A Breath Away (18 page)

Grady stiffened. He should have guessed Violet would defend Longhorse. “He's a known hunter, Violet. He goes into the woods for days at a time and performs some of those barbaric rituals. And he has a collection of animal bones on his wall.”

A shudder gripped Violet. The sound of the bone whistle echoed in her mind. Joseph did have a dark side and a lot of anger. But he had been her friend. Or was he just pretending?

She'd always felt drawn to him. She was drawn to this killer, too….

Could Joseph be the murderer they were looking for?

* * *

V
IOLET WAS SO SHAKEN
, Grady insisted she lie down for a while. She needed rest.

Today at noon she would bury her father.

He promised to see her at the funeral, then left to meet Special Agent Norton. The profiler accompanied Norton, quiet and thoughtful. Grady wondered if she could see into the killer's mind.

Laney Longhorse was dressed in a native smock,
waiting on them at the door. Joseph had not returned. Laney twisted her fingers together, looking more agitated than he'd ever seen her.

“We need to have those bones analyzed,” Norton told Adams.

Laney started to protest, but Grady calmed her. Apparently his job here was to play mediator.

Although so far forensics hadn't found any DNA of the killer on the victims, Agent Adams began to collect the bones while Norton searched Longhorse's bedroom and retrieved a few items of clothing and hair to compare for DNA. He also confiscated two hunting knives, a book on Native American ritualistic ceremonies and some miscellaneous articles Laney explained were used for special potions.

“You cannot take all that, can you?” Laney asked.

“The warrant mentions anything that seems suspicious,” Agent Norton said.

Laney's chin snapped up. “My boy did not kill anyone. He is a good man.”

“But our people are the first ones they run to for questioning, am I not right, Mama?”

Grady glanced up to see Joseph standing at the screened door, a bow and arrow slung over his shoulder, his face smudged, his jeans and bare chest dirty and sweaty.

“Where have you been, Longhorse?” Grady asked.

His dark eyes were devoid of emotion. “Following the ways of my forefathers.” Special Agent Norton stepped from the shadows of Longhorse's room. “As in performing the sun dance?”

Longhorse shrugged. “I believe in the ancient customs, as does my
etsi.
”

“How about the law?” A menacing expression tightened Norton's face. “Do you believe in that?”

“The law of the universe,” Longhorse said. “To follow the sun, the earth, the wind and fire.” He dropped his bow and arrow onto the floor. “Now, what is this about?”

“Kerry Cantrell,” Special Agent Norton said.

Longhorse turned and glared at Grady.

Norton seemed to detect the tension. “Did you see Kerry last night?”

“No.”

Laney shook her head sadly. “There was a search party, Son. Kerry is…they found her. She's dead.”

A momentary flicker of Longhorse's eyebrows reflected surprise. Sorrow. Or maybe he was faking it. Maybe the look was regret for getting caught.

“Did anyone see you overnight?” Norton asked.

Longhorse squared his shoulders, met Norton's steady, scrutinizing gaze with a flat look. “No one but the creatures of nature.”

“Then you have no alibi?”

“I did not know I was going to need one.”

They spent the next few minutes with Longhorse talking in circles. The federal agent's patience waned quickly. And poor Laney looked fit to be tied.

Grady was straddling the fence, uncertain what to believe about Joseph Longhorse.

Agent Adams reentered the room. “I think we've covered things for now.”

Longhorse raked his eyes over her. An interested look crossed his face—the look of a man attracted to a woman.

Grady had seen him stare at Violet the same way. A primitive male look.

He hadn't liked it then, and he didn't like it now. And this time it wasn't because he wanted Agent Adams for himself.

He jerked upright, shocked at his own thoughts.

Then again, Grady was a man. Even though he'd first slated Violet as off-limits, there was something about her that was getting under his skin.

Longhorse's attitude was getting to Grady, too. He'd never understood the native's animosity toward him. Perhaps Longhorse's anger against the world was beginning to reveal itself in other ways.

Some very sick, sadistic ones…

After all, he was a hunter. Had Darlene been his first taste of human blood? If so, why had he waited so long to taste it again?

V
IOLET HAD COME TO
tell her father goodbye. But what could she say to a man she had barely known?

A cold clamminess covered her skin as she stood beside his casket. She felt his hand in hers as he had walked her to the bus stop her first day of school. Saw the Big Bird lunch box he'd bought for her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The chocolate chip cookie. The old bike he'd taught her to ride. The day he'd caught her when she'd fallen from the tire swing.

But then he was shoving her in the station wagon. Telling her grandmother to take her away.

Maybe he'd loved her once, before the evil had possessed her.

“I don't understand why you never contacted me, Dad,” she whispered, “but at least I know you didn't kill Darlene. Grady's going to find out who did and who put you here.”

Reverend Wheeler approached with his son beside him, and Violet knotted her hands. Ross Wheeler's presence added an edge to the already tense atmosphere. She slipped to the front row of the small chapel. Thankfully, Ross claimed the pew on the opposite side. With all that had happened in the past and now the news of this serial killer and Kerry Cantrell, she wasn't sur
prised that the church was nearly empty. The anxiety in the town was thick. Residents were hiding inside their houses, locking doors that had never been locked before.

Her father's lawyer drifted in, out of respect, she was certain. An elderly couple who lived down the street from her joined the small group, and the town busybody, Beula Simms, tottered in. Probably to gather gossip about Jed Baker's lunatic daughter.

Laney Longhorse slid into the seat next to her and placed a wrinkled hand over Violet's. Violet met her gaze, sensing the turmoil in the older woman's eyes. She hated knowing Laney had suffered through the ordeal of watching her son being questioned for murder. But as always, Laney held her head high, her constant strength and courage an inspiration to Violet. Then Joseph padded up the aisle and joined them, his quiet presence both reassuring Violet of their childhood friendship, but unnerving in the intensity with which he now watched her.

Violet glanced at the pews behind her in search of Grady. She'd thought he would come, as he'd promised….

Then again, why would he? Their fathers hadn't exactly been friends.

Footsteps sounded behind her, though, and she froze. Grady's father strode into the church and took a seat, his hands clasped, his eyes boring holes into Violet. She supposed he wanted to make sure her father wouldn't rise from the dead.

She darted her gaze away from him and clung to Laney's hand.

“Do not let him intimidate you,” Laney whispered.
“He is a troubled man. He has lived with much guilt himself.”

The reverend read a Bible passage, then spoke in a soothing voice. His words of comfort fell over Violet, echoing through the near empty room, a testament of how sad and devoid of friends and family her father's life had been. How could one eulogize someone who had no one, a man some still believed guilty of murder?

Finally, the pianist played “Amazing Grace.” Then six strangers, whom Violet assumed were church deacons, entered and carried her father's casket out the back door to the small graveyard beyond the church. When she'd spoken with her grandmother earlier, Violet had assured her she would bury her father beside her mother.

Both had taken their secrets with them.

Outside, the afternoon heat felt scorching, a cloying humidity hanging in the air. Storm clouds loomed above, the sun hidden behind them. Thunder rumbled, and a streak of lightning zigzagged across the treetops just as it had the day Darlene died.

Joseph and Laney flanked Violet as the preacher offered a prayer. When he finished, she turned and saw that Grady had arrived. His gaze met hers. Regret, questions, heat flared.

Then his eyes cut toward Joseph and his jaw clenched. Joseph responded accordingly. The two men were like lions moving in a circle to fight over prey.

Beula Simms tottered toward Violet and patted her hand. “I'm sorry about your father, dear. Will you be staying in Crow's Landing now?”

Violet swallowed. “I…I'm not sure. For a little while, until my grandmother gets better.”

“I'll have to go visit her sometime.”

Surprise caught in her throat. “I'm sure she'd like that.”

Grady's father barreled toward her. Grady reached out to stop him, but Walt Munroe jerked away. “Miss Baker, if you know what's good for you, you'll leave town today. I told you once, nobody wants you here.”

“I'm not leaving until my grandmother is better.”

“Dad?” Grady gripped his father's arm.

“She's nothing but trouble,” the older man said. “Stay away from her, Grady, or you'll end up in the ground like her old man.”

A sudden noise came from the trees behind her. Violet pivoted and noticed Bernie Morris rushing toward her. Behind him, a photographer wielded a big camera. A local news anchor trotted beside him.

Violet shrank back toward Laney. “Miss Baker, we'd like to do a live interview,” Bernie shouted.

The news anchor, a thirtyish woman with bottle-blond hair, curved ruby-red lips in a wide smile at her. “Is it true that your father confessed to murder?”

Grady stepped in front of the camera. “Miss Baker has no comment.”

A clap of thunder nearly drowned out his reply. The first drops of rain splattered the parched earth.

“Who are you?” the female reporter asked.

“Sheriff Monroe.”

“Monroe? Were you related to the little girl who was murdered twenty years ago?”

A muscle twitched in Grady's jaw. “That's correct. We have an ongoing investigation into her murder, as well as Mr. Baker's death, therefore neither I nor Miss Baker are at liberty to discuss the matter.”

“But Mr. Baker killed himself,” the woman said.

“There's new evidence that says otherwise,” Bernie said. “How do you feel knowing your father was murdered, Miss Baker? Don't you want to do something? Avenge his death somehow?”

The clouds opened up and rain began to pour. Violet pushed against the man to reach her car. “I'm not sure what I can do, Mr. Morris. The police are handling things.”

“But you're psychic.” Morris gestured toward the camera. “Miss Baker has visions. She did twenty years ago when she connected to Darlene Monroe, and I believe she knows things about this serial killer, too.”

Violet gasped. The newswoman shoved a microphone in her face, and Grady lunged forward. “Turn off that damn camera.” He grabbed the mike. “And keep this off the air.”

“It's too late for that,” the woman said, huddling beneath her umbrella. “We just went live.”

Grady's father suddenly disappeared into the woods. The rain was pouring in sheets now, running down Violet's face. The mound of fresh earth covering her father's grave was turning into a muddy mess.

An image flashed—of Darlene lying in the rain, red mud swirling around her.

Violet shoved away, nearly knocking the reporter over as she crossed the remaining distance to her car. Joseph Longhorse followed, but she didn't wait.

Now everyone would know about her visions, that she'd connected to the killer. The police and FBI would be banging on her door. The town would be gossiping even more that she was crazy.

And the killer…it would give him all the more reason to come after her.

Would Grady be in danger, too? His father's warning echoed in her head. Maybe he was. If so, she needed to stay away from him….

* * *

G
RADY GRABBED
M
ORRIS'S
shirt, twisting the neck so tight the reporter's legs buckled. “Stay away from Violet,” he ordered. “Or I'll put you in jail for harassment.” Furious, he released him so roughly Morris hit the ground. Then Grady stalked off.

The reporters dashed toward their cars. Joseph Longhorse had cornered Violet at her Civic. Although they hadn't found enough evidence to arrest Longhorse, Grady refused to leave the man alone with Violet. He headed straight toward them.

Longhorse pivoted, glared at him, then walked back to his mother.

Grady caught the door to Violet's car as she climbed in. “Are you all right?” he asked her.

She nodded. But she was soaked and trembling. Mud had splattered the hem of her linen dress, although she seemed oblivious to the fact.

He ached to hold her. “I'm sorry I was late, but I arranged a tracer on your phone, then added dead bolts to the house and repaired that window. I'll follow you home now.”

“No.” She shook her head and started the engine. “I need some time alone.”

He hesitated, swiping at the rain running off his face. “Are you sure?”

Before she could answer, his cell phone rang. He checked the number. Shit. Special Agent Norton. “It's that FBI agent,” he said. “I have to take it.”

Violet shifted the car into gear. “I'll talk to you later.”
Looking frantic and pale, she spun away from the graveyard.

Grady answered the call. “Sheriff Monroe here.”

“Monroe, what the hell is this about some damn psychic being connected to our killer? Are you withholding information?”

Grady muttered an oath. He couldn't believe Norton had already seen the footage. “Listen, I can explain.”

“Good. I want to talk to the woman, too.”

“But—”

“Special Agent Adams and I will meet you at your office in half an hour.”

Norton hung up without waiting for a reply. Grady cursed again. As much as Violet wanted to be alone, he couldn't ignore the federal agent's request.

He had to get her and make that meeting. Once they explained Violet's visions and details of the past, it would just be a matter of time before Norton questioned Grady's father….

* * *

V
IOLET HAD JUST CHANGED
out of her drenched clothes when Grady appeared at her door. He looked fierce and sexy, all male hardness and strength. His black hair hung in wet swathes around his bronzed forehead; his eyes were smoky and full of anger and something else—hunger. A charged moment passed between them. It was as if she felt his need, as if he wanted to throw her down on the floor and take her. She wanted that, too. Wanted him to erase the grief and fear she'd been living with for days. Wanted him to make her come alive and burn with feelings. To sate this desire that simmered between them.

But if her visions threatened Grady's safety, she
couldn't allow him any closer. And his own father hated her, had implied that she was endangering his son.

Grady's gaze raked over her, bold and assessing. He didn't reach for her, though. Instead, he stood erect, his eyes alight with turmoil.

“Grady?”

“Violet, Special Agent Norton saw that damn interview with Morris. Norton and his partner insist on seeing us immediately.”

The first tendrils of panic rose within her stomach. “No, Grady, I can't.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “What will I tell them?”

“The truth,” he said matter-of-factly. “Bring your sketch pad, too. There might be something there that could help them.” He gestured toward his car. It was still thundering and raining outside.

She didn't want to go out in the storm again. She especially didn't want to face the FBI today.

“They're meeting me at my office in a few minutes.”

Resigned, she gathered the sketch pad, dragged on a raincoat, then followed Grady to his car. The ride over was silent, the air fraught with dread.

After the introductions, she was seated at a long table in a small back room at the sheriff's office. She felt as if she was facing an inquisition.

Special Agent Norton was tall and intimidating. His air of authority commanded attention. His partner, Agent Adams, was a feminine version, although Violet detected a slight moment of compassion when she shook the woman's hand.

Norton folded his arms and propped himself, half sitting, half standing, at the edge of the table. “Miss Baker, is it true that you have psychic visions?”

“Lately I have had some odd experiences, yes.”

“You said lately?”

“In the past few weeks. The only other time…” She hesitated and picked at a loose thread on her shirt.

“Go on,” Norton said.

“When I was eight years old, I shared a special connection to another girl.” She explained about Darlene and her death. “Until recently I hadn't experienced a connection with anyone else.”

“And why do you think that changed?”

“I have no idea,” Violet said. “At first, I thought it was because it was the anniversary of Darlene's death. But I wasn't connecting to her. I was seeing visions of a woman crying out for help.”

The agent traded a skeptical look with his partner.

“Can you describe these visions?” Special Agent Adams asked.

Violet nodded, closing her eyes to collect herself. Grisly images bombarded her. “They started while I was in Savannah. I heard this woman crying out for help. Then I saw a man's hands strangle her. And later…later a young woman turned up missing.”

“Amber Collins?” Agent Norton said.

“Yes, she'd been in my store the day before.”

“And you've seen visions since?” Agent Norton asked.

Violet nodded. “Of the two other women who died.”

Again Agent Norton and his partner traded looks. “Describe exactly what you see,” he said.

Violet hesitated and glanced at Grady. He nodded for her to continue. She spread the sketch pad on the table, then pointed to the drawings. Both agents' expressions changed. Sharpened with interest. “He ties them up, then draws their blood into a syringe,” she said. “Some
times he calls himself the blood taker, sometimes the chosen one. He keeps it—the blood is his souvenir.”

Norton cleared his throat while Agent Adams jotted down some notes.