Rising Heat (82 page)

“Have you ever met the Chief of Police in Seneca?”

Hawk nodded. “I have.”

“And?”

“He’s a jackass.”

I slapped my arms against my thighs. “Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? So no one wants to keep us in the loop? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Basically,” he said.

“Well, we’ll see about that.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. Dead battery. I spied my overnight bag by the door, walked to it, and then opened it. I ruffled around and then found my charging cord. Plugged my phone into a nearby outlet to charge, pissed at myself for just now remember to do it. Then I turned Hawk. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“Why?” he asked.

I couldn’t help it. I snapped at him. “Because my battery is dead and I would like to call the Seneca Police Department and give them a piece of my mind!”

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and handed it to me with a dubious look on his face. “That won’t do you any good, you know,” he commented.

“It may not, but I want somebody to know that I’m not happy about this! I’m the victim here! This freak’s after me! If I can’t count on the police, if they won’t give you any information, and if the FBI won’t talk to us, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Hawk didn’t say anything. I continued to scowl down at him. “What’s the number?”

He gave it to me and I dialed. A desk officer whose name I didn’t catch answered the phone. “Is Detective Cutter or Detective Westin in?”

“I’ll connect you,” he said. A moment later, the line picked up.

“What do you want, Hawk?”

At first I was rendered speechless. “Detective Westin, this is Tracy Whitcomb,” I snapped. What was it with these guys?

“My apologies, Miss Whitcomb. The contact came up for Hawk.”

“I’m using his phone.”

“What can I do for you?”

I tried not to be bitchy. “Detective Westin, I would like to know if I can come down to the station, get an update on the status of the investigation—”

“Miss Whitcomb,” he interrupted gently. “We can’t just give out information to anybody who asks.”

I felt my blood boiling. “I realize that, Detective, but I’m a potential victim, am I not?”

Silence. “Tracy… Miss Whitcomb, I still think that the man stalking you is nothing more than an obnoxious admirer—”

“Then how do you account for the notes left at my house? The phone call to the motel room?” I couldn’t believe this. After all that, after the notes, the break-in at my house, my shredded underwear, and then the phone call at the motel room, could he honestly believe I was still the victim of a wacko stalker?

“Yes, Miss Whitcomb, a stalker on the edge, admittedly, but listen to me.”

I clamped my mouth shut, tried to pay attention above the roaring of fury in my ears.

“If this guy is really a killer, or a serial killer even, why hasn’t he killed you by now? He’s had ample opportunity, even before you came to see us, and even before you hired Hawk.”

I had nothing to say. Why not indeed? The question didn’t help my frame of mind. As a matter of fact, I was beginning to feel, quite distinctly, that I was being thrown to the wolves. Angry, perturbed, and allowing my snarky to rule, I snapped at him. “Thanks for nothing, Detective Westin!”

I disconnected the call and barely resisted the urge to throw the phone against the opposite wall. I only stopped myself when I remembered it was Hawk’s phone. Chagrined, I handed it back to him. “Westin still thinks that the guy after me is nothing but an
obnoxious admirer,
as he calls it.” I shook my head, fury bubbling up inside me. “Ass. Can you believe it?”

Hawk said nothing, but sat back in his chair, rocking slightly back and forth, frowning. “Forget about Westin for a minute. Forget about the police and the FBI.”

“And do what?” I demanded. I stopped in the middle of the room and crossed my arms over my chest again. If I didn’t, I was afraid I would pick up something and throw it. I wasn’t typically apt to behave in such a manner, but maybe I could be excused for my rising temperament.

He looked at me. Gestured for me to sit down in the chair on the other side of his desk. Heaving a disgruntled sigh, I did so.

“Tracy, let’s think about this, not from your perspective, but from the stalker’s.”

“What do you mean?” And then, to my surprise, Hawk stiffened. He stood and quickly began searching the room. At first I didn’t know what he was doing, and then, as I saw him peering at his bookcase, the walls, and around the furniture, I realized. My heart plummeted to my stomach.

Oh God. No. Was it possible? My eyes widened and he made a gesture for me not to react. I realized what he was thinking. If the potential killer had gotten into my house and placed hidden cameras, why not Hawk’s office? Oh my God. He would have been privy to what we did on the carpet.

He shook his head, indicating, at least as far as I knew, that he wasn’t finding any cameras hidden anywhere. Thank God for small favors. Still, I was confused when he grabbed a piece of paper from one of his desk drawers and scribbled something on it. He passed the paper to me.

Do you know where Bascom Park is?

Don’t answer me verbally, but just nod or shake your head.

I frowned and nodded. Then I came to another realization. Even if the stalker had not placed any cameras in Hawk’s office, he might have placed microphones. How did I know what kind of equipment this guy had access to? You could buy practically anything off the Internet these days with no questions asked. Maybe even have one of those fancy dish things that picked up voices and sounds from a distance.

He turned the piece of paper around, scribbled something else on it. Passed it to me again.

Take your car and drive over there.

I’ll meet you there in about 20 minutes.

I had no idea what was going on. Of course I could gather that he wanted to get out of the office, but I wasn’t exactly sure why. I headed for the door, reaching for my overnight bag as I did so. I heard him snap his fingers once and turned to look over my shoulder. He was shaking his head, gesturing for me to leave the bag where it was. Then I remembered my phone. I went to unplug it from the wall even though it couldn’t possibly be close to a full charge yet. He waved his hand, gestured for me not to take that either.

What the hell? I decided to just do as he said, pulling my truck keys from my pocket. We’d probably be coming back to the office anyway, so I left, walking quickly down the stairs and into the Quilts R Us shop. The older woman was back in the shop.

“How you doing this afternoon?” she asked pleasantly.

“Just fine, thank you,” I replied. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I met your son earlier. He said you weren’t feeling well.”

She nodded. “Darned arthritis,” she explained. “When it’s damp outside like it was earlier, I swear I can feel every bone in my body protesting.”

Hawk followed me down the stairs and hustled me toward the door, the bell over it tinkling pleasantly. I walked toward my truck, contemplating Hawk’s strange behavior. Did he think we were being recorded? Would he take his office apart while I was gone and look for devices?

I prayed there were no cameras in there. I so hoped there were no cameras in his office. I swallowed several times, trying to tamp down the feeling that I was going to retch. When was this going to end?

I started my truck, backed out of the parking space and made my way toward Bascom Park. It was a small park at the southern edge of town. A play area for kids with a large sandy area beneath the swings, a few traditional playsets; metal tunnels, a slide, and those pretend horses on the giant springs. A few park benches, a couple of permanent barbecue grills, surrounded by trees.

I pulled into the parking lot of the park in less than five minutes. Turned off my engine but kept my doors locked, watching out the windows for any suspicious activity. I got engrossed in watching a cluster of small children playing, giggling, and laughing as they took turns on the merry-go-round. Oh, to be so carefree again. Mothers sat on park benches close by, watching the kids while at the same time enjoying the companionship of like-minded adults.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a conversation with a friend. Not online, not through e-mail, chat rooms, or Skype. Real face-to-face friendship. The thought sobered me. If I got out of this in one piece, I was going to become more socially active. Not because I wanted to push my luck, but because I didn’t ever want to feel so isolated and lonely again.

A short time later, Hawk pulled his Jeep up next to my truck and gestured for me to come to his vehicle. I got out of my truck and locked my door even though his Jeep was only a couple of steps away. I opened the passenger side door and climbed inside.

“Would you mind telling me what is going on?” I gestured around. “Why did you want to talk here? Did you see any cameras in your office? Any microphones?”

“I couldn’t find anything, but we need to figure out how the guy is tracking you,” he said. “He’s got to be doing it electronically. I’ll have to take my office apart to check for any devices. That’s why I told you to leave your cell phone there. And your laptop. He might be pinging your phone, or he could be using some kind of software that can track your location. You don’t have one of those friend finder apps on your phone, do you?”

“Friend finder? Not hardly,” I said. “And how would he be able to track my location through my laptop?”

“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” he said. He dug into his pocket. “Here, it’s a throwaway phone. I loaded it with thirty minutes. When you get down to a couple of minutes on it, I’ll get you another one.”

While I appreciated Hawk’s thoroughness, I wondered if this was real, because his comments were certainly nothing I had considered. I wasn’t sure I could believe it. Oh, I knew the technological capabilities were out there. But my God. “Could the killer, or the stalker, or whatever, be so technologically advanced?”

“We don’t know who, or what, he is, Tracy,” he said. “He could be a janitor at a local school or an engineer or a telecommunications expert. We don’t know. I may be overreacting, but I would rather err on the side of caution.”

I supposed he was right. “Does this mean we’ll be spending the night at your cabin again?” He nodded. “Can I at least get a clean set of clothes and my pajamas from my overnight bag at your office? Check my e-mails one more time before we leave? I’m waiting for a response from one of my clients. I finished his website while you were out this afternoon. I would like to be able to invoice him if possible.”

“I suppose it would be okay, but you’ll have to leave your laptop at my office. I’ll figure out some way for us to get out of town without anyone being the wiser.”

He stared out the window for several moments and then turned to me once again. “Is there a possibility that it’s one of your clients?”

The suggested floored me. “No!” I exclaimed. “None of them are even in the state of Vermont—”

“How do you know?”

“I…” I realized I didn’t, not for sure anyway. “Well, I know the doctor isn’t. His practice is in New York City. His address is on his old website.” Now my mind was spinning again.

“When we get to the office, don’t talk about our plans. Just in case. Just mention that you have a lot of work to do, maybe that you’d like to work into the evening in my office. I can say I’ll go somewhere else. If you leave the computer turned on, maybe he’ll think that you’re staying there.”

I nodded. I was nervous about going back to his office, but I wasn’t going to spend one more night in these clothes.

“Let’s go. We’ll collect what you need and then head out to the cabin.”

I nodded, trying to resist the feeling of hopelessness that surged through me. How long was this going to drag on? How long would I have to deal with this drama? This fear? Could Hawk be right? Could it be one of my clients?

I’d managed to pretty much hold the fear at bay most of the day, at least to the point where I didn’t feel crippled by it, but I felt my emotional and mental strength waning. I so wanted this to be over.

I was incredibly disappointed at Westin’s response to my phone call earlier, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I didn’t like to think that I would be on my own, or that I would have to rely on Hawk alone to solve this. The police needed to be involved. Quite frankly, as far as I was concerned, so did the FBI.

I followed him back to his office. It was then that I remembered that I needed to ask him about his mother’s gun. Where was it? Then I remembered that both of the guns, the last time I’d seen them anyway, were in the glove compartment of his Jeep. I wanted it.

We got back to the building and once again entered the quilt shop. The owner’s son stood behind the counter. His mother close by, apparently showing him how to form something out of fabric. I wasn’t sure what. He glanced up, maybe hoping for a customer, and stared at the both of us for a moment with what I could only describe as a forlorn expression before offering a confused smile. I didn’t blame him. Having to make crafts with his mother?

I offered a brief wave and an expression of commiseration to him and then opened the door to the steps that led up to Hawk’s office. I waited by his side as he unlocked his office door and then he pushed it open, gesturing for me to enter in front of him. I did.

“I don’t know about you, but I am so far behind on my work it isn’t funny.” I was proud of my calm voice. I quickly moved behind his desk, opened my laptop, and waited for it to disengage from sleep mode. I glanced at my cell phone, still charging at the outlet underneath the window. I shook my head.

“I’ve got some errands to take care of,” he said. “You’ll be okay here for the night?”

I played along. “Sure, I’ll crash on the couch.” He stood by the door, watching me as I quickly logged onto my e-mails. One from the client, gushing about the wonderful job I did on his website. He even offered a bonus. Yay for me.

“The client liked the website,” I said, my spirits lifting for the moment. “Let me send a quick invoice. He even offered me a bonus.”