Rising Heat (76 page)

Westin coughed lightly behind his fist. Hawk sent him a dirty look. I felt the heat of a flush. The thought of being alone with Hawk out in the middle of the woods in a cabin, uninterrupted by phone calls, stalkers, and that pervading and nearly overwhelming sense of fear got me wondering.

Stupid head, I scolded myself. I wasn’t going there for a vacation, or a romantic getaway. I was going to get away from the stalker, someone who had managed to turn my life upside down. And now his mother had been dragged into it.

And then there was the latest murder victim.

I turned to Detective Cutter. “Detective, is there any news, any updates on the investigation? Not only from here, but from the other locations?” I shook my head, finding it impossible to believe that the killer had killed an older woman. Maybe he hadn’t stalked her at all. Maybe he had seen her as a victim of opportunity and that’s all it took. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I was beginning to realize that I took so much for granted. Evil was out there in ways that I had never even imagined. Oh sure, I had read books, watched crime shows, even a couple of movies about criminals, their crimes, how depraved they could be.

Silence of the Lambs. Psycho, you know the drill. But to be in the middle of it? This wasn’t a movie. This wasn’t something happening to
someone else.
This was happening to
me.

I knew I had to try as hard as I could to maintain a sense of control or else I would freeze. I would totally lock up and be afraid to do anything, go anywhere. The last thing I wanted for my life right now, other than being killed of course, was being so afraid that I became a shut-in. Given my career choice and my proclivity for isolating myself as it was, I didn’t think it would take much of a push for me to develop a phobia. What kind of phobia was that? Where you were afraid to be around people? Agoraphobia?

Was that what was in store for me? To become a living caricature of the crazy woman at the end of the street who fed all the stray animals, seeking affection from furry creatures while eschewing human contact? No, that wasn’t me. It would never be me, not if I could help it. I straightened my back and lifted my head.

“Will I need to stop at the house for anything before going up to your cabin?” I asked Hawk.

He shrugged. “I’m hoping that you don’t have to be there more than a day or two,” he said. “But I’m not going to lie. None of us know when this guy’s going to be caught.” He glanced at Cutter. “He seems to be sticking close to Seneca, and whether that makes him local or not is questionable.”

“I would like to point out something along the lines of rationality,” Westin commented, now leaning back in his own chair, arms crossed over his chest.

We turned to look at him. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“We have to consider the possibility, as any defense lawyer would, that the underwear found on the old lady didn’t belong to Tracy at all.”

Hawk made a noise in his throat, but Cutter lifted a hand. “He’s right, Hawk,” Cutter said. “There’s no law that says an older woman can’t buy Victoria’s Secret, is there?”

While it didn’t sound plausible, it wasn’t like I went around checking old ladies’ underwear. In fact, maybe we were all stereotyping. Still, that didn’t explain her death.

“Then why did he kill her?”

“We don’t know if the person who killed that older woman is the same one that’s been stalking you,” Westin said. His voice was calm, striving to be reasonable. “There was no indication of any note, any drawing of a rose, or anything else at her crime scene to indicate it’s the same guy.” He shrugged. “I just want to keep open the possibility that this latest murder may not even be connected to whoever is stalking Tracy… Miss Whitcomb.”

I begrudgingly had to agree. Unless the crime scene techs or forensics lab determined that there was a link between the two crime scenes, there would be no proof that the person who had killed the older woman was the same guy taunting me. I didn’t want to know, but I needed to know at the same time.

“How was the older woman killed?”

Cutter blew out a breath. “She was strangled with a ligature.”

Despite hearing the horrible truth, I felt a brief surge of hope. Maybe they were totally disconnected incidents. I glanced at Hawk, then at the detectives. “So there is a chance that the guy who killed the older woman isn’t the same guy who’s taunting me.” I didn’t ask it is a question but said it is a statement. “I was right, wasn’t I. Serial killers, if that’s who this guy is, don’t tend to change types or methods of killing, do they? Why suddenly go after someone her age?”

I glanced at Hawk, now standing in the doorway, legs spread slightly, arms crossed over his chest, scowling down at me. “Detective Westin is right, Hawk. There’s no law against women of any age buying Victoria’s Secret. I would like you to know that those panties are very popular item online.”

I didn’t care anymore if they knew my preferences in underwear. I didn’t know if I was trying to convince myself or the others more that maybe this latest death wasn’t related to me at all. All I knew was that I didn’t want this latest murder to be connected to me. I didn’t even want to consider the fact that my underwear might have been found on an innocent old woman who could have been killed because of me. Because I’d made the stalker mad. The guilt…

I didn’t want to believe that any of my actions had contributed to anyone being harmed. And most of all, I didn’t want to endanger anyone else. I looked at Hawk. “Maybe it
would
be better if I just took a vacation someplace. Not to visit my family, but somewhere I’ve never been before, somewhere that I have no connection to—”

“Tracy.” Hawk approached my chair. “Do you want to spend the next week, the next month, or even the next year running from this guy? I’m not suggesting whatsoever that you be used as bait, but if this guy is attached to you, if he really wants to get at you, he’s going to.”

I swallowed, trying to calm the trip-hammering of my heart.

“I’m not trying to frighten you. But the plain truth of the matter is the sooner we catch this guy, the sooner you can get back to your normal life. Running away may only prolong the ordeal.”

But this was my life he was talking about. I wasn’t exactly running away, just lying low for a while. What harm—?

Detective Cutter spoke up, his voice low, as if he didn’t want to scare me any more than I already was, but felt it needed to be said.

“Miss Whitcomb. There is no doubt in my mind now that you have attracted the attention of a stalker. Nevertheless, we have yet to determine whether—”

“Whether he’s a serial killer,” Westin broke in.

Cutter shot an impatient gaze at his partner. “
If
your stalker is the one killing these women, and we haven’t determined that for a certainty, anything you do can have an influence on his behavior. Do you understand that?”

I didn’t. What was he getting at?

“You saw what he did with your underwear. He got into your house somehow. We’ll figure out how. Your discovery of the cameras is apparent to him now. He’s angry. Jealous.”

He glanced at Hawk and then at me. Once again, I felt the heat of a flush rise in my cheeks.

“If this older woman is connected to your attempt to hide from him at that motel—”

I suddenly understood what he was trying to say. I had been thinking the same thing. It was true. This happened because of me. I didn’t even want to contemplate the truth of it, but I had to. “You mean I got him mad, and in retaliation he went out and found another woman to kill because he couldn’t get to me.”

“It’s a possibility—” Westin began.

I interrupted him. “But he could’ve gotten to me! If he knew where I was, which motel I was in, which room, which was obvious by the phone call, he could very easily have gotten to me. Why attack an old lady? Why kill her?”

“There is a possibility that he did approach the motel, saw Hawk watching. If his plans were interrupted, he would’ve felt frustrated and angry—”

I shook my head, refusing to believe this line of thought. “The phone call came at three-thirty in the morning. Hawk said he wasn’t even out in front of the hotel then. He was—”

I broke off, cast a quick glance at Hawk, and then at Cutter and Westin. “He could’ve gotten to me, and quite a bit easier than I would like to imagine.” I sighed and shook my head. “I don’t agree with this line of reasoning.”

“What do you want to do, Tracy?”

The question came from Hawk. Flustered, I replied truthfully. “I don’t know! I do know that I don’t want this creep running my life or determining my actions. I don’t want this creep killing any other women. I don’t want this creep interfering with my business!” I paused. “I also don’t want him to kill me.”

I looked at each of the men in turn. They were all watching me as if they expected me to lose it any second. I wouldn’t. I realized that I had few choices. I knew that I wasn’t going to expose my family, that was a given. Staying in a motel was also unacceptable, at least for now, especially since the killer, or the stalker at least, had found me at the Tomahawk Motel.

I know it sounds crazy, but if I could define whoever was after me as a stalker, or a killer, or even a serial killer, I felt as if I could be more proactive, or at least take steps to protect myself. But not knowing made it so difficult. Was I overreacting? Was I under-reacting? I just didn’t know.

“Look, Miss Whitcomb,” Detective Cutter said. “I know you’re confused. I know you feel that you have no control. But I want you to know that we’re doing our best to figure this out.”

“The FBI behavior guys will be here after they assess the other two — three —crime scenes.” He looked at Hawk. “We’ll let you know when they get here and you can bring her back into town.”

Hawk nodded and then glanced at me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, as usual his expression was impassive. Maybe if I saw little concern… no, that wasn’t fair. He wasn’t going to express emotions like that in front of the detectives, especially not Detective Westin. Which brought me back to the question.

What was going on between those two? I got the distinct feeling they didn’t care for each other, but how deep did that dislike or animosity go? And what had contributed to it? Even more importantly, at least in regard to me, would this animosity between them somehow interfere with catching the killer who might, or might not, be targeting me next?

While I tried to remain hopeful on the surface, I knew, deep inside, that the stalker, the man who had killed all those women, was one and the same. How many women he’d already killed, I had no idea. How or why he had targeted me, or how I’d captured his interest, I had no idea. I couldn’t waste time thinking about that because there were no easy answers.

I finally nodded. “Okay, I’ll go to your cabin. But I can’t stay there forever, Hawk.” I turned to Detective Cutter. “If you don’t catch the guy in a couple of days, maybe I will have to consider other options. Maybe I will have to just disappear.”

The thought of disappearing, of having to move, of having to abandon my grandmother’s inheritance left me feeling hollow. I didn’t want it to come to that, but I had to be realistic. It might.

“I’ll give my mother a call,” Hawk said. He left the room and I turned to Cutter, then glanced at Westin. No one said anything for several moments.

“I think it would be best if you didn’t go out the front door,” Westin said. “Perhaps you can wait in one of the interrogation rooms for Hawk’s mother. When she gets here, we’ll let you know and you can go out the back door.”

I nodded, but said nothing. Detective Westin stood and gestured for me to exit the room before him. After I said goodbye to Detective Cutter, I followed Westin down a short-hall, then turned to the left where another hall created an L-shape in the floor plan. Two interview rooms were located on the left. More office space on the right.

At the far end of the building, on the right, stood double glass doors with electronic locks. Westin proceeded to the last interview room and opened the door. He stepped back, holding it open. I stepped past him into the room. My arm accidentally brushed against his chest and stomach. I heard his sudden intake of breath and I turned to him, muttering an apology. He offered a polite smile.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee or anything? A pastry? I can’t guarantee they’ll be fresh.”

“Can I get a bottle of water?” I asked, staring dully around the interview room.

“Of course,” Westin said. He abruptly left, the door closing quietly behind him.

Just about what I expected. A metal table in the middle of the room. A thick metal ring was welded to the top of the table. For handcuffs I assumed. A hard metal chair with worn cushions on either side of the table. The walls were paneled, scratched and marred, and it looked like someone had kicked a hole with their boot down near the floor on one side. On the wall to my left was a mirror, centered square. I knew it was double-sided. I didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want to see my own reflection.

I waited for several minutes before I finally pulled a chair and sat down, leaning my head against my hand, elbow resting on the table. I couldn’t help it. I made a snorting sound of disbelief. That anything like this could possibly happen to me. Me! I wasn’t a high risk victim. I didn’t want to be a victim at all.

The door opened and Westin returned carrying a small bottled water. He handed it to me, paused as if he were going to say something, and then changed his mind.

“Is Hawk coming back here?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea what he’s doing.” With that, he turned and left the room.

Once again, I had to wonder what had caused the apparent animosity between the two. Oh, they were civil enough in front of me, and maybe I was over-thinking it, seeing things that weren’t really there. After all, they were guys. Guys often acted funny like that. Still, I noticed a definite difference between the way Hawk spoke to Detective Cutter and Westin. When he spoke to Westin, his comments were curt and his expression schooled. With Cutter he was more open, warmer.