Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (83 page)

“I've got a few questions first. Who told you about Alena?”

“That sheriff 's deputy named Elgin told me—I met him at a bar the other night.”

“How did he know?”

“He said he saw her the night you found all the graves—he said he was pulling in just as she was leaving. I guess he just put two and two together.”

“Was there anybody else around when you two were talking?”

“It was a bar. What do you think?”

“Great,” Nick said. “And how did you know to come up here?”

“How did you?”

Nick looked at Alena. “What's the command for ‘The buffet line is now open'?”

“Okay, okay—I just asked around town. I'm a reporter, for crying out loud. I just asked, ‘Where can I find the witch?'” He pointed with his eyes. “Is that her?”

In the darkness behind Nick, Alena continued to search for Ruckus. She clapped her hands for the third time before the little dog finally came limping out of the brush. She dropped to her knees and felt the dog's shoulders and legs.

“Uh-oh,” Nick said. “You did a big no-no.”

Alena jumped to her feet and charged forward in a fury. She twisted the flashlight out of Nick's hand and shoved him aside, then pointed the beam in Decker's face.

“Did you kick my dog?” she demanded.

“Are you the witch?”

“I said, ‘Did-you-kick-my-dog?'”

“What's your problem, lady? I only wanted to talk to you.”

She raised her right hand and made a fist; both dogs began to slowly tighten their grips.

“I'd consider your answers very carefully if I were you,” Nick said. “Trust me, I've had some experience in this area.”

Alena glared down at him. “Do you know what a ‘crush bite' is? It's the way dogs bite—not by puncturing the skin like cats do, but by crushing and tearing. A dog this size can bite with a force of four hundred pounds per square inch—what do you think he'll do to your windpipe if I give him the command?”

“Get these dogs off me right now,” Decker demanded. “These are dangerous animals—I could call the authorities and have them destroyed.”

“Wow,” Nick said. “I was just wondering if it was possible for you to get any stupider. Apparently it is.”

Alena knelt down beside him and glared directly into his eyes. “You're right,” she said, “these are dangerous animals. I've taught them to hunt the way their ancestors did—in a pack. That one grabbed your leg to keep you from escaping; I had to train him not to follow his instincts and tear your hamstring out. I trained this one to go for your throat but not to crush it. That was a very difficult skill for him to learn—it's like learning to carry an egg on your tongue. And this one down here—the one who's drooling over your potbelly right now—he's the one who would kill you. The other two are just supposed to paralyze you—to hold you down and stretch you out nice and tight while their partner disembowels you.”

“You're out of your mind,” Decker said.

“I'm a witch,” she whispered. “What did you expect?”

“I'll see you in court, lady. This is a violation of the First Amendment— you're infringing on the freedom of the press.”

She slowly rose to her feet. “There's only one way to deal with a man like you.”

At that moment Gunner came crashing through the brush into the clearing and collapsed to his knees, panting. “Alena—don't!”

But Alena ignored him. She snapped her fingers and pointed to Ruckus, then to Decker. The little dog trotted over and positioned itself beside the man, then looked up at its master for the final command. Alena held out her left hand and raised her little finger.

Ruckus lifted his left leg and sent a jet of water onto Decker's head.

Gunner heaved a sigh of relief.

“Hey!” Decker shouted as loudly as his constricted throat would allow. “What the—What's he doing?”

“What a coincidence,” Nick said. “I was just thinking of doing the same thing.”

“Tell him to stop that!”

“Tell him yourself. Give him that line about ‘freedom of the press'— that one really impressed me.”

Decker reached up for the little dog—but when he did he felt his throat tighten. He dropped his arm to his side again; he had no choice but to lay there until the dog had finished his business at his leisure.

“That's quite a bladder for a little dog,” Gunner said. “I'm jealous.”

“I know what you mean,” Nick said. “That's a performance any man would admire.”

“Are you going to let me up or not?” Decker growled.

Nick squatted down beside him. “Let's get a couple of things straight first: Number one, as of tonight Alena is assisting the FBI in an investigation— that means she'll be subject to the same interview restrictions the rest of us are. If you want to talk to Alena, talk to the public liaison officer at the Patriot Center first. Got it?”

“Whatever.”

“And number two, when you climbed that fence you became guilty of trespassing, and the First Amendment won't protect you there. If I ever see you up here again, I'll make sure charges are filed and your credentials are pulled—and if Alena catches you up here again, you'll get worse than that. And you know what, Decker? These are trained security dogs and this is posted private property—I don't think a jury in the world would convict her.”

“I'm still going to do this story.”

“Go ahead, scuzzball—the damage has already been done. Just don't come back here unless you're invited. Do we understand each other?”

Decker blinked his assent.

Nick looked up at Alena and nodded; she snapped her fingers, then closed her fist and opened it again. The dogs immediately released their grip and took sitting positions beside her.

Decker stood up and wiped himself off. “All I wanted to ask you is—”

“My dogs will escort you back to the fence,” Alena said. “And if you feel like kicking one of these dogs, please—go right ahead.”

The three of them watched in silence until Decker was well into the woods. Alena scooped up Ruckus and cradled him in her arms.

“Is he all right?” Gunner asked.

“Nothing seems to be broken.”

“He's a tough little guy,” Nick said.

“I told you—it's his gift.”

“It could have been worse, Alena. It could have been you.”

“He was just a reporter.”

“This time.”

“I told you before, I can take care of myself.”

“Is this the way you want to spend your life—listening for sounds in the woods every night? Wondering if somebody else has climbed your fence? Wondering if they're coming for you?”

She shrugged. “That's what I do anyway.”

“You shouldn't have to,” Gunner said. “Listen to Nick, Alena. Somebody's going to come looking for you—the same guy who came looking for that FEMA woman. Please—help the FBI find him before he finds you. Everybody knows about you now; there's no reason for you to hide anymore—no reason you and Nick have to sneak around at night.”

“Every time I help him, things get worse.”

“Sometimes things get worse before they get better,” Nick said, “but they will get better—and they'll improve a lot faster if you help.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Come with me to Dogleg Lake in the morning. Help us find the body in the water. You and Trygg can pinpoint it for us—without your help we'll have to search the whole lake.”

“Why is that body so important?”

“Because it's Marge's body—I'm sure of it. The lake water's cold— that slows down decomposition—and the body's only been there for a couple of days. So far we've had to track this guy with nothing but a pile of thirty-year-old bones. This time we have a fresh body—a chance of finding forensic evidence that could lead us right to him.”

“You can find the body without me,” she said. “It'll just take a little longer.”

“It could take a lot longer, and in the meantime somebody could be looking for you. Marge disappeared the day after her interview, remember? Well, news about you has been circulating for about a day now. We don't have time to mess around, Alena—we need to move fast.”

“Listen to him,” Gunner added. “Nick's making sense.”

Alena considered their words. “I can't go down there—not in the daylight— not when people will see me.”

“The FBI will declare the area a crime scene. We'll cordon off the whole place—no one will be allowed in except you and me and a handful of FBI personnel. Believe me, it's the safest place for you to be right now.”

“The safest place for me is with my dogs.”

“We're talking about a murderer,” Nick said, “and that little dog can't protect you. I'm afraid the others can't either—they're big, and they're smart, but they're not bulletproof.”

“Don't ever say that. Ever.”

“I'm sorry. You need to hear it.”

“I want you both to go away. I can't go back down there. I won't— and you have no right to ask me to help you again. I've helped enough.” She turned and started back through the woods.

“Alena, wait,” Gunner said.

“Then help yourself,” Nick called after her. “You want this guy more than I do.”

Alena turned and looked at him. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Whoever killed Marge needed a place to dump her body fast. He took it to the old graveyard by the lake, but he knew he couldn't bury it like he did the others—not while people are looking for graves—so he dropped it in the lake instead. He knew about the graveyard, Alena—the one you helped me find last night.”

“So?”

“I went back there this morning. I started excavating that grave— the one you said had the most recent remains. You were right, just like always. There was a second body—one that wasn't supposed to be there.”

Alena waited.

Gunner took a step closer. “We didn't want to tell you like this.”

“Tell me what?”

Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out the buckeye; he pushed on it with his thumb.

CLICK clack.

Ruckus barked once.

Alena sank to the ground, and Gunner hurried to her side.

30

Riddick led the mare from her stall and tied the lead to a wooden post in an open section of the stable. It was a magnificent animal, a classic reddish-brown bay with a black mane and tail. He took out a soft-bristled brush and began to stroke the mare's forelock and face, being careful to avoid her eyes. Then he switched to a medium brush and moved to the neck, working his way down to the powerful shoulders with a brush in one hand and a grooming mitt in the other.

I'm definitely getting one of these
, he thought. He imagined himself sitting in the saddle, holding the reins loosely in his lap while the mare cantered smoothly around the exercise arena. He was a good rider—for someone who grew up in the suburbs of Virginia Beach and never saw a horse outside of a petting zoo. But he used to ride with Victoria, and she had taught him well. She taught him how to keep his shoulders back and how to keep constant pressure on the irons with the balls of his feet; she taught him how to push his heels down to stay square in the saddle and how to hold the reins to keep a constant light pressure on the bit. Victoria grew up on a horse; she knew how to ride, and now Riddick did too—and he was looking forward to riding again.

“Is she ready?”

Riddick turned. Victoria was dressed in khaki breeches with knee-length riding boots and a black blazer over a white cotton blouse; she was working her slender fingers into a pair of pigskin gloves. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail today—something Riddick rarely saw and few cameras were ever allowed to record.

“Almost. Thought I'd give her a once-over first.”

“Good.” She took a quilted saddle pad and threw it across the mare's back.

“Want some company? I could saddle the Appaloosa.”

“I prefer to ride alone. You'd slow me down.” She glanced around the stable for any sign of listening ears. “I thought this might be a good place to have a little talk, Chris. I can't have you popping in and out of my bedroom ever again. Are we clear on that?”

“What's on your mind?”

“I've been thinking about what you said the other night—about those two scrapbooks and what they contain—about what would happen if people found out.”

“And?”

“You said that the old woman is the town gossip, and that I should think about that. What did you mean?”