Out Of Control (6 page)

“I’d
say you’re right,” Tate Bishop drawled, lounging back in the booth. “Seems
pretty smart if she didn’t want to get in a truck with a complete stranger. Seems
like one of you has a brain in their head.”

“Yeah,
yeah, yeah. I know it was stupid.” He stared at his coffee. “I don’t know. It’s
just that she’s been doing strange things since she got in town.”

“Like
what?” The look in Tate’s piercing blue eyes was sharp. “And what have you been
doing? Following her? Is that why you were in her neighborhood last night?”

Half
embarrassed, Cole told him what he’d done the day before. And about Dana’s
strange behavior and her visit to the fairgrounds.

“What
was she was doing there?” he asked, as much of himself as his uncle. “And what’s
up with the vomiting, anyway? I sure didn’t expect to see her heaving her guts.”

Tate
idly stirred sugar into his own coffee. “Maybe she’s not as hardboiled as she
pretends to be and the stories she read really got to her. What did John
Garrett have to say?”

“Not
much more than who she is, an author of true crime books. Here to dig up all
that stuff from twenty-five years ago. It’s so far in the past, I can’t figure why
she’s after it now?”

“Doesn’t
matter.” Tate sipped the liquid in his cup. “There’s nothing for her to find.
And no one will talk to her.” He paused. “You don’t think she’s got a personal
interest in it, do you?”

“Like
what?” Then a cold thought froze him. “You think she might be related to the
pedophile? That she’s trying to see if we ever found any evidence against him?
Shit.”

“I
think that’s very unlikely. But it wouldn’t hurt to keep a close eye on her.
Just in case.” Tate smiled. “And use that smooth personality of yours to
convince her she needs to leave High Ridge alone.”

“Smooth.”
Cole snorted. “But I will talk to her. Make her see she has to leave these
folks alone.”

“You
know good and well whoever it was has been long gone from here,” Tate pointed
out. “Otherwise, I’d say, yeah, go for it. But after all this time?” He
shrugged. “There isn’t even a trail to follow. And people want to keep their
dead buried.”

“I
know. I know. Thanks for meeting me.”

“Anytime.
You know that, Cole. Maybe you could find time in your busy schedule to come
out and have dinner with us. Your aunt sure would love to see you.”

Cole
slid out of the booth and clapped his Stetson on his head. “I’ll see how the
weekend shapes up. And I sure could use some of Adele’s cooking.”

“Come
out Sunday. Plan on it.”

“I’ll
let you know.”

****

Dana
dragged herself into the kitchen worn out from wrestling with the nightmares
that always left her sleep deprived. The stranger in the truck last night had
ignited a terror she usually kept a tight lid on. Every time she closed her
eyes, memories of Kylie seized her in a tight grip, and with them came the choking
scent of wood shavings. Sleep was a hell she didn’t need.

She
found the coffee maker and pulled the new can of coffee from the fridge.
Leaning on the counter, she willed the machine to brew faster, needing the
caffeine jolt to her system. When the last drop filtered into the pot, she
poured some into a large mug and carried it outside to the small patio.

The
chairs were still covered with dew, but the chilly dampness woke up her weary
body. She settled in a lounger, leaned back, and watched two birds hopping from
branch to branch in one of the crepe myrtles that guarded the corners of the
tiny yard. If only her life could be that simple. She sighed and turned away.

She
wasn’t looking forward to her visit to the sheriff’s office today. Would he be
willing to help? After all, she might at last be able to find answers to an
age-old case. He ought to be happy about that. Of course, if he gave her a hard
time and was a real ass about it, she could always wave court decisions at him.

Assuming
he gave her access to the files, reading the one about Kylie—and herself—would
be the toughest part. She just hoped she’d be able to get through it.

Focus.
Make an outline and focus. Think of it as an abstract story that piques your
interest. Do what you always do. Stick to the facts, don’t let emotion cloud
your thinking.

Yeah,
right.

When
her mug was empty, she went inside, refilled it, and headed for the bathroom. Half
an hour later she was showered and dressed in slacks and a tailored blouse,
what she considered her non-threatening outfit. Grabbing a muffin from the box
on the counter, she headed out of the house.

At
Freddie’s she bought a cold drink to wash down her muffin, chugging half of the
liquid in her car in the parking lot. She could already feel the tension
grabbing at her again, the expectation of conflict at the sheriff’s office. Not
to mention the image of that black pickup dogging her, crawling around the edge
of her consciousness like some poisonous bug.

Despite
swallowing three aspirin the night before and two more this morning, the
headache still clung to her like moss to a tree. She rolled the half-empty can
of soda against her forehead then pressed it to the column of her neck.

I
can do this. I have to do this. For Kylie. And for myself.

She
swallowed the last of the soda and tossed the can in the car’s litter bag.
Okay, enough with the pity party. Time to take on the law.

When
she turned into the parking area at the sheriff’s office, her hands tightened
on the steering wheel and she nearly stopped breathing. That damn black pickup
was parked at the side of the building. Sweat slicked her palms and the
jackhammer in her head kicked up another notch. Surely
he
couldn’t be
here. Could he?

The
lettering on the glass door said Cole Landry, Sheriff, Salado County. Her
research had told her he’d only been in office a short time, but unless the
records had been destroyed, he’d still have access to them. The doors opened into
a small, enclosed lobby with a reception window at one side.

“I’d
like to see Sheriff Landry,” she told the woman behind the glass. “If he’s
available.”

And
if he’s not, I’ll just wait until he is.

“May
I have your name and the nature of your business?”

God.
The woman was as frosty as Marion Jordan.

From
her body language, Dana figured word was already circulating. Well, what did
she expect in a small town?

“Dana
Moretti.” She handed a business card through the window opening. “I’d like to
ask him some questions about an old case if he has the time.”

“Let
me just check.”

She
waited tensely while the woman spoke softly into a telephone. In a moment, she
looked up and said, “He’ll be right with you.”

Dana
wasn’t sure if she should be surprised or grateful that Sheriff Landry had
agreed to see her so easily. She’d have bet a year’s royalties John Garrett had
called him, filled him in, and asked for his help in shutting her down. A lock
snicked as a door opened behind her.

“Can
I help you?”

The
deep voice that spoke to her sent shock waves through her. She whirled, her
knees shaking. Oh, hell. It was him. The man in the truck. Wearing a uniform,
for God’s sake.

“I
have to say,” he went on, “you look a lot better when you aren’t soaked through
by the rain.”

Dana’s
legs were shaking, keeping time with the butterflies doing the rumba in her
stomach. The first thing she thought was
cowboy.
He had the easy,
relaxed yet alert stance she’d seen on men around horses and cattle. And his
feet were shod in square-toed Western boots. She was sure his hat would be a
Stetson.

But
the way his eyes assessed her, the analytical gaze…
military
. Some kind
of covert ops.

A
dangerous combination in a man.

Dangerous
to women. And to people who were misled by his friendly smile.

He
was somewhere in his mid-thirties. At least six-four, broad shouldered, and
lean hipped, the khaki of the sheriff’s uniform looking as if it were custom
tailored for him. His face was all angles and planes, with deep-set,
whiskey-colored eyes framed by dark brows and lashes. Even in her state of high
anxiety, she couldn’t miss the sexuality that radiated from him.

The
ultimate alpha male.

And
trouble.

I’ll
bet he has to beat the women off with a nightstick. Well, for sure he won’t
have to worry about me. Oh, wait. After last night, he probably thinks I’m a
nutcase anyway.

She
wet her lips. “I gave my card to your…to the woman at the window. I’m Dana
Moretti.”

“I
know who you are.” His smile, like John Garrett’s, was professional and didn’t
reach his eyes. “I’ve been expecting you. Come on.”

He
swung the door wide, the muscles in his tanned arms flexing with the movement.

“If
you’d identified yourself last night,” she told him, trying to keep the acid
out of her voice, “I might have been more willing to accept a ride. I don’t
make it a habit of jumping into trucks with strange men.”

His
body brushed hers as he let the door swing shut, and lightning shot through
her. What the hell? She knew what unexpected lust was. She often wrote about
it, but it wasn’t a feeling familiar to her personally. Certainly not in a
situation like this. Maybe this was a bad idea, after all.

“So,
what kind of men
do
you jump in trucks with?”

She
blinked. “Excuse me?”

His
smile was a little softer as he ushered her into his office. “If not strange
men, what kind?”

“None.”
She made her voice as clipped and professional as she could.

“This
is a small town, Miss Moretti,” he said once they were seated. “People are very
neighborly and reach out to help each other. If you stick around for any length
of time, you’ll find out we don’t have marauders prowling the streets.”

“But
you did once, didn’t you?” she shot at him.

His
face tightened and all traces of the smile disappeared. “You’re talking about
the pedophile cases, which happened a very long time ago. Folks aren’t happy
about the fact you want to dig it all up again. May I ask why all this interest
in a case that’s been dead for twenty-five years?”

Dana
took a deep breath to center herself. “It’s what I do, Sheriff. Researching
old, unsolved cases. It’s how I make my living.”

His
lips thinned. “Raking through other people’s misery?”

“Isn’t
that what
you
do?” she shot back at him.

“I
investigate crimes as an officer of the law.” His voice had gone from being
polite to hostile. “I’m not in it for the publicity.”

“Publicity
is a byproduct that helps me sell the books,” she snapped. “I examine old,
mostly unsolved crimes. Look for new angles. Try to form a psychological
profile of the killer or killers. Put it all into a book. Let people know we
let the monsters out of the closet and destroy them with enough work.”

He
was holding her card in his fingers, tapping it lightly against one hand. “You
know, I’ve actually read some of your books.”

Dana
lifted an eyebrow. Was that grudging admiration in his voice? “I’m surprised.”

“That
I can read or that your books would interest me? I hate to admit it, but you do
a pretty good job with unpleasant subjects.” He leaned forward, his eyes
pinning her. “But I don’t understand how you can go back years later, when
people have finally come to terms with tragedy, and rip them open again. Doesn’t
that bother you?”

Dana
sat straight in the chair, her posture matching the aggressive line of Cole’s
body. Now she was in familiar territory, where the tension wasn’t sexual. “If
you’ve read my work, you should already know that people are usually happy to
cooperate with me. They see it as a way to get closure. I would think the
people involved here would be more bothered by the unanswered questions.”

“Really.”
His face was carefully expressionless. The man was doing his best to press all
the wrong buttons.

She
forced herself to speak calmly. “Doesn’t anyone want to know who did such
terrible things to those children? Don’t they care that a pedophile got away
with terrorizing and killing children? Don’t you all want answers?”

I
certainly do. Hell, if I don’t get them, I might as well crawl in bed, pull the
covers over my head, and call it a life because I won’t have one left to go
back to.

He
stared at her for a long moment. “That was twenty-five years ago. It’s over and
done. There’s nothing left to investigate.”

Dana
tightened her hands into fists. “I’m getting the feeling there’s some kind of
conspiracy here to keep the lid on this. As if you all know who it was and no
one wants to admit it.”

That
thought had plagued her ever since she’d made herself face the truth of that
terrible night. Was it really possible? Could it have been someone they were
all familiar with and an entire town had bonded together in a conspiracy of
silence? Her stomach roiled at the thought, and she swallowed hard.