A Deadly Love (25 page)

Two pairs of eyes stared at him. What were they thinking? Were they wondering who he’d take out tonight? Did they know this time Marnie wouldn’t come back?

“What’s wrong? You look—upset.” Stephanie spoke in her mom voice.

He would
not
think about her children. His brows lowered. “A change of plans.”

Her eyes filled with hope. “Will you let us go?” She leaned forward, hands clasped together. “Please, please, let us go.”

“I can’t.” Stalking across the room, he fished the key from his pocket and unfastened Marnie’s shackle. He took a calming breath. “I’ve explained why you’re here. I really wish you’d stop looking at me like I’m some kind of monster.” He jerked Marnie up off the cot. “You both brought this on yourselves. I’m not the one you should blame.”

“Sick freak!” Marnie shrieked. “Impotent little bastard!”

He closed his eyes, certain his head would explode. When Marnie bolted for the ladder, he let her go. “You can run, but you can’t hide!” he shouted.

“You don’t want her. You don’t even like her.”

He swung around to face Stephanie. “She doesn’t deserve any part of my heart. She never did. And, by God, tonight, I’m taking it back.”

“No. Noooo!”

Her scream echoed in his ears as he scrambled up the ladder. He slammed the trap door shut, pulled the knife out of his backpack, and sprinted into the forest.

Chapter Fifteen

Brooke woke from a sound sleep, not in stages but all at once, and sat bolt upright in bed. With his front paws propped against the windowsill, Otis stared into the night and growled low in his throat. Bright moonlight shining through the curtains silvered his fur like some archaic fairytale beast. Shivering, she clutched the comforter to her chest. “What is it, boy?”

He growled again and gave a sharp bark before bounding over to the closed bedroom door. Whining and scratching, he cast a look in her direction.

“Are you kidding me? There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m going to let you out to chase squirrels, so you can just forget about it!”

He barked again, and she lowered her voice. “Stop that. You’re going to wake Grandma.”

The dog retreated to the window and stared silently into the darkness. Her skin prickling, she lay back down in the bed. It had to be a squirrel or some other animal disturbing Otis.
But what if it isn’t?
The doors and windows were locked. They were perfectly safe. Still, it was a long time before she drifted back to sleep.

****

“I’ve got to get some fresh air.” Climbing down from the step ladder, Brooke went to the window and pushed futilely on the frame. The swollen wood screeched upward another half inch and stuck. Her head throbbed, and she gritted her teeth.

“All the windows do that when it’s been raining.” June stepped around a paint bucket and handed her a glass of water and two aspirin tablets. “Why don’t you take a break and go for a walk.”

“Maybe I will. I only have one wall left, and I can finish it this evening.” She glanced around the spare bedroom, freshly painted the pale blue of a summer sky. “This color is going to look terrific with the new curtains you made.”

“I think so, too. With the double wedding ring quilt on the bed and the cedar chest we found in the attic, the room will be stunning when it’s finished.”

Leaving the painting mess where it was, she followed her grandmother out into the hall and shut the bedroom door. “I don’t want to stink up the rest of the house while I’m gone.”

June turned, her hands planted firmly on her narrow hips, and frowned. “When I said walk, I meant into town. I don’t want you wandering around the woods alone.”

“It’s been over two weeks since Stephanie was taken, and nothing has happened.” She stopped at the top of the stairs and rubbed the back of her neck. “Maybe the psycho is tired of his game, or having the FBI around scared him away.”

“Do you think so?”

Her grandmother’s eyes lit with hope, and Brooke hated to dash it. “God, if only! I hope the police find Steph and Marnie locked up in someone’s attic, hungry but safe.” She continued down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. Otis jumped up from beneath the table and stared at her with soulful eyes. “He needs a good, long run, and he won’t get it walking on the road.”

“Brooke, the woods—”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon, and the sun is actually shining.” She clenched her fists. “I want to go for a hike. I
need
to, Grandma. Nothing is going to happen in broad daylight.
And
I have Otis for protection.”

“I wish Dillon could go with you.”

“He’s at work.” She patted her grandmother’s hand. “I’ll be fine, and I won’t stay out long.”

“You have your cell phone?” Her voice quavered.

Picking it up off the counter, she shoved it into the hip pocket of her paint stained jeans. After lacing up her hiking boots and grabbing a windbreaker from the rack by the door, she hugged June. “Please don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Guilt ate at her as she headed up the trail. Her grandmother
would
worry, but she’d be certifiable if she didn’t get out of the house for a couple of hours. It wasn’t just the painting giving her a major case of the fidgets. It was Dillon, or more specifically, her conflicted feelings toward him.

Following Otis on a zigzagging course through the underbrush, she set a grueling pace that left her calf muscles burning and her heart pounding. The physical strain was something she could manage and control. Unlike her emotions, which swung wildly between euphoria and despair and left her wondering if she could trust her own heart. She’d spent Saturday night making love with Dillon, feeling like they truly had a shot at happiness. Sunday afternoon he’d dropped her off with an absent pat on the shoulder, and she hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Granted it had only been twenty-four hours, but she would have thought—

A flash of white caught her attention, out of place amongst the greens and browns of the forest. Squeezing through a mass of huckleberry bushes, she saw it again as a gust of wind blew through the trees. The flutter of cloth like a towel caught in the breeze—or the skirt of an old fashioned nightgown. The garment billowed away from the tree and then slapped against it as the gust died.

Brooke’s knees buckled, and she moaned deep in her throat. Backing out from under a clump of ferns where he’d been digging, Otis nudged her shoulder and whined. The cloth flapped again, and the dog stiffened.

“No!” Grabbing his collar, she held on with all her might. Tears ran down her face as she struggled to leash him. “Oh God, please no.” The whimper burst from her throat, harsh and hurting. Fear held her immobile as she stared at the gathered ruffle ripped from the hem of a long gown. She didn’t want to see what was on the other side of the tree. Couldn’t bear to look.

But what if it isn’t too late?
She had to make sure. Taking a firm grasp on the leash, she forced her shaking legs to move, putting one foot in front of the other. Her heart pounded deafeningly in her ears, a harsh roar like a tsunami wave pummeling the shore. Staying well away from the giant redwood, she circled to the east, not stopping until—

She screamed, high and loud, the sound dissolving into a keening shriek. Falling to her knees, she buried her face in Otis’s fur.

The woman was tied to the tree, her head hanging forward over the gaping wound in her chest. Dark reddish brown blood soaked the front of the long, white dress. A yellow slipper dangled from one foot. Brooke couldn’t see her face, only the short red hair clinging to the vulnerable skin of her neck. Not Stephanie. Marnie. The flood of relief made her stomach lurch.

Stumbling backward, she retched, her stomach heaving over and over again. When the spasms abated, she pulled a crumpled tissue from her jacket pocket and wiped her mouth with a shaking hand. Otis howled long and low. Shivering, she clung to him.

Behind her, the bushes shook. Whirling, the heels of her boots digging into the soft earth, she threw up her arms. A scream died in her throat. Jesse stood a short distance away, staring past her at the tree and the woman tied to it.

“Oh no.”

She collapsed against the dog, tried to speak, but couldn’t force words past the constriction in her throat.

He stepped closer, stopped, and laid a shaking hand on her shoulder. “It’s Marnie, isn’t it?”

Nodding, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “We should call someone.” Her voice cracked.

“I don’t have my phone. I was outside when I heard you scream.” He stroked a hand over his bearded face, and his brows furrowed. “It was you that screamed, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Can you do it?”

“Won’t be the first time.” He punched a few buttons and lifted the phone to his ear. “Them FBI folks aren’t going to like this.”

Marnie was dead.

Brooke’s teeth chattered as the damp ground seeped through her jeans. She clutched Otis tighter, trying to absorb his warmth. Dillon would take the news hard. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to lay the burden of the death of another woman he’d cared for on his shoulders.

Jesse clicked the phone shut and handed it to her. “They’re on the way.”

“Dillon...”

“Suppose we should call him.” His eyes clouded. “Want me to do it?”

“I will.” Her fingers pushed the buttons, and she waited while the phone rang, feeling cold to the depths of her soul. Finally he picked up.

“Hey. I was going to call you—”

“Dillon—” Her voice cracked.

“What’s wrong?” She heard the panic in his tone. “Are you okay? Brooke—”

She took a breath. “I found Marnie.” He didn’t answer, and the silence stretched. “Did you hear me?”

“I heard. Have you called the police yet?”

“Jesse did. He’s with me.” She listened to his deep breathing, knew he was trying to get his emotions under control.

“Tell me where you are, and I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“Don’t.” She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against the dog’s fur. “As soon as Harley gets here, Jesse and I will go back to the house. I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”

“With the FBI running the show, it might be hours.” She could hear the frustration in his voice, the anger.

“There’s no reason for you to see her, Dillon. You’ve been through enough.” She stopped speaking and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Please, I’d rather you waited with Grandma. She’s going to be upset.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I’ll admit I lost it when I first saw her, but I’m okay now.” She let out a shuddering breath. “I didn’t really know Marnie.”

His voice was harsh. “Does that make it any easier?”

She squeezed her eyes closed. “Maybe a little.”

“I’ll see you when you get home, then.”

He disconnected, and she pictured him staring at his phone. What would he do next?
Shout. Smash his fist into a wall. Cry.
A sob broke from her throat.

Jesse crouched beside her and patted her shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be all right.”

She looked up at him through her tears. “Will
Dillon
be all right?”

“He’s a strong man. He’s gotten through worse.”

“First losing his wife and parents and now this. A person has limits.”

“He’ll deal with it in his own way. That’s what you do when life slaps you in the face.” She heard his knees pop as he stood. “Get up off the ground, or you’ll be soaked.”

Slowly she rose to her feet, still holding tightly to the dog. Otis leaned against her leg, and she stroked his rough fur. “You have more strength than all of us, Jesse.”

He snorted. “Getting old isn’t for wimps. You develop a tough hide.”

“I suppose so.” They waited in silence, facing away from the tree. Brooke couldn’t look, wouldn’t think about what Marnie’s death meant. All she wanted to do was crawl in a hole and hide from what would surely happen next.

****

Brooke sat at the kitchen table, talking to Agent Washington, describing how she’d discovered the body for at least the third time. The endless recitation was taking its toll. Her skin was pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed with fatigue and sorrow. She twined her fingers together in her lap and rocked back and forth in a slow rhythm. The sight tore at Dillon’s gut.

Jesse seemed to be taking this latest horror in stride. From the dining room came the low drone of his voice. He spoke slowly, not letting Agent Polk’s jabs about how he’d turned up again like a bad penny rile him. Pride in his grandfather’s fortitude filled him, dispelling some of the hollowness. Grief and anger hovered like a threatening storm. Numbness blunted his emotions.

A gust of cold air blew down the hallway as Harley wiped his feet on the mat before entering. He stopped in the kitchen doorway beside Dillon and frowned. “Brooke looks ready to break.”

Dillon’s fingers tightened around the doorframe. “If they keep at her, I may do something that’ll land me in your jail cell for the night.”

Harley grunted. “You might have company. Knowing Steph is next on this psycho’s hit list has Rod an inch away from exacting a little vigilante justice. If there was a single suspect, he’d lose it completely. I tried to talk sense into him, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen.”

“I don’t blame him.” Dillon spoke through gritted teeth. “The FBI doesn’t know the difference between their ass and a hole in the ground, and now Marnie is dead because of it.”

Harley absently scratched the back of his neck and scowled. “The weird thing is no one else is missing, at least not that we know of. I suppose he could have taken a woman who lives alone, but friends and neighbors are pretty vigilant about checking on single woman since this all started. I don’t get it. The killer leaves one woman dead and takes another the same night. That’s his MO. We can’t be sure when Marnie died until the coroner performs an autopsy, but from her condition, I’m guessing Saturday.”

“I bet you’re right. Saturday night was a full moon.” His tone was detached, speculative.
What is wrong with me?