High-Caliber Holiday (10 page)

TEN

M
organ stood in her doorway, staring at a trail of rose petals leading down the hallway like a trail of blood. Their sweet scent, a smell she'd once loved, was cloying. She felt her stomach lurch again, and she swallowed back the urge to hurl on her wood floors.

“Remember,” Brady said from right behind her. “Don't touch anything. Rossi will want to see the scene just as we found it.”

She followed the trail inside. Though Brady had told her what to expect, she gasped and jerked back from the red votive candles in small glass holders burning on almost every surface in her living room. They'd obviously been lit for some time as many of the wicks had been swallowed by melted wax that extinguished the flame. On the sofa sat a large poster board covered with photographs. Photos of her engaging in her daily activities. At work in the resource room. On the MAX. At the theater. The gym. The grocery store. Pharmacy. On and on. Her every movement.

Her stalker had been close to her. So close. All this time.

She shivered and couldn't stem the tears that had been threatening for days.

“Aw, honey, it'll be okay.” Brady gently tipped her head up and looked into her eyes. “I promise.”

She saw compassion, caring and warmth in his gaze and didn't want to look away. To move away.

He swiped a thumb over her cheek and despite knowing she should take a step back, she rested her forehead on the solid wall of his chest and felt herself relax. He drew her closer. Pressed her cheek against his chest and stroked her hair while she cried.

“Shh,” he whispered. “I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere.”

She didn't know how long she let him hold her, but the sound of Rossi calling out from the open door brought her to her senses and she backed away. Brady's eyes narrowed as if she'd hurt him. If she had, she regretted it, but despite the urge to lean on him, she couldn't do so. Not for more than a moment. Not now when she'd just begun to taste life on her own.

She dragged her gaze away from him. He went to greet Rossi in the hallway where she heard Brady bring the detective up to speed, but the collage beckoned her to take a closer look instead of joining them. Her stomach convulsing once again, she studied the pictures and tried to recall the dates of the activities. Just how long had she been watched?

She heard Brady and Rossi enter the room, then a swift indrawn gasp of air, probably from Rossi. If a hardened detective thought the collage was gasp worthy, she should be even more concerned.

“He's been following me for months,” she muttered. “Three months, to be exact.”

Rossi moved next to her. “How do you know?”

She pointed at a photo where she stood outside the Keller Auditorium. “This production was in October.”

Frowning, Rossi moved closer to the collage. “Can you identify the timing of any of the other pictures?”

“Yes.”

“Then I need you to write down the date for each picture you can match.”

She peered at him, the throbbing in her head intensifying. “It sounds like you believe me now.”

“I apologize for ever doubting you,” he said sincerely. “But the evidence just didn't support your claim until now.”

“Now?” she asked. “I'm surprised you didn't think I set this up before I left for work this morning.”

“It's the candles.” Brady gestured around the room. “You've been with me all day. There's no way you could have lit these.”

“Oh...right,” she managed to say. She should be glad that Rossi now believed her, but the thought of a man spending all that time lighting these candles in her apartment sent terror to her heart, and she felt like she might drop to the floor.

“I suppose you could have arranged for someone to do this for you,” Rossi continued. “But I'm more inclined to think you're telling the truth.” Rossi met her gaze, his assessing for a moment. “I'm going to bring in forensics for this. I'll just step outside to call them, and then we'll go through the crime scene together.”

Morgan settled in a chair and waited until he left the room before looking at Brady. “Why is he so suspicious?”

“He's in law enforcement. We're all suspicious.” Brady grimaced. “If you saw what we do on a daily basis, you'd understand.”

“What exactly do you do every day?” she asked, trying to think about anything other than the evidence of a stalker surrounding her. “I mean you can't be called out to hostage situations with the FRS all the time.”

“Actually, I wear three hats.” He leaned against the wall. “In addition to the FRS, I'm on the sheriff's Search and Rescue Squad. When I'm not dispatched for either of these teams, I work patrol. Since the county can't afford for the FRS to sit around and wait for a callout, everyone on the team but Jake has a secondary assignment.”

“Do you like being a deputy?”

Brady hesitated. “It can be the best job in the world and the worst, but yeah, I like it.”

She looked up at him, this man who was so different from the men she'd known in her sheltered life. He was earnest and hardworking. Kind. Compassionate. Smart and funny. The kind of guy a woman could settle down with and be happy. Truly happy.

“Is something wrong?” Brady pushed off the wall and took a step closer. “I mean, other than the obvious problems surrounding you?”

“Wrong? No.”

“Your stomach isn't bothering you?”

“Oddly enough, it's a little better.”

“Really? This situation had to take you to the top of the stress meter, so maybe it's not stress after all.”

“Maybe.” She suspected feeling better had more to do with Brady's strong embrace than anything, but she wouldn't tell him that.

He nodded at the collage. “Why don't you get started on that list for Rossi while I take pictures of the collage?”

“Pictures? Why?”

“Rossi will take the board as evidence. If we want to find this creep, we'll need to study the photos to see if there's a pattern.”

Right. Study pictures of her taken by a crazy man. Just what she wanted to do, but it couldn't be helped. Not if they were going to put an end to this reign of terror.

She grabbed a notebook from her small desk in the corner of the room and returned to the chair. She forced herself to review the board, picture by picture, and note any dates she could remember. With the use of the calendar on her phone, she located exact dates for ten events and jotted them down. That still left twenty pictures without any precise date information, though she still listed locations when she could.

“Let me snap a photo of your list, too.” Brady took it from her hands.

“Forensics is on the way,” Rossi said stepping up to them. “FYI, I'm not sure if you noticed, but there's no sign of forced entry.”

“That's even more significant this time, with the locks changed.” Brady looked at Morgan. “Did you leave your keys unattended since we talked about it?”

“Nowhere unsecured.”

“Which means what, exactly?”

“In the gym they were in my locker. At work and at the job fair, they were in my purse. So no, they weren't anywhere anyone could get to them.”

“Then we're looking at someone who's skilled at picking locks.” Rossi frowned. “Not a skill that a run-of-the-mill guy possesses.”

“And not a skill the people I know would possess,” Morgan said vehemently.

“People hide things all the time.” Brady leveled a long stare at her. “Between our suspects Nantz and Eckert, I'd have to choose Eckert. His mechanical background seems more logical for someone who learned how to pick locks.”

“We just don't have enough information to know,” Rossi said. “Now, about the collage. Did you finish the list for me?”

Morgan handed it to him.

“I took photos of the collage so we can continue to study it,” Brady said. “If we figure out any other locations or dates, we'll get the information to you.”

“Good.” Rossi's focus drifted to the door where footsteps sounded outside. “That will be our forensics tech. I need to give him instructions.”

“Before you go,” Brady said, “I grabbed a water bottle with Eckert's prints, and I can either have my team run it like they did with Nantz's prints or give it to you.”

“I'll take it and rush the processing.”

“It's in my car.”

“No hurry. Just grab it before I take off.” Rossi offered a rare smile. “You should know, I've talked to two of the four people who sent the threatening letters. Both of them have alibis and of course, Shaw was in jail. I'll get to the other guy ASAP.” He started to walk away, stopped and turned back to look at Morgan.

She didn't like the way his gaze had intensified and prepared herself for bad news.

“The DA will be contacting you about testifying at Shaw's trial,” he said. “I'm assuming you're willing to do so.”

Thoughts of seeing Craig Shaw again sent her pulse racing but she nodded.

“Okay, good. I'm glad we can count on you.”

A tall forensic tech wearing a white Tyvek suit stepped into the room. He carried a large case and he looked focused and determined, giving Morgan some comfort that they might find evidence this time.

“Excuse me,” Rossi said, and went to join him.

Brady held up his phone. “Since Rossi is still here, I'd like to run out to a copy place and have large prints of the photos made so we can get a better look at them.”

“Okay.” She might have agreed, but she honestly didn't want Brady to leave. She was starting to depend on him and it bothered her. Bothered her even more that she was wondering what it was going to be like after this was over and Brady went back to his life and she resumed her daily routine.

He smiled tightly. “Why don't you try to rest until I come back?”

Rest, right. Like she'd ever rest well in this apartment, this place where she'd established her independence, ever again.

* * *

Brady had been studying the photos propped on Morgan's dining table with no success. He rearranged them, hoping to spark a new insight. Stepping back, he stared at them while trying to ignore the lingering scent of roses. After the forensic tech had finished processing the place, Morgan cleaned up the petals and Brady took out the trash, but the whole place still had a sickly sweet smell. He never wanted to see or smell a rose again, and he suspected Morgan felt the same way.

She sat at the table rubbing her forehead. At least her nausea seemed to have passed—or she was doing a better job of hiding it. She should rest, but they needed to work on the photos more. Her safety depended on it.

And it also depended on him not leaving her here alone. “I'm going to bunk on your couch at night until we find this guy.”

“That's not necessary,” she said, but she actually looked relieved.

“I think it is and it's not negotiable,” he said firmly, and pointed at the photos to move on. “Are you up for going through the pictures one more time before we call it a night?”

She stopped massaging her head and nodded.

He started with a picture taken of her at work in the resource room. “The stalker had to have been close for this one. The angle would have precluded the use of a telephoto lens. Is there anything in the picture that could help give us a date?”

She stared at it. Turned it. Tapped it against the table, then suddenly looked up. “My suit. My dad ruined it when he spilled a glass of wine on it. I never wore it after that.” She looked through her calendar program on her phone, then pointed at the screen. “Here. The dinner was on November twentieth. I was heading there right after work. That was the only time I wore that suit to the office.”

“Okay, write that one down.” He waited for her to finish noting the date on the list. “Anything odd or unusual about that night?”

She seemed to shrink as he asked the question. “It's the last time I had dinner alone with my father. It was his last-ditch effort to get me to come back to the mill and get back together with Preston. I refused both, and he was livid. He's kind of disowned me.”

“Seems extreme.”

“Self-preservation, I guess.” She twined her fingers together and stared at them. “I never had any interest in running the company, and he hated to think it wouldn't be in the family after he retired. He wanted to merge the mill with Orion Transport and have Preston run the new company. The mill would stay in the family, and Dad could boss Preston around.”

She slumped in her chair as sadness and a hint of hopelessness seemed to take over. Seeing this contradiction to her usual determination broke Brady's heart. He took the chair next to her and resisted reaching for her hands. “That must have been a difficult night.”

“Actually,” she said, her voice low and tortured. “It got even worse. He told me I wasn't strong enough to make it on my own, that I'd come crawling back to him, back to Preston, and beg them to take me back.”

“I'm sorry, Morgan.” He took her hands in his, and the icy coldness confirmed her angst. “That must be hard for you.”

She watched him for a moment, then suddenly freed her hands, pulled her shoulders back and let her iron curtain of resolve mask her feelings. “With my focus on achieving my professional goals, he'll see that he was wrong in due time.”

Wondering if this night was significant in the stalking incidents, Brady forced his eyes over the line of photos one more time. Only one thing jumped out at him. “I guess this explains why most of these pictures are related to your job.”

“Yeah, it's pretty much my whole life right now.” A nervous laugh slipped out. “What am I saying? It
is
my whole life.”

“And what about friends and fun?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “I love what I do, so I honestly haven't thought about it. But now that you mention it?” She shrugged. “Once I get my life on track, I'll make time for other things and people.”