The Broken (The Apostles) (30 page)

*  *  *

Wednesday, June 17, 7 a.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada

A warm, soft cleft cradled him.

He stiffened. So fast and hard, like he was twenty years younger. All hormones, no brain cells.

His eyelids flew open. Kate. In his arms. In his mind. But not in his dreams. Oddly enough, he couldn’t remember having dreamed at all last night. Not of Kate. Not of the Butcher. And not of voices from his past.

He checked the small clock on the nightstand. Another shocker. He’d slept six hours straight.

His arms tightened around Kate, and he pulled her bare bottom into his lap. Her hair smelled of lemons, her skin of sex. He nuzzled his face against the soft waves of her hair.

Last night had been imprinted in his mind. The moonlight setting her pale skin aglow. The almost unbearable sweetness of her breath as she let loose tiny gasps against his lips. The feather-soft brush of her fingers sliding over his chest and below. He ran his hand along her hip, and she gave a satisfied sigh and snuggled deeper into him. It would be so easy to spend the next few hours—frankly, the next few days—in bed with her. He ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. He could still feel Kate’s fingers in his hair, leaving sparks in their wake. Ten little lightning rods, jolting his skin and forcing him to acknowledge feelings he thought he’d never have.

But he shouldn’t be thinking of Kate’s ten fingers.

As he climbed out of her bed he thought of nine bodies.

The Butcher had upped his body count to nine, almost double from five in just one week: seven broadcasters, including Shayna Thomas in Colorado Springs and the broadcaster in Oakland; Jason Erickson; and nine-year-old Benny Hankins.

*  *  *

Wednesday, June 17, 4 p.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada

A screech tore from somewhere in the yellow cottage. Kate dropped Hayden’s laptop on the bed and ran to the kitchen, her heart in her throat and an all-too-familiar fear at her back.

Smokey, who must have been napping, stumbled from his room. “What the he-ell was that?”

Maeve stood at the sink, trimming the stems from a handful of wildflowers. “I’m not sure, but it came from the back deck.”

Hatch, who’d been sitting at the kitchen table, took out his gun. Even though he motioned her to stay back, Kate followed him onto the deck. To her surprise, he pocketed his gun.

“You, Miz Kate, have a visitor,” Hatch said.

“Who?” she asked, trying to see around him.

“I think the correct term is
what
?”

Behind Hatch on the deck railing crouched the ugliest, angriest creature she’d ever seen.

“Ellie,” Maeve said from behind her.

“That devil cat?” Smokey laughed. “Must have busted out of prison.”

Ellie hissed at them.

Maeve patted Kate on the shoulder. “You know, there’s just not a lot to like about that cat.”

Kate laughed. There was nothing to like about Jason’s cat. Not only was it the scraggliest, dirtiest thing she’d even seen, it stunk and wore a perpetual frown on its smushed face.

She waved the air with the back of her hands. “Go away.”

The cat stared at her with narrowed eyes. She shook her head and went inside. Another mangled cry sounded. Then, avoiding the smile on Maeve’s face, she opened the refrigerator and took out chicken from last night’s dinner.

Kate took the bowl to the deck and put it on the railing. At first Ellie backed up, the fur at the back of her neck standing on end, but after sniffing the air, she pounced on the bowl, wolfing down the food without bothering to chew. Kate settled onto the deck and hung her legs over the side as she watched the attitudinal cat.

“What are you going to do with her?” Maeve asked as she came out with two glasses of iced tea.

Kate shrugged. “She probably won’t stay.”

Maeve set the tray on a small table and handed Kate a glass. “Probably not. But she does look better, less feral.” Ellie, having inhaled half a chicken, sat on the deck rail, licking her paws and swiping them over her head. “Her coloring’s beautiful, if you can get past the rough edges.”

For a moment, Kate stared at her reflection in the bay’s crystal-blue water. She had her share of rough edges, but last night Hayden called her beautiful. More importantly, in his arms and in his bed, she’d
felt
beautiful.

Maeve sat next to her. “Hayden seemed well rested today.”

Earth-shattering sex will do that to you.
Her lips curved then froze as Kate snapped a gaze to Hayden’s mother-in-law, her face heating. This isn’t the kind of thing you talked about to a man’s mother or, in Hayden’s case, the closest thing he had to a mother.

Maeve slipped off her shoes and dipped her toes in the water. “Kate, it’s obvious Hayden cares for you.” Kate almost dropped her iced tea, and Maeve laughed. “You look surprised. Hayden isn’t one for words about his feelings.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“You realize, don’t you, that he doesn’t know what he’s feeling half the time, but I’ve seen him watching you.” Kate reached up to the curl at the side of her head, but Maeve placed her palm on Kate’s hand and pushed it down. “Looking at you, Kate, not the scars and not at all that baggage you carry around.”

“I don’t have baggage.” She was just the opposite. No ties. No roots. She looked at Ellie, who was running a rough tongue along her back haunch. No pets.

Maeve made a clucking sound. “How do you feel about him?”

Like I want to tumble every hair on his head and tear off his custom made suits and shirts until he’s standing in front of me as naked as Michelangelo’s
David
.
A warm wash crept up her neck.

“Not something you want to talk about to his mother-in-law, hmmmm? You don’t need to. I can see it. I’m happy for him and for you.”

“This thing between us, Maeve, it’s nothing serious.”

“I think Hayden could do with a little less serious in his life, don’t you?”

With the tip of her toe, Kate made circles in the water, rippling the blue glass surface. “Has he always been so intense, so hell-bent on fixing the world and all of its problems?”

“For as long as I’ve known him. I think that’s why he married Marissa. He wanted to take care of her, and she definitely needed taken care of.”

“I’m sorry about the accident. This must be a difficult time for you.”

“It is, but having your friend Joseph around helps, and, of course, there’s Hayden. He took care of the funeral, insurance, and all the details of death. Despite everything they went through, he remained a devoted husband right to the end.”

“Husband?” Kate’s toes stilled. “I thought you said their marriage ended years ago.”

“It did. For the last seven years Marissa had been living in a long-term care facility for patients with mental disorders, and during all of those years, she was unresponsive. But Hayden, he tried. For seven years he tried to reach her. He worked with doctors and medications and alternative therapists. Last month he decided to do what I’d been begging him to do for years. He decided to get a divorce. He finally gave up hope.”

*  *  *

Wednesday, June 17, 5 p.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada

Lottie was too tired to swear. She slipped the sketch back in the plastic sheath and left the Boathouse.

She’d been in Dorado Bay two days, flashing the sketch that Berkley Rowe from Parker Lord’s team made of the woman Stalker Boy had seen in Shayna Thomas’s bedroom. The town had ten thousand summer residents, and she had pressed the flesh with at least a quarter of them. The latest batch included the happy hour revelers in the Boathouse Bar and Grill. None of the bar-goers recognized the woman, but a few commented that she looked “familiar.”

Lottie’s sore feet pounded the paved path that curved around this portion of the lake. She could still hear the laughter and clinking of glasses from the raucous people in the bar. She wouldn’t be relaxing anytime soon, not with the Butcher killing nine-year-old babies. Lord give that little boy’s grandma strength. And Lord give her strength to keep walking this lake with Berkley Rowe’s sketch. Right now this sketch, which Stalker Boy said was a dead ringer, was the key to finding the Butcher. The woman in the pink dress, seen by both the stalker and the boy across the street, was either the killer or knew the killer.

Speaking of killers, her navy blue satin wedges were biting into the swollen flesh of her feet. She probably should think about switching to more practical shoes.

To her right, milky white beach sand stretched along the path all the way to the next restaurant about one hundred yards up the lake, perfect therapy for a pair of tired, old bare feet. She rested her hand against a pine tree for balance, lifted her right foot, and unfastened the skinny strap on her right shoe.

Her toes dug into the warm, silky sand. Maybe the doc was right. Maybe she should toss out every shoe over three inches high. And maybe she should start exercising and lay off the homemade candy. She wanted to see every one of her grandbabies get their doctorates.

She heaved her torso toward her left shoe and unfastened the strap. Her fingers froze. Behind her was a pair of clunky black shoes. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something bright and silvery slice the air. She lunged to the right, but not before a blade struck her back. Pain engulfed her torso. She fell, her head slamming into one of the tree trunks.

Chapter Twenty

Wednesday, June 17, 6:15 p.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada

F
or the first time since Hayden had met her one week ago, Sergeant Lottie King looked old, like a grandmother of sixteen and a seasoned cop who’d seen too many bad guys doing too many bad things. She lay in exam room three of the Bayside Medical Center, one bandage over her right temple and another across her neck and shoulder. Her feet were bare.

“Damn, I’m glad you’re here, Pretty Boy,” she said when he stepped into the doorway of the exam room. Her mouth dipped into a snarl, and she jabbed a finger at the door. “Time to get back to work.” She swung her legs over the side of the table, but the movement must have made her dizzy, for her cocoa-colored skin paled, and she swooned.

Dr. Gray settled her back on the crinkly paper. “I’ve already advised Sergeant King that she should go to a hospital in Reno for further observation, as we’re not equipped here for overnight stays.” He gave the woman on the table a stern look. “But she politely declined.”

Probably with a few well-chosen expletives
, Hayden thought. “Exactly what happened?” he asked the doctor. He’d been on his way back to the cottage after spending the day at Hope Academy and Mulveney’s Cove when he received the call from Hatch that Lottie had been attacked while visiting bars along the lake with Berkley’s sketch.

Dr. Gray picked up the chart at the foot of the exam table. “Sergeant King received a single laceration to the deltoid, four inches, but I’m not too worried about that. She’s a strong woman.” He winked at Lottie, but she refused to look at him, her arms knotted across her chest. The doctor’s face grew serious. “I’m a little more concerned about the concussion. She’ll need supervision tonight, someone to watch for vomiting and make sure she stays hydrated. She took a hard fall.”

Hayden’s chest tightened. No, every part of his body tightened, including his fists. The Butcher got to Lottie, a police officer with superior reflexes and years of training. How was their unsub doing it?

Hayden jammed his hand in his pocket.

Take it slow. Observe. Analyze. Evaluate. Begin by studying the victim. Comb through the crime scene. Interview witnesses.

There won’t be any witness.

Get out of my head!

He must have said something because the doctor took a step toward him. “Are you okay, Agent Reed?”

He unclenched his fist. “I’m fine.”

Dr. Gray took out a pad of paper and scribbled something on it before handing it to Hayden. “Here’s a scrip for a painkiller. Have her take as needed.” He turned to Lottie. “And you, Sergeant King, bed rest for a minimum of twenty-four hours, and then limited work, understand?”

Lottie glared. After the doctor left, Hayden handed Lottie her shoes. “He was right behind me. You hear that, Pretty Boy? That butchering SOB was right behind me, and he got away. I want to get my hands around his prick and pull till his eyes bulge out.”

“You’re sure it was him?” Hayden asked. This was a bold move, an attack in the middle of the day at a public place. “The Butcher isn’t bold.” He was a coward and weak and pathetic, but the Butcher was getting desperate, and desperate people did desperate things.

“I’m sure it was him,” Lottie said. “His shoes were dead ringers for the ones the orthotic shoe man back in Colorado Springs showed me.”

“Give me the details.”

Lottie slipped her shoe on and fumbled with the thin strap. “I’d spent the afternoon flashing the picture of the woman in the pink dress, showed it to hundreds of folks. I figure the Butcher must have wanted to shut me down.”

“Because you’re onto something.” He brushed aside her hands and buckled her shoe.

“Ya think? So I bend over to take off my shoe, and while I’m there, I see those ugly orthotic shoes. Then out of the corner of my eye, I see a knife. I get my fat ass out of the way, but not before he gets a piece of me. I probably would have gotten him, too, but I fell and cracked my damn head.”

“Did you pass out?”

“I must have for a few minutes because when I came to, he was gone, and a cocktail waitress on her way to work was kneeling beside me. She helped me to the bar, where I called Chief Greenfield.”

“You keep saying
he
. Are you certain it was a man behind you?”

Lottie’s pasty face faded to a lighter shade of gray. “Damn this aching head. I forgot to tell you about the dress.”

“The person who attacked you was wearing a dress?”

“Not a pink one. It was green, with yellow flowers. One of them granny dresses, but the dress isn’t important. The legs are. They were hairy and thick. I swear there was nothing girly about the legs I saw.”