Cache a Predator (26 page)

Brett reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I believe you. It must have been difficult.”

“It was. I don’t like to talk about him.” She saw sincerity in his furrowed brows and felt the warmth of his fingers on hers. “You have no idea.” She blotted at her face with the tissue.

He squeezed her hand. “I never intended to hurt your feelings or insinuate you were involved in this. My reasoning is clouded with worry and exhaustion. Of course, I can’t imagine you taking Quinn or hurting anyone. I noticed your compassion for children the day I met you. It’s a gift, commendable. Quinn took to you right away.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. His eyes were bloodshot and drooped at the corners. He looked exhausted. She shouldn’t have acted so sensitive. Maybe she’d done that because she thought he liked her, was attracted to her. Maybe it was because she felt guilty for putting Quinn in harm’s way. Whatever the reason, she needed to get over it and help him find his daughter.

She moved to the chair near the door, suddenly embarrassed for her outburst, and tried to regain her composure. “I need to go feed the animals. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.” She slipped on her boots and left him sitting at the kitchen table by himself.

When she returned twenty minutes later, the dishes were washed, and Brett had fallen asleep with his head on the table. She didn’t have the heart to wake him. He probably hadn’t slept for days. It wasn’t going to hurt anything to let him sleep a few hours. Maybe she should take him into the guest bedroom. She nudged his shoulder. “Brett?”

Nothing.

She poked his arm again. “Brett, why don’t you sleep in a bed? Here, come with me.” Max stuck his nose near Brett’s face and snorted.

He didn’t move.

Sarah put his arm around her shoulder. It was as limp as a dead cat. “Come on, can you get up?”

“Hmm? Where are we going?” His eyes remained shut and his words groggy.

“I’m taking you to the guest room. Can you walk?”

“Are you coming onto me?” He stood and stumbled a little.

“Don’t be silly. You’re exhausted. Lean on me, and I’ll get you to a room.”

He shook his head. “I have to stay awake for Quinn.”

She prodded him on. “A few hours won’t hurt. There’s nothing you can do. The entire police force is out looking for her.”

He didn’t argue. His dead weight pressed into her shoulders, and his holster jabbed her hip. He smelled of fabric softener and hair gel. Max followed. A few times she thought she was going to fall down with Brett sprawled on top of her, but they made it. She sat him on the edge of the bed and let his head fall back onto the pillow. He lifted his legs with her help. One by one she untied his shoes, took them off, and set them on the floor.

He mumbled something like, “Don’t let me sleep too long. Have to find Quinn.”

She covered him with the blanket. Max hopped up on the bed and curled up next to Brett. The dog sighed, dropping his head onto his paws and shut his eyes.

#

The guest room hadn’t been slept in for over twenty years—at least, not that Sarah knew of. It used to be hers when she was a little girl, which was probably why she had no interest in sleeping in there now. She returned to the kitchen and glanced at her watch. It was only eight p.m.

She paced, remembering Brett’s earlier questions about her father and the perp’s profile.

Her brother fit it perfectly. What if he had something to do with severing man parts? He was a recluse, had been abused as a child, and worked in a veterinarian office, but he’d never hurt anyone before. He’d always been timid and into working with animals. And he was a little guy, socially inept, not bold enough to do what Brett said the guy was doing. But still, he fit the personality profile. He knew about geocaching because she always talked with him about her finds.

She dismissed the whole idea and shook the thought from her mind. He’d never be able to do something so morbid, and he hated change or leaving his comfort zone, places he knew well.

She went out into the living room and stared at the television. She turned it on, looking for a distraction. A local newscaster appeared. “Our latest story is one of love, a wedding proposal, and another geocaching incident here in Hursey Lake.” Sarah’s heart raced. Had they found new evidence?

“Police are advising all geocachers to stop their hunts here in Stark County until further notice. This afternoon Nikki Scheurer and Justin Wright found another severed body part, apparently hacked from the latest victim, when they went on their hike. After they found the cache box, but before they opened it, Justin proposed to his girlfriend, Nikki, pretending someone had left the ring in the box.”

The camera moved to a young long-haired redheaded girl with perfect teeth. She giggled. “I was shocked. It was both the best day and the worst day of my life.” She dramatically placed her hand on her chest. “I don’t think we’ll ever geocache again.” She gazed at her fiancé with dreamy eyes.

The newscaster spoke to the guy. “Did she say ‘yes’ before you found the body part?”

Justin laughed and stared at the mic. He looked a little older than the girl. His dark hair shagged down around his ears, and when he smiled his cheeks folded into deep dimples. They made a cute pair. “Yes.” He turned to look at his fiancée and reached for her hand. They looked at each other with a glow of adoration. She’d seen that look before and how quickly it could fade.

Sarah watched the rest of the news and saw a rerun of Brett’s press conference and his plea for Quinn. She paced, thinking of Dean and wondering if she should take a walk to his house. She hadn’t talked to him much since their father had died, and the day he came to clean her windows she’d been busy with Brett and Quinn. She’d have to invite him over tomorrow for dinner.

She went to her bedroom, down the hall from the one Brett slept in. It was her mother’s former room, the preserved one that no one had slept in since she’d died—at least not while her father was alive.

After their mother had died, but while their father was still living, Sarah and Dean were forbidden to go in there. But now that her father was gone and she’d inherited the house, she allowed herself to move back in. At first, she’d been tentative about moving back into the house. She hadn’t lived there or spoken to her father in more than ten years. But once his funeral was over and she mustered the courage to go to the house, she began to sense her mother’s presence, craving the goodness.

Initially, moving back in had been creepy because remnants of her father had been everywhere, but with help she’d managed to remove every bit of his things. She dumped them into a heap outside, made a fire pit, and burned them, watching and reveling in the smoldering of his belongings and every painful memory he’d caused her. But even with his stuff gone, she still couldn’t sleep in her old room. The only safe place she could rest without nightmares was in her mother’s old room.

She changed into a T-shirt and baggy shorts and climbed in bed with her Kindle, hoping to read, but finding she couldn’t focus. She turned out the light and tried to sleep, but she tossed and turned. Just knowing there was a man in the house unnerved her.

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed she was a child again. That she and her brother were playing tag outside near the barn, and their mother was calling to them, standing in the front yard with a kite in her hand. She played out some of the string, and the kite’s rainbow colors sailed back and forth in the wind. She said, “Come, I’ll teach you how to fly a kite.”

Sarah and Dean giggled and ran to her, running against the wind. But the wind’s force pushed Sarah back and made her run harder to gain distance. She gulped air and lost her breath. The more she ran toward her mother, the farther the wind pushed her back. She yelled, “I’m coming, Mama.” But the wind took the sound of her words away. Her mama kept waving for them to come.

Dean held Sarah’s hand. Little brother, Dean. His tiny arms and legs just like thin tree branches. He was always small for his age and sickly. She tightened her grip on his hand, certain the wind would blow him away from her if she didn’t. “Hold tight, little brother. We’ll get there.”

But the more they tried, the farther they fell back, until finally Sarah couldn’t see her mother anymore. She’d disappeared. The wind died, and their father loomed above them. His yellow teeth, his bent nose, and the scar on his forehead stared back at them. When she heard his deranged, boisterous laugh she screamed, which made him laugh all the more.

Sarah bolted upright in bed, her heart racing. Perspiration crawled down her neck like ants marching up a tree. Why had the old man suddenly appeared in her dreams here in her mother’s room? It was like he was taunting her, saying, “You can’t escape me.” Oh, how she hated him.

She glanced at the clock—it was a little after eleven.. She’d only been asleep a few hours. She went to the bathroom, got a drink of water, and tiptoed down the hallway to check on Brett. She peeked in the room and heard Brett snoring softly. Max lifted his head and perked his ears. She whispered, “It’s okay, boy. Go back to sleep,” and pulled his door shut.

As she made her way down the hallway, she heard a noise in the kitchen. She froze and listened. Was it her imagination? Then she heard it again. But this time she heard him say her name like he used to when they were children. “S-s-sarah?” It was Dean.

It wasn’t unusual for him to stop in at the house when he was hungry or bored. His cabin was about a half mile on the other side of the hill. But typically he didn’t stop at the house this late. Maybe he was looking for a late-night snack.

He used to stutter when he was frightened, or when something was troubling him, but over the years he’d improved. Why was he stuttering now?

She went into the kitchen. He stood with his back to her washing his hands, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“What are you doing here?”

Dean swiveled around. “Y-y-you scared me.” He wore his shiny boots—the ones he kept polished till they shone—his pressed jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt. He stared at the ceiling and then the refrigerator. Eye contact had always been difficult for him, but typically he was better with her than with others.

“You okay?” Sarah put her hand on her hip. “Or are you here to eat more of the apple pie?”

“I was out t-t-taking a walk and got h-h-hungry, then I saw the car.” He pointed outside, twisting the bottom of his shirt.

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, that’s Officer Reed’s car. I’m okay. He’s the man whose daughter is missing.”

“W-w-why is he here?”

“For my help, but he fell asleep. He hasn’t slept in days. I’m letting him sleep for a few hours.”

“He is b-b-bad. Didn’t he h-h-hurt his daughter?”

“No. He’s a good man.”

He shrugged. “I h-h-heard he hurt her.”

“Where did you hear that?”

He stared down the hall toward the bedrooms. “Around town.”

“Well, they’re rumors. That’s all they are. He’s a good father.”

“I saw him at your office that d-d-day I was cleaning your windows.” He opened the fridge and took a swig of milk from the carton. “Why did they take his daughter away from h-h-him?”

She took a glass out of the cupboard and handed it to him. “It’s too complicated, and it’s not professional for me to speak about his case.” Sarah took the milk carton from Dean and filled his glass. “I was in bed, so maybe we could talk more tomorrow?”

“Do y-y-you like him?”

Little protective Dean. Always looking out for her. “I like him, yes, and I care about his daughter. I don’t want anything to happen to her. The man who took her is crazy. I hope he gives her back unharmed.”

Dean crossed the room to the door, but hesitated, rocking from side to side. “C-c-crazy?” He paused. “You s-s-sleeping in the bed with him?”

“No!” Sarah chuckled and crossed her arms.

“You don’t need me?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine. You go home and get some rest.” She waited for him to finish his glass of milk.

He wiped his milk mustache with the back of his hand and placed his glass in the sink.

She put her hand on his arm and drew him into an embrace. He stiffened as usual. “Everything is fine with me, protective one. There’s no need to worry.”

#

Five minutes after Dean had left, Sarah still sat at the kitchen desk in front of her laptop worried about him. He’d seemed off. An uneasy feeling edged in her mind, prodding and invading all other thoughts. She tried reading her e-mail, but couldn’t concentrate. How long had Dean been in a funk? What had triggered his stuttering? There were too many similarities between Dean and the vigilante. Had there been guilt in her brother’s eyes? Was he hiding something?

Beauty whinnied from the barn again, startling her. Sarah rose to look out the window toward the barn. A light was on. Dean must have gone in to get something and forgotten to turn it off. Or was he still out there?

She pulled on her boots, grabbed a sweater and a flashlight off the hook, and headed out. She’d never seen Dean so possessed about protecting her. Was there something more troubling him? Maybe their father’s death had triggered his weird behavior. If she didn’t find him in the barn maybe she’d take a walk to his cabin.

Darn, it was so dark and it smelled like rain. No moon out tonight. She flicked on the flashlight and shone it on the gravel in the driveway until she reached the barn, then headed straight to Beauty’s stall. The horse nickered and came to her, jutting her head toward the rail.

Sarah rubbed her cheek. “You okay, girl?”

Beauty smacked her lips. Nothing looked amiss.

She walked across the barn to where she stored the hay bales and saw something out of the corner of her eye—a backpack. Dean’s backpack, lying behind the feed bin. Why had he left it there?

“Dean?” She turned in circles listening and waiting, but there was no sign of him. The bag had been across his shoulder at the house. Why would he have left it there? He’d need it for work tomorrow. It was what he packed his lunch in every day. Why had he been carrying it? She’d have to ask him.

She stooped to retrieve the bag and hiked it over her shoulder, shocked at how heavy it was. It clattered like metal against metal and must have weighed fifteen pounds. What the heck did he have in there?