Level Five

                        Level Five

                         Prologue

              Burying anything was hard work when the ground was so dry.  His shovel hit the dirt with a thud, raising a small puff of dusty breath.

             
Garbage in – garbage out.  He’d learned to dig deep, to make sure things were buried enough that dogs and other critters wouldn’t dig up what he’d worked so hard to put under the ground. 

             
He wasn’t like his mother.  He didn’t keep things in the house that no longer had use, had any real value.  When he was finished with these particular projects there was nothing that could be salvaged, nothing that should be saved.

             
His mother had saved everything.  She’d been a level five hoarder.  He’d grown up in a house where trash had more value than a child, where emotional attachments were formed only with things.  Filth had been his father; feral cats, rats and cockroaches his siblings.

             
He now raised his head and felt the warm breeze that caressed his face.  There were no neighbors to watch him.  This ten acres of land on the outskirts of Kansas City was his home, his sanctuary, and the place to work on his projects

             
With a frown he attacked the hard earth once again, trying not to remember the first time some well-meaning organization had shown up to help clean up his mother’s house. He’d watched in surprise as grown men retched beneath masks and whispered about the stench in the air.  He’d become so used to it he didn’t smell it.  After leaving his mother’s house he’d eventually gotten his sense of smell back, but he was never sure he completely trusted in it again.

             
He worked for several minutes and then once again had to stop to rest for a moment.  This time his gaze went to the two-story house that had been his home for the past ten years.  A year after his mother’s death as he’d cleaned up her shithole house he’d found a bank book. He’d realized one of the things she’d hoarded was social security benefits. They’d begun for him when his father had died when he was two. 

             
Sixteen years of deposits in an interest-bearing account had given him enough money to purchase the house and the land. Initially he’d furnished the place minimally. Now he knew the truth – he was his mother’s son, but he was also much smarter than her. Hoarding was his secret and he controlled it. It didn’t control him.

             
He had a great job and a home that nobody visited. It was far enough away from neighbors to allow him to continue his work on his special projects.  This had been number five.  The other four were buried here also.

             
Looking at the hole he’d dug, he looked at his project and checked the size of each.  If he bent her legs just right he could probably get her into the grave.

             
Such a shame. He hated to see it finished.  He’d loved the way her long dark hair had felt as he’d dragged her to her feet. He’d loved the way her blue eyes had sparked with terror when he’d flicked the Bic he’d drawn from his pocket.

             
For brief moments at a time each of her high-pitched screams, her screeching pleas had reached inside his soul. They’d soothed the raging pressure that threatened to cast him into a darkness so profound he’d never return.    

             
He raised his head and drew in a deep breath of air.  He savored the scent of summer grass mingling with the fragrance of the blood that covered her face, the burnt smell of her flesh on her long, slender legs.

             
It took some work to finally get her into the hole. By the time he was finished a fine sheen of sweat covered his face.  Such a damn shame.  He hated to see her go. But like the others, the projects never lasted long. They never accomplished what he intended them to do.

             
Already he felt the need for another one.  As he threw the first shovelful of dirt across her face, obscuring her sightless blue eyes, his chest filled with hollowness and a familiar rage.

             
He needed a new project. 

                      Chapter 1

It is a common belief that people who are touched by murder often become obsessed by the experience.  They become victim advocates, they work to change laws and create organizations in an attempt to change the dark side of humanity.

For Edie Carpenter, the murder of her sister when Edie was ten and Francine was twelve changed the very fabric of who Edie became as an adult. 

Francine had gone missing on a bright spring day when walking home from school.  Thirteen days later her body had been found in a shallow grave not far from their home.

A local pedophile had eventually confessed to the crime and life, of a sort, went on. Francine’s name was never mentioned in Edie’s parents’ home again. 

Her parents had divorced a year after and even at ten, Edie recognized that Francine had only been the first victim of the crime. The fall-out from her violent death had injured them all.

Edie had adored her big sister. The worst thing about her death was the fact that everyone seemed to forget Francine. It became important to Edie that people remember.  She hated the fact that so many people only knew her as a name in the news, as a tragic victim of a child rapist. 

She wanted people to know that Francine had loved chocolate Pop Tarts for breakfast, that she was sure she was going to grow up and marry a prince.  Francine’s favorite color was purple and she had loved to giggle.

In college, while studying journalism, Edie decided to write a book, chronicling not only Francine’s untimely death, but more importantly her short but wonderful life. 

To her surprise it was picked up by a small publishing house and did moderately well. Edie realized the career she wanted, writing true crime stories.

She now sat at her computer typing up research notes for an interview the next day.  Although it was only early June, it was unusually hot and humid for Kansas City.  Clad in a pair of hot pink bikini panties and a turquoise tank top, she reached for an elastic band and pulled her long dark hair up into a sloppy ponytail. She told herself again that she was absolutely, positively not going to turn on the air-conditioner so early in the season.  The windows were all open, emitting a faint hot breeze that did nothing to alleviate the warmth of the house.

She smelled him before she heard him, a scent of woodsy cologne.  Before she could turn in her chair, hot hands grabbed her by the shoulders.

“If you’re going to ravish me you’d better hurry, my boyfriend is going to be here any minute,” she whispered.

Warm lips pressed against the back of her neck.  “It’s too damned hot to ravish.”

As he stepped back from her she twirled in her chair and smiled.  Jake Warner wasn’t the hottest man on the face of the earth, but as far as Edie was concerned he was definitely in the running for the title.

His blazer was slung over broad shoulders and his dark hair was curlier than usual with the humidity. A shadow of whiskers darkened his square jaw and his electric blue eyes twinkled with that half-arrogant, half-amused light that always turned her on.

“I could always turn on the air-conditioner,” she said, her voice intentionally sultry.

He released an overly dramatic sigh of frustration.  “Unfortunately, I ordered a pizza before I left the station and
it’s going to arrive at your front door any minute.  And speaking of front doors how many times do I have to remind you that you need to keep it locked.”

“Don’t be such a cop
,” she said as she got up from her chair. 

“Can’t help it,
darlin’. That’s who I am.”  He gave her a mock leer and grabbed the butt of the gun in his shoulder holster.  “Want to feel my big weapon?”

She grinned.  “Been there, done that.  It’s hard to handle and it fires too fast.”  She giggled and ran for her bedroom as he started after her.  The chase was halted by the ring of her doorbell and Jake’s groans of frustration.

Fifteen minutes later they were on her deck and seated at the table beneath the shade of the sky-blue umbrella.  One of the things Edie loved about her home was that it was set on enough land that if she wanted to frolic naked in the grass there was nobody except her dog, Rufus, and Jake to see her.  Beyond the chain link fence was a thick wooded area that housed all kinds of wildlife.

Rufus now sat at attention at Jake’s side, watching for the magic moment when a piece of crust would drop from Jake’s fingers and onto the deck. 

“Nothing like a cold beer on a day like this.” Jake raised the chilled bottle to his lips. He took a drink and then lowered the bottle and grinned.  “Hot pizza, cold beer and a half-nekkid woman in my sight, life doesn’t get any better than this.”

Edie smiled.  “So, tell me about your day.  Did you catch a lot of bad guys; have any high speed car chases or scary shoot-outs?”

“Must be too damned hot for the bad guys.  I spent most of the day at my desk writing reports.”  He dropped his crust. Rufus snapped it up and returned to his position of attention, a look of adoration on his mutt face as he stared at Jake. “What about you?  Anything new and exciting?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”  Excitement bubbled inside her as she leaned forward in her chair.  “You’ll never guess who I spoke to yesterday.”

Jake reached for another slice of the pie.  “Who?”

“Colette Merriweather.”  She watched his eyes narrow in confusion and then widen in surprise.  Like Elizabeth Smart and Jaycee
Dugard, Colette had made national news three years after she’d disappeared when she’d re-appeared naked and dazed in the parking lot of an abandoned shopping mall.  She’d told authorities that she’d been kidnapped and held captive. She’d been unable to give enough information for a suspect to emerge or an arrest to be made.

“Wow, what’s it been? 
Five…six years since she re-appeared and then disappeared again from sight?” Jake asked.

“It was almost exactly five years ago to the day that she dropped out of the public eye,” Edie replied.  “Every news agency in the universe wanted to get an interview with her. She refused to talk to any of them about her ordeal. And now she’s finally ready to tell her story and she wants me to write it.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed again.  “How did she get in touch with you?  Your number is unlisted.”

Always the detective, she thought.  If Mother Theresa dropped by, Jake would probably eye her with suspicion.  “She read my last book and saw in the acknowledgments the name of my agent. She called Jennifer and asked her to get the message to me.  Jennifer is over the moon and is already hammering out the details for a contract with my publisher. I’m meeting Colette in the morning for our first interview.”

She reached across the table and grabbed Jake’s warm hand.  “It’s going to be big, Jake, I know it is.  This is the book that’s going to firmly establish me in my field.” 

“God you look hot when you have that glint of ambition shining in your eyes,” he replied.

“Bite me,” she said and released his hand.  “I’m being serious.  This is a real opportunity for me.  I want you to be happy for me.”

“Babe, of course I’m happy for you.”   He dropped another piece of crust to Rufus and held her gaze.  “Edie, we’ve been doing this three-night a week thing for the last two years.  Why don’t you marry me and make me an honest man?  And if you still won’t consider that then why won’t you let me move in here. I could really be a part of your life instead of just a part-time boyfriend?”

“You know you’re more than just a part-time boyfriend,” Edie replied.  She so didn’t want to have this conversation.  It seemed they were having it more and more often lately.

She released a deep sigh.  “Do we really have to do this tonight?”

He scooted back his chair and stood.  “No, I guess not.  I’m getting another beer.  Want one?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”  She watched his retreat.  They had an arrangement.  Three evenings a week he came over and spent the night. They always spent leisurely Sundays together.  For Edie, it was enough. She cherished her time with Jake. She loved him as she’d never loved another man.  But she was also intensely protective of her alone time. 

There were pieces of herself she hadn’t given away, pieces she still wasn’t sure she was ready to give.  And Jake was the kind of man who would demand it all. That scared the hell out of her.

He returned to the table, the fresh beer in hand and an easy smile on his face.  She loved the fact that he never held a grudge, that he didn’t feel the need to win an argument no matter what the cost.