Blind Sight: A Novel (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

S
hivering, she awoke on her back just before dawn to sheets damp with sweat. Collapsed facedown on the bed, Garcia was snoring into the pillow. One of his long legs was thrown carelessly across her body. What would he think of her after last night? What did she think of herself? Sex had a way of ruining more things than it fixed.

Stirring and mumbling, he flipped onto his back. “Cat?”

“Yeah?” She held her breath, waiting for him to blurt something about how they’d made a massive mistake. Their careers were in jeopardy. It can never happen again. The sky was falling. Their world had turned to shit.

Instead, he rolled on top of her and buried his mouth in the crook of her neck. “Good morning,” he said against her skin.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

“That was fun last night,” he said, lifting his face off her neck.

She smiled at him; he looked like a sleepy puppy “You hungry?”

“Yeah, I am.” He pushed her legs apart with his thighs.

She inhaled sharply. “Wait…”

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I hurt you. I’m …”

She pressed against his lower back, holding him where he was. “No. It’s okay. It’s good.”

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her on her bottom lip. “You and I…”

Here it comes
, she thought. “Yeah?”

“We really needed it.”

“We did,” she said.

He rocked gently and returned to nibbling on her neck.

He fell back asleep. Typical guy. She slipped out of bed, stepped into her panties, pulled a sweatshirt on over her head and socks on her feet. Padded down the stairs. The cabin was cold, and she wanted to get a fire going. Get breakfast going, too.

He came down half an hour later wearing boxers, a tank T-shirt, black socks, and his cabin slippers. “That coffee smells good.”

She eyed his attire and stifled a laugh. “Uh … Decaf, unfortunately. It’s all Ed had on hand.”

“This place is fucking freezing,” he said, rubbing his arms.

“I stoked the fire,” she said as she stood at the stove, stirring some scrambled eggs.

“Ed’s not gonna like his next heating bill, but what the hell.” He hobbled over to the thermostat and turned up the furnace. “You checked the date on those eggs, I hope.”

She examined the carton. “Expired two weeks ago.”

“Won’t kill us.” Garcia opened the freezer, took out a slab of bacon, and put it in the microwave. “Let’s have some of this pork action, too.”

She slapped another pan on the stove. “Grab some coffee and sit down. My turn to play house.”

“How’s the head?” he asked as he poured himself a cup.

“Perfectly fine,” she said, and it was.

“I shouldn’t have let you sleep through the night.”

“You didn’t,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

She pointed the spatula at him. “You don’t remember, do you?”

Leaning a hand against the counter, he took a sip of coffee. “Remember?”

“Amazing,” she said, taking the bacon out of the microwave. “I mean, I’ve heard of people doing it, but I always thought it was an urban legend.”

“What?”

“You sleep-screwed.”

“I did not,” he said, but his face reddened.

“Did too,” she said, dropping the thawed slab into the skillet. “You made love to me in the middle of the night, and you don’t even remember.”

He grinned sheepishly. “So what if I did? Are you complaining?”

“Not at all,” she said.

He took another sip of java and propped his butt against the counter. “So … how was I?”

“Great—both times.”

He raised his brows and nodded. “I did it twice. Impressive.”

“Go sit down, stud,” she said. “I’ll call you when breakfast is ready.”

Before following her instructions, he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Planted a kiss on the back of her neck. His hands moved up, traveled under her shirt, and cupped her breasts. “How about we go for a record?”

“Not while I’m frying bacon.”

“I can’t hear you,” he said, and started to snore.

•   •   •

As they ate, they rehashed what Bernadette had seen with her ricocheting sight.

“So behind door number one we have a short man pacing in a taxidermy room in a house on a lake. Behind door number two—”

“We have Lydia’s baby getting bottle-fed in somebody’s kitchen.”

“What makes you so sure it was the Dunton girl’s baby?”

“It had tiny pink hands. Newborn hands.”

“Could have been someone else’s newborn. You saw someone else’s pregnant belly earlier.”

“I’m positive it was Lydia’s.”

“What do we do with what you saw? Where does it take the investigation? Should we be putting out a bulletin on this baby? What if someone knows of folks around town who suddenly turned up with an infant?”

“The way these small towns are, people would have reported such a thing already. I think whoever is holding her is sly enough to avoid taking her out in public. Putting the baby on the news could even endanger her. The bozos could panic and decide to dump her.”

“Why are they keeping her? There’s been no ransom demand, at least none that Dunton has revealed.”

Bernadette took a bite of her eggs and pointed the fork at Garcia. “If it was a kidnapping for money, why not take both the mother and the child? Why kill one and snatch the other? Wouldn’t the senator have paid more to get both back? It doesn’t make sense.”

“What about the short guy? Do you have enough for a sketch?”

She buttered a triangle of toast. She’d burned it. “Short—”

“I got the short part.”

“He had a little bit of a gut, but not too bad. Dark clothing. Small feet. Egg head, possibly shaved.”

“Not enough for an artist.”

“But if I saw him walking down the street, I might be able to identify him as my guy.”

“Should we circulate something with Seth’s people?”

“Let’s keep it low-key,” she said. “Talk to Wharten and see if he knows someone in the area who fits that description. Maybe the senator has an enemy with that build and noggin.”

“I’ve gotta get together with Dunton and his people this morning,” Garcia said, and chomped a slice of bacon in half.

“Do we tell him his granddaughter is alive?”

“Not until we’ve got her in our arms,” he said.

She pushed her eggs around with her fork. Garcia was being cautious, and she couldn’t blame him. Maybe he was still unconvinced that it was indeed Dunton’s granddaughter. “Where’re you meeting them?”

“Private home outside Walker. He has a buddy on the lake.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“Why don’t you drop me off and go do that tattoo parlor in town?”

“Doubt it’s going to lead anywhere.”

“It’s worth a shot.” He dragged a napkin across his mouth and dropped it on the table. “It’s the only tatt shop I know of around these parts. If she got the heart while she was up here, it’s gotta be them.”

Bernadette figured he was giving her busywork to keep her away from the Dunton meeting. If it didn’t go well, Garcia didn’t want to be flogged in front of her. “Sure. You’re right. Definitely worth a try.”

He picked up a slice of toast and frowned at it. Set it back down. “At some point today, we’ve got to check in with your little buddy. See what progress he made in matching Ashe’s outgoing calls to witches.”

She stood up and took her plate to the kitchen. “Let’s get moving. We’re burning daylight.”

“What is it with you and that guy, by the way?” asked Garcia, following her.

Trying to avoid his eyes, she turned her back to load the dishwasher. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

After a long silence, he said, “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with Cahill after the New Year’s Eve party.”

She froze with a set of silverware in her hands. Is that the real reason he was pissed about the party? Part of her wanted to snap that it wasn’t any of his business, and another part of her wanted to stab Garcia with a fork. Instead, she answered calmly and honestly: “I had a little too much to drink.”

“We’ve established that.”

Her hands tightened around the utensils. “He drove me home in my truck.”

“He spent the night?”

Before she could commit a crime with them, she dropped the forks into the dishwasher. “On my couch. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you wait to ask?”

He shrugged. “Thought you’d be mad … and you are. So I guess I should have kept my trap shut.”

“Forget it,” she said, and slammed the dishwasher closed.

He put his hands on her shoulders and massaged them. “Look. I’m insecure. He’s a young guy and … I don’t know … I was jealous.”

She turned around and faced him. “You are my first man since I came back to Minnesota. Actually, my first in quite a while. It’s not because I haven’t been asked. I’ve been asked.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“I was waiting for someone worth the hassle.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “You want to shower first, or should I?”

That wasn’t what she was hoping to hear out of his mouth at that moment. “Uh … why don’t you go first? I’m going to clean up a little more in the kitchen.”

“You could join me,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “The shower in the basement has room enough for two.”

“You go ahead.” She patted his chest. “Don’t use up all the hot water.”

She watched his back as he headed for the basement door. Obviously he didn’t think she was worth the hassle.

So that he could make some calls and take notes, Garcia let her pilot the Titan. His first call was to the Ramsey County Medical Examiner. His people had retrieved Ashe’s body and driven it to St. Paul. The ME also expected to have some news on the Dunton girl’s autopsy later in the day.

She gave Garcia a sideways glance while he spoke with B.K. Now that she and the boss had slept together, she feared everyone knew or at least suspected. At the same time, she told herself to stop worrying about that bullshit and concentrate on the case.

“All of them are?” Garcia asked into the phone, and scribbled on a notepad. “Good work.”

Cahill and the sheriff must have matched all the calls from Ashe’s cell to the phone numbers of coven members. Bernadette was excited.

“Why don’t you give me the names and numbers right now? … How many are you talking? … That many, huh?”

Sounded like northern Minnesota was thick with witches.

“Agent Saint Clare is good,” said Garcia. “She’s with me right now. She’s dropping me off to a meeting and then checking out a tatt shop.”

Crap, thought Bernadette. B.K. is going to wonder why she and Garcia are together so early in the morning.

“It’s in downtown Walker, on the main drag … I don’t know. Twenty minutes, maybe. We’re on Minnesota 34, just west of Walker … Sure … I’m certain she’d appreciate the update. I’ll let her know.” Garcia closed the phone.

“All
those outgoing calls were to fellow witches,” said Bernadette.

“Yup. Cahill is going to join you at the tatt shop this morning. Give you a rundown of our witch roster.”

“Great,” she said, but her brows were knotted.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you think he knows?”

“Knows what?”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Do I have to draw you an X-rated picture?”

“Oh,” said Garcia.

She slowed behind a truck pulling a trailer loaded with snowmobiles. “I’m being paranoid.”

“No. You’re right, Cat. We’ll have to be careful from now on.”

From now on
. Garcia was talking as if their intimacy wasn’t a quick fling, and she found some comfort in that. “Watch what you say, that’s all.”

“I’m not going to be talking you up in the locker room or anything.”

“That’s gallant of you,” she said dryly, and stopped behind the snowmobile trailer as it hung a left into the woods. “What I mean is, don’t mention that the two of us hashed something over during dinner or breakfast. People will start putting two and two together. Maybe I should check in to a hotel. I’ll find one where nobody else is staying. They’ll think I was there all along.”

“That’s dumb.”

“Let’s stop talking about this,” she said. “I’m starting to go crazy.”

“Back to the sane subject of witches: what should we do with them?”

“They must have a leader,” said Bernadette. “Let’s go to his house. Her house. We’ll start the questioning there.”

“Tonight?”

“Sooner, if we can get to it. How long is this Dunton meeting going to take?”

Garcia ripped off his stocking cap and scratched his scalp. “I wish I knew.”

“Get as much as you can about Lydia.”

Garcia bunched the cap in his hand. “I will.”

“I’d like to know why she went to Brule and then Walker. Why didn’t the Duntons tell the St. Paul cops that their runaway daughter was pregnant, and that they’d thrown her out of the house? What about those mysterious letters she found? What did she say to her mom when she called home, and what did Michelle Dunton say to her? Did Lydia try calling home any other times?”

“We don’t know that the boyfriend was telling the truth.”

“Two more things. Don’t forget to ask about their phone records and—”

Garcia’s ringing cell interrupted her list. He flipped it open. “Garcia here … Oh, hey, Seth.”

Bernadette reached over and cranked up the heat. The sky was clear and blue, belying the temperature of twenty below zero. When they’d first gotten into the truck that morning, it felt like crawling inside a chest freezer.

“I just got off the phone with Cahill. He’s going to brief Saint Clare this morning. She’s fine … We did. Hessler saw her.” Garcia paused. “Uh, is he one of them, by the way?”

Garcia looked over at Bernadette and nodded. She’d pegged him: Sven was a witch doctor.

“I forgot to ask my agent: Anything more come of the boot prints? Yup, yup … That’s what I figured … A partial’s better than nothing. Did my guys or yours find anything more in the woods? … That’s disappointing.”

Bernadette gathered that the footprints around Ashe’s place weren’t clear enough to produce anything spectacular, and that a search of the forest had come up empty. Neither surprised her.