plagued her since she and Marie had been ambushed on a Seattle dock during a prisoner transport. Each time the dream was the same. Hernandez, their prisoner, was dead, and she lay wounded on the dock, staring into her partner’s lifeless eyes. And just like always, she woke up engulfed in a cocoon of anger.
The psychiatrist she’d seen after she’d been released from the hospital had kept telling her she was confusing anger with grief, but she’d had enough of both in her life to recognize the difference. But this time the anger was so intense, she’d come awake all at once, radiating fury. Clutching handfuls of the blanket, she’d stared at the ceiling as she concentrated on slowing down her breathing, willing each part of her body to relax. By the time she let go of the blanket, her hand muscles had painful cramps in them.
Shaking them out, she waited until the pain had faded to a dull ache before sitting up. Drawing her knees in, she hugged them to her chest and stared out the window at a sky that was just beginning to lighten over the treetops. There was only one way she’d found to deal with the nightmare.
She sat quietly for several more minutes before throwing the covers aside. She made a face when her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. Staying on her tiptoes, she half walked, half hopped to her dresser and pulled out drawers, tossing her favorite sweatpants over her shoulder where they landed in a heap on the floor. She grabbed a long-sleeved running shirt and some underwear and dumped them on the bed next to her sweatpants before heading to the compact shower in the tiny bathroom attached to what passed as the master bedroom in the cabin she’d rented over a year ago as a temporary home for herself and Eddie.
It had all the necessary rooms, but every one of them was on the small side, and storage was pretty much nonexistent, which was why there were still a lot of unpacked cartons stacked against any available wall.
It was the last day of school, and Nate was coming to pick Eddie up an hour earlier than usual. Since Nate’s parents had banned him from driving for at least a month, his mom would be chauffeuring the boys, and had offered to pick them up from school as well. With Eddie going straight from school to help out at the diner, Ricki figured that whole part of her day was taken care of, so she could concentrate on the rest of her very long to-do list.
Which was going to start with a five-mile jog to clear the nightmare out of her head.
Ninety minutes later she was dressed in her sweats and waving goodbye as the boys headed off in Susan’s sturdy little compact. Ricki looked down at Corby, the boxer mix who had simply shown up on their doorstep one day and never left. Fortunately, Corby had turned out to be house-trained and well mannered, which had earned him the right to become part of the family. He was also her running companion.
“Well. Are you ready?”
Corby didn’t nod, but he did start off, looking back at her before he broke into a quick lope down the gravel driveway. Ricki laughed before taking off after him, catching the dog with her long-legged stride just as he turned onto the road heading into town. When she stopped, so did Corby. He plopped his butt on the ground and looked up at her with liquid-brown eyes, his head cocked to one side.
“I don’t feel like running down to the St. Armand today. You never know who you might meet.” It bothered her that Jonathan Blake had made the trip all the way to Washington just to ask her a few questions about a case he had no part in. And right behind that was a feeling that hadn’t been his motive for meeting her at all. She shook her head in silent denial. No. Not a feeling, a certainty. The profiler had been interviewing her. At least that’s the vibe she’d gotten. The only problem was, she had no idea why.
“I’m thinking we’ll go the other way this time.” When Corby continued to stare up at her, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her windbreaker and shrugged. It was more than enough explanation for a dog, and all he was going to get.
She started out in the opposite direction, with Corby taking up his usual place by her side. She glanced at him and smiled. That was the great thing about dogs. They were happy to go along with whatever you wanted without demanding long, involved explanations.
She was finally beginning to loosen up as she approached the halfway point in her morning run and was about to turn around when a lone black SUV appeared on the road. When she slowed down, so did the car. Clay pulled over to the side of the road and rolled down his window.
“Trying out a different route?” he called out as Ricki made her way across the deserted road.
She leaned against the doorframe. “Corby wanted a change of scenery.”
“Corby, huh?” Clay rested his arms on top of the steering wheel, leaning forward enough so his gaze could meet hers. “I was hoping you’d call last night. Let me know how the meeting with Josh went.”
“It went.”
He stayed silent, waiting her out until Ricki gave in and relaxed the stiffness in her shoulders.
“He gave me something he wants me to read.”
“Something?” Clay frowned. “What something?” He sat up and reached across the seat and opened the passenger side door. “Why don’t you and Corby climb in. It’s warmer in here.”
Ricki thought it over for a moment, then rolled her eyes at the pleading look in Corby’s eyes. “Okay, I get it. Your fur coat isn’t made for cold mornings unless you’re moving.” She walked around the front of the SUV then pointed to the open door. “Go on.”
Corby wagged his stump of a tail, then practically bounced off the ground and into the front seat of the car, half landing on Clay’s lap. The chief wrapped an arm around the muscular body and pulled the dog upright to give Ricki enough space to slide in next to him.
She gave the wiggling Corby an exasperated look. “You just sit here and behave yourself.”
“So, what something?” Clay repeated after she’d closed the door and settled back into the seat.
“Feels like a report. I’m not sure because it’s in a sealed envelope.”
He tapped a finger against the steering wheel. “Is that all he wanted?”
Ricki nodded. “Uh-huh. Read the report and get back to him.” She gazed out the front windshield. “We talked a few minutes. It was good.” She looked over at Clay. It would be better if she told him about Jonathan Blake before he heard it through the ever-churning gossip mill. “Actually, I spent more time talking to Dr. Blake then I did with Josh.”
Clay’s eyes narrowed, exactly the way she knew they would at hearing that the profiler was in town.
“As in the persistent Dr. Blake? He came all the way from Quantico just to see that you got that report?”
Despite her own leeriness concerning Jonathan Blake, Ricki raised an eyebrow. “As in the guy you called the best profiler in the country when he helped out on the last case in Olympic Park. Yeah. That guy. He wasn’t interested in the report so much as the unidentified body in the old lighthouse, who was possibly a ranger.” She hesitated before meeting Clay’s watchful gaze. “And in sizing me up.” Ricki shrugged. “At least that’s the impression I got.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s a profiler, and that’s the kind of thing they’re interested in.” She smiled at Clay’s irritated look.
“Why would he need to
profile you?” Clay shot back.
Ricki opened her mouth and then shut it again. She’d asked herself that same question yesterday even before she’d pulled out of the St. Armand’s parking lot. But when no answer presented itself, she dismissed it as something she was blowing out of proportion and switched her mental efforts organizing the long list of things for her evening routine, which had included picking up Eddie at the diner along with the daily receipts to deposit in the bank. Then there had been dinner to prepare, the diner’s books to balance, and a call to ASAC Hamilton, which she hadn’t gotten to until after her son had headed to bed.
Having finished with the top priorities on her list, she’d turned her attention to what was now her third job—running the adventure tour business she owned with Bear. After taking a quick look at the scheduled bookings, and making a note that they were a little sparse for June, she’d started to shut down her laptop when she’d noticed a new email from the Tacoma ME. Dr. Naylor had sent her the forensic report, and despite the fatigue demanding she get some sleep, she hadn’t been able to resist pulling up the report and giving it a brief once-over before finishing up for the night.
By that time she’d been too tired to do much else, and none of it had completely banished the conversation with the famous profiler from her head. She was hoping some sleep would. But it had felt like she’d barely climbed into bed when the nightmare had jolted her awake again.
The run had helped clear out the cobwebs, but she still had a lot to do today, and did not want to start it out by getting into a debate with Clay. “I don’t know. Since I haven’t killed anyone, he doesn’t have any reason to profile me. Maybe it’s just the way he is, and he can’t help himself.” Ricki shrugged and once again forced the whole thing to the back of her mind. “He did mention that he thought my dead vic was probably meeting a lover.”
Clay was quiet for a long moment before his shoulders relaxed. He nodded as if agreeing with her change in subject. “And what do you think of that explanation?”
Now she gave a short laugh. “I think he should stick to profiling people rather than analyzing crime scenes. But he had a point. It’s possible it happened that way. Blake’s fictional lover could have shot the vic, then taken off his uniform and put it and the mostly naked dead body in a car, driven up to the lighthouse, and then dragged the body up that last hill.” She gave Corby an absentminded pat. “Even if the vic had arranged to meet a lover up at the lighthouse, he still wasn’t killed inside. Since he was shot while still wearing most of his uniform, he didn’t get naked and then parade around outside in the brush where his lover shot him before dragging him back inside, which was what Blake was envisioning. So I’m thinking another crime scene.”
She glanced over at Clay. “There’s enough loose dirt on that floor that any drag marks would have shown up, and there weren’t any near what was left of the body. Just those footprints we found. Whoever put him there didn’t drag him in, so the body was carried. According to the forensics report I got last night, the two shoe prints were from a size ten shoe, provided the killer was male, or a size twelve for a female.” She gave him an apologetic look. “I was pretty tired last night, and the report came in late. I just gave it a quick look-through before crawling into bed. I was going to forward it to you as soon as I finished my run.”
“I know you would have.” Clay pursed his lips into a thin line. “So we’re dealing with a smaller guy or a tall woman.”
“And a strong one,” Ricki said. “If he or she carried that body up a hill. The ME put the vic at about five feet, eleven inches. Even at a lean weight, that’s still a lot of mass to cart up a steep hill.” She turned toward Clay and rested one knee on the wide seat. “I also had a talk with Hamilton last night. He said his contacts back in DC couldn’t find any record of a ranger going missing at any of the parks for the last twenty-five years, so he wants me to hand the case over to you.”
“What about the uniform?” Clay asked.
Ricki squinted her eyes and changed her voice into a fairly good imitation of Hamilton’s tony, slightly southern drawl. “An anomaly.” When Clay frowned, Ricki shrugged. “His words. He said it could be a ranger wannabe, or maybe the guy had retired or left the service. Either way, it makes him your problem, not ours. Especially since he wasn’t found in the park.”
Clay was silent for a long moment. “Is that what you want? To hand the case over?”
“No.” And that was the truth. Her gut told her this guy was a ranger, and he’d been wearing his uniform just before he was shot. So whether or not he was found in the park, he was one of theirs. But it was frustrating that there wasn’t a record anywhere of him going missing.
“Are you supposed to let me know the case is coming my way, or is Hamilton going to make that call?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Okay. Can you get a few days off?”
She blinked at the odd question. “Now?” Then immediately shook her head. “Not until Tuesday. That’s when Bear gets back. But why? I’m not in the mood for a vacation.”
Clay grinned. “Can you stall Hamilton until then, so we can make a quick trip to Chicago?”
She went still. Chicago. Where Max Hardy was from, and where there might be a clue to his secret client, and from there to her victim. Her first instinct was to agree, but she hesitated. Even if she didn’t like it, Hamilton had a good point. Unless Dan came up with something to identify the man as a park ranger, there wasn’t anywhere else she could go. She hated the thought that his murder would fade away into the archives, neatly labeled as a cold case that was never solved.
Frustrated over the whole situation, Ricki opened the passenger door and stepped out onto the side of the roadway. Corby immediately scrambled across the seat and jumped down beside her. She waited until he was out of the car before leaning over and peering back inside at Clay.
“Let me talk it over with Hamilton, see if he’ll go for it just so we can tie off any loose ends.”
Clay smiled. “I still have to talk to the head of the town councils to approve the expense. We can hash it out on Monday.” He pointed a finger at the road stretching out in front of the SUV. “Enjoy the rest of your run. I’ll see you back at headquarters.”
Ricki stepped away as Clay pulled the big car out onto the road. She watched him drive away until the SUV disappeared around a distant curve.
Whether she liked it or not, she might not have any case at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Just over an hour later, Ricki shut the cabin door behind her. Crossing the very small porch, she took the two steps to the driveway, then walked across the gravel, her head down, one thought scrolling through her mind on an endless loop. Who was the dead guy? How could someone be dead for a quarter of a century or more, and no one even noticed he was gone?
It didn’t make sense to her. She knew it happened. Every day there were runaways, and people who simply walked off the grid by choice. But it always baffled her. Somewhere, someone must care at least enough to file a report. Especially in an area as small as the Bay. Maybe someone from Seattle, or even Tacoma, had known about the remote lighthouse and carted the guy all the way out here along with his uniform, but her instincts were telling her whoever he was, at some time in the past, he’d lived in the Bay. Or somewhere nearby.
Still thinking it over, Ricki switched on the jeep’s engine and was surprised when it immediately turned over and purred like it was brand new, which made a change from the nightmarish behavior its ten years and two hundred thousand miles usually favored.
“Good omen for the rest of the day,” she said under her breath, putting the car into gear and making her way toward the two-lane highway one hundred feet away. Since the hour was later, there was a little more traffic, but not much, as she turned toward Brewer. She planned on stopping at the Sunny Side Up to check up on things before heading farther down the road to Edington and the headquarters the park service shared with Clay and his deputy.
“Shit,” Ricki yelled, throwing her arms around the steering wheel and hugging it tightly to her chest as the jeep reared onto two wheels and rolled over several times, stopping when it hit a large tree five yards back from the road.
Her eyes slit open. She was lying on her side, pain radiating up the one arm still locked around the steering wheel. All she could see was the weathered bark of a large tree trunk.
She barely heard the muffled voices calling for help before the world went completely black.
Chapter Fourteen
“Come on, Ricki. Time to wake up.”
She heard the command, given in a low, gravelly voice, but she kept her eyes tightly shut. Everything hurt. She didn’t have to move to know that. Even her eyelids ached.
“If you don’t open those eyes, I’m going to have to keep you in the hospital tonight. Probably for more than one night.”
Now that was a serious threat. She’d had her fill of hospitals after the ambush. Just the thought of the constant poking and prodding, accompanied by hours of staring at stark white ceilings and breathing in the antiseptic smell, was enough to have her lids slitting open.
One Last Scream (Special Agent Ricki James Book 2) Page 10