A Deadly Love (17 page)

****

The sheriff’s office smelled of steaming wool jackets, testosterone, and fear. Volunteer searchers gathered in tight groups between the battered metal desks, talking in low voices. In Harley’s inner office, two state police detectives spoke to Rod Gates. His eyes were puffy, his voice thick with tears. Dillon leaned against the doorframe and listened, the knot in his chest growing tighter with each broken word.

“It was late, one-thirty in the morning when the dog woke us up. I remember looking at the bedside clock and swearing. He was whining at the door, and then he let out a couple of yelps.” Rod wiped his jacket sleeve across his tear streaked face. “Steph got up to take him out because she didn’t want him to wake the kids.” His voice shook. “God, if only I’d dragged my sorry ass out of bed instead.”

The older detective, a man in his sixties with steel gray hair, spoke in a sympathetic voice. “I know this is difficult, Mr. Gates. When did you realize your wife was missing?”

“I must have fallen back asleep. It was just after two when I woke again. Steph wasn’t in the bed. When I didn’t hear her in the bathroom, I called her name.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “She didn’t answer, and I started to worry. Something didn’t feel right.”

“Anything in particular?”

“No, but it was too quiet. If Steph and the dog were still in the yard, I would have heard something. I got up, pulled on my sweat pants, and went outside. It was raining a little, enough to make puddles in the driveway. I yelled for Steph, but she didn’t answer. I got really worried then.”

“Is that when you phoned the sheriff?” The second detective was younger, with short red hair and myriad freckles.

“Well, no. I thought maybe the dog ran off and Stephanie slipped and hurt herself chasing it. The damn dog makes a habit of terrorizing squirrels. I grabbed a jacket and flashlight and searched the neighborhood, calling her. One of my neighbors came out and asked if something was wrong.” His shoulders heaved, and tears ran freely down his face. “I kind of lost it then, thinking about Marnie and the others.”

The older detective spoke. “It’s understandable you’d be worried, considering the circumstances. About what time was it then, Mr. Gates?”

“Closing in on two-thirty. I called the sheriff’s office. My neighbor, Ray Stinson, and I kept looking and shouting for Steph. Harley arrived maybe ten minutes later.”

“We’ll make every effort to locate your wife, Mr. Gates. Why don’t you join the others, now. The sheriff is organizing search teams.”

Rod left the inner office, and Dillon gave him a rough pat on the shoulder as he passed. “We’ll find her.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, then blinked rapidly to hold back tears. “Yeah, I gotta believe that.”

Harley assigned men to search groups, each headed up by a law officer. Dillon hung back, his gaze drawn to the timeline tacked on the wall of the office. He slipped into the room and studied it.

“See something?”

Dillon glanced over his shoulder at the older detective who’d questioned Rod. His brown eyes were steady and direct. “The disappearances happened at roughly two week intervals.”

“It looks that way, yes. It was your grandfather who found Cybil McCoy’s body, wasn’t it?”

He nodded and held out his hand. “Dillon Tremayne.”

“Frank Watkins.”

They shook hands, and Dillon turned back to the timeline. He pointed to the calendar tacked to the wall next to it. “Last night was a new moon.” He flipped the page to February and tapped on Friday the eighteenth. “Full moon, and Marnie was taken that night.”

“Tricia Eaton disappeared the beginning of February. There was a new moon on the second.” The officer’s gaze met his. “An unlikely coincidence.”

Dillon turned to January and pointed. “Wednesday the nineteenth was a full moon.”

“No one remembers seeing Cybil McCoy after she left a party in Malibu late that evening. We pegged it as the night she disappeared.”

“So whoever has these women takes them on either a full or new moon.”

“It looks that way.” The officer gestured to the timeline. “Miss McCoy’s body was found the night before Marnie Palmer was reported missing.” His bushy gray brows furrowed. “The first woman was killed and the third taken within hours of each other.”

Acid rolled in Dillon’s gut. “You’re assuming there’s a connection between the missing local women and Cybil.”

“Seems like a fair assumption.”

“I hope to God you’re wrong.”

“Yeah, so do I. If we’ve identified his pattern, it would make sense that the second woman was killed the night the fourth woman was taken.”

The breath left Dillon’s body, and he pressed a hand to his aching chest. “No one’s found Tricia.”

“Not yet.”

****

Brooke stared out the kitchen window as long shadows crept farther across the yard. She bit her lip. Dillon hadn’t called.

“Do you think it’s dry yet?”

She turned and leaned against the sink. Strips of newspaper along with flour and water paste stuck to the kitchen table in clumps. Splashes of green and blue paint added a second dimension to the mess. Zack’s masterpiece, a paper mache replica of the earth, sat in the middle of it, drying on paper towels.

“I’d give it a little longer. You don’t want to ruin that beauty by touching it too soon.”

The boy heaved a weary sigh. “It’s taking forever!”

“It only seems like forever.” She glanced over her shoulder at the gloomy back yard. The rain, at least, had stopped.

“Can I go outside and play while I wait?”

“Sure, but put on your jacket and boots first. It’s soaking wet out there. And promise me you’ll stay in the yard.”

He heaved another sigh. “You might not be a mom, but you sure sound like one.” Zack shoved his feet into red rubber boots and jammed his arms through the sleeves of his black, waterproof jacket.

Brooke wondered if she should be flattered or insulted by his comment. Amusement won out, and her lips curved as he slammed the door shut behind him.

“Supervising little boys requires a lot of energy.” June set the teakettle on the stove and turned on the burner. “I can’t remember the last time I spent the day with Zack and actually had a few minutes to sit down and put up my feet.”

“You only did today because you deserted me during the creation of that lopsided marvel.” Brooke fisted her hands on her hips and stared at the table. “Dare we move that thing to clean up the mess?”

“Maybe we can clean around it. The paint still looks runny.”

“That’s because Zack mixed it with water to make sure we wouldn’t run out before we finished.”

June pulled mugs patterned with daisies and a box of tea bags from the shelf and grinned. “You can’t fool me. You had as much fun making it as he did.”

Her lips twitched. “Possibly. It certainly took my mind off—other things.”

Her grandmother glanced toward the window. “It’s getting late.”

Brooke squeezed the sponge between her fingers until her knuckles turned white. “I wish Dillon would call.”

“I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.” The teakettle whistled. June turned off the burner and poured water into the mugs. “How was the party last night? With everything else that’s happened, I forgot to ask.”

“You didn’t miss much.” She took the mug her grandmother handed her and blew on the steaming tea. “Everyone was in gloomy spirits even before Stephanie—” She took a breath and controlled the quaver in her voice. “Elliot wasn’t feeling well and left early. Then Harley and Carter both got called away on work related emergencies. The evening was a bust.”

June’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you get home?”

“Dillon drove me.” She looked down at the cup, avoiding her grandmother’s gaze. Remembering the goodnight kiss that had curled her toes and stolen her breath sent heat creeping into her cheeks. Finally she glanced up. “You can wipe that smirk off your face, Grandma. Nothing happened.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to the dance with Carter in the first place. You should have waited for Dillon to ask you.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “You make the whole affair sound like something from a seventies’ sitcom.” She wiped her hands across her paint stained jeans. “I should be wearing heels and a frilly apron, waiting in anticipation for the big, strong man to remember my existence and pick up—”

The phone rang, shattering the quiet in the house along with her nerves. Her grandmother’s smile faded. Brooke grabbed the receiver, closed her eyes, and prayed. “Hello.”

Dillon’s voice was a sigh in her ear. “We haven’t found her. A few of us are going to search a little longer, until it’s too dark to see.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the wall. A lump lodged in her throat. “Did you find anything at all?”

“Not a damn thing. I’m about ninety-nine percent positive the lunatic who has the women isn’t holding them in the woods.”

“Then where—”

“Hell if I know. Harley’s calling in the FBI. His frustration level is through the roof. With Tricia and Marnie, he wasn’t certain they didn’t leave of their own free will, but Stephanie is definitely a kidnapping.”

“How is Rod holding up?”

“As well as can be expected. Carter kept a close eye on him today, but he toughed it out without breaking down completely. His parents arrived earlier this afternoon, so at least he won’t be home alone with the kids tonight.”

“Good.”

“How is everything there?”

Brooke wiped a tear off her cheek and sniffed. “Fine. Zack’s model of the earth is still drying, but it should be ready to take to home in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks for helping with that.”

“We had fun making it.”

“I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Dillon.” She hung up the phone and met her grandmother’s worried gaze. “They didn’t find her.”

June’s hand shook as she set down her mug of tea. “Maybe tomorrow...”

“There’s always tomorrow.” She squared her shoulders. “I’d better go check on Zack.”

Pulling her fleece jacket off the hook by the door, she stepped out onto the back porch. Full darkness was closing in, and the boy and dog were nowhere in sight. Uneasiness stirred, pebbling her arms with goose flesh beneath the warm jacket.

“Zack, where are you?”

“Here.” His high pitched, anxious voice did little to relieve her nerves. She crossed the yard and spotted him standing near the compost pile. “Why are you playing over here?”

He kicked a tree root with his rubber boot and hunched his shoulders. “Otis ran into the woods. I wanted to follow him, but you said to stay in the yard.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you remembered. Don’t worry about the dog. He’s always chasing squirrels. He’ll find his way home.”

“But it’s almost dark.” He glanced up, and his lower lip trembled. “What if he gets lost?”

“He won’t.”

His brows drew together. “He might.”

Brooke sighed. “Will it make you feel better if I go look for him?” At his nod, she squeezed his shoulder. “Go back inside. I’ll find Otis and be along in a minute.”

The boy ran across the lawn, and she walked a few steps into the woods. The last rays of light from the setting sun were swallowed up by the immense trees. She breathed in the scent of evergreen needles and damp earth and let out a shaky breath.

“Otis, come here boy!” she yelled. Her ears rang with the answering silence. Cursing under her breath she struggled through the underbrush, stopping every few yards to shout for the dog. She could barely see her hand in front of her face, but faint noises up ahead spurred her onward.

A branch snapped behind her. She spun, slipping on the needle covered ground. “Otis!”

A hand touched her arm. She screamed.

“Jesus, Brooke, you scared the hell out of me.”

She pressed her hand against her pounding chest. “You! What about me? I nearly had a heart attack.”

Harley rested his hands on his hips and scowled at her. “You should be scared! What in the hell are you doing out in the woods by yourself at dark? I ought to lock you up for your own safety.”

She stiffened. “I was looking for my dog. I only meant to go a short ways.”

“You’re a good two hundred yards from the house. My God, Brooke, women are missing.”

Her defenses crumbled. “I’m sorry. Zack was anxious about Otis, but I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, I’m sorry I yelled.” He let out a long breath. “I’m beyond worried about those women. Still, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“And I should have used better judgment. When I heard something up ahead, I just kept going.”

“It wasn’t your dog. I saw that big brute making a beeline for the house a ways back. You probably heard the last of the searchers heading toward the road. We’re calling it a night. You can’t see squat anymore, even with flashlights.”

She followed Harley out of the forest and into her grandmother’s back yard. A few men were gathered on the road. Car doors slammed, and engines started. Dillon crossed the lawn with his son at his side, the paper mache world clutched in the boy’s arms.

Dillon’s face was grim in the glare of the outdoor floodlights. “You don’t have the sense God gave a gnat.”

Harley frowned. “Lay off, Dillon. I already lectured her about safety.”

“It’s my fault, Dad. I made her go look for Otis.”

“It’s no one’s fault.” Brooke squatted beside the boy, feeling a little sick to her stomach. Nothing had happened. Still... She swallowed. “Are you sure your project is dry enough to move?”

“Grandma June used a blow dryer on it.”

“Good thinking. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night, Brooke.”

She rose slowly and met Dillon’s gaze. His eyes flashed with unspoken fury. Without another word, she headed toward the house, his anger weighing heavier with each step.

She shut the kitchen door and leaned against it. Tears stung her eyes. June shut the freezer door and laid a bag of peas on the counter. Chicken sizzled on the stove, filling the room with a delicious aroma. She could use a big dose of comfort food about now.

“Dillon was worried about you.”

“I gathered that.” Brooke sniffed, ripped a paper towel from the roll, and blew her nose. “He and Harley yelled at me like I was a brainless two-year-old.”