Trust Me (2 page)

Shit

The metallic taste of fear rose in her throat and soured her stomach.

This was probably just someone who was lost and needed directions.

Sherman Island, which only had 175 residents, sat in the heart of the Sacramento River Delta. Few outsiders were familiar with the sloughs, natural waterways, drawbridges and levees that made the wetlands so unique. But she would no longer assume that strangers were safe. Not since she'd been startled awake in the middle of the night by a man wearing a hood and wielding a knife.

Burke was now in prison--thank God--but because of The Last Stand, the victim's support organization she'd started with her friends Sheridan Kohl and Jasmine Stratford two years ago, she'd made a lot of enemies. This could easily be Tamara Lind's husband, a wife-beater who blamed Skye for Tamara's recent desertion. Last week, he'd threatened to bomb The Last Stand. Or it could be Kevin Sheppard. Kevin had appeared at their offices after a flurry of newspaper articles praising TLS for financially backing an investigator who'd uncovered new evidence on a high-profile murder. Kevin had wanted to help out as a volunteer, but Skye turned him away when a background check revealed accusations of stalking, at which point he'd grown unreasonably angry and stormed out. No one had seen him since.

The doorbell sounded, followed almost immediately by a sharp rap.

She imagined turning off the alarm and opening the door as far as the chain allowed, only to have it kicked wide--and felt her palm begin to sweat on the butt of her gun. Calm down.

She had damn good aim. But nerves could wreak havoc on the best marksman in the world. So she wouldn't open the door. She'd pretend to be gone and hope he'd go on his way.

Holding her breath, she pressed her spine more firmly to the wall, wondering what the students from her various shooting classes would think if they could see her now-- sweating and shaking over some fog and an unexpected visitor. Most viewed her as indestructible when she had a gun in her hand. They acted like their own guns made them invincible, too. But they didn't understand what it was really like in a desperate standoff, didn't 13

fully grasp that a woman could own a million firearms and still be vulnerable. Unless she was prepared to pull the trigger.

Was she willing to kill Kevin Sheppard? Or Tamara's estranged husband?

If she had to...

She hadn't made a move or a sound, but her visitor didn't seem to be buying that she wasn't at home. He rang the doorbell again. Knocked. Then his body blocked the window as he tried to see in.

"Skye? Skye, are you there? It's me, Detective Willis."

Exhaling slowly, she consciously released the pressure of her fingers on the gun. David... She wasn't in mortal danger. But knowing he was standing on her front step certainly didn't slow her heart rate.

"Your car's in the drive," he yelled. "You gonna answer?"

Taking another steadying breath, she flipped the safety on her gun, dropped it in the pocket of her coat, which hung on the hall tree by the door, and dashed a hand across her moist upper lip.

"Skye?"

"Coming." After shutting off the alarm system, she slid the chain aside, turned the dead bolt and opened the door.

He was wearing a green shirt and tie and looked good-- too good. His tie was a little dressy for his shirt, but his style was as unique as it was appealing. Sort of James Dean "cool" mixed with Johnny Depp "different."

Briefly, she remembered the time, nearly a year ago, when he'd brushed his lips against hers, then kissed her more deeply, pushing her up against the wall. In that moment, their volatile attraction had overcome reason and common sense.

"Hi." She smiled, hoping to appear unaffected, but their relationship was so complex, she couldn't take any encounter with him in stride.

Especially an unexpected encounter. "What brings you out to the delta?"

His manner suggested this wasn't a social call. She almost wondered if he'd forgotten the night he'd come by to help her move and they'd nearly made love. "I need to talk to you. Can I come in for a minute?"

He was being so formal, so aloof. And he hadn't called. He'd shown up at her door. What was going on?

Stepping aside, she beckoned him past her, telling herself there was no reason for the knot in her stomach. The worst was behind her. No matter what happened from here on, she'd never have to go through the same hell again. And that was all that mattered. "Can I get you a cup of green tea?"

"Green tea?" he echoed, arching a dark eyebrow.

"Sorry. I don't have any coffee. I don't drink it anymore."

14

"I'll pass on the tea. I'm afraid my body wouldn't know what to do with something that healthy." His light green eyes seemed to take in every detail of her face and figure-- which, in turn, made her far too aware of him.

But he didn't indicate whether or not he liked what he saw. He kept whatever he was thinking locked behind an implacable expression. And a second later, he shifted his attention to his surroundings.

For the first time in a long while, Skye saw the inside of her house from someone else's perspective. In the living room, she'd removed her mother's dated "for company" couch, the walnut veneer side tables, the curio cabinets and vases filled with silk flowers--given them all to Jennifer and Brenna, her two stepsisters, who lived in southern California near their father. She'd replaced the furniture with free weights, an exercise bike, a treadmill, an aerobics step and a mat for yoga. Only a slice of kitchen could be seen from their vantage point, but it showed the small indoor garden where she grew herbs and wheat grass.

"Wow, I like what you've done to the place," he said.

His sardonic smile let her know he didn't consider it an improvement.

She knew that in his view it served as further proof that her past was taking control of her life, which was something they'd argued about the last time they'd talked.

"Thanks. Seemed a pity to waste so much space."

"Forever practical."

She hadn't been practical at all. Until the early-morning hours of July 11th nearly four years ago, breaking a freshly manicured nail had been classified as a catastrophe. "Having to stab a rapist tends to change a person."

The muscle that twitched in his jaw revealed his displeasure.

Evidently, she'd just reminded him of the purpose of his visit--if the scar on her cheek had ever let him forget it in the first place.

"Maybe you should sit down," he said.

"Why would I need to do that?"

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "I have bad news."

You and your ex-wife have reconciled for good? She cringed at her thoughts, knowing that if it was true, she should be happy. David's eight-year-old son deserved the kind of family David was so determined to give him.

"I'm fine where I am." When she stubbornly raised her chin, the hard line of his mouth softened. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Can't you find any evidence that it was Burke who killed those other women?"

"No. Not yet."

15

The grudging sound of those words told her that the failure ate at him.

David didn't like losing. Somehow it had become personal with Burke, more than just a job to David. But she couldn't help being disappointed. She'd been praying he'd finally prove that Burke was every bit as evil as she claimed. She didn't care what Burke's lawyers had argued at his trial--that it had been his first offense; that he had no history of violence; that his wife, the person who knew him best, swore he'd never even raised his voice to her; that he was a high-functioning, churchgoing, productive member of the community. Skye had been there that night. She'd felt his deadly intent.

"Have you changed your mind?" she asked. "Do you think it was someone else?"

He thrust his hands in his pockets. "No. It's him. Same pattern of behavior, similar victims. The shoe imprint we found at one of the scenes fits his size feet, which are unusually small for a man."

"That's not enough?"

"There were no discernible characteristics, other than size, that we could point to in order to bring charges."

"I take it there've been no more bodies."

"Nothing similar to the other three."

So why was he here? Worried that Willis's determination was waning, she grabbed his arm--and felt him tense the moment she touched him. She couldn't tell if that was because he resented the contact or welcomed it, but she couldn't lose her only police support. Almost everyone else on the force resented The Last Stand because of the publicity it brought to unsolved or mishandled cases. "It's not too late," she told him. "We've got time. We have to figure out a way to keep Burke behind bars."

Visibly wincing, he pulled out of her grasp, and that was when the real terror set in. "What?" she said. "He's not free, is he? He's still in prison.

They gave him eight to ten. You said that would most likely mean eight."

"I'm sorry, Skye," he muttered from between clenched teeth.

She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't slow her pulse. " What are you saying ? "

"They're letting him go next week."

16

"What's wrong?"

Sheridan's voice sounded tinny as it came through the phone. Backing up to her kitchen counter, Skye pressed the handset more tightly to her ear, hoping it'd help her stop shaking. At least she'd managed to hold herself together until David left. She wouldn't have wanted him to see her fall apart.

He felt as if he'd let her down, even though he'd done everything he could.

"He.. .he's getting out," she whispered.

"Who's getting out?"

Her friend's words came in a rush, confusion as evident as concern.

They'd dealt with so many victims of violent crime since they'd started The Last Stand that Skye could've been referring to a dozen different men.

"Burke."

The shocked silence indicated that Sheridan recognized the name.

"How?"

"The police have never been able to connect him to any other crime.

Apparently he's done the prison system a great service by providing free dental work for the past three years. And he didn't actually get away with what he wanted to do to me before I stabbed him with the scissors I'd been using for my cross-stitch."

"But he got eight to ten. Most inmates in California serve at least half their time."

"Doesn't matter. He's getting out after only three. They're putting him on parole."

"No!"

"Yes," Skye said, but she still couldn't fully believe it. The guy had held a knife to her throat while stripping off her T-shirt and pajama bottoms.

He'd touched her in cruel and intrusive ways, the memory of which made her nauseous.

"But...what about those murders?" Sheridan went on. "The three young women in the university area?"

Skye slid down the side of the cabinet to the floor. The fog was beginning to lift, as it usually did around noon, but the light trickling 17

through the window above her kitchen sink only made her feel exposed.

"Burke was good at covering his tracks. You know that. Our own investigators couldn't come up with any more than David already had." If David couldn't do it, no one could....

Normally, Sheridan would've jumped on Skye's inadvertent use of David's first name. But she was obviously too engrossed in the conversation to notice. "He's well-educated, smart," she said about Burke.

"And without a conscience," Skye added. "He's far from what he appears to be. I had a roommate. He must've spent time stalking me to know my habits, where my bedroom was, when I'd be alone. He targeted me, planned the attack. If it wasn't for the cross-stitch stuff I'd left on my nightstand, I would've been no different than those other girls who are now corpses, their cases unsolved."

"My God," Sheridan muttered.

A flashback of stabbing Burke caused Skye's muscles to cramp and ache. It had required much more strength than she would've guessed. She'd had to strike once, twice, three times before she could do enough damage to stop him, and he'd still gotten away. But not before his blood had burned like fire on her cold hands and spilled onto her sheets....

"What do I do?" she whispered. "I testified against him. The way he glared at me when they read the sentence...I don't think he'll forget that I'm the reason."

"Maybe you should go into hiding," Sheridan said.

Skye jerked up her head. "What happened to not letting fear rule our lives?"

"Just for a little while, until we see where he's going to settle, what he's going to do."

"He'll probably move back in with his family."

"Does he still have a family?"

It was Burke's wife who'd taken him to the emergency room the morning after Skye had stabbed him. The doctors had found his wounds so odd they'd contacted the police, which was how Burke had been caught and arrested. But Jane had supported her husband all through the trial. Skye could still hear her weeping uncontrollably when the verdict came in.

"Probably. His wife insisted that he was innocent."

"I don't want to risk losing you, Skye. And you know what Jasmine would say. We're her only family now. After what happened to her sister, I'm sure she'd rather you played it safe."

Sighing, Skye rubbed her eyes. She had no business dragging Sheridan--or Jasmine for that matter--through this with her. They faced 18

enough of their own demons. The three of them had first met at a victims'

support group, where they'd become fast friends over innumerable cups of coffee--time spent trying to come to terms with the violent incidents that had transformed their lives.

"When we started TLS, we decided to be fearless, remember? We decided to take power away from the people who'd hurt us." Maybe she hadn't completely accomplished that. But she was trying. She couldn't just give up.

"But the man who frightens me most probably still lives across the country. I can't even imagine how difficult it would be to function when you could easily stumble upon the person who tried to kill you, walking in the street or shopping in the mall."