Killing Me Softly (10 page)

“It's a shame. If we needed help—”

“They'd try, anyway, and they'd end up being charged themselves.” He cupped her head with his hand, then ran it downward to the nape of her neck and gave a gentle squeeze. “Just like you're probably going to end up being.”

She held his eyes so he could read her expression clearly. “I don't care.”

“You should.”

“But I don't. So ‘should' doesn't matter. Now, let's just call Josh and Beth, so they won't worry. The longer we wait, the more likely the cops will have already been there.”

“Okay. And then your boss, about the car. And then we find a bank and take out massive quantities of cash.”

“See?” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “I told you we make a great team. Already we have the beginning of a plan.”

“Some beginning. No place to stay, and no idea what the hell to do next.”

“Oh, don't you worry about
that,
” she promised. “I've got all
kinds
of ideas of what we can do next.”

He sent her a quick look to show her he was well aware that her words could be read with a sexual slant. She was glad to see he was keeping his sense of humor. Hell, if anything, he seemed more upbeat, more animated, more
there,
than he'd been ever since she got back.

Was it the excitement of being on the run? The fear
of being caught, making him feel more alive? Was it the hunt for a killer?

Or could it be that just being with her was responsible for the change? Because damn, it was having that effect on her, being with him. She felt like a desert experiencing its first rainfall in five years. She felt as if she was coming to life, blooming again. And that frightened her.

 

Bryan knew something was wrong the minute Beth picked up the phone. Her usual greeting, “Blackberry Inn, may I help you?” sounded stiff and false.

“Beth, it's me. Don't say my name. Just tell me, are the police there?”

“Yes, Melissa, of course I remember you. You're one of our favorite guests. I hope you're calling to tell us when you'll be back.”

Bryan heard voices in the background. Someone who sounded like the chief asked, “Who is it?”

“I just wanted to let you know we're okay. Dawn's a target now, so I had to get her out of there.”

“Yes, we guessed as much.”

“I'll try to get in touch again.”

“Probably not the best idea.”

He blinked and realized they must already be putting taps on the phones. He'd better hurry.

“We're not going far. Just looking for clues. Don't worry.”

“Well, now,
that's
easier said than done. We can't wait to see you again, though.”

“Tell Dad I love him.”

“Give me that phone!” someone said, and Bryan knew beyond any doubt that it was the chief's gruff voice. Something in Beth's face must have given her away. He heard Chief Mac, shouting, “Is this you, Kendall? If so, you'd best get back here ASAP! Do you have any idea how guilty this makes you look? For the love of—”

Dawn, who could clearly hear the chief's outburst, took the phone from Bryan's frozen grip and placed it on the hook as quietly as possible. “No point listening to him.”

“I know.” Bryan swallowed hard. “But he's my boss, and it's a hard habit to break, listening,
obeying,
when he gets to yelling like that.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“I don't know if you can. I'm one of the good guys, Dawn. But I feel like a criminal here. Running, hiding, using a pay phone… How the hell did I get here? A fugitive, for crying out loud.”

“You're an innocent man. And you're doing the best you can. But if you want to go back, now's the time. We can make something up, say we were just out for a joy ride with no idea they'd be coming to arrest you today. We can go back without making things any worse—if we do it now.”

He met her eyes, only to immediately see Bette's overlaying them in his mind. Lifeless, cold, dead eyes. “No way in hell,” he told her. Then he picked the phone
back up and handed it to her. “Your turn to talk to
your
boss.”

Nodding, she took the phone.

An hour later they were backing Bryan's beloved Mustang into a garage full of cars, most of them looking more than a little battered. Which made sense. It was a body shop. And while they did some restoration work, most people didn't bring cars in unless they'd been banged up. And there were some sad cases there.

Bryan stopped when the guy in the overalls gave the signal, then shut off the engine and sighed, his hands opening and closing on the leather steering-wheel cover.

“If my boss says we can trust this guy, we can,” Dawn said. “Stan Murphy is a stand-up guy, Bryan. Your baby will be fine.”

He hoped so. He opened his door, turned to face the shop's owner and held out his keys.

“Don't forget to hit the trunk release, Bry,” Dawn said.

He pressed a button, and the Mustang's trunk popped open. Then he tossed the keys to the man in the overalls, who stood waiting.

A smile appeared from within a respectable crop of salt-and-pepper whiskers, and a grease-stained palm opened to catch the keys. “Don't look so glum, pal. She'll be as safe as in her mama's arms. Promise.” He pocketed the keys and extended his hand again. “Dane Babcock. Good to meet you. Any friend of Stan Murphy's is a friend of mine.”

Bryan shook the man's hand, searching his brain for a false name to give.

“Never mind, pal. Stan said no names. But I know who you are. I read the papers.” He bobbed his head slightly. “He also said you were good people, you two, that I could trust that, so I do. Hell, Stan got me started in this business. He's sent me more clients than I ever would have found on my own. I owe him. So if there's anything else I can do for you…”

“Thanks,” Bryan said. “But this is plenty, really. We'll owe you a big favor and then some. And we can't thank you enough.”

“Nah.” Dane Babcock turned and crossed the concrete floor, weaving among wrecks waiting to be re paired and other cars already being worked on, partially done, blotched up with primer and body putty. “I'm sorry it's not what you're used to,” he said, nodding toward a turquoise-blue 2005 Taurus without a scratch on it.

“Hey, it's just what we need,” Bryan said. “Thank you.”

“She runs great. Got a tankful of gas, too.”

“I'll return it with a tankful, then.”

“Keys are inside. I…thought you might be in a hurry.”

Dawn smiled at the guy. “Thanks a lot. I'll tell Stan what a great help you were. And we won't forget this. You ever need anything—well, we'll get in touch later when things settle down.”

“You do that. You can keep the car as long as you need it. Be safe, okay?”

“Thanks again.” Bryan went to the Mustang and took the stuff from the trunk and backseat—including the picnic cooler that still held the old files on the Nightcap Strangler. As he was carrying things from one car to the other, Dawn snagged the keys and opened the Taurus's trunk. He loaded everything in, then got behind the wheel as Dawn got into the passenger side. She looked at him, a sympathetic expression on her face. He shrugged. “Hell, at least it's a Ford.”

Babcock opened the overhead garage door and stood to one side as they exited. He waved as they passed, and then they were on the road and driving away.

“Phase one of our plan is complete,” Dawn said. “We have a safe, unrecognizable car, a tankful of gas, some cash, and we've let Beth and Josh know we're safe. Now we can move on to phase two—a place to hole up.”

Bryan nodded as he drove. “I've been thinking about that. I think we should get the hell out of here, head to the other side of Shadow Falls and find a motel or something.”

“Yeah, and we should switch motels
and
towns every day,” Dawn put in.

He nodded. “You're getting ahead of me. I'm not planning to be on the run for too many days, you know.”

“I'm all for optimism. So we drive, we scout out a place to crash and then…?”

“Spend the afternoon with the files,” Bryan said
quickly. “Make a list of suspects that looked good sixteen years ago and take a second look at each of them. Start getting current contact information—”

“I have my laptop in my suitcase,” Dawn said. “That'll help.”

“Good. Then we talk to them.”

“Won't that give us away? Put us at risk of being caught?” Dawn asked.

“Yeah, but if we don't solve this thing, there was no point in running at all. Because sooner or later, they'll catch us.”

“The cops—or Nightcap?” she asked.

“Both.”

She lowered her head and rubbed her arms, as if his words had evoked a chill. “I'm scared, Bryan.”

He reached over, closed his hand around hers. “I know you are. I'm gonna keep you safe. We'll nail this guy. I promise. You believe me?”

“You've never broken a promise to me before. That's kind of been
my
forte. So, yeah. I believe you.”

“Good.”

“But there's one more really important thing to do first, Bryan. And you can't say no, okay?”

He looked at her. “Okay. What is it?”

“We need to eat.” Her very serious expression was replaced by a broad grin. “I'm starved.”

He couldn't help but smile back. Leave it to Dawn to find a way to lighten the mood just when he was feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I don't
know what the hell I've done without you for the past five years, you know that?”

Her smile wavered a little. “I've…missed you, too, Bry.”

There was a tense silence that stretched into more. Finally he broke it. “So let's find a motel we can afford to pay cash for, get a pile of takeout from whatever's close by and then we can feed our faces and work our cases.”

“Is that police talk?”

“Nope. I think you said it once, back when we were playing detective in our teens. It stuck with me. Always makes me smile when I remember it. Silly damn thing to say.”

“I used to be a silly kid.”

“Used to be?” he asked. “You haven't felt silly in a long time, have you, Dawn?”

She frowned hard, considering the question. “Now that you mention it—no, I don't think I have. Not since I left home.”

“Seems to be coming back to you,” he said. “Along with your appetite.”

“I don't think I'm going to feel very silly about much of anything, until we find out who did this and get you in the clear.”

“And you out of danger,” he said. Then he spotted the on-ramp and they hit the highway once again.

“T
en o'clock, Bates Motel, Nowhereville, Vermont,” Dawn said into an imaginary microphone. “Pizza and wings having been devoured, and my partner and I have moved on to serious investigative work, using our tried-and-true method known as ‘spreading papers throughout the room in hopes something will catch our eye.'”

Bryan lifted his head, met her eyes, tried to smile at her lame attempt at humor. But he looked tired, and he looked worried. His lighter mood from earlier that afternoon had been beaten down by the daunting task of trying to solve a crime without the resources he was used to.

Nearly every piece of evidence that proved interesting had him reaching for his cell phone, wanting to call someone in authority to double-check on something, only to realize he couldn't. He was completely on his own in this. Well, except for her.

His eyes were puffy, with half-moon shadows, and he needed a shave.

And while the way he looked elicited her worry and her sympathy, it also turned her on to no end. That unshaven scruffy look was—well, it was one she'd never seen on Bryan before. And it was sexy as hell.

He set aside the stack of papers he'd been reading. He was sitting on the motel room floor amid papers, photos, cardboard boxes, file folders and a stack of motel-issue notepads they'd swiped from an unattended housekeeping cart.

Dawn let her eyes roam his face for another second, then said, “It's after ten, and you look wiped out. Why don't we call it a night and try to get some sleep?”

“Not yet. Not until we've made a game plan for tomorrow.”

“Okay, well, I think we've pretty much agreed that we need to start talking to the people of interest on our persons-of-interest list, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, so we've got Bette's ex-boyfriend, Jeremy Cameron, aka Jaycam, the tattooed hulk who couldn't take no for an answer and returned to the scene of the crime.”

He nodded. “And we've got Everette Stokes, the brother of Merle, the gun-wielding wife beater I shot in that hostage standoff last month. He threatened me repeatedly.”

“And we've got Professor Olivia Dupree, over at Vermont State, who knew all the victims sixteen years ago, as well as now. Including the unfortunate Nadine Burmeister, who was found this morning.”

“Did we establish that?” Bryan asked.

“The reporter did, but check the info Nick gave me this morning.” Dawn dug back through the piles, found the photos of the most recent victim and tried not to see the woman's dead face as she flipped each one, looking for what she wanted. “There,” she said, turning the photo toward him. “There, on the bookshelf just to the right of the bed. Check out the titles on some of the spines.”

He frowned, picked up the photo and leaned closer. “Those are textbooks.”

“Yeah, English lit textbooks. Isn't that what our professor teaches over at VSU?”

“Yeah, it is.” Bryan tapped the photo against his palm repeatedly, almost as if he were trying to shake something loose from it.

“Hell of a coincidence, isn't it?” she asked.

Bryan nodded slowly, still staring at the photo. “We have to figure out if any of them could have known about the art on the shot glasses—enough to copy it, even. Not to mention the brand of whiskey.”

“Wouldn't be the first time someone hacked into the system. And anyone with a record could have gotten the info from Nightcap himself.” She shrugged. “Anyway, those are our top three suspects. I mean, there are probably lots of others, and we'll keep adding to the list as we go, but I think we should start by talking to these three.”

He nodded. “Let's talk with Professor Dupree first.”

“Why her first?” Dawn asked.

Bryan shrugged, but he averted his eyes as he did so. “It's because she's the safest, right? You don't want me around when you get to the others.”

“She's not the safest if she turns out to be the killer. And frankly, I don't want you around any of them, Dawn.” He sighed and began gathering up the papers. “First thing tomorrow, we'll head to the university and see if we can get a few minutes with her between classes.”

“Aside from the risk we'll be taking of being seen, it's July, Bryan,” Dawn reminded him. “Classes aren't in session—unless she teaches summer session, which I doubt.”

“Yeah, well, summer session draws quite a few students, and she teaches straight through it.”

“You know her?” Dawn asked.

“Know
of
her. I went to VSU, remember? It's where I met Nick. I never took a class with her, so I don't think she'd remember me. Of course, if she reads the papers, she'll know who I am, and you're right. It'll probably scare the hell out of her. She'll probably scream for campus security.”

Dawn was picking up papers, organizing them, returning them to various file folders. “There's a home address for her right here. Nick was thorough when he checked her out the first time around.”

“That address is sixteen years old,” Bryan said. “We'll be better off starting at the university. She'll
feel safer there, anyway. Can you imagine how you'd feel if a suspected serial killer showed up at
your
front door?”

“Good point,” she said.

“Besides, I know my way around campus, so we can avoid being seen by too many people. If she's not there, we can probably at least get a phone number from the main office and call her, so she's not freaked out by us just showing up.”

“If she's innocent.”

“Right,” Bryan agreed.

Dawn shrugged. “All right. But besides seeing her, what's the plan? Are we just going to come right out and ask her where she was on the nights of the last two murders?”

“We'll figure it out in the morning,” Bryan said. “I'm beat.”

“Okay.” She fell silent as they finished picking up the mess, then looked at her suitcase, slung on the floor in the corner. The room had two beds. There was nothing, she told herself, to be nervous about. He hadn't made a move or a suggestive comment all day.

She'd been afraid he would, just like she'd been afraid of the ghosts she'd expected to show up the minute she set foot in this state. Neither fear had panned out.

Both those things had surprised her. And both left her feeling oddly disappointed. Funny, to miss something you thought you no longer wanted.

“You want the first shower?” he asked.

“Sure.” She grabbed her suitcase and headed into the
bathroom, eager to give herself some space to think. To plan. What was she going to say if Bryan came on to her tonight? What was she going to do?

They had barely discussed their breakup. They hadn't talked about what had been between them, much less what still might or might not be. She didn't know if she wanted to stay here, even though the ghosts were no longer a problem, because she knew too well that they could reappear at any time, and she was still on the fence as to whether she wanted them to or not. She didn't know if she wanted to return to her old life and see what the future held in store there. She didn't know what the hell she wanted.

How could she give him an answer, if he demanded one? How could she know what to do if he put his arms around her? If he kissed her slowly, tentatively, awaiting her response to tell him whether or not to keep on going? How was she going to react?

She showered, and as she did, a dozen scenarios played through her mind. She imagined herself exiting the bathroom dressed in the T-shirt she used for a nightgown, her hair long and wet and hanging over her shoulders. Or maybe she should dry it first. Either way, he would stare at her, his eyes heating, sliding slowly down her body, lingering on her breasts beneath the fabric, noticing the obvious lack of any bra, then moving lower, as he wondered whether she was wearing panties.

She would stop there, halfway to the bed, frozen by his steady, intense gaze, and then he would get off the
bed and come to her, and he'd say something about how good she looked, and how much he wanted her. How he'd been holding it in all day but just couldn't fake it any longer, much less deny himself the bliss of tasting just one more kiss from her. He would tell her that he had been dreaming of that for the past five years. And that it had never been the same with anyone else.

And then he would cross the room and pull her against him, and kiss her hard and deep, like at the end of a great romantic movie. He would kiss her, and she would probably be all stiff at first, wondering if this was the right thing to do, and then she would be so swept away by passion that she would surrender, melting in his arms and kissing him back.

They would end up in one of those beds, and they would make wild love for two solid hours before they stopped, exhausted, and, their sweaty bodies twined together, fell into a contented, sated, blissful sleep.

Yeah. Okay. That was the way she imagined it, and given the way she felt just thinking about it, she knew she wouldn't say no. She wouldn't make any promises or offer any explanations. But she damn well wasn't going to say no. She needed him.

She toweled off and wondered if there was even any point in putting on the T-shirt. Why pretend she didn't know what was going to happen between them? Why play games? Why not just walk out there in the towel and let it drop to the floor as he stared at her? Why even bother with the towel?

She closed her eyes and pulled on the T-shirt,
wishing she were bolder. She rubbed her hair partially dry, combed it out, brushed her teeth to be sure her breath would be infinitely kissable and straightened up the mess she'd made in the bathroom. And then, finally, she faced the door, drew a deep breath and told herself this had been a long time coming and that it was going to be good. Not a mistake. Not for the two of them. No matter how things ended up, this was not going to be a mistake. How could it be?

She lifted her chin, opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to set her bag down, deliberately not looking at him just yet. She would wait until he spoke and pretend to be surprised. She moved to her bed, certain his eyes were watching her every move, the heat in them building with every second. She sat on the edge of the mattress and then wondered why he still hadn't said anything.

Curious, and too eager to wait any longer, she lifted her head and turned slightly to look at him.

He was lying on top of his covers, sound asleep, his mouth slightly open, his eyes closed. And as she sat there, staring, burning with disappointment, he began to snore.

She bit her lip until it hurt. Between him and the damned ghosts, she was beginning to feel utterly unwanted.

 

“Keep your head down,” she said for the tenth time.

Bryan wore a baseball cap and sunglasses, and
seemed to think that was enough to entirely change his appearance. It wasn't.

“You should have worn the hoodie,” she added.

“And then I'd look just like the Unabomber. Besides, it's summer.”

You wouldn't have known it to look around campus, though, Dawn thought. Summer session was in full swing. Students moved in groups of three or four, and in swarms of many more. The dorms were vacant, but workers in overalls buzzed in and out of them, getting them all spruced up for the fall semester.

“I thought there would be fewer people,” she muttered, patting her hair lightly. She'd bundled her long locks up in a tight bun, then wrapped her head in a pretty silk scarf, knotted at one side, the end trailing down. She wore big sunglasses, like Bryan, and still she felt as if everyone they passed was looking at them, recognizing them and moving only just out of sight before pulling out their cell phones and dialing 9-1-1.

“Don't be nervous, Dawn. You look right at home on a college campus.”

“Bull. I'm older than every student here. And I know I look it. The past five years haven't been good to me.”

“Haven't they?” He shrugged. “I don't know. House near the beach, great-paying job, a boss that trusts you enough to do what yours just did for us? Sounds to me like the past five years have been just fine.”

She shot him a quick look from behind her glasses. But of course she couldn't see his eyes through his.
“The job's great. So is the house. But I haven't been out there living the life of a surfer girl and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. I've been in hiding, Bryan. I've been living in a constant state of…fear. And it shows on my face.”

“You're a little touchy this morning. What's up?”

He'd paused just outside the double glass doors that read Miller-Freidman Building, English Department. “For what's it's worth, I think maybe it's those pills you've been taking that showed on your face. And maybe the stress and the worry. Being too far from your family for too long probably fits in there somewhere, too.”

“Was that a lecture?”

“I was gonna point out that you look loads better just in the few days since you arrived. It's doing you good to be home, Dawn.”

It was driving her crazy, being home, but she wasn't going to tell
him
that.

He shrugged, taking her arm and guiding her through the doors. “I just think you need to take better care of yourself.”

“I thought that's what I
was
doing.”

“You are, since you've been home. But what if the ghosts come back? What are you going to do then?” She frowned up at him, knowing in that instant that there was more to the question than what was on the surface. She met his eyes, unable to reply. She didn't know what she would do if the ghosts came back—all of them, not just Bettina.

But he held her gaze, silently demanding an answer. And so she averted her eyes and said, “First thing I'll do if they come back is ask your girlfriend who killed her.”

“She wasn't my girlfriend.”

“I don't care what
you
call it—I guarantee you,
she
thought of herself as your girlfriend.”